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NOT far from Netherton, and
at the time of our story nearly opposite to it, is the entrance to the
mansion and grounds of the Farquharsons of Whitehouse. The house is one of
those substantial, old-fashioned, long and narrow buildings, with broad,
plain front, sunk flat, and outside staircase to the hall, that were common
at the beginning of the century, before modern taste and pretension had
risen in country architecture. Standing amidst a fine, sloping park of
splendid trees, some of them old and striking, on an open terrace high above
the surrounding country, it commands a grand prospect towards the south,
over the hollow of Tough to the top of Corennie Forest and the woods of
Craigievar, behind which rises the fine peak of Lochnagar. Well-stocked
flower plots beautify the front, and a fine enclosed garden faces the sun to
the left. The outlook behind is still more expansive, where from a farm
close by, rightly named Prospect Hill, an unrivalled view may be had over
the whole variegated Vale of Alford, terminating in the Buck of the Cabrach
and Ben Macdhui.
It was then the custom, and
so continued long after, for the Aberdeenshire county families to have their
chief mansion on their property in the country, where they spent the summer
months, and a town house in Aberdeen, to which they removed at the beginning
of winter, to enjoy the festivities then fashionable in this London of the
north-east of Scotland. Mr. Peter Farquharson, of Whitehouse, was a quiet,
plain, unpretending man, whose father, an Aberdeen lawyer, had bought the
property and built the present house, a little to the west of the ancient
site. He made little stir in local or public affairs. Mrs. Farquharson, his
wife, was of a different type, with pronounced character, great ability,
immense vigour, and impetuous temperament, whose fame still survives in the
county. She was imperious in style, and difficult to serve, sometimes
changing her domestics several times a year, but withal kindly and
good-hearted, if not generous. When she did take a fancy to a good servant,
she became his staunch friend when he required one. Under her rigorous rule,
domestic government was, to say the least of it, peculiar, and service was
trying.
To Whitehouse, in the year
1834, there came, to look after the garden, a smart, good-looking young man
of twenty-one, who had just completed his apprenticeship at Cluny Castle
near Monymusk, and now entered on his first independent situation. The new
gardener was called Charles Black. It was a trying place to start life in,
but Charles was no common lad, and would succeed where most would fail.
Although so young, he speedily proved himself a superior workman—whose fame,
in this respect, still survives in the district—a faithful servant, and a
kindly, peace-loving high-toned man. He gained the good will, if not the
respect and friendship, of his imperious mistress, and - what was still more
unusual—not only remained at Whitehouse nearly four years, but returned to
it again after he had married.
Charles Black was born on the
first of July, 1813, at the Mains of Pitcaple, on the river Ury, not far
from the site of the famous battle of Harlaw. He received a fair education,
as schools then went, till he reached his thirteenth year. According to
universal custom there, he then took service, first as herd-boy, like
Duncan, and afterwards as farm worker, till he was nineteen. Like our hero,
however, he thirsted for work more intellectual than clodhopping, and became
an apprentice gardener at Cluny Castle. There he remained for two years,
gaining great skill in his trade, and leaving it rarely accomplished in its
mysteries. His natural endowments were uncommonly high. Ever since boyhood,
amidst huge difficulties too long here to tell, he had sedulously cultivated
his intellect and character. His determination and self-denial for this end
were exemplary, of which one instance is typical. Receiving no wages
whatever as apprentice gardener, he used to get a shilling every fortnight
from his father for pocket-money. This he spent, not in purchasing any of
the luxuries natural to a boy who had few of them, but in taking out, in
parts, "Mackintosh's Practical Gardener." That was then one of the
authorities on the subject, a great book that cost two pounds, procured in
order to extend his theoretical and practical knowledge of his craft.
But this was but one step in
the professional ladder which he had determined to mount. He must know the
science of Botany, on which it stood. No matter that the subject was at that
time comparatively little known or studied in the country, and scarcely
heard of amongst his fellow gardeners ; no matter that existing text-books
on it were technical, unpopular, difficult, and costly, and that Botany—as
far as simple exposition for private students went—was a sealed book; no
matter that he was dissuaded and mocked by his fellow workmen, and had to
pursue the thorny subject practically alone and unaided—he began it, and,
amidst discouragements that would have daunted most young men, he succeeded.
Happily for his after thoroughness as a botanist, he attacked the subject in
its true scientific form from the first.
With the assistance of a
fellow apprentice, who soon chose more flowery paths, he purchased, for half
a crown, "Rattray's Botanical Chart." This presented an intricate tabular
view of the whole science according to the Linnæan system, being intended as
a resume for advanced students. It was a. terrible cheval-de frise of
technicalities for a young novice. Though feeling it to be "a sickener," as
secretly confessed, and viewing it with wonder and fear but with growing
curiosity, he resolutely commenced the study of Botany. For the time being,
Rattray was beyond him, but he gained insight into the subject through two
simpler textbooks he soon after obtained, "Lee's Introduction to Botany" and
"Galpin's British Botany." So rapid was his progress, that, although he went
to Cluny in November, he had actually deciphered, unaided, his first plant,
the Draba versa—the common whitlow grass—in early spring, flourishing as it
does from January to June. But by the time he completed his apprenticeship
in two years, he had pretty well mastered Lee and Galpin, and even the
formidable Rattray became intelligible. This book he afterwards gifted to
John Duncan, who preserved and prized it to the very last.
Charles had also made some progress in the formation of a herbarium before
he came to Whitehouse, and during the year and a half he was there before
John knew him, he had extended it greatly, and increased his theoretical and
practical knowledge of the science. He also received great assistance in the
discovery of local plants by the publication, in 1835—the year after he came
to Whitehouse—of the first edition of the very book he required at this
stage. This was the "Flora Aberdonensis," which afterwards developed into
the "Flora of Aberdeen, Banff and Kincardine," [This is a capital local
guide, and the pattern of what a local Flora ought to be in plan and
exhaustiveness, and in full acknowledgment of obligations.] by George Dickie,
M.D., Professor of Botany in Aberdeen, who has just died in honoured age,
after doing admirable service to science in the north of Scotland. Aided by
this new guide, Charles made rapid progress in conquering the plants of the
district, and in discovering new localities.
Since 1836, when he first
enters our story, Charles Black has passed through varied experiences,
traversed many scenes, and studied many subjects. He still follows the
aesthetic occupation of gardener, away down on the shores of the Solvay,
within sight of the Cumberland hills. Like the great poet that lived amongst
these, and gained there those "impulses of deeper birth" that have made him
immortal,
"He is retired as noontide
dew,
Or fountain in a noonday grove;
And you must love him ere to you
He will seem worthy of your love."
Yet, unobtrusive and
censurably retiring as he has always been—and quite unknown till lately
dragged into notice, four years ago [In "Good Words" for 1878, in which I
gave a sketch of John Duncan and his friend.] —he is, as I then said of him,
with bare truth, an excellent botanist, knowing intimately all our native
plants; a good geologist, possessing a large gathering of fossils, and
intelligently versed in the literature of geology and its far-reaching
problems; a capital ornithologist, knowing all our native birds by plumage,
flight, cry, and egg, and having a very complete collection of British eggs;
a fair numismatist, with an unusual collection of coins, home and foreign,
ancient and modern, for a working man; an omnivorous reader, especially in
theology and natural science; in short, an ardent lover and student of
beasts, and birds, and insects, and plants, and not less of mankind.
Such is a glimpse of the man
to whom John Duncan was introduced at Whitehouse, in 1836, which curiously
was also the year of the foundation of the Edinburgh Botanical Society.
Though twenty years his senior, possessed of strong individuality and
unusually varied knowledge more or less scientific, and chastened by sorrows
the young man never knew, in making Charles Black's acquaintance, John
came—and soon felt that he came—under the dominion of a nature stronger than
his own, and capable of moulding him powerfully and permanently for good.
This is saying a great deal of a man then so youthful. But his strength had
been already proved in his study of Botany, and the skill he had acquired as
a gardener in so short a time; and his geniality, tact, and character had
been shown in his discreet and harmonious management of affairs at
Whitehouse. His after history, were it written, would be more than
sufficient evidence that the homage and affection which John yielded him
from the first were securely placed and wisely directed—a power felt by all
who have come into close contact with Charles .Black. Notwithstanding the
unattractive aspect of the one, and the vigorous, hilarious immaturity of
the other, these two men felt drawn to each other by that instinctive
alchemy which, at rare intervals, welds two diverse natures together. They
entered into an unspoken covenant of friendship of the diviner type, which
remained undimmed till the death of the senior, and still survives in the
old age of his friend.
At the close of the spring of
1836, shortly after he had settled at Netherton, John Duncan ascended the
hill to Whitehouse, bearing a letter of introduction to the botanical
gardener, from his friend William Mortimer, of Auchleven. William had known
Charles Black when he was a farm servant, and when he himself was an
apprentice shoemaker at Raehill on the Gadie, near Oyne. John had donned his
best, to do honour to his expected friend. He had on his usual kenspeckle
dress, with trousers turned up half-way to the knee, and his high-crowned
hat, set at John's own angle on the back of his head. He certainly looked,
Charles Black said, "a queer fish." From his extreme near-sightedness,
general stoop caused thereby, and strange but striking countenance, lie also
conveyed the impression, at first sight, of "surely being half daft." The
Whitehouse family were expected shortly from Aberdeen, and the gardener was
busily superintending some workmen in putting to rights the walks and woods,
half-way down the avenue. John had gone right up to the house through the
tall trees, looking for herbs. Not finding Charles there, he was returning
home again along the winding walk to the lodge, when he came upon the
sorting party.
Advancing to their leader, he
abruptly asked him, "Are you Charlie Black?" After answer in the
affirmative, he said, "Weel, I hae a letter for you." While the workmen
scanned the little man with amused glances, John fumbled in his blue coat
pocket and at last brought out a piece of newspaper, in which, with
accustomed care, the important epistle was wrapped, and handed it in silence
to Charles, who waited with some curiosity the issue of the interview. The
letter told that the bearer, John Duncan, a friend of William's, had come to
reside in that neighbourhood, having obtained employment as a weaver, and
that, like Charles himself, "he was a great lover of plants."
With a searching look at the
quaint personality thus introduced to him—one of a class unjustly contemned
by most but themselves, and not least by servants in gentlemen's houses—and
in spite of a mental criticism that he looked "a very queer customer to
study plants," Charles said, with all hearty kindliness, that he was glad to
see him, and would be happy to render him any assistance in regard to "the
floors."
Had he done anything to
Botany already? Did he know any of the plants? John said he did—a good many.
In real surprise, after his own hard experiences, Charles asked what books
he had used to discover them. He had used "Culpepper." The mention of this
book, associated in Charles's eyes with quackery, herbs, saws, and bottles,
stirred no little contempt in the mind of the young student of the grand
Linnaean system, pardonably proud, if not secretly vain, of his
accomplishments. But he quietly replied that he did not think any one could
do much to Botany with such a book as "Culpepper."
Roused by gratitude to his
old master and proved good offices, and put somewhat on his mettle regarding
his own acquirements, John smartly retorted that he could do something to
it; and spreading out his fingers, crooked with tying threads and digging
roots, as if he were in the act of laying hold of the plants, he affirmed
that he could go there and then, if he liked, and put his hands on them.
This was only the simple
fact, as we know; for John's knowledge of wild plants, though not scientific
like Charles Black's, was real and thoroughly practical, as far as it went.
He could name a plant when seen, find it when he wanted it, and knew far
more about their uses than his friend then or ever did; for Charles had an
over scorn, as many good men still have, for herbalism and its empirics.
The gardener replied that he
had no doubt he might, but that he had a far better and surer way of finding
them out than by Culpepper's pictures—by means of Botany. "Ay?" said John,
in astonishment; for the possibility was new to him, and seemed at once to
open up a bright vista of future knowledge of the plants he had loved so
long. He at once eagerly inquired if Charles had a book to guide him in the
work. He said he had. What was its name ? Charles mentioned "Galpin's
British Botany," and asked if he would like to be shown the way to use it,
which he would be happy to show. John answered decidedly in the affirmative,
and, in his tone and throughout the conversation, revealed glimpses of the
ability and power that were hidden beneath his quiet, unattractive,
smile-provoking exterior.
That one "Yes, I wu'd " was
the turning point in John Duncan's life; his first introduction to the happy
severities of pure Natural Science; and the birth of a new enthusiasm, that
was henceforth to be the labour of his leisure, the solace of his sorrows,
and the sweetener of his life till its close, after forty-five years of rare
devotion to science for its own sake.
John asked to be shown
through the garden, a pleasure he had always cultivated among his numerous
gardening friends. Being busy with his men, and desirous of finishing up
matters before the coming of "the big folks," Charles said that he could not
attend upon him at that time, but that he would be glad to see him the
following evening. They parted, and John held on his way down the avenue to
Peter Marnock's, with hopeful wonderment in his silent heart, as to what
sort of man his new acquaintance would prove, and still more what kind of
thing this new science of Botany was; and he viewed the familiar flowers he
passed with new anticipations of more intimate knowledge.
I-low much, how very much, is
summed up and concentrated in certain moments of the lives of all men! The
tide of Duncan's life had just swelled to that auspicious height that leads
on to fortune, in its highest sense. Had he cast his own horoscope, by aid
of his astrological studies, he would have found that he had reached that
critical epoch when the omnipotent influences of the past eternities —with a
reality and dominion that astrology never dreamt of—had effected that
conjunction which ruled his destiny, as it does those of us all, the
humblest equally with the highest. |
