Ardtaraig

having at last condescended to go into business. At the time of my mother’s visit to the Browns in Liverpool, they resided in what was then quite an aristocratic part of the town, and had a circle of pleasant friends, notably, the Lodges, who were heirs to certain properties in Wales, which subsequently they inherited. Mr. Thomas Lodge, the head of the family, then a solicitor in Liverpool, was taken captive by Miss Elizabeth, but to no purpose – she refused him on religions grounds. Her case, matrimonially, must by this time have seemed to her friends almost hopeless.
It is, however, as we all know, “a long road that has no turning,” and just at this critical point Mr. Peter Martin, an ambitious, energetic young Highlander, who had already won for himself a good position in the best mercantile circles, both in Glasgow and Liverpool, made his appearance. He was on the eve of leaving this country to establish a business house in Gibraltar, but on meeting my mother it was, on both sides, a case of love at first sight. The wayward young damsel capitulated; there was only time enough to get an outfit, to make the wedding dress, and to have a fortnight’s tour, when the young couple sailed from the Mersey. I have read the young husband’s first letter to Gran (which the dear old man had carefully preserved), telling of his happiness, and of the hopes he cherished of erelong gaining an independence that would enable him to return with his wife to their native land, there to settle down amid scenes so dear to them both. The first moments of quiet reflection came to them when the ship lay, or rather rolled, becalmed, in the Bay of Biscay. No fine steamers with luxurious cabins and soft couches were afloat in those days; only small craft, which, in the finest and most favourable weather, took three weeks from England to Gibraltar. The young wife was desperately ill, but the husband stood the test nobly, nursed her devotedly, and to the end of their short married life their love was idyllic. Alter three years’ residence at Gibraltar, they had to leave owing to my mother’s health. They returned to England, and, first of all, visited the Browns, who were then living at a small town in Wales, called Pwllheli (pronounced Pool-helli) on Cardigan Bay. After a short and enjoyable stay, the pair wended their way to the old house among the Highland hills, the shrine of so many pilgrim feet. They were warmly welcomed, and the shadow of Bessie’s sad departure was wiped out forever. There, at Ardtarig, the following year, on June 5th 1824, my only and dearly loved brother, Patrick Martin, was born, and there, when he was only a few weeks old, his parents parted, never to meet again.
Mr. Martin this time went to Mexico, to establish another house of business. On landing, he and others of the party took yellow fever, of which he died. The tidings of his death reached Ardtarig on the morning of New Year’s Day, 1825, and the shock nearly killed my mother. She was just preparing, with her baby and a nurse, to follow her husband, when the blow fell. After some days of unconsciousness, which greatly alarmed the family, she struggled back to life again. Then began the upbringing of her child, and a widowhood of ten years, after which came her second marriage to my father, Lewis Stirling Middleton, and my appearance on the scene, some years after. But this must wait. I have no wish to say much about my closest interests, but shall give my dear father his place by and by; it is his right, for in love and devotion, he was as much a son as any of the blood.
It is pretty evident how much my mother’s early life was entwined with the Browns, a branch of the family very much to the front in those days, and I may here set down a few particulars regarding those relatives with whom a good deal of my own life was mixed up. To my cousins, Colin and Duncan Brown, I owe a large debt of gratitude and affection, and shall say more on this head later on. I may here remark that Aunt Brown was a sweet and attractive woman; what would be called superior; in all things most womanly, self-restrained, and refined. The early training had borne good fruit abundantly, and she was truly a model wife and mother. Her husband was a man who got on remarkably well in society, but as a husband his character did not shine so conspicuously; still there were certain traits which ought to be set down to his credit. He was popular, made friends easily, those, too, of the best sort, socially; took good care of his wife and family, saw that no material comforts were lacking, and so we ought, I think, to judge him gently. He died at Malta, while yet in early life, and needless to say, his widow did her duty, and brought up her children well. As I remember her she always dressed in black; was grave and dignified, even to being somewhat formal and precise. Under this calm exterior, however, there burned hotly the Celtic fire, and on one or two occasions when it did break out her