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 Great City
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 differentfrom 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
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 Great City
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 differentfrom 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
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