Martha Spreull/Early Recollections

by Henry Johnston

CHAPTER XI.

EARLY RECOLLECTIONS.

FELT geyan flattered, I can tell ye, when Maister Fleming, egged up by Dr. Threshie, the minister-schulemaister in Montrose Street, minted the notion that I should put these ramblin' sketches in a book.

"Gae wa'," says I, wi' modest affableness, "wud ye really even sic a bold thing to me?"

But a' the same, I wis by-ordinar' weel pleased to ken that a professional lawyer like Maister Fleming, and a doctor o' deveenity like Dr. Threshie, wha had written a learned treatis on the Book o' Revelations, should think sae weel o' me as to believe I could write a book that onybody wud read.

Weel, thinks I, if I am to write a book, I maun be real natural, and just stick to fac's, for I ken fine I haena that divine afflawtus o' genius that enables poets and ithers to mak' gran' books oot o' naething ava. I fand oot that it wis the opeenion o' these twa learned men that I should tell tha world hoo I wis born, what the impressions on my young mind were efter I began to notice, and, generally, the things that had happened to mysel’ and my family between that early period and the time o’ my opening my flett o’ rooms in George Street to student ludgers, as set forth in the first chapter.

Weel, as I said before, I maun stick to fac’s. If I had been gifted wi’ a great imagination, I micht hae made a fine thing o’ my birth, for, as I learned frae Peter Spale, the cooper, I wis born on Hogmanay. Ye may be sure Peter and my faither had a guid blash o’ toddy that nicht; and, I am positeeve, it wud only be oot o’ defference to the new comer if they hadna a stiff releegious argyment, and high words, or they were dune. But o’ this I canna be expeckit to speak wi’ dogmatic certainty. Hooever, as I’ve heard tell, the first year o’ my existence wis signaleesed by some remarkable events—for the collery broke oot in the Bell o’ the Brae, and, as the infection spread rapidly through the densely-populated districts, to wit, the Savannah, Bell’s Wynd, and Spoutmouth, it wrocht deadly havoc amongst puir folk; next, a wild bull, that had broken lowse frae the buchts, cam’ rampagin’ up the Drygate, and, in its mad career, knocked the barrels aff a sour milk cairt, tossed lame Jamie, the chapman, heads ower heels into the cyver, and wis at last brocht to reason in front o’ a looking-glass behint the coonter in William Walley’s cheenie shop, on seeing the pictur o’ a bull, lookin’ fully as wild as itsel’; and last, but no’ least, as the sayin’ is, for cornin’ nearer hame, some gangeral gipsies, that had been encamping doon i’ the Molendinar Glen, broke into oor ain hen-hoose, and took awa’ ten as guid laying hens as ever stood on a bauk, no’ to speak o’ the cock, and a couple o’ bantams, that my faither had got as a present for me frae Fredrick Fan, the deacon o’ the weavers. Still-an’-on, we had reason to be thankfu’, for neither the bull nor the collery cam’ near us; as for the hens and the bantams, I kent naething aboot them from my ain personal knowledge, and I believe my faither and mither sune won ower the loss.

I got through wi' the measles real easy; but the chincough set doon unco sair on my system—in truth, I got sic a shake, and croichled awa' sae lang, that my mither had to tak' me doon to the waterside at Govan for a change o' air, where we bidet for three weeks wi' my mither's marriet sister, Mrs. Brodie, and where we baith experienced great benefit to oor health frae the change o' scene and the caller air. My mither often boasted that I never had much fash wi' my teeth. Neither my first nor my second set ever cost me ony trouble; the only pain that I experienced ava on that score wis when my wisdom teeth cam' at the age o' twelve; for the gums were sair wauket, and my mither had to tak' me twice to the Dispensary at the Royal Infirmary and get the gums scarifeed

before the teeth could win through. I shouldna say't mysel', but I min' it wis lookit upon as a maist oncommon thing for a lassie at twelve to have cutit her wisdom teeth. Mysie Deans, the mantymaker i’ the Kottenrow, said it wis a perfect wonder, that my mither wud need to tak’ great care o’ my head, and no’ let it grow ower fast, for I wis real fond o’ readin’ pictur books and the like; being a bit thin slip o’ a lassie, I believe it wis thocht my head micht grow to be ower muckle for my bodily system.

I don’t know whether ony o’ them ever jaloosed I should write a book, as I have been advised to do by twa edicated professional men, but I min’ ance Beeny Fortune, the spaewife, ca’d when my faither wis at a meetin’ o’ the cordiners, just efter the last time we had been at the Dispensary. My mither made the spaewife some unco strong tea, and sent me oot a message. I could see the bottom and sides o’ Beeny’s cup were black wi’ the tea grunds, and my mither’s face wis flushed and happy-like, when I got back.

“ Martha,” she says, laying her hands on my shouther efterhin’ when we were by oorsels, “ ye maunna tell yer faither that Beeny Fortune wis here. Aye try to do what's richt; dinna forget to read yer Bible, my lassie, and mind ye dinna gang near the College efter gloamin’—for it’s borne in on me, and I canna help sayin’t, that whaever leeves to see it, ye’ll be a credit to us yet.”

I kent Beeny Fortune had been tellin’ her something, but I held my tongue.

Aboot this time an important incident happened in the family, which I maunna forget to tell. A cousin o’ my mither’s, a major in the East India army, had come hame wi’ a pension, and settled wi’ a young wife—an English leddy that he had got on the wye hame—in a nice bit self-contained hoose in the neighbourhude o’ Partickhill, no’ far frae the river Kelvin. Weel, as they had nae weans o’ their ain, naething wud please him but he wud hae me to bring up. My faither and mither had a lang confab ower the proposal. They Were a genteel family, there wis fine caller air on the banks o' the Kelvin, and what not; the upshot o't wis that ae spring mornin' I wis entrusted to the care o' the Partick carrier, and aboot mid-day I wis safely landed at Cashmere Cottage, the name o' the major's place. This wis my first experience o' the worl' awa' frae hame, and it wis a bad heginnin'. The major, I think, wis the daftest bein' oot o' India, and, to tell the truth, his wife wisna muckle better than himsel'. It wis said the sun had been ower strong for his head, and I can weel believe it, for he wis the hot-headedest man I ever saw. They were aye quarrelling and aye makin't up again. She wis a heap younger than himsel', and he blamed her for haein' nae sympathy wi' him.

Weel, ae day there wis a terrible pliskie atween them. The major, thinkin' to bring her to and try her affection for him,

ran into his study, fired aff a pistol, and fell heavily on the flair, as if mortally wounded. I'm no leein' when I tell ye that he must have lain there for at least twenty meenits; and ye may weel imagine his disgust when at the end o’ that time he got to his feet (of coorse there wis naething wrang wi’ him) and fand his wife coolly sittin’ i’ the next room, readin’ the “Tales o’ the Borders.” Efter that I cam’ hame.^[1]

1. I don’t wonder at this were resolve—if I may be allowed to make the remark without offence—the people were clearly very foolish. The atmosphere of such a home was not healthy for a precocious and observing girl.—Ed.