The Desperate Journey (6 page)

“We – we’d be willing to pay rent,” James said.

The landlord’s wrath subsided. It sounded as though the Highlander had some money, and that was all that mattered to
him.

“Twa shilling the week!” he said promptly, naming a sum twice the amount that Grannie Ferguson had paid.

“And if ye can pay that auld witch a sovereign to get into the place, maybe ye’d be willing to pay me, the rightful landlord, the same?”

There was nothing else for James to do, unless he wanted to carry his furniture down all the stairs. Reluctantly he parted with another sovereign and the landlord pocketed it.

“The rent’ll be due on Saturday,” he announced. “See ye have it ready!” and with that he turned on his heel and stumped down the stairs.

James began at once to look for work, but with the Irish incomers willing to work for very little money, there were far too many men going after far too few jobs. Nobody seemed to have any use for a man who had once been a farmer.

“Why not go and ask Mr McLaren,” Kate suggested. “He’s from the Highlands. Maybe he would know of work for you.”

Mr McLaren shook his head sadly when James appealed to him.

“There are many of my congregation who have come down from the Highlands like yourself and cannot find work. If you knew something about machinery, now? Do ye know anything of the new steam engines that are being used at the cotton factories to drive the spindles and weaving shuttles?”

James shook his head. “I know nothing of engines, though I’d be willing to learn. Is there no work you know of, minister? I’d put my hand to anything. I’m frightened of using up my little store of money and I’ve a wife and twa children to keep.”

“Children, have ye?” the minister asked. “What age are they?”

“Ten, rising eleven.”

“Ach, weel,
they
might get work at a cotton factory. They take bairns there to work with the spinning. They say it’s light work,
suitable for children. That might be some help.”

James looked at the minister earnestly. “It would be a shameful thing, sir, for an able-bodied man to have to depend on his bairns for his keep.”

“Doubtless, man, doubtless! But it might tide you over till you find work for yourself. Many Glasgow bairns go to work at
five
years old. You see, the employers would have to pay a lot more for adult labour. Children are cheaper.”

“All the same, I’d rather find work myself. If ye hear o’ anything, minister, will ye let me know, please?”

“Aye, I’ll do that, though I cannot hold out a lot of hope. I’ll write your name and address in my book, and I’ll visit you when my rounds take me to the Trongate,” the minister promised. “But see that you attend the kirk as ye should.”

James went back and told his family what the minister had said. To his surprise both Davie and Kirsty wished to go to work in the cotton mills.

“There’s nothing for us to do here, Father,” Davie said. “No cattle to herd and no crops to look after.”

“Not even hens to feed!” Kirsty added disconsolately.

“There’s nowhere to go fishing, either!” Davie added. “I fair miss our boat.” He sighed.

Kate, too, was not against the idea of the children going to work.

“Ye canna keep children indoors all day,” she said, “especially stirring bairns like ours, and I dinna like the notion of them wandering the streets. There’s no knowing what accident or wickedness might befall them there. Besides, we’ve never brought up our children to be idle. They’d be better to learn a useful trade.”

With misgivings, James Murray took his children to a cotton mill at Bridgeton. It was a building on two floors with many long windows. From it there came such a clatter of machinery that Kirsty shrank back.

“Whatever’s that terrible noise?” she asked.

“Just the machinery, Kirsty, that’s all,” Davie told her.

“Do we have to work with that horrible din in our ears all the day?”

“We’ll get used to it,” Davie said lightly, eager to see the new machinery.

The clangour increased as they went up a flight of steps into the mill. As they entered the room a blast of hot dust-laden air rushed out at them and the noise of the machinery almost deafened them. The fine fluff that rose from the machines set Kirsty coughing. Children, thin, pale and tired, stood by the machines, darting at them constantly to do some operation. James Murray felt a pang of misgiving as he looked for the overseer.

A grim-faced man stepped forward. “Weel, what is it? Do ye wish your bairns to be taken on?”

“Yes –” James hesitated. “I – I wondered if you’d got work for me too?”

“No! Only for bairns. What’s their age?”

“Ten, rising eleven. They’re twins.”

“Is their health good? The mill doctor will have to give them a certificate to say they’re fit for work.”

“They’ve never had an illness in their lives,” James said.

“Right! They can start at once and bring me a line from the doctor before the end of the week. No wages for three days while they’re learning, and after that, twa shillings the week, each. That’s as good wages as ye’ll get anywhere in Glasgow.”

“What time do they start in the morning?”

“Six o’clock sharp and no nonsense! Lazy bairns feel the weight o’ my hand. An hour off at twelve to eat their dinner and half an hour in the afternoon to eat their piece and they finish at half-past seven.”

“It’s a long time for young children to be standing by their
machines.” James looked troubled.

“Hoots, man! They soon get used to it. Ye’re lucky to get them taken on here, for the boss doesna let bairns do nightwork. Other mills do! The sooner they get started, the better. Hi, Maggie!” he called to a child smaller than Kirsty. “You take the lassie and show her how to piece the threads, and Tom, you find this lad a job alongside you.”

The children hurried away to the long lines of whirling spindles. The overseer turned to James and took the children’s names, then turned away. “Hi, you, Ben Guthrie!” he shouted. “What d’ye think ye’re doing, sitting down when my back’s turned?”

There was a frightened wail from the luckless Ben as the overseer advanced towards him, arm raised, and there was the sound of a strap descending. James Murray went away with a heavy heart.

Maggie took Kirsty towards the whirring spindles and shouted in her ear above the din of the machines, “Ye watch the bobbins for the thread breaking as it’s twisting on the spindle. If it breaks, ye stop the spindles with this lever, then twist the threads together again like this, and then pull the lever and start the machine again. That’s all there is to do, but watch ye don’t get your hand caught in the machinery.”

“What a lot of bobbins to watch!” Kirsty shouted back, bewildered.

“Aye, ye’ve got to keep on your toes all the time! There’s a thread snapped!
You
piece that one together like ye saw me doing.”

Kirsty fumbled and managed to twist the two ends together and start the frame spinning again. “Och! It makes me dizzy!” she cried.

“Ye’ll get used to it,” Maggie told her.

Davie was set to lift the bobbins from the machines as they filled and to set in new bobbins. His was a job of constant watching and fetching and carrying. All the time the overseer kept his eye on the
children all over the factory floor, and woe betide any who flagged in their efforts! He kept his strap in his hand, and it came down heavily on their shoulders.

When the whistle blew at twelve o’clock the machinery slowed down to a standstill and the children, jostling and shouting, poured out of the mill into the yard and found places where they could sit on the hard-trampled ground with their backs to a wall. Many of them wolfed down their “pieces” as fast as they could and fell asleep as they swallowed the last mouthful.

Davie and Kirsty had brought “pieces” with them of cheese and oatcake. They were unlucky in that they had not found places in the sun and the chill wind curled about their shoulders. Kirsty shivered.

“It’s awful cold after the heat inside the mill,” she said.

“Aren’t you going to eat your piece, Kirsty?”

“I – I just couldna, Davie. My mouth feels full o’ the fluff from the cotton, and my head aches so with the din o’ the machines.”

“Och, Kirsty, you must take a mouthful or two. It’s a long time to go without food till we get home tonight.” Davie looked anxiously at his twin. “Try, now!”

Kirsty took a bite or two, then stopped. “I can’t, Davie! It just chokes me. You eat it for me. If – if only I could have a drink –”

Just then Maggie Hunter came along. When she saw Kirsty’s white face, she stopped. “Are ye no’ weel, my lassie?” she asked.

“She might feel better if she could get a drink,” Davie said.

“You her brother? Here, then, take my cup!” Maggie produced a dirty cracked cup from her pocket. “There’s a pump near the boiler house if ye can get near to it.”

There was a queue of children waiting to draw water, but at last Davie got the cup filled and carefully carried it to Kirsty who drank thirstily.

“Will ye be able to go on with your work, Kirsty?” Davie asked.

“Of course she will! It’s the first time that’s the worst,” Maggie
Hunter declared. “It’ll no’ be as bad tomorrow. Ye can lean up against me, Kirsty, and shut your eyes for a wee while when the overseer’s at the other side o’ the mill.”

Somehow Kirsty managed to struggle through the rest of that day, though at times she was almost asleep on her feet. Maggie saw her through the day’s work, though every now and again she gave her arm a jog. “Wake up, Kirsty! Tak’ care ye dinna fall into the spindles! Here comes Mr Murdoch! Watch or he’ll lash at ye wi’ the strap!”

When the whistle blew at seven-thirty, Kirsty gasped, “Can we go home now, Maggie?”

“Not till we’ve cleaned the machinery and swept the floor. Come on, lassie, you get awa’ wi’ that brush while I take the dust off the spindles.”

At last they were free to go and Kirsty stumbled along from Bridgeton to the Trongate, helped by Davie. When at last they reached the close and the stair leading to their room, she sat down weakly.

“Oh, Davie, my legs willna carry me up all those stairs!”

“I’ll get my father to carry ye up,” Davie said.

By the time James Murray set her down on the bed, Kirsty was already fast asleep. Kate was unwilling to waken her at 4.30 next morning, but it had to be done if the children were to be at work in time.

“Your porridge is ready, Kirsty, but will ye manage to get to the mill today?” Kate asked anxiously.

“Yes, I’ll manage,” Kirsty said in a weary voice. “Maggie Hunter says you get used to it as ye go on. Besides, you’ll need our wages.”

“Aye, my lassie, more’s the pity!” Kate said unhappily. “It’s a sad day when we’ve got to depend on our bairns for our bread. It was never like that at Culmailie.”

In the months that followed the children got more hardened to
work in the mill, though Kirsty became pale and thin and lost some of her gay spirit. Their wages at least paid the rent and kept the family in oatmeal and salt herring and cheese. Mr McLaren was able to find Kate work cleaning in a big house for a shilling a week. Sometimes the lady for whom she worked gave her leftover food and that helped too, though there was never quite enough money for all their needs. Every now and again James had to dip into their small store of money to buy things like shoes, for the children could not run barefoot as they had done at Culmailie, though they often worked barefoot in the mill.

Once the children were in danger of losing their jobs at the mill. It happened one morning when Kirsty had chilblains on her feet and could not run. As they approached the mill they heard the big bell that meant everyone had to be inside and ready to start work. The door was just closed as they reached the mill, but Davie, greatly daring, thrust it open, hoping they would he able to reach their places without the overseer noticing them. It so happened he was standing where Kirsty would have to pass him.

“Late, are ye?” he shouted, “Trying to sneak past me, were you?” The strap descended heavily on Kirsty’s thin shoulders. Davie clenched his fists and rushed up to the overseer. “Don’t you dare touch my sister again!” he cried.

The overseer’s arm was raised threateningly to strike Davie too but Kirsty came between them imploringly.

“Please, sir, dinna strike Davie! It was my fault we were late. I’ve got a sore foot.”

“I’ll teach you to hold up your fists to me, lad!” the overseer shouted, but just then there was a shriek from another part of the mill. “Tom Paton’s got his arm caught in the machinery!”

The overseer rushed away to stop the machine and release the child, and Kirsty pulled Davie by the arm. “Come, Davie! Quick to our places! We canna afford to lose our work here.”

Luckily for them the overseer was so occupied in getting the
injured lad away that he forgot about the boy who had defied him.

Kate was worried about other matters too, besides the hard life her children had to lead. Desperate characters lived in their part of the city.

“I’ve been thinking, James, is it safe for you to carry our money in your belt? Suppose you were set on by thieves? There was a young man robbed in the Trongate only last week.”

“Where will I put it, then?” James asked. “Shall I hide it among the straw in the mattress?”

“That would be the first place a thief would look. There are times when we’re all out of the house, when I’m cleaning for Mistress Houston and you’re looking for work. Would you no’ be better to give the money into the keeping of someone you can trust?”

“And who could I trust?”

“What about Mr McLaren, the minister?”

“Why, yes, that’s a good notion. I’ll ask him to keep the money for us,” James agreed.

Mr McLaren hesitated at first, then at last he said, “Very well, on condition that if my house is burgled, you do not hold me responsible for your money.”

“I’ll take that risk, sir,” James said, and then wrote down his name and address for the minister again.

Now and again James got work helping to unload small ships at the Broomielaw, mainly cargoes of potatoes from Ireland, but once the potato harvest was over the work finished, and James was unemployed again, with the winter coming on. It proved a hard winter for the Murrays, for Kate was taken ill. She lay coughing in the box-bed.