by John Galt
CHAPTER XXII--THE WIG DINNER
The affair of the pressgang gave great concern to all of the council; forit was thought that the loyalty of the burgh would be called in question,and doubted by the king's ministers, notwithstanding our many assurancesto the contrary; the which sense and apprehension begat among us aninordinate anxiety to manifest our principles on all expedient occasions.In the doing of this, divers curious and comical things came to pass; butthe most comical of all was what happened at the Michaelmas dinnerfollowing the riot.
The weather, for some days before, had been raw for that time of theyear, and Michaelmas-day was, both for wind and wet and cold, pastordinar; in so much that we were obligated to have a large fire in thecouncil-chamber, where we dined. Round this fire, after drinking hismajesty's health and the other appropriate toasts, we were sitting ascozy as could be; and every one the longer he sat, and the oftener hisglass visited the punch-bowl, waxed more and more royal, till everybodywas in a most hilarious temperament, singing songs and joining choruswith the greatest cordiality.
It happened, among others of the company, there was a gash old carl, thelaird of Bodletonbrae, who was a very capital hand at a joke; and he,chancing to notice that the whole of the magistrates and town-councilthen present wore wigs, feigned to become out of all bounds with thedemonstrations of his devotion to king and country; and others that werethere, not wishing to appear any thing behind him in the same, vied intheir sprose of patriotism, and bragging in a manful manner of what, inthe hour of trial, they would be seen to do. Bodletonbrae was all thetime laughing in his sleeve at the way he was working them on, till atlast, after they had flung the glasses twice or thrice over theirshoulders, he proposed we should throw our wigs in the fire next. Surelythere was some glammer about us that caused us not to observe hisdevilry, for the laird had no wig on his head. Be that, however, as itmay, the instigation took effect, and in the twinkling of an eye everyscalp was bare, and the chimley roaring with the roasting of gude kenshow many powdered wigs well fattened with pomatum. But scarcely was thedeed done, till every one was admonished of his folly, by the lairdlaughing, like a being out of his senses, at the number of bald heads andshaven crowns that his device had brought to light, and by one and all ofus experiencing the coldness of the air on the nakedness of our upperparts.
The first thing that we then did was to send the town-officers, who werewaiting on as usual for the dribbles of the bottles and the leavings inthe bowls, to bring our nightcaps, but I trow few were so lucky as me,for I had a spare wig at home, which Mrs Pawkie, my wife, a mostconsiderate woman, sent to me; so that I was, in a manner, to allvisibility, none the worse of the ploy; but the rest of the council wereperfect oddities within their wigs, and the sorest thing of all was, thatthe exploit of burning the wigs had got wind; so that, when we left thecouncil-room, there was a great congregation of funny weans and mislearttrades' lads assembled before the tolbooth, shouting, and like as if theywere out of the body with daffing, to see so many of the heads of thetown in their night-caps, and no, maybe, just so solid at the time ascould have been wished. Nor did the matter rest here; for the generalityof the sufferers being in a public way, were obligated to appear the nextday in their shops, and at their callings, with their nightcaps--for fewof them had two wigs like me--by which no small merriment ensued, and wascontinued for many a day. It would hardly, however, be supposed, that insuch a matter anything could have redounded to my advantage; but so itfell out, that by my wife's prudence in sending me my other wig, it wasobserved by the commonality, when we sallied forth to go home, that I hadon my wig, and it was thought I had a very meritorious command of myself,and was the only man in the town fit for a magistrate; for in everythingI was seen to be most cautious and considerate. I could not, however,when I saw the turn the affair took to my advantage, but reflect on whatsmall and visionary grounds the popularity of public men will sometimesrest.
CHAPTER XXIII--THREE THE DEATH OF MR M'LUCRE
Shortly after the affair recorded in the foregoing chapter, an event cameto pass in the burgh that had been for some time foreseen.
My old friend and adversary, Bailie M'Lucre, being now a man wellstricken in years, was one night, in going home from a gavawlling withsome of the neighbours at Mr Shuttlethrift's, the manufacturer's, (thebailie, canny man, never liket ony thing of the sort at his own cost andoutlay,) having partaken largely of the bowl, for the manufacturer was ofa blithe humour--the bailie, as I was saying, in going home, wasovertaken by an apoplexy just at the threshold of his own door, andalthough it did not kill him outright, it shoved him, as it were, almostinto the very grave; in so much that he never spoke an articulate wordduring the several weeks he was permitted to doze away his latter end;and accordingly he died, and was buried in a very creditable manner tothe community, in consideration of the long space of time he had been apublic man among us.
But what rendered the event of his death, in my opinion, the moreremarkable, was, that I considered with him the last remnant of the oldpractice of managing the concerns of the town came to a period. For nowthat he is dead and gone, and also all those whom I found conjunct withhim, when I came into power and office, I may venture to say, that thingsin yon former times were not guided so thoroughly by the hand of adisinterested integrity as in these latter years. On the contrary, itseemed to be the use and wont of men in public trusts, to think they werefree to indemnify themselves in a left-handed way for the time andtrouble they bestowed in the same. But the thing was not so far wrong inprinciple as in the hugger-muggering way in which it was done, and whichgave to it a guilty colour, that, by the judicious stratagem of a rightsystem, it would never have had. In sooth to say, through the wholecourse of my public life, I met with no greater difficulties and trialsthan in cleansing myself from the old habitudes of office. For I must inverity confess, that I myself partook, in a degree, at my beginning, ofthe caterpillar nature; and it was not until the light of happier dayscalled forth the wings of my endowment, that I became conscious of beingraised into public life for a better purpose than to prey upon the leavesand flourishes of the commonwealth. So that, if I have seemed to speaklightly of those doings that are now denominated corruptions, I hope itwas discerned therein that I did so rather to intimate that such thingswere, than to consider them as in themselves commendable. Indeed, intheir notations, I have endeavoured, in a manner, to be governed by thespirit of the times in which the transactions happened; for I have livedlong enough to remark, that if we judge of past events by presentmotives, and do not try to enter into the spirit of the age when theytook place, and to see them with the eyes with which they were reallyseen, we shall conceit many things to be of a bad and wicked characterthat were not thought so harshly of by those who witnessed them, nor evenby those who, perhaps, suffered from them. While, therefore, I think ithas been of a great advantage to the public to have survived that methodof administration in which the like of Bailie M'Lucre was engendered, Iwould not have it understood that I think the men who held the publictrusts in those days a whit less honest than the men of my own time. Thespirit of their own age was upon them, as that of ours is upon us, andtheir ways of working the wherry entered more or less into all theirtrafficking, whether for the commonality, or for their own particularbehoof and advantage.
I have been thus large and frank in my reflections anent the death of thebailie, because, poor man, he had outlived the times for which he wasqualified; and, instead of the merriment and jocularity that his wily by-hand ways used to cause among his neighbours, the rising generation beganto pick and dab at him, in such a manner, that, had he been much longerspared, it is to be feared he would not have been allowed to enjoy hisearnings both with ease and honour. However, he got out of the worldwith some respect, and the matters of which I have now to speak, areexalted, both in method and principle, far above the personalconsiderations that took something from the public virtue of his day andgeneration.
CHAPTER XXIV--THE WINDY YULE
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It was in the course of the winter, after the decease of Bailie M'Lucre,that the great loss of lives took place, which every body agreed was oneof the most calamitous things that had for many a year befallen the town.
Three or four vessels were coming with cargoes of grain from Ireland;another from the Baltic with Norawa deals; and a third from Bristol,where she had been on a charter for some Greenock merchants.
It happened that, for a time, there had been contrary winds, againstwhich no vessel could enter the port, and the ships, whereof I have beenspeaking, were all lying together at anchor in the bay, waiting a changeof weather. These five vessels were owned among ourselves, and theircrews consisted of fathers and sons belonging to the place, so that, bothby reason of interest and affection, a more than ordinary concern wasfelt for them; for the sea was so rough, that no boat could live in it togo near them, and we had our fears that the men on board would be veryill off. Nothing, however, occurred but this natural anxiety, till theSaturday, which was Yule. In the morning the weather was blasty andsleety, waxing more and more tempestuous till about mid-day, when thewind checked suddenly round from the nor-east to the sou-west, and blew agale as if the prince of the powers of the air was doing his utmost towork mischief. The rain blattered, the windows clattered, theshop-shutters flapped, pigs from the lum-heads came rattling down likethunder-claps, and the skies were dismal both with cloud and carry. Yet,for all that, there was in the streets a stir and a busy visitationbetween neighbours, and every one went to their high windows, to look atthe five poor barks that were warsling against the strong arm of theelements of the storm and the ocean.
Still the lift gloomed, and the wind roared, and it was as doleful asight as ever was seen in any town afflicted with calamity, to see thesailors' wives, with their red cloaks about their heads, followed bytheir hirpling and disconsolate bairns, going one after another to thekirkyard, to look at the vessels where their helpless breadwinners werebattling with the tempest. My heart was really sorrowful, and full of asore anxiety to think of what might happen to the town, whereof so manywere in peril, and to whom no human magistracy could extend the arm ofprotection. Seeing no abatement of the wrath of heaven, that howled androared around us, I put on my big-coat, and taking my staff in my hand,having tied down my hat with a silk handkerchief, towards gloaming Iwalked likewise to the kirkyard, where I beheld such an assemblage ofsorrow, as few men in situation have ever been put to the trial towitness.
In the lea of the kirk many hundreds of the town were gathered together;but there was no discourse among them. The major part were sailors'wives and weans, and at every new thud of the blast, a sob rose, and themothers drew their bairns closer in about them, as if they saw thevisible hand of a foe raised to smite them. Apart from the multitude, Iobserved three or four young lasses standing behind the Whinnyhillfamilies' tomb, and I jealoused that they had joes in the ships; for theyoften looked to the bay, with long necks and sad faces, from behind themonument. A widow woman, one old Mary Weery, that was a lameter, anddependent on her son, who was on board the Louping Meg, (as the LovelyPeggy was nicknamed at the shore,) stood by herself, and every now andthen wrung her hands, crying, with a woeful voice, "The Lord giveth andthe Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the Lord;"--but it wasmanifest to all that her faith was fainting within her. But of all thepiteous objects there, on that doleful evening, none troubled my thoughtsmore than three motherless children, that belonged to the mate of one ofthe vessels in the jeopardy. He was an Englishman that had been settledsome years in the town, where his family had neither kith nor kin; andhis wife having died about a month before, the bairns, of whom the eldestwas but nine or so, were friendless enough, though both my gudewife, andother well-disposed ladies, paid them all manner of attention till theirfather would come home. The three poor little things, knowing that hewas in one of the ships, had been often out and anxious, and they werethen sitting under the lea of a headstone, near their mother's grave,chittering and creeping closer and closer at every squall. Never wassuch an orphan-like sight seen.
When it began to be so dark that the vessels could no longer be discernedfrom the churchyard, many went down to the shore, and I took the threebabies home with me, and Mrs Pawkie made tea for them, and they soonbegan to play with our own younger children, in blythe forgetfulness ofthe storm; every now and then, however, the eldest of them, when theshutters rattled and the lum-head roared, would pause in his innocentdaffing, and cower in towards Mrs Pawkie, as if he was daunted anddismayed by something he knew not what.
Many a one that night walked the sounding shore in sorrow, and fires werelighted along it to a great extent; but the darkness and the noise of theraging deep, and the howling wind, never intermitted till about midnight:at which time a message was brought to me, that it might be needful tosend a guard of soldiers to the beach, for that broken masts and tacklehad come in, and that surely some of the barks had perished. I lost notime in obeying this suggestion, which was made to me by one of theowners of the Louping Meg; and to show that I sincerely sympathized withall those in affliction, I rose and dressed myself, and went down to theshore, where I directed several old boats to be drawn up by the fires,and blankets to be brought, and cordials prepared, for them that might bespared with life to reach the land; and I walked the beach with themourners till the morning.
As the day dawned, the wind began to abate in its violence, and to wearaway from the sou-west into the norit, but it was soon discovered thatsome of the vessels with the corn had perished; for the first thing seen,was a long fringe of tangle and grain along the line of the highwatermark, and every one strained with greedy and grieved eyes, as thedaylight brightened, to discover which had suffered. But I can proceedno further with the dismal recital of that doleful morning. Let itsuffice here to be known, that, through the haze, we at last saw three ofthe vessels lying on their beam-ends with their masts broken, and thewaves riding like the furious horses of destruction over them. What hadbecome of the other two was never known; but it was supposed that theyhad foundered at their anchors, and that all on board perished.
The day being now Sabbath, and the whole town idle, every body in amanner was down on the beach, to help and mourn as the bodies, one afteranother, were cast out by the waves. Alas! few were the better of myprovident preparation, and it was a thing not to be described, to see,for more than a mile along the coast, the new-made widows and fatherlessbairns, mourning and weeping over the corpses of those they loved.Seventeen bodies were, before ten o'clock, carried to the desolateddwelling of their families; and when old Thomas Pull, the betheral, wentto ring the bell for public worship, such was the universal sorrow of thetown, that Nanse Donsie, an idiot natural, ran up the street to stop him,crying, in the voice of a pardonable desperation, "Wha, in sic a time,can praise the Lord?"
CHAPTER XXV--THE SUBSCRIPTION
The calamity of the storm opened and disposed the hearts of the wholetown to charity; and it was a pleasure to behold the manner in which thetide of sympathy flowed towards the sufferers. Nobody went to the churchin the forenoon; but when I had returned home from the shore, several ofthe council met at my house to confer anent the desolation, and it wasconcerted among us, at my suggestion, that there should be a meeting ofthe inhabitants called by the magistrates, for the next day, in order totake the public compassion with the tear in the eye--which wasaccordingly done by Mr Pittle himself from the pulpit, with a fewjudicious words on the heavy dispensation. And the number of folk thatcame forward to subscribe was just wonderful. We got well on to ahundred pounds in the first two hours, besides many a bundle of oldclothes. But one of the most remarkable things in the business was doneby Mr Macandoe. He was, in his original, a lad of the place, who hadgone into Glasgow, where he was in a topping line; and happening to be ona visit to his friends at the time, he came to the meeting and put downhis name for twenty guineas, which he gave me in bank-notes--a sum ofsuch liberality as had never been given to the town from one
individualman, since the mortification of fifty pounds that we got by the will ofMajor Bravery that died in Cheltenham, in England, after making hisfortune in India. The sum total of the subscription, when we got mylord's five-and-twenty guineas, was better than two hundred poundssterling--for even several of the country gentlemen were very generouscontributors, and it is well known that they are not inordinatelycharitable, especially to town folks--but the distribution of it was noeasy task, for it required a discrimination of character as well as ofnecessities. It was at first proposed to give it over to the session. Iknew, however, that, in their hands, it would do no good; for Mr Pittle,the minister, was a vain sort of a body, and easy to be fleeched, and thebold and the bardy with him would be sure to come in for a better sharethan the meek and the modest, who might be in greater want. So I setmyself to consider what was the best way of proceeding; and truly uponreflection, there are few events in my history that I look back upon withmore satisfaction than the part I performed in this matter; for, beforegoing into any division of the money, I proposed that we should allot itto three classes--those who were destitute; those who had some help, butlarge families; and those to whom a temporality would be sufficient--andthat we should make a visitation to the houses of all the sufferers, inorder to class them under their proper heads aright. By this method, andtogether with what I had done personally in the tempest, I got greatpraise and laud from all reflecting people; and it is not now to be toldwhat a consolation was brought to many a sorrowful widow and orphan'sheart, by the patience and temperance with which the fund of liberalitywas distributed; yet because a small sum was reserved to help some of themore helpless at another time, and the same was put out to interest inthe town's books, there were not wanting evil-minded persons who wentabout whispering calumnious innuendos to my disadvantage; but I know, bythis time, the nature of the world, and how impossible it is to reasonwith such a seven-headed and ten-horned beast as the multitude. So Isaid nothing; only I got the town-clerk's young man, who acted as clerkto the committee of the subscription, to make out a fair account of thedistribution of the money, and to what intent the residue had been placedin the town-treasurer's hand; and this I sent unto a friend in Glasgow toget printed for me, the which he did; and when I got the copies, Idirected one to every individual subscriber, and sent the town-drummer anend's errand with them, which was altogether a proceeding of a method andexactness so by common, that it not only quenched the envy of spiteutterly out, but contributed more and more to give me weight andauthority with the community, until I had the whole sway and mastery ofthe town.
