James Nasmyth, Engineer: An Autobiography
by James Nasmyth · English · Gutenberg #476 · 864,752 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of James Nasmyth, Engineer: An Autobiography
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: James Nasmyth, Engineer: An Autobiography
Author: James Nasmyth
Editor: Samuel Smiles
Release date: March 1, 1996 [eBook #476]
Most recently updated: April 1, 2015
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/476
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JAMES NASMYTH, ENGINEER: AN AUTOBIOGRAPHY ***
Ver.04.29.93*END*
James Nasmyth: Engineer, An Autobiography.
Edited by Samuel Smiles, LL.D.
(this Etext is taken from the popular edition, pub. John Murray 1897)
PREFACE
I have had much pleasure in editing the following Memoir of my friend
Mr. Nasmyth. Some twenty years since (in April 1863), when I applied
to him for information respecting his mechanical inventions, he
replied: "My life presents no striking or remarkable incidents,
and would, I fear, prove but a tame narrative. The sphere to which my
endeavours have been confined has been of a comparatively quiet order;
but, vanity apart, I hope I have been able to leave a few marks of my
existence behind me in the shape of useful contrivances, which are in
many ways helping on great works of industry."
Mr. Nasmyth, nevertheless, kindly furnished me with information
respecting himself, as well as his former master and instructor,
Henry Maudslay, of London, for the purpose of being inserted in
Industrial Biography, or Ironworkers and Toolmakers, which was
published at the end of 1863. He was of opinion that the outline of
his life there presented was sufficiently descriptive of his career as
a mechanic and inventor.
During the years that have elapsed since then, Mr. Nasmyth has been
prevailed upon by some of his friends more especially by Sir John
Anderson, late of Woolwich Arsenal--to note down the reminiscences of
his life, with an account of his inventions, and to publish them for
the benefit of others. He has accordingly spent some of his well
earned leisure during the last two years in writing out his
recollections. Having consulted me on the subject, I recommended that
they should be published in the form of an Autobiography, and he has
willingly given his consent.
Mr. Nasmyth has furnished me with abundant notes of his busy life,
and he has requested me, in preparing them for publication, to
"make use of the pruning-knife." I hope, however, that in editing the
book I have not omitted anything that is likely to be interesting or
instructive. I must add that everything has been submitted to his
correction and received his final approval.
The narrative abundantly illustrates Mr. Nasmyth's own definition of
engineering; namely, common sense applied to the use of materials.
In his case, common sense has been more especially applied to
facilitating and perfecting work by means of Machine Tools.
Civilisation began with tools; and every step in advance has been
accomplished through their improvement. Handicraft labour, in bone,
stone, or wood, was the first stage in the development of man's power;
and tools or machines, in iron or steel, are the last and most
efficient method of economising it, and enabling him to intelligently
direct the active and inert forces of nature.
It will be observed that Mr. Nasmyth, on his first start in life,
owed much to the influence of his father, who was not only an admirable
artist--"the founder," as Sir David Wilkie termed him, "of the
landscape painting school of Scotland"--but an excellent mechanic.
His "bow-and-string" roofs and bridges show his original merits as a
designer; and are sufficient to establish his ability as a mechanical
engineer. Indeed, one of Mr. Nasmyth's principal objects in preparing
the notes of the following work, has been to introduce a Memorial to
the memory of his father, to whom he owed so much, and to whom he was
so greatly attached through life. Hence the numerous references to him,
and the illustrations from his works of art, of architecture,
as well as of mechanics, given in the early part of the book.
I might point out that Mr. Nasmyth's narrative has a strong bearing
upon popular education; not only as regards economical use of time,
careful observation, close attention to details, but as respects the
uses of Drawing. The observations which he makes as to the accurate
knowledge of this art are very important. In this matter he concurs
with Mr. Herbert Spencer in his work on Education. "It is very strange,"
Mr. Nasmyth said some years ago, "that amidst all our vaunted
improvements in education, the faculty of comparison by sight, or what
may be commonly called the correctness of eye, has been so little
attended to" He accordingly urges the teaching of rudimentary drawing in
all public schools. "Drawing is," he says, "the Education of the Eye.
It is more interesting than words. It is graphic language."
The illustrations given in the course of the following book will serve
to show his own mastery of drawing whether as respects Mechanical
details, the Moon's surface, or the fairyland of Landscape.
It is perhaps not saying too much to aver that had he not devoted his
business life to Mechanics, he would, like his father, his brother
Patrick, and his sisters, have taken a high position as an artist.
In the following Memoir we have only been able to introduce a few
specimens of his drawings; but "The Fairies," "The Antiquary,"
and others, will give the reader a good idea of Mr. Nasmyth's artistic
ability. Since his retirement from business life, at the age of
forty-eight, Mr. Nasmyth's principal pursuit has been Astronomy.
His Monograph on "The Moon," published in 1874, exhibits his ardent and
philosophic love for science in one of its sublimest aspects.
His splendid astronomical instruments, for the most part made entirely
by his own hands, have enabled him to detect the "willow leaf-shaped"
objects which form the structural element of the Sun's luminous
surface. The discovery was shortly after verified by Sir John Herschel
and other astronomers, and is now a received fact in astronomical
science.
A Chronological List of some of Mr. Nasmyth's contrivances and
inventions is given at the end of the volume, which shows, so far,
what he has been enabled to accomplish during his mechanical career.
These begin at a very early age, and were continued for about thirty
years of a busy and active life. Very few of them were patented;
many of them, though widely adopted, are unacknowledged as his
invention. They, nevertheless, did much to advance the mechanical arts,
and still continue to do excellent service in the engineering world.
The chapter relating to the origin of the Cuneiform Character,
and of the Pyramid or Sun-worship in its relation to Egyptian
Architecture, is placed at the end, so as not to interrupt the personal
narrative. That chapter, it is believed, will be found very
interesting, illustrated, as it is, by Mr. Nasmyth's drawings.
S.S.
LONDON, October 1885.
CONTENTS
Preface
List of Illustrations [omitted in this Etext]
CHAPTER 1 My Ancestry
Sentiment of Ancestry
Origin of the name of Naesmyth
Naesmyth of Posso
Naesmyth of Netherton
Battle of Bothwell Brig
Estate confiscated
Elspeth Naesmyth
Michael Naesmyth builder and architect
Fort at Inversnaid
Naesmyth family tomb
Former masters and men
Michael Naesmyth's son
New Edinburgh
Grandmother Naesmyth
Uncle Michael
CHAPTER 2 Alexander Nasmyth
Born 1758--Grassmarket
Edinburgh--Education
The Bibler's Seat
The brothers Erskine
Apprenticed to a coachbuilder
The Trustees' Academy
Huguenot artisans
Alexander Runciman
Copy of "The Laocoon"
Assistant to Allan Ramsay
Faculty of resourcefulness
Begins as portrait painter
Friendship with Miller of Dalswinton
Miller and the first steamboat
Visit to Italy
Marriage to Barbara Foulis
Burns the poet
Edinburgh clubs
Landscape beauty
Abandons portrait for landscape painting
David Roberts, R.A.
Dean Bridge
St. Bernard's Well
Nelson's Monument
Bow-and-string bridges
Sunday rivet
CHAPTER 3 An Artist's Family
Sir James Hall
Geology of Edinburgh
Friends of the family
Henry Raeburn
Evenings at home
Society of artists
"Caller Aon"
Management of the household
The family
Education of six sisters
The Nasmyth classes
Pencil drawing
Excursions round Edinburgh
Graphic memoranda
Patrick Nasmyth, sketch of his life
Removes to London
Visit to Hampshire
Original prices of his works
His friends
His death
CHAPTER 4 My Early Years
Born 1808
Mary Peterkin
The brilliant red poppies
Left-handed
Patrick's birthday
Vocal performance
A wonderful escape
Events of the war
The French prisoners
Entry of the 42d into Edinburgh
Bleaching "claes" on the Calton
The Greenside workshops
The chimes of St. Giles'
The Edinburgh Market
The caddies
The fishwives
The "floore"
Traditional fondness for cats
A Nasmyth prayer
CHAPTER 5 My School-days
My first schoolmaster
"Preter pluperfect tense"
The "penny pig"
Country picnics
Pupil at the High School
Dislike of Latin
Love of old buildings
Their masonry
Sir Walter Scott
"The Heart of Midlothian"
John Linnell
The collecting period
James Watt
My father's workshop
Make peeries, cannon, and "steels"
School friendships
Paterson's ironfoundry
His foremen
Johnie Syme
Tom Smith and chemical experiments
Kid gloves and technical knowledge
CHAPTER 6 Mechanical Beginnings
Study arithmetic and geometry
Practise art of drawing
Its important uses
Make tools and blowpipe
Walks round Edinburgh
Volcanic origin of the neighbourhood
George the Fourth's visit
The Radical Road
Destructive fires
Journey to Stirling
The Devon Ironworks
Robert Bald
Carron Ironworks
Coats of mail found at Bannockburn
Models of condensing steam-engine
Professor Leslie
Edinburgh School of Arts
Attend University classes
Brass-casting in the bedroom
George Douglass
Make a working steam-engine
Sympathy of activity
The Expansometer
Make a road steam-carriage
Desire to enter Maudslay's factory
CHAPTER 7 Henry Maudslay, London
Voyage to London with specimens of workmanship
First walk through London
Visit to Henry Maudslay
The interview
Exhibit my specimens
Taken on as assistant
The private workshop
Maudslay's constructive excellence
His maxims
Uniformity of screws
Meeting with Henry Brougham
David Wilkie
Visit to the Admiralty Museum
The Block machinery
The Royal Mint
Steam yacht trip to Richmond
Lodgings taken
"A clean crossing"
CHAPTER 8 Maudslay's Private Assistant
Enter Maudslay's service
Rudimentary screw generator
The guide screw
Interview with Faraday
Rate of wages
Economical living
My cooking stove
Make model of marine steam-engine
My collar-nut cutting machine
Maudslay's elements of high-class workmanship
Flat filing
Standard planes
Maudslay's "Lord Chancellor"
Maudslay's Visitors
General Bentham, Barton, Donkin and Chantrey
The Cundell brothers
Walks round London
Norman architecture
CHAPTER 9 Holiday in the Manufacturing Districts
Coaching trip to Liverpool
Coventry
English scenery
'The Rocket'
The two Stephensons
Opening of the railway
William Fawcett
Birkenhead
Walk back to London
Patricroft
Manchester
Edward Tootal
Sharp, Roberts and Co.
Manchester industry
Coalbrookdale
The Black Country
Dudley Castle
Wren's Nest Hill
Birmingham
Boulton and Watt
William Murdoch
John Drain
Kenilworth--Warwick--Oxford--Windsor--London
CHAPTER 10 Begin Business at Manchester
Stamping machine improved
Astronomical instruments
A reflecting telescope proposed
Death of Maudslay
Joshua Field
'Talking books'
Leave Maudslay and Field
Take temporary workshop in Edinburgh
Archie Torry
Construct a rotary steam-engine
Prepare a stock of machine tools
Visit to Liverpool
John Cragg
Visit to Manchester
John Kennedy
Grant Brothers
Take a workshop
Tools removed to Manchester
A prosperous business begun
Story of the brothers Grant
Trip to Elgin and Castle Grant
The brothers Cowper
The printing machine
Edward Cowper
CHAPTER 11 Bridgewater Foundry--Partnership
Demand for skilled labour
Machine tools in request
My flat overloaded
A crash among the decanters
The land at Patricroft
Lease from Squire Trafford
Bridgewater Foundary begun
Trip to Londonderry
The Giant's Causeway
Cottage at Barton
The Bridgewater canal
Lord Francis Egerton
Safety foundry ladle
Holbrook Gaskell taken as partner
His eventual retirement
CHAPTER 12 Free Trade in Ability--The Strike--Death of my Father
Hugo de Lupus
The Peter Stubb's files
Worsley labourers
Promotion from the ranks
Free trade in ability
Foreman lieutenants, Archie Torry
James Hutton
John Clarke
Thomas Crewdson
Trades' Union interference
A strike ordered
Workman advertised for
A reinforcement of Scotch mechanics
The strike scotched
Millwrights and engineers
Indenture-bound apprentices
Visits of my father
Enthusiastic reception
His last work
His death
Testimony of Sir David Wilkie
CHAPTER 13 My Marriage--The Steam Hammer
Preparations for a home
Influence of chance occurrences
Visit to Mr. Hartop's near Barnsley
Important interview
Eventual marriage
Great Western Railway locomotives
Mr. Humphries and 'Great Western' steamship
Forging of paddle-shaft
Want of range of existing hammers
The first steam hammer sketched
Its arrangement
The paddle shaft abandoned
My sketch copied and adopted
My visit to Creuzot
Find steam hammer in operation
A patent taken out
First steam hammer made in England
Its general adoption
Patent secured for United States
CHAPTER 14 Travels in France and Italy
The French Minister of Marine at Paris
Rouen--Bayeux--Cherbourg--Brest--Rochefort--Indret
M. Rosine
Architecture of Nismes
Marseilles--Toulon--Voyage to Naples--Genoa--Pisa
Bay of Naples
The National Museum
Visit to Vesuvius
The edge of the crater
Volcanic commotion
Overflows of burning lava
Wine-shop at Rosina
Return ride to Naples
CHAPTER 15 Steam Hammer Pile-driver
The Royal Dockyards
Steam hammer for Devonport
Scene at the first stroke
My Lords of the Admiralty
Steam hammer pile-driver required
The new docks at Devonport
The pile-driver delivered
Its description
Trail against the old method
Its general adoption
Happy thoughts
Testing of chain cables and anchors
Causes of failure
Punctilliousness of officials at royal dockyards
Egyptian workman employed
Affiffi Lalli
Letter from Faraday
CHAPTER 16 Nuremberg--St. Petersburg--Dannemora.
Visit to Nuremberg
Albert Durer
Adam Krafft
Visit to St. Petersburg
General Wilson
General Greg
Struve the astronomer
Palaces and shops
Ivy ornamentation
The Emperor Nicholas a royal salute
Francis Baird
Work of Russian serfs
The Izak Church
Voyage to Stokholm
Visit to Upsala
The iron mines of Dannemora
To Gottenburg by steamer
Motala
Trollhatten Falls
Sweedish people
Copenhagen
Tycho Brahe;
Zeland and Holstein
Holland, and return
CHAPTER 17 More about Bridgewater Foundry--Woolwich Arsenal
Increased demand for self-acting tools
Promotions of lads
The Trades' Union again
Strike against Platt Brothers
Edward Tootal's advice
Friendliness between engineering firms
Small high-pressure engines
Uses of waste steam
Improvements in calico-printing
Improvements at Woolwich Arsenal
Enlargement of workshops
Improved machine tools
The gun foundry and laboratories
Orders for Spain and Russia
Rope factory machinery
Russian Officers
Grand Duke Constantine
Lord Ellesmere's visitors
Admiral Kornileff
CHAPTER 18 Astronomical pursuits
Hobbies at home
Drawing
Washington Irving
Pursuit of astronomy
Wonders of the heavens
Construction of a new speculum
William Lassell
Warren de la Rue
Home-made reflecting telescope
A ghost at Patricroft
Twenty-inch diameter speculum
Drawings of the moon's surface
Structure of the moon
Lunar craters
Pico
Wrinkles of age
Extinct craters
Landscape scenery of the moon
Meeting of British Association at Edinburgh
The Bass Rock
Professor Owen
Robert Chambers
The grooved rocks
Hugh Miller and boulder clay
Lecture on the moon
Visit the Duke of Argyll
Basaltic formation at Mull
The Giant's Causeway
The great exhibition
Steam hammer engine
Prize medals
Interview with the Queen and Prince Consort
Lord Cockburn
Visit to Bonally
D. O. Hill
CHAPTER 19 More about Astronomy
Sir David Brewster
Edward Cowper's lecture
Cause of the sun's light
Lord Murray
Sir T. Mitchell
The Milky Way
Countless suns
Infusoria in Bridgewater Canal
Rotary movements of heavenly bodies
Geological Society meeting
Dr Vaugham
Improvement of Small Arms Factory, Enfield
Generosity of United States Government
The Enfield Rifle
CHAPTER 20 Retirement from Business
Letter from David Roberts, R. A.
Puddling iron by steam
The process tried
Sir Henry Bessemer's invention
Discussion at Cheltenham
Bessemer's account
Prepare to retire from business
The Countess of Ellesmere
The "Cottage in Kent"
The "antibilious stock"
Hammerfield, Penshurst
Planting and gardening
The Crystal Palace
Music
Tools and telescopes
The greenhouse
CHAPTER 21 Active leisure
Astronomy
Lecture on the Moon
Edinburgh
Old friends
Visit to the Continent--Paris, Chartres, Nismes, Chamounix
Art of photography
Sir John Herschel
Spots on the sun's surface
E.J. Stone
De la Rue
Visit from Sir John Herschel
Cracking glass globe
A million spots and letters
Geological diagram
Father Secchi at Rome
Lord Lyndhurst
Visit to Herschel
His last letter
Publication of The Moon
Philip H. Calderon
Cardinal Manning
Miss Herschel
William Lassell
Windmill grinding of speculum
The dial of life
End of recollections
List of Inventions and Contrivances
Articles on the Sun-Ray origin of the Pyramids and Cuneiform Character
[Image] Edinburgh Castle, From the Vennel
AUTOBIOGRAPHY.
CHAPTER 1. My Ancestry
Our history begins before we are born. We represent the hereditary
influences of our race, and our ancestors virtually live in us.
The sentiment of ancestry seems to be inherent in human nature,
especially in the more civilised races. At all events, we cannot help
having a due regard for the history of our forefathers. Our curiosity
is stimulated by their immediate or indirect influence upon ourselves.
It may be a generous enthusiasm, or, as some might say, a harmless
vanity, to take pride in the honour of their name. The gifts of nature,
however, are more valuable than those of fortune; and no line of
ancestry, however honourable, can absolve us from the duty of diligent
application and perseverance, or from the practice of the virtues of
self-control and self-help.
Sir Bernard Burke, in his Peerage and Baronetage Ed 1879 Pp 885-6,
gives a faithful account of the ancestors from whom I am lineally
descended. "The family of Naesymth, he says, "is one of remote
antiquity in Tweeddale, and has possessed lands there since the 13th
century." They fought in the wars of Bruce and Baliol, which ended in
the independence of Scotland.
The following is the family legend of the origin of the name of
Naesymth: --
In the troublous times which prevailed in Scotland before the union of
the Crowns, the feuds between the King and the Barons were almost
constant. In the reign of James III. the House of Douglas was the
most prominent and ambitious. The Earl not only resisted his liege
lord, but entered into a combination with the King of England, from
whom he received a pension. He was declared a rebel, and his estates
were confiscated. He determined to resist the royal power, and crossed
the Border with his followers. He was met by the Earl of Angus, the
Maxwells, the Johnstons, and the Scotts. In one of the engagements
which ensued the Douglases appeared to have gained the day, when an
ancestor of the Naesmyths, who fought under the royal standard, took
refuge in the smithy of a neighbouring village. The smith offered him
protection, disguised him as a hammerman, with a leather apron in
front, and asked him to lend a hand at his work.
While thus engaged a party of the Douglas partisans entered the smithy.
They looked with suspicion on the disguised hammerman, who, in his
agitation, struck a false blow with the sledge hammer, which broke the
shaft in two. Upon this, one of the pursuers rushed at him, calling
out, "Ye're nae smyth!" The stalwart hammerman turned upon his
assailant, and, wrenching a dagger from him, speedily overpowered him.
The smith himself, armed with a big hammer, effectually aided in
overpowering and driving out the Douglas men. A party of the royal
forces made their appearance, when Naesmyth rallied them, led them
against the rebels, and converted what had been a temporary defeat into
a victory. A grant of lands was bestowed upon him for his service.
His armorial bearings consisted of a hand dexter with a dagger, between
two broken hammer-shafts, and there they remain to this day. The motto
was, Non arte sect marte, "Not by art but by war" In my time I have
reversed the motto (Non marte sed arte); and instead of the broken
hammer-shafts, I have adopted, not as my "arms" but as a device,
the most potent form of mechanical art--the Steam Hammer.
[Image] Origin of the Name. By James Nasmyth.
Sir Michael Naesmyth, Chamberlain of the Archbishop of St. Andrews,
obtained the lands of Posso and Glenarth in 1544, by right of his wife,
Elizabeth, daughter and heiress of John Baird of Posso. The Bairds
have ever been a loyal and gallant family. Sir Gilbert, father of John
Baird, fell at Flodden in 1513, in defence of his king.
The royal eyrie of Posso Crag is on the family estate;
and the Lure worn by Queen Mary, and presented by her son James VI. to
James Naesmyth, the Royal Falconer, is still preserved as a family
heirloom.
During the intestine troubles in Scotland, in the reign of Mary,
Sir Michael Naesmyth espoused the cause of the unfortunate Queen.
He fought under her banner at Langside in 1568. He was banished,
and his estates were seized by the Regent Moray. But after the
restoration of peace, the Naesmyths regained their property.
Sir Michael died at an advanced age.
He had many sons. The eldest, James, married Joana, daughter of
William Veitch or Le Veitch of Dawick. By this marriage the lands of
Dawick came into the family. He predeceased his father, and was
succeeded by his son James, the Royal Falconer above referred to.
Sir Michael's second son, John, was chief chirurgeon to James VI. of
Scotland, afterwards James I. of England, and to Henry, Prince of
Wales. He died in London in 1613, and in his testament he leaves
"his herb to his young master, the Prince's grace." Charles I.,
in his instructions to the President of the Court of Session, enjoins
"that you take special notice of the children of John Naesmyth, so
often recommended by our late dear father and us." Two of Sir Michael's
other sons were killed at Edinburgh in 1588, in a deadly feud between
the Scotts and the Naesmyths. In those days a sort of Corsican
vendetta was carried on between families from one generation to
another.
Sir Michael Naesmyth, son of the Royal Falconer, succeeded to the
property. His eldest son James was appointed to serve in Claverhouse's
troop of horse in 1684. Among the other notable members of the family
was James Naesmyth, a very clever lawyer. He was supposed to be so
deep that he was generally known as the "Deil o' Dawyk". His eldest
son was long a member of Parliament for the county of Peebles; he was,
besides, a famous botanist, having studied under Linnaeus, Among the
inter-marriages of the family were those with the Bruces of Lethen, the
Stewarts of Traquhair, the Murrays of Stanhope, the Pringles of Clifton,
the Murrays of Philiphaugh, the Keiths (of the Earl Marischal's family),
the Andersons of St. Germains, the Marjoribanks of Lees, and others.
In the fourteenth century a branch of the Naesmyths of Posso settled at
Netherton, near Hamilton. They bought an estate and built a residence.
The lands adjoined part of the Duke of Hamilton's estate, and the house
was not far from the palace. There the Naesmyths remained until the
reign of Charles II. The King, or his advisers, determined to
introduce Episcopacy, or, as some thought, Roman Catholicism, into the
country, and to enforce it at the point of the sword.
The Naesmyths had always been loyal until now. But to be cleft by
sword and pricked by spear into a religion which they disbelieved, was
utterly hateful to the Netherton Naesmyths. Being Presbyterians, they
held to their own faith. They were prevented from using their
churches,*
[footnote...
In the reign of James II. of England and James VII. of Scotland a law
was enacted, "that whoever should preach in a conventicle under a roof,
or should attend, either as a preacher or as a hearer, a conventicle in
the open air, should be punished with death and confiscation of
property."
...]
and they accordingly met on the moors, or in unfrequented places for
worship. The dissenting Presbyterians assumed the name of Covenanters.
Hamilton was almost the centre of the movement. The Covenanters met,
and the King's forces were ordered to disperse them. Hence the
internecine war that followed. There were Naesmyths on both sides--
Naesmyths for the King, and Naesmyths for the Covenant.
In an early engagement at Drumclog, the Covenanters were victorious.
They beat back Claverhouse and his dragoons. A general rising took
place in the West Country. About 6000 men assembled at Hamilton,
mostly raw and undisciplined countrymen. The King's forces assembled
to meet them, -- 10,000 well-disciplined troops, with a complete train
of field artillery. What chance had the Covenanters against such a
force? Nevertheless, they met at Bothwell Bridge, a few miles west of
Hamilton. It is unnecessary to describe the action.*
[footnote...
See the account of a Covenanting Officer in the Appendix to the Scots
Worthies. See also Sir Waiter Scott's Old Mortality, where the battle
of Bothwell Brig is described.
...]
The Covenanters, notwithstanding their inferior force, resisted the
cannonade and musketry of the enemy with great courage. They defended
the bridge until their ammunition failed. When the English Guards and
the artillery crossed the bridge, the battle was lost. The Covenanters
gave way, and fled in all directions; Claverhouse, burning with revenge
for his defeat at Drumclog, made a terrible slaughter of the
unresisting fugitives. One of my ancestors brought from the
battlefield the remnant of the standard; a formidable musquet--
"Gun Bothwell" we afterwards called it; an Andrea Ferrara; and a
powder-horn. I still preserve these remnants of the civil war.
My ancestor was condemned to death in his absence, and his property at
Netherton was confiscated. What became of him during the remainder of
Charles II.'s reign, and the reign of that still greater tormentor,
James II., I do not know. He was probably, like many others, wandering
about from place to place, hiding "in wildernesses or caves, destitute,
afflicted, and tormented." The arrival of William III. restored
religious liberty to the country, and Scotland was again left in
comparative peace.
My ancestor took refuge in Edinburgh, but he never recovered his
property at Netherton. The Duke of Hamilton, one of the trimmers of
the time, had long coveted the possession of the lands, as Ahab had
coveted Naboth's vineyard. He took advantage of the conscription of
the men engaged in the Bothwell Brig conflict, and had the lands
forfeited in his favour. I remember my father telling me that, on one
occasion when he visited the Duke of Hamilton in reference to some
improvement of the grounds adjoining the palace, he pointed out to the
Duke the ruined remains of the old residence of the Naesmyths. As the
first French Revolution was then in full progress, when ideas of
society and property seemed to have lost their bearings, the Duke
good-humouredly observed, "Well, well, Naesmyth, there's no saying but
what, some of these days, your ancestors' lands may come into your
possession again!"
Before I quit the persecutions of "the good old times," I must refer to
the burning of witches. One of my ancient kinswomen, Elspeth Naesmyth,
who lived at Hamilton, was denounced as a witch. The chief evidence
brought against her was that she kept four black cats, and read her
Bible with two pairs of spectacles! a practice which shows that she
possessed the spirit of an experimental philosopher.
In doing this she adopted a mode of supplementing the power of
spectacles in restoring the receding power of the eyes. She was in all
respects scientifically correct. She increased the magnifying power of
the glasses; a practice which is preferable to using single glasses of
the same power, and which I myself often follow. Notwithstanding this
improved method of reading her Bible, and her four black cats, she was
condemned to be burned alive! She was about the last victim in
Scotland to the disgraceful superstition of witchcraft.
The Naesmyths of Netherton having lost their ancestral property, had to
begin the world again. They had to begin at the beginning.
But they had plenty of pluck and energy. I go back to my
great-great-grandfather, Michael Naesmyth, who was born in 1652.
He occupied a house in the Grassmarket, Edinburgh, which was afterwards
rebuilt, in 1696. His business was that of a builder and architect.
His chief employment was in designing and erecting new mansions,
principally for the landed gentry and nobility. Their old castellated
houses or towers were found too dark and dreary for modern uses.
The drawbridges were taken down, and the moats were filled up.
Sometimes they built the new mansions as an addition to the old.
But oftener they left the old castles to go to ruin; or, what was
worse, they made use of the stone and other materials of the old
romantic buildings for the construction of their new residences.
Michael Naesmyth acquired a high reputation for the substantiality of
his work. His masonry was excellent, as well as his woodwork.
The greater part of the latter was executed in his own workshops at the
back of his house in the Grassmarket. His large yard was situated
between the back of the house and the high wall that bounded the
Greyfriars Churchyard,to the east of the flight of steps which forms
the main approach to George Heriot's Hospital.
[Image] Michael Naesmyth's House, Grassmarket.The lower building at the
right hand corner of the engraving, with the three projecting
gable ends
The last work that Michael Naesmyth was engaged in cost him his life.
He had contracted with the Government to build a fort at Inversnaid,
at the northern end of Loch Lomond. It was intended to guard the
Lowlands, and keep Rob Roy and his caterans within the Highland Border.
A promise was given by the Government that during the progress of the
work a suitable force of soldiers should be quartered close at hand to
protect the builder and his workmen.
[Image] Inversnaid Fort. After a drawing by Alexander Nasmyth
Notwithstanding many whispered warnings as to the danger of undertaking
such a hazardous work, Michael Naesmyth and his men encamped upon the
spot, though without the protection of the Government force. Having
erected a temporary residence for their accommodation, he proceeded
with the building of the fort. The work was well advanced by the end
of 1703, although the Government had treated all Naesmyth's appeals for
protection with evasion or contempt.
Winter set in with its usual force in those northern regions.
One dark and snowy night, when Michael and his men had retired to rest,
a loud knocking was heard at the door. "Who's there?" asked Michael.
A man outside replied, "A benighted traveller overt aken by the storm"
He proceeded to implore help, and begged for God's sake that he might
have shelter for the night. Naesmyth, in the full belief that the
traveller's tale was true, unbolted and unbarred the door, when in
rushed Rob Roy and his desperate gang. The men, with the dirks of the
Macgregors at their throats, begged hard for their lives. This was
granted on condition that they should instantly depart, and take an
oath that they should never venture within the Highland border again.
Michael Naesmyth and his men had no alternative but to submit, and they
at once left the bothy with such scanty clothing as the Macgregors
would allow them to carry away. They were marched under an armed
escort through the snowstorm to the Highland border, and were there
left with the murderous threat that, if they ever returned to the fort,
they would meet with certain death.
Another attempt was made to build the fort at Inversnaid. But Rob Roy
again surprised the small party of soldiers who were in charge.
They were disarmed and sent about their business. Finally, the fort
was rebuilt, and placed under the command of Captain (afterwards
General) Wolfe. When peace fell upon the Highlands and Rob Roy's
country became the scene of picnics, the fort was abandoned and allowed
to go to ruin.
Poor Michael never recovered from the cold which he caught during his
forced retreat from Inversnaid. The effects of this, together with the
loss and distress of mind which he experienced from the Government's
refusal to pay for his work--notwithstanding their promise to protect
him and his workmen from the Highland freebooters--so preyed upon his
mind that he was never again able to devote himself to business.
One evening, whilst sitting at his fireside with his grandchild on his
knee, a death-like faintness came over him; he set the child down
carefully by the side of his chair, and then fell forward dead on his
hearthstone.
Thus ended the life of Michael Naesmyth in 1705, at the age of
fifty-three. He was buried by the side of his ancestors in the old
family tomb in the Greyfriars Churchyard.
[Image] The Naesmyth Tomb in Greyfriars Churchyard
This old tomb, dated 1614, though much defaced, is one of the most
remarkable of the many which surround the walls of that ancient and
memorable burying-place.
Greyfriars Churchyard is one of the most interesting places in
Edinburgh. The National Covenant was signed there by the Protestant
nobles and gentry of Scotland in 1638. The prisoners taken at the
battle of Bothwell Brig were shut up there in 1679, and, after enduring
great privations, a portion of the survivors were sent off to
Barbadoes. When I first saw the tombstone, an ash tree was growing out
of the top of the main body of it, though that has since been removed.
In growing, the roots had pushed out the centre stone, which has not
been replaced. The tablet over it contains the arms of the family,
the broken hammer-shafts, and the motto "Non arte sed marte." There are
the remains of a very impressive figure, apparently rising from her
cerements. The body and extremities remain, but the head has been
broken away. There is also a remarkable motto on the tablet above the
tombstone--"Ars mihi vim contra Fortunce; which I take to be,
"Art is my strength in contending against Fortune,"--a motto which is
appropriate to my ancestors as well as to myself.
The business was afterwards carried on by Michael's son, my
great-grandfather. He was twenty-seven years old at the time of his
father's death, and lived to the age of seventy-three. He was a man of
much ability and of large experience.
One of his great advantages in carrying on his business was the support
of a staff of able and trustworthy foremen and workmen. The times were
very different then from what they are now. Masters and men lived
together in mutual harmony. There was a kind of loyal family
attachment among them, which extended through many generations.
Workmen had neither the desire nor the means to shift about from place
to place. On the contrary, they settled down with their wives and
families in houses of their own, close to the workshops of their
employers. Work was found for them in the dull seasons when trade was
slack, and in summer they sometimes removed to jobs at a distance from
headquarters. Much of this feeling of attachment and loyalty between
workmen and their employers has now expired. Men rapidly remove from
place to place. Character is of little consequence. The mutual
feeling of goodwill and zealous attention to work seems to have passed
away.
My grandfather, Michael Naesmyth, succeeded to the business in 1751.
He more than maintained the reputation of his predecessors.
The collection of first-class works on architecture which he possessed,
such as the folio editions of Vitruvius and Palladio, which were at
that time both rare and dear, showed the regard he had for impressing
into his designs the best standards of taste. The buildings he
designed and erected for the Scotch nobility and gentry were well
arranged, carefully executed, and thoroughly substantial. He was also
a large builder in Edinburgh. Amongst the houses he erected in the
Old Town were the principal number of those in George Square. In one
of these, No. 25, Sir Walter Scott spent his boyhood and youth.
They still exist, and exhibit the care which he took in the elegance
and substantiality of his works.
I remember my father pointing out to me the extreme care and attention
with which he finished his buildings. He inserted small fragments of
basalt into the mortar of the external joints of the stones, at close
and regular distances, in order to protect the mortar from the adverse
action of the weather. And to this day they give proof of their
efficiency. The basalt protects the joints, and at the same time gives
a neat and pleasing effect to what would otherwise have been merely the
monotonous line of mason-work.
A great change was about to take place in the residences of the
principal people of Edinburgh. The cry was for more light and more
air. The extension of the city to the south and west was not
sufficient. There was a great plateau of ground on the north side of
the city, beyond the North Loch. But it was very difficult to reach;
being alike steep on both sides of the Loch. At length, in 1767,
an Act was obtained to extend the royalty of the city over the northern
fields, and powers were obtained to erect a bridge to connect them with
the Old Town.
The magistrates had the greatest difficulty in inducing the inhabitants
to build dwellings on the northern side of the city. A premium was
offered to the person who should build the first house; and #20 was
awarded to Mr. John Young on account of a mansion erected by him close
to George Street. Exemption from burghal taxes was also granted to a
gentleman who built the first house in Princes Street. My grandfather
built the first house in the south-west corner of St. Andrew Square,
for the occupation of David Hume the historian, as well as the two most
important houses in the centre of the north side of the same square.
One of these last was occupied by the venerable Dr. Hamilton, a very
conspicuous character in Edinburgh. He continued to wear the cocked
hat, the powdered pigtail, tights, and large shoe buckles, for about
sixty years after this costume had become obsolete. All these houses
are still in perfect condition, after resisting the ordinary tear and
wear of upwards of a hundred and ten northern winters. The opposition
to building houses across the North Loch soon ceased; and the New Town
arose, growing from day to day, until Edinburgh became one of the most
handsome and picturesque cities in Europe.
There is one other thing that I must again refer to the highly-finished
character of my grandfather's work. Nothing merely moderate would do.
The work must be of the very best. He took special pride in the sound
quality of the woodwork and its careful workmanship. He chose the best
Dantzic timber because of its being of purer grain and freer from knots
than other wood. In those days the lower part of the walls of the
apartments were wainscoted--that is, covered by timber framed in
large panels. They were from three to four feet wide, and from six to
eight feet high. To fit these in properly required the most careful
joiner-work.
It was always a holiday treat to my father, when a boy, to be permitted
to go down to Leith to see the ships discharge their cargoes of timber.
My grandfather had a Wood-yard at Leith, where the timber selected by
him was piled up to he seasoned and shrunk, before being worked into
its appropriate uses. He was particularly careful in his selection of
boards or stripes for floors, which must be perfectly level, so as to
avoid the destruction of the carpets placed over them. The hanging of
his doors was a matter that he took great pride in--so as to prevent
any uneasy action in opening or closing. His own chamber doors were so
well hung that they were capable of being opened and closed by the
slight puff of a hand-bellows.
The excellence of my grandfather's workmanship was a thing that my own
father always impressed upon me when a boy. It stimulated in me the
desire to aim at excellence in everything that I undertook; and in all
practical matters to arrive at the highest degree of good workmanship.
I believe that these early lessons had a great influence upon my future
career.
I have little to record of my grandmother. From all accounts she was
everything that a wife and mother should be. My father often referred
to her as an example of the affection and love of a wife to her
husband, and of a mother to her children. The only relic I possess of
her handiwork is a sampler, dated 1743, the needlework of which is so
delicate and neat, that to me it seems to excel everything of the kind
that I have seen.
I am fain to think that her delicate manipulation in some respects
descended to her grandchildren, as all of them have been more or less
distinguished for the delicate use of their fingers--which has so
much to do with the effective transmission of the artistic faculty into
visible forms. The power of transmitting to paper or canvas the
artistic conceptions of the brain through the fingers, and out at the
end of the needle, the pencil, the pen, the brush, or even the
modelling tool or chisel, is that which, in practical fact, constitutes
the true artist.
This may appear a digression; though I cannot look at my grandmother's
sampler without thinking that she had much to do with originating the
Naesmyth love of the Fine Arts, and their hereditary adroitness in the
practice of landscape and portrait painting, and other branches of the
profession.
My grandfather died in 1803, at the age of eighty-four, and was buried
by his father's side in the Naesmyth ancestral tomb in Greyfriars
Churchyard. His wife, Mary Anderson, who died before him, was buried
in the same place.
Michael Naesmyth left two sons--Michael and Alexander. The eldest
was born in 1754. It was intended that he should have succeeded to the
business; and, indeed, as soon as he reached manhood he was his
father's right-hand man. He was a skilful workman, especially in the
finer parts of joiner-work. He was also an excellent accountant and
bookkeeper. But having acquired a taste for reading books about
voyages and travels, of which his father's library was well supplied,
his mind became disturbed, and he determined to see something of the
world. He was encouraged by one of his old companions, who had been to
sea, and realised some substantial results by his voyages to foreign
parts. Accordingly Michael, notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances
of his father, accompanied his friend on the next occasion when he went
to sea.
After several voyages to the West Indies and other parts of the world,
which both gratified and stimulated his natural taste for adventures,
and also proved financially successful, his trading ventures at last
met with a sad reverse, and he resolved to abandon commerce, and enter
the service of the Royal Navy. He was made purser, and in this
position he entered upon a new series of adventures. He was present at
many naval engagements. But he lost neither life nor limb. At last he
was pensioned, and became a resident at Greenwich Hospital.
He furnished his apartments with all manner of curiosities, such as his
roving naval life had enabled him to collect. His original skill as a
worker in wood came to life again. The taste of the workman and the
handiness of the seaman enabled him to furnish his rooms at the
Hospital in a most quaint and amusing manner.
My father had a most affectionate regard for Michael, and usually spent
some days with him when he had occasion to visit London. One bright
summer day they went to have a stroll together on Blackheath; and while
my uncle was enjoying a nap on a grassy knoll, my father made a sketch
of him, which I still preserve. Being of a most cheerful disposition,
and having a great knack of detailing the incidents of his adventurous
life, he became a great favourite with the resident officers of the
Hospital; and was always regarded by them as real good company.
He ended his days there in peace and comfort, in 1819, at the age of
sixty-four.
CHAPTER 2. Alexander Nasmyth
My father, Alexander Nasmyth, was the second son of Michael Nasmyth.
He was born in his father's house in the Grassmarket on the 9th of
September 1758. The Grassmarket was then a lively place. On certain
days of the week it was busy with sheep and cattle fairs. It was the
centre of Edinburgh traffic. Most of the inns were situated there,
or in the street leading up to the Greyfriars Church gate.
The view from my grandfather's house was very grand. Standing up,
right opposite, was the steep Castle rock, with its crown buildings and
circular battery towering high overhead. They seemed almost to hang
over the verge of the rock. The houses on the opposite side of the
Grassmarket were crowded under the esplanade of the Castle Hill.
There was an inn opposite the house where my father was born, from
which the first coach started from Edinburgh to Newcastle. The public
notice stated that "The Coach would set out from the Grass Market ilka
Tuesday at Twa o'clock in the day, GOD WULLIN', but whether or no on
Wednesday." The "whether or no" was meant, I presume, as a precaution to
passengers, in case all the places on the coach might be taken, or not,
on Wednesday,
[Image] Plan of the Grassmarket
The Grassmarket was also the place for public executions. The gibbet
stone was at the east end of the Market. It consisted of a mass of
solid sandstone, with a quadrangular hole in the middle, which served
as a socket for the gallows. Most of the Covenanters who were executed
for conscience' sake in the reigns of Charles II. and James II.
breathed their last at this spot. The Porteous mob, in 1736, had its
culmination here. When Captain Porteous was dragged out of the
Tolbooth in the High Street and hurried down the West Bow, the gallows
was not in its place; but the leaders of the mob hanged him from a
dyer's pole, nearly opposite the gallows stone, on the south side of
the street, not far from my grandfather's door*
[footnote...
See Heart of Midlothian
...]
I have not much to say about my father's education. For the most part,
he was his own schoolmaster. I have heard him say that his mother
taught him his A B C; and that he afterwards learned to read at Mammy
Smith's. This old lady kept a school for boys and girls at the top of
a house in the Grassmarket. There my father was taught to rear his
Bible, and to repeat his Carritch.*
[footnote...
The Shorter Catechism.
...]
As it was only the bigger boys who could read the Bible, the strongest
of them consummated the feat by climbing up the Castle rock, and
reaching what they called "The Bibler's Seat." It must have been a
break-neck adventure to get up to the place. The seat was almost
immediately under the window of the room in which James VI was born.
My father often pointed it out to me as one of the most dangerous bits
of climbing in which he had been engaged in his younger years.
[Image] The Bibler's seat
The annexed illustration is from his own slight sepia drawing;
the Bibler's Seat is marked + Not so daring, but much more mischievous,
was a trick which he played with some of his companions on the tops of
the houses on the north side of the Grassmarket. The boys took a
barrel to the Castlehill, filled it with small stones, and then shot it
down towards the roofs of the houses in the Grassmarket. The barrel
leapt from rock to rock, burst, and scattered a shower of stones far
and wide. The fun was to see the "boddies" look out of their garret
windows with their lighted lamps or candles, peer into the dark,
and try to see what was the cause of the mischief.
Sir David Baird, the hero of Seringapatam, played a trick of the same
kind before he went to India.
Among my father's favourite companions were the two sons of Dr. John
Erskine, minister of Old Greyfriars, in conjunction with the equally
celebrated Dr. Robertson. Dr. Erskine*
[footnote...
Dr. Erskine is well described by Scott in Guy Mannering, on the
occasion when Pleydell and Mannering went to hear him preach a famous
sermon.
...]
was a man of great influence in his day, well known for his literary
and theological works, as well as for his piety and practical
benevolence. On one occasion, when my father was at play with his
sons, one of them threw a stone, which smashed a neighbour's window.
A servant of the house ran out, and seeing the culprit, called out,
"Very wee!, Maister Erskine, I'll tell yeer faither wha broke the
windae!" On which the boy, to throw her off the scent, said to his
brother loudly, "Eh, keist! she thinks we're the boddy Erskine's sons."
The boddy Erskine! Who ever heard of such an irreverent nickname
applied to that good and great man? "The laddies couldna be his sons,"
thought the woman. She made no further inquiry, and the boys escaped
scot free. The culprit afterwards entered the service of the East
India Company. "The boy was father to the man." He acquired great
reputation at the siege of Seringapatam, where he led the forlorn hope.
Erskine was promoted, until in course of time he returned to his native
city a full-blown general. To return to my father's education.
After he left "Mammy Smith's, he went for a short time to the original
High School. It was an old establishment, founded by James VI. before
he succeeded to the English throne, It was afterwards demolished to
make room for the University buildings; and the new High School was
erected a little below the old Royal Infirmary. After leaving the High
School, Alexander Nasmyth was taught by his father, first arithmetic
and mensuration, next geometry and mathematics, so far as the first
three books of Euclid were concerned. After that, his own innate
skill, ability, and industry enabled him to complete the rest of his
education.
At a very early period my father exhibited a decided natural taste for
art. He used his pencil freely in sketching from nature; and in course
of time he showed equal skill in the use of oil colour. At his own
earnest request he was bound apprentice to Mr. Crighton, then the
chief coachbuilder in Edinburgh. He was employed in that special
department where artistic taste was necessary--that is, in decorating
the panels of the highest class of carriages, and painting upon them
coats of arms, with their crests and supporters. He took great
pleasure in this kind of work. It introduced him to the practical
details of heraldry, and gave him command over his materials.
Still further to improve himself in the art of drawing, my father
devoted his evenings to attending the Edinburgh Drawing Academy.
This institution, termed "The Trustees' Academy of Fine Art," had been
formed and supported by the funds arising from the estates confiscated
after the rebellions of 1715 and 1745. Part of these funds was set
apart by Government for the encouragement of drawing, and also for the
establishment of the arts of linen weaving, carpet manufacture,
and other industrial occupations.
These arts were introduced into Scotland by the French Protestants,
who had been persecuted for conscience' sake out of their own country,
and settled in England, Ireland, and Scotland, where they prosecuted
their industrial callings. The Corporation was anxious to afford an
asylum for these skilled and able workmen. The emigrants settled down
with their families, and pursued their occupations of damask, linen,
and carpet weaving. They were also required to take Scotch apprentices,
and teach them the various branches of their trade. The Magistrates
caused cottages and workshops to be erected on a piece of unoccupied
land near Edinburgh, where the street appropriately called Picardy
Place now stands,--the greater number of the weavers having come from
Picardy in France.
In connection with the establishment of these industrial artisans,
it was necessary to teach the young Scotch apprentices drawing, for the
purpose of designing new patterns suitable for the market. Hence the
establishment by the Trustees of the Forfeited Estate Funds of
"The Academy of Fine Art." From the designing of patterns, the
institution advanced to the improvement of the fine arts generally.
Young men who had given proofs of their natural taste for drawing were
invited to enter the school and participate in its benefits.
At the time that my father was apprenticed to the coach painter,
the Trustees' Academy was managed by Alexander Runciman. He had
originally been a house painter, from which business he proceeded to
landscape painting. "Other artists," said one who knew him, "talked
meat and drink; but Runciman talked landscape." He went to Rome and
studied art there. He returned to Edinburgh, and devoted himself to
historical painting. He was also promoted to the office of master of
the Trustees' Academy. When my father called upon him with his
drawings from nature, Runciman found them so satisfactory that he was
at once admitted as a student. After his admission he began to study
with intense eagerness. The young men who had been occupied at their
business during the day could only attend in the evening. And thus the
evenings were fixed for studying drawing and design. The Trustees'
Academy made its mark upon the art of Scotland: it turned out many
artists of great note -- such as Raeburn, Wilkie, my father, and many
more.
At the time when my father entered as a student, the stock of casts
from the antique, and the number of drawings from the old masters,
were very small; so much so, indeed, that Runciman was under the
necessity of setting the students to copy them again and again.
This became rather irksome to the more ardent pupils. My father had
completed his sixth copy of a fine chalk drawing of "The Laocoon."
It was then set for him to copy again. He begged Mr. Runciman for
another subject. The quick-tempered man at once said,"l'll give you
another subject." And turning the group of the Laocoon upside down, he
added, "Now, then, copy that!" The patient youth set to work, and in a
few evenings completed a perfect copy. It was a most severe test; but
Runciman was so proud of the skill of his pupil that he had the drawing
mounted and framed, with a note of the circumstances under which it had
been produced. It continued to hang there for many years, and the
story of its achievement became traditional in the school.
During all this time my father remained in the employment of Crighton
the carriage builder. He improved in his painting day by day. But at
length an important change took place in his career. Allan Ramsay,
son of the author of The Gentle Shepherd, and then court painter to
George III., called upon his old friend Crighton one day, to look over
his works. There he found young Nasmyth painting a coat of arms on the
panel of a carriage. He was so much surprised with the lad's artistic
workmanship--for he was then only sixteen--that he formed a strong
desire to take him into his service. After much persuasion, backed by
the offer of a considerable sum of money, the coachbuilder was at
length induced to transfer my father's indentures to Allan Ramsay.
It was, of course, a great delight to my father to be removed to London
under such favourable auspices. Ramsay had a large connection as a
portrait painter. His object in employing my father was that he should
assist him in the execution of the subordinate parts, or dress
portions, of portraits of courtiers, or of diplomatic personages.
No more favourable opportunity for advancement could have presented
itself. But all this was entirely due to my father's perseverance and
advancing skill as an artist--the results of his steady application
and labour.
Ramsay possessed a very fine collection of drawings by the old masters,
all of which were free for my father to study. Ramsay was exceedingly
kind to his young pupil. He was present at all the discussions in the
studio, even when the sitters were present. Fellow-artists visited
Ramsay from time to time. Among them was his intimate friend Philip
Reinagle--an agreeable companion, and an excellent artist. Reinagle
was one day so much struck with my father's earnestness in filling up
some work, that he then and there got up a canvas and made a capital
sketch-portrait of him in oil. It only came into my father's
possession some years after Ramsay's death, and is now in my possession.
[Image] Alexander Nasmyth. After Reinagle's Portrait
Among the many amusing recollections of my father's life in London,
there is one that I cannot resist narrating, because it shows his
faculty of resourcefulness--a faculty which served him very usefully
during his course through life. He had made an engagement with a
sweetheart to take her to Ranelagh, one of the most fashionable places
of public amusement in London. Everybody went in full dress, and the
bucks and swells wore long striped silk stockings. My father, on
searching, found that he had only one pair of silk stockings left.
He washed them himself in his lodging-room, and hung them up before the
fire to dry. When he went to look at them, they were so singed and
burnt that he could not put them on. They were totally useless.
In this sad dilemma his resourcefulness came to his aid. The happy
idea occurred to him of painting his legs so as to resemble stockings.
He went to his water-colour box, and dexterously painted them with
black and white stripes. When the paint dried, which it soon did,
he completed his toilet, met his sweetheart and went to Ranelagh.
No one observed the difference, except, indeed, that he was
complimented on the perfection of the fit, and was asked "where he
bought his stockings?" Of course he evaded the question, and left the
gardens without any one discovering his artistic trick.
My father remained in Allan Ramsay's service until the end of 1778,
when he returned to Edinburgh to practise on his own behalf the
profession of portrait painter. He took with him the kindest
good-wishes of his master, whose friendship he retained to the end of
Ramsay's life. The artistic style of my father's portraits, and the
excellent likenesses of his sitters, soon obtained for him ample
employment. His portraits were for the most part full-lengths, but of
a small or cabinet size. They generally consisted of family groups,
with the figures about twelve to fourteen inches high. The groups were
generally treated and arranged as if the personages were engaged in
conversation with their children; and sometimes a favourite servant was
introduced, so as to remove any formal aspect in the composition of the
picture. In order to enliven the background, some favourite view from
the garden or grounds, or a landscape, was given; which was painted
with as much care as if it was the main feature of the picture.
Many of these paintings are still to be found in the houses of the
gentry in Scotland. Good examples of his art are to be seen at Minto
House, the seat of the Earl of Minto, and at Dalmeny Park, the seat of
the Earl of Rosebery.
Among my father's early employers was Patrick Miller, Esq., of
Dalswinton, in Dumfriesshire. He painted Mr. Miller's portrait as
well as those of several members of his family. This intercourse
eventually led to the establishment of a very warm personal friendship
between them. Miller had made a large fortune in Edinburgh as a
banker; and after he had partially retired from business, he devoted
much of his spare time to useful purposes. He was a man of great
energy of character, and was never idle. At first he applied himself
to the improvement of agriculture, which he did with great success on
his estate of Dalswinton. Being one of the largest shareholders in the
Carron Ironworks near Stirling, he also devoted much of his time to the
improvement of guns for the Royal Navy. He was the inventor of that
famous gun the Carronade. The handiness of these short and effective
guns, which were capable of being loaded and fired nearly twice as
quickly as the long small-bore guns, gave England the victory in many a
naval battle, where the firing was close and quick, yardarm to yardarm.
But Mr. Miller's greatest claim to fame arises from his endeavours to
introduce steam-power as an agent in the propulsion of ships at sea.
Mr. Clerk of Eldin had already invented the system of "breaking the
line" in naval engagements--a system that was first practised with
complete success by Lord Rodney in his engagement off Martinico in
1780. The subject interested Mr. Miller so much that he set himself
to work to contrive some mechanical method by means of which ships of
war might be set in motion, independently of wind, tide, or calms, so
that Clerk's system of breaking the line might be carried into effect
under all circumstances.
It was about this time that my father was often with Miller; and the
mechanical devices by means of which the method of breaking the line
could be best accomplished was the subject of many of their
conversations. Miller found that my father's taste for mechanical
contrivances, and his ready skill as a draughtsman, were likely to be
of much use to him, and he constantly visited the studio. My father
reduced Miller's ideas to a definite form, and prepared a series of
drawings, which were afterwards engraved and published. Miller's
favourite design was, to divide the vessel into twin or triple hulls,
with paddles between them, to be worked by the crew. The principal
experiment was made in the Firth of Forth on the 2d of June 1787.
The vessel was double-hulled, and was worked by a capstan of five bars.
The experiment was on the whole successful. But the chief difficulty
was in the propulsive power. After a spurt of an hour or so, the men
became tired with their laborious work. Mr. Taylor, student of
divinity, and tutor of Mr. Miller's sons, was on board, and seeing the
exhausted state of the men at the capstan, suggested the employment of
steam-power. Mr. Miller was pleased with the idea, and resolved to
make inquiry upon the subject.
At that time William Symington, a young engineer from Wanlockhead,
was exhibiting a road locomotive in Edinburgh. He was a friend of
Taylor's, and Mr. Miller went to see the Symington model. In the
course of his conversation with the inventor, he informed the latter of
his own project, and described the difficulty he had experienced in
getting his paddle-wheels turned round. On which Symington immediately
asked, "Why don't you use the steam-engine?" The model which Symington
exhibited, produced rotary motion by the employment of ratchet-wheels.
The rectilinear motion of the piston-rod was thus converted into rotary
motion. Mr. Miller was pleased with the action of the ratchet-wheel
contrivance, and gave Symington an order to make a pair of engines of
that construction. They were to be used on a small pleasure-boat on
Dalswinton Lake.
The boat was constructed on the double-hull or twin plan, so that the
paddle should be used in the space between the hulls.*
[footnote...
This steam twin boat was in fact the progenitor of the Castalia,
constructed about a hundred years later for the conveyance of
passengers between Calais and Dover.
...]
After much vexatious delay, arising from the entire novelty of the
experiment, the boat and engines were at length completed, and removed
to Dalswinton Lake. This, the first steamer that ever "trod the waters
like a thing of life," the herald of a new and mighty power, was tried
on the 14th of October 1788. The vessel steamed delightfully, at the
rate of from four to five miles an hour, though this was not her
extreme rate of speed. I give, on the next page, a copy of a sketch
made by my father of this the first actual steamboat, with her
remarkable crew.
[Image] The first steamboat. By Alexander Nasmyth*
[footnote...
The original drawing of the steamer was done by my father, and lent by
me to Mr. Woodcroft, Who inserted it in his Origin and Progress of
Steam Navigation. He omitted my father's name, and inserted only that
of the lithographer, although it is a document of almost national
importance in the history of Steam Navigation.
P.S.-- since the above paragraph was written for the first edition,
I have been enabled to find the drawing, with another remarkable pencil
sketch of my father's, in the Gallery of the Museum of Naval
Architecture at South Kensington. It will henceforward belong to that
interesting collection.
The remarkable pencil sketch to which I have referred, is that of a
screw propeller, drawn by my father, dated 1819. It was the result of
many discussions as to the proper mode of propelling a vessel. First,
he had drawn Watt's idea of a "spiral oar"; then, underneath, he has
drawn his own idea, of a disk of six. blades, like a screw-jack,
immediately behind the rudder. There is a crank shown on the screw
shaft, by which the propeller was driven direct, showing that he was
the first to indicate that method of propulsion of steamboats.
...]
The persons on board consisted of Patrick Miller, William Symington,
Sir William Monteith, Robert Burns (the poet, then a tenant of
Mr. Miller's), William Taylor, and Alexander Nasmyth. There were also
three of Mr. Miller's servants, who acted as assistants. On the edge
of the lake was a young gentleman, then on a visit to Dalswinton.
He was no less a person than Henry Brougham, afterwards Lord Chancellor
of England. The assemblage of so many remarkable men was well worthy
of the occasion.
Taking into account the extraordinary results which have issued from
this first trial of an actual steamboat, it may well be considered that
this was one of the most important circumstances which ever occurred in
the history of navigation. It ought, at the same time, to be
remembered that all that was afterwards done by Symington, Fulton, and
Bell, followed long after the performance of this ever-memorable
achievement.
I may also mention, as worthy of special record, that the hull of this
first steamboat was of iron. It was constructed of tinned iron plate.
It was therefore the first iron steamboat, if not the first iron ship,
that had ever been made. I may also add that the engines, constructed
by Symington, which propelled this first iron steamboat are now
carefully preserved at the Patent Museum at South Kensington, where
they may be seen by everybody.*
[footnote...
The original engines of the boat, with the ratchet-wheel contrivance
of Symington, are there: the very engine that propelled the first
steamer on Dalswinton Lake. It may be added that Mr. Miller expended
about #30,000 on naval improvements, and, as is often the case, he was
wholly neglected by the Government.
...]
To return to my father's profession as a portrait painter. He had
given so much assistance to Mr. Miller, while acting as his chief
draughtsman in connection with the triple and twin ships, and also
while attending him at Leith and elsewhere, that it had considerably
interfered with his practice; though everything was done by him con
amore, in the best sense of the term. In return for this, however,
Mr. Miller made my father the generous offer of a loan to enable him to
visit Italy, and pursue his studies there. It was the most graceful
mode in which Mr. Miller could express his obligations. It was an
offer pure and simple, without security, and as such was thankfully
accepted by my father.
In those days an artist was scarcely considered to have completed his
education until he had studied the works of the great masters at
Florence and Rome. My father left England for Italy on the 30th of
December 1782. He reached Rome in safety, and earnestly devoted
himself to the study of art. He remained in Italy for the greater part
of two years. He visited Florence, Bologna, Padua, and other cities
where the finest artistic works were to be found. He made studies and
drawings of the best of them, besides making sketches from nature of
the most remarkable places he had visited. He returned to Edinburgh at
the end of 1784, and immediately resumed his profession of a portrait
painter. He was so successful that in a short time he was enabled to
repay his excellent friend Miller the #500 which he had so generously
lent him a few years before.
The satisfactory results of his zealous practice, and of his skill and
industry in his profession, together with the prospect of increasing
artistic work, enabled him to bring to a happy conclusion an engagement
he had entered into before leaving Edinburgh for Italy. I mean his
marriage to my mother--one of the greatest events of his life which
took place on the 3rd of January 1786. Barbara Foulis was a distant
relation of his own. She was the daughter of William Foulis, Esq., of
Woodhall and Colinton, near Edinburgh. Her brother, the late Sir James
Foulis, my uncle, succeeded to the ancient baronetcy of the family.
See Burkes's Peerage and Baronetage*
[footnote...
In Burke's Peerage and Baronetage an account is given of the Foulis
family. They are of Norman origin. A branch settled in Scotland in
the reign of Malcolm Canmore. By various intermarriages, the Foulises
are connected with the Hopetoun, Bute, and Rosebery families.
The present holder of the title represents the houses of Colinton,
Woodhall, and Ravelstone.
...]
My mother did not bring with her any fortune, so to speak, in the way
of gold or acres; but she brought something far better into my father's
home,--a sweetness of disposition, and a large measure of common
sense, which made her, in all respects, the devoted helpmate of her
husband. Her happy cheerful temperament, and her constant industry and
attention, shed an influence upon all around her. By her example she
inbred in her children the love of truth, excellence, and goodness.
That was indeed the best fortune she could bring into a good man's
home.
During the first year of my father's married life, when he lived in
St. James's Square, he painted the well-known portrait of Robert Burns
the poet. Burns had been introduced to him by Mr. Miller at
Dalswinton. An intimate friendship sprang up between the artist and
the poet. The love of nature and of natural objects was common to
both. They also warmly sympathised in their political views.
When Burns visited Edinburgh my father often met him. Burns had a
strange aversion to sit for his portrait, though often urgently
requested to do so. But when at my father's studio, Burns at last
consented, and his portrait was rapidly painted. It was done in the
course of a few hours, and my father made a present of it to
Mrs. Burns.
A mezzotint engraving of it was afterwards published by William Walker,
son-in-law of the famous Samuel Reynolds. When the first proof
impression was submitted to my father, he said to Mr. Walker:
"I cannot better express to you my opinion of your admirable engraving,
than by telling you that it conveys to me a more true and lively
remembrance of Burns than my own picture of him does; it so perfectly
renders the spirit of his expression, as well as the details of his
every feature."
While Burns was in Edinburgh, my father had many interesting walks with
him in the neighbourhood of the city. The Calton Hill, Arthur's Seat,
Salisbury Crags. Habbie's How, and the nooks in the Pentlands, were
always full of interest; and Burns, with his brilliant and humorous
conversation, made the miles very short as they strode along. Lockhart
says, in his Life of Burns, that "the magnificent scenery of the
Scottish capital filled the poet with extraordinary delight. In the
spring mornings he walked very often to the top of Arthur's Seat, and,
lying prostrate on the turf, surveyed the rising of the sun out of the
sea in silent admiration; his chosen companion on such occasions being
that learned artist and ardent lover of nature, Alexander Nasmyth."
A visit which the two paid to Roslin Castle is worthy of commemoration.
On one occasion my father and a few choice spirits had been spending a
"nicht wi' Burns." The place of resort was a tavern in the High Street,
Edinburgh. As Burns was a brilliant talker, full of spirit and humour,
time fled until the "wee sma' hours ayont the twal'" arrived.
The party broke up about three o'clock. At that time of the year
(the 13th of June) the night is very short, and morning comes early.
Burns, on reaching the street, looked up to the sky. It was perfectly
clear, and the rising sun was beginning to brighten the mural crown of
St. Giles's Cathedral.
Burns was so much struck with the beauty of the morning that he put his
hand on my father's arm and said, "It'll never do to go to bed in such
a lovely morning as this! Let's awa' to Roslin Castle." No sooner said
than done. The poet and the painter set out. Nature lay bright and
lovely before them in that delicious summer morning. After an
eight-miles walk they reached the castle at Roslin. Burns went down
under the great Norman arch, where he stood rapt in speechless
admiration of the scene. The thought of the eternal renewal of youth
and freshness of nature, contrasted with the crumbling decay of man's
efforts to perpetuate his work, even when founded upon a rock, as
Roslin Castle is, seemed greatly to affect him.
My father was so much impressed with the scene that, while Burns was
standing under the arch, he took out his pencil and a scrap of paper
and made a hasty sketch of the subject. This sketch was highly
treasured by my father, in remembrance of what must have been one of
the most memorable days of his life.
Talking of clubs reminds me that there was a good deal of club life in
Edinburgh in those days. The most notable were those in which the
members were drawn together by occupations, habits, or tastes. They
met in the evenings, and conversed upon congenial subjects. The clubs
were generally held in one or other of the taverns situated in or near
the High Street. Every one will remember the Lawyers' Club, held in an
Edinburgh close, presided over by Pleydell, so well described by Scott
in Guy Mannering.
In my father's early days he was a member of a very jovial club, called
the Poker Club. It was so-called because the first chairman,
immediately on his election, in a spirit of drollery, laid hold of the
poker at the fireplace, and adopted it as his insignia of office. He
made a humorous address from the chair, or "the throne," as he called
it, with sceptre or poker in hand; and the club was thereupon styled by
acclamation "The Poker Club." I have seen my father's diploma of
membership; it was tastefully drawn on parchment, with the poker duly
emblazoned on it as the regalia of the club.
In my own time, the club that he was most connected with was the
Dilettanti Club. Its meetings were held every fortnight, on Thursday
evenings, in a commodious tavern in the High Street. The members were
chiefly artists, or men known for their love of art. Among then were
Henry Raeburn, Hugh Williams (the Grecian), Andrew Geddes,
William Thomson, John Shetkay, William Nicholson, William Allan,
Alexander Nasmyth, the Rev. John Thomson of Duddingston,
George Thomson, Sir Walter Scott, John Lockhart, Dr. Brewster,
David Wilkie, Henry Cockburn, Francis Jeffrey, John A. Murray,
Professor Wilson, John Ballantyne, James Ballantyne, James Hogg (the
Ettrick Shepherd), and David Bridges, the secretary.*
[footnote...
Davie Bridges was a character. In my early days he was a cloth
merchant in the High Street. His shop was very near that gigantic
lounge, the old Parliament House, and was often resorted to by
non-business visitors. Bridges had a good taste for pictures. He had
a small but choice collection by the Old Masters, which he kept
arranged in the warehouse under his shop. He took great pride in
exhibiting them to his visitors, and expatiating upon their excellence.
I remember being present in his warehouse with my father when a very
beautiful small picture by Richard Wilson was under review. Davie
burst out emphatically with, "Eh, man, did ye ever see such glorious
buttery touches as on these clouds!" His joking friends clubbed him
"Director-General of the Fine Arts for Scotland," a title which he
complacently accepted. Besides showing off his pictures, Davie was an
art critic, and wrote articles for the newspapers and magazines.
Unfortunately, however, his attention to pictures prevented him from
attending to his shop, and his customers (who were not artists) forsook
him, and bought their clothes elsewhere. He accordingly shut up his
shop, and devoted himself to art criticism, in which, for a time, he
possessed a monopoly.
...]
The drinks were restricted to Edinburgh ale and whisky toddy.
An admirable picture of the club in full meeting was painted by William
Allan, in which characteristic portraits of all the leading members
were introduced in full social converse. Among the more prominent
portraits is one of my father, who is represented as illustrating some
subject he is describing, by drawing it on the part of the table before
him, with his finger dipped in toddy. Other marked and well-known
characteristics of the members are skilfully introduced in the picture.
The artist afterwards sold it to Mr. Horrocks of Preston, in Lancashire.
Besides portrait painting, my father was much employed in assisting the
noblemen and landed gentry of Scotland in improving the landscape
appearance of their estates, especially when seen from their mansion
windows. His fine taste, and his love of natural scenery, gave him
great advantages in this respect. He selected the finest sites for the
new mansions, when they were erected in lieu of the old towers and
crenellated castles. Or, he designed alterations of the old buildings
so as to preserve their romantic features, and at the same time to fit
them for the requirements of modern domestic life.
In those early days of art-knowledge, there scarcely existed any
artistic feeling for the landscape beauty of nature. There was an
utter want of appreciation of the dignified beauty of the old castles
and mansions, the remnants of which were in too many instances carted
away as material for now buildings. There was also at that time an
utter ignorance of the beauty and majesty of old trees. A forest of
venerable oaks or beeches was a thing to be done away with. They were
merely cut down as useless timber; even when they so finely embellished
the landscape. My father exerted himself successfully to preserve
these grand old forest trees. His fine sketches served to open the
eyes of their possessors to the priceless treasures they were about to
destroy; and he thus preserved the existence of many a picturesque old
tree. He even took the pains in many cases to model the part of the
estate he was dealing with; and he also modelled the old trees he
wished to preserve. Thus, by a judicious clearing out of the
intercepting young timber, he opened out distant views of the
landscape, and at the same time preserved many a monarch of the
forest.*
[footnote...
It is even now to be deeply deplored that those who inherit or come
into possession of landed estates do not feel sufficiently impressed
with the possession of such grand memorials of the past. Alas! how
often have we to lament the want of taste that leads to the sacrifice
of these venerable treasures. Would that the young men at our
universities especially those likely to inherit estates--were
impressed with the importance of preserving them. They would thus
confer an inestimable benefit to thousands. About forty years ago Lord
Cockburn published a pamphlet on How to Destroy the Beauty of
Edinburgh! He enforced the charm of green foliage in combination with
street architecture. The burgesses were then cutting down trees.
His lordship went so far as to say "that he would as soon cut down a
burgess as a tree!" Since then the growth of trees in Edinburgh,
especially in what was once the North Loch, has been greatly improved;
and might be still further improved if that famous tree, "The London
plane," were employed.
...]
[Image] The Family Tree
My father modelled old castles, old trees, and such like objects as he
wished to introduce into his landscapes. The above illustration, may
perhaps give a slight idea of his artistic skill as a modeller.
I specially refer to this, which he called "The Family Tree," as he
required each member of his family to assist in its production.
We each made a twig or small branch, which he cleverly fixed into its
place as a part of the whole. The model tree in question was
constructed of wire slightly twisted together, so as to form the main
body of a branch. It was then subdivided into branchlets, and finally
into individual twigs. All these, combined together by his dexterous
hand, resulted in the model of an old leafless tree, so true and
correct, that any one would have thought that it had been modelled
direct from nature.
The Duke of Athol consulted my father as to the improvements which he
desired to make in his woodland scenery near Dunkeld. The Duke was
desirous that a rocky crag, called Craigybarns, should be planted with
trees, to relieve the grim barrenness of its appearance. But it was
impossible for any man to climb the crag in order to set seeds or
plants in the clefts of the rocks. A happy idea struck my father.
Having observed in front of the castle a pair of small cannon used for
firing salutes, it occurred to him to turn them to account. His object
was to deposit the seeds of the various trees amongst the soil in the
clefts of the crag. A tinsmith in the village was ordered to make a
number of canisters with covers. The canisters were filled with all
sorts of suitable tree seeds. A cannon was loaded, and the canisters
were fired up against the high face of the rock. They burst and
scattered the seed in all directions. Some years after, when my father
revisited the place, he was delighted to find that his scheme of
planting by artillery had proved completely successful; for the trees
were flourishing luxuriantly in all the recesses of the cliff. This was
another instance of my father's happy faculty of resourcefulness.
Certain circumstances about this time compelled my father almost
entirely to give up portrait painting and betake himself to another
branch of the fine arts. The earnest and lively interest which he took
in the state of public affairs, and the necessity which then existed
for reforming the glaring abuses of the State, led him to speak out his
mind freely on the subject. Edinburgh was then under the reign of the
Dundases; and scarcely anybody dared to mutter his objections to
anything perpetrated by the "powers that be." The city was then a much
smaller place than it is now. There was more gossip, and perhaps more
espionage, among the better classes, who were few in number. At all
events, my father's frank opinions on political subjects began to be
known. He attended Fox dinners. He was intimate with men of known
reforming views. All this was made the subject of general talk.
Accordingly, my father received many hints from aristocratic and
wealthy personages, that "if this went on any longer they would
withdraw from him their employment." My father did not alter his
course; it was right and honest. But he suffered nevertheless.
His income from portrait painting fell off rapidly.
At length he devoted himself to landscape painting. It was a freer and
more enjoyable life. Instead of painting the faces of those who were
perhaps without character or attractiveness, he painted the fresh and
ever-beautiful face of nature. The field of his employment in this
respect was almost inexhaustible. His artistic talent in this
delightful branch of art was in the highest sense congenial to his mind
and feelings; and in course of time the results of his new field of
occupation proved thoroughly satisfactory. In fact, men of the highest
rank with justice entitled him the "Father of landscape painting in
Scotland."
[Image] No. 47 York Place, Edinburgh
At the same time, when changing his branch of art, he opened a class in
his own house forgiving practical instruction in the art of landscape
painting. He removed his house and studio from St. James's Square to
No. 47 York Place. There was at the upper part of this house a noble
and commodious room. There he held his class. The house was his own,
and was built after his own designs. A splendid prospect was seen from
the upper windows; and especially from the Belvidere, which he had
constructed on the summit of the roof. The view extended from Stirling
in the west to the Bass Rock in the east. In fine summer evenings the
sun was often seen setting behind Ben Lomond and the more conspicuous
of the Perthshire mountains.
My father did not confine himself to landscape painting, or to the
instruction of his classes. He was an all-round man. He had something
of the Universal about him. He was a painter, an architect, and a
mechanic. Above all, he possessed a powerful store of common sense.
Of course, I am naturally a partial judge of my father's character; but
this I may say, that during my experience of over seventy years I have
never known a more incessantly industrious man. His hand and mind were
always at work from morn till night. During the time that he was
losing his business in portrait painting, he set to work and painted
scenery for the theatres. The late David Roberts--himself a scene
painter of the highest character--said that his style was founded
upon that of Nasmyth.*
[footnote...
David Roberts, R,A., in his Autobiography, gives the following
recollections of Alexander Nasmyth: -- "In 1819 I commenced my career as
principal scene painter in the Theatre Royal, Glasgow. This theatre
was immense in its size and appointments--in magnitude exceeding
Drury Lane and Covent Garden. The stock scenery had been painted by
Alexander Nasmyth, and consisted of a series of pictures far surpassing
anything of the kind I had ever seen. These included chambers,
palaces, streets, landscapes, and forest scenery. One, I remember
particularly, was the outside of a Norman castle, and another of a
cottage charmingly painted, and of which I have a sketch. But the act
scene, which was a view on the Clyde looking towards the Highland
mountains with Dumbarton Castle in the middle distance, was such a
combination of magnificent scenery, so wonderfully painted, that it
excited universal admiration. These productions I studied incessantly;
and on them my style, if I have any, was originally founded."
...]
Stanfield was another of his friends. On one occasion Stanfield showed
him his sketch-book, observing that he wished to form a style of his
own. "Young man," said Nasmyth, "there's but one style an artist
should endeavour to attain, and that is the style of nature; the nearer
you can get to that the better."
My father was greatly interested in the architectural beauty of his
native city, and he was professionally consulted by the authorities
about the laying out of the streets of the New Town. The subject
occupied much of his time and thought, especially when resting from the
mental fatigue arising from a long sitting at the easel. It was his
regular practice to stroll about where the building work was in
progress, or where new roads were being laid out, and carefully watch
the proceedings. This was probably due to the taste which he had
inherited from his forebears--more especially from his father, who
had begun the buildings of the New Town. My father took pleasure in
modelling any improvement that occurred to him; and in discussing the
subject with the architects and builders who were professionally
engaged in the works. His admirable knack of modelling the contour of
the natural surface of the ground, and applying it to the proposed new
roads or new buildings, was striking and characteristic. His efforts
in this direction were so thoroughly disinterested that those in office
were all the more anxious to carry out his views. He sought for no
reward; but his excellent advice was not unrecognised. In testimony of
the regard which the Magistrates of Edinburgh had for his counsel and
services, they presented him in 1815 with a sum of #200, together with
a most complimentary letter acknowledging the value of his
disinterested advice. It was addressed to him under cover, directed to
"Alexander Nasmyth, Architect."
He was, indeed, not unworthy of the name. He was the architect of the
Dean Bridge, which spans the deep valley of the Water of Leith,
north-west of the New Town. Sir John Nesbit, the owner of the property
north of the stream, employed my father to make a design for the
extension of the city to his estate. The result was the construction
of the Dean Bridge, and the roads approaching it from both sides.
The Dean Estate was thus rendered as easy and convenient to reach as
any of the level streets of Edinburgh. The construction of the bridge
was superintended by the late James Jardine, C.E. Mr Telford was
afterwards called upon to widen the bridge. He threw out parapets on
each side, but they did not improve the original design.
[Image] St Bernard's Well
From the Dean Bridge another of my father's architectural buildings may
be seen, at St. Bernard's Well. It was constructed at the instance of
his friend Lord Gardenstone. The design consists of a graceful
circular temple, built over a spring of mineral water, which issues
from the rock below. It was dedicated to Hygeia, the Goddess of
Health. The whole of the details are beautifully finished, and the
basement of the design will be admired by every true artist. It is
regarded as a great ornament, and is thoroughly in keeping with the
beauty of the surrounding scenery.
Shortly after the death of Lord Nelson it was proposed to erect a
monument to his memory on the Calton Hill. My father supplied a
design, which was laid before the Monument Committee. It was so much
approved that the required sum was rapidly subscribed. But as the
estimated cost of this erection was found slightly to exceed the amount
subscribed, a nominally cheaper design was privately adopted. It was
literally a job. The vulgar, churn-like monument was thus thrust on
the public and actually erected; and there it stands to this day, a
piteous sight to beholders. It was eventually found greatly to exceed
in cost the amount of the estimate for my father's design. I give a
sketch of my father's memorial; and I am led to do this because it is
erroneously alleged that he was the architect of the present inverted
spy glass, called "Nelson's Monument"
[Image] Nelson's Monument as it should have been.
Then, with respect to my father's powers as a mechanic. This was an
inherited faculty, and I leave my readers to infer from the following
pages whether I have not had my fair share of this inheritance. Besides
his painting room, my father had a workroom fitted up with all sorts of
mechanical tools. It was one of his greatest pleasures to occupy
himself there as a relief from sitting at the easel, or while within
doors from the inclemency of the weather. The walls and shelves of his
workroom were crowded with a multitude of artistic and ingenious
mechanical objects, nearly all of which were the production of his own
hands. Many of them were associated with the most eventful incidents
in his life. He only admitted his most intimate friends, or such as
could understand and appreciate the variety of objects connected with
art and mechanism, to his workroom. His natural taste for neatness and
arrangement gave it a very orderly aspect, however crowded its walls
and shelves might be. Everything was in its place, and there was a
place for everything. It was in this workroom that I first began to
handle mechanical tools. It was my primary technical school--the
very foreground of my life.
[Image] Bow-and-string Roofs and Bridges
I may mention one or two of my father's mechanical efforts, or rather
his inventions in applied science. One of the most important was the
"bow-and-string bridge," as he first called it, to which he early
directed his attention. He invented this important method of
construction about the year 1794. The first bow-and-string bridge was
erected in the island of St. Helena over a deep ravine.
Many considered, from its apparent slightness, that it was not fitted
to sustain any considerable load. A remarkable and convincing proof
was, however, given of its stability by the passage over it of a herd
of wild oxen, that rushed across without the slightest damage to its
structure. After so severe a test it was for many succeeding years
employed as a most valuable addition to the accessibility of an
important portion of the island. The bow-and-string bridge has since
been largely employed in spanning wide spaces over which suburban and
other railways pass, and in roofing over such stations as those at
Birmingham, Charing Cross, and other Great Metropolitan centres, as
well as in bow-and-string bridges over rivers. I give the fac-simile
of his original drawings*
[footnote...
The original drawings of these bow-and-string bridges, of various
spans, are now deposited at the Gallery of the Museum of Naval
Architecture at South Kensington, and are signed "Alexander Nasmyth
1796."
...]
for the purpose of showing our great railway engineers the originator
of the graceful and economical method of spanning wide spaces, now
practised in every part of the civilised world.
Another of his inventions was the method of riveting by compression
instead of by blows of the hammer. It originated in a slight
circumstance. One wet, wintry Sunday morning he went into his
workroom. There were some slight mechanical repairs to be performed
upon a beautiful little stove of his own construction. To repair it,
iron rivets were necessary to make it serviceable. But as the
hammering of the hot rivets would annoy his neighbours by the unwelcome
sound of the hammer, he solved the difficulty by using the jaws of his
bench vice to squeeze in the hot rivets when put into their places.
The stove was thus quickly repaired in the most perfect silence.
This was, perhaps, the first occasion on which a squeeze or compressive
action was substituted for the percussive action of the hammer,
in closing red-hot rivets, for combining together pieces of stout sheet
or plate iron. This system of riveting was long afterwards patented by
Smith of Deanston in combination with William Fairbairn of Manchester;
and it was employed in riveting the plates used in the construction of
the bridges over the River Conway and the Menai Straits.
It is also universally used in boiler and girder making, and in all
other wrought-iron structures in which thorough sound riveting is
absolutely essential; and by the employment of hydraulic power in a
portable form a considerable portion of iron shipbuilding is effected
by the silent squeeze system in place of hammers, much to the
advantage of the soundness of the work. My father frequently,
in aftertimes, practised this mode of riveting by compression in place
of using the blow of a hammer; and in remembrance of the special
circumstances under which he contrived this silent and most effective
method of riveting, he named it "The Sunday Rivet."
CHAPTER 3. An Artist's Family.
Although Alexander Nasmyth had to a considerable extent lost his
aristocratic connection as a portrait painter, yet many kind and
generous friends gathered round him. During his sojourn in Italy,
in 1783, he had the good fortune to make the acquaintance of Sir James
Hall of Dunglass, Haddingtonshire. The acquaintance afterwards ripened
into a deeply-rooted friendship.
During the winter season Sir James resided with his family in his town
house in George Street. He was passionately attached to the pursuit of
art and science. He practised the art of painting in my father's room,
and was greatly helped by him in the requisite manipulative skill.
Sir James was at that time engaged in writing his well-known essay
"On the Origin of Gothic Architecture," and in this my father was of
important use to him. He executed the greater number of the
illustrations for this beautiful work. The book when published had a
considerable influence in restoring the taste of architects to a style
which they had heretofore either neglected or degraded.
Besides his enthusiasm in art and architecture, Sir James devoted a
great deal of time to the study of geology. The science was then in
its infancy. Being an acute observer, Hall's attention was first
attracted to the subject by the singular geological features of the
sea-coast near his mansion at Dunglass. The neighbourhood of Edinburgh
also excited his interest. The upheaval of the rocks by volcanic heat
--as seen in the Castle Hill, the Calton Hill, and Arthur's Seat--
formed in a great measure the foundation of the picturesque beauty of
the city. Those were the days of the Wernerian and Huttonian
controversy as to the origin of the changes on the surface of the
earth. Sir James Ball was President of the Edinburgh Royal Society,
and necessarily took an anxious interest in the discussions.
He observed and experimented, and established the true volcanic nature
of the composition and formation of the rocks and mountains which
surround Edinburgh.
I have been led to speak of this subject, because when a boy I was
often present at the discussions of these great principles.
My father, Sir James Hall, Professors Playfair and Leslie, took their
accustomed walks round Edinburgh, and I clung eagerly to their words.
Though unable to understand everything that was said, these walks had a
great influence upon my education. Indeed, what education can compare
with that of listening attentively to the conversation and interchange
of thought of men of the highest intelligence? It is on such occasions
that ideas, not mere words, take hold of the memory, and abide there
until the close of life.
Besides mixing in the society of scientific men, my father enjoyed a
friendly intercourse with the artists of his day. He was often able to
give substantial help and assistance to young students; and he was most
liberal in giving them valuable practical instruction, and in assisting
them over the manipulative difficulties which lay in their way. He was
especially assiduous when he saw them inspired by the true spirit of
art, and full of application and industry,--without which nothing can
be accomplished. Amongst these young men were David Wilkie, Francis
Grant, David Roberts, Clarkson Stanfield, William Allan, Andrew Geddes,
"Grecian" Williams, Lizars the engraver, and the Rev. John Thomson of
Duddingston.
Henry Raeburn was one of his most intimate friends and companions.
He considered Raeburn's broad and masterly style of portrait painting
as an era in Scottish art. Raeburn, with innate tact, discerned the
character of his sitters, and he imparted so much of their
individuality into his portraits as to make them admirable likenesses
in the highest sense. In connection with Raeburn, I may mention that
when he was knighted by George IV. in 1822, my father, who was then at
the head of his profession in Scotland, was appointed chairman at the
dinner held to do honour to the great Scottish portrait painter.
Raeburn often joined my father in his afternoon walks round Edinburgh
--a relaxation so very desirable after hours of close attention to
artistic work. They took delight in the wonderful variety of
picturesque scenery by which the city is surrounded. The walks about
Arthur's Seat were the most enjoyable of all. When a boy I had often
the pleasure of accompanying them, and of listening to their
conversation. I thus picked up many an idea that served me well in
after life. Indeed, I may say, after a long experience, that there is
no class of men whose company I more delight in than that of artists.
Their innate and highly-cultivated power of observation, not only as
regards the ever-varying aspects of nature, but also as regards the
quaint, droll, and humorous varieties of character, concur in rendering
their conversation most delightful. I look back on these walks as
among the brightest points in my existence. I have been led to digress
on this subject. Although more correctly belonging to my father's
life, yet it is so amalgamated with my own that it almost forms part of
it, and it is difficult for me to separate the one from the other.
And then there were the pleasant evenings at home. When the day's work
was over, friends looked in to have a fireside crack--sometimes
scientific men, sometimes artists, often both. They were all made
welcome. There was no formality about their visits. Had they been
formal, there would have been comparatively little pleasure.
The visitor came in with his "Good e'en", and seated himself.
The family went on with their work as before. The girls were usually
busy with their needles, and others with pen and pencil. My father
would go on with the artistic work he had in hand, for his industry was
incessant. He would model a castle or a tree, or proceed with some
proposed improvement of the streets or approaches of the rapidly
expanding city. Among the most agreeable visitors were Professor
Leslie, James Jardine, C.E., and Dr. Brewster. Their conversation was
specially interesting. They brought up the last new thing in science,
in discovery, in history, or in campaigning, for the war was then
raging throughout Europe.
The artists were a most welcome addition to the family group.
Many a time did they set the table in a roar with their quaint and
droll delineations of character. These unostentatious gatherings of
friends about our fireside were a delightful social institution.
The remembrance of them lights up my recollection of the happiest
period of a generally happy life. Could I have been able to set forth
the brightness and cheerfulness of these happy evenings at my father's
house, I am fain to think that my description might have been well
worth reading. But all the record of them that remains is a most
cherished recollection of their genial tone and harmony, which makes me
think that, although in these days of rapid transit over earth and
ocean, and surrounded as we are with the results of applied scientific
knowledge, we are not a bit more happy than when all the vaunted
triumphs of science and so-called education were in embryo.
The supper usually followed, for my father would not allow his visitors
to go away supperless. The meal did not amount to much. Rizard or
Finnan harddies, or a dish of oysters, with a glass of Edinburgh ale,
and a rummer of toddy, concluded these friendly evenings. The cry of
"Caller Aou" was constantly heard in the streets below of an evening.
When the letter r was in the name of the month, the supply of oysters
was abundant. The freshest oysters, of the most glorious quality, were
to be had at 2s. 6d. the hundred! And what could be more refreshing
food for my father's guests? These unostentatious and inexpensive
gatherings of friends were a most delightful social institution among
the best middle-class people of Edinburgh some sixty or seventy years
ago. What they are now I cannot tell. But I fear they have
disappeared in the more showy and costly tastes that have sprung up in
the progress of what is called "modern society."
No part of my father's character was more admirable than his utter
unselfishness. He denied himself many things, that he might give the
greater pleasure to his wife and children. He would scarcely take part
in any enjoyment, unless they could have their fair share of it. In all
this he was faithfully followed by my mother. The admirable example of
well-sustained industry that was always before her, sustained her in
her efforts for the good of her family. She was intelligently
interested in all that related to her husband's business and interests,
as well as in his recreative enjoyments. The household affairs were
under her skilful guidance. She conducted them with economy, and yet
with generous liberality, free from the least taint of ostentation or
extravagance. The home fireside was a scene of cheerfulness.
And most of our family have been blest with this sunny gift. Indeed,
a merrier family circle I have never seen. There were twelve persons
round the table to be provided for, besides two servants.
This required, on my mother's part, a great deal of management,
as every housekeeper will know. Yet everything was provided and paid
for within the year's income.
The family result of my father and mother's happy marriage was four
sons and seven daughters. Patrick, the eldest, was born in 1787.
He was called after my father's dear and constant friend, Patrick
Miller of Dalswinton. I will speak by and by of his artistic
reputation. Then followed a long succession of daughters--
Jane, the eldest', was born in 1788; Barbara 1790; Margaret in 1791;
Elizabeth in 1793; Anne in 1798; Charlotte in 1804.
Then came a succession of three sons--Alexander, George,and James.
There followed another daughter, Mary; but as she only lived for about
eighteen months, I remained the youngest of the family.
My sisters all possessed, in a greater or less degree, an innate love
of art, and by their diligent application they acquired the practice of
painting landscape in oils. My father's admirable system and method of
teaching rendered them expert in making accurate sketches from nature,
which, as will afterwards be seen, they turned to good account.
My eldest sister, Jane, was in all respects a most estimable character,
and a great help to my mother in the upbringing of the children.
Jane was full of sound common sense; her judgment seemed to be beyond
her years. Because of this the younger members of the family jokingly
nicknamed her "Old Solid"!--Even my father consulted her in every
case of importance in reference to domestic and financial affairs.
I had the great good fortune, when a child, to be placed under her
special protection, and I have reason to be thankful for the
affectionate care which she took of me during the first six years of
my life.
Besides their early education in art, my mother was equally earnest in
her desire to give her daughters a thorough practical knowledge in
every department and detail of household management. When they had
attained a suitable age they were in succession put in charge of all
the household duties for two weeks at a time. The keys were given over
to them, together with the household books, and at the end of their
time their books were balanced to a farthing. They were then passed on
to the next in succession. One of the most important branches of
female education--the management of the domestic affairs of a family,
the superintendence of the cooking so as to avoid waste of food, the
regularity of the meals, and the general cleaning up of the rooms--
was thus thoroughly attained in its best and most practical forms.
And under the admirable superintendence of my mother everything in our
family went on like clockwork.
My father's object was to render each and all of his children--
whether boys or girls--independent on their arrival at mature years.
Accordingly, he sedulously kept up the attention of his daughters to
fine art. By this means he enabled them to assist in the maintenance
of the family while at home, and afterwards to maintain themselves by
the exercise of their own abilities and industry after they had left.
To accomplish this object, as already described, he set on foot drawing
classes, which were managed by his six daughters, superintended by
himself.
Edinburgh was at that time the resort of many county families.
The war which raged abroad prevented their going to the Continent.
They therefore remained at home, and the Scotch families for the most
part took up their residence in Edinburgh. There were many young
ladies desiring to complete their accomplishments, and hence the
establishment of my sisters' art class. It was held in the large
painting-room in the upper part of the house. It soon became one of
the most successful institutions in Edinburgh. When not engaged in
drawing and oil painting, the young ladies were occupied in sketching
from nature, under the superintendence of my sisters, in the outskirts
of Edinburgh. This was one of the most delightful exercises in which
they could be engaged; and it also formed the foundation for many
friendships which only terminated with life.
My father increased the interest of the classes by giving little art
lectures. They were familiar but practical. He never gave lectures as
such, but rather demonstrations. It was only when a pupil encountered
some technical difficulty, or was adopting some wrong method of
proceeding, that he undertook to guide them by his words and practical
illustrations. His object was to embue the minds of the pupils with
high principles of art. He would take up their brushes and show by his
dexterous and effective touches how to bring out, with marvellous ease,
the right effects of the landscape. The other pupils would come and
stand behind him, to see and hear his clear instructions carried into
actual practice on the work before him. He often illustrated his
little special lessons by his stores of instructive and interesting
anecdotes, which no doubt helped to rivet his practice all the deeper
into their minds. Thus the Nasmyth classes soon became the fashion.
In many cases both mothers and daughters might be seen at work together
in that delightful painting-room. I have occasionally met with some of
them in after years, who referred to those pleasant hours as among the
most delightful they had ever spent.
These classes were continued for many years. In the meantime my
sisters' diligence and constant practice enabled them in course of time
to exhibit their works in the fine art exhibitions of Edinburgh.
Each had her own individuality of style and manner, by which their
several works were easily distinguished from each other. Indeed,
whoever works after Nature will have a style of their own. They all
continued the practice of oil painting until an advanced age.
The average duration of their lives was about seventy-eight.
There was one point which my father diligently impressed upon his
pupils, and that was the felicity and the happiness attendant upon
pencil drawing. He was a master of the pencil, and in his off-hand
sketches communicated his ideas to others in a way that mere words
could never have done. It was his Graphic Language. A few strokes of
the pencil can convey ideas which quires of writing would fail to
impart. This is one of the most valuable gifts which a man who has to
do with practical subjects can possess. "The language of the pencil"
is a truly universal one, especially in communicating ideas which have
reference to material forms. And yet it is in a great measure
neglected in our modern system of education.
The language of the tongue is often used to disguise our thoughts,
whereas the language of the pencil is clear and explicit. Who that
possesses this language can fail to look back with pleasure on the
course of a journey illustrated by pencil drawings? They bring back to
you the landscapes you have seen, the old streets, the pointed gables,
the entrances to the old churches, even the bits of tracery, with a
vividness of association such as mere words could never convey.
Thus, looking at an old sketch-book brings back to you the recollection
of a tour, however varied, and you virtually make the journey over
again with its picturesque and beautiful associations. On many a fine
summer's day did my sisters make a picnic excursion into the
neighbourhood of Edinburgh. They were accompanied by their pupils,
sketch-book and pencil in hand. As I have already said, there is no
such scenery near any city that I know of. Arthur's Seat and Salisbury
Crags, Duddingston Loch, the Braid Hills, Craigmillar Castle,
Hawthornden, Roslin, Habbie's How, and the many valleys and rifts in
the Pentlands, with Edinburgh and its Castle in the distance; or the
scenery by the sea-shore, all round the coast from Newhaven to Gullane
and North Berwick Law.
The excursionists came home laden with sketches. I have still by me a
multitude of these graphic records made by my sisters. Each sketch,
however slight, strikes the keynote, as it were, to many happy
recollections of the circumstances, and the persons who were present at
the time it was made. I know not of any such effective stimulant to
the recollection of past events as these graphic memoranda.
Written words may be forgotten, but these slight pencil recollections
imprint themselves on the mind with a force that can never be effaced.
Everything that occurred at the time rises up as fresh in the memory as
if hours and not years had passed since then. They bring to the mind's
eye many dear ones who have passed away, and remind us that we too must
follow them.
It is much to be regretted that this valuable art of graphic memoranda
is not more generally practised. It is not merely a most valuable help
to the memory, but it educates the eye and the hand, and enables us to
cultivate the faculty of definite observation. This is one of the most
valuable accomplishments that I know of, being the means of storing up
ideas, and not mere words, in the mental recollection of both men and
women.
Before I proceed to record the recollections of my own life, I wish to
say something about my eldest brother Patrick, the well-known landscape
painter. He was twenty-one years older than myself! My father was his
best and almost his only instructor. At a very early age he manifested
a decided taste for drawing and painting. His bent was landscape.
This gave my father great pleasure, as it was his own favourite branch
of art. The boy acquired great skill in sketching trees, clouds,
plants, and foregrounds. He studied with wonderful assiduity and
success. I possess many of his graphic memoranda, which show the care
and industry with which he educated his eye and hand in rendering with
truth and fidelity the intimate details of his art. The wild plants
which he introduced into the foregrounds of his pictures were his
favourite objects of study. But of all portions of landscape nature,
the Sky was the one that most delighted him. He studied the form and
character of clouds--resting cloud, the driving cloud, and the rain
cloud--and the sky portions of his paintings were thus rendered so
beautifully attractive.
He was so earnest in his devotion to the study of landscape that in
some respects he neglected the ordinary routine of school education.
He successfully accomplished the three R.'s, but after that his school
was the fields, in the face of Nature. He was by no means a Romantic
painter. His taste was essentially for Home subjects. In his
landscapes he introduced picturesque farm-houses and cottages,
with their rural surroundings; and his advancement and success were
commensurate with his devotion to this fine branch of art. The perfect
truth with which he represented English scenery, associated as it is
with so many home-loving feelings, forms the special attractiveness of
his works. This has caused them to be eagerly sought after,
and purchased at high prices.
Patrick had a keen sense of humour, though in other respects he was
simple and unpretending. He was a great reader of old-fashioned
novels, which indeed in those days were the only works of the kind to
be met with. The Arabian Nights, Robinson crusoe, The Mysteries of
Udolpho, and such like, were his favourites, and gave a healthy filip
to his imagination. He had also a keen relish for music, and used to
whistle melodies and overtures as he went along with his work.
He acquired a fair skill in violin playing. While tired with sitting
or standing he would take up his violin, play a few passages, and then
go to work again.
Patrick removed to London in 1808, and exhibited at the Royal Academy
in the following year. He made excursions to various parts of England,
where he found subjects congenial to his ideas of rural beauty.
The immediate neighbourhood of London, however, a bounded with the most
charming and appropriate subjects for his pencil. These consisted of
rural "bits" of the most picturesque but homely description--decayed
pollard trees and old moss-grown orchards, combined with cottages and
farm-houses in the most paintable state of decay, with tangled hedges
and neglected fences, overrun with vegetation clinging to them with all
"the careless grace of Nature." However neglected these might be by the
farmer, they were always tit-bits for Patrick. When sketching such
subjects he was in his glory, and he returned to his easel loaded with
sketch-book treasures, which when painted form the gems of many a
collection.
In some of these charming subjects glimpses of the distant capital may
be observed, with the dome of St. Paul's in the distance; but they are
introduced with such skill and correctness as in no way to interfere
with the rural character of his subject. When he went farther afield
--to Windsor Forest, Hampshire, the New Forest, or the Isle of Wight
--he was equally diligent with his pencil, and came home laden with
sketches of the old monarchs of the forest. When in a state of partial
decay his skilful touch brought them to life again, laden with branches
and lichen, with leaves and twigs and bark, and with every feature that
gives such a charm to these important elements in true English
landscape scenery. On my brother's first visit to London, accompanied
by my father, he visited many collections where the old Dutch masters
were to be seen, and he doubtless derived much advantage from his
careful studies, more particularly from the works of Hobbema, Ruysdael,
and Wynants. These came home to him as representations of Nature as
she is. They were more free from the traditional modes of representing
her. The works of Claude Lorraine and Richard Wilson were also the
objects of his admiration, though the influence of the time for
classicality of treatment to a certain extent vitiated these noble
works. When a glorious sunset was observed, the usual expression among
the lovers of art was, "What a magnificent Claudish effect!" thus
setting up the result of man's feeble attempt at representation as the
standard of comparison, in place of the far grander original!
My brother carefully studied Nature herself. His works, following
those of my father, led back the public taste to a more healthy and
true condition, and by the aid of a noble army of modern British
landscape painters, this department of art has been elevated to a very
high standard of truth and excellence.
I find some letters from Patrick to my father, after his settlement as
an artist in London. My father seems to have supplied him with money
during the early part of his career, and afterwards until he had
received the amount of his commissions for pictures. In one of his
letters he says: "That was an unlucky business, the loss of that order
which you were so good as send me on my account." It turned out that
the order had dropt out of the letter enclosing it, and was not
recovered. In fact, Patrick was very careless about all money
transactions.
In 1814 he made the acquaintance of Mr. Barnes, and accompanied him to
Bure Cottage, Ringwood, near Southampton, where he remained for some
time. He went into the New Forest, and brought home "lots of sketches."
In 1815 he exhibited his works at the Royal Academy. He writes to his
father that "the prices of my pictures in the Gallery are--
two at fourteen guineas each (small views in Hampshire), one at
twelve guineas, and two at fourteen guineas. They are all sold but
one. These pictures would now fetch in the open market from two to
three hundred guineas each. But in those days good work was little
known, and landscapes especially were very little sought after.
Patrick Nasmyth's admirable rendering of the finer portions of
landscape nature attracted the attention of collectors, and he received
many commissions from them at very low prices. There was at that time
a wretched system of delaying the payment for pictures painted on
commission, as well as considerable loss of time by the constant
applications made for the settlement of the balance. My brother was
accordingly under the necessity of painting his pictures for the
Dealers, who gave him at once the price which he required for his
works. The influence of this system was not always satisfactory.
The Middlemen or Dealers, who stood between the artist and the final
possessor of the works, were not generous. They higgled about prices,
and the sums which they gave were almost infinitesimal compared with
the value of Patrick Nasmyth's pictures at the present time.
The Dealers were frequent visitors at his little painting-room in his
lodgings. They took undue advantage of my brother's simplicity and
innate modesty in regard to the commercial value of his works. When he
had sketched in a beautiful subject, and when it was clear that in its
highest state of development it must prove a fine work, the Dealer
would pile up before him a row of guineas, or sovereigns, and say,
"Now, Peter, that picture's to be mine!", The real presence of cash
proved too much for him. He never was a practical man. He agreed to
the proposal, and thus he parted with his pictures for much less than
they were worth. He was often remonstrated with by his brother artists
for letting them slip out of his hands in that way--works that he
would not surrender until he had completed them, and brought them up to
the highest point of his fastidious taste and standard of excellence.
Among his dearest friends were David Roberts and Clarkson Stanfield.
He usually replied to their friendly remonstrances by laughingly
pointing to his bursting portfolios of sketches, and saying,
"There's lots of money in these banks to draw from." He thus warded off
their earnest and often-repeated remonstrances. Being a single man,
and his habits and style of living of the most simple kind, he had very
little regard for money except as it ministered to his immediate
necessities. His evenings were generally spent at a club of brother
artists "over the water;" and in their company he enjoyed many a
pleasant hour. His days were spent at his easel. They were
occasionally varied by long walks into the country near London,
for the purpose of refilling his sketch-book.
It was on one of such occasions--when he was sketching the details of
some picturesque pollard old willows up the Thames, and standing all
the time in wet ground--that he caught a severe cold which confined
him to the house. He rapidly became worse. Two of his sisters,
who happened to be in London at the time, nursed him with devoted
attention. But it was too late. The disease had taken fatal hold of
him. On the evening of the l7th August 1831 there was a violent
thunderstorm. At length the peals of thunder ceased, the rain passed
away, and the clouds dispersed. The setting sun burst forth in a
golden glow. The patient turned round on his couch and asked that the
curtains might be drawn. It was done. A blaze of sunset lit up his
weary and worn-out face. "How glorious it is!" he said. Then, as the
glow vanished he fell into a deep and tranquil sleep, from which he
never awoke. Such was the peaceful end of my brother Patrick, at the
comparatively early age of forty-four years.
CHAPTER 4. My Early Years.
I WAS born on the morning of the 19th of August 1808, at my father's
house No. 47 York Place, Edinburgh. I was named James Hall after my
father's dear friend, Sir James Hall of Dunglass. My mother afterwards
told me that I must have been "a very noticin' bairn," as she observed
me, when I was only a few days old, following with my little eyes any
one who happened to be in the room, as if I had been thinking to my
little self, "Who are you?"
After a suitable time I was put under the care of a nursemaid.
I remember her well--Mary Peterkin--a truly Scandinavian name.
She came from Haddingtonshire, where most of the people are of
Scandinavian origin. Her hair was of a bright yellow tint.
She was a cheerful young woman, and sang to me like a nightingale.
She could not only sing old Scotch songs, but had a wonderful memory
for fairy tales. When under the influence of a merry laugh,
you could scarcely see her eyes; their twinkle was hidden by her
eyelids and lashes. She was a willing worker, and was always ready
to lend a helping hand at everything about the house, she took great
pride in me, calling me her "laddie."
When I was toddling about the house, another sister was born, the last
of the family. Little Mary was very delicate; and to improve her
health she was sent to a small farm-house at Braid Hills, about four
miles south of Edinburgh. It was one of the most rural and beautiful
surroundings of the city at that time. One of my earliest
recollections is that of being taken to see poor little Mary at the
farmer's house. While my nursemaid was occupied in inquiring after my
sister, I was attracted by the bright red poppies in a neighbouring
field. When they made search for me I could not be found. I was lost
for more than an hour. At last, seeing a slight local disturbance
among the stalks of corn, they rushed to they spot, and brought me out
with an armful of brilliant red poppies. To this day poppies continue
to be my greatest favourites.
When I was about four or five years old, I was observed to give a
decided preference to the use of my left hand. Everything was done to
prevent my using it in preference to the right. My mother thought that
it arose from my being carried on the wrong arm by my nurse while an
infant. The right hand was thus confined, and the left hand was used.
I was constantly corrected, but "on the sly" I always used it,
especially in drawing my first little sketches. At last my father,
after viewing with pleasure one of my artistic efforts, done with the
forbidden hand, granted it liberty and independence for all time
coming. "Well," he said, "you may go on in your own way in the use of
your left hand, but I fear you will be an awkward fellow in everything
that requires handiness in life. I used my right hand in all that was
necessary, and my left in all sorts of practical manipulative affairs.
My left hand has accordingly been my most willing and obedient servant
in transmitting my will through my fingers into material or visible
forms. In this way I became ambidexter.
When I was about four years old, I often followed my father into his
workshop when he had occasion to show to his visitors some of his
mechanical contrivances or artistic models. The persons present
usually expressed their admiration in warm terms of what was shown to
them. On one occasion I gently pulled the coat-tail of one of the
listeners and confidentially said to him, as if I knew all about it,
"My papa's a kevie Fellae!" My father was so greatly amused by this
remark that he often referred to it as "the last good thing" from that
old-fashioned creature little Jamie.
One of my earliest recollections is the annual celebration of my
brother Patrick's birthday. Being the eldest of the family, his
birthday was held in special honour. My father invited about twenty of
his most intimate friends to dinner. My mother brought her culinary
powers into full operation. The younger members of the family also
took a lively interest in all that was going on, with certain
reversionary views as to "the day after the feast." We took a great
interest in the Trifle, which was no trifle in reality, in so far as
regarded the care and anxiety involved in its preparation.
In connection with this celebration, it was all established institution
that a large hamper always arrived in good time from the farm attached
to my mother's old home at Woodhall, near Edinburgh. It contained many
substantial elements for the entertainment--a fine turkey, fowls,
duck, and suchlike; with two magnums of the richest cream. There never
was such cream! It established a standard of cream in my memory;
and since then I have always been hypercritical about the article.
On one of these occasions, when I was about four years old, and being
the youngest of the family, I was taken into the company after the
dinner was over, and held up by my sister Jane to sing a verse from a
little song which my nurse Mary Peterkin had taught me, and Which ran
thus:
"I'll no bide till Saturday,
But I'll awa' tile morn,
An' follow Donald Hielandman,
An' carry his poother-horn."
This was my first and last vocal performance. It was received with
great applause. In fact, it was encored. The word "poother,"
which I pronounced "pootle", excited the enthusiasm of the audience.
I was then sent to bed with a bit of plum-cake, and was doubtless
awakened early next morning by the irritation of the dried crumbs of
the previous night's feast.
I am reminded, by reading over a letter of my brother Patrick's, of an
awkward circumstance that happened to me when I was six years old.
In his letter to my father, dated London, 22d September 1814, he says:
"I did get a surprise when Margaret's letter informed me of my little
brother Jamie's fall. It was a wonderful escape. For God's sake keep
an eye upon him!" Like other strong and healthy boys, I had a turn for
amusing myself in my own way. When sliding down the railing of the
stairs I lost my grip and fell suddenly over. The steps were of stone.
Fortunately, the servants were just coming up laden with carpets which
they had been beating. I fell into their midst and knocked them out of
their hands. I was thus saved from cracking my poor little skull.
But for that there might have been no steam hammer--at least of my
contrivance!
Everything connected with war and warlike exploits is interesting to a
boy. The war with France was then in full progress. Troops and bands
paraded the streets. Recruits were sent away as fast as they could be
drilled. The whole air was filled with war. Everybody was full of
excitement about the progress of events in Spain. When the great guns
boomed forth from the Castle, the people were first startled.
Then they were surprised and anxious. There had been a battle and a
victory! "Who had fallen?" was the first thought in many minds.
Where had the battle been, and what was the victory? Business was
suspended. People rushed about the streets to ascertain the facts.
It might have been at Salamanca, Talavera, or Vittoria. But a long
time elapsed before the details could be received; and during that time
sad suspense and anxiety prevailed in almost every household.
There was no telegraph then. It was only after the Gazette had been
published that people knew who had fallen and who had survived.
The war proceeded. The volunteering which went on at the time gave
quite a military aspect to the city. I remember how odd it appeared to
me to see some well-known faces and figures metamorphosed into soldiers
It was considered a test of loyalty as well as of patriotism, to give
time, money, and leisure to take up the arms of defence, and to
practise daily in military uniform in the Meadows or on Bruntsfield
Links. Windows were thrown up to hear the bands playing at the head of
the troops, and crowds of boys, full of military ardour, went, as usual,
hand to hand in front of the drums and fifes. The most interesting
part of the procession to my mind was the pioneers in front, with their
leather aprons, their axes and saws, and their big hairy caps and
beards. They were to me so suggestive of clearing the way through
hedges and forests, and of what war was in its actual progress.
Every victory was followed by the importation of large numbers of
French prisoners. Many of them were sent to Edinburgh Castle.
They were permitted to relieve the tedium of their confinement by
manufacturing and selling toys; workboxes, brooches, and carved work of
different kinds. In the construction of these they exhibited great
skill, taste, and judgment. They carved them out of bits of bone and
wood. The patterns were most beautiful; and they were ingeniously and
tastefully ornamented. The articles were to be had for a mere trifle,
although fit to be placed with the most choice objects of artistic
skill.
These poor prisoners of war were allowed to work at their tasteful
handicrafts in small sheds or temporary workshops at the Castle, behind
the palisades which separated them from their free customers outside.
There was just room between the bars of the palisades for them to hand
through their exquisite works, and to receive in return the modest
prices which they charged. The front of these palisades became a
favourite resort for the inhabitants of Edinburgh; and especially for
the young folks. I well remember being impressed with the contrast
between the almost savage aspect of these dark-haired foreigners,
and the neat and delicate produce of their skilful fingers.
At the peace of 1814, which followed the siege of Paris, great
rejoicings and illuminations took place, in the belief that the war was
at an end. The French prisoners were sent back to their own country,
alas! to appear again before us at Waterloo. The liberation of those
confined in Edinburgh Castle was accompanied by an extraordinary scene.
The French prisoners marched down to the transport ships at Leith by
torchlight. All the town was out to see them. They passed in military
procession through the principal streets, singing as they marched along
their revolutionary airs, "Ca lra" and "The Marseillaise." The wild
enthusiasm of these haggard-looking men, lit up by torchlight and
accompanied by the cheers of the dense crowd which lined the streets
and filled the windows, made an impression on my mind that I can never
forget.
A year passed. Napoleon returned from Elba, and was rejoined by nearly
all his old fighting-men. I well remember, young as I was, an assembly
of the inhabitants of Edinburgh in Charlotte Square, to bid farewell to
the troops and officers then in garrison. It was a fine summer
evening when this sad meeting took place. The bands were playing as
their last performance, "Go where glory waits thee!" The air brought
tears to many eyes; for many who were in the ranks might never return.
After many a hand-shaking, the troops marched to the Castle, previous
to their early embarkation for the Low Countries on the following
morning.
Then came Waterloo and the victory! The Castle guns boomed forth again;
and the streets were filled with people anxious to hear the news.
At last came the Gazette filled with the details of the killed and
wounded. Many a heart was broken, many a fireside was made desolate.
It was indeed a sad time. The terrible anxiety that pervaded so many
families; the dreadful sacrifice of lives on so many battlefields; and
the enormously increased taxation, which caused so many families to
stint themselves to even the barest necessaries of life;--such was
the inglorious side of war.
But there was also the glory, which almost compensated for the sorrow.
I cannot resist narrating the entry of the Forty-second Regiment into
Edinburgh shortly after the battle of Waterloo. The old "Black Watch"
is a regiment dear to every Scottish heart. It has fought and
struggled when resistance was almost certain death. At Quatre Bras two
flank companies were cut to pieces by Pire's cavalry. The rest of the
regiment was assailed by Reille's furious cannonade, and suffered
severely. The French were beaten back, and the remnant of the
Forty-second retired to Waterloo, where they formed part of the brigade
under Major-General Pack. At the first grand charge of the French,
Picton fell and many were killed. Then the charge of the Greys took
place, and the Highland regiments rushed forward, with cries of
"Scotland for ever!" Only a remnant of the Forty-second survived.
They were however recruited, and marched into France with the rest of
the army.
Towards the end of the year the Forty-Second returned to England,
and in the beginning of 1816 they set out on their march towards
Edinburgh. They were everywhere welcomed with enthusiasm. Crowds
turned out to meet them and cheer them. When the first division of the
regiment approached Edinburgh, almost the entire population turned out
to welcome them. At Musselburgh, six miles off; the road was thronged
with people. When the soldiers reached Piershill, two miles off, the
road was so crowded that it took them two hours to reach the Castle.
I was on a balcony in the upper part of the High Street, and my father,
mother, and sisters were with me. We had waited very long; but at last
we heard the distant sound of the cheers, which came on and on, louder
and louder.
The High Street was wedged with people excited and anxious.
There seemed scarcely room for a regiment to march through them.
The house-tops and windows were crowded with spectators. It was a
grand sight. The high-gabled houses reaching as far as the eye could
see, St. Giles' with its mural crown, the Tron Kirk in the distance,
and the picturesque details of the buildings, all added to the
effectiveness of the scene.
At last the head of the gallant band appeared. The red coats gradually
wedged their way through the crowd, amidst the ringing of bells and the
cheers of the spectators. Every window was in a wave of gladness,
and every house-top was in a fever of excitement. As the red line
passed our balcony, with Colonel Dick at its head, we saw a sight that
can never be forgotten. The red-and-white plumes, the tattered colours
riddled with bullets, the glittering bayonets, were seen amidst the
crowd that thronged round the gallant heroes, amidst tears and cheers
and hand-shakings and shouts of excitement. The mass of men appeared
like a solid body moving slowly along; the soldiers being almost hidden
amongst the crowd. At last they passed, the pipers and drums playing a
Highland march; and the Forty-Second slowly entered the Castle. It was
perhaps the most extraordinary scene ever witnessed in Edinburgh.
One of my greatest enjoyments when a child was in going out with the
servants to the Calton, and wait while the "claes" bleached in the sun
on the grassy slopes of the hill. The air was bright and fresh and
pure. The lasses regarded these occasions as a sort of holiday.
One or two of the children usually accompanied them. They sat
together, and the servants told us their auld-warld stories; common
enough in those days, but which have now, in a measure, been forgotten.
"Steam" and "progress" have made the world much less youthful and
joyous than it was then.
The women brought their work and their needles with them, and when they
had told their stories, the children ran about the hill making bunches
of wild flowers--including harebells and wild thyme. They ran after
the butterflies and the bumbees, and made acquaintance in a small way
with the beauties of nature. Then the servants opened their baskets of
provisions, and we had a delightful picnic. Though I am now writing
about seventy years after the date of these events, I can almost
believe that I am enjoying the delightful perfume of the wild thyme and
the fragrant plants and flowers, wafted around me by the warm breezes
of the Calton hillside.
In the days I refer to, there was always a most cheerful and intimate
intercourse kept up between the children and the servants. They were
members of the same family, and were treated as such. The servants
were for the most part country-bred--daughters of farm servants or
small farmers. They were fairly educated at their parish schools;
they could read and write, and had an abundant store of old
recollections. Many a pleasant crack we had with them as to their
native places, their families, and all that was connected with them.
They became lastingly attached to their masters and mistresses, as well
as to the children. All this led to true attachment; and when they
left; us, for the most part to be married we continued to keep up a
correspondence with them, which lasted for many years.
While enjoying these delightful holidays, before my school-days began,
my practical education was in progress, especially in the way of
acquaintance with the habits of nature in a vast variety of its phases,
always so attractive to the minds of healthy children. It happened
that close to the Calton Hill, in the valley at its northern side,
there were many workshops where interesting trades were carried on;
there were coppersmiths, tinsmiths, brass-founders, goldbeaters, and
blacksmiths. Their shops were all arranged in a busy group at the foot
of the hill, in a place called Greenside. The workshops were open to
the inspection of passers-by. Little boys looked in and saw the men at
work amidst the blaze of fires and the beatings of hammers.
Amongst others, I was an ardent admirer. I may almost say that this
row of busy workshops was my first school of practical education.
I observed the mechanical manipulation of the men, their dexterous use
of the hammer, the chisel, and the file; and I imbibed many lessons
which afterwards proved of use to me. Then I had tools at home in my
father's workshop. I tried to follow their methods; I became greatly
interested in the use of tools and their appliances; I could make
things for myself. In short, I became so skilled that the people about
the house called me "a little Jack-of-all-trades."
While sitting on the grassy slopes of the Calton Hill I would often
hear the chimes sounding from the grand old tower of St.Giles.
The cathedral lay on the other side of the valley which divides the
Old Town from the New. The sounds came over the murmur of the traffic
in the streets below.
The chime-bells were played every day from twelve till one--the
old-fashioned dinner-hour of the citizens. The practice had been in
existence for more than a hundred and fifty years. The pleasing effect
of the merry airs, which came wafted tome by the warm summer breezes,
made me long to see them as well as hear them.
[Image] Mural crown of St Giles', Edinburgh
My father was always anxious to give pleasure to his children.
Accordingly, he took me one day, as a special treat, to the top of the
grand old tower, to see the chimes played. As we passed up the tower,
a strong vaulted room was pointed out to me, where the witches used to
be imprisoned. I was told that the poor old women were often taken
down from this dark vault to be burnt alive! Such terrible tales
enveloped the tower with a horrible fascination to my young mind.
What a fearful contrast to the merry sound of the chimes issuing from
its roof on a bright summer day.
On my way up to the top flat, where the chimes were played, I had to
pass through the vault in which the great pendulum was slowly swinging
in its ghostly-like tick-tack, tick-tack; while the great ancient clock
was keeping time with its sudden and startling movement. The whole
scene was almost as uncanny as the witches' cell underneath. There was
also a wild rumbling thumping sound overhead. I soon discovered the
cause of this, when I entered the flat where the musician was at work.
He was seen in violent action, beating or hammering on the keys of a
gigantic pianoforte-like apparatus. The instruments he used were two
great leather-faced mallets, one of which he held in each hand.
Each key was connected by iron rods with the chime-bells above.
The frantic and mad-like movements of the musician, as he energetically
rushed from one key to another, often widely apart gave me the idea
that the man was daft--especially as the noise of the mallets was
such that I heard no music emitted from the chimes so far overhead.
It was only when I had climbed up the stair of the tower to where the
bells were rung that I understood the performance, and comprehended the
beating of the chimes which gave me so much pleasure when I heard them
at a distance.
Another source of enjoyment in my early days was to accompany my mother
to the market. As I have said before, my mother, though generous in
her hospitality, was necessarily thrifty and economical in the
management of her household. There were no less than fourteen persons
in the house to be fed, and this required a good deal of marketing.
At the time I refer to, (about 1816, it was the practice of every lady
who took pride in managing economically the home department of her
husband's affairs, to go to market in person. The principal markets in
Edinburgh were then situated in the valley between the Old and New Towns,
in what used to be called the Nor Loch.
Dealers in fish and vegetables had their stalls there: the market for
butcher meat was near at hand: each being in their several locations.
It was a very lively and bustling sight to see the marketing going on.
When a lady was observed approaching, likely to be a customer, she was
at once surrounded by the "caddies." They were a set of sturdy
hard-working women, each with a creel on her back. Their competition
for the employer sometimes took a rather energetic form. The rival
candidates pointed to her with violent exclamations; "She's my ledie!
she's my ledie!" ejaculated one and all. To dispel the disorder,
a selection of one of the caddies would be made, and then all was quiet
again until another customer appeared.
There was a regular order in which the purchases were deposited in the
creel. First, there came the fish, which were carefully deposited in
the lowest part, with a clean deal board over them. The fishwives were
a most sturdy and independent class, both in manners and language.
When at home, at Newhaven or Fisherrow, they made and mended their
husbands' nets, put their fishing tackle to rights, and when the
fishing boats came in they took the fish to market at Edinburgh.
To see the groups of these hard-working women trudging along with their
heavy creels on their backs, clothed in their remarkable costume,
with their striped petticoats kilted up and showing their sturdy legs,
was indeed a remarkable sight. They were cheerful and good-natured,
but very outspoken. Their skins were clear and ruddy, and many of the
young fishwives were handsome and pretty. They were, in fact, the
incarnation of robust health. In dealing with them at the Fish Market
there was a good deal of higgling. They often asked two or three times
more than the fish were worth--at least, according to the then market
price. After a stormy night, during which the husbands and sons had
toiled to catch the fish, on the usual question being asked,
"Weel, Janet, hoo's haddies the day!" "Haddies, mem? Ou, haddies is
men's lives the day!" which was often true, as haddocks were often
caught at the risk of their husbands' lives. After the usual amount of
higgling, the haddies were brought down to their proper market price,
--sometimes a penny for a good haddock, or, when herrings were rife,
a dozen herrings for twopence, crabs for a penny, and lobsters for
threepence. For there were no railways then to convey the fish to
England, and thus equalise the price for all classes of the community.
Let me mention here a controversy between a fishwife and a buyer called
Thomson. the buyer offered a price so ridiculously small for a parcel
of fish that the seller became quite indignant, and she terminated at
once all further higgling. Looking up to him, she said, "Lord help yer
e'e-sight, Maister Tamson!" "Lord help my e'e-sight, woman! What has
that to do with it?" "Ou," said she, "because ye ha'e nae nose to put
spectacles on!" As it happened, poor Mr. Thomson had, by some accident
or disease, so little of a nose left, if any at all, that the bridge of
the nose for holding up the spectacles was almost entirely wanting.
And thus did the fishwife retaliate on her niggardly customer.
When my mother had got her fish laid at the bottom of the creel, she
next went to the "flesher" for her butcher-meat. There was no higgling
here, for the meat was sold at the ordinary market price. Then came the
poultry stratum; then the vegetables, or fruits in their season;
and, finally, there was "the floore"--a bunch of flowers;
not a costly bouquet, but a, large assortment of wallflowers, daffodils
(with their early spring fragrance), polyanthuses, lilacs, gilly-flowers,
and the glorious old-fashioned cabbage rose, as well as the even more
gloriously fragrant moss rose. The caddy's creel was then topped up,
and the marketing was completed. The lady was followed home; the
contents were placed in the larder; and the flowers distributed all
over the house.
I have many curious traditional evidences of the great fondness for
cats which distinguished the Nasmyth family for several generations.
My father had always one or two of such domestic favourites, who were,
in the best sense, his "familiars." Their quiet, companionable habits
rendered them very acceptable company when engaged in his artistic
work. I know of no sound so pleasantly tranquillising as the purring
of a cat, or of anything more worthy of admiration in animal habit as
the neat, compact, and elegant manner in which the cat adjusts itself
at the fireside, or in a snug, cosy place, when it settles down for a
long quiet sleep. Every spare moment that a cat has before lying down
to rest is occupied in carefully cleaning itself, even under adverse
circumstances. The cat is the true original inventor of a sanitary
process, which has lately been patented and paraded before the public
as a sanitary novelty; and yet it has been in practice ever since cats
were created. Would that men and women were more alive to habitual
cleanliness--even the cleanliness of cats. The kindly and gentle
animal gives us all a lesson in these respects.
Then, nothing can be more beautiful in animal action than the
exquisitely precise and graceful manner in which the cat exerts the
exact amount of effort requisite to land it at the height and spot it
wishes to reach at one bound. The neat and delicately precise manner
in which cats use their paws when playing with those who habitually
treat them with gentle kindness is truly admirable. In these respects
cats are entitled to the most kindly regard. There are, unfortunately,
many who entertain a strong prejudice against this most perfect and
beautiful member of the animal creation, and who abuse them because
they resist ill-treatment, occasioned by their innate feeling of
independence. Cats have no doubt less personal attachment than dogs,
but when kindly treated they become in many respects attached and
affectionate animals.
My father, when a boy, made occasional visits to Hamilton, in the West
of Scotland, where the descendants of his Covenanting ancestors still
lived. One of them was an old bachelor--a recluse sort of man;
and yet he had the Nasmyth love of cats. Being of pious pedigree and
habits, he always ended the day by a long and audible prayer.
My father and his companions used to go to the door of his house to
listen to him, but especially to hear his culminating finale.
He prayed that the Lord would help him to forgive his enemies and all
those who had done him injury; and then, with a loud burst, he
concluded, "Except John Anderson o' the Toonhead, for he killed my cat,
and him I'll ne'er forgie! In conclusion, I may again refer to Elspeth
Nasmyth, who was burnt alive for witchcraft, because she had four black
cats, and read her Bible through two Pairs of spectacles!
CHAPTER 5. My School-days.
Before I went to school it was my good fortune to be placed under the
special care of my eldest sister, Jane. She was twenty years older
than myself, and had acquired much practical experience in the
management of the younger members of the family. I could not have
had a more careful teacher. She initiated me into the difficulties of
A B C, and by learning me to read she gave me a key to the thoughts of
the greatest thinkers who have ever lived.
But all this was accomplished at first in a humdrum and tentative way.
About seventy years ago children's books were very uninteresting.
In the little stories manufactured for children, the good boy ended in
a Coach-and-four, and the bad boy in a ride to Tyburn. The good boys
must have been a set of little snobs and prigs, and I could scarcely
imagine that they could ever have lived as they were represented in
these goody books. If so, they must have been the most tiresome and
uninteresting vermin that can possibly be imagined. After my sister had
done what she could for me, I was sent to school to learn "English."
I was placed under the tuition of a leading teacher called Knight,
whose school-room was in the upper storey of a house in George Street.
Here I learned to read with ease. But my primitive habit of spelling
by ear, in accordance with the simple sound of the letters of the
alphabet (phonetically, so to speak) brought me into collision with my
teacher. I got many a cuff on the side of the head, and many a
"palmy" on my hands with a thick strap of hard leather, which did not
give me very inviting views as to the pleasures of learning.
The master was vicious and vindictive. I think it a cowardly way to
deal with a little boy in so cruel a manner, and to send him home with
his back and fingers tingling and sometimes bleeding, because he cannot
learn so quickly as his fellows.
On one occasion Knight got out of temper with my stupidity or dulness
in not comprehending something about 'a preter-pluperfect tense,' or
some mystery of that sort. He seized me by the ears, and beat my head
against the wall behind me with such savage violence that when he let
me go, stunned and unable to stand, I fell forward on the floor
bleeding violently at the nose, and with a terrific headache.
The wretch might have ruined my brain for life. I was carried home and
put to bed, where I lay helpless for more than a week. My father
threatened to summon the teacher before the magistrates for what might
have been a fatal assault on poor little me; but on making a humble
apology for his brutal usage he was let off. Of course I was not sent
back to his school. I have ever since entertained a hatred against
grammatical rules.
There was at that time an excellent system of teaching young folks the
value of thrift. This consisted in saving for some purpose or another
the Saturdays penny--one penny being our weekly allowance of
pocket-money. The feats we could perform in the way of procuring toys,
picture-books, or the materials for constructing flying kites, would
amaze the youngsters of the present day, who are generally spoiled by
extravagance. And yet we obtained far more pleasure from our
purchases. We had in my time "penny pigs," or thrift boxes.
They were made in a vase form, of brown glazed earthenware, the only
entrance to which was a slit--enough to give entrance to a penny.
When the Saturday's penny was not required for any immediate purposes,
it was dropped through the slit, and remained there until the box was
full. The maximum of pennies it could contain was about forty-eight.
When that was accomplished, the penny pig was broken with a hammer,
and its rich contents flowed forth. The breaking of the pig was quite
an event. The fine fat old George the Third penny pieces looked
thoroughly substantial in our eyes. And then there was the spending of
the money,--for some long-looked-for toy, or pencils, or book,
or painting materials.
One of the ways in which I used my Saturday pennies was in going with
some of my companions into the country to have a picnic. We used to
light a fire behind a hedge or a dyke, or in the corner of some ruin,
and there roast our potatoes, or broil a red herring on an extempore
gridiron we contrived for the purpose. We lit the fire by means of a
flint and steel and a tinder-box, which in those days every boy used to
possess. The bramble-berries gave us our dessert. We thoroughly
enjoyed these glorious Saturday afternoons. It gave us quite a
Robinson Crusoe sort of feeling to be thus secluded from the world.
Then the beauty of the scenery amidst which we took our repast was such
as I cannot attempt to describe. A walk of an hour or so would bring
us into the presence of an old castle, or amongst the rocky furze and
heather-clad hills, amidst clear rapid streams, so that, but for the
distant peeps of the city, one might think that he was far from the
busy haunts of men and boys.
To return to my school-days. Shortly after I left the school in
George Street, where the schoolmaster had almost split my skull in
battering it upon the wall behind me, I was entered as a pupil at the
Edinburgh High School, in October 1817. The school was situated near
the old Infirmary. Professor Pillans was the rector, and under him
were four masters. I was set to study Latin under Mr. Irvine. He was
a mere schoolmaster in the narrowest sense of the term. He was not
endowed with the best of tempers, and it was often put to the
breaking strain by the tricks and negligence of the lower-form
portion of his class. It consisted of nearly two hundred boys;
the other three masters had about the same number of scholars.
They each had a separate class-room.
I began to learn the elementary rudiments of Latin grammar. But not
having any natural aptitude for aquiring classic learning so called,
I fear I made but little progress during the three years that I
remained at the High School. Had the master explained to us how
nearly allied many of the Latin and Greek roots were to our familiar
English words, I feel assured that so interesting and valuable a
department of instruction would not have been neglected. But our
memories were strained by being made to say off "by heart," as it was
absurdly called, whole batches of grammatical rules, with all the
botheration of irregular verbs and suchlike. So far as I was
concerned, I derived little benefit from my High School teaching,
except that I derived one lesson which is of great use in after life.
I mean as regards the performance of duty. I did my tasks punctually
and cheerfully, though they were far from agreeable. This is an
exercise in early life that is very useful in later years.
In my walks to and from the High School, the usual way was along the
North and South Bridges,--the first over the Nor' Loch, now the
railway station, and the second over the Cowgate. That was the main
street between the Old Town and the New. But there were numerous
wynds and closes (as the narrow streets are called) which led down
from the High Street and the upper part of the Canongate to the High
School, through which I often preferred to wander. So long as Old
Edinburgh was confined within its walls the nobles lived in those
narrow streets; and the Old houses are full of historical incident.
My father often pointed out these houses to me, and I loved to keep
up my recollections. I must have had a little of the antiquarian
spirit even then. I got to know the most remarkable of those ancient
houses--many of which were distinguished by the inscriptions on the
lintel of the entrance, as well as the arms of the former possessors.
Some had mottoes such as this: "BLESIT BE GOD AND HYS GIFTIS. 1584."
There was often a tower-shaped projection from the main front of the
house, up which a spiral stair proceeded.
This is usually a feature in old Scotch buildings. But in these closes
the entrance to the houses was through a ponderous door, studded with
great broad-headed nails, with loopholes at each side of the door,
as if to present the strongest possible resistance to any attempt at
forcible entrance. Indeed, in the old times before the Union the
nobles were often as strong as the King, and many a time the High Street
was reddened by the blood of the noblest and bravest of the land.
In 1588 there was a cry of "A Naesmyth," "A Scott," in the High Street.
It was followed by a clash of arms, and two of Sir Michael Naesmyth's
sons were killed in that bloody feud. Edinburgh was often the scene of
such disasters. Hence the strengthening of their houses, so as to
resist the inroads of feudal enemies.
[Image] Doorhead, from an old mansion
The mason-work of the doors was executed with great care and dexterity.
It was chamfered at the edges in a bold manner, and ornamented with an
O.G. bordering, which had a fine effect while it rendered the entrance
more pleasant by the absence of sharp angles. The same style of
ornamentation was generally found round the edges of the stone-work of
the windows, most commonly by chamfering off the square angle of the
stone-work. This not only added a grim grace to the appearance of the
windows, but allowed a more free entrance of light into the apartments,
while it permitted the inmates to have a better ranged view up and down
the Close. These gloomy-looking mansions were grim in a terrible
sense, and they reminded one of the fearful transactions of
"the good old times!"
On many occasions, when I was taking a daunder through these historic
houses in the wynds and closes of the Old Town, I have met Sir Walter
Scott showing them to his visitors, and listened to his deep, earnest
voice while narrating to them some terrible incident in regard to their
former inhabitants. On other occasions I have frequently met Sir Walter
sturdily limping along over the North Bridge, while on his way from the
Court of Session (where he acted as Clerk of the Records) to his house
in Castle Street. In the same way I saw most of the public characters
connected with the Law Courts or the University. Sir Waiter was easily
distinguished by his height, as well as his limp or halt in his walk.
My father was intimate with most, if not all, of the remarkable
Edinburgh characters, and when I had the pleasure of accompanying him
in his afternoon walks I could look at them and hear them in the
conversations that took place.
I remember, when I was with my father in one of his walks, that a
young English artist accompanied us. He had come across the Border to
be married at Gretna Green, and he brought his bride onward to
Edinburgh. My father wished to show him some of the most remarkable
old buildings of the town. It was about the end of 1817, when one of
the most interesting buildings in Edinburgh was about to be
demolished. This was no less a place than the Old Tolbooth in the
High Street,--a grand but gloomy old building. It had been
originally used as the city palace of the Scottish kings. There they
held their councils and dispensed justice. But in course of time the
King and Court abandoned the place, and it had sunk into a gaol or
prison for the most abandoned of malefactors. After their trial the
prisoners were kept there waiting for execution, and they were hanged
on a flat-roofed portion of the building at its west end.
[Image] The Old Tolbooth, Edinburgh. By Alexander Nasmyth.
From the drawing in the possession of lord Inglis,
Lord Justice-General.
At one of the strongest parts of the building a strong oak chest,
iron-plated, had been built in, held fast by a thick wall of stone and
mortar on each side. The iron chest measured about nine feet square,
and was closed by a strong iron door with heavy bolts and locks. This
was the Heart of Midlothian, the condemned cell of the Tolbooth.*
[footnote...
Long after the condemned cell had been pulled down, an English Chartist
went down to Edinburgh to address a large meeting of his brother
politicians. He began by addressing them as "Men of the Heart of
Midlothian!" There was a loud guffaw throughout the audience.
He addressed them as if they were a body of condemned malefactors.
...]
The iron chest was so heavy that the large body of workmen could not,
with all their might, pull it out. After stripping it of its masonry,
they endeavoured by strong levers to tumble it down into the street.
At last, with a "Yo! heave ho!" it fell down with a mighty crash.
The iron chest was so strong that it held together, and only the narrow
iron door, with its locks, bolts, and bars, was burst open, and jerked
off amongst the bystanders.
It was quite a scene. A large crowd had assembled, and amongst them
was Sir Walter Scott. Recognising my father, he stood by him,
while both awaited the ponderous crash. Sir Walter was still the Great
Unknown. When his Heart of Midlothian was published in the course of
the following year, it was pretty well known that he was the author of
that fascinating novel. Sir Waiter got the door and the key, as
relics, for his house at Abbotsford.
There was a rush of people towards the iron chest to look into the dark
interior of that veritable chamber of horrors. My father's artist
friend went forward with the rest, and endeavoured to pick up some
remnant of the demolished structure. As soon as the clouds of dust had
been dispersed, he observed, under the place where the iron box had
stood, a number of skeletons of rats, as dry as mummies. He selected
one of these,*
[footnote...
I was so much impressed with the events of the day, and also with the
fact of the young artist having taken with him so repulsive a memento
as a rat's skeleton, that I never forgot it. More than half century
later, when I was at a private view of the Royal Academy, I saw sitting
on one of the sofas a remarkable and venerable-looking old gentleman.
On inquiring of my friend Thomas Webster who he was, he answered,
"Why, that's old Linnell!" I then took the liberty of sitting down
beside him, and, apologising for my intrusion on his notice, I said it
was just fifty-seven years since I had last seen him! I mentioned the
circumstance of the rat-skeleton which he had put in his pocket at
Edinburgh. He was pleased and astonished to have the facts so vividly
recalled to his mind. At last he said, "Well, I have that mummy rat,
the relic of the Heart of Midlothian, safe in a cabinet of curiosities
in my house at Redhill to this day."
...]
wrapped it in a newspaper and put it in his pocket as a recollection
of his first day in Edinburgh, and of the final destruction of the
"Heart of Midlothian." This artist was no other than John Linnell,
the afterwards famous landscape painter. He was then a young and
unknown man. He brought a letter of introduction to my father.
He also brought a landscape as a specimen of his young efforts, and it
was so splendidly done that my father augured a brilliant career for
this admirable artist.
I had the pleasure of seeing Sir Waiter Scott on another and, to me, a
very memorable occasion. From an early period of my schoolboy days I
had a great regard for every object that had reference to bygone times.
They influenced my imagination, and conjured up in my mind dreamy
visions of the people of olden days. It did not matter whether it was
an old coin or an old castle. took pleasure in rambling about the old
castles near Edinburgh, many of them connected with the times of Mary
Queen of Scots. Craigmillar Castle was within a few miles of the city;
there was also Crighton Castle, and above all Borthwick Castle.
This grand massive old ruin left a deep impression on my mind.
The sight of its gloomy interior, with the great hall lighted up only
by stray glints of sunshine, as if struggling for access through the
small deep-seated windows in its massive walls, together with its
connection with the life and times of Queen Mary, had a far greater
influence upon my mind than I experienced while standing amidst the
Coliseum at Rome.
Like many earnest-minded boys, I had a severe attack at the right time
of life, say from 12 to 15, of what I would call "the collecting period."
This consisted, in my case, of accumulating old coins, perhaps one of
the most salutary forms of this youthful passion. I made exchanges
with my school companions. Sometimes my father's friends, seeing my
anxiety to improve my collection gave me choice specimens of bronze and
other coins of the Roman emperors, usually duplicates from their own
collection.
These coins had the effect of promoting my knowledge of Roman history.
I read up in order to find out the acts and deeds of the old rulers of
the civilised world. Besides collecting the coins, I used to make
careful drawings of the obverse and reverse faces of each in an
illustrated catalogue which I kept in my little coin cabinet.
I remember one day, when sitting beside my father making a very careful
drawing of a fine bronze coin of Augustus, that Sir Walter Scott
entered the room. He frequently called upon my father in order to
consult him with respect to his architectural arrangements. Sir Walter
caught sight of me, and came forward to look over the work I was
engaged in. At his request I had the pleasure of showing him my little
store of coin treasures, after which he took out of his waistcoat
pocket a beautiful silver coin of the reign of Mary Queen of Scots,
and gave it to me as being his "young brother antiquarian." I shall
never forget the kind fatherly way in which he presented it.
I considered it a great honour to be spoken to in so friendly a way by
such a man; besides, it vastly enriched my little collection of coins
and medals.
It was in the year 1817 that I had the pleasure, never to be forgotten,
of seeing the great engineer, James Watt. He was then close upon his
eighty-second year. His visit to Edinburgh was welcomed by the most
distinguished scientific and literary men of the city. My father had
the honour of meeting him at a dinner given by the Earl of Buchan,
at his residence in George Street. There were present, Sir James Hall,
President of the Royal Society; Francis Jeffrey, Editor of the
Edinburgh Review; Walter Scott, still the Great Unknown; and many other
distinguished notabilities. The cheerful old man delighted them with
his kindly talk, as well as astonished them with the extent and
profundity of his information.
On the following day Mr. Watt paid my father a visit he carefully
examined his artistic and other works. Having inspected with great
pleasure some landscape paintings of various scenes in Scotland
executed by my sisters, who were then highly efficient artists,
he purchased a specimen of each, as well as three landscapes painted by
my father, as a record of his pleasant visit to the capital of his
native country. I well remember the sight I then got of the Great
Engineer. I had just returned from the High School when he was leaving
my father's house. It was but a glimpse I had of him. But his
benevolent countenance and his tall but bent figure made an impression
on my mind that I can never forget. It was even something to have seen
for a few seconds so truly great and noble a man.
I did not long continue my passion for the collection of coins, I felt
a greater interest in mechanical pursuits. I have a most cherished and
grateful remembrance of the happy hours and days that I spent in my
father's workroom. When the weather was cold or wet ,he took refuge
with his lathe and tools, and there I followed and watched him.
He took the greatest pleasure in instructing me. Even in the most
humble mechanical job he was sure to direct my attention to the action
of the tools and to the construction of the work he had in hand,
and pointed out the manipulative processes requisite for its being
effectually carried out. My hearty zeal in assisting him was well
rewarded by his implanting in my mind the great fundamental principles
on which the practice of engineering in its grandest forms is based.
But I did not learn this all at once. It came only gradually, and by
dint of constant repetition and inculcation. In the meantime I made a
beginning by doing some little mechanical work on my own account.
While attending the High School, from 1817 to 1820, there was the usual
rage amongst boys for spinning-tops, "peeries," and "young cannon."
By means of my father's excellent foot-lathe I turned out the
spinning-tops in capital style, so much so that I be came quite noted
amongst my school companions. They all wanted to have specimens of my
productions. They would give any price for them. The peeries were
turned with perfect accuracy, and the steel shod, or spinning pivot,
was centred so as to correspond exactly with the axis of the top.
They could spin twice as long as the bought peeries. When at full
speed they would "sleep," that is, revolve without the slightest
waving. This was considered high art as regarded top-spinning.
Flying-kites and tissue paper balloons were articles that I was
somewhat famed for producing. There was a good deal of special skill
required for the production of a flying-kite. It must be perfectly
still and steady when at its highest flight in the air.
Paper messengers were sent up to it along the string which held it to
the ground. The top of the Calton Hill was the most favourite place
for enjoying this pleasant amusement.
Another article for which I became equally famous was the manufacture
of small brass cannon. These I cast and bored, and mounted on their
appropriate gun-carriages. They proved very effective, especially in
the loudness of the report when fired. I also converted large
cellar-keys into a sort of hand-cannon. A touch-hole was bored into
the barrel of the key, with a sliding brass collar that allowed the
key-guns to be loaded and primed and ready for firing. The principal
occasion on which the brass cannon and hand-guns were used was on the
4th of June--King George the Thirds birthday. This was always
celebrated with exuberant and noisy loyalty. The guns of the Castle
were fired at noon, and the number of shots corresponded with the
number of years that the king had reigned. The grand old Castle was
enveloped in smoke, and the discharges reverberated along the streets
and among the surrounding hills. Everything was in holiday order.
The coaches were hung with garlands, the shops were ornamented,
the troops were reviewed on Bruntsfield Links, and the citizens drank
the king's health at the Gross, throwing the glasses over their
shoulders. The boys fired off gunpowder, or threw squibs or crackers
from morning till night. It was one of the greatest schoolboy events
of the year. My little brass cannon and hand-guns were very busy
during that day. They were fired until they became quite hot.
These were the pre-lucifer days. The fire to light the powder at the
touch-hole was obtained by the use of a flint, a steel, and a tinder-box.
The flint was struck sharply on the steel; a spark of fire fell into
the tinderbox, and the match of hemp string, soaked in saltpetre,
was readily lit, and fired off the little guns.
I carried on quite a trade in forging beautiful little steels.
I forged them out of old files, which proved excellent material for the
purpose. I filed them up into neat and correct forms, and then
hardened and tempered them, secundum artem, at the little furnace stove
in my father's workroom, where of course there were also a suitable
anvil, hammer, and tongs. I often made potent use of these steels in
escaping from the ordeal of some severe task imposed upon me at school.
The schoolmaster often deputed his authority to the monitors to hear us
say our lessons. But when I slyly exhibited a beautiful steel the
monitor could not maintain his grim sense of duty, and he often let me
escape the ordeal of repeating some passage from a Latin school-book by
obtaining possession of the article. I thus bought myself off.
This system of bribery and corruption was no doubt shockingly improper,
but as I was not naturally endowed with the taste for learning Latin
and Greek, I continued my little diplomatic tricks until I left school.
As I have said, I did not learn much at the High School. My mind was
never opened up by what was taught me there. It was a mere matter of
rote and cram. I learnt by heart a number of Latin rules and phrases,
but what I learnt soon slipped from my memory. My young mind was
tormented by the tasks set before me. At the same time my hungry mind
thirsted for knowledge of another kind.
There was one thing, however, that I did learn at the High School. That
was the blessings and advantages of friendship. There were several of
my schoolfellows of a like disposition with myself, with whom I formed
attachments which ended only with life. I may mention two of them in
particular--Jemmy Patterson and Tom Smith. The former was the son of
one of the largest iron founders in Edinburgh. He was kind, good, and
intelligent. He and I were great cronies. He took me to his father's
workshops. Nothing could have been more agreeable to my tastes.
For there I saw how iron castings were made. Mill-work and
steam-engines were repaired there, and I could see the way in which
power was produced and communicated. To me it was a most instructive
school of practical mechanics. Although I was only about thirteen at
the time, I used to "lend a hand," in which hearty zeal made up for
want of strength. I look back to these days, especially to the
Saturday afternoons spent in the workshops of this admirably conducted
iron foundry, as a most important part of my education as a mechanical
engineer. I did not read about such things; for words were of little
use. But I saw and handled, and thus all the ideas in connection with
them became permanently rooted in my mind.
Each department of the iron foundry was superintended by an able and
intelligent man, who was distinguished not only by his ability but
for his steadiness and sobriety. The men were for the most part
promoted to their fore-manship from the ranks, and had been brought
up in the workshop from their boyhood. They possessed a strong
individuality of character, and served their employer faithfully and
loyally. One of these excellent men, with whom I was frequently
brought into contact, was William Watson. He took special charge of
all that related to the construction and repairs of steam-engines,
water-wheels, and mill-work generally. He was a skilful designer and
draughtsman, and an excellent pattern maker. His designs were drawn
in a bold and distinct style, on large deal boards, and were passed
into the hands of the mechanics to be translated by them into actual
work. It was no small privilege to me to stand by, and now and then
hold the end of the long straight edge, or by some humble but zealous
genuine help of mine contribute to the progress of these substantial
and most effective mechanical drawings. Watson explained to me,
in the most common-sense manner, his reasons for the various forms,
arrangements, and proportions of the details of his designs. He was
an enthusiast on the subject of Euclid; and to see the beautiful
problems applied by him in working out his excellent drawings was to me
a lesson beyond all price.
Watson was effectively assisted by his two sons, who carried out their
father's designs in constructing the wood patterns after which the
foundry-men or moulders reproduced their forms in cast iron, while the
smiths by their craft realised the wrought-iron portions. Those sons of
Mr. Watson were of that special class of workmen called millwrights--
a class now almost extinct, though many of the best known engineers
originally belonged to them. They could work with equal effectiveness
in wood or iron.
Another foreman in Mr. Patterson's foundry was called Lewis. He had
special charge of the iron castings designed for architectural and
ornamental purposes. He was a man of great taste and artistic
feeling, and I was able even at that time to appreciate the beauty of
his designs. One of the most original characters about the foundry,
however, was Johnie Syme. He took charge of the old Boulton and Watt
steam-engine, which gave motion to the machinery of the works.
It also produced the blast for the Cupolas, in which the pig and cast
iron scrap was daily melted and cast into the various objects produced
in the foundry. Johnie was a complete incarnation of technical
knowledge. He was the Jack-of-all-trades of the establishment;
and the standing counsel in every out-of-the-way case of managing and
overcoming mechanical difficulties. He was the superintendent of the
boring machines. In those days the boring of a steam-engine cylinder
was considered high art in excelsis! Patterson's firm was celebrated
for the accuracy of its boring.
I owe Johnie Syme a special debt of gratitude, as it was he who first
initiated me into that most important of all technical processes in
practical mechanism--the art of hardening and temperinq steel.
It is, perhaps, not saying too much to assert that the successful
practice of the mechanical arts, by means of which man rises from the
savage to the civilised state, is due to that wonderful change.
Man began with wood, and stone, and bone; he proceeded to bronze and
iron; but it was only by means of hardened steel that he could
accomplish anything in arms, in agriculture, or in architecture.
The instant hardening which occurs on plunging a red-hot piece of steel
into cold water may well be described as mysterious. Even in these
days, when science has defined the causes of so many phenomena,
the reason of steel becoming hard on suddenly cooling it down from a
red-heat, is a fact that no one has yet explained. The steel may be
tempered by modifying the degree of heat to which it is afterwards
subjected. It may thus be toughened by slightly reheating the hardened
steel; the resoftening course is indicated by certain prismatic tints,
which appear in a peculiar order of succession on its surface.
The skilful artisan thus knows by experience the exact point at which
it is necessary again to plunge it into cold water in order to secure
the requisite combination of toughness and hardness to the steel
required for his purposes.
In all these matters, my early instructor, Johnie Syme, gave me such
information as proved of the greatest use to me in the after progress
of my mechanical career. Johnie Syme was also the very incarnation of
quaint sly humour; and when communicating some of his most valued
arcana of practical mechanical knowledge he always reminded me of some
of Ostade's Dutchmen, by an almost indescribable sly humorous twinkle
of the eye, which in that droll way stamped his information on my
memory.
Tom Smith was another of my attached cronies. Our friendship began at
the High School in 1818. Our similarity of disposition bound us
together. Smith was the son of an enterprising general merchant at
Leith. His father had a special genius for practical chemistry.
He had established an extensive colour manufactory at Portobello, near
Edinburgh, where he produced white lead, red lead, and a great variety
of colours--in the preparation of which he required a thorough
knowledge of chemistry.Tom Smith inherited his father's tastes, and
admitted me to share in his experiments, which were carried on in a
chemical laboratory situated behind his father's house at the bottom of
Leith Walk.
We had a special means of communication. When anything particular was
going on at the laboratory, Tom hoisted a white flag on the top of a
high pole in his father's garden. Though I was more than a mile apart,
I kept a look-out in the direction of the laboratory with a spy-glass.
My father's house was at the top of Leith Walk, and Smith's house was
at the bottom of it. When the flag was hoisted I could clearly see the
invitation to me to "come down." I was only too glad to run down the
Walk and join my chum, and take part with him in some interesting
chemical process. Mr. Smith, the father, made me heartily welcome.
He was pleased to see his son so much attached to me, and he perhaps
believed that I was worthy of his friendship. We took zealous part in
all the chemical proceedings, and in that way Tom was fitting himself
for the business of his life.
Mr. Smith was a most genial tempered man. He was shrewd and
quick-witted, like a native of York, as he was. I received the
greatest kindness from him as well as from his family. His house was
like a museum. It was full of cabinets, in which were placed choice
and interesting objects in natural history, geology, mineralogy, and
metallurgy. All were represented. Many of these specimens had been
brought to him from abroad by his ship captains who transported his
colour manufactures and other commodities to foreign parts.
My friend Tom Smith and I made it a rule--and in this we were
encouraged by his father--that, so far as was possible, we ourselves
should actually make the acids and other substances used in our
experiments. We were not to buy them ready made, as this would have
taken the zest out of our enjoyment. We should have lost the pleasure
and instruction of producing them by aid of our own wits and energies.
To encounter and overcome a difficulty is the most interesting of all
things. Hence, though often baffled, we eventually produced perfect
specimens of nitrous, nitric, and muriatic acids. We distilled alcohol
from duly fermented sugar and water, and rectified the resultant spirit
from fusel oil by passing the alcoholic vapour through animal charcoal
before it entered the worm of the still. We converted part of the
alcohol into sulphuric ether. We produced phosphorus from bones,
and elaborated many of the mysteries of chemistry.
The amount of practical information which we obtained by this system of
making our own chemical agents was such as to reward us, in many
respects, for the labour we underwent. To outsiders it might appear a
very troublesome and roundabout way of getting at the finally desired
result. But I feel certain that there is no better method of rooting
chemical or any other instruction, deeply in our minds. Indeed, I
regret that the same system is not pursued by young men of the present
day. They are seldom, if ever, called upon to exert their own wits and
industry to obtain the requisites for their instruction. A great deal
is now said about "technical education"; but how little there is of
technical handiness or head work! Everything is bought ready made to
their hands; and hence there is no call for individual ingenuity.
I often observe, in shop-windows, every detail of model ships and model
steam-engines, supplied ready made for those who are "said to be" of an
ingenious and mechanical turn. Thus the vital uses of resourcefulness
are done away with, and a sham exhibition of mechanical genius is
paraded before you by the young impostors--the result, for the most
part, of too free a supply of pocket money. I have known too many
instances of parents, led by such false evidence of constructive skill,
apprenticing their sons to some engineering firm; and, after paying
vast sums, finding out that the pretender comes out of the engineering
shop with no other practical accomplishment than that of cigar-smoking!
The truth is that the eyes and the fingers--the bare fingers--are
the two principal inlets to sound practical instruction. They are the
chief sources of trustworthy knowledge as to all the materials and
operations which the engineer has to deal with, No book knowledge can
avail for that purpose. The nature and properties of the materials
must come in through the finger ends. Hence, I have no faith in young
engineers who are addicted to wearing gloves. Gloves, especially kid
gloves, are perfect non-conductors of technical knowledge.
This has really more to do with the efficiency of young aspirants for
engineering success than most people are aware of!
CHAPTER 6. Mechanical Beginnings.
I left the High School at the end of 1820. I carried with me a small
amount of Latin, and no Greek. I do not think I was much the better
for my small acquaintance with the dead languages. I wanted something
more living and quickening. I continued my studies at private classes.
Arithmetic and geometry were my favourite branches.The three first
books of Euclid were to me a new intellectual life. They brought out
my power of reasoning. They trained me mentally. They enabled me to
arrive at correct conclusions, and to acquire a knowledge of absolute
truths. It is because of this that I have ever since held the
beautifully perfect method of reasoning, as exhibited in the exact
method of arriving at Q.E.D., to be one of the most satisfactory
efforts and exercises of the human intellect.
Besides visiting and taking part in the works at Patterson's foundry,
and joining in the chemical experiments at Smith's laboratory, my
father gave me every opportunity for practising the art of drawing.
He taught me to sketch with exactness every object, whether natural or
artificial, so as to enable the hand to accurately reproduce what the
eye had seen. In order to acquire this almost invaluable art, which
can serve so many valuable purposes in life, he was careful to educate
my eye, so that I might perceive the relative proportions of the
objects placed before me. He would throw down at random a number of
bricks, or pieces of wood representing them, and set me to copy their
forms, their proportions, their lights and shadows respectively.
I have often heard him say that any one who could make a correct
drawing in regard to outline, and also indicate by a few effective
touches the variation of lights and shadows of such a group of model
object's, might not despair of making a good and correct sketch of the
exterior of York Minster!
My father was an enthusiast in praise of this graphic language,
and I have followed his example. In fact, it formed a principal part
of my own education. It gave me the power of recording observations
with a few graphic strokes of the pencil, which far surpassed in
expression any number of mere words. This graphic eloquence is one
of the highest gifts in conveying clear and correct ideas as to the
forms of objects--whether they be those of a simple and familiar
kind, or of some form of mechanical construction, or of the details of
fine building, or the characteristic features of a wide-stretching
landscape. This accomplishment of accurate drawing, which I achieved
for the most part in my father's work-room, served me many a good turn
in future years with reference to the engineering work which became the
business of my life.
I was constantly busy. Mind, hands, and body were kept in a state of
delightful and instructive activity. When not drawing, I occupied
myself in my father's workshop at the lathe, the furnace, or the bench.
I gradually became initiated into every variety of mechanical and
chemical manipulation. I made my own tools and constructed my chemical
apparatus, as far as lay in my power. With respect to the latter,
I constructed a very handy and effective blowpipe apparatus, consisting
of a small air force-pump, connected with a cylindrical vessel of tin
plate. By means of an occasional use of the handy pump, it yielded
such a fine steady blowpipe blast, as enabled me to bend glass tubes
and blow bulbs for thermometers, to analyse metals or mineral substances,
or to do any other work for which intense heat was necessary.
My natural aptitude for manipulation, whether in mechanical or chemical
operations, proved very serviceable to myself as well as to others;
and (as will be shown hereafter) it gained for me the friendship of
many distinguished scientific men.
But I did not devote myself altogether to experiments. Exercise is
as necessary for the body as the mind. Without full health a man
cannot enjoy comfort, nor can he possess endurance. I therefore took
plenty of exercise out of doors. I accompanied my father in his walks
round Edinburgh. My intellect was kept alive during these delightful
excursions. For sometimes my father was accompanied by brother-artists,
whose conversation is always so attractive; and sometimes by scientific
men, such as Sir James Hall, Professor Leslie, Dr. Brewster, and others.
Whatever may have been my opportunities for education so-called,
nothing could have better served the purpose of real education
(the evolution of the mental faculties) than the opportunities I
enjoyed while accompanying and listening to the conversation of men
distinguished for their originality of thought and their high
intellectual capacity. This was a mental culture of the best kind.
The volcanic origin of the beautiful scenery round Edinburgh was often
the subject of their conversation. Probably few visitors are aware
that all those remarkable eminences, which give to the city and its
surroundings so peculiar and romantic an aspect, are the results of the
operation, during inconceivably remote ages, of volcanic force
penetrating the earth's crust by disruptive power, and pouring forth
streams of molten lava, now shrunk and cooled into volcanic rock.
The observant eye, opened by the light of Science, can see unmistakable
evidences of a condition of things which were in action at periods so
remote as, in comparison, to shrink up the oldest of human records into
events of yesterday.
I had often the privilege of standing by and hearing the philosophic
Leslie, Brewster, and Hall, discussing these volcanic remains in their
actual presence; sometimes at Arthur's Seat or on the Calton Hill,
or at the rock on which Edinburgh Castle stands, Their observations
sank indelibly into my memory, and gave me the key to the origin of
this grand class of terrestrial phenomena. When standing at the
"Giant's Ribs," on the south side of Arthur's Seat, I felt as if one
of the grandest pages of the earth's history lay open before me.
The evidences of similar volcanic action abound in many other places
near Edinburgh; and they may be traced right across Scotland from the
Bass Rock to Fingal's Cave, the Giant's Causeway in Antrim, and Slievh
League on the south-west coast of Donegal in Ireland.
Volcanic action, in some inconceivably remote period of the earth's
crust history, has been the Plough, and after denudation by water,
has been the Harrow, by which the originally deep-seated mineral
treasures of the globe have been brought within the reach of man's
industrial efforts. It has thus yielded him inexhaustible mineral
harvests, and helped him to some of the most important material
elements in his progress towards civilisation. It is from this
consideration that, while enjoying the results of these grand
fundamental actions of the Creator's mighty agencies in their
picturesque aspect, the knowledge of their useful results to man adds
vastly to the grandeur of the contemplation of their aspect and nature.
This great subject caused me, even at this early period of my life, to
behold with special interest the first peep at the structure of the
moon's surface, as revealed to me by an excellent Ramsden "spy-glass,"
which my father possessed, and thus planted the seed of that earnest
desire to scrutinise more minutely the moon's wonderful surface, which
in after years I pursued by means of the powerful reflecting telescopes
constructed by myself.
To turn to another subject. In 1822 the loyalty of Scotland was
greatly excited when George the Fourth paid his well-known visit to
Edinburgh. It was then the second greatest city in the kingdom,
and had not been visited by royalty for about 170 years. The civic
authorities, and the inhabitants generally, exerted themselves to the
utmost to give the king a cordial welcome, in spite of a certain
feeling of dissatisfaction as to his personal character. The recent
trial and death of Queen Caroline had not been forgotten, yet all such
recollections were suppressed in the earnest desire to show every
respect to the royal visitor. Edinburgh was crowded with people from
all parts of the country; heather was arrayed on every bonnet and hat;
and the reception was on the whole magnificent. Perhaps the most
impressive spectacle was the orderliness of the multitude, all arrayed
in their Sunday clothes. The streets, windows; and house-tops were
crowded; and the Calton Hill, Salisbury Crags, and even Arthur's Seat
it self, were covered with people. On the night before the arrival a
gigantic bonfire on Arthur's Seat lit up with a tremendous blaze the
whole city, as well as the surrounding country. It formed a
magnificent and picturesque sight, illuminating the adjacent mountains
as well as the prominent features of the city. It made one imagine
that the grand old volcanic mountain had once more, after a rest of
some hundreds of thousands of years, burst out again in its former
vehemence of eruptive activity.
There were, of course, many very distinguished men who took part in the
pageant of the king's entry into Edinburgh, but none of them had their
presence more cordially acknowledged than Sir Walter Scott, who never
felt more proud of "his own romantic town" than he did upon this
occasion. It is unnecessary to mention the many interesting features
of the royal reception. The king's visit lasted for seven or eight
days, and everything passed off loyally, orderly, happily,
and successfully.
Shortly after this time there was a great deal of distress among the
labouring classes. All the manufacturing towns were short of
employment, and the weavers and factory workers were thrown upon the
public. Many of the workmen thought that politics were the causes of
their suffering. Radical clubs were formed, and the Glasgow weavers
began to drill at nights in the hopes of setting things to rights by
means of physical force. A large number of the starving weavers came
to Edinburgh. A committee was formed, and contributions were
collected, for the purpose of giving them temporary employment.
They were set to work to make roads and walks round the Calton Hill and
Crags. The fine walk immediately under the precipitous crags, which
opens out such perfect panoramic views of Edinburgh, was made by these
poor fellows. It was hard work for their delicate hands and fingers,
which before had been accustomed only to deal with threads and soft
fabrics. They were very badly suited for handling the mattock, shovel,
and hand-barrow. The result of thei
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/476