Autobiography of Andrew Carnegie | Page 6

My uncle, like all our
family, was a moral-force man and strong for obedience to law, but
radical to the core and an intense admirer of the American Republic.
[Footnote 7: "The Crown agents wisely let the proceedings lapse.... Mr.
Morrison was given a gratifying assurance of the appreciation of his
fellow citizens by his election to the Council and his elevation to the
Magisterial Bench, followed shortly after by his appointment to the
office of Burgh Chamberlain. The patriotic reformer whom the criminal
authorities endeavored to convict as a law-breaker became by the
choice of his fellow citizens a Magistrate, and was further given a
certificate for trustworthiness and integrity." (Mackie.)]

One may imagine when all this was going on in public how bitter were
the words that passed from one to the other in private. The
denunciations of monarchical and aristocratic government, of privilege
in all its forms, the grandeur of the republican system, the superiority of
America, a land peopled by our own race, a home for freemen in which
every citizen's privilege was every man's right--these were the exciting
themes upon which I was nurtured. As a child I could have slain king,
duke, or lord, and considered their deaths a service to the state and
hence an heroic act.
Such is the influence of childhood's earliest associations that it was
long before I could trust myself to speak respectfully of any privileged
class or person who had not distinguished himself in some good way
and therefore earned the right to public respect. There was still the
sneer behind for mere pedigree--"he is nothing, has done nothing, only
an accident, a fraud strutting in borrowed plumes; all he has to his
account is the accident of birth; the most fruitful part of his family, as
with the potato, lies underground." I wondered that intelligent men
could live where another human being was born to a privilege which
was not also their birthright. I was never tired of quoting the only
words which gave proper vent to my indignation:
"There was a Brutus once that would have brooked Th' eternal devil to
keep his state in Rome As easily as a king."
But then kings were kings, not mere shadows. All this was inherited, of
course. I only echoed what I heard at home.
Dunfermline has long been renowned as perhaps the most radical town
in the Kingdom, although I know Paisley has claims. This is all the
more creditable to the cause of radicalism because in the days of which
I speak the population of Dunfermline was in large part composed of
men who were small manufacturers, each owning his own loom or
looms. They were not tied down to regular hours, their labors being
piece work. They got webs from the larger manufacturers and the
weaving was done at home.
These were times of intense political excitement, and there was

frequently seen throughout the entire town, for a short time after the
midday meal, small groups of men with their aprons girt about them
discussing affairs of state. The names of Hume, Cobden, and Bright
were upon every one's tongue. I was often attracted, small as I was, to
these circles and was an earnest listener to the conversation, which was
wholly one-sided. The generally accepted conclusion was that there
must be a change. Clubs were formed among the townsfolk, and the
London newspapers were subscribed for. The leading editorials were
read every evening to the people, strangely enough, from one of the
pulpits of the town. My uncle, Bailie Morrison, was often the reader,
and, as the articles were commented upon by him and others after being
read, the meetings were quite exciting.
These political meetings were of frequent occurrence, and, as might be
expected, I was as deeply interested as any of the family and attended
many. One of my uncles or my father was generally to be heard. I
remember one evening my father addressed a large outdoor meeting in
the Pends. I had wedged my way in under the legs of the hearers, and at
one cheer louder than all the rest I could not restrain my enthusiasm.
Looking up to the man under whose legs I had found protection I
informed him that was my father speaking. He lifted me on his
shoulder and kept me there.
To another meeting I was taken by my father to hear John Bright, who
spoke in favor of J.B. Smith as the Liberal candidate for the Stirling
Burghs. I made the criticism at home that Mr. Bright did not speak
correctly, as he said "men" when he meant "maan." He did not give the
broad a we were accustomed to in Scotland. It is not to be wondered at
that, nursed amid such surroundings, I