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The Thurso people surrounded
Dick with a considerable degree of mystery. But the mystery was very much of
their own making. They could not understand what “the man” was about. What
could he mean by walking to Morven and Dorery, and bringing home only a few
tufts of moss? What could be the reason of his digging with a pickaxe in old
quarries, or pounding on the rocks by the sea-shore with a smiddy forehammer?
Ordinary people were grinding away for a living, working hard at flagstones,
or competing with each other for increased trade, whereas the half-daft
baker was wandering about Caithness in his by-hours, gathering stones,
ferns, and grasses. The whole thing was a mystery!
The boys no longer dogged him about, as if he had been the local idiot of
the place. They rather kept out of his way; for people spoke of him as
“uncanny,” and “a wee thocht wrang.” When he came down the middle of the
street, on his way home from Dunnet Head or Banniskirk, they merely stood to
one side, and looked after him until he turned down Wilson’s Lane. He was
often bedrabbled about his feet and trousers.
He had been out since one o’clock in the morning; but his long walk did not
seem to have tired him, as he went on his way down the street in his long
swinging walk.
He still dressed himself in his antediluvian garments He still wore his
swallow-tailed coat and his chimneypot hat. He could not afford much money
for clothing The only things he renewed from time to time were his trousers
and his hob-nailed boots. Dress was very little to him. And yet he was a
handsome man too, though he never thought of that. Dr. Shearer says his
appearance reminded him of another of nature’s enthusiasts— Mungo Park. He
had the same compact round head and face, with “ambrosial clusters” curled;
and the same genial, unaffected, and, to the last, remarkably juvenile
expression.
If the Thurso people did not understand Dick’s outer man, they still less
understood his inner man. What was he? What occupied his thoughts? What was
his belief? What was his religion? That was a great point in a Scotch town,
where everybody knows everybody; and where men are judged very much
according to the kirk that they attend. The opinions entertained about Dick
on the latter subject were very unfavourable. Perhaps they had a great deal
to do with the falling-off in his business.
Many a petty inquisition was held about Dick in Thurso. What did he think
about the first chapter of Genesis? What did he think about the Flood? Was
he “soond” in his scriptural views? Like wiser men, he held his tongue. And,
after all, why should the} know anything of his inner thinkings? Why this
perpetual inquisitioning into the things that thoughtful and conscientious
men think and believe? “Wait till you are of my age, and wearing spectacles,
and then I will talk to you,” was his answer to an inquiring young friend.
He might have added—“Wait till you have acquired wisdom and experience; wait
till you have laboured and searched as I have done, and waited patiently for
more light; and then we will talk about the mysteries of the by-past world.”
After all, what do we really know? It is but a mere speck in the infinite of
knowledge. “No man can find out the work that God made from the beginning to
the end.” To use the words of Dr. Parker—“We live as in a twilight of
knowledge, charged with revelations of order and beauty. We stedfastly look
for a perfect light, which shall reveal perfect order and perfect beauty.”*
But whatever the Thurso people might think about Dick’s religious belief,
there could he no doubt as to his character. He was a kindly, cordial,
honest, high-principled man. Everybody acknowledged that. They might call
him what names they pleased, hut they could not fail to recognise the
dignity and purity of his mind. He did his duty honestly by all men. Hence
he enjoyed the friendship of some of the best men in the place. The young
students almost worshipped him. He was constantly referred to as an
authority on scientific subjects; and no one could be more kind and obliging
when consulted, or more lavish in communicating the results of his careful
observation and garnered thought of so many studious years.
Men who did not know him, thought him to be a morose man—strange,
abstracted, and rather unsociable. But those who did know him, and were
admitted to the sanctum of his bakehouse, found him the very reverse. There
he was kindly, sociable, humorous, full of information, sometimes full of
fancy, and always ready to communicate everything that he knew about the
fossil-bearing strata, the botany, and the natural history of Caithness.
“On one occasion,” says Dr. Shearer, “a point was raised and settled rather
dubiously on Mr. Dick’s own ipse dixit. Without giving us any reason to
suppose that he suspected any incredulity, he made his appearance at my
father’s house in his baker’s dress within a quarter of an hour afterwards,
bringing with him an armful of books, from which he proceeded to quote in
rapid succession, and then went away, leaving us amazed at his zeal and
thoroughness. For it was one of his peculiarities—as it is with most
enthusiasts—to believe that every person must be as deeply interested in his
subject as he was himself.”
It was not often, however, that Dick went into any person’s house in Thurso.
He declined invitations to breakfast with Sir George Sinclair, when he had
distinguished men with him; and he declined all other invitations. When a
public breakfast was given in honour of Hugh Miller, during one of his short
visits tc
Thurso, Dick did not make his appearance. On that occasion it was suggested
that a geological museum should be established in Thurso, and Dick, though
absent, was suggested as the only person likely to obtain and to classify
the specimens. But Dick was unwilling, —perhaps he had not the time
necessary to undertake the work; and he declined the offer.
As he did not accept the entertainments of others, neither did he entertain
others in his own house. The only exception was in the case of Mr. Peach.
The following extract is from Mr. Peach’s diary:—“Rose at 5 A.M. After
disposing of many matters, I went to see Dick. What pleasure it is to meet
him! This day, for the first time, I ate and drank with him. I asked him for
a cup of tea. ‘ By all means/ he said. I was much amazed with him and his
housekeeper, Annie Mackay. There was no cloth on the table. The poor body
was sadly put about. Dick, manlike, laughed at her dismay. This is the first
time that I partook of food with him. He would often have asked me. He was
dashed, because the first time I saw him he asked me to take wine; and
because I refused (being a teetotaller), he thought I was above eating and
drinking with him. He was much mistaken. He did not then know me.”
Throughout his life, Dick was careful and abstemious. He lived frugally,
spending very little upon himself. His only extravagance if such it can be
called, was books. These he would have of the best editions, beautifully
bound. His brother-in-law once offered to send him some prime whisky. “No”
said he in reply, “but I thank you all the same. Spirits never enter this
house, save when I cannot help it.” His brother-in-law then offered to send
him some money. “God grant you more sense!” was his reply. “I want no
sovereigns. It is of no use sending anything down here. Nothing is wanted.
Delicacies would only injure health. Nothing like hard fare in going through
the world. My old woman neither smokes, snuffs, nor drinks. She is just as
tough as a rigwoodie, and can almost do without sleep. I must not pamper
myself. 'Hardy' is the word with working people. Pampering does no good, but
much evil. No, no! no pampering.” We have said that Dick was a solitary man.
He delighted in the companionship of books, and enjoyed with them the
solitude of his own thoughts. He never married. He had no family enjoyments,
nor family cares. His only inmate was his Highland housekeeper, with whom he
could have little mental communion. His only companion was his sister,
though she was far away. With her he corresponded regularly to the close of
his life. He told her his joys and sorrows, his discoveries among the rocks,
his finding of ferns at Dunnet Head and among the Reay hills, and all the
little events of his daily life.
Here, for instance, is a little bit of one of his letters to her, written on
the 26th December 1863 :—
“As the weather wore a fair face, I got up and away off to a spot, nearly
five miles off, to gather ferns! What? Perns at the end of December? Yes,
ferns. I walked to a rocky precipice, and gathered about a dozen ferns. They
must have been Per ? Yes, they were Peri I The longest was about fifteen
inches. Three ol them were beautiful and green—finely cut and lobed. In
fact, I never saw prettier plants, and I was very proud of them—the more so,
as I gathered them at the end of December. I knew that the Sea Spleenwort
was green all the year round at the cliffs of Dunnet Head, as I had gathered
it there in winter, but I did not know that the inland ferns were green at
the end of December.”
Here is another extract from a letter to his sister :—
“I observe that your husband is a rifleman. Tell him that I never fired off
a gun in my life, and scarcely ever handled one. There are a great many
riflemen here. They have two targets. Hot long since I was nearly shot. I
was on the shore, and some green hands had come out to practise. They stood
aslant, and not hitting the target, their balls came pinging through the air
repeatedly. At length, one ball hit a ledge near me, raising smoke and dust.
I thought it time to be off, and got out of the way.”
His sister was then lying on her deathbed, but he continued to write to her,
endeavouring to cheer her up. He sent to her husband a long account of his
digging up a fossil, at the end of 1863. He said, "Tell my sister that I
have written all this, hoping that it may amuse her.” His sister died about
two months later. It need not be said how much he lamented her. She was the
last of his family—his nearest, dearest friend.
And he was soon to follow her. When informed of her death, he wrote to her
husband :—
“My sister’s death affects me much. I miss her now, and feel a want. I’ll
feel it more by and by. I know that all must die ; hut we have the hope
that, though we die, yet we will live for ever. Yes ! we hope to meet
again.” Three months later, he again wrote: “I have not lifted a hammer
since Jane died. I think of her every day. . . They venerate the dead the
most, who live as they desired.”
Amongst those who sought the acquaintance of Dick in later years was a young
gentleman connected with a bank in Thurso. He knew of Dick’s solitariness,
and of his dislike for new acquaintanceships. He wished much to meet him,
but feared a repulse. At length he determined to make the attempt. After
Dick’s day’s work was over, he looked in at the window, and then he entered
the baker’s shop. The scene he saw was characteristic. The only light in the
house proceeded from a candle placed on a chair in the side room, where
Robert Dick was deeply engaged in reading a book. He was in his working
clothes; his shirt sleeves were tucked up; and his appearance indicated that
he had been at his baking bench only a few moments before. What first filled
the spectator’s eye was the shadow of his massive head thrown upon the wall.
The particular way in which he happened to he sitting caused the shadow to
he very large, and, being well defined, and showing some of his features, it
looked a striking object, Dick, hearing the sound of footsteps, rose up with
the candle, and taking it with him entered the shop by the hack way. The
visitor, scarcely knowing what tc say, asked for some of his biscuits. He
said that, being a stranger, he had heard that Mr. Dick’s biscuits were the
best in town. The biscuits were given, and still the stranger hung about. He
entered into conversation with Dick, and he asked whether he could not see
some of his specimens. Dick said that he had at that time little that was
worth seeing—in fact, he had already sold his fossils to Mr. Miller—but, if
he would call again, he would with pleasure show him all that he had. Dick
fixed the hour, stating that his visitor must be punctual to the minute. He
explained that he had to stick to rigorous rules in that way, as he had to
support himself by his business, and also because he was at times
interrupted by persons calling for their own pleasure while he was engaged
at his work.
The introduction being thus successfully accomplished, the visitor again
called on Robert Dick to inspect his treasures. He was taken upstairs to the
museum—a little bedroom or parlour—of which Dick carefully kept the key. Its
appearance indicated that no duster or broom was plied there without his
special permission. The chairs were laden with books, or specimens of plants
or fossils. In a corner was laid his herbarium—consisting of numerous books
in which his dried plants had been preserved. One part of the room might be
likened to a quarry bed, because of the specimens of rocks lying there.
Pointing to a board laid across a chair, and bearing a considerable number
of stone slabs, cut and polished to an equal size, he said, “Now, that’s
Caithness.” “How is that?” said the visitor. “These are the specimens of all
the rocks of the county, from the most ancient, the most recent, and they
are arranged accordingly.” The localities were indicated from which the
rocks had been taken, from Portskerra to Duncansby, from Morven to Dunnet
Head. Dick then proceeded to show his collection of ferns, and a beautiful
sight they were.
Dick was most careful in preparing his herbarium. Not a single imperfect
specimen was admitted. The way in which they were attached to the leaves of
his books showed the artistic turn of his mind. The fine natural curves of
the plants, grasses, and ferns, were carefully preserved. The very hairs
about the stalks and leaves were spread out at the correct angle; and the
whole presented, as much as possible, the living character of the plants.
All indicated an immense amount of labour, care, and observation. He wished
to preserve them as he found them, in a state of nature. All their habitats
were carefully attached to the Caithness plants.
To resume the visits of his friend.—On one occasion, when he passed through
the shop and entered the bakehouse behind, he found the occupant merrily
singing “The Soldier’s Return.” He immediately joined in the song. “Ah,”
said Dick, suddenly looking up from his dough, “you’ve caught me.” “I did
not know you could sing, Mr. Dick.” “Sing! ” said he, “I believe I was born
singing.”
The visitor proceeded to inspect the walls of the bakehouse. Like many
others, he was struck by the firm, correct drawing of the figures on the
walls. Though Dick had never studied drawing, he had a great love for the
fine arts. He cultivated his taste, and was able not only to delineate
plants with delicacy and neatness, but to draw in spirited outline the
figures of men, and animals, and gods. He thus converted his bakehouse into
a chamber of imagery.
The smooth plaster was his canvas, and on it he portrayed the creations of
his fancy. At one time the walls would be resplendent with Cherubim and
Seraphim and the angelic host. At another—for he often varied his
drawings—they would exhibit the strange and weird-like forms of the animals
that inhabited the ancient world. Sometimes there was a medley of
figures—Egyptian kings and hieroglyphics— winged bulls and Assyrian gods
from the sculptures of Nineveh—and in the midst of them, happy children
“disporting nude.”
Dick was intensely interested in Egypt and the old Eamesian period. He read
every book he could find on the subject. In one of his letters, he says—“I
am much delighted and fairly lost in Egypt—wandering in imagination amongst
those
“Temples, palaces, and tombs stupendous,
Of which the very ruins are tremendous.’
“It was a rainy morning, and I had to be content with staying at home. I
turned to and sketched in an outline of one of the gods of Egypt. It had a
ram’s head on a human body. I worked away from eight o’clock in the morning
until two o’clock in the afternoon, when I got it finished. I passed the
rest of the evening in reading. In the midst of this evil weather, I have
been reading a number of hooks. I have read a volume on the Polar Seas and
regions, another on Africa, another on Egypt, another on Nubia and
Abyssinia, and I propose to go on with Palestine, Arabia, Persia, India, and
New Zealand.”
But amidst all his multifarious reading, ancient Egypt stood first in point
of interest. “It seems,” he said, “that these old people are not yet
properly understood by our wisest men, and we fall into many mistakes, and
put many constructions on their ancient works. They seemed to have
recognised an Evil One or principle, which they named Typhon—a god, Osiris—a
goddess Isis, and a whole multitude of ‘ gods many and lords many ’—
“Every garden was o’errun with gods,
One, or rather two of the figures which I have stuck up on the wall, exhibit
a representation of the union of the Brute and the Human—that is, a cat’s
head on a human body. Cats were venerated in Egypt long ago. There may have
been something satirical in this god. Very probably cat-witted people loved
then as well as now. Then again, they had their ram-headed gods, and their
hawk-headed gods; and, by your leave, we have all those sort of living
people yet.”
The visitor to Dick’s bakehouse saw the numerous figures occupying the
walls. Amongst them was a spirited and well-executed figure of the beautiful
Greek boy drawing the thorn from his foot. This was over the fireplace.
Beside it were two figures of Egyptian idols. On the side of one of the
windows there was the figure of an ape, excellently drawn. What Dick thought
of the development hypothesis may be understood from his figures of the
Greek boy and the ape. They could be seen at the same glance from the door
of the apartment, and presented a striking contrast, quite irreconcilable
with the idea of even a remote identity. When questioned on the subject,
Dick humorously indicated the presence of the two drawings. He pointed to
them, but said nothing.
With respect to the Egyptian idols, he said of a friend who had called upon
him and looked at them, “Perhaps he did not understand my Egyptian
mythological divinities. Strange figures are these gods of Egypt, and yet
they had a hidden meaning which no one nowadays rightly understands. Egypt
was once the first of the nations, but the glory of its palaces has gone for
ever. And all must perish but Truth. That alone is eternal! ”
When the weather was fine, Dick again went to the fields or to the
sea-shore. He was still anxious to find his whole big fish. Hence he
continued to dig away at the rocks. Towards the end of 1864, Mr. George
Henslow, son of the late Professor of Botany in Cam* bridge, wrote a letter
to Dick, asking if he could send him some specimens of fossil fish in
exchange for botanical specimens. To gratify his request, Dick searched
along the shore; and, after an hour’s labour with his heavy hammer, his
wedges, and his chisels, he found a good fossil fish quite whole. Whether
this was sent to Mr. Henslow we know not, as no further reference is made to
the subject. 
About the same time Dick discovered another
singular object. “A recent spate,” he says, “laid bare part of the skeleton
of a whale, which apparently had been buried many hundreds of years. It was
very much decayed. It lay near the mouth of the river. Most probably some of
the old Caithness cannibals feasted on the monster.”
A Society for the study of Natural History was established in Thurso in
1865. Dick refers to it in the following terms:—
“Macculloch said that an uglier country than Caithness was hardly to be
seen. God save the mark! is that true? A fine natural history society has
been got up here, and in their wisdom they have thought proper to dub me an
'honorary member.’ They go to-day on an excursion to Dunnet Hills. I wish
they may not drown themselves.”
On the following day he says:—“I am very glad that I did not consent to go
a-gowking to Dunnet Hills. The party went off in gigs, single and double;
and what they saw, in crossing the sands, I know not. Certes, no one ever
heard of objects in natural history being collected in gigs ! The Society
went to the inn and had dinner, and they did not rise until it was late. In
coming back across the sands, they drove their gigs into the sea! . . . One
lady was heard to lament that Mr. Dick was not with them, were it only to
keep them in order. Depend upon it, if Dick the baker had been there, the
Society would have returned home before midnight! A fine 'honour’ indeed!
“A countra lad is my degree,
An’ few there be that ken me."
“Thurso had its museum party once before, but it went to smoke chiefly
through a want of funds, and also through a total want of zeal amongst the
people for things of that sort. A love for those studies cannot be forced,
hardly even nursed into existence. But this attempt at a Museum bids fair to
prosper.”
Dick seems to have had a dislike for men who went out geologising or
botanising in gigs! After a hard morning’s work, and a long ramble round the
coast, with hammer and chisel, he returned, and entered the following
remarks:—“On arriving at home, I found Dr. Hunt, from London, had called. I
met him on the road, in a gig of course. I did not know him, nor he me.”
Dick continued to have many correspondents. They addressed him from far and
near, asking him for fossil fish, and specimens of the Holy Grass. He
provided the Bev. Mr. Brodie, geologist, with some fossils, and through his
introduction several other geologists asked for the same. Mr. George
Roberts, secretary to the London Geological Society, asked him to send some
typical specimens of the oil-bearing shales for analysation. “Some
influential city people,” he said, “are quite willing to take the matter up,
if the yield of bituminous oil promises to be a paying one.” Mr. Boy, of
Aberdeen, wrote to him stating that he would propose him as a member of the
Aberdeen Natural History Society, provided he would supply him with a paper
on the natural history of Caithness. Mr. Alfred Bell, of London, wrote him
asking for a paper on the Hierochloe borealis, for insertion in his Natural
History Circular.
Another of his correspondents was Mr. Jamieson of Ellon, who sent him an
abstract of his paper on the geology of Caithness. “I make mention,” he
said, “on your authority, of the gravel hillocks near Dirlot, as being the
only ones that I had heard of. With regard to the valley gravel, it seemed
to me to be less developedi even in proportion to the size of the rivers,
than it is in other districts. There is some of it, however ; and I agree
with you in saying, as I do in my paper, that what does occur, appears to he
the product of the rivers and streams cutting through the drift.
“I wish you would take a run, some time, along the northern seaboard of
Sutherlandshire, and note the appearances presented by the valleys of the
various mountain streams that join the sea. It would be desirable to
ascertain whether any moraine-like heaps present themselves in such places,
where you approach the mountains. On going along the east side of
Sutherland, I noticed that the features of the county differed from those of
Caithness. Great piles of gravel, arranged in mounds and abrupt hillocks,
present themselves at the entrance of the valleys, and come down close upon
the sea,—as is well seen at Brora. Now, it would be interesting to know if
similar phenomena also occur along the north coast.
“The meeting of the Caithness plains with the high hills of Morven, the Pap,
and the Scarabens, should also be investigated, in order to see whether any
drift from north or north-west overlaps their base, or whether, on the other
hand, the debris of these mountains protrudes in the form of moraine-like
ridges. Foreign boulders should also be searched for on these hills. Peach
tells me he saw hardly any. I walked along the Berridale glen from the base
of the Scarabens to the sea, but did not manage to get round the northern
base. I will send you a copy of my paper when it is printed, which will
probably be some time this year.
“The valves of the Leda I got from you are pronounced by Mr. Gwynn Jeffreys
to be Leda bnccata of Steenstrup, which he seems to consider a variety of
Leda parmula.”
Here was a large stroke of work cut out for Robert Dick. But he was too
poor, too rheumatic, too much overborne by troubles, to undertake it.
Nevertheless he continued his walks to within a reasonable distance of
Thurso. He preferred walking along the shore. Sandside Bay was one of his
favourite resorts. There he found old fishes in store, but none of them were
of the best kind. In passing thither, he crossed the Forss Water by the
bridge; and in the lower grounds he found a specimen of the Hierochlos
borealis growing. He sought for it again, but he never found another.
Besides, there were plenty along the Thurso banks,—quite enough to satisfy
his numerous correspondents. Forss Water was one of his favourite spots. It
rises in Shurery Loch, and comes tumbling down from rock to rock until it
reaches the sea. The last fall is at Forss Mill, near where he found the
specimen of the Holy Grass.
Robert Dick continued his correspondence with
Charles Peach to the end of his life. The two had a hearty, cordial,
fellow-feeling. They communicated to each other everything that they found
which was new. There was never the slightest feeling of jealousy between
them. The last verses that Dick wrote to Peach were as follows:—
“Ye lang hae toddled roun’ the land,
An’ hammer’d far and near ;
But feint a fossil ye hae fand
Your drooping heart to cheer !
“A broken wee bit fish or twa,
A doubtfu’ bit o’ stane,
Ye carried south, wi’ muckle blaw,
To chiels, wha skeel had nane.
“A puff they whispered in your lug,
And ye came laughin’ hame,
Weel drooked wi’ the Hieland fog,
And fand the whole a dream.”
But Mr. Peach did find more fossils. In 1863, while working at Sarclet, on
the Wick side of the county, he found part of a fossil crustacean in the Red
Sandstone, rising from beneath the flag-beds. Sir Roderick Murchison, on the
authority of Professor Huxley, stated it to he part of a Pterygotus—or
lobsterlike crustacean. Mr. Peach also discovered some specimens of the
Tristichopterus alatus at John o’ Groat’s, which threw much light on the
previously unknown points of its structure as well as on its affinities.
It would, indeed, be difficult to tell how much Mr. Peach found during his
residence in Caithness. Among his other findings, he discovered a sea-snake.
It was cast ashore in Sinclair’s Bay, a few miles north of Wick. The length
of the snake was fifteen feet six inches; its width about three and a half
inches. Its head displayed a sort of mane or pendulous tuft. Its skin was of
a beautiful silvery colour, with fine dark bands passing from the head to
the tail. It was found to be a large specimen of the Gymnetrus,—better known
by the name of riband-lath or deal-fish. A similar sea-snake has since been
found by Mr. Trail at Dunnet Bay, near Thurso.
In 1863 Mr. Peach obtained from the rocks in the neighbourhood of John o’
Groat’s a fragment of a small Pterichthys. As this genus had not before been
found in Caithness, he resolved,—although the locality was more than
eighteen miles from his residence at Wick,— to follow up the discovery; and
he succeeded in finding, at different times, four or five pretty good
specimens. At -the meeting of the British Association at Dundee, in 1868,
Mr. Peach read a short description of it to the Geological Section, and
named it after his valued friend, Pterichthys Dicki. But we anticipate.
We return to Charles Peach’s history. We have already stated that he was
stationed at Wick as Comptroller of Excise. Part of his business was to
inspect the coast of Caithness—from Wick round Noss Head, Duncansby Head,
John o’ Groat’s, and Dunnet Head, to Thurso, and from thence to Cape Wrath
and Rhu-Stoir in Sutherlandshire. The east coast, from Dornoch Pirth north
to Wick, was also within his beat.
When he travelled by land, he went by mail-coach, mail-gigs, or carts,
whichever was most convenient. Sometimes he went by boats along the coast.
He was often very much exposed, especially in winter, to wind, frost, and
snow—always bitter cold. When he heard of a week having taken place, he was
off at once; his object being to save the ship and the crew, and to reward
those who had been instrumental in saving life. He communicated with the
Wreck Department of the Board of Trade, and recommended those who had acted
gallantly. “I proposed,” he said, “that medals and money should be publicly
given, and I am proud and happy to say that the Board almost always attended
to my recommendations. I always pushed hard for decorations; and many a man
has been made proud of his bravery for life.” Amid such harassing,
distressing, and dangerous scenes, did Charles Peach carry on his researches
into the Geology and Natural History of the northernmost counties of
Scotland.
Peach was now getting an old man—not old in spirits, but old in years. He
was constantly subject to attacks of cold and bronchitis. Indeed, he was
often very ill. Dick wrote in one of his letters that he scarcely expected
that he would recover. Nevertheless, he cheered him up as usual: “I am glad
to hear you are in spirits at least, if not in health. So many people are
going that I began to get apprehensive that you were seriously ill. Hope on
for ever, dear Charlie.” Peach had also many troubles connected with death
and illness in his own family.
At length, in 1861, he was under the necessity of retiring from the service.
He was now sixty-one. He had worked long and hard for his retiring
allowance. Besides, a change was about to be made. The office of
Comptroller, with a view to economy in the Customs, was to be done away with
in all the ports of the United Kingdom. “Mr. Gladstone’s long range,” he
said, “is about to ruin me.” The older men were to be placed on the
redundant list, and the younger ones were to be reduced to subordinate
offices. Though Peach was at the top of the list for promotion to £200 a
year, he refused to be reduced, and he therefore retired upon a
comparatively small amount, which lasts only during his lifetime, and leaves
nothing for his widow. His hopes were thus dashed. The change had such a
depressing effect upon him that he fell seriously ill, and for weeks was
expected to die. But in course of time he recovered, and set to work again
upon his favourite studies.
Mr. Peach accompanied Mr. Gwynn Jeffreys in his dredging expeditions along
the shores of the Shetland Islands, and he there made a collection of
British corals (Polyzoa), which would otherwise have been thrown away as
waste. He never forgot what his keen eyes had detected, and he never threw
away what he considered might be turned to some future account. The last
time we saw Mr. Peach he was engaged in preparing a paper on these waste
objects, to be read before the Linnean Society. The paper was entitled “On
Cellepora cervicomis of the British Seas.”
Mr. Peach left Wick in May 1865, and took up his residence at a house in
Leith Walk, where he still lives.t He says, “I must work; I should soon die
if idle. Work is life to me.” He has consequently sent many papers to the
Linnean and other scientific societies. One of these was on the British
Polyzoa; another (read at the Royal Institution of Cornwall) on Zoophytes
from the Cornish coast.
Among his various honours he was elected President of the Royal Physical
Society of Edinburgh, and in his opening address he discoursed of the
history of the Fossil Flora of the Old Red Sandstone of the North of
Scotland. He was also presented by the Royal Society of Edinburgh with the
Neill prize for the period 1871-74, in acknowledgment of his extensive
contributions to geological science. In fact, so long as Mr. Peach lives —he
is now seventy-nine—his name will be heard of. And yet he says he is not “an
old man.” He is still an “old boy.” That is what his wife calls him. For he
is cheerful, communicative, bright, and lively as ever.
In May 1866 Mr. Peach sent Dick a photograph of himself, which had been
taken at Edinburgh. Dick replied to his letter as follows:—
“I scarcely needed such a memento of you. I would always have remembered
you. And indeed, should my memory have proved fallacious, still your plants
would have unceasingly suggested an idea of you. I was amongst the Reay
hills in March last, and was pleased to see the fern (Scolopendrium) growing
beautifully, and both there and at Dunnet Hills the plant will endure and
astonish some lonely wanderer, long after we are both out of time. Charles!
you have thus reared an undying memento, and it was no vain thought which
prompted you to bring to me so lovely an object.
“A thing of beauty is a joy for ever!"
It will be a joy to some who will remain ignorant of its history.” |
