The Desperate Journey (5 page)

“Will there be mountains in Glasgow, Father?” he asked.

“I do not think so, Davie. Just streets and houses.”

Davie looked puzzled. He could not imagine a land without mountains.

The road began to drop down now towards Strath Canaird to the coast, then turned along the shores of Loch Broom towards Ullapool. They crossed a little river and immediately came on the town, nestling along the shores of its bay and overhung by the long precipitous face of rock behind it. The smoke went up from over two hundred chimneys. New-looking cottages were grouped round a small harbour, with other small streets behind.

“It is even bigger than Dornoch!” Davie exclaimed.

“Is Glasgow as big as this?” Kirsty asked.

“Bigger, my lassie!”

“Oh!” Kirsty’s eyes grew big.

“These look good houses,” Kate remarked wistfully, thinking of the destroyed home they had left behind them.

“Aye, they have been built by the British Fishery Society for the fishermen. There’s many a barrel of salt herring sent from Ullapool to Glasgow. Now we must ask if there’s a ship to take us to Glasgow. Hold the horse, Davie, while I go talk with those fishermen at the quayside.”

The men paused in their work of cleaning the nets when James hailed them.

“For Glasgow?” one asked. “That’s a thing can only be answered
when a ship arrives here, man. In the herring season there are likely to be boats, but no’ at this time o’ year.”

Troubled, James asked, “Is there no regular sailing of a ship from Ullapool to Glasgow?”

The man shook his head. “Whiles a ship will come up the coast bringing sugar and tobacco and the goods they make in Glasgow, but naebody kens when that will be. It might be tomorrow, or a week or a month.”

James felt desperate. Had he come all the way across Scotland only to fritter away his small store of money while they waited for a Glasgow-bound ship? Then he remembered what the innkeeper had told him. “Is there one among ye named Patrick Cameron?” he asked.

“Why, yes? Here I am!” One of the older men in the group looked up quickly.

“The innkeeper at Altnacealgach told me you might be able to help me to get to Glasgow.”

“But I do not take my ship to Glasgow. If it had been Stornoway in the Isle of Lewis, now.” The man broke off suddenly. “Why, there is a ship goes every week from Stornoway to Glasgow, taking herring barrels and kelp from the seashore that is used in the chemical works. Maybe, if you could get to Stornoway, you could get a passage in that boat.”

“Could you take me to Stornoway with my wife and children?” James asked.

“Well, that I might be doing. Tomorrow I go to Stornoway to bring over cattle from Lewis to sell at the cattle fairs at Muir of Ord and Crieff. Could ye help me to sail the boat?”

“I could indeed,” James said at once. “I have been used to boats all my life. What would you charge, now, to take us to Stornoway?”

The fisherman considered “If you could help me with the boat I would not be needing a man with me, and one of the cattlemen
would help me to sail the boat back. How many are there of you?”

“Myself and my wife and two weans.”

“Then could you be paying me six shillings, maybe?”

“Yes, I would be willing for that,” James agreed.

“Tomorrow then, you will be here at the quay at five o’clock in the morning so we can get the tide.”

“I will be here, but first I must sell my horse and cart. D’ye ken anyone who would buy them from me?”

Patrick Cameron shook his head. “No. You will have to make enquiries, man.”

James returned to his family and told them of the arrangements he had made. “To go to Stornoway seems the best thing to do, but first we must sell our horse and cart. We cannot go till that is done.”

“I wonder who might buy our horse and cart?” Kate said.

“I think I know a way to find out,” Davie laughed. “Did you no’ say you could be doing with some more oatmeal, Mother?”

“Why, yes, I did, Davie.”

“Will you spare me some money to go buy some, then? I might hear of someone wanting a horse while I am in the shop.”

“I’ll come with you, Davie,” Kirsty said at once.

“Bless the bairn! He thinks of things!” Kate laughed as the two children rushed away.

“I think I will go down to the harbour and see if I can earn a fish for our supper by helping the fishermen with their nets,” James said.

Davie made his purchase at the small shop. It was plain that the old lady who kept the shop was full of Highland curiosity about him, and that prompted her to ask questions.

“Strangers ye are here, surely? Is it far ye’ve come?”

“From Culmailie.”

“Where will that be, now?”

“It is near Dornoch, on the other side of the country.”

“I have heard of Dornoch. A long journey ye are from home.”

“Aye, but we go a longer journey yet,” Davie said. “Tomorrow we are going to Stornoway in Patrick Cameron’s boat.”

The old lady liked to hear news. Her shop was the means of passing on information in Ullapool.

“We are going to find a new home,” Kirsty added. “Our own one was burned down.”

The shopkeeper leaned across her counter. “How did that come about?”

Davie told her the story. “And now we are going to Glasgow from Stornoway. My father says there will be work for us there.”

“To Glasgow! Think of that!”

“Aye, but we cannot go till we have sold our horse and cart,” Davie told her, warming to his task. “If you could tell us of anybody needing a horse, I’d be rare obliged to ye, mistress.”

“Weel, now, there is the old minister, Mr McGregor. He has been complaining of the rheumatism in his feet this long time and saying he cannot visit his congregation because of it. He might buy your horse, now, if your father does not place too high a price on him, and the cart too.”

“I will tell my father. We are very grateful to you, mistress.”

“You can tell the minister that Mistress Robertson at the shop sent you to him.” She beamed on both of them.

When they reached the place where they had encamped Davie found that his father had gone down to the harbour. Davie told his mother what he had heard in the shop, and proposed that he should take their horse and cart to show the minister.

“Will it no’ wait till your father comes back?”

“Suppose someone else sells the minister a horse before we have shown him ours?”

“It does not sound as though the minister has been in a hurry to buy a horse. Still, there might be no harm in asking him. It will give him time to think about it.”

“He has had a lot of time to think about buying a horse already,”
Davie said shrewdly. “It would be better, perhaps, to take him quickly. What price does my father want for the horse and cart?”

“He wondered if we could get five pounds for it, though we might have to let it go for less to get a quick sale.”

Davie caught the horse as he grazed and began to back him between the shafts of the cart. “Will you come with me, Kirsty?” he asked.

In no time at all Davie and Kirsty were jogging along the road to the manse. The minister was rather surprised when Davie was ushered into his study by the small maidservant. Davie had some difficulty in explaining his errand, but at last he made the minister understand.

“Ah, so Mistress Robertson thinks I would be better for having a horse does she? Ah weel, it’s a sensible woman she is! Maybe she is right.”

“Will you look at the horse then, sir? I have brought him here for you to see. He stands at your door.”

The minister’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Young man, you waste no time, but maybe I had better look him over. It would never do to buy a pig in a poke.”

“But it is not a pig I am wanting to sell, sir. It is a horse.” Davie began to wonder if the minister could be a little deaf.

“Ach, boy, it’s speaking in proverbs I am!” the minister chuckled. “Let us be looking at this horse of yours, then.”

Kirsty was holding the horse at the gate. The minister walked slowly round the animal, looking at him from all sides.

“He is a good-tempered beast and strong too,” Davie said persuasively. “Look, sir, he has good teeth.” He pulled open the horse’s mouth in the way he had seen the horse dealers do at Dornoch Fair.

The minister seemed amused. “Aye, he seems a good sound horse. It’s true I have a stable, but –” He hesitated.

Kirsty looked at the minister. “He has been a good horse to us.
We would like him to have a good home. Will you not buy him, sir? You would treat him kindly.”

Perhaps that clinched matters for the minister. He patted Kirsty’s shining hair. “Weel, ye’re a coaxing bit lassie, but maybe what you say weighs with me more than the horse’s good teeth. What does your father want for the horse?”

“Five pounds, sir,” Davie said promptly, though his natural honesty made him add, “Though he might take less for a quick sale.”

“You can tell him to come and see me this evening, then.”

Davie looked at him, delighted. “Is it a bargain, sir?”

“Aye, you can call it that.”

“Then here’s my hand on it,” Davie said in his most grown-up style, offering his hand as he had seen the drovers do in the cattle market.

The minister solemnly shook hands with him. “Is it no’ the fashion to offer a penny to seal the bargain?” he asked, his eyes twinkling. “Here, then, is the penny, my lad.

And here is one for the lassie too. Maybe you will find some sugar-cone at the shop of that excellent woman, Mistress Robertson.”

Davie and Kirsty had hardly words to stammer their thanks.

That evening James Murray went to the minister to conclude the deal and returned five pounds better off, and well pleased with the minister’s words. “And ye’ve got a grand straightforward, well-mannered pair o’ bairns, James Murray. They do you credit.”

That night they packed up their bundles of blankets and household gear that they were taking with them. The children slept well, but their parents little, as they watched for the first blink of dawn. By five o’clock they joined Patrick Cameron at the quayside and handed their bundles aboard. Patrick Cameron steadied the boat and they climbed down the ladder into the ship. Cameron pushed off from the quay and James helped him to hoist the sail.
The wind blew off the land and soon they were speeding down Loch Broom and heading out into the wider waters of the Minch.

They came to Stornoway in the late evening and entered the harbour there. It was crowded with fishing craft. After Patrick Cameron had climbed the ladder on to the quay, he surveyed the shipping.

“Ah, there is Peter Mathieson’s sloop, the
Catriona
. She will be sailing with the tide to Glasgow with salt herring and kelp. Come with me, James Murray, and I will have a word with Peter and ask him to give you a passage.”

Peter Mathieson consented to take them all for a matter of twelve shillings, the Murrays to bring their own food with them.

“Ye can come aboard now. We sail wi’ the morning tide. There is only one cabin, but if ye’ve got blankets, ye’ll tak’ no harm on the floor.”

He helped them to transfer their gear aboard. There was a strong smell of fish, and an even more overpowering smell of seaweed from the cargo of kelp.

“I hope the smell o’ the kelp willna turn ye up,” Mathieson said candidly. “It gets higher as we go along, but ye’ll just have to thole it. There’ll be a thousand worse smells in Glasgow, ye’ll find.”

Davie and Kirsty wondered what he meant. They were soon to know.

After the ship sailed next morning they knew little but the heaving seas, save for brief glimpses of the mountainous shores as the ship sailed south. Kirsty was seasick and lay in the cabin tended by Kate, but Davie scarcely ever left the deck, save to sleep at night. He loved to stand by Peter Mathieson at the wheel and watch him navigate the ship. Now and again Peter let him take the wheel while he stood by. For Davie it was a wonderful beginning to a great new adventure.

The
Catriona
beat her way up the River Clyde, tacking from side to side of the channel which led to Glasgow’s quay at the Broomielaw. Luckily a westerly wind helped to bring the ship along between the narrowing banks, and it was not till she was almost at her destination that she had to be assisted by ropes to warp her into the quay.

Seasickness forgotten, Kirsty sat at the forepeak of the ship with Davie and watched the changing scene with astonished eyes. They both stared at the long sloping streets with high buildings which ran down from Argyll Street to the Broomielaw, the bridge at Jamaica Street with its seven great arches across the Clyde, and the spire of the Gorbals Church on the horizon behind. Kirsty began to count the church spires but stopped short when Davie noticed the tall chimneys with the plumes of smoke.

“What are those?” he called to Peter Mathieson.

“Glasgow folk call them stalks. They’re high chimneys to carry the smoke of the factories above the houses.”

“Factories? What are factories?” Kirsty asked.

“Big buildings where they make goods like cotton cloth. Ye’ll no doubt ken about them soon enough,” he added grimly.

Davie might have asked him what he meant, but Kirsty was exclaiming at the size of the houses, several storeys high.

“There are houses built on top of houses, as many as five. I would not have thought there were so many houses in the whole world!” A sudden thought struck her. “Where shall we live, Mother?”

Kate Murray stared too at the unfamiliar buildings, so different
from the low thatched roofs of Sutherland. “Where indeed?” she breathed with a sigh. “Oh, James, I had no idea Glasgow would be so big, with so many people. Where shall we find a place?”

James Murray himself was feeling slightly overwhelmed, but he did not show it to Kate and the children. “Ach! In such a big city there’s bound to be somewhere for us to stay,” he pronounced in greater confidence than he felt.

At last the
Catriona
was brought alongside the quay at the Broomielaw. James, Kate and the two children collected their bundles and said farewell to Peter Mathieson.

“Have ye any idea of a place where we might stay?” James asked him.

Peter shook his head. “I always sleep aboard,” he told them. “Ye could ask the minister of the Ingram Street Church. Folk call it the Gaelic Chapel for the Highlanders. The minister is Mr McLaren. He might be able to advise ye.”

“We’ll go to him. How do we reach Ingram Street?”

“Go up Jamaica Street there,” Peter Mathieson pointed, “then turn right, along Argyll Street and ask again. I’m no’ just sure o’ the streets masel.”

They shouldered their burdens and set off.

The amount and speed of the traffic in Argyll Street shocked them to bewilderment as they stood on the causeway and watched horses, carts, chaises, coaches, sedan chairs with runners to carry them, race up and down the street. The shouts of the riders and drivers, the clatter of hoofs on the cobble stones, the crack of whips, sounded deafening to their unaccustomed ears.

“I canna believe it! Where can all these people be hurrying and scurrying?” Kate asked James. “Which way do we go now?”

He shook his head and turned to ask a small poorly-dressed man who was standing idly on the causeway.” Which way do we take to Ingram Street, please?”

The small man looked at them with foxy curiosity. “Ye cross
the road and go up Queen Street there. That’ll bring ye to Ingram Street. Strangers here, are ye?”

“We are indeed,” James replied.

“Frae the Highlands?”

“Aye, we’ve just stepped off the boat from Stornoway,” James replied with the open innocence of a country man.

The small man eyed them. “Have ye ony place to go?”

James shook his head. “I was going to the minister of the Ingram Street Church to ask his advice.”

“I doubt if ye’ll find him at his hame the day,” the small man said quickly. “This is the day the ministers go out visiting their congregations. But maybe I could put ye i’ the way o’ finding a place.”

“That would be right civil of you, sir,” James said gratefully. The sky was overcast and he felt he must find some shelter before the threatened rain soaked them and their blankets and packs.

“It all depends what ye want. Would ye be thinking o’ a single end?” the man enquired.

“A single end? What’s that?” asked Kate

“One room, mistress.” She hesitated. “We’ve always had two rooms before, but maybe we could make do with one at first.”

“Aye, it would give us time to look round and – and get work, James agreed.

“Work’s a bit difficult to come by, except for bairns,” the man told him, “but maybe ye’ve got a bit money saved?”

James nodded.

“Aye, weel, then,” the small man said briskly, looking rather pleased, “if ye’ll mak’ do wi’ one room, I think I know just the place for ye. It’s lucky for ye the wife’s father died and was buried twa days syne, and the wife’s mother is moving in wi’ us. She’d speak to her landlord for ye to have her room,” he added glibly.

“Would she, do you think?” James asked.

“Aye, but mind now, it’s awfu’ difficult to get a room i’ Glasgow.
There’s a wheen folk after places to live in, especially since so many o’ the Irish came over to work in the cotton mills. They’ll pay onything to get a roof over their heads. Why, I ken one cellar, a
cellar
, mark, now, where there are eight folk living, two to each corner!”

James and Kate looked at each other in consternation. This was not what they had expected of the great city.

“Oh, I wouldna like that! We’ve always lived decently,” Kate exclaimed.

“I’m sure ye have, mistress, I’m sure ye have. That’s why I’m telling ye about the wife’s mother. A widow woman she is, poor soultie, so ye’d no’ be grudging her a wee gift o’ money for speaking for ye to the landlord?”

“Weel, no!” James hesitated. “But what kind of a room is it? We wouldna’ be wanting to share wi’ other folk.”

“A pity, that! Ye could do weel wi’ a lodger or twa to help pay the rent. The room, now? Weel, it’s up a stair at the top o’ a house, I’ll no’ deny, but maist folk like to be at the top o’ a stair. There’s no’ so much noise.”

“Is there a window?” Kate asked. She had heard of attics.

“Aye, there’s a window, though it’s in the roof, ye ken. But I’ll tak’ ye there. Come on across the road after me.”

The man stepped boldly among the traffic and the Murrays plunged after him, though Kate cast frightened glances as they dodged almost under the noses of the horses. They followed the man along the wide street of the Trongate with its high buildings on either side, lined with shops that sold so many strange goods. Kirsty and Kate would have liked to linger to look in the windows, but the man hurried them along. On the other side of the road was the Tron church with its tapering steeple. They came to the arches of the Tontine Hotel with an imposing array of coaches drawn up before it. A little further on the Tolbooth Steeple with its clock and crown towered above them.

The man turned abruptly up a wynd behind the Trongate which led in turn to a narrow close: a shocking change from the spacious Trongate. The buildings on either side were so close that they seemed to lean towards each other, almost touching at the roofs. They made the close like a dark tunnel.

A horrible stench filled the air. It came from a heap in the middle of the close.

“Oh, how it smells!” Kate could not help exclaiming.

“Och, that’s naething to worry about, mistress,” the small man said lightly. “When the midden gets full the menfolk spade it out into the close and sell it to a farmer for manure. The farmer’ll come soon and cart it awa’ to his fields outside Glasgow. Every tenant gets a share o’ what the farmer pays, so the midden helps to pay the rent, ye ken. Onyway, ye’ll be weel above it at the top o’ the house. Up the stairs wi’ ye, noo!”

They followed him up three flights of dirty stone stairs with three or four ragged small children sitting on them, till they reached a rickety landing where a door hung crookedly on a latch.

“Here we are!” the man said, opening the door. It gave on to an attic with a cum-ceiled window. Two broken panes of glass were jammed up with rags. There was a tiny rusty fireplace and down its chimney the rainwater was already trickling. Beside it stood a bucket and there was a box-bed built into the corner. On it was a filthy straw mattress bursting its cover. An old woman in a ragged dress and shawl put back a tattered blanket and rose from the bed and peered short-sightedly at them standing in the doorway.

“Weel, Grannie Ferguson!” the small man greeted her.

“Och, it’s you, Bob Anderson!” she said with a sniff. “What’ll you be wanting?”

“I’ve brought a man who’d like to rent your room, Ye’ll be moving in wi’ your daughter, noo your man’s deid?”

“My rent’s paid to the end o’ the week. I canna be turned oot till then,” the old lady said in a fighting voice.

“Naebody wants to turn ye oot, Grannie,” the man said in a coaxing way. “But supposing ye were to be paid, and paid weel, for letting these folk have your room?

“Weel, noo, that’s a different story,” she said. A greedy look crossed her face. “How much?” she asked abruptly.

“Ten shillings noo?” the man suggested, looking at James, who could only nod helplessly.

“Ten shillings and my rent’s paid to the end o’ the week! I’m no’ a fool!” The old woman laughed coarsely. “A golden sovereign I’m asking.”

“But I cannot be affording that. I’m a poor man. We’ve just lost our house in the Highlands,” James exclaimed. He began to back away.

“Shall we go and look for another place?” Kate asked, wrinkling her nose a little.

Bob Anderson drew the old woman aside and whispered urgently in her ear. “Don’t ask too much or you’ll lose them. Leave it to me.” He returned to the landing where James was consulting with Kate as to whether they should go or not.

“Ye’ll no’ find it easy to get as good a place as this and all to yourselves, too,” he said. “The old woman will tak’ fifteen shillings and I’ll tak’ the other five shillings for my trouble. I was going to ask ten, but seeing ye’re strangers and poor Highlanders, I’ll be content wi’ five. There!”

“Maybe we’d better take it,” James Murray said in a low voice to his wife. “It’ll give us a roof over our heads while we look for another place.” He turned aside and felt in his pocket. Bob Anderson watched him closely, his eyes giving a flicker of greed. James handed the coin to the old woman, who bit it first to make sure it was good.

“Right, Bob Anderson!” she said. “You can carry down the mattress for me and I’ll give ye your share o’ this when we reach my daughter’s house.” She held the gold coin between finger and
thumb then said, “And this is where I’ll keep it for better safety,” and she slipped it under her tongue! Bob Anderson picked up the mattress and they descended the stairs, the old lady carrying her blanket in the bucket.

The Murrays stood looking at each other as the sound of the footsteps on the stairs died away.

“Weel, we’ve got a place of our ain,” James said heavily.

“Oh James. I didna think it would be like this in the great city!” Kate began to weep a little. “Oh, how it smells! What I’d give for a breath of our clean Highland air!”

Kirsty began to sniff too. “It’s awfu’
dirty
! Oh, Mother! There’s an insect crawling up the wall!”

“Losh! The place has got bugs too!” Kate exclaimed.

“Have ye got nothing to grumble at?” James asked his son in desperation.

“Give me some money, Father, and I’ll awa’ down to the street.”

“For what?” asked his mother.

“To buy a bucket and to draw water at the well. We’re going to need water. There’ll be a well in the street somewhere.”

Kate pulled herself together. “Ye’re right, Davie. There’s no sense in weeping. We’ve got to do something. While ye’re in the street buy some soap too. I’ve got a scrubbing brush somewhere in these bundles. We’ll make a start by scrubbing this place out.”

“Wait for me, Davie! I’ll come with you,” Kirsty cried. The two set off down the stair.

Kate and James faced each other. “Dinna be so troubled, Kate,” he begged her. “The room’ll look better when there’s a fire in the grate and we’ve got some furniture round. When the bairns come back I’ll go look for firewood and coals, and see if I can find an old table and chairs and another bed.”

“It’ll be all right, James. It – it’s just the strangeness of everything after Culmailie. We’ll get by, you’ll see, and we’ll make a new life of it, once you’ve got steady work.”

“Aye, I must be looking for something to do. Wi’ the bairns here, the place’ll soon begin to look like home, and if I get a good job, maybe we’ll get two rooms soon.”

“Aye, the bairns are a great help,” Kate agreed. “Davie’s the one for always seeing what’s to be done, and Kirsty’s no’ far behind him.”

Little did they know how much they were to rely on their children in the months to come!

Kate worked hard, with Kirsty’s help, in getting their room clean, though it meant a lot of journeys up and down the steep stair to fetch water from the well.

Hardly had they got the room habitable than they had a surprise visitor. The door was suddenly flung open and a red-faced burly man confronted them. He was as surprised to see them as they were to see him!

“Where’s Grannie Ferguson?” he demanded.

“She’d gone to live with her daughter,” James explained. “We’ve taken over her room from her.”

“Oh, ye have, have ye?” the man exclaimed wrathfully. “And without so much as a word to me! What d’ye mean by it?”

James stared at him. “Are ye – are ye the landlord?”

“To be sure I am!”

“Then Mistress Ferguson said she would speak to you for us to have this place.”

“She did, did she?” the man looked at James narrowly. “And how much did ye pay her for that service?”

“A – a sovereign!” James faltered. “Did she no’ speak wi’ ye?”

“She did not! A right bad old woman she is!” The landlord looked about him. “I could put ye out, ye know! Ye seem to have made yourselves at home.”