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Scenes from an Artist's Life
Chapter 16
"Unless we cultivate all our sympathies, our minds are not only narrowed, but deformed." J. B. MANSON.
"Men are all members of one great whole, and the sympathy which is in human nature will not allow one member to be indifferent to the rest, or to have a perfect welfare independent of the rest. The individual is obliged, under pain ot being stunted and enfeebled in his own development if he disobeys, to carry others along with him in his march towards perfection."MATTHEW ARNOLD.
THOMAS MORTON THE INVENTOR-HIS FIRST DECISION-THE BARREL
ORGAN AND THE CARPET MACHINE-JOHN FULTON'S ORRERY-J. D. GIBSON'S VISIT TO
THE ACADEMY-A COMMISSION AT EAGLESHAM- WILLIAM HALL, " THE STRONG
BLACKSMITH"-MY NEXT EAGLESHAM PATRON-BRYSON THE
SMUGGLER-REMINISCENCES OF MATTHEW HAY -THE SECOND PUBLICAN-I PAINT THE
SWAN-THE CHOLERA-A MOORLAND MEDITATION-A MEETING.
WE a' require sympathy, though we dinna aye get it. I have only found it to exist in men who had
an aim in view, and had made a struggle to put their ideal into shape. Recognition and a kind word
are great powers in stimulating an earnest man on any mission, when he has started on a
pilgrimage where the goal is in the far distance and little remuneration to be had till the end is
reached. Thomas Morton of Morton Place was one who had struggled through many phases of
labour, and he had labour as a dower to the day of his death. When he might have been resting, his
lively labour-disciplined mind was rummaging up his past experience, wishing to send it out to the
world to be taken up by others. All the discoveries he had made in any subtle or mysterious metal,
such as the speculum of the telescope, he wished to lay before the world in language so free from
doubt or mystification that any follower might take the fact of his past life and put it to the front of
his own. He had in his youth herded kye, held conversation with the craws, made whistles,
baskets, and bricks, was a turner and wheelwright, made bagpipes of an original construction; and,
along with his brother-in-law, the late John Peden, sought the aid of mechanics to weave carpets
without the aid of a draw-boy. John gave up the hunt, and the two signed a deed of separation on
that point. John took to making an organ and coach building. Thomas Morton added the making of
telescopes to his other accomplishments. Sir John Ross had telescopes of his making with him in
search of a north-west passage. Mr Morton was the first magistrate elected in Kilmarnock after the
Reform Bill beeame the law of the land. Every person who knew him had faith in the uprightness of
his character. He had a kind word for everybody. Even the unfortunate or erring were kindly spoken
to by him. The first case brought before him in his magisterial capacity was that of a country lass
for having come into the market with light butter. The lass was thus addressed,-" Noo, since ye
hae the honour to be the first ane that has been brought before me as a magistrate, I wish to be
lenitive. I kenna but in some cases o' the kind they took baith baskets and butter frae them, and
fined them to the bargain. Noo, we'll fine you, and tak' the butter frae you, only we'll gie you back
the basket."
Many a visit I had of this man in my humble home. His countenance, when he used to look in at the
window, had always the influence of sunshine. New life was imparted by a relation of some part of
his personal history. It was not from egotism; the man had nothing but his own experience to offer.
Industry and perseverance were the stock-in-trade. " Go on, just go on: there's nae ither way; and
when ye get a haud o' an idea, work it out." Then would follow some explanation as to how he had
solved some puzzling and often-thwarted problem. "For instance, when John Peden and me had
fought till we were baith wearied trying for some way o' working carpets without the aid o' a
draw-boy, we thought mony a time that we were just in view o't, but there was aye some wee thing
wanting, and these wee things were in reality big things. It was curious that he begun as a pastime
to mak' a muckle organ. I at the same time got a barrel-organ frae Sir William Cunningham of
Fairlie. something had gane wrang wi't, and I was to try and put it to rights. Aweel, it was a sight o'
the inside o' that organ gaed me a new idea o' the carpet machine; and on something o' the same way
as the tune was lifted, I thought that the flower might come up. There was ae night I dreamed that I
saw the thing in motion. I had, mind ye, got up a machine before this, but, like them before it, there
was some haud-aff. I saw it as clear as daylight, and I rose in the dark and keepit my e'en thegither. I
got haud o' a piece o' chalk, and on the wa' o' the room in which I sleepit, I drew the working plan
still wi' ny e'en shut. It was the very thing that was needed, and a great reward at last for so much
what before seemed lost time, trouble, and expense."
I had a call from Mr Morton one day as he was hurrying away to join with others who were going up
to Fenwick to recognise the victory of mind over matter, after a lengthened and faithfully contested
field swarming with difficulties. John Fulton, shoemaker, had completed an orrery, such as has not
yet been surpassed. I was down in the town, and saw the party move off in carriages, cars, and
gigs. I felt that the genius of one man had set all those men and machines in motion; and that it
was a great honour these men were doing to themselves as well as to an individual who had,
without their aid, compelled them to come and witness the motion of the planets.
In my weakness I wondered if ever a time would come when such an assemblage of men would visit
me to recognise achieved greatness. Patronage to every man comes from places where he leasts
expects it. Visitors were coming to see our Drawing Academy; and, simple as it was, it formed a
centre of attraction. I was sent for one day in great haste to come and speak to a gentleman at the
Academy. When I came near the place I saw Mr Alexander Stewart, manufacturer, standing with a
gentleman on the street. Stewart pointed to me, and the stranger came and met me. He said, in a
free and gentlemanly manner, that he had heard much of our picture gallery, and wished to see it.
His friend, and my friend, Mr Stewart, had sent for me to gratify him. I told him that I felt very much
honoured, and only regretted that we had so little to show him. I had set him down as a country
gentleman; but when we entered the academy I was surprised to hear him speak so plain. " Eh,
man, what a heap o' shows ! Wha made a' thae ?" I told him that there were twelve of us. "And what
sort o' chaps are they ?" I said that they were a' decent chaps; that we wad hae naething to do wi'
dirty anes. " Wha made this ane ? and wha made the next ane ?" till he enquired after every one on
the walls. I stuck up for the dignity of art, and all our members ! He dooted that some o' them were
lazy, as I had mair than the third of the whole collection. I made apology for every one. He said that
I was different from the maist o' artists, for they maistly saw their ain beauties and their neighbours'
fauts. He expressed himself highly gratified with the sight of the gallery, and said that he intended
coming to the town to paint some shows; and that if our gallery had done for the purpose of working
in, he then would have inquired how much by the week we would have charged him for the use of it.
I asked what sort of shows he painted. He said, the shows o' fo'k. It was now my turn to ask
questions. I asked where he came from ? " Glasgow." His name ? "Gibson." Do you sign your
name J. D. Gibson? "Yes." I took off my hat, and begged his pardon for trying to make our art home
look larger than its real worth. He burst out in a joyous laugh, and wished that he had the power to
put such a face on small things. However, he said that our light was too low; he would require a
higher window, and would go to the Turf Inn. I told him that all stranger artists, by the nature of our
laws, were entitled to a home in this house gratis. We hailed them as honorary members. As such
I named him, and served him with a key to enter at pleasure. He took it, made a polite bow, and
said we were generous, and hoped that we would continue to be a worthy body of artists. It was the
first honour of the kind which had been conferred on him, and he hoped to be worthy of it. So, when
he commenced to paint his shows I was to come and see him.
Such was the first meeting with Gibson. He painted fifteen portraits in Kilmarnock at that time. He
was a man of great heart when understood. Yet strong drink and combative bumps upset his dignity
and shortened his days.
Thomas Reid, a plumber in Kilmarnock, came often to the Academy. He had been in Eaglesham
putting up a pump for a man wha keepit a public-house, and in that house Tammas had been talking
of the greatness of our Academy, and his acquaintance with the members. The landlord said that
when his new house was finished he would like to have a view of Eaglesham from Dollars Park. I was
consulted with, and made a visit along with Mr Reid. I was introdueed to the landlord of
the Eglinton Arms Inns as the artist; and to hear him talk of the beauty of the place, with his new
house in front, he might have been mistaken for a man of taste, but the grand aim in view seemed to
be how many gills would be sold to see the picture. The terms were laid down by him. " I'se tell you
what I'll do. Paint me the view o' the place frae whaur I'll let you see; mak' it something respectable in
size; it must be correct and approven of as such. I'll gi'e you bed and board while ye do it, and a
pound in han' when its finished, and if after three months it still continues to please, I'se gi'e you ten
shillin's maire"
Such was the offer, and with such I closed. This was the second going from home, or, properly
speaking, the first artistic start. The day of coming was named. I rose early in the morning,
equipped with all the essentials to take the village on canvass. I had thirteen miles to travel. I had
taken a good breakfast and a piece in my pouch. I had few bawbees, but great faith in having a
home with a man of taste. When I arrived at his house it was near breakfast time, but no breakfast
was offered or spoken of. The man's wife, rest her saul, had on an ugly countenance, and she was
making speeches in relation to the picture. " I tell you plainly you had no business wi' him here.
He'll no be here. You and him can just do as you like," and wi' glooming and glunching she
rampaged up and doon the house. The man of taste proposed that I should step awa oot to Dollars
Park and begin. He went with me, and showed me what he wanted. I felt that I had travelled far to
be imposed on; it was different from the reception I had got frae my frien' M'Alister. At one sitting I
took the sketch in pencil, and came back to the Inn: if the wife's look was ill when I started it was
waur when I came back. Near to night I got tea with a grudge, and went out to take a walk. I heard
the auld wife fiercely tell the landlord " just to be plain wi' him, and tell him that he canna be here."
He came wi' a sort of sham race after me, and in quite a bland tone of voice cries, " I say, man, I
forgot to tell ye that we keep carriers the night, and it 'll no be convenient to gi'e you a bed." I felt
that I was frae hame. "Maybe ye'll get ane somewhaur." A young lad, who was a plasterer, and had
been working at the house, was beside me at the time. He offered me a share of his bed and the
half of his parritch ! Had it not been for the rousing from the academicians I had been home that
night. I had almost put on a resolution to gang frae hame nae mair. I stuck in to the painting and
finished it in three days after being sketched. The process of painting was done in the inns. The
landlord felt it his duty to inform customers whom he saw outside that he had an artist employed,
and drew a good run during the process.
I had met with some decent people in the place, among whom was William Hall, known as the
strong blacksmith; there was something in Hall of a big heart, kindly, humane and considerate.
After the landscape was finished Hall came to see me. He had called every day to witness the
performance, and he was desirous to see the end. He asked if the landlord had settled with me yet.
I said " No; " I was just waiting on him. He gave me some hint as to a long time before the man
would think of such a trifle. " There he is at the back court just now; away out and see what he
says, and don't be bird-mouthed wi' him." This hint was suggestive, so I went out and hailed him,
saying that now, as my job was done, I was going away home. "Quite right that," says he. "Then
will you settle with me." "Man, I canna do that. I'm poverty struck. We'll see you again. You'll be
back this way atween and three months." I tried to reason with him about the necessity of having
money. He said that was a' reasonable, but he couldna' help it. I saw that the dramseller was case
hardened. I went into the house to Hall, who inquired how I got on ? I told him; and in a fine soft
familiar tone of voice he said, " Dirty body ! " and laying a pound in my hand, he said, "Awa hame,
and come back on Monday, and bring a canvass wi' you and paint my portrait." Hall was at this time
in his prime. He was the same age as myself, and was then thirty. He had done many feats of strength
in reality. He had at St. Fillan's games in 1826 taken the first prize for throwing the heavy stone; he
had thrown the sledge hammer farthest, leaped farthest, ran fastest up-hill race, wrestled all who came
before him, but all those feats added seemed sma' compared to the kindness he showed me on my
first artistic start. I came according to contract, and painted my giant patron's portrait in my very best
style. If ever artist was in earnest to make a man look well I was the one. He lives yet; and so long as
I live he will have a place in the affections of one he cheered at the start of an up-hill race.
"Though to be rich was ne'er my wish, yet to be great was charming," saith the poet. The same
idea haunted me; but then there is a heavy outside current, against which pedestrians on the road
to fame have to struggle. Having finished Hall, my next patrons in Eaglesham were Robert Turnbull
the baker and his wife. They were a decent couple of patrons. I was at home with them. Turnbull
was a sharp business man, and one from whom I got some valuable hints. I was fortunate with this
undertaking also. He introduced me to a number of friends with the hope of an extension of
patronage, but the field was limited. In his house I met with a rare specimen of " a law-defying
blade,"-one who had been an active member of the smuggling fraternity, whose name I had often
heard mentioned in Dundonald by the old smugglers as " Bryson." He was always named as a man
of pith and determination. He had lost the power of his legs when I saw him. He was in the habit of
visiting Turnbull's every Thursday to dinner. I had been warned never to mind him, by way of taking
ill what he might say. We met at the dinner table. He was the very essence of thrawn obstinacy,
and suspicious of impostors going about. He asked what or wha I was, whaur I cam' frae, and what
business I had here. They told him that I was a painter from Kilmarnock. " Has he come to paint
the room?" Yes, he's gaun to paint in the room. " I maun see what he has been doing. " So he
crawled on his twa staffs as weel as he could, and after looking well at the walls of the room, he
said, "I don't know a bit o' difference, sir, by what it was before; and will you charge the folk for a job
o' that kind ?" I said, " Yes. " " Then, sir, I can tell you that you are an impostor, come frae whaur
you like."
I had got some of the old man's history from his granddaughter before he came; so I told him that I
had been brought up amang queer characters awa doun about Dundonald. "Feth," quo he, "there
were some clever chields there; did ye ken Jock Macadam ?" " O yes, and Basil Blair, and Willie
Gibson o' Symington, and Willie Gibson and Jamie Gibson at Dundonald ?" " Lord, man!"
exclaimed the old man at the end of every name. " And auld Lowrie Weir, Lowrie Cockburn, John
Lees, Tam Young, and Robin Fullarton, auld David Blair and John Wilson, and last, but not least,
auld Rab Fulton. " "Lord, man, ye hae been acquaint wi' the verra pick o' men ! O man, I kent them
a', and mony mair that were dead afore ye were born." I asked if he had ever heard o' the battle o'
the Roddlerig. " Lord, man, I was there. I was in the service o' Matthew Kay at that time. Man, he
wad hae faced the deevil himsel'. He unhorsed a gauger that day, and galloped his horse at him
twice to tramp the guts out o' him, but the horse jamp o'er him, and, man, he fell't the beast wi' a
stick, the same stick that he thrush the gauger aff his horse wi', although the gauger had a sword.
What cared we for their swords ? we could kep a thrust or a blow as weel as them; and when they
got ae clink frae a stick, they seldom sought a second. "
The old man forgot that he was lame, and became so inspired with the description of his prowess in
contraband traffic, and the tremendous feats of horsemanship for speed and daring performed with
some big black horse on which he rode, that he sprang from the seat on which he sat and fell flat
on the fioor, saying, as he was lifted, "Lord, man, I haena had sic a treat for mony a day."
He gave some details of the life of Matthew Hay, which were only what I had heard before from
those who knew him. All agreed that he was a brave man, but willfu', and liked to hae a' things his
ain way. He died suddenly at Ayr on the 18th October, 1784, a rope being used as the means of
cutting his connection with the ways of our world. He was launched into space, having been
charged with the crime of murder.
I told the old man that I had seen Matthew's grave opened thirty-two years after his death, and that
he had set the ordinary law of nature at nought; having, instead of dust, returned to sea sand. A
mock funeral had taken place to please some friends. His body having been given for dissection, it
was attempted to be had from the doctors for a sum of money; but they seemed intent on keeping
him, and recommended that the form would do without the substance, so the weight of sand was
essential to counterfeit clay. The old bellman, who put him in the grave, had got a taste of the
poison, both he and his wife; yet they both survived, and were in life at this time. The old bellman
would fain have kept the matter of the sand a secret, yet he could not refrain from coming to our
garret and stating that a great problem had been solved. That Matthew Hay had returned to sea
sand: about one inch in depth lay upon the bottom of the coffin. John Rowat only was to be
intrusted with the secret; but James, faithful to the public weal, started with the intelligence, so that
it was not long till the grave was besieged with anxious enquirers. I was there before the bellman,
and had a specimen of the sand home with me.
My next job in Eaglesham was a signboard for another decent man, who kept a public house. He
came to me one day and stated that he would like such a thing, and he thought that I could do it. I
said no, that I could not letter the sign; I might do the rest. He thought that I could do it in a day,
and for that he would give me nine shillings, which was as good as making half-a-dozen pairs of
shoes. I was to board with him. When I wanted to know what was to go on the signboard, he said
that he wished it kept quiet till it was put up, and it would be put up at night, ready to be seen in the
morning. The history ran thus,-When he was a laddie his granny was proud about him, and the
highest point of beauty she saw in him was his long neck; so one day he was coming home from
school along with some other boys, when granny, glad to see him, said, " There he comes wi' a
neck like a swan !" The boys heard the word, and kept it up; in short, it was a new baptism, for ever
after they ca'd him Jock Swan. So he said that he wished to let the public see that he was proud of
the title, and the SWAN was to be painted in full feather. I went into Glasgow and took a sketch of
the old swan in the Gorbals; it was the model. I came home to Eaglesham that night, and next day
the Swan was painted, and the following morning floated above the door.
I had now passed four weeks in Eaglesham. My first patron, the publican, had not yet paid his bill.
Three months passed before I got the pound, and it was only by threatening him with the law that
he paid that; the ten shillings, with thirty-five years' interest, remains yet unpaid. It had this effect on
me. I resolved, whatever the extent of my practice might be, never to court public-house patronage.
I have kept my vow sacred, although many a respectable publican have I been patronised by since.
I left the place on a Saturday afternoon, the field being exhausted. I had been home every Saturday,
and strange feelings were afloat. Cholera at that time had made its appearance in Kilmarnock. It
came from Paisley with Petrie's caravan on the 7th July, 1832. I was anxious through the week. Life
seemed at double hazard. I felt that uncertainty more vivid than ever I had done before. Between
Eaglesham and Kingswell there is a breadth of moorland full of solitary beauty. I halted at a point
where there was no abode of man in view or mark of civilisation. Yet in this wild and dreary expanse
a few cattle fed, sheep grazed in quiet, and the evening sun shed his rays kindly and mellow over
all. I stood and enjoyed this seeming scene of being alone in the world, and asked myself what Art
could do for me in such circumstances. I found that the sheep or cattle would be more independent,
and more in harmony with nature, than I was. I even wondered where my next patrons would come
from, or where I would go to find them.
I had often thought of Irvine as a field, but to get an introduction was a difficulty. I had once, before
the Great Reform Demonstration, gone to Irvine, along with an acquaintance, canvassing for flags
and sashes for the grand meeting which took place on Irvine moor. The only men I knew there were
James Harvey, captain of the Nancies, a brig for coal traffic; Robert Orr, pilot; and Robert Wylie,
harbour-master. They had interested themselves to get flags to paint, and in my mind represented
the men of Irvine. I painted a flag for the sailors, with Hope and an Anchor.
Even in this solitude I have more ground for hope than a sailor on sea. Turning my eye toward
Drumbowie hill, I saw a speck like a man's head rise against the pure sky. It rose progressively till
the figure of a man was visible, moving along the line of the old road to Kilmarnock. I might be two
miles from him, and we were both two miles from Kingswell. I said to myself there is hope even
here; I may get yon traveller as my next sitter. I'll catch him at Kingswell, and give him a chance for
it. By smart walking and sometimes running I met at the junction as if by tryst. He was a tall,
goodlooking young man, and going at four miles an hour. I spoke first of the weather and crops,
wishing to know how they looked where he had been. He had been at Perth and Dunkeld, and
spoke of the beauty of the seenery as if he had known me to be an artist. We walked the first four
miles in the hour, during which time I had fished with questions of all shapes I could think of to see
if I could discover what position my travelling companion held in the world. I had named my past,
present, and future intentions as far as I could see. In Fenwick I told him that I had given him every
chance to tell what he was, and that he had carefully evaded every chance by answering every
question so positive, that I had to commence anew at every attack. " Now, sir, you have only two
chances left-that is a schoolmaster and a would-be preacher." " Why did you not guess that
before this time !" I said that I rather wished himself to say so, if he was. "Then," said he, "I am
both: I am licensed to preach, and I teach a school." We began to discuss so many
subjects by the way, that we were often standing face to face across the road instead of moving
forward. When we came to the Tontine Corner at the Cross of Kilmarnock, he said, " Now, I go this
way." While shaking hands to say good night, he said with some pith, " My name's Scott; I keep a
school at Daniel Montgomerie's, Back Row, Irvine. The first time you are down, bring a canvass,
stay a week with me, and take my likeness ! " Such was the fact, and such were his words. I
looked at him, and after him, and wished that I could conceal myself like him. However, I found
afterwards that he could be as communicative as myself; but he said that he had a pleasure that
night in watching how ingeniously I tried to fish him out. It was not long till I was his guest, and he
my first patron as a portrait painter in Irvine. He used me every way like a gentleman; and, without
finding fault with my performance, like many others thought I was short of his good looks. He had
studied his face well, and could tell every feature in the field of it. Through him I became acquaint
with the Rev. Mr Campbell of the Secession Church, and Mr M'Quistan, printer, thus adding other
two to the already named three. This was enlarging the circle. Mr Scott is still preaching at
Dumfries.