The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson – Swanston Edition. Volume 9

    “June – .

“The Alexandria cable has again failed; after paying out two-thirds of the distance successfully, an unlucky touch in deep water snapped the line. Luckily the accident occurred in Mr. Liddell’s watch. Though personally it may not really concern me, the accident weighs like a personal misfortune. Still, I am glad I was present: a failure is probably more instructive than a success; and this experience may enable us to avoid misfortune in still greater undertakings.

    “June – .

“We left Syra the morning after our arrival on Saturday the 4th. This we did (first) because we were in a hurry to do something, and (second) because, coming from Alexandria, we had four days’ quarantine to perform. We were all mustered along the side while the doctor counted us; the letters were popped into a little tin box and taken away to be smoked; the guardians put on board to see that we held no communication with the shore – without them we should still have had four more days’ quarantine; and with twelve Greek sailors besides, we started merrily enough picking up the Canea cable… To our utter dismay, the yarn covering began to come up quite decayed, and the cable, which when laid should have borne half a ton, was now in danger of snapping with a tenth part of that strain. We went as slow as possible in fear of a break at every instant. My watch was from eight to twelve in the morning, and during that time we had barely secured three miles of cable. Once it broke inside the ship, but I seized hold of it in time – the weight being hardly anything – and the line for the nonce was saved. Regular nooses were then planted inboard with men to draw them taut, should the cable break inboard. A – , who should have relieved me, was unwell, so I had to continue my look-out; and about one o’clock the line again parted, but was again caught in the last noose, with about four inches to spare. Five minutes afterwards it again parted, and was yet once more caught. Mr. Liddell (whom I had called) could stand this no longer; so we buoyed the line and ran into a bay in Siphano, waiting for calm weather, though I was by no means of opinion that the slight sea and wind had been the cause of our failures. – All next day (Monday) we lay off Siphano, amusing ourselves on shore with fowling-pieces and navy revolvers. I need not say we killed nothing; and luckily we did not wound any of ourselves. A guardiano accompanied us, his functions being limited to preventing actual contact with the natives, for they might come as near, and talk as much as they pleased. These isles of Greece are sad, interesting places. They are not really barren all over, but they are quite destitute of verdure; and tufts of thyme, wild mastic or mint, though they sound well, are not nearly so pretty as grass. Many little churches, glittering white, dot the islands; most of them, I believe, abandoned during the whole year, with the exception of one day sacred to their patron saint. The villages are mean, but the inhabitants do not look wretched, and the men are good sailors. There is something in this Greek race yet; they will become a powerful Levantine nation in the course of time. – What a lovely moonlight evening that was! the barren island cutting the clear sky with fantastic outline, marble cliffs on either hand fairly gleaming over the calm sea. Next day, the wind still continuing, I proposed a boating excursion, and decoyed A – , L – , and S – into accompanying me. We took the little gig, and sailed away merrily enough round a point to a beautiful white bay, flanked with two glistening little churches, fronted by beautiful distant islands; when suddenly, to my horror, I discovered the Elba steaming full speed out from the island. Of course we steered after her; but the wind that instant ceased, and we were left in a dead calm. There was nothing for it but to unship the mast, get out the oars and pull. The ship was nearly certain to stop at the buoy; and I wanted to learn how to take an oar, so here was a chance with a vengeance! L – steered, and we three pulled – a broiling pull it was about half way across to Palikandro; still we did come in, pulling an uncommon good stroke, and I had learned to hang on my oar. L – had pressed me to let him take my place; but though I was very tired at the end of the first quarter of an hour, and then every successive half hour, I would not give in. I nearly paid dear for my obstinacy, however; for in the evening I had alternate fits of shivering and burning.”

III

The next extracts, and I am sorry to say the last, are from Fleeming’s letters of 1860, when he was back at Bona and Spartivento, and for the first time at the head of an expedition. Unhappily these letters are not only the last, but the series is quite imperfect; and this is the more to be lamented as he had now begun to use a pen more skilfully, and in the following notes there is at times a touch of real distinction in the manner.

    “Cagliari, October 5, 1860.

“All Tuesday I spent examining what was on board the Elba, and trying to start the repairs of the Spartivento land line, which has been entirely neglected – and no wonder, for no one has been paid for three months, no, not even the poor guards who have to keep themselves, their horses and their families, on their pay. Wednesday morning, I started for Spartivento, and got there in time to try a good many experiments. Spartivento looks more wild and savage than ever, but is not without a strange deadly beauty: the hills covered with bushes of a metallic green with coppery patches of soil in between; the valleys filled with dry salt mud and a little stagnant water; where that very morning the deer had drunk, where herons, curlews, and other fowl abound, and where, alas! malaria is breeding with this rain. (No fear for those who do not sleep on shore.) A little iron hut had been placed there since 1858; but the windows had been carried off, the door broken down, the roof pierced all over. In it we sat to make experiments; and how it recalled Birkenhead! There was Thomson, there was my testing-board, the strings of gutta-percha; Harry P – even battering with the batteries; but where was my darling Annie? Whilst I sat, feet in sand, with Harry alone inside the hut – mats, coats, and wood to darken the window – the others visited the murderous old friar, who is of the order of Scaloppi, and for whom I brought a letter from his superior, ordering him to pay us attention; but he was away from home, gone to Cagliari in a boat with the produce of the farm belonging to his convent. Then they visited the tower of Chia, but could not get in because the door is thirty feet off the ground; so they came back and pitched a magnificent tent which I brought from the Bahiana a long time ago – and where they will live (if I mistake not) in preference to the friar’s or the owl- and bat-haunted tower. MM. T – and S – will be left there: T – an intelligent, hard-working Frenchman with whom I am well pleased; he can speak English and Italian well, and has been two years at Genoa. S – is a French German with a face like an ancient Gaul, who has been sergeant-major in the French line, and who is, I see, a great, big, muscular fainéant. We left the tent pitched and some stores in charge of a guide, and ran back to Cagliari.

“Certainly being at the head of things is pleasanter than being subordinate. We all agree very well; and I have made the testing office into a kind of private room, where I can come and write to you undisturbed, surrounded by my dear, bright brass things which all of them remind me of our nights at Birkenhead. Then I can work here too, and try lots of experiments; you know how I like that! and now and then I read – Shakespeare principally. Thank you so much for making me bring him: I think I must get a pocket edition of Hamlet and Henry the Fifth, so as never to be without them.

    “Cagliari, October 7.

“[The town was full?] … of red-shirted English Garibaldini. A very fine-looking set of fellows they are too: the officers rather raffish, but with medals, Crimean and Indian; the men a very sturdy set, with many lads of good birth I should say. They still wait their consort the Emperor, and will, I fear, be too late to do anything. I meant to have called on them, but they are all gone into barracks some way from the town, and I have been much too busy to go far.

“The view from the ramparts was very strange and beautiful. Cagliari rises on a very steep rock, at the mouth of a wide plain circled by large hills and three-quarters filled with lagoons; it looks, therefore, like an old island citadel. Large heaps of salt mark the border between the sea and the lagoons; thousands of flamingoes whiten the centre of the huge shallow marsh; hawks hover and scream among the trees under the high mouldering battlements. – A little lower down, the band played. Men and ladies bowed and pranced, the costumes posed, church bells tinkled, processions processed, the sun set behind thick clouds capping the hills; I pondered on you and enjoyed it all.

“Decidedly I prefer being master to being man: boats at all hours, stewards flying for marmalade, captain inquiring when ship is to sail, clerks to copy my writing, the boat to steer when we go out – I have run her nose on several times; decidedly, I begin to feel quite a little king. Confound the cable, though! I shall never be able to repair it.

    “Bona, October 14.

“We left Cagliari at 4.30 on the 9th, and soon got to Spartivento. I repeated some of my experiments, but found Thomson, who was to have been my grand stand-by, would not work on that day in the wretched little hut. Even if the windows and door had been put in, the wind, which was very high, made the lamp flicker about and blew it out; so I sent on board and got old sails, and fairly wrapped the hut up in them; and then we were as snug as could be, and I left the hut in glorious condition, with a nice little stove in it. The tent which should have been forthcoming from the curé’s for the guards had gone to Cagliari; but I found another, [a] green, Turkish tent, in the Elba, and soon had him up. The square tent left on the last occasion was standing all right and tight in spite of wind and rain. We landed provisions, two beds, plates, knives, forks, candles, cooking utensils, and were ready for a start at 6 p. m.; but the wind meanwhile had come on to blow at such a rate that I thought better of it, and we stopped. T – and S – slept ashore, however, to see how they liked it; at least they tried to sleep, for S – , the ancient sergeant-major, had a toothache, and T – thought the tent was coming down every minute. Next morning they could only complain of sand and a leaky coffee-pot, so I leave them with a good conscience. The little encampment looked quite picturesque: the green round tent, the square white tent, and the hut all wrapped up in sails, on a sandhill, looking on the sea and masking those confounded marshes at the back. One would have thought the Cagliaritans were in a conspiracy to frighten the two poor fellows, who (I believe) will be safe enough if they do not go into the marshes after nightfall. S – brought a little dog to amuse them, – such a jolly, ugly little cur without a tail, but full of fun; he will be better than quinine.

“The wind drove a barque, which had anchored near us for shelter, out to sea. We started, however, at 2 p. m., and had a quick passage, but a very rough one, getting to Bona by daylight [on the 11th]. Such a place as this is for getting anything done! The health boat went away from us at 7.30 with W – on board; and we heard nothing of them till 9.30, when W – came back with two fat Frenchmen, who are to look on on the part of the Government. They are exactly alike: only one has four bands and the other three round his cap, and so I know them. Then I sent a boat round to Fort Gênois [Fort Geneva of 1858], where the cable is landed, with all sorts of things and directions, whilst I went ashore to see about coals and a room at the fort. We hunted people in the little square, in their shops and offices, but only found them in cafés. One amiable gentleman wasn’t up at 9.30, was out at 10, and as soon as he came back the servant said he would go to bed and not get up till 3: he came however to find us at a café, and said that, on the contrary, two days in the week he did not do so! Then my two fat friends must have their breakfast after their ‘something’ at a café; and all the shops shut from 10 to 2; and the post does not open till 12; and there was a road to Fort Gênois, only a bridge had been carried away, etc. At last I got off, and we rowed round to Fort Gênois, where my men had put up a capital gipsy tent with sails, and there was my big board and Thomson’s number 5 in great glory. I soon came to the conclusion there was a break. Two of my faithful Cagliaritans slept all night in the little tent, to guard it and my precious instruments; and the sea, which was rather rough, silenced my Frenchmen.

“Next day I went on with my experiments, whilst a boat grappled for the cable a little way from shore, and buoyed it where the Elba could get hold. I brought all back to the Elba, tried my machinery, and was all ready for a start next morning. But the wretched coal had not come yet; Government permission from Algiers to be got; lighters, men, baskets, and I know not what forms to be got or got through – and everybody asleep! Coals or no coals, I was determined to start next morning; and start we did at four in the morning, picked up the buoy with our deck-engine, popped the cable across a boat, tested the wires to make sure the fault was not behind us, and started picking up at 11. Everything worked admirably, and about 2 p. m. in came the fault. There is no doubt the cable was broken by coral-fishers; twice they have had it up to their own knowledge.

“Many men have been ashore to-day and have come back tipsy, and the whole ship is in a state of quarrel from top to bottom, and they will gossip just within my hearing. And we have had moreover three French gentlemen and a French lady to dinner, and I had to act host and try to manage the mixtures to their taste. The good-natured little Frenchwoman was most amusing; when I asked her if she would have some apple tart – ‘Mon Dieu,’ with heroic resignation, ‘je veux bien’; or a little plombodding– ‘Mais ce que vous voudrez, Monsieur!’

    “SS. Elba, somewhere not far from Bona, Oct. 19.

“Yesterday [after three previous days of useless grappling] was destined to be very eventful. We began dredging at daybreak, and hooked at once every time in rocks; but by capital luck, just as we were deciding it was no use to continue in that place, we hooked the cable: up it came, was tested, and lo! another complete break, a quarter of a mile off. I was amazed at my own tranquillity under these disappointments, but I was not really half so fussy as about getting a cab. Well, there was nothing for it but grappling again, and, as you may imagine, we were getting about six miles from shore. But the water did not deepen rapidly; we seemed to be on the crest of a kind of submarine mountain in prolongation of Cape de Gonde, and pretty havoc we must have made with the crags. What rocks we did hook! No sooner was the grapnel down than the ship was anchored; and then came such a business: ship’s engines going, deck-engine thundering, belt slipping, fear of breaking ropes: actually breaking grapnels. It was always an hour or more before we could get the grapnel down again. At last we had to give up the place, though we knew we were close to the cable, and go farther to sea in much deeper water; to my great fear, as I knew the cable was much eaten away and would stand but little strain. Well, we hooked the cable first dredge this time, and pulled it slowly and gently to the top, with much trepidation. Was it the cable? was there any weight on? it was evidently too small. Imagine my dismay when the cable did come up, but hanging loosely, thus:

instead of taut, thus:

showing certain signs of a break close by. For a moment I felt provoked, as I thought ‘Here we are, in deep water, and the cable will not stand lifting!’ I tested at once, and by the very first wire found it had broken towards shore and was good towards sea. This was of course very pleasant: but from that time to this, though the wires test very well, not a signal has come from Spartivento. I got the cable into a boat, and a gutta-percha line from the ship to the boat, and we signalled away at a great rate – but no signs of life. The tests however make me pretty sure one wire at least is good; so I determined to lay down cable from where we were to the shore, and go to Spartivento to see what had happened there. I fear my men are ill. The night was lovely, perfectly calm; so we lay close to the boat and signals were continually sent, but with no result. This morning I had the cable down to Fort Gênois in style; and now we are picking up odds and ends of cable between the different breaks, and getting our buoys on board, etc. To-morrow I expect to leave for Spartivento.”

IV

And now I am quite at an end of journal-keeping; diaries and diary letters being things of youth which Fleeming had at length outgrown. But one or two more fragments from his correspondence may be taken, and first this brief sketch of the laying of the Norderney cable; mainly interesting as showing under what defects of strength and in what extremities of pain this cheerful man must at times continue to go about his work.

“I slept on board 29th September, having arranged everything to start by daybreak from where we lay in the roads: but at daybreak a heavy mist hung over us so that nothing of land or water could be seen. At midday it lifted suddenly, and away we went with perfect weather, but could not find the buoys Forde left, that evening. I saw the captain was not strong in navigation, and took matters next day much more into my own hands, and before nine o’clock found the buoys (the weather had been so fine we had anchored in the open sea near Texel). It took us till the evening to reach the buoys, get the cable on board, test the first half, speak to Lowestoft, make the splice, and start. H – had not finished his work at Norderney, so I was alone on board for Reuter. Moreover the buoys to guide us in our course were not placed, and the captain had very vague ideas about keeping his course; so I had to do a good deal, and only lay down as I was for two hours in the night. I managed to run the course perfectly. Everything went well, and we found Norderney just where we wanted it next afternoon, and if the shore-end had been laid, could have finished there and then, October 1st. But when we got to Norderney, we found the Caroline with shore-end lying apparently aground, and could not understand her signals; so we had to anchor suddenly, and I went off in a small boat with the captain to the Caroline. It was cold by this time, and my arm was rather stiff, and I was tired; I hauled myself up on board the Caroline by a rope, and found H – and two men on board. All the rest were trying to get the shore-end on shore, but had failed, and apparently had stuck on shore, and the waves were getting up. We had anchored in the right place, and next morning we hoped the shore-end would be laid, so we had only to go back. It was of course still colder, and quite night. I went to bed and hoped to sleep, but, alas, the rheumatism got into the joints and caused me terrible pain, so that I could not sleep. I bore it as long as I could in order to disturb no one, for all were tired; but at last I could bear it no longer, and I managed to wake the steward, and got a mustard poultice, which took the pain from the shoulder; but then the elbow got very bad, and I had to call the second steward and get a second poultice, and then it was daylight, and I felt very ill and feverish. The sea was now rather rough – too rough rather for small boats, but luckily a sort of thing called a scoot came out, and we got on board her with some trouble, and got on shore after a good tossing about, which made us all sea-sick. The cable sent from the Caroline was just 60 yards too short, and did not reach the shore, so although the Caroline did make the splice late that night, we could neither test nor speak. Reuter was at Norderney, and I had to do the best I could, which was not much, and went to bed early; I thought I should never sleep again, but in sheer desperation got up in the middle of the night and gulped a lot of raw whisky, and slept at last. But not long. A Mr. F – washed my face and hands and dressed me; and we hauled the cable out of the sea, and got it joined to the telegraph station, and on October 3rd telegraphed to Lowestoft first, and then to London. Miss Clara Volkman, a niece of Mr. Reuter’s, sent the first message to Mrs. Reuter, who was waiting (Varley used Miss Clara’s hand as a kind of key), and I sent one of the first messages to Odden. I thought a message addressed to him would not frighten you, and that he would enjoy a message through papa’s cable. I hope he did. They were all very merry, but I had been so lowered by pain that I could not enjoy myself in spite of the success.”

V

Of the 1869 cruise in the Great Eastern I give what I am able; only sorry it is no more, for the sake of the ship itself, already almost a legend even to the generation that saw it launched.

“June 17, 1869.– Here are the names of our staff, in whom I expect you to be interested, as future Great Eastern stories may be full of them; Theophilus Smith, a man of Latimer Clark’s; Leslie C. Hill, my prizeman at University College; Lord Sackville Cecil; King, one of the Thomsonian Kings; Laws, goes for Willoughby Smith, who will also be on board; Varley, Clark, and Sir James Anderson, make up the sum of all you know anything of. A Captain Halpin commands the big ship. There are four smaller vessels. The Wm. Cory, which laid the Norderney cable, has already gone to St. Pierre to lay the shore-ends. The Hawk and Chiltern have gone to Brest to lay shore-ends. The Hawk and Scanderia go with us across the Atlantic, and we shall at St. Pierre be transhipped into one or the other.

“June 18, somewhere in London.– The shore-end is laid, as you may have seen, and we are all under pressing orders to march, so we start from London to-night at 5.10.

“June 20, off Ushant.– I am getting quite fond of the big ship. Yesterday morning in the quiet sunlight she turned so slowly and lazily in the great harbour at Portland, and by and by slipped out past the long pier with so little stir, that I could hardly believe we were really off. No men drunk, no women crying, no singing or swearing, no confusion or bustle on deck – nobody apparently aware that they had anything to do. The look of the thing was that the ship had been spoken to civilly, and had kindly undertaken to do everything that was necessary without any further interference. I have a nice cabin, with plenty of room for my legs in my berth, and have slept two nights like a top. Then we have the ladies’ cabin set apart as an engineer’s office, and I think this decidedly the nicest place in the ship: 35 ft. × 20 ft. broad – four tables, three great mirrors, plenty of air, and no heat from the funnels, which spoil the great dining-room. I saw a whole library of books on the walls when here last, and this made me less anxious to provide light literature; but alas, to-day I find that they are every one Bibles or Prayer-books. Now one cannot read many hundred Bibles… As for the motion of the ship, it is not very much, but ‘twill suffice. Thomson shook hands and wished me well. I do like Thomson… Tell Austin that the Great Eastern has six masts and four funnels. When I get back I will make a little model of her for all the chicks, and pay out cotton reels… Here we are at 4.20 at Brest. We leave probably to-morrow morning.

“July 12, Great Eastern.– Here as I write we run our last course for the buoy at the St. Pierre shore-end. It blows and lightens, and our good ship rolls, and buoys are hard to find; but we must soon now finish our work, and then this letter will start for home… Yesterday we were mournfully groping our way through the wet grey fog, not at all sure where we were, with one consort lost and the other faintly answering the roar of our great whistle through the mist. As to the ship which was to meet us, and pioneer us up the deep channel, we did not know if we should come within twenty miles of her; when suddenly up went the fog, out came the sun, and there, straight ahead, was the Wm. Cory, our pioneer, and a little dancing boat, the Gulnare, sending signals of welcome with many-coloured flags. Since then we have been steaming in a grand procession; but now at 2 a. m. the fog has fallen, and the great roaring whistle calls up the distant answering notes all around us. Shall we or shall we not find the buoy?

“July 13.– All yesterday we lay in the damp dripping fog, with whistles all round and guns firing so that we might not bump up against one another. This little delay has let us get our reports into tolerable order. We are now, at seven o’clock, getting the cable end again, with the main cable buoy close to us.”

A telegram of July 20.– “I have received your four welcome letters. The Americans are charming people.”

VI

And here, to make an end, are a few random bits about the cruise to Pernambuco: —

“Plymouth, June 21, 1873.– I have been down to the seashore and smelt the salt sea, and like it; and I have seen the Hooper pointing her great bow seaward, while light smoke rises from her funnels, telling that the fires are being lighted; and sorry as I am to be without you, something inside me answers to the call to be off and doing.

“Lalla Rookh, Plymouth, June 22.– We have been a little cruise in the yacht over to the Eddystone lighthouse, and my sea-legs seem very well on. Strange how alike all these starts are – first on shore, steaming hot days with a smell of bone-dust and tar and salt water; then the little puffing, panting steam-launch, that bustles out across a port with green woody sides, little yachts sliding about, men-of-war training-ships, and then a great big black hulk of a thing with a mass of smaller vessels sticking to it like parasites; and that is one’s home being coaled. Then comes the champagne lunch, where every one says all that is polite to every one else, and then the uncertainty when to start. So far as we know now, we are to start to-morrow morning at daybreak; letters that come later are to be sent to Pernambuco by first mail… My father has sent me the heartiest sort of Jack Tar’s cheer.

“SS. Hooper, off Funchal, June 29.– Here we are, off Madeira at seven o’clock in the morning. Thomson has been sounding with his special toy ever since half-past three (1087 fathoms of water). I have been watching the day break, and long jagged islands start into being out of the dull night. We are still some miles from land; but the sea is calmer than Loch Eil often was, and the big Hooper rests very contentedly after a pleasant voyage and favourable breezes. I have not been able to do any real work except the testing [of the cable], for, though not sea-sick, I get a little giddy when I try to think on board… The ducks have just had their daily souse and are quacking and gabbling in a mighty way outside the door of the captain’s deck cabin, where I write. The cocks are crowing, and new-laid eggs are said to be found in the coops. Four mild oxen have been untethered and allowed to walk along the broad iron decks – a whole drove of sheep seem quite content while licking big lumps of bay salt. Two exceedingly impertinent goats lead the cook a perfect life of misery. They steal round the galley and will nibble the carrots or turnips if his back is turned for one minute; and then he throws something at them and misses them; and they scuttle off laughing impudently, and flick one ear at him from a safe distance. This is the most impudent gesture I ever saw. Winking is nothing to it. The ear normally hangs down behind; the goat turns sideways to her enemy – by a little knowing cock of the head flicks one ear over one eye, and squints from behind it, for half a minute – tosses her head back, skips a pace or two further off, and repeats the manœuvre. The cook is very fat, and cannot run after that goat much.

“Pernambuco, Aug. 1.– We landed here yesterday, all well and cable sound, after a good passage… I am on familiar terms with cocoa-nuts, mangoes, and bread-fruit trees, but I think I like the negresses best of anything I have seen. In turbans and loose sea-green robes, with beautiful black-brown complexions and a stately carriage, they really are a satisfaction to my eye. The weather has been windy and rainy; the Hooper has to lie about a mile from the town, in an open roadstead, with the whole swell of the Atlantic driving straight on shore. The little steam-launch gives all who go in her a good ducking, as she bobs about on the big rollers; and my old gymnastic practice stands me in good stead on boarding and leaving her. We clamber down a rope-ladder hanging from the high stern, and then, taking a rope in one hand, swing into the launch at the moment when she can contrive to steam up under us – bobbing about like an apple thrown into a tub all the while. The President of the province and his suite tried to come off to a State luncheon on board on Sunday; but the launch, being rather heavily laden, behaved worse than usual, and some green seas stove in the President’s hat and made him wetter than he had probably ever been in his life; so after one or two rollers, he turned back; and indeed he was wise to do so, for I don’t see how he could have got on board… Being fully convinced that the world will not continue to go round unless I pay it personal attention, I must run away to my work.”

CHAPTER VI

1869-1885

Edinburgh – Colleagues —Farrago vitæ– I. The family circle – Fleeming and his sons – Highland life – The cruise of the steam-launch – Summer in Styria – Rustic manners – II. The drama – Private theatricals – III. Sanitary associations – The phonograph – IV. Fleeming’s acquaintance with a student – His late maturity of mind – Religion and morality – His love of heroism – Taste in literature – V. His talk – His late popularity – Letter from M. Trélat

The remaining external incidents of Fleeming’s life, pleasures, honours, fresh interests, new friends, are not such as will bear to be told at any length or in the temporal order. And it is now time to lay narration by, and to look at the man he was, and the life he lived, more largely.

Edinburgh, which was thenceforth to be his home, is a metropolitan small town; where college professors and the lawyers of the Parliament House give the tone, and persons of leisure, attracted by educational advantages, make up much of the bulk of society. Not, therefore, an unlettered place, yet not pedantic, Edinburgh will compare favourably with much larger cities. A hard and disputatious element has been commented on by strangers: it would not touch Fleeming, who was himself regarded, even in this metropolis of disputation, as a thorny table-mate. To golf unhappily he did not take, and golf is a cardinal virtue in the city of the winds. Nor did he become an archer of the Queen’s Body Guard, which is the Chiltern Hundreds of the distasted golfer. He did not even frequent the Evening Club, where his colleague Tait (in my day) was so punctual and so genial. So that in some ways he stood outside of the lighter and kindlier life of his new home. I should not like to say that he was generally popular; but there, as elsewhere, those who knew him well enough to love him, loved him well. And he, upon his side, liked a place where a dinner-party was not of necessity unintellectual, and where men stood up to him in argument.

The presence of his old classmate, Tait,[25 - Robert Lawson Tait (1845-1899). – Ed.] was one of his early attractions to the Chair; and now that Fleeming is gone again, Tait still remains, ruling and really teaching his great classes. Sir Robert Christison was an old friend of his mother’s; Sir Alexander Grant, Kelland, and Sellar were new acquaintances, and highly valued; and these too, all but the last,[26 - William Young Sellar (1825-1890). – Ed.] have been taken from their friends and labours. Death has been busy in the Senatus. I will speak elsewhere of Fleeming’s demeanour to his students; and it will be enough to add here that his relations with his colleagues in general were pleasant to himself.

Edinburgh, then, with its society, its University work, its delightful scenery and its skating in the winter, was thenceforth his base of operations. But he shot meanwhile erratic in many directions: twice to America, as we have seen, on telegraph voyages; continually to London on business; often to Paris; year after year to the Highlands to shoot, to fish, to learn reels and Gaelic, to make the acquaintance and fall in love with the character of Highlanders; and once to Styria, to hunt chamois and dance with peasant maidens. All the while he was pursuing the course of his electrical studies, making fresh inventions, taking up the phonograph, filled with theories of graphic representation; reading, writing, publishing, founding sanitary associations, interested in technical education, investigating the laws of metre, drawing, acting, directing private theatricals, going a long way to see an actor – a long way to see a picture; in the very bubble of the tideway of contemporary interests. And all the while he was busied about his father and mother, his wife, and in particular his sons; anxiously watching, anxiously guiding these, and plunging with his whole fund of youthfulness into their sports and interests. And all the while he was himself maturing – not in character or body, for these remained young – but in the stocked mind, in the tolerant knowledge of life and man, in pious acceptance of the universe. Here is a farrago for a chapter; here is a world of interests and activities, human, artistic, social, scientific, at each of which he sprang with impetuous pleasure, on each of which he squandered energy, the arrow drawn to the head, the whole intensity of his spirit bent, for the moment, on the momentary purpose. It was this that lent such unusual interest to his society, so that no friend of his can forget that figure of Fleeming coming charged with some new discovery: it is this that makes his character so difficult to represent. Our fathers, upon some difficult theme, would invoke the Muse; I can but appeal to the imagination of the reader. When I dwell upon some one thing, he must bear in mind it was only one of a score; that the unweariable brain was teeming at the very time with other thoughts; that the good heart had left no kind duty forgotten.

I

In Edinburgh, for a considerable time, Fleeming’s family, to three generations, was united: Mr. and Mrs. Austin at Hailes, Captain and Mrs. Jenkin in the suburb of Merchiston, Fleeming himself in the city. It is not every family that could risk with safety such close inter-domestic dealings; but in this also Fleeming was particularly favoured. Even the two extremes, Mr. Austin and the Captain, drew together. It is pleasant to find that each of the old gentlemen set a high value on the good looks of the other, doubtless also on his own; and a fine picture they made as they walked the green terrace at Hailes, conversing by the hour. What they talked of is still a mystery to those who knew them; but Mr. Austin always declared that on these occasions he learned much. To both of these families of elders due service was paid of attention; to both, Fleeming’s easy circumstances had brought joy; and the eyes of all were on the grandchildren. In Fleeming’s scheme of duties, those of the family stood first; a man was first of all a child, nor did he cease to be so, but only took on added obligations, when he became in turn a father. The care of his parents was always a first thought with him, and their gratification his delight. And the care of his sons, as it was always a grave subject of study with him, and an affair never neglected, so it brought him a thousand satisfactions. “Hard work they are,” as he once wrote, “but what fit work!” And again: “O, it’s a cold house where a dog is the only representative of a child!” Not that dogs were despised; we shall drop across the name of Jack, the harum-scarum Irish terrier, ere we have done; his own dog Plato went up with him daily to his lectures, and still (like other friends) feels the loss and looks visibly for the reappearance of his master; and Martin the cat Fleeming has himself immortalised, to the delight of Mr. Swinburne, in the columns of the Spectator. Indeed, there was nothing in which men take interest, in which he took not some; and yet always most in the strong human bonds, ancient as the race and woven of delights and duties.

He was even an anxious father; perhaps that is the part where optimism is hardest tested. He was eager for his sons; eager for their health, whether of mind or body; eager for their education; in that, I should have thought, too eager. But he kept a pleasant face upon all things, believed in play, loved it himself, shared boyishly in theirs, and knew how to put a face of entertainment upon business and a spirit of education into entertainment. If he was to test the progress of the three boys, this advertisement would appear in their little manuscript paper: – “Notice: The Professor of Engineering in the University of Edinburgh intends at the close of the scholastic year to hold examinations in the following subjects: (1) For boys in the fourth class of the Academy – Geometry and Algebra; (2) For boys at Mr. Henderson’s school – Dictation and Recitation; (3) For boys taught exclusively by their mothers – Arithmetic and Reading.” Prizes were given; but what prize would be so conciliatory as this boyish little joke? It may read thin here; it would smack racily in the playroom. Whenever his sons “started a new fad” (as one of them writes to me) they “had only to tell him about it, and he was at once interested, and keen to help.” He would discourage them in nothing unless it was hopelessly too hard for them; only, if there was any principle of science involved, they must understand the principle; and whatever was attempted, that was to be done thoroughly. If it was but play, if it was but a puppet-show they were to build, he set them the example of being no sluggard in play. When Frewen, the second son, embarked on the ambitious design to make an engine for a toy steamboat, Fleeming made him begin with a proper drawing – doubtless to the disgust of the young engineer; but once that foundation laid, helped in the work with unflagging gusto, “tinkering away,” for hours, and assisted at the final trial “in the big bath” with no less excitement than the boy. “He would take any amount of trouble to help us,” writes my correspondent. “We never felt an affair was complete till we had called him to see, and he would come at any time, in the middle of any work.” There was indeed one recognised play-hour, immediately after the despatch of the day’s letters; and the boys were to be seen waiting on the stairs until the mail should be ready and the fun could begin. But at no other time did this busy man suffer his work to interfere with that first duty to his children; and there is a pleasant tale of the inventive Master Frewen, engaged at the time upon a toy crane, bringing to the study where his father sat at work a half-wound reel that formed some part of his design, and observing, “Papa, you might finiss windin’ this for me; I am so very busy to-day.”

I put together here a few brief extracts from Fleeming’s letters, none very important in itself, but all together building up a pleasant picture of the father with his sons.