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diff --git a/78193-0.txt b/78193-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7482737 --- /dev/null +++ b/78193-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2341 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78193 *** + + + “_Familiar in their Mouths as HOUSEHOLD WORDS._”—SHAKESPEARE. + + + + + HOUSEHOLD WORDS. + A WEEKLY JOURNAL. + + + CONDUCTED BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + + N^{o.} 23.] SATURDAY, AUGUST 31, 1850. [PRICE 2_d._ + + + + + A PAPER-MILL. + + +Down at Dartford in Kent, on a fine bright day, I strolled through the +pleasant green lanes, on my way to a Paper-Mill. Accustomed, mainly, to +associate Dartford with Gunpowder Mills, and formidable tin canisters, +illustrated in copper-plate, with the outpourings of a generous +cornucopia of dead game, I found it pleasant to think, on a summer +morning when all living creatures were enjoying life, that it was only +paper in my mind—not powder. + +If sturdy Wat Tyler, of this very town of Dartford in Kent (Deptford had +the honour of him once, but that was a mistake) could only have +anticipated and reversed the precept of the pious Orange-Lodges; if he +could only have put his trust in Providence, and kept his paper damp—for +printing—he need never have marched to London, the captain of a hundred +thousand men, and summarily beheaded the archbishop of Canterbury as a +bad adviser of the young king, Richard. Then, would William Walworth, +Lord Mayor of London (and an obsequious courtier enough, may be) never +have struck him from his charger, unawares. Then, might the “general +enfranchisement of all bondmen”—the bold smith’s demand—have come, a +long time sooner than it did. Then, might working-men have maintained +the decency and honour of their daughters, through many a hazy score of +troubled and oppressive years, when they were yet as the clods of the +valley, broken by the ploughshare, worried by the harrow. But, in those +days, paper and printing for the people were not; so, Wat lay low in +Smithfield, and Heaven knows what became of his daughter, and the old +ferocious wheel went driving round, some centuries longer. + +The wild flowers were blowing in these Dartford hedges, all those many +summertimes; the larks were singing, high in air; the trees were +rustling as they rustle to-day; the bees went humming by; the light +clouds cast their shadows on the verdant fields. The pleasant little +river Darent ran the same course; sparkled in the same sun; had, then as +now, its tiny circles made by insects; and its plumps and plashes, made +by fish. But, the river has changed, since Wat the Blacksmith, bending +over with his bucket, saw his grimy face, impatient of unjust and +grievous tribute, making remonstrance with him for his long endurance. +Now, there are indeed books in the running brooks—for they go to feed +the Paper-Mill. + +Time was, in the old Saxon days, when there stood a Mill here, “held in +ferm by a Reve,” but _that_ was not a Paper-Mill. Then, came a Nunnery, +with kings’ fair daughters in it; then, a Palace; then, Queen Elizabeth, +in her sixteenth year, to sojourn at the Palace two days; then, in that +reign, a Paper-Mill. In the church yonder, hidden behind the trees, with +many rooks discoursing in their lofty houses between me and it, is the +tomb of Sir John Spielman, jeweller to the Queen when she had grown to +be a dame of a shrewd temper, aged fifty or so: who “built a Paper-Mill +for the making of writing-paper,” and to whom his Royal Mistress was +pleased to grant a license “for the sole gathering for ten years of all +rags, &c., necessary for the making of such paper.” There is a legend +that the same Sir John, in coming here from Germany, to build his Mill, +did bring with him two young lime-trees—then unknown in England—which he +set before his Dartford dwelling-house, and which did flourish +exceedingly; so, that they fanned him with their shadows, when he lay +asleep in the upper story, an ancient gentleman. Now, God rest the soul +of Sir John Spielman, for the love of all the sweet-smelling lime-trees +that have ever greeted me in the land, and all the writing-paper I have +ever blotted! + +But, as I turn down by the hawthorn hedge into the valley, a sound +comes in my ears—like the murmuring and throbbing of a mighty giant, +labouring hard—that would have unbraced all the Saxon bows, and shaken +all the heads off Temple Bar and London Bridge, ever lifted to those +heights from the always butchering, always craving, never +sufficiently-to-be-regretted, brave old English Block. It is the noise +of the Steam Engine. And now, before me, white and clean without, and +radiant in the sun, with the sweet clear river tumbling merrily down +to kiss it, and help in the work it does, is the Paper-Mill I have +come to see! + +It is like the Mill of the child’s story, that ground old people young. +Paper! White, pure, spick and span new paper, with that fresh smell +which takes us back to school and school-books; can it ever come from +rags like these? Is it from such bales of dusty rags, native and +foreign, of every colour and of every kind, as now environ us, shutting +out the summer air and putting cotton into our summer ears, that virgin +paper, to be written on, and printed on, proceeds? We shall see +presently. Enough to consider, at present, what a grave of dress this +rag-store is; what a lesson of vanity it preaches. The coarse blouse of +the Flemish labourer, and the fine cambric of the Parisian lady, the +court dress of the Austrian jailer, and the miserable garb of the +Italian peasant; the woollen petticoat of the Bavarian girl, the linen +head-dress of the Neapolitan woman, the priest’s vestment, the player’s +robe, the Cardinal’s hat, and the ploughman’s nightcap; all dwindle down +to this, and bring their littleness or greatness in fractional portions +here. As it is with the worn, it shall be with the wearers; but there +shall be no dust in our eyes then, though there is plenty now. Not all +the great ones of the earth will raise a grain of it, and nothing but +the Truth will be. + +My conductor leads the way into another room. I am to go, as the rags +go, regularly and systematically through the Mill. I am to suppose +myself a bale of rags. I _am_ rags. + +Here, in another room, are some three-score women at little tables, each +with an awful scythe-shaped knife standing erect upon it, and looking +like the veritable tooth of time. I am distributed among these women, +and worried into smaller shreds—torn cross-wise at the knives. Already I +begin to lose something of my grosser nature. The room is filled with my +finest dust, and, as gratings of me drop from the knives, they fall +through the perforated surface of the tables into receptacles beneath. +When I am small enough, I am bundled up, carried away in baskets, and +stowed in immense bins, until they want me in the Boiling-Room. + +The Boiling-Room has enormous cauldrons in it, each with its own big +lid, hanging to the beams of the roof, and put on by machinery when it +is full. It is a very clean place, “coddled” by much boiling, like a +washer-woman’s fingers, and looks as if the kitchen of the Parish Union +had gone into partnership with the Church Belfry. Here, I am pressed, +and squeezed, and jammed, a dozen feet deep, I should think, into my own +particular cauldron; where I simmer, boil, and stew, a long, long time. +Then, I am a dense, tight mass, cut out in pieces like so much clay—very +clean—faint as to my colour—greatly purified—and gradually becoming +quite ethereal. + +In this improved condition, I am taken to the Cutting-Room. I am very +grateful to the clear fresh water, for the good it has done me; and I am +glad to be put into some more of it, and subjected to the action of +large rollers filled with transverse knives, revolving by steam power +upon iron beds, which favour me with no fewer than two million cuts per +minute, though, within the memory of man, the functions of this machine +were performed by an ordinary pestle and mortar. Such a drumming and +rattling, such a battering and clattering, such a delight in cutting and +slashing, not even the Austrian part of me ever witnessed before. This +continues, to my great satisfaction, until I look like shaving lather; +when I am run off into chambers underneath, to have my friend the water, +from whom I am unwilling to be separated, drained out of me. + +At this time, my colour is a light blue, if I have indigo in me, or a +pale fawn, if I am rags from which the dyes have been expelled. As it is +necessary to bleach the fawn-coloured pulp (the blue being used for +paper of that tint), and as I _am_ fawn-coloured pulp, I am placed in +certain stone chambers, like catacombs, hermetically sealed, excepting +the first compartment, which communicates with a gasometer containing +manganese, vitriol, and salt. From these ingredients, a strong gas (not +agreeable, I must say, to the sense of smell) is generated, and forced +through all the chambers, each of which communicates with the other. +These continue closed, if I remember right, some four-and-twenty hours, +when a man opens them and takes to his heels immediately, to avoid the +offensive gas that rushes out. After I have been aired a little, I am +again conveyed (quite white now, and very spiritual indeed) to some more +obliging rollers upstairs. + +At it these grinders go, “Munch, munch, munch!” like the sailor’s wife +in MACBETH, who had chesnuts in her lap. I look, at first, as if I were +the most delicious curds and whey; presently, I find that I am changed +to gruel—not thin oatmeal gruel, but rich, creamy, tempting, exalted +gruel! As if I had been made from pearls, which some voluptuous Mr. +Emden had converted into groats! + +And now, I am ready to undergo my last astounding transformation, and be +made into paper by the machine. Oh what can I say of the wonderful +machine, which receives me, at one end of a long room, gruel, and +dismisses me at the other, paper! + +Where is the subtle mind of this Leviathan lodged? It must be +somewhere—in a cylinder, a pipe, a wheel—or how could it ever do with me +the miracles it does! How could it receive me on a sheet of wire-gauze, +in my gruel-form, and slide me on, gradually assuming consistency—gently +becoming a little paper-like, a little more, a little more still, very +paper-like, indeed—clinging to wet blankets, holding tight by other +surfaces, smoothly ascending Witney hills, lightly coming down into a +woolly open country, easily rolling over and under a planetary system of +heated cylinders, large and small, and ever growing, as I proceed, +stronger and more paper-like! How does the power that fights the wintry +waves on the Atlantic, and cuts and drills adamantine slabs of metal +like cheese, how does it draw me out, when I am frailest and most liable +to tear, so tenderly and delicately, that a woman’s hand—no, even though +I were a man, very ill and helpless, and she may nurse who loved +me—could never touch me with so light a touch, or with a movement so +unerring! How can I believe, even on experience, that, being of itself +insensible, and only informed with intellect at second hand, it changes +me, in less time than I take to tell it, into any sort of paper that is +wanted, dries me, cuts me into lengths, becomes charged, just before +dismissing me, with electricity, and gathers up the hair of the +attendant-watcher, as if with horror at the mischiefs and desertions +from the right, in which I may be instrumental! Above all, how can I +reconcile its being mere machinery, with its leaving off when it has cut +me into sheets, and NOT conveying me to the Exciseman in the next room, +whom it plainly thinks a most unnatural conclusion! + +I am carried thither on trucks. I am examined, and my defective portions +thrown out, for the Mill, again; I am made up into quires and reams; I +am weighed and excised by the hundredweight; and I am ready for my work. +Of my being made the subject of nonsensical defences of Excise duty, in +the House of Commons, I need say nothing. All the world knows that when +the Right Honourable the Chancellor of the Exchequer, for the time +being, says I am only the worse by a duty of fifteen shillings per +hundredweight, he is a Wrong Honourable, and either don’t know, or don’t +care, anything about me. For, he leaves out of consideration all the +vexatious, depressing, and preventing influences of Excise Duty on any +trade, and all the extra cost and charge of packing and unpacking, +carrying and re-carrying, imposed upon the manufacturer, and of course +upon the public. But we must have it, in future, even with Right +Honourables as with birds. The Chancellor of the Exchequer that can +sing, and won’t sing, must be made to sing—small. + +My metempsychosis ends with the manufacture. I am rags no more, but a +visitor to the Paper-Mill. I am a pleased visitor to see the Mill in +such beautiful order, and the workpeople so thriving; and I think that +my good friend the owner has reason for saying with an agreeable smile, +as we come out upon the sparkling stream again, that he is never so +contented, as when he is in rags. + +Shining up in the blue sky, far above the Paper-Mill, a mere speck in +the distance, is a Paper Kite. It is an appropriate thing at the +moment—not to swear by (we have enough of that already) but to hope by, +with a devout heart. May all the Paper that I sport with, soar as +innocently upward as the paper kite, and be as harmless to the holder as +the kite is to the boy! May it bring, to some few minds, such fresh +associations; and to me no worse remembrances than the kite that once +plucked at my own hand like an airy friend. May I always recollect that +paper has a mighty Duty, set forth in no Schedule of Excise, and that +its names are love, forbearance, mercy, progress, scorn of the Hydra +Cant with all its million heads! + +So, back by the green lanes, and the old Priory—a farm now, and none the +worse for that—and away among the lime-trees, thinking of Sir John. + + + + + CHEERFUL ARITHMETIC. + + +“Competition is fast crushing us!” the tradesman exclaims as he drives +you out to his elegant villa behind his seventy-guinea gelding. “Wheat +at forty shillings a quarter is ruin!” groans the farmer, while dallying +with his champagne glass. “_We_ are all going to the workhouse.”—“A +diamond necklace, my dear?” replies the mill-owner to a lovely +Lancashire witch, whose smile is on other occasions law—“What? two +hundred pounds for a bauble, while calico is only three farthings a +yard, and cotton-spinning on the brink of bankruptcy. Impossible!” +Should these gentlemen ever meet it is ten to one that on comparing +notes they resolve unanimously that the whole country is going to the +dogs; but it is also ten to one that this resolution is passed at a +public dinner to which they have each cheerfully contributed +one-pound-one: besides another guinea to the occasion of the feast:—some +plethoric, bloated, routine charity. + +Considering their patriotic despondency in regard to the utterly +hopeless condition of the nation, it is wonderful to observe the +contented complacency with which these gentlemen eat their filberts and +sip their claret. Neither is this stoic philosophy confined to them +alone. All sorts of predicted want and impending misery are borne with +exemplary fortitude by all sorts of Englishmen. The skilful artisan +seldom allows a week to pass without deploring the inadequacy of wages; +but, although he manages to get a good Sunday’s dinner some fifty times +a year, and once or twice in the twelvemonth indulges his family with a +healthful pleasure trip in the country, he is able to scrape up a few +pounds in the savings’ bank. Yet if you ask him touching the state of +things in his particular line, he will tell you that “Times never were +so bad.” So universally is the propensity to depreciate things as they +are, that if a commission were appointed to inquire into the state of +the nation, their report, if derived solely from the evidence of +well-to-do witnesses, would be lugubrious in the extreme. It is only the +very poor who gaze cheerfully into the future; for their existence is a +condition of hope. They apprehend nothing, for they have nothing to +lose; whatever change fortune may bring, must be, they believe, for the +better. + +Happily, better testimony, to the real condition of the industrious +classes is producible than that dark cloud of witnesses who speak out of +the fulness of an Englishman’s privilege—grumbling. That testimony has +been lucidly sifted, and was adduced by Mr. G. R. Porter at the recent +meeting of the British Association in Edinburgh. It consisted—in proof +of the well-being and continued progress of our country—of a comparison +between the income tax returns in respect of incomes derived from trades +and professions in 1812, and the like returns in 1848, excluding from +the former period the incomes below one hundred and fifty pounds; which, +under the existing law, are allowed to pass untaxed. The total amount +thus assessed, after deducting exemptions, was, in 1812, about +twenty-one millions and a quarter; while, in 1848, the amount was nearly +fifty-seven millions; showing an increase, in thirty-six years, of about +thirty-five millions and three-quarters, or one hundred and sixty-eight +per cent.; being at the rate of upwards of four and a half per cent., +yearly:—an increase very nearly three-fold greater than the increase +during the same period of the population of Great Britain; where, alone, +the income tax flourishes in full bloom. + +But how has this three-fold prosperity been distributed? Have the rich +grown richer, and the poor, poorer; or has Fortune taken off her bandage +and rewarded honest industry, with a discriminating hand? Have the bulk +of the people shared in the productive wealth which thirty-six years +have accumulated? In order to answer these questions, Mr. Porter entered +into a series of elaborate and interesting calculations, which prove the +pleasing fact that the great progressive wealth _has_ been shared among +the middle and working classes. + +He found that the returns of 1812 as well as those of 1848 gave the sums +assessed to Income Tax in various classes; and, for the purpose of his +examination, he distinguished the incomes thus given:—those between one +hundred and fifty pounds and five hundred pounds; those between five +hundred pounds and one thousand pounds; incomes between one thousand +pounds and two thousand pounds; incomes between two thousand pounds and +five thousand pounds; and those above five thousand pounds. Adhering +strictly to these distinctions, Mr. Porter perceived, in 1848, a +positive increase in incomes between one hundred and fifty and five +hundred pounds per annum, of thirteen millions seven hundred thousand +pounds, over the incomes assessed in 1812. Between five hundred pounds +and one thousand pounds per annum, the increase since 1812 has been five +millions. On incomes between one thousand pounds and two thousand +pounds, and incomes between two thousand pounds and five thousand +pounds, there is an increase of upwards of four millions respectively; +while in the highest class, which includes all incomes above five +thousand pounds per annum, the increase is found to be no more than +eight millions and three-quarters. Comparing the highest with the lowest +class, the increase has been greater in the lowest by nearly five +millions—or fifty-six per cent. + +This improvement in circumstances, however, descends to no lower a class +of society than persons in the receipt of at least one hundred and fifty +pounds per annum. It was necessary to dig a little lower in the strata +of private circumstances, in order to show the progress of wealth among +the working classes; and Mr. Porter had recourse to the returns from +savings’ banks; these being chiefly used by the humbler orders. From +data thus derived it was ascertained, that, while the deposits in +England, Wales, and Ireland, proportioned to the whole population, +amounted in 1831 to twelve shillings and eightpence per head; in 1848 +they had risen to twenty shillings and eleven-pence per individual. The +largest amount of these savings occurred in 1846; when they reached, in +England alone, to more than twenty-six millions and three-quarters, and +in the three Kingdoms, to more than thirty-one millions seven hundred +thousand pounds, being equal to twenty-four shillings per head on the +population of England, Wales, and Ireland, and ten shillings and one +penny per head on that of Scotland.[1] + +Footnote 1: + + The comparative smallness of the deposits in Scotland arises from two + causes: first, the system of allowing interest upon very small sums + deposited in private and joint-stock banks; and, secondly, the more + recent connexion of savings’ banks with the Government in that + division of the kingdom. Hence, there is no reason for supposing that + the labouring-classes of Scotland are less saving than those of + England or Ireland. + +The exceeding moderation of this estimate will be observed when we +mention another description of savings’ banks which Mr. Porter has taken +no account of—we mean Friendly Societies. Of these, there are fourteen +thousand in Great Britain, regularly enrolled according to Act of +Parliament, consisting of one million six hundred thousand members, with +a gross annual revenue of two millions eight hundred thousand, and +accumulated capital amounting to six millions four hundred thousand +pounds sterling. To this must be added the capital belonging to +unenrolled benefit societies (exclusive of those in Ireland), which has +been estimated at a greater amount than those which exist “as the Act +directs;” namely, at nine millions sterling, belonging to two millions +and a half of members. It is indeed a most gratifying proof of the +prudential, and therefore moral, as well as pecuniary advance which this +country has made during the past thirty years, that half our labouring +male population belong to Friendly Societies. The operative classes of +Great Britain alone possess, at this moment, capital in savings’ banks +and friendly societies, the total of which reaches the enormous sum of +forty-two millions of money. How very like national ruin _this_ looks! + +In further proof of the greater distribution of means among the humbler +than the higher orders, we can turn once more to Mr. Porter, who assures +us that in proportion as the savings of the industrious poor have +augmented, the dividends received at the Bank by the “comfortable” and +the rich have decreased. + +The test of the dividend-books of the Bank of England, to which Mr. +Porter next brought his calculations, varies essentially from that +afforded by the progress of savings’ banks; inasmuch as it excludes all +evidence of actual saving or accumulation, while it offers a strictly +comparative view of such saving as between different classes of the +community. The accounts furnished to Parliament by the Bank of the +number of persons entitled to dividends upon portions of the public +debt, divide the fund-holders into ten classes, according to the amount +of which they are so entitled. Mr. Porter contrasted the numbers in each +class as they stood on the 5th of April and 5th of July of the years +1831 and 1848, respectively. He then went on to show, that there has +been a very large addition between 1831 and 1848 to the number of +persons receiving under five pounds at each payment of dividends, and a +small increase upon the number receiving between five pounds and ten +pounds, while, with the exception of the largest holders—those whose +dividends exceed two thousand pounds at each payment, and of whom there +has been an increase of five—every other class has experienced a +considerable decrease in its numbers. There has been a diminution of +more than Eight per cent. in the numbers receiving between three hundred +pounds and five hundred pounds; of Twelve and a half per cent. of those +receiving between five hundred pounds and one thousand pounds; and of +more than Twenty per cent. among holders of stock yielding dividends +between one thousand pounds and two thousand pounds; this would seem +conclusively to prove that, at least as respects this mode of disposing +of accumulations, there is not any reason to believe that the already +rich are acquiring greater wealth at the expense of the rest of the +community. + +All evidence proves, then, that the great accession of wealth which has +been accumulated in this country during the past thirty years, has been +most distributed amongst the middle classes. The natural effect of a +change from agricultural to manufacturing industry—a change which has +come over this country during the roll of a single century—is to +increase the wealth of the manufacturing and trading elements of the +community, in proportion as these are called into activity. The “great +fortunes” of the old time were nobles and land-holders; the millionaires +of to-day are merchants, bankers, and mill-owners. Forty years ago a +rich retail tradesman was a rarity; his dealings with the wholesale +trade were chiefly carried on by means of bills at long dates, in which +large sums were included for risk and interest; charges which decreased +his profits, and increased the price of all articles to the consumer. +Now the more frequent rule amongst retailers is prompt payment, +discounts in their own favour, and affluence. In our “nation of +shopkeepers,” it is industry which has prospered and had its reward. + +Turning from the British Association to the Poor-Law Board—from Mr. +Porter to Mr. Baines—we shall see that in the scramble for wealth, +pauperism itself has benefited; that, in fact, the highest grades in the +scale of society have benefited as little as the very lowest. It is true +that in the progress of accumulation by manufactures, the necessity of +bringing large masses of operatives into confined _foci_, and of +providing work for them at all times and seasons, has caused temporary +spasms of poverty, that have occasionally almost defied relief; but +despite the rapid increase of the population, the ranks of what may be +called permanent pauperism have not been augmented. Consequently the +increased wealth of the country has descended even to the lowest ranks +of the people. In the year 1813, when the population of England and +Wales was only ten millions, the sum expended for the relief of the poor +amounted to six millions and a half sterling. From the return of the +Poor-Law Board, now before us, it appears that during the year which +ended on Lady Day, 1849, and with a population in England and Wales of +one-third more—or nearly fifteen millions—the exactions for poors’-rates +amounted to no more than five millions, seven hundred and ninety-two +thousand, nine hundred and sixty-three pounds—three-quarters of a +million less than was drawn for the pauperism of 1813. The poor have +ceased to regard the rich, as a class, as their natural enemies. We hear +no more, now, of a “grinding oligarchy.” + +Besides the decrease of poor rates, other taxes have diminished. Let the +three grumblers with whom we started be pleased to remember that, no +longer ago than 1815, when war had done its worst on the lives and +fortunes of our fathers, they were taxed at the enormous rate of five +pounds four shillings and ten pence a head to each individual of the +population, from the centegenarian to the latest born baby; while we, in +this day and generation of “ruin,” pay per head, only fifty shillings +and eleven-pence, or scarcely one-half. + +It is the strength and safeguard of the English nation, that its most +prominent elements are industry and commerce; for, tending as they do, +to the general dissemination, as well as to the general accumulation of +wealth, they effect a fusion of interests—a union of classes, and a +dependence of each upon the others—which is true national power. At the +moment at which we write, we learn from local sources of information, +the accuracy of which we have never had occasion to question, that +skilled labour of nearly every kind is in demand in the manufacturing +districts; and that all sorts of capable “hands” can have work. +Everything indicates improvement. If, indeed, our friends the Croakers +will only look their phantom “Ruin” boldly in the face, his gaunt form +will soon assume the smiling semblance of Prosperity. + + + + + AN EMIGRANT AFLOAT. + + +I knew very little of the sea when I determined to emigrate. Like most +emigrants, I thought beforehand more of the dangers than of the +disagreeables of this voyage; but found, when actually at sea, that its +disagreeables seemed more formidable than its dangers. I shall describe +the voyage, in order that those who follow me may know precisely what it +is that they have to encounter, satisfied as I am, that nothing will +tend more to conduce to the comforts of the emigrant at sea, than his +being able to take a full and accurate measure of its disagreeable as +well as its agreeable accompaniments, before stepping on board. + +It was late in the afternoon of a bright May day, when the Seagull, 480 +tons register, and bound for Quebec, spread her wings to the wind, after +having been towed out of the harbour of Greenock. A gentle breeze +carried her smoothly by the point of Gourock, the Holy Loch, Dunoon, and +other places familiar to the tourist on the noble Frith of Clyde. We +were off the neat little town of Largs, when the shadows of evening +thickened around us. I was one of more than a hundred steerage +passengers, most of whom soon afterwards went below for the night, many +with heavy hearts, thinking that they had seen the last glimpses of +their native land. + +I remained long enough on deck to perceive the approach of a marked +change in the weather. We were still landlocked, when the wind veered +round to the west, directly ahead of us. It increased so rapidly in +violence, that by the time we were off Brodick, in the Island of Arran, +it was blowing more than half a gale. As we tacked to and fro to gain +the open sea, the vessel laboured heavily, and I soon felt sufficiently +squeamish to descend and seek refuge in my berth. Here a scene awaited +me for which I was but little prepared. With very few exceptions, all +below were far advanced in sea-sickness. Some were groaning in their +berths; others were lying upon the floor, in a semi-torpid state; and +others, again, were retching incessantly. What a contrast was the +Seagull then, to the neat, tempting picture she presented when lying +quietly in dock, and when, as I paced her white, dry, warm, sunny decks, +visions filled my mind of the pleasant days at sea before me, when, +reclining on the cordage, beneath the shelter of the bulwarks, I could +read the live-long day, whilst the stout ship sped merrily on her +voyage. Delightful anticipations! Let no one be extravagant in forming +them, unless he has a preference for disappointment. My faith in the +romance of the sea was greatly shaken by my first night’s experiences on +board, and it soon received a fatal blow from the commotion which was +being gradually engendered within my own frame, and which, at length, +resulted in a catastrophe. I could not sleep, for as the gale increased, +so did the noises within and without. I could hear the heavy wind +whistling mournfully through the damp, tight-drawn cordage, and the +waves breaking in successive showers on the deck overhead. It made my +flesh creep, too, to hear the water trickling by my very ear, as it +rushed along outside the two-inch plank which (pleasing thought) was all +that separated me from destruction. As the storm gained upon us, the +ship laboured more and more heavily, until, at length, with each lurch +which she made, everything moveable in the steerage rolled about from +side to side on the floor. Pots and pans, trunks, boxes, and pieces of +crockery kept up a most noisy dance for the entire night, their +respective owners being so ill as to be utterly indifferent to the fate +of their property. In the midst of the horrid din, I could distinguish +the distressing groan of the strong man prostrated by sea-sickness, the +long-drawn sigh and scarcely audible complaint of the woman, and the +sickly wail of the neglected child; and, that nothing might be wanting +to heighten the horrors of the scene, we were all this time in perfect +darkness, every light on board having been extinguished for hours. + +Morning was far advanced as I fell into a fitful and feverish sleep. On +awaking, I found all as still as before leaving port. My +fellow-passengers were all on deck; and I hurried up after them to +ascertain the cause of the change. It was soon explained. The gale had, +at length, become so violent, that the ship had put back for shelter, +and was now lying quietly at anchor in the beautiful bay of Rothesay. + +But what a change had, in the meantime, taken place in the appearance of +my fellow-passengers. The buoyant air of yesterday had disappeared; and +those who were then in ruddy health, now looked pale and woebegone. Such +was the effect of our night’s prostration. + +For my own part, I began to feel that I had already had enough of the +sea, and heartily wished myself safe ashore on the banks of the St. +Lawrence. I had formerly experienced a sort of enthusiasm in listening +to such songs, as “The sea, the sea, the open sea!” “A life on the ocean +wave!” &c., &c. But had anyone on board now struck up either of them, I +should assuredly have set him down for a maniac. We remained for two +days in Rothesay Bay, waiting for a change of wind, during which time we +recruited our spirits—and water, a fresh stock of which we shipped. It +was not, therefore, without some of the lightness of heart, which had +characterised our first start, that, on the morning of the third day, we +made way again for the New World. But it seemed as if we were never to +get rid of the coast, for we were overtaken by a dead calm off Ailsa, +causing delay for ten days more sweltering under a hot sun, within half +a mile of that lonely and stupendous rock. On the evening of the second +day a gentle breeze from the northeast carried us out of the Channel, +and next morning found us with all sail set, speeding westward, with the +Irish coast on our lee. + +We were a very mixed company in the steerage. Some had been farmers, and +were going out to try their hands at agriculture in the wilds of Canada. +Others had been servants, predial and domestic, and were on their way in +search of better fortunes in the New World, although they had not yet +made up their minds as to the precise manner in which they were to woo +the fickle dame. We had a brace of wives on board who were proceeding to +join their husbands in Canada, who had prudently preceded their +families, and prepared for their advent, by constructing a home for them +in the woods. There was an old man with a slender capital, who was +emigrating at an advanced period of life, that he might make a better +provision for his grandson, a lusty youth of about seventeen, of whom he +seemed doatingly fond. We had also amongst us a large family from +Edinburgh, of that class of people who have “seen better days,” who were +hurrying across the Atlantic in the hope of at least catching a glimpse +of them again. Besides the father and mother, there were several sons +and two daughters, the eldest son having duly qualified himself for the +honour of writing W. S. after his name—a nominal appendage which he +would find of far less value to him than a good axe in the woods. We had +a clergyman, too, of the poorer class, in worldly circumstances, who had +been accredited as a missionary to the Canadian wilds. I must not +overlook four or five infants, the precise ownership of which I never +thoroughly traced, they were so tumbled about from one to another; and +which generally of nights favoured us with prolonged choruses of the +most enlivening description. + +Thus mixed and assorted, the first few days passed off agreeably enough +to such as were proof against a relapse of sea-sickness. When it was not +blowing too strong, the deck was a pleasant place for exercise, which is +necessary to comfort, as it is generally cold and disagreeable at sea, +except when calm, and then one is annoyed, whilst being broiled, at the +thought of making no progress. The chief occupation on board, seemed to +be that of cooking and eating. The cooking apparatus for the steerage +was on deck; each family, and each individual who had no family, was +continually cooking for themselves. As the accommodation for cooking was +not very ample for upwards of a hundred passengers, there was scarcely +an hour of the day between sunrise and sunset, that was not witness to +the progress of some culinary operations—men, women, and children were +constantly appearing and disappearing at the hatchways with pots, +saucepans, kettles, and other utensils; and it was not long ere some +began to fear, having made but little account of the voracity of +appetite engendered by convalescence after sea-sickness, that their +stock of provisions would prove rather scanty for the voyage. + +Perhaps the greatest privation to which the poor steerage passenger is +subjected, is in connection with the water which he uses for drinking +and in some of his cooking processes. As the voyage may be protracted +beyond reasonable calculation, an extra supply of fresh water is or +should be laid in to meet such an emergency. To preserve this extra +stock from becoming impure, different devices are resorted to,—such as +impregnating it with lime, large quantities of which are thrown into +each cask. Were this the case only with the extra stock, the comfort of +the passenger might, for a time at least, be unimpaired in this respect; +but the misfortune is, that all the water for steerage consumption, +immediate and contingent, is treated in the same way; so that the +emigrant is scarcely out of harbour, when he finds the water of which he +makes use not only extremely unpalatable to drink, but in such a state +as to spoil every decoction into which it enters. Fancy a cup of tea +without cream, but with sugar and coarse lime, in about equal +proportions, to flavour it. The most unquestionable sloe leaves might, +under such circumstances, pass for young hyson, and the worst of chicory +for the best of coffee. This sorely discomfited the more elderly of the +females on board, whose cup of life was poisoned by very thin mortar. + +On the fifth day out, after gaining the open sea, we were overtaken by a +tremendous gale, which did us considerable damage. I was standing near +the forecastle, when a heavy block dropped from aloft with terrific +force at my feet. I had scarcely recovered from my fright, when crash +after crash over head, making me run under the jolly boat in terror. For +a moment afterwards all was still, and then arose a tremendous uproar on +board, officers giving all sorts of directions at once, and sailors +running about, and jumping over each other to obey them. When I ventured +to peep out from my place of safety, a sad spectacle of wreck and ruin +presented itself to me. On our lee, masts, ropes, spars, and sails were +floating alongside on the uneasy waters. Our fore-top-mast had given +way, and in falling overboard, had dragged the maintop-gallant mast and +the greater part of our bowsprit along with it. Sails and rigging went +of course with the wreck, which was provoking, as the wind was a-beam +and so far favourable. We soon hauled the wreck on board, however, and +in the course of two or three days, with the aid of the carpenter, the +dismantled ship was re-rigged in a very creditable manner. + +We had scarcely yet put to rights, when a vessel made up to us bound +westward like ourselves. What a sight to the lonely wanderers on the +ocean is a ship at sea!—it seems like a herald coming to you from the +world, from which you are seemingly cut off for ever. It is a sight +which must be seen to be appreciated. She was labouring heavily on our +lee, and every now and then her whole keel became visible to us. To +this, one of the passengers very innocently directed attention, much to +the horror of the second mate, who smartly rebuked the offender; it +being, he said, not only indelicate, but perilous to own having seen the +keel of any ship under canvas. We all, of course, admitted the +reasonableness of this caution, and strictly observed it. + +The ship was no sooner repaired, than the wind, which had abated a +little, seemed to redouble its fury. We were now in the midst of a +terrible storm, and great was the commotion in the steerage. Some moaned +in pain—others screamed occasionally in terror—whilst one old lady was +constantly inquiring in a most piteous voice, if there was not one good +man on board, for whose sake the rest might be saved. On making the +inquiry of a rough, but good-natured tar, he rebuked her scepticism, and +referred her to the minister. We had two sailors on board, named Peter. +One was an ordinary looking mortal, from whom the other was +distinguished by the appellation of Peter the Leerer, a name having +reference to the extraordinary facial phenomena which he exhibited. On +the point of his nose was an enormous wart, the counterpart of which had +taken possession of his chin. He had likewise one, but of smaller +dimensions, on either cheek, only wanting one on his forehead, to +complete the diagram; a want, which, for most of the voyage, was +providentially made up by a large pimple, which underlay his bump of +benevolence. Add to this an enormous quantity of wiry red hair, and a +portentous squint, and you may form some conception of the goblin in +question. He was the terror of all the children on board, and came +regularly into the steerage in the morning, begging a “toothful” from +the passengers. We never saw his tooth, but it must have been very +large, as what he meant by the term was a glass of raw spirits, to the +strength of which he was stoically indifferent, so that it was above +proof. It appeared that he now thought that the time had come for making +some sort of return for sundry gifts of this nature. He appeared amongst +us, as the storm was at its height, and confidentially informed us that, +unless some of the “canvas” were immediately taken down, the ship “had +not another hour’s life in her.” To describe the confusion and dismay +occasioned by this announcement is impossible. Nobody questioned Peter’s +judgment, who stood looking at us as if he thought that one good turn +deserved another. But every one was too much frightened to think of +rewarding him for his kindness. Some ran at once upon deck to take +immediate advantage of the boats—the women all screamed together—and we +had a pretty tolerable taste of the horrors to be witnessed on the eve +of a shipwreck. The hubbub at length ended in the appointment of a +deputation to wait upon the captain, and solicit him to shorten sail. +The deputation went upon its mission, but soon afterwards returned from +the cabin to their constituents with the report that they had been +politely requested by the functionary in question to mind their own +business. The storm, however, gradually abated, and things and persons +resumed their ordinary aspect. + +Great was the anxiety evinced every time the log was thrown, to +ascertain our rate of sailing, and at noon of each day, to know our +daily run, and our precise locality on the terraqueous globe. It is +difficult for an emigrant to reconcile himself to less than eight or +nine knots an hour. He may put up with seven, or even six, provided the +ship is in her direct course, but he regards everything below that as a +justifiable ground of murmuring and complaint. Sometimes it is the ship +that is wrong, and sometimes the captain, sometimes the rigging, and at +other times, all is wrong together. But to do the emigrant justice, if +he is in the surly mood when he is making but little progress, he makes +amends for his ill-humour when the vessel is making a good run. We, one +day, made but about twenty miles, and I apprehended a mutiny. On another +we made two hundred, and nothing could exceed the hilarity and +good-humour of those on board. At one time, the Seagull was the merest +tub, a disgrace to her owners, and to the mercantile navy of the +kingdom. At another, she was one of the best vessels afloat; the captain +one of the best sailors on the sea; and the crew the cleverest set of +fellows in the world. But all this time it was the same ship, the same +captain, and the same crew. The diversity of opinion was the result of +extraneous circumstances which caused us at different times to take +different points of view. If the weather was favourable, and we made +good way, the ship, captain, and crew, got all the honour and glory; if +it was adverse and our progress was retarded, the ship, captain, and +crew, had to bear all our sinister glances and ill humours. One morning, +after we had been about ten days out, our minds were all made up that we +were pretty near the banks of Newfoundland, when a fellow-passenger, +evidently not very deeply versed in human nature, had the hardihood to +inform us that he had, but the day before, seen the mate’s log book, +from which it appeared that we were as yet but five hundred miles to the +westward of the Irish coast. I can scarcely understand to this day, how +it was that he escaped being thrown overboard. + +We had two men on board, the very antipodes of each other. The one was a +colossal bachelor, who was never ill; the other a diminutive member of a +large family, who was never well. They resembled each other only in one +point—that they both ate prodigiously. The only account the bachelor +could give of himself was that he was going out to Canada to saw the big +trees. He had, in fact, been engaged as a sawyer to proceed to the banks +of the Ottawa, there to prosecute his avocation in connection with some +of the large timber establishments, which are situated far up that noble +river. He was so powerful a fellow, that a Yankee passenger declared “he +would have only to look at a tree to bring it down.” He lived, whilst on +board, on nothing but oatmeal porridge, a large goblet-full of which, +after first making it himself, he devoured regularly on deck four times +a day. As to the little man, he lived, as regularly, on mashed potatoes, +enriched with butter and melted cheese; and his meals were invariably +followed by fits of sea-sickness which he considered quite +unaccountable. His habits became at length such a scandal to all on +board, that the doctor was compelled, by the force of public opinion, to +order him to eat less. He had remained below from our time of starting, +until the day we made land, when he appeared on deck for the first time, +and was for the first time seen without his nightcap. + +When we had been about three weeks at sea an incident occurred which +appalled us all, and elicited the sympathies of everyone for one of the +unfortunate sufferers. I have already alluded to the old man, who was +emigrating with his only grandson, whom he wished to see comfortably +settled in life, ere his eyes were sealed in death. The youth was one of +several on board who were fond, after having been a few days at sea, of +climbing the rigging, and exposing themselves to a variety of +unnecessary risks. He had been frequently warned, with the rest, against +the consequences which might ensue, but disregarded the advice. One day, +whilst out upon the bowsprit, he missed his hold and dropped into the +water. The alarm of “man overboard” was instantly raised, and, to save +him, the ship was immediately hove to; but he had disappeared, and +although we remained for an hour upon the spot, we never caught a +glimpse of him again. One of the men near him at the time said that, on +reaching the water, he was struck on the head by the cut-water of the +ship, which was then running about eight knots an hour. The blow stunned +him, and he sank like a stone. The poor old man was inconsolable, and +gradually sank into a state of vacant imbecility; and, on landing, found +a home in the Lunatic Asylum at Quebec. + +Let no one dream that the sea, particularly on board an emigrant ship, +is the place for reading or study. It is either too cold, when there is +the slightest breeze, or too hot when it is calm: it is too noisy at all +times. Happy is he who, under such circumstances, has a resource against +_ennui_ in his own reflections. Having a clergyman on board, we had +divine service regularly on the Sundays. When it was rough, the +assemblage took place between decks in the steerage; but when fine we +were convened upon deck. Sailors have a dread, not exactly of clergymen +in the abstract, but of clergymen on board. A blackbird on the rigging +as the ship is about to start, or a clergyman on board, is equally, in +their estimation, a token of ill luck; and some of the crew pitied us +for anticipating anything else, under the circumstances. + +If there is one thing more disagreeable than a storm at sea, it is a +calm. It is all very well for a steamer, which can then make her way +nobly over the waters; but, the annoyance and tedium on board a sailing +vessel are indescribable. In all our calms we were surrounded by +sea-gulls and other marine birds. Some of them ventured so close as to +be shot; others we endeavoured to catch by means of baited hooks tied to +a stick, which was attached to a long cord; but they were too wary for +us, for, after closely examining it, they fought shy of the temptation. + +On nearing the banks of Newfoundland we were constantly immersed in +fogs. One morning, whilst thus situated, the temperature of the sea +suddenly lowered, which the captain interpreted into an indication of +icebergs not being far off, and a sharp look out was ordered to be kept. +It was scarcely noon ere we were in imminent peril of running at full +speed against one. We owed our escape to a passenger, who was on the +lookout, and who called the attention of one of the sailors to something +ahead of us. “Starboard—starboard hard!”—cried he at once to the man at +the wheel. The helm was scarcely turned ere we glided rapidly by the +frozen mass, which gleamed like a huge emerald in the faint and +struggling sunlight. We passed so close to it that I could have leaped +upon it with ease. We might as well have run against a whinstone rock as +encountered this floating peril, at the rate at which we were then +gliding through the water. + +Whilst crossing the banks the ship was frequently hove to for soundings. +We took advantage of such occasions to fish for cod; nor were we +unsuccessful, for we, altogether, hauled on board several dozen fish of +a large size. The delight with which we feasted upon our prey, after +some weeks’ experience of nothing but salt meat, I leave the reader to +imagine. It was during one of our angling attempts that an incident +occurred, which would have seemed as incredible to me as it may now do +the reader, had I not been an eye-witness of it. One of the crew, whilst +fishing for a few minutes, with a line belonging to a passenger, hooked +a very large fish, which dropped into the water in the act of being +hauled on board. The man, determined on securing his prize, without a +moment’s hesitation, leaped overboard after it; and, seizing the half +insensible fish in his arms, held it there until he was hauled on board, +with his extraordinary booty. In explanation of this, it should be known +that the gills of a cod-fish, when out of the water, swell considerably, +so as to prevent it from properly performing their functions when +restored, even alive, to its native element. It was whilst the fish in +question was in the act of thus “coming to” that the man seized and +secured it. + +On the banks, when the night was clear, we witnessed magnificent +exhibitions of the aurora-borealis. It was generally between midnight +and ten in the morning that the phenomenon attained the greatest +splendour. When the whole northern sky was enveloped in a trellis-work +of flashing wavy light, of a mingled golden, silvery pink, and blood-red +hue. + +The first land we made, was Cape Breton, an island off the northern +extremity of Nova Scotia; and between which and Newfoundland, is the +entrance to the Gulf of St. Lawrence. The bold shore of the island was +more picturesque than inviting; but for the live-long day every +passenger strained his eyes upon this, the first positive revelation of +the New World to him. The delight imparted by the first sight of land, +can only be appreciated by those who have been for weeks at sea, with +nothing to meet the eye, day after day, but the same monotonous and +dreary circle of waters, in the midst of which the ship seems to rest +immoveable. From Cape Breton we stood up the Gulf, and being favoured by +the wind, soon made the Island of Anticosti, not far from the mouth of +the St. Lawrence. It looked like a mass of petrified guano; an illusion +which was not disturbed by the myriads of water-fowl which hovered about +its precipices. + +The Gulf of St. Lawrence has not been inaptly designated, the “vilest of +seas.” It was our lot to have ample experience of its capricious +humours. When almost at the mouth of the river, which expands into a +magnificent estuary of from seventy to ninety miles in width, we were +becalmed for two whole days. Between us and the rocky shore on our left, +to which we were very close, lay a vessel from Belfast, crowded with +emigrants. There was music and dancing on board; and so near were we to +each other, that we, too, sometimes danced to the sound of her solitary +violin. On the evening of the second day, we were suddenly overtaken by +a furious squall, which descending the river, came upon us so +unprepared, that much of our canvas was cut to pieces ere it could be +taken in. In about half an hour all was comparatively tranquil again, +but on looking for our comrade, not a vestige of her was to be seen. It +was not for three weeks afterwards, when we heard of her total loss, +with upwards of three hundred and fifty souls on board, that our +dreadful suspicions respecting her, were confirmed. Next morning it blew +very fresh; and although it was the 3rd of June, we had several heavy +falls of snow. + +After beating about for two days longer in the mouth of the river, we +were boarded by a pilot, and made way for Quebec, about four hundred +miles up. The ascent of the stream is sometimes exceedingly tedious; as, +when the wind is adverse, it is necessary to come to anchor at every +turn of the tide. Thus as much time is sometimes consumed in ascending +the river, as in crossing the Atlantic. We were more fortunate, for we +made the quarantine ground, thirty miles below the city, in ten days. +Under such circumstances, the sail up the river is interesting and +agreeable. For the first hundred miles or so, it is so wide, that land +on either side is but dimly visible. But, as the estuary narrows, +objects on either side become more distinct. The northern shore, which +is bold and mountainous, is replete with scenes of the most romantic +grandeur. The southern bank being much tamer in its character, and more +adapted for human habitations. The channel too, some distance up, is +occasionally studded with islands, which add greatly to the interest of +the sail. + +The quarantine ground of Canada is Gros Isle, between which and Quebec +stretches the long Island of Orleans. We had scarcely dropped anchor +when we were boarded by an officer of the Board of Health. Whilst +ascending the river, the ship had been thoroughly cleaned, and the +berths in the steerage white-washed. We were all passed in review before +the functionary in question, and could have been at once permitted to +proceed to our destination, but for one old lady, who was not exactly +ill, but ailing; on her account we were detained until every piece of +clothing on board had undergone a thorough ablution. We landed +immediately in boats, and, after having been for about six weeks at sea, +it was with inexpressible joy that I sprang ashore, for the first time, +in the New World. + +Gros Isle! With what melancholy associations have the events of 1847 +encircled the name of the Canadian lazaretto! On our arrival, in a year +when the tide of emigration was not strong, there was a little fleet +anchored along side of it. Some of the vessels (they were all from +Ireland), with their overloaded cargoes of human beings, had been +already there for a month, nor was there any prospect of their being +relieved for some weeks to come. There was an hospital for the sick; the +accommodation ashore for such as were well, consisted of several large +open sheds, tolerably well covered and floored. In these, meals were +taken during the day, and beds were made for the night. Outside, the +scene presented was picturesque, and even gay; there were nearly three +thousand people ashore, and a universal washing of clothes of all kinds +was going on; the water being heated by hundreds of wood fires, which +were blazing and smoking amongst the rocks in the open air. When there +were families, the families belonging to them washed for them; such as +were alone had to hire the services of professional washerwomen. The +appliances of washing are rather peculiar. Between high and low +water-mark the island was very rocky, and the action of the water had +here and there scooped out bowls of various sizes from the rock. Into +them, for the most part, the hot water was poured, and in them, between +tides, the clothes were washed. They were then spread upon the rocks, or +hung upon the trees to dry, which gave the island a holiday look. It was +anything, however, but a holiday time for hundreds, who were forced to +tenant it. + +To our great satisfaction, we were permitted, after but one day’s +detention, to resume our course. With wind and tide in our favour, we +soon dropped up to the city. It was a clear and brilliant morning in +June when we left Gros Isle, and as we made our way up the narrow +channel between the Island of Orleans and the southern bank of the +river, nothing could exceed the beauty of the scene, the great basin, +into which the city juts, being visible in the distance, directly ahead +of us, whilst the precipitous bank on either side, particularly that on +our left, was covered with the most luxuriant vegetation, in the shade +of which we could, every here and there, discover foaming torrents, +dashing headlong from the country above into the river, like those +which, after heavy rains, rush with such fury down the western bank of +Loch Ness. On opening one of the points of the Isle Orleans, the +cataract of Montmorency burst suddenly upon our view, looking in the +distance like a long streak of snow amid the rich green foliage which +imbedded it. Considerably higher up, Point Levy still projected between +us and the city, but long before we turned it, we could see over it the +British flag floating in the distance from the lofty battlements of Cape +Diamond. On turning the point, the change of scene was as sudden and +complete as any ever effected by the scenic contrivances of the stage. +The city was at once disclosed to view, skirting the fort and crowning +the summit of the bold rocky promontory on which it stands, its tinned +roofs and steeples gleaming in the sunlight, as if they were cased in +silver. Very few vessels were at the wharves, but abreast of the city +hundreds were anchored in the middle of the stream, some getting rid of +their ballast, and others surrounded by islands of timber, with which +they were being loaded. The clearness of the air, the brightness of the +sky, the merry tumble of the water, slightly ruffled by a fresh easterly +breeze, the singular position and quaint appearance of the town, with +its massive battlements, its glistening turrets, and its break-neck +looking streets, zigzagging up the precipice, with the rich greenery of +the Heights of Abraham beyond, and that of Point Levy right opposite, +and with hundreds of vessels lying quietly at anchor on the broad +expanse of the river, whilst the echoes reverberated to the merry +choruses of their busy crews,—all conspired to form a picture calculated +to make an impression upon the imagination too deep to be ever effaced. + +The anchor had scarcely dropped, terminating our long and weary voyage, +when we were boarded by a Custom-House officer, and by an officer of the +Board of Health. After another inspection, we were permitted to land; +and it was not without many anxious reflections upon the novelty of my +situation, that I found myself retiring that night to rest within a +stone’s throw of the monument raised to the joint memories of Wolf and +Montcalm. + +Such were the incidents of my voyage. I have set them down simply, and +exactly as they occurred, for the purpose of presenting a true picture +of the emigrant’s life afloat. I have since learned that, in all +respects, ours was an average journey across the wide waste. Intending +emigrants, therefore, who picture to themselves in bright colours the +glories of a sea voyage, will, by reading these pages, have their dreams +modified by some touches of reality and truth, if not entirely +dispelled. If, however, they are adapted for success in the other +hemisphere, they will not be daunted by the trials and inconveniences I +have pictured. + + + + + THE SISTER’S FAREWELL. + + + Dear Sister, sit beside my bed, + And let me see your gentle smile, + And let me lay my aching head + Upon your kindly arm awhile; + I shall not long be with you now, + My time is drawing to an end: + May we our spirits meekly bow, + And He release from suffering send. + + The longed-for summer’s drawing near; + The wind is softer, and the sun + Streams down so brightly on me here, + It almost seems already come. + But now—I never more shall see + The fields and lanes, all gay with flowers, + Nor hear the murmur of the bee, + Nor song of birds among the bowers. + + For here, no beauteous change we see + In nature, as the year rolls on; + No green bursts forth on bush and tree + When winter’s chilling frosts are gone. + No gentle flowers or odours sweet, + In summer cheer us as we go; + Nought see we but th’ unchanging street, + And weary passing to and fro. + + The summer, though ’tis summer still, + Seems not the same while we are here. + How sweet the thought of that clear rill, + That trembled from the hillock near + To our old house! I sometimes think, + With my eyes closed, and half-asleep, + That I am lying on the brink + Of the old fish-pond, still, and deep. + + Methinks in one of those sweet nooks, + Beneath the hanging willow-trees, + I listen to the cawing rooks + And busy humming of the bees. + And, moodily, I watch the trout + Make circles in the tranquil pool; + And watch the swallows skim about, + And feel the breeze so fresh and cool. + + Let me awake—the dream was brief— + Be thankful for my sufferings here; + Be thankful, too, for Heaven’s relief, + E’en though I leave thee, sister dear. + Yet let me once more see you smile; + A Vision opens on me bright! + Lay your hand by me for a while— + And now, God bless you, love—Good Night! + + + + + THE HOME OF WOODRUFFE THE GARDENER. + + + IN EIGHT CHAPTERS.—CHAPTER IV. + +Fleming did what he could to find fair play for his father-in-law. He +spoke to one and another—to the officers of the railway, and to the +owners of neighbouring plots of ground, about the bad drainage, which +was injuring everybody; but he could not learn that anything was likely +to be done. The ditch—the great evil of all—had always been there, he +was told, and people never used to complain of it. When Fleming pointed +out that it was at first a comparatively deep ditch, and that it grew +shallower every year, from the accumulations formed by its uneven +bottom, there were some who admitted that it might be as well to clean +it out; yet nobody set about it. And it was truly a more difficult +affair now than it would have been at an earlier time. If the ditch was +shallower, it was much wider. It had once been twelve feet wide, and it +was now eighteen. When any drain had been flowing into it, or after a +rainy day, the contents spread through and over the soil on each side, +and softened it, and then the next time any horse or cow came to drink, +the whole bank was made a perfect bog; for the poor animals, however +thirsty, tried twenty places to find water that they could drink, before +going away in despair. Such was the bar in the way of poor Woodruffe’s +success with his ground. Before the end of summer, his patience was +nearly worn out. During a showery and gleamy May and a pleasant June, he +had gone on as prosperously as he could expect under the circumstances; +and he confidently anticipated that a seasonable July and August would +quite set him up. But he had had no previous experience of the +peculiarities of ill-drained land; and the hot July and August from +which he hoped so much did him terrible mischief. The drought which +would have merely dried and pulverised a well-drained soil, leaving it +free to profit much by small waterings, baked the overcharged soil of +Woodruffe’s garden into hard hot masses of clay, amidst which his +produce died off faster and faster every day, even though he and all his +family wore out their strength with constant watering. He did hope, he +said, that he should have been spared drought at least; but it seemed as +if he was to have every plague in turn; and the drought seemed, at the +time, to be the worst of all. + +One day, Fleming saw a welcome face in one of the carriages; Mr. Nelson, +a Director of the railway, who was looking along the line to see how +matters went. Though Mr. Nelson was not exactly the one, of all the +Directors, whom Fleming would have chosen to appeal to, he saw that the +opportunity must not be lost; and he entreated him to alight, and stay +for the next train. + +“Eh! what?” said Mr. Nelson; “what can you want with us here? A station +like this! Why, one has to put on spectacles to see it!” + +“If you would come down, Sir, I should be glad to show you....” + +“Well: I suppose I must.” + +As they were standing on the little platform, and the train was growing +smaller in the distance, Fleming proceeded to business. He told of the +serious complaints that were made for a distance of a few miles on +either hand, of the clay pits, left by the railway brickmakers, to fill +with stagnant waters. + +“Pho! pho! Is that what you want to say?” replied Mr. Nelson. “You need +not have stopped me just to tell me that. We hear of those pits all +along the line. We are sick of hearing of them.” + +“That does not mend the matter in this place,” observed Fleming. “I +speak freely, Sir, but I think it my duty to say that something must be +done. I heard, a few days ago, more than the people hereabouts +know,—much more than I shall tell them—of the fever that has settled on +particular points of our line; and I now assure you, Sir, that if the +fever once gets a hold in this place, I believe it may carry us all off, +before anything can be done. Sir, there is not one of us, within half a +mile of the Station, that has a wholesome dwelling.” + +“Pho! pho! you are a croaker,” declared Mr. Nelson. “Never saw such a +dismal fellow! Why, you will die of fright, if ever you die of +anything.” + +“Then, Sir, will you have the goodness to walk round with me, and see +for yourself what you think of things. It is not only for myself and my +family that I speak. In an evil day, I induced my wife’s family to +settle here, and....” + +“Ay! that is a nice garden,” observed Mr. Nelson, as Fleming pointed to +Woodruffe’s land. “You are a croaker, Fleming. I declare I think the +place is much improved since I saw it last. People would not come and +settle here if the place was like what you say.” + +Instead of arguing the matter, Fleming led the way down the long flight +of steps. He was aware that leading the gentleman among bad smells and +over shoes in a foul bog would have more effect than any argument was +ever known to have on his contradictious spirit. + +“You should have seen worse things than these, and then you would not be +so discontented,” observed Mr. Nelson, striking his stick upon the +hard-baked soil, all intersected with cracks. “I have seen such a soil +as this in Spain, some days after a battle, when there were scores of +fingers and toes sticking up out of the cracks. What would you say to +that?—eh?” + +“We may have a chance of seeing that here,” replied Fleming; “if the +plague comes,—and comes too fast for the coffin-makers,—a thing which +has happened more than once in England, I believe.” + +Mr. Nelson stopped to laugh; but he certainly attended more to business +as he went on; and Fleming, who knew something of his ways, had hopes +that if he could only keep his own temper, this visit of the Director +might not be without good results. + +In passing through Woodruffe’s garden, very nice management was +necessary. Woodruffe was at work there, charged with ire against railway +directors and landed proprietors, whom, amidst the pangs of his +rheumatism, he regarded as the poisoners of his land and the bane of his +fortunes; while, on the other hand, Mr. Nelson, who had certainly never +been a market-gardener, criticised and ridiculed everything that met his +eye. What was the use of such a toolhouse as that?—big enough for a +house for them all. What was the use of such low fences?—of such high +screens?—of making the walks so wide?—sheer waste!—of making the beds so +long one way, and so narrow another?—of planting or sowing this and +that?—things that nobody wanted. Woodruffe had pushed back his hat, in +preparation for a defiant reply, when Fleming caught his eye, and, by a +good-tempered smile, conveyed to him that they had an oddity to deal +with. Allan, who had begun by listening reverently, was now looking from +one to another, in great perplexity. + +“What is that boy here for, staring like a dunce? Why don’t you send him +to school? You neglect a parent’s duty if you don’t send him to school.” + +Woodruffe answered by a smile of contempt, walked away, and went to work +at a distance. + +“That boy is very well taught,” Fleming said, quietly. “He is a great +reader, and will soon be fit to keep his father’s accounts.” + +“What does he stare in that manner for, then? I took him for a dunce.” + +“He is not accustomed to hear his father called in question, either as a +gardener or a parent.” + +“Pho! pho! I might as well have waited, though, till he was out of +hearing. Well, is this all you have to show me? I think you make a great +fuss about nothing.” + +“Will you walk this way?” said Fleming, turning down towards the osier +beds, without any compassion for the gentleman’s boots or olfactory +nerves. For a long while Mr. Nelson affected to admire the reeds, and +water-flags, and marsh-blossoms, declared the decayed vegetation to be +peat soil, very fine peat, which the ladies would be glad of for their +heaths in the flower-garden,—and thought there must be good fowling here +in winter. Fleming quietly turned over the so-called peat with a stick, +letting it be seen that it was a mere dung-heap of decayed rushes, and +wished Mr. Nelson would come in the fowling season, and see what the +place was like. + +“The children are merry enough, however,” observed the gentleman. “They +can laugh here, much as in other places. I advise you to take a lesson +from them, Fleming. Now, don’t you teach them to croak.” + +The laughter sounded from the direction of the old brick-ground; and +thither they now turned. Two little boys were on the brink of a pit, so +intent on watching a rat in the water and on pelting it with stones, +that they did not see that anybody was coming to disturb them. In answer +to Mr. Nelson’s question, whether they were vagrants, and why vagrants +were permitted there, Fleming answered that the younger one—the +pale-faced one—was his little brother-in-law; the other— + +“Ay, now, you will be telling me next that the pale face is the fault of +this place.” + +“It certainly is,” said Fleming. “That child was chubby enough when he +came.” + +“Pho, pho! a puny little wretch as ever I saw—puny from its birth, I +have no doubt of it. And who is the other—a gipsy?” + +“He looks like it,” replied Fleming. On being questioned, Moss told that +the boy lived near, and he had often played with him lately. Yes, he +lived near, just beyond those trees; not in a house, only a sort of +house the people had made for themselves. Mr. Nelson liked to lecture +vagrants, even more than other people; so Moss was required to show the +way, and his dark-skinned playfellow was not allowed to skulk behind. + +Moss led his party on, over the tufty hay-coloured grass, skipping from +bunch to bunch of rushes, round the osier beds, and at last straight +through a clump of alders, behind whose screen now appeared the house, +as Moss had called it, which the gipsies had made for themselves. It was +the tilt of a waggon, serving as a tent. Nobody was visible but a woman, +crouching under the shadow of the tent, to screen from the sun that +which was lying across her lap. + +“What is that that she’s nursing? Lord bless me! Can that be a child?” +exclaimed Mr. Nelson. + +“A child in the fever,” replied Fleming. + +“Lord bless me!—to see legs and arms hang down like that!” exclaimed the +gentleman: and he forthwith gave the woman a lecture on her method of +nursing—scolded her for letting the child get a fever—for not putting it +to bed—for not getting a doctor to it—for being a gipsy, and living +under an alder clump. He then proceeded to inquire whether she had +anybody else in the tent, where her husband was, whether he lived by +thieving, how they would all like being transported, whether she did not +think her children would all be hanged, and so on. At first, the woman +tried a facetious and wheedling tone, then a whimpering one, and, +finally, a scolding one. The last answered well. Mr. Nelson found that a +man, to say nothing of a gentleman, has no chance with a woman with a +sore heart in her breast, and a sick child in her lap, when once he has +driven her to her weapon of the tongue. He said afterwards, that he had +once gone to Billingsgate, on purpose to set two fishwomen quarrelling, +that he might see what it was like. The scene had fulfilled all his +expectations; but he now declared that it could not compare with this +exhibition behind the alders. He stood a long while, first trying to +overpower the woman’s voice; and, when that seemed hopeless, poking +about among the rushes with his stick, and finally, staring in the +woman’s face, in a mood between consternation and amusement:—thus he +stood, waiting till the torrent should intermit; but there was no sign +of intermission; and when the sick child began to move and rouse itself, +and look at the strangers, as if braced by the vigour of its mother’s +tongue, the prospect of an end seemed further off than ever. Mr. Nelson +shrugged his shoulders, signed to his companions, and walked away +through the alders. The woman was not silent because they were out of +sight. Her voice waxed shriller as it followed them, and died away only +in the distance. Moss was grasping Fleming’s hand with all his might +when Mr. Nelson spoke to him, and shook his stick at him, asking him how +he came to play with such people, and saying that if ever he heard him +learning to scold like that woman, he would beat him with that stick: so +Moss vowed he never would. + +“When the train was in sight by which Mr. Nelson was to depart, he +turned to Fleming, with the most careless air imaginable, saying, + +“Have you any medicine in your house?—any bark?” + +“Not any. But I will send for some.” + +“Ay, do. Or,—no—I will send you some. See if you can’t get these people +housed somewhere, so that they may not sleep in the swamp. I don’t mean +in any of your houses, but in a barn, or some such place. If the physic +comes before the doctor, get somebody to dose the child. And don’t fancy +you are all going to die of the fever. That is the way to make +yourselves ill: and it is all nonsense, too, I dare say.” + +“Do you like that gentleman?” asked Moss, sapiently, when the train was +whirling Mr. Nelson out of sight. “Because I don’t—not at all.” + +“I believe he is kinder than he seems, Moss. He need not be so rough: +but I know he does kind things sometimes.” + +“But, do you like him?” + +“No, I can’t say I do.” + +Before many hours were over, Fleming was sorry that he had admitted +this, even to himself; and for many days after he was occasionally heard +telling Moss what a good gentleman Mr. Nelson was, for all his roughness +of manners. With the utmost speed, before it would have been thought +possible, arrived a surgeon from the next town, with medicines, and the +news that he was to come every day while there was any fear of fever. +The gipsies were to have been cared for; but they were gone. The marks +of their fire and a few stray feathers which showed that a fowl had been +plucked, alone told where they had encamped. A neighbour, who loved her +poultry yard, was heard to say that the sick child would not die for +want of chicken broth, she would be bound; and the nearest farmer asked +if they had left any potato-peels and turnip tops for his pig. He +thought that was the least they could do after making their famous gipsy +stew (a capital dish, it was said,) from his vegetables. They were gone; +and if they had not left fever behind, they might be forgiven, for the +sake of the benefit of taking themselves off. After the search for the +gipsies was over, there was still an unusual stir about the place. One +and another stranger appeared and examined the low grounds, and sent for +one and another of the neighbouring proprietors, whether farmer, or +builder, or gardener, or labourer; for every one who owned or rented a +yard of land on the borders of the great ditch, or anywhere near the +clay pits or osier beds. It was the opinion of the few residents near +the Station that something would be done to improve the place before +another year; and everybody said that it must be Mr. Nelson’s doings, +and that it was a thousand pities that he did not come earlier, before +the fever had crept thus far along the line. + + + + + CHAPTER THE FIFTH. + + +For some months past, Becky had believed without a doubt, that the day +of her return home would be the very happiest day of her life. She was +too young to know yet that it is not for us to settle which of our days +shall be happy ones, nor what events shall yield us joy. The promise had +not been kept that she should return when her father and mother removed +into the new cottage. She had been told that there really was not, even +now decent room for them all; and that they must at least wait till the +hot weather was completely over before they crowded the chamber, as they +had hitherto done. And then, when autumn came on, and the creeping mists +from the low grounds hung round the place from sunset till after +breakfast the next day, the mother delayed sending for her daughter, +unwilling that she should lose the look of health which she alone now, +of all the family, exhibited. Fleming and his wife and babe prospered +better than the others. The young man’s business lay on the high ground, +at the top of the embankment. He was there all day while Mr. Woodruffe +and Allan were below, among the ditches and the late and early fogs. +Mrs. Fleming was young and strong, full of spirit and happiness; and so +far fortified against the attacks of disease, as a merry heart +strengthens nerve and bone and muscle, and invigorates all the vital +powers. In regard to her family, her father’s hopeful spirit seemed to +have passed into her. While he was becoming permanently discouraged, she +was always assured that everything would come right next year. The time +had arrived for her power of hope to be tested to the utmost. One day +this autumn, she admitted that Becky must be sent for. She did not +forget, however, to charge Allan to be cheerful, and make the best of +things, and not frighten Becky by the way. + +It was now the end of October. Some of the days were balmy elsewhere—the +afternoons ruddy; the leaves crisp beneath the tread; the squirrel busy +after the nuts in the wood; the pheasants splendid among the dry ferns +in the brake, the sportsman warm and thirsty in his exploring among the +stubble. In the evenings the dwellers in country houses called one +another out upon the grass, to see how bright the stars were, and how +softly the moonlight slept upon the woods. While it was thus in one +place, in another, and not far off, all was dank, dim, dreary and +unwholesome; with but little sun, and no moon or stars; all chill, and +no glow; no stray perfumes, the last of the year, but sickly scents +coming on the steam from below. Thus it was about Fleming’s house, this +latter end of October, when he saw but little of his wife, because she +was nursing her mother in the fever, and when he tried to amuse himself +with his young baby at mealtimes (awkward nurse as he was) to relieve +his wife of the charge for the little time he could be at home. When the +baby cried, and when he saw his Abby look wearied, he did wish, now and +then, that Becky was at home: but he was patient, and helpful, and as +cheerful as he could, till the day which settled the matter. On that +morning he felt strangely weak, barely able to mount the steps to the +station. During the morning, several people told him he looked ill; and +one person did more. The porter sent a message to the next large Station +that somebody must be sent immediately to fill Fleming’s place, in case +of his being too ill to work. Somebody came; and before that, Fleming +was in bed—certainly down in the fever. His wife was now wanted at home; +and Becky must come to her mother. + +Though Becky asked questions all the way home, and Allan answered them +as truthfully as he knew how, she was not prepared for what she +found—her father aged and bent, always in pain, more or less, and far +less furnished with plans and hopes than she had ever known him; Moss, +fretful and sickly, and her mother unable to turn herself in her bed. +Nobody mentioned death. The surgeon who came daily, and told Becky +exactly what to do, said nothing of anybody dying of the fever, while +Woodruffe was continually talking of things that were to be done when +his wife got well again. It was sad, and sometimes alarming, to hear the +strange things that Mrs. Woodruffe said in the evenings when she was +delirious; but if Abby stepped in at such times, she did not think much +of it, did not look upon it as any sign of danger; and was only thankful +that her husband had no delirium. His head was always clear, she said, +though he was very weak. Becky never doubted, after this, that her +mother was the most severely ill of the two; and she was thunderstruck +when she heard one morning the surgeon’s answers to her father’s +questions about Fleming. He certainly considered it a bad case; he would +not say that he could not get through; but he must say it was contrary +to his expectation. When Becky saw her father’s face as he turned away +and went out, she believed his heart was broken. + +“But I thought,” said she to the surgeon, “I thought my mother was most +ill of the two.” + +“I don’t know that,” was the reply, “but she is very ill. We are doing +the best we can.—You are, I am sure,” he said, kindly; “and we must hope +on, and do our best till a change comes. The wisest of us do not know +what changes may come. But I could not keep your father in ignorance of +what may happen in the other house.” + +No appearances alarmed Abby. Because there was no delirium, she +apprehended no danger. Even when the fatal twitchings came, the arm +twitching as it lay upon the coverlid, she did not know it was a symptom +of anything. As she nursed her husband perfectly well, and could not +have been made more prudent and watchful by any warning, she had no +warning. Her cheerfulness was encouraged, for her infant’s sake, as well +as for her husband’s and her own. Some thought that her husband knew his +own case. A word or two,—now a gesture, and now a look,—persuaded the +surgeon and Woodruffe that he was aware that he was going. His small +affairs were always kept settled; he had probably no directions to give; +and his tenderness for his wife showed itself in his enjoying her +cheerfulness to the last. When, as soon as it was light, one December +morning, Moss was sent to ask if Abby could possibly come for a few +minutes, because mother was worse, he found his sister alone, looking at +the floor, her hands on her lap, though the baby was fidgetting in its +cradle. Fleming’s face was covered, and he lay so still that Moss, who +had never seen death, felt sure that all was over. The boy hardly knew +what to do; and his sister seemed not to hear what he said. The thought +of his mother,—that Abby’s going might help or save her,—moved him to +act. He kissed Abby, and said she must please go to mother; and he took +the baby out of the cradle, and wrapped it up, and put it into its +mother’s arms; and fetched Abby’s bonnet, and took her cloak down from +its peg, and opened the door for her, saying, that he would stay and +take care of everything. His sister went without a word; and, as soon as +he had closed the door behind her, Moss sank down on his knees before +the chair where she had been sitting, and hid his face there till some +one came for him,—to see his mother once more before she died. + +As the two coffins were carried out, to be conveyed to the churchyard +together, Mr. Nelson, who had often been backward and forward during the +last six weeks, observed to the surgeon that the death of such a man as +Fleming was a dreadful loss. + +“It is that sort of men that the fever cuts off,” said the surgeon. “The +strong man, in the prime of life, at his best period, one may say, for +himself and for society, is taken away,—leaving wife and child helpless +and forlorn. That is the ravage that the fever makes.” + +“Well: would not people tell you that it is our duty to submit?” asked +Mr. Nelson, who could not help showing some emotion by voice and +countenance. + +“Submit!” said the surgeon. “That depends on what the people mean who +use the word. If you or I were ill of the fever, we must resign +ourselves, as cheerfully as we could. But if you ask me whether we +should submit to see more of our neighbours cut off by fever as these +have been, I can only ask in return, whose doing it is that they are +living in a swamp, and whether that is to go on? Who dug the clay pits? +Who let that ditch run abroad, and make a filthy bog? Are you going to +charge that upon Providence, and talk of submitting to the consequences? +If so, that is not my religion.” + +“No, no. There is no religion in that,” replied Mr. Nelson, for once +agreeing in what was said to him. “It must be looked to.” + +“It must,” said the surgeon, as decidedly as if he had been a railway +director, or king and parliament in one. + + + + + CHAPTER THE SIXTH. + + +“I wonder whether there is a more forlorn family in England than we are +now,” said Woodruffe, as he sat among his children, a few hours after +the funeral. + +His children were glad to hear him speak, however gloomy might be his +tone. His silence had been so terrible that nothing that he could say +could so weigh upon their hearts. His words, however, brought out his +widowed daughter’s tears again. She was sewing—her infant lying in her +lap. As her tears fell upon its face, it moved and cried. Becky came and +took it up, and spoke cheerfully to it. The cheerfulness seemed to be +the worst of all. Poor Abby laid her forehead to the back of her chair, +and sobbed as if her heart would break. + +“Ay, Abby,” said her father, “your heart is breaking, and mine too. You +and I can go to our rest, like those that have gone before us: but I +have to think what will become of these young things.” + +“Yes, father,” said Becky gently, but with a tone of remonstrance, “you +must endeavour to live, and not make up your mind to dying, because life +has grown heavy and sad.” + +“My dear, I am ill—very ill. It is not merely that life is grown +intolerable to me. I am sure I could not live long in such misery of +mind: but I am breaking up fast.” + +The young people looked at each other in dismay. There was something +worse than the grief conveyed by their father’s words in the hopeless +daring—the despair—of his tone when he ventured to say that life was +unendurable. + +Becky had the child on one arm; with the other hand she took down her +father’s plaid from its peg, and put it round his rheumatic shoulders, +whispering in his ear a few words about desiring that God’s will should +be done. + +“My dear,” he replied, “it was I who taught you that lesson when you +were a child on my knee, and it would be strange if I forgot it when I +want so much any comfort that I can get. But I don’t believe (and if you +ask the clergyman, he will tell you that he does not believe), that it +is God’s will that we, or any other people, should be thrust into a +swamp like this, scarcely fit for the rats and the frogs to live in. It +is man’s doing, not God’s, that the fever makes such havoc as it has +made with us. The fever does not lay waste healthy places.” + +“Then why are we here?” Allan ventured to say. “Father, let us go.” + +“Go! I wonder how or where! I can’t go, or let any of you go. I have not +a pound in the world to spend in moving, or in finding new employment. +And if I had, who would employ me? Who would not laugh at a crippled old +man asking for work and wages?” + +“Then, father, we must see what we can do here, and you must not forbid +us to say ‘God’s will be done!’ If we cannot go away, it must be His +will that we should stay, and have as much hope and courage as we can.” + +Woodruffe threw himself back in his chair. It was too much to expect +that he would immediately rally; but he let the young people confer, and +plan, and cheer each other. + +The first thing to be done, they agreed, was to move hither, whenever +the dismal rain would permit it, all Abby’s furniture that could not be +disposed of to her husband’s successors. It would fit up the lower room. +And Allan and Becky settled how the things could stand so as to make it +at once a bedroom and sitting-room. If, as Abby had said, she meant to +try to get some scholars, and keep a little school, room must be left to +seat the children. + +“Keep a school?” exclaimed Woodruffe, looking round at Abby. + +“Yes, father,” said Abby, raising her head. “That seems to be a thing +that I can do: and it will be good for me to have something to do. Becky +is the stoutest of us all, and....” + +“I wonder how long that will last,” groaned the father. + +“I am quite stout now,” said Becky; “and I am the one to help Allan with +the garden. Allan and I will work under your direction, father, while +your rheumatism lasts; and....” + +“And what am I to do?” asked Moss, pushing himself in. + +“You shall fetch and carry the tools,” said Becky; “that is, when the +weather is fine, and when your chilblains are not very bad. And you +shall be bird-boy when the sowing season comes on.” + +“And we are going to put up a pent-house for you, in one corner, you +know, Moss,” said his brother. “And we will make it so that there shall +be room for a fire in it, where father and you may warm yourselves, and +always have dry shoes ready.” + +“I wonder what our shoe leather will have cost us by the time the spring +comes,” observed Woodruffe. “There is not a place where we ever have to +take the cart or the barrow that is not all mire and ruts: not a path in +the whole garden that I call a decent one. Our shoes are all pulled to +pieces; while the frost, or the fog, or something or other, prevents our +getting any real work done. The waste is dreadful. Nothing should have +made me take a garden where none but summer crops are to be had, if I +could have foreseen such a thing. I never saw such a thing +before,—never—as market-gardening without winter and spring crops. Never +heard of such a thing!” + +Becky glanced towards Allan, to see if he had nothing to propose. If +they could neither mend the place nor leave it, it did seem a hard case. +Allan was looking into the fire, musing. When Moss announced that the +rain was over, Allan started, and said he must be fetching some of +Abby’s things down, if it was fair. Becky really meant to help him: but +she also wanted opportunity for consultation, as to whether it could +really be God’s will that they should neither be able to mend their +condition nor to escape from it. As they mounted the long flight of +steps, they saw Mr. Nelson issue from the Station, looking about him to +ascertain if the rain was over, and take his stand on the embankment, +followed by a gentleman who had a roll of paper in his hand. As they +stood, the one was seen to point with his stick, and the other with his +roll of paper, this way and that. Allan set off in that direction, +saying to his sister, as he went, + +“Don’t you come. That gentleman is so rude, he will make you cry. Yes, I +must go; and I won’t get angry; I won’t indeed. He may find as much +fault as he pleases; I must show him how the water is standing in our +furrows.” + +“Hallo! what do you want here?” was Mr. Nelson’s greeting, when, after a +minute or two, he saw Allan looking and listening. “What business have +you here, hearkening to what we are saying?” + +“I wanted to know whether anything is going to be done below there. I +thought, if you wished it, I could tell you something about it.” + +“You! what, a dainty little fellow like you?—a fellow that wears his +Sunday clothes on a Tuesday, and a rainy Tuesday too! You must get +working clothes and work.” + +“I shall work to-morrow, Sir. My mother and my brother-in-law were +buried to-day.” + +“Lord bless me! You should have told me that. How should I know that +unless you told me?” He proceeded in a much gentler tone, however, +merely remonstrating with Allan for letting the wet stand in the +furrows, in such a way as would spoil any garden. Allan had a good ally, +all the while, in the stranger, who seemed to understand everything +before it was explained. The gentleman was, in fact, an agricultural +surveyor—one who could tell, when looking abroad from a height, what was +swamp and what meadow; where there was a clean drain, and where an +uneven ditch; where the soil was likely to be watered, and where flooded +by the winter rains; where genially warmed, and where fatally baked by +the summer’s sun. He had seen, before Allan pointed it out, how the +great ditch cut across between the cultivated grounds and the little +river into which those grounds should be drained: but he could not know, +till told by Allan, who were the proprietors and occupiers of the +parcels of land lying on either side the ditch. Mr. Nelson knew little +or nothing under this head, though he contradicted the lad every minute; +was sure such an one did not live here, nor another there: told him he +was confusing Mr. Smith and Mr. Brown: did not believe a word of Mr. +Taylor having bought yonder meadow, or Mrs. Scott now renting that +field. All the while, the surveyor went on setting down the names as +Allan told them; and then observed that they were not so many but that +they might combine, if they would, to drain their properties, if they +could be relieved of the obstruction of the ditch—if the surveyor of +highways would see that the ditch were taken in hand. Mr. Nelson +pronounced that there should be no difficulty about the ditch, if the +rest could be managed: and then, after a few whispered words between the +gentlemen, Allan was asked first, whether he was sure that he knew where +every person lived whose name was down in the surveyor’s book; and next, +whether he would act as guide to-morrow. For a moment he thought he +should be wanted to move Abby’s things: but, remembering the vast +importance of the plan which seemed now to be fairly growing under his +eye, he replied that he would go: he should be happy to make it his +day’s work to help, ever so little, towards what he wished above +everything in the world. + +“What makes you in such a hurry to suppose we want to get a day’s work +out of you for nothing?” asked Mr. Nelson. He thrust half-a-crown into +the lad’s waistcoat pocket, saying that he must give it back again, if +he led the gentleman wrong. The gentleman had no time to go running +about the country on a fool’s errand; Allan must mind that. As Allan +touched his hat, and ran down the steps, Mr. Nelson observed that boys +with good hearts did not fly about in that way, as if they were merry, +on the day of their mother’s funeral. + +“Perhaps he is rather thinking of saving his father,” observed the +surveyor. + +“Well; save as many of them as you can. They seem all going to pot as it +is.” + +When Allan burst in, carrying nothing of Abby’s, but having a little +colour in his cheeks for once, his father sat up in his chair, the baby +suddenly stopped crying, and Moss asked where he had been. At first, his +father disappointed him by being listless—first refusing to believe +anything good, and then saying that any good that could happen now was +too late; and Abby could not help crying all the more because this was +not thought about a year sooner. It was her poor husband that had made +the stir; and now they were going to take his advice the very day that +he was laid in his grave. They all tried to comfort her, and said how +natural it was that she should feel it so; yet, amidst all their +sympathy, they could not help being cheered that something was to be +done at last. + +By degrees, and not slow degrees, Woodruffe became animated. It was +surprising how many things he desired Allan to be sure not to forget to +point out to the surveyor, and to urge upon those he was to visit. At +last he said he would go himself. It was a very serious business, and he +ought to make an effort to have it done properly. It was a great effort, +but he would make it. Not rheumatism, nor anything else, should keep him +at home. Allan was glad at heart to see such signs of energy in his +father, though he might feel some natural disappointment at being left +at home, and some perplexity as to what, in that case, he ought to do +about the half-crown, if Mr. Nelson should be gone home. The morning +settled this, however. The surveyor was in his gig. If Allan could hang +on, or keep up with it, it would be very well, as he would be wanted to +open the gates, and to lead the way in places too wet for his father, +who was not worth such a pair of patent waterproof tall boots as the +surveyor had on. + +The circuit was not a very wide one; yet it was dark before they got +home. There are always difficulties in arrangements which require +combined action. Here there were different levels in the land, and +different tempers and views among the occupiers. Mr. Brown had heard +nothing about the matter, and could not be hurried till he saw occasion. +Mr. Taylor liked his field best, wet—would not have it drier on any +account, for fear of the summer sun. When assured that drought took no +hold on well-dried land in comparison with wet land, he shook with +laughter, and asked if they expected him to believe that. Mrs. Scott, +whose combination with two others was essential to the drainage of three +portions, would wait another year. They must go on without her; and +after another year, she would see what she would do. Another had drained +his land in his own way long ago, and did not expect that anybody would +ask him to put his spade into another man’s land, or to let any other +man put his spade into his. These were all the obstructions. Everybody +else was willing, or at least, not obstructive. By clever management, it +was thought that the parties concerned could make an island of Mrs. +Scott and her field, and win over Mr. Brown by the time he was wanted, +and show Mr. Taylor that, as his field could no longer be as wet as it +had been, he might as well try the opposite condition—they promising to +flood his field as often and as thoroughly as he pleased, if he found it +the worse for being drained. They could not obtain all they wished, +where every body was not as wise as could be wished; but so much was +agreed upon as made the experienced surveyor think that the rest would +follow; enough, already, to set more labourers to work than the place +could furnish. Two or three stout men were sent from a distance; and +when they had once cut a clear descent from the ditch to the river, and +had sunk the ditch to seven feet deep, and made the bottom even, and +narrowed it to three feet, it was a curious thing to see how ready the +neighbours became to unite their drains with it. It used to be said, +that here—however it might be elsewhere—the winter was no time for +digging: but that must have meant that no winter-digging would bring a +spring crop; and that therefore it was useless. Now, the sound of the +spade never ceased for the rest of the winter; and the labourers thought +it the best winter they had ever known for constant work. Those who +employed the labour hoped it would answer—found it expensive—must trust +it was all right, and would yield a profit by and by. As for the +Woodruffes, they were too poor to employ labourers. But some little hope +had entered their hearts again, and brought strength, not only to their +hearts, but to their very limbs. They worked like people beginning the +world. As poor Abby could keep the house and sew, while attending to her +little school, Becky did the lighter parts (and some which were far from +light) of the garden work, finding easy tasks for Moss; and Allan worked +like a man at the drains. They had been called good drains before; but +now, there was an outfall for deeper ones; and deeper they must be made. +Moreover, a strong rivalry arose among the neighbours about their +respective portions of the combined drainage; and under the stimulus of +ambition, Woodruffe recovered his spirits and the use of his limbs +wonderfully. He suffered cruelly from his rheumatism; and in the +evenings felt as if he could never more lift a spade; yet, not the less +was he at work again in the morning, and so sanguine as to the +improvement of his ground, that it was necessary to remind him, when +calculating his gains, that it would take two years, at least, to prove +the effects of his present labours. + + + + + LINES TO A DEAD LINNET. + + BY A SOLITARY STUDENT. + + + Sweet little friend in hours of lonely thought, + And studious toil thro’ the unresting day, + Why hast thou left me to the sullen hours, + So dull and changeless now? Thy light-heart song, + And fluttering plume of joy, beguile no more + My weary mind, happy when so estranged, + From books, which are the bane of all repose. + + The secret bustle of thy frequent meal, + Like elfin working mischief, all unseen + At bottom of thy cage; thy dipping bill, + Oft splashing sportive o’er the learned tome, + And rousing my ’rapt soul to homelier themes; + The tuning twitter, snatch’d and interrupt— + The timorous essay, low and querulous— + The strain symphonious—and the full burst of song, + That made my study-walls re-echo sweet, + The harmonious peal, while all its tatter’d maps + And prints unframed, responsive tremblings gave;— + All these are past, and joy takes wing with thee. + + Nor less, when in the dreary night, far spent, + Still was I pondering o’er the murky page, + Hast thou attracted notice by thy bill + Battling along the wires; and in the twinkle— + The clos’d—and then, bright little eye, half-oped. + Well have I read thy meaning, and full soon, + Thus warned of needful slumber, borne away + The wasted lamp, and sought my lonely couch. + + Thy empty cage now hangs against the wall! + No one inhabits it—nothing is there— + Thy seed-box is half full of dust and film; + A spider weaves within thy water-glass: + The wretchedness of silence—no response + To calls and questionings of the heart—the mind— + All show me thou art dead—for ever gone! + I stand and gaze on thy perplexing cage— + Like a friend’s house—deserted!—one we have loved— + And before which, returning after years, + We pause, and think of hours enjoyed within; + And gaze upon the dusty shutters—closed! + + + + + THE GOOD GOVERNOR. + + +In a region where favourable latitude and tempering sea-breezes combine +to produce perpetual summer, lie “the still vexed Bermoothes,” the +Bermuda of modern navigators, where one-half of the year is the fitting +seedtime for plants of the tropical, and the other half of the temperate +zones. These islands, discovered to us by a shipwreck, with one +exception, our oldest colony, offer a miniature copy of the institutions +of the parent state. + +About twenty square miles of surface, consisting of one island thirty +miles long by two broad, and a half-dozen _aide-de-camp_ sort of islets, +support a population rather less numerous, and considerably less +wealthy, than that of the City of Canterbury; and enjoy the dignity of a +capital, with two thousand inhabitants; of a Governor and +Commander-in-Chief, who takes his seat on “the throne” when opening the +Bermoothean Parliament; of a Council, or miniature House of Lords, and a +Representative Assembly of thirty-six members, forming a miniature House +of Commons. They had formerly an Archdeacon, but, by one of those +extraordinary decisions that occasionally originate in high quarters, +the Archdeacon has been metamorphosed into a Bishop of Newfoundland, +whom the Bermudians never see, although they still have the honour of +paying the salary of the late Archdeacon. + +Formerly Bermuda, like Virginia, from which it was an offshoot, was a +slave colony, and grew tobacco. But tobacco would not pay, and every +Bermudian, being born within a mile of the water, was bred amphibious. +Capital cedar for ship-building grows on the hills, and harbours are all +around to receive the craft when built. So it came to pass, that the +“‘Mudian” clippers became plentiful all over the neighbouring seas, and +took a large share of the carrying trade between our American colonies +and the West Indies. Even when a large slice of these said colonies had +struggled into the Republic of the United States, the ’Mudians continued +to do a good stroke of sea-faring business. + +Then whales abounded in the neighbouring seas, and every ’Mudian took to +handling the oar, the lance, or the harpoon, at a time of life when +other children were driving hoops, or riding rocking-horses. + +It was the natural result of these handy occupations in so limited a +space, that the whole population, with the exception of that supported +by the expenditure of the garrison, was occupied in building, or +rigging, or manning, or loading, vessels of some kind, if not whaling or +fishing. White or black, they were all sailors and sea-faring to a man, +almost to a woman. The real mermaid still lingers round Bermuda’s coast. +Breechless babies swaggered along with a mixture of long and short steps +in true jack-tar style. Bermudian young ladies directed their maids to +let out a reef in a petticoat, and officers driving tandem were bid “put +yer helm down,” by native guides. + +There are no records to show when first in Bermuda sea-faring arts began +to devour all others; certain it is that just as the manufacture of +glass and porcelain, purple dye, and other signal utilities and +ornaments have been more than once discovered, lost, and re-discovered, +so were agriculture and horticulture in the year 1839 of the islands of +perpetual spring, among the lost arts. If in that year some convulsion +had for ever separated them from external communications, the process of +food-growing among a British race would have been left as rude in +theory, more imperfect in practice, than among the New Zealanders or +South Sea Islanders. + +There were in that year two persons in the islands who could plough, but +they did not. Haymaking and mowing was a theory learned in books, just +as curious inquirers in Lancashire may have read of cotton cultivation. +As for the state of gardening, it was about parallel with British +gardening in the time of Queen Bess, who used to send to Holland for a +salad. + +So there was neither corn nor hay, and very little fruit, of the worst +quality. A sort of bitter orange-tree abounded through the islands. +Inquisitive strangers asked “Why not graft or bud sweet oranges on these +luxuriant stocks, or why not sow sweet seeds?” But the natives were +positive that buds would not take, and seeds would not grow. + +Such was Bermuda in 1839; somewhat depressed in its fishing, whaling, +ship-building, sea-carrying commerce, by the competition of New +Brunswick and the United States. Although less affected than the +sugar-growing islands by negro emancipation, still whites, who had lived +easily although barely by hiring out a few black artisans, were reduced +to sore straits. + +It was in this year there arrived a new Governor. He travelled the +length and breadth of his islands, and found all green and all barren; a +light, but fertile soil, bearing fine timber, and luxuriant weeds. Round +the government house was a waste of eight acres, within sight a great +swamp. According to popular opinion, Colonial Governors are gentlemen of +broken fortunes, and strong political connections, who endure temporary +evils for the sake of future ease and dignity. + +At any rate, among military martinet Governors; naval bashaw Governors; +didactic despatch-writing Governors; Governors landing with crotchets +all ready-cut and dry; Governors who support the Royal Prerogative by +quarrelling with all their subjects, and Governors whose whole soul is +in quiet and domestic economy, the popular Governor, the wise, +conciliating Governor, is indeed a rare bird. According to stereotyped +precedent, our Bermoothean Governor ought to have first sat down and +written a flaming despatch home, painting the misery of the island, +detailing his plans, and asking for money. Next he should have filled up +a scheme on a scale large enough to satisfy the ideas of a Paxton in +horticulture, or a Smith of Deanston in agriculture, and applied to his +little parliament for a vote, in order to make a garden for himself, and +a model farm for his own amusement and the benefit of the islanders. + +But it happened that our “good” Governor as he was afterwards called +with good reason, was not a stereotyped Governor, so that the people he +was sent to rule became happy and prosperous. He cared not to become +either rich or famous. Therefore, all his proceedings were on a humble, +commonplace scale. Seeing that the climate was admirably adapted for +oranges; which, if of good quality, would afford a valuable export, he +sent for slips and seeds of the best kinds. + +In front of Government House stands a bitter citron-tree: on this, with +his own hands, he budded a sweet orange. The bud, contrary to all +Bermudian opinions, sprouted, and grew, and flourished. After the living +example of the Governor’s tree, it became a fashion—a rage—to bud sweet +oranges; so by this simple and short cut an horticultural revolution was +effected. Still working out the maxim that example is better than +precept, our good Governor beat up for gardener recruits, accepting +those who knew a little as well as those who knew nothing, but were +willing to learn. With their aid, and at his own expense, the eight +acres of waste round his residence, Mount Langton, were converted into a +pleasure-ground, adorned with plants and shrubs of the tropical and +temperate zones, which he threw open freely to the inhabitants without +distinction of colour. + +The next step was to drain the great marsh, the Langton Marsh, and grow +hay upon it, so as to give the Bermudians a hint on the oddness of +importing hay, while fine grass land lay waste. Two men who could plough +were discovered, and pupils put under their hands; at the same time +ploughs were imported. Having, out of his own pocket, offered prizes for +garden flowers and vegetables, for corn and hay, for the best ploughman, +and the best scytheman, the performances of these two being as wonderful +to the islanders as skating to an Indian prince, or wine-making to a +Yorkshireman, the Local Parliament willingly voted other prizes for the +same purpose. + +It would take up too much time to detail all the good Governor’s +efforts—by example, by instruction, by rewards, by distribution of +books, and by the promotion of industrial schools, to educate the rising +generation of Bermuda in useful, civilising arts. + +A grand holiday, held in May, 1846, showed that these efforts had not +been without pleasant and practical results. + +Mount Langton and all the pleasure-grounds created under the personal +inspection and at the expense of the good Governor, were crowded with a +noisy happy population, of all ranks, all ages, and all colours, black, +white, and brown, assembled to enjoy and celebrate the taking stock of +the revived Industry of the islands. Not equal in variety to the great +Parisian Exposition, or in quality to the Royal Agricultural Shows, it +was still an era in the history of the colony. + +The Queen’s representative did not grudge to give up for the occasion +his private domain, as that was the best site in the Island. Amid the +luxuriant shrubs and gorgeous tropical flowers, the gay groups wandered; +sweetly the sounds of the regimental band intermingled with the shouts +and whip-crackings of the contending ploughmen as they turned up the +brown furrows of long neglected soil, and with the switching of +twenty-five scythe-men exhibiting their newly acquired skill on the +drained pasture of Langton Marsh. Below lay the shipping in harbour, and +far beyond the golden purple ocean was dotted over with the cloud-like +canvas of the famous ’Mudian craft. Almost at once—one glance—it was +possible to take in a view of the pursuits of old and young Bermuda. +Government House was closed;—to have entertained the thousands who had +assembled (beyond the needful supply of cold water found in huge jars +and tubs in every shady place, a provision so grateful under a tropical +sun,) was impossible; to have entertained a part—an exclusive few—on +such an occasion, would have been contrary to the Governor’s principles; +so for that day all personal attendants were enabled to share in the +universal holiday. + +In due time after the ploughing and mowing matches, came the competition +in turnips, strawberries, potatoes, dahlias, barley, potherbs, flax, and +cabbages, and the parading and comparison of horse-colts, ass-colts, +calves, heifers, bulls, sows, and boars. + +Now, before the advent of this reforming Governor, the Bermudians had +been accustomed to no other competition than that of sailing or cricket +matches or steeple-chases; to no other exhibitions than military +reviews; all excellent in their way, but now usefully varied by a kind +of competition that brought new comforts to every cottager. + +Years have elapsed since the day of this well-remembered _fête_. But the +good Governor is still affectionately remembered. The Bermudians love to +show passing strangers the sweet orange-tree on Mount Langton which +still blooms a green and golden monument of plain, practical, +kind-hearted common sense. And this sketch of a remote and insignificant +dependency has been thought worth telling for the benefit, not only of +colonial Governors, but of well-meaning reformers in all parts of the +world. If we would do good we must not be content with mere talk; we +must not disdain to commence at our own doors by budding—a sweet orange +on a bitter citron. + + + + + LONDON PAUPER CHILDREN. + + +High and dry upon a pleasant breezy hilltop about seven miles south of +London stands a house worthy of a visit. Far enough away to be quite +free from the cloud of smoke, yet near enough for easy access from +London; it is a large house in the country, in and out of which a large +family of essentially London tenants are perpetually going. Walk round +the hill it stands upon, and a succession of charming views present +themselves for admiration. A far distant horizon bounds a country made +up of purple woods, rich golden brown stripes of corn-fields, and bright +green meadows. Here young plantations; there stately single timber +trees; with villas nestling under fringes of woods on pleasant slopes, +whilst in the valley below runs the Croydon Railway, linking this +charming, quiet country round Norwood, to the smoky, busy, useful +London. + +The place we speak of is the Pauper-School at Norwood, which may be +called a factory for making harmless, if not useful subjects, of the +very worst of human material—a place for converting those who would +otherwise certainly be miserable, and most likely vicious, into +rational, reasonable, and often very useful members of society;—in +short, a house for training a large and wretched class in habits of +decency, regularity, and order, and leading a pitiable section of the +great two-million-strong family of London from the road to crime into +that of honest industry and self-respect. + +The exterior of the building has no trace of the architectural display +that won for the school near Manchester the title of a Pauper Palace. +The exterior of the Norwood house is as dingy and ugly as a small +brewhouse. In shape it reminds one of the old cities, built upon no +definite plan, but enlarged from time to time as the population found it +most convenient. It is neither square, nor round, nor triangular; but +then, when we go over it, we shall find that the lack of straight lines +and right angles does not prevent the presence of much good, and of a +fair amount of comfort and happiness within its confines. + +The irregularity of its construction is explained by the fact that the +place was established twenty-seven years ago, not by a public body, but +by a private individual, Mr. Aubin, the present superintendant. The +commencement of such a place was an epoch in the history of pauperism in +this country. Before the time of the benevolent Jonas Hanway, no regard +was paid to the destitute children of the poor, and those young +children, whose ill-fate it was to be born of pauper parents, in town, +were condemned to a life that began in the gutters of back lanes, and +usually ended in the gaol, by fever, or more suddenly, on the gallows. +Hanway secured the passing of a law empowering the parishes to collect +the juvenile paupers and send them into the country for nurture and +maintenance. It was a step in advance to get the children away from the +dens in which they had previously been confined, but the nurture was of +a very unsatisfactory kind. When an old woman applied for parish relief, +she had two or three children given to her to keep, and out of their +allowance she was to help to keep herself. She usually set them to +collect firewood for her; or to watch sheep, or to scare crows; and, in +their search for fuel, they were often taught to rob hedges, or fences, +or trespass on plantations. At seven years’ old they were sent back to +finish their education in the workhouses, and frequently remained there +for six or seven years without even learning their letters. Indeed, to +teach them at all was regarded as a kind of small treason. “Teach +paupers to read! What next?” was a common exclamation. Reading was, by a +great many people, considered to be a mere premium for laziness—whilst +writing was thought to be a temptation to forgery, and its then certain +result—the gallows. To collect the pauper children, and “farm them out” +to persons who would teach as well as feed them, was the next step in +advance. The fruit of this plan was the growth of various places where +large numbers of the pauper rising generation were gathered together in +houses, the proprietors of which often realised large profits upon the +moneys allowed for maintaining this class of the population. + +Taking advantage of the generally and loudly expressed public opinion, +that “something must be done,” the Poor-Law Board succeeded in +establishing some school districts near the metropolis. The first step +taken was to purchase Mr. Aubin’s place at Norwood, and thus take it +into their own hands. This school had long been regarded as the best of +its class, and as one where many steps of great practical value had been +taken for the improved treatment of youthful paupers. The purchase-money +of this school is said to have been about eleven thousand pounds, and +the authorities wisely retained the aid of the man who had originated +it, to carry out still further into effect their improved plans. This +step was soon followed by others. In the publication of the Poor-Law +Board, just issued—the promoters of our present poor-law system long ago +saw the mischiefs of this plan, and after some years’ consideration, and +many difficulties, succeeded in procuring an Act of Parliament for the +establishment of district pauper Industrial Schools. But though the law +was made, it was found impossible to overcome the objections raised by +parish authorities, and it was not carried out to any extent, until the +terrible calamity of Tooting startled all England with the spectacle of +hundreds of deaths by cholera, in an establishment where the little +unfortunates were “farmed out.” + +In the Second Annual Report of the Poor-Law Board, Mr. Baines, its +President, says, that three very important school districts have, within +the year, been formed in and near the metropolis. These are:— + + “1st. The Central London School District, comprising the City of + London Union, the East London Union, and the St. Saviour’s Union. The + Board of Management of this district have completed all their + arrangements and hold their regular meetings. They have purchased of + Mr. Aubin his premises at Norwood for the district school, retaining + him in the capacity of steward or superintendant of the establishment, + and have appointed an efficient staff of teachers in every department. + The school is now in full activity, upon an improved footing, and + nearly eight hundred children (nine hundred) are maintained and + educated in it. + + “2nd. The South Metropolitan School District comprised, as originally + formed, the Union of St. Olave’s, and the large parishes, not in + Union, of Bermondsey, Camberwell, and Rotherhithe. + + “3rd. The North Surrey School District includes the Unions of + Wandsworth and Clapham, Kingston, Croydon, Richmond, and Lewisham. The + managers have purchased fifty acres of land near Norwood, and have + commenced the erection of a building capable of accommodating six + hundred children. + + “It will thus be seen that provision has been made in and around + London for the proper education and training of more than two thousand + poor children. We have, moreover, sanctioned arrangements whereby, + when completed, the state of the children of other metropolitan + parishes will be very materially improved.” + +About nine hundred children are congregated at Norwood, and out of the +whole number there is not perhaps a dozen the offspring of decent +parents. Many are foundlings, picked up at the corners of streets, or at +the doors of parish officers. The names of some of them suggest an idea +of how they began life. Thus, one owned the name of Olive Jewry, whilst +another was called Alfred City. Others have lost both parents by death, +and been left puling living legacies to the parish, but the majority are +the children of parents living in workhouses. When able-bodied paupers +claim relief, they are “offered the house.” They are received into the +Union, and their children are sent up to this out-of-town school, that +fresh air, cleanliness, good food and the schoolmaster, may try what can +be done to lift them up from the slough of pauperism. Let us examine the +process through which they go. + +The children, on their first appearance at this Norwood School, are +usually in the most lamentable plight. Ignorance and dirt, rags and +vermin, laziness and ill health, diseased scalps, and skins tortured by +itch, are their characteristics. They are the very dregs of the +population of the largest city in the world—the human waifs and strays +of the modern Babylon; the children of poverty, and misery, and crime; +in very many cases labouring under physical defects, such as bad sight +or hearing; almost always stunted in their growth, and bearing the stamp +of ugliness and suffering on their features. Generally born in dark +alleys and back courts, their playground has been the streets, where the +wits of many have been prematurely sharpened at the expense of any +morals they might have. With minds and bodies destitute of proper +nutriment, they are caught, as it were, by the parish officers, like +half-wild creatures, roaming poverty-stricken amidst the wealth of our +greatest city; and half-starved in a land where the law says no one +shall be destitute of food and shelter. When their lucky fate sends them +to Norwood, they are generally little personifications of genuine +poverty—compounds, as somebody says, of ignorance, gin, and sprats. + +A number of pauper children having been owned as chargeable upon the +Central London District, to whom the Norwood School now belongs, and the +requisite papers having been filled up, they are sent to Weston Hill. +Arrived there, and their clothes having been steamed, if worth +preservation, or burned if mere rags,—the new comers are well washed, +have their hair cut, and are newly clad in clean and wholesome, but +homely, garments. According to their ages, they are then drafted into a +class; those between two and six years pass to the infant school; those +of greater age are enrolled on the industrial side of the establishment. +Now the training begins. They are all sent before the doctor, who +usually finds them sallow and sickly; but by aid of Nature’s +physic,—fresh air,—and Nature’s rule of exercise and regularity, +assisted by extra diet, and with the occasional aid of some good London +beef and porter, very few drugs are wanted, and their looks change for +the better. Early in August, this year,—the period of our visit,—there +were but two children confined to bed out of more than nine hundred; and +those two were poor little scrofulous shadows of humanity, such as may +be found in the top wards of hospitals, labouring under disease of the +hip and spine,—paying the penalty of sins committed by their parents +before them. There had recently been an epidemic of measles in the +place, when that disease destroyed eight of the sickliest out of ninety +cases. But for this, the mortality would not have gone beyond one in a +hundred through the year. The summer is their healthiest season; for +winter brings chilblains, a disease of poor blood, and ophthalmia, to +which pauper children seem to be especially liable. + +After their introduction to the doctor, the bath, the wardrobe, and the +pantry, they are handed over to the schoolmaster or mistress, as the +case may be. On the day of our visit, two hundred and forty boys were +receiving instruction in one large new school-room; two hundred (infants +between two and six years old) were being taught in another room; two +hundred girls were reading, writing, and sewing in a third apartment; +the rest of the occupants being at work, or at drill, or at play, in +other parts of the establishment. The boys are kept four days a week at +school, and two days at work in shops which we shall presently see and +describe: the girls have three days’ schooling and three days’ training +in household occupations,—such as cleaning the house, washing, ironing, +mangling, and needlework. The way these portions of the establishment +are arranged may possibly furnish materials for a future paper. + +The school for the eldest boys is a long room newly built, with an +enormous dormitory above it. The ventilation has been provided for in a +way that seems very satisfactory. By day the boys are divided into six +classes, ranged on forms with desks before them, each class being +separated from the others by a curtain which hangs from the ceiling, and +is sufficiently wide to separate the sections of scholars from each +other, and to deaden the sounds of so large a seminary, but yet not wide +enough to prevent the master as he stands on the side opposite his +pupils, from getting a view of the entire school. Black boards and large +slates are amongst the tools employed for conveying instruction, but the +more advanced pupils are supplied with paper copy-books for writing +lessons. The school is under the charge of a chief-master, far more +competent than those usually found in schools beyond the pale of +Government inspection. He is a B.A. of the University of London, is +author of a small English grammar; and enjoys, as he deserves, a liberal +salary. Under his hands the pupils appear to make excellent progress. +The upper classes write well to dictation, are ready at figures, and are +practised in the grammatical construction of English words and +sentences. Twelve of the boys are in training as teachers, and six of +these are now what is called “pupil-teachers,” and are entitled to an +allowance of money by way of reward from the Privy Council. This +allowance is set aside for them till they display, on examination, a +sufficient proficiency to entitle them to admission to the +training-school at Knellar Hall or Battersea. Whilst in these higher +schools they receive the money set aside for them in the earlier stages +of their school progress, and when, by successive examinations, their +efficiency is sufficiently tested, they pass from the grade of pupil to +that of master: the boys from Knellar Hall being appointed schoolmasters +to Workhouses; the boys from Battersea to be masters of National Schools +in various parts of the country. A boy gets this promotion in life by +his own merits. For instance, at the Norwood Pauper-School, the most apt +pupil becomes, as elsewhere, the monitor of his form or class. When the +day of examination arrives, he distinguishes himself before the +Government Inspector of Schools. This official is empowered thereupon to +select him as a “pupil-teacher,” &c.; he becomes an apprentice to the +art of instruction. To encourage the chief-master of the school to help +on his boys to this reward, an allowance of three pounds a year is made +to the master for each boy who thus distinguishes himself, and thus +gains promotion. Thus, there being twelve boys at Norwood so in +training, Mr. Imeson, their instructor, gains thirty-six pounds a year +for his success in bringing forward that number of his scholars. + +In appearance, the boys have little to recommend them, and it is +tolerably evident, that if not raised a little in the social scale—if +not taught to do something and know something—they would inevitably +belong to the class of incurable paupers, who burden poor’s-rates and +hang about workhouses all their lives. Society must educate such boys, +if only in self-defence. Some of them are at first most turbulent, but +by patient management they gradually subside into the orderly +arrangements of the place, and often those at first most unruly become +the quickest boys in the school. The energy that would make them +nuisances, when rightly directed makes them most useful. + +When the hours of teaching are over, the boys are assembled in one of +the large open yards belonging to the establishment, and are there +exercised by the drill-master. This official is an ex-non-commissioned +officer of Guards, who in a short time makes the metamorphosis seen on +parade. The ungainly, slouching, slow lout, is taught to march, wheel +right or left, in concert with others, punctually and accurately. They +answer the command, “left wheel,” “right form, four deep,” and so on, +like little soldiers, and seem to like the fun. This gives them at once +exercise in the fresh air, notions of regularity and prompt attention, +and a habit of obedience to discipline. + +There is also a naval class. Behind the school is a playground, two +acres in extent, and in the centre of this stands a ship. True, its deck +is of earth, but there are bulwarks, real bulwarks all round, and rising +up above are genuine lofty masts, with rigging complete. Up these ropes +the boys swarm with great delight. At a given signal they “man the +yards,” give three miniature cheers, and then, all in chorus, sing God +save the Queen. They evidently like the fun, pride themselves, boy-like, +upon their feline power of climbing, and one or two of them show their +expertness and bravery by disdaining the rope-ladder—pardon us, the +shrouds—and slide down the main-stay from the top of the foremast to the +bowsprit. All these things are evident sources of enjoyment; for +running, and climbing, and shouting in the open air, are natural to the +human animal in a normal state of existence. Of the climbing, there is a +story told which illustrates the character of a very worthy man now +passed away. Dr. Stanley, the late Bishop of Norwich, paid many visits +to this school, and always looked on with evident pleasure whilst the +lads were enjoying themselves with their ship. One day the good-natured +dignitary was looking on, when he began to rub his hands together, and +presently turning to an officer of the place who stood by, said in a +genial, half confidential tone, “If I were not a bishop I’d join in and +climb that pole myself!” + +Besides this drill, or parade, and this exercise aloft, the boys, on two +days of the week, are employed in the Industrial training of the place. +The smaller boys, in classes of about thirty-five, are ranged on benches +round a large tailor’s shop. Patterns decorate the walls, and +“corduroys” in all stages, from the huge bale to the perfect breeches, +are seen all round the room. The boys stitch and sew, and make and mend, +under the instruction of a master tailor, a large part of the clothes +worn in the place. When each boy grows bigger he is drafted into a +neighbouring shop, where, also, under a competent master, he learns the +craft of St. Crispin. It is curious to see thirty or forty little +cobblers, all in rows, waxing and stitching, and hammering on +lap-stones, and entering _con amore_ into the mysteries of sole and +upper leathers, brads, pegs, and sparrowbills. When they have learned +all these things, some of the lads pass into a third shop, where they +are made acquainted with the forge, and anvil, and sledge hammer, and +where they help to shoe horses, construct iron bedsteads, and make and +mend all the iron-work (and there is a great deal of it) required by +this family party of nearly a thousand souls—pauper children, masters, +and servants, together. After going through all these stages of +training, with the incidental knowledge picked up in the stables with +the horses, in the playground with the dogs, when helping to feed the +pigs, and whilst aiding the operation of milking the twenty-five cows +which supply milk for the house, the boys have acquired a great amount +of useful knowledge. The place is indeed a little colony in itself, and +if its inmates had not often to pass from it back to the sinkholes of +London, they might leave Norwood almost with the certainty of becoming +good and prosperous citizens. + + * * * * * + + Monthly Supplement of “HOUSEHOLD WORDS,” + Conducted by CHARLES DICKENS. + + + _Price 2d., Stamped, 3d._, + + THE HOUSEHOLD NARRATIVE + OF + CURRENT EVENTS. + + + _The Number, containing a history of the past month, was issued with + the Magazines._ + +------------------------------------------------------------------------ + + + + + TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES + + + ● Fixed typos; non-standard spelling and dialect retained. + ● Renumbered footnotes. + ● Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. + ● The caret (^) is used to indicate superscript, whether applied to a + single character (as in 2^d) or to an entire expression (as in + 1^{st}). + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 78193 *** |