We Of The British
North-American Provinces Want To Be Joined Together, That, If Danger
Comes, We Can Support Each Other In The Day Of Trial.
We come to Your
Majesty, who have given us liberty, to give us unity, that we may
preserve and
Perpetuate our freedom; and whatsoever charter, in the
wisdom of Your Majesty and of Your Parliament, you give us, we shall
loyally obey and observe as long as it is the pleasure of Your Majesty
and Your Successors to maintain the connection between Great Britain
and these Colonies.'"
CHAPTER XVII.
1851. - First Visit to America: a Reason for it.
My first visit to America was mainly induced by a misfortune which
happened to me in the spring of 1846. The year 1845 had been one of
excitement, and my hands had been very full at that time. I was to a
great extent a water drinker. I had the habit of sticking to my work,
various and complicated as much of it was, day by day, until that day's
work was done. It often happened that I forgot to eat the modest lunch
carefully put in my pocket by my wife on my leaving home, in early
morning. And often and often I did not get home till nine o'clock at
night, so tired that occasionally I fell asleep over my dinner; and my
wife, seeing my condition of fatigue, got into the habit of carving our
frugal joints, a habit which has become permanent. Thus, when I say, as
a bit of pleasantry, that where the lady carves, you learn who is the
master of the house, Lady Watkin will retort by mentioning this old
story of past and anxious times.
Well, the Trent Valley Railway, of which I was Secretary and Manager,
was sold, at a large profit - I think 438,000l. - to the London
and Birmingham and Grand Junction Companies, then about to amalgamate
under the name of the "London and North Western." In the spring of 1846
it became necessary to close our accounts, and balance our books, with
a view to give each shareholder his share of principal and profit. It
was arranged that the shareholders should call at the office in Norfolk
Street, in Manchester, for their cheques on and after a day in April,
1846. Two days before this date, my Scotch book-keeper came to me to
report that in balancing the books he was out the small sum of
1s. 10d. (I think it was), and he proposed to carry that
to profit and loss ("Profeet and Loasse," he said). To which I, of
course, replied, "My good friend, a failure to balance of even a penny
may conceal errors on the two sides of the account by the hundred. Set
all hands to work to call over every item." We set to work, and I was
up the best part of one, and the whole of another, night. I was so
anxious that I did not feel to want food; and drink I was unused to. A
beefsteak and a pint of stout would have saved me from ten years, more
or less, of suffering, weakness, and all kinds of misery. In the early
morning of the day on which we were to begin paying off our
shareholders, the books balanced. We had discovered errors, both to
debit and credit, probably a hundred at least in number.
It was a clear, cold morning. I went out to a little barber's shop and
got shaved. I did not feel in want of food - and took none. At ten
o'clock shareholders began to arrive: got their cheques, and went away
satisfied. One of them, who would gain about 30,000l., actually
gave me a 5l. note for the clerks, which was the only expression
of gratitude of a practical character, so far as I remember, now. About
noon Mr. Henry Houldsworth, the father of the present member for
Manchester, called for his cheque; and, chatting with him at the time,
as I was making the upstroke of the letter H in "Houldsworth," I felt
as if my whole body was forced up into my head, and that was ready to
burst. I raised my head, and this strange feeling went away. I thought,
how strange! I tried again, the same feeling came again and again,
till, with a face white as paper, that alarmed those about me, I fell
forward on the desk. Water was given me; but I could not swallow it. I
never lost entire consciousness; but I thought I was going to die. I
never can forget all that in those moments passed through my brain.
They put me into a carriage, and took me to the consulting room, in
Mosley Street, of my old friend William Smith, the celebrated
Manchester surgeon, nephew of the great Mr. Turner, the surgeon. He
placed me on a sofa, and asked me what it was, - feeling, or trying to
find, my pulse the while. I whispered, "Up all night - over-anxious - no
food." He gave me brandy and soda water, and a biscuit, and told me to
lie still. I had never tasted this popular drink before. In about a
quarter of an hour I felt better, got up, and said, "Oh! I am all right
now." But Mr. Smith, nevertheless, ordered me to go home at once, go to
bed, take a pill - I assume, a narcotic - which he gave me, and not to
get up till he had seen me in the morning. I insisted on calling at the
office. I felt able to go on with my work. But at the office, something
in my looks induced them to send a faithful clerk with me in the cab to
our house, Woodland Cottage, Higher Broughton. So he and I went away. I
found afterwards, that some of the clerks said, "We shall never see him
again." But they did - shaky and seedy, as he was, for many a long day.
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