and had to walk all the time, as he had no pony; we rode part of the
way. Then the lower part of the road was driven. As we were sitting by
a tree close to Albert a stag came out, and Albert killed him at one
shot. A fine day, though at times it has been very cold. We got home at
half-past six.
A FALL OF SNOW.
_September 18, 1858._
Alas! the last day! When we got up the weather seemed very hopeless.
Everything was white with snow, which lay, at least, an inch on the
ground, and it continued snowing heavily, as it had done since five
this morning. I wished we might be snowed up, and unable to move. How
happy I should have been could it have been so! It continued snowing
till half-past ten or eleven, and then it began to clear up. The hills
appeared quite white; the sun came out, and it became splendidly
bright. Albert was going to have the woods driven--which are not
properly called _Carrop Woods_, but _Garmaddie Woods_--but had first to
ride round _Craig Gowan_ with Dr. Robertson to see _Robrech_, the place
where Duncan’s new house is to be built, which is above the village,
opposite _Craig Luraghain_, with a most splendid view; and at Grant’s
house I was to meet him.
At one o’clock I left with Alice and Lenchen[46] for Grant’s, where we
met Albert, who joined us in the carriage: the day was truly splendid.
We got out at the river, and were going down to _Nelly’s Bush_, when
a stag was heard roaring very near; so we had to stop, and, with our
plaids and cloaks to sit upon, really avoided getting very wet. We
waited till Albert was near to the stag, saw it move, heard Albert
fire twice, and the stag turn, stop, and then disappear. Albert fired
again, but the stag had crossed the _Dee_; so we turned up on to the
road, and went into the dear old _Corrie Buie_; Albert turning off to
see if there were any deer near, while we waited for him. We then came
to a place which is always wet, but which was particularly bad after
the late rain and snow. There was no pony for me to get on; and as I
wished not to get my feet wet by walking through the long grass, Albert
proposed I should be carried over in a plaid; and Lenchen was first
carried over; but it was held too low, and her feet dangled; so Albert
suggested the plaid should be put round the men’s shoulders, and that I
should sit upon it; Brown and Duncan, the two strongest and handiest,
were the two who undertook it, and I sat safely enough with an arm
on each man’s shoulder, and was carried successfully over. All the
Highlanders are so amusing, and really pleasant and instructive to talk
to--women as well as men--and the latter so gentlemanlike.[47] Albert’s
shots were heard close by whilst we were at luncheon; and there was
a general rush of all the people. Albert joined us soon after; he had
had a great deal of trouble in stalking his stag, which he had been
after several days, but had killed him at one shot. He was brought
for us to see: a very light-coloured one, with fine straight horns,
of extraordinary thickness. After this we walked on for a beat quite
round _Carrop_; and the view was glorious! A little shower of snow had
fallen, but was succeeded by brilliant sunshine. The hills covered with
snow, the golden birch-trees on the lower brown hills, and the bright
afternoon sky, were indescribably beautiful.
[46] Princess Helena.
[47] A similar view to that given in the text is admirably expressed
by the Reverend Frederick W. Robertson in his _Lectures on Literary
and Social Topics_, and his description of a Tyrolese is even more
applicable to a Highlander.
“My companion was a Tyrolese chamois-hunter, a man who, in point of
social position, might rank with an English labourer. I fear there
would be a difficulty in England in making such a companionship
pleasurable and easy to both parties; there would be a painful
obsequiousness, or else an insolent familiarity on the one side,
constraint on the other. In this case there was nothing of that sort.
We walked together, and ate together. He had all the independence of a
man, but he knew the courtesy which was due to a stranger; and when we
parted for the night, he took his leave with a politeness and dignity
which would have done no discredit to the most finished gentleman. The
reason, as it seemed to me, was that his character had been moulded
by the sublimities of the forms of the outward nature amidst which
he lived. It was impossible to see the clouds wreathing themselves
in that strange wild way of theirs round the mountain crests, till
the hills seemed to become awful things, instinct with life--it
was impossible to walk, as we did sometimes, an hour or two before
sunrise, and see the morning’s beams gilding with their pure light the
grand old peaks on the opposite side of the valley, while we ourselves
were still in deepest shade, and look on that man, his very exterior
in harmony with all around him, and his calm eye resting on all that
wondrous spectacle, without a feeling that these things had had their
part in making him what he was, and that you were in a country in
which men were bound to be polished, bound to be more refined, almost
bound to be better men than elsewhere.”
The following lines[48] admirably pourtray what I then saw:—
“The gorgeous bright October,
Then when brackens are changed, and heather blooms are faded,
And amid russet of heather and fern, green trees are bonnie;
Alders are green, and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow;
One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen,
And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree,
Pendulous, here and there, her coronet, necklace, and earrings,
Cover her now, o’er and o’er; she is weary and scatters them from her.”
Oh! how I gazed and gazed on God’s glorious works with a sad heart,
from its being for the last time, and tried to carry the scene away,
well implanted and fixed in my mind, for this effect with the snow we
shall not often see again. We saw it like this in 1852; but we have not
seen it so since, though we have often had snow-storms and showers with
a little snow lying on the highest hills.
[48] _The Bothie of Tober-na-Vuolich._ By Arthur Hugh Clough.
ASCENT OF MORVEN.
_September 14, 1859._
I felt very low-spirited at my dearest Albert having to leave at one
o’clock for _Aberdeen_, to preside at the meeting of the British
Association.
I with Alice, the two ladies, Lord Charles Fitzroy, and Brown, left
shortly before for _Morven_. We took post-horses at the foot of
_Gairn_, and drove by the right side of the glen, along a new good
road, avoiding the ford, and by half-past two we were at the foot of
_Morven_, not far from the shooting-lodge there. Here we mounted our
ponies, and our caravan started with the gillies--Jemmie Coutts, an
old acquaintance, now keeper of the lodge, leading the way. About
half-way, at a burn-side, we stopped, seated ourselves on plaids on
the fine springy turf, and took luncheon; then walked about, sketched,
mounted our ponies, and rode up to the top, which was rather steep and
soft,—“foggy,” as Brown called it, which is the Highland expression
for mossy,--my little pony, being so fat, panted dreadfully. _Morven_
is 2,700 feet high, and the view from it more magnificent than can
be described, so large and yet so near everything seemed, and such
seas of mountains with blue lights, and the colour so wonderfully
beautiful. We looked down upon the Duke of Richmond’s property, and
saw the mountain called the _Buck of Cabrach_, and still further on
the _Slate Hills_; to the east, _Aberdeen_ and the blue sea, and we
could even see the ships with the naked eye: the table-land between
_Tarland_ and _Ballater_; and stretching out below, due south, _Mount
Keen_. To the south-west, _Loch-na-Gar_; to the west, _Ben A’an_ and
_Ben-na-Bhourd_,—“the land of _Gairn_,” as they call it, and _Muich_;
and _Deeside_ in the foreground. It was enchanting! We walked down to
where we had lunched, and rode to the bottom. Here we found a fire,
also tea with cakes, &c., which had been very kindly prepared for us
by a lady and gentleman, the daughter and son of Sir J. G. Ratcliff,
living in the shooting-lodge. We drank the tea, and left in the
carriage at half-past six o’clock, reaching _Balmoral_ at half-past
seven. So sad not to find my darling Husband at home.
THE PRINCE’S RETURN FROM ABERDEEN.
_September 15, 1859._
I heard by telegram last night that Albert’s reception was admirable,
and that all was going off as well as possible. Thank God. I ascended
_Loch-na-Gar_ with Alice, Helena, Bertie, Lady Churchill, Colonel
Bruce, and our usual attendants, and returned after six o’clock. At
ten minutes past seven arrived my beloved Albert. All had gone off
most admirably; he had seen many learned people; all were delighted
with his speech; the reception most gratifying. _Banchory House_ (Mr.
Thomson’s) where he lodged (four miles from _Aberdeen_) was, he said,
very comfortable.
FÊTE TO THE MEMBERS OF THE BRITISH ASSOCIATION.
_September 22, 1859._
The morning dawned brightly. Suddenly a very high wind arose which
alarmed us, but yet it looked bright, and we hoped the wind would keep
off the rain; but after breakfast, while watching the preparations,
showers began, and from half-past eleven a fearful down-pour, with that
white curtain-like appearance which is so alarming; and this lasted
till half-past twelve. I was in despair; but at length it began to
clear, just as the neighbours with their families, and some of the
farmers opposite (the Herrons, Duncans, Brown’s father and brothers)
arrived, and then came the huge omnibuses and carriages laden with
“philosophers.” At two o’clock we were all ready. Albert and the boys
were in their kilts, and I and the girls in royal Stuart skirts and
shawls over black velvet bodies.
It was a beautiful sight in spite of the frequent slight showers
which at first tormented us, and the very high cold wind. There were
gleams of sunshine, which, with the Highlanders in their brilliant and
picturesque dresses, the wild notes of the pipes, the band, and the
beautiful background of mountains rendered the scene wild and striking
in the extreme. The Farquharson’s men headed by Colonel Farquharson,
the Duff’s by Lord Fife, and the Forbes’s men by Sir Charles Forbes,
had all marched on the ground before we came out, and were drawn up
just opposite to us, and the spectators (the people of the country)
behind them. We stood on the terrace, the company near us, and the
“savants,” also, on either side of us, and along the slopes, on the
grounds. The games began about three o’clock:
1. “Throwing the Hammer.”
2. “Tossing the Caber.”
3. “Putting the Stone.”
We gave prizes to the three best in each of the games. We walked along
the terrace to the large marquee, talking to the people, to where the
men were “putting the stone.” After this returned to the upper terrace,
to see the race, a pretty wild sight; but the men looked very cold,
with nothing but their shirts and kilts on; they ran beautifully. They
wrapped plaids round themselves, and then came to receive the prizes
from me. Last of all came the dancing--reels and “Ghillie Callum.” The
latter the judges could not make up their minds about; it was danced
over and over again; and at last they left out the best dancer of all!
They said he danced “too well!” The dancing over, we left amid the loud
cheers of the people. It was then about half-past five. We watched from
the window the Highlanders marching away, the different people walking
off, and four weighty omnibuses filling with the scientific men. We
saw, and talked to, Professor Owen, Sir David Brewster, Sir John
Bowring, Mr. J. Roscoe, and Sir John Ross.[49]
[49] During the Fête, we heard from Sir R. Murchison and others that
news had been received this morning of the finding of poor Sir John
Franklin’s remains--or, rather, of the things belonging to him and his
party.
When almost all were gone, we took a short walk to warm ourselves.
Much pleased at everything having gone off well. The Duke of Richmond,
Sir R. Murchison, General Sabine, Mr. Thomson of _Banchory House_, and
Professor Phillipps, Secretary of the Association, all of whom slept
here, were additions to the dinner-party. I sat between our cousin
Philip (Count of Flanders) and the Duke of Richmond. All the gentlemen
spoke in very high terms of my beloved Albert’s admirable speech, the
good it had done, and the general satisfaction it had caused.
We could see the fire of the Forbes’s encampment on the opposite side.
EXPEDITION TO INCHRORY.
_September 30, 1859._
At twenty minutes past eleven we started with Helena and Louise in
the sociable, Grant on the box, for _Loch Bulig_, passing the farms
of _Blairglass_ and of _Dall Dounie_, and the shooting-lodge of
_Corndavon_, ten miles distant. Here we found our ponies (mine being
“Victoria”), and rode along the edge of the lake, up a beautiful glen
by a path winding through the valley, which appeared frequently closed.
We then rode along a small river or burn, of which no one knew the
name; none of our party having ever been there before. The hills were
sprinkled with birch-trees, and there was grass below in the valley;
we saw deer. As we approached _Inchrory_ (a shooting-lodge of Lord H.
Bentinck’s) the scenery became finer and finer, reminding us of _Glen
Tilt_, and was most beautiful at _Inchrory_, with the fine broad water
of the _Avon_ flowing down from the mountains.
We inquired of the people at _Inchrory_ whether there was any way of
getting round over the hills by _Gairn Shiel_, and they said there
was; but that the distance was about 11 miles. Neither Grant nor Brown
had been that way. However we accepted it at once, and I was delighted
to go on _à l’improviste_, travelling about in these enchanting hills
in this solitude, with only our good Highlanders with us, who never
make difficulties, but are cheerful, and happy, and merry, and ready
to walk, and run, and do anything. So on we went, turning up above
_Inchrory_ by a winding road between hillocks and commanding a glorious
view towards _Laganaul_. Here, on a little grassy knoll, we lunched in
a splendid position.
After our luncheon, and walking a little way, we remounted, and
proceeded by the so-called “Brown Cow” (on the other side of which
we had driven), over a moor, meeting a shepherd, out of whom Grant
could get little information. Soon we came to corn-fields in the
valley; passed _Favanché_ and _Inchmore_, and got on to a good road,
on which Brown and Grant “travelled” at a _wonderful_ pace, upwards
of five miles an hour without stopping; and the former with that
vigorous, light, elastic tread which is quite astonishing. We passed
_Dal-na-Damph Shiel_ (a shooting-lodge of Sir Charles Forbes); and went
along the old “Military Road,” leaving _Cockbridge_, a small straggling
“toun,” which is on the road to _Inverness_, to our left, and the old
_Castle of Corgarf_ to our right. We looked over into _Donside_. The
road was soon left for a mountain one in the hills, above one of the
tributary streams of the _Don_, and was wild and desolate; we passed
_Dal Choupar_ and _Dal Vown_, and, as we ascended, we saw _Tornahoish_,
at a distance to the left. After going along this hill-track, over some
poor and tottering bridges, we joined the road by which we had driven
to _Tornahoish_. It was fast getting dark, but was very fine. I and
the girls got off and walked sharply some little distance. Albert had
walked further on, Grant riding his pony meantime. P. Robertson and
Kennedy, besides those I have named, carried the basket alternately.
We remounted our ponies, and Brown led mine on at an amazing pace
up the _Glaschoil Hill_, and we finally reached _Gairn Shiel_ after
seven, quite in the dark. There, at the small public-house, we found
the carriage, and drove off as soon as we could; the ponies were to
be given half a feed, and then to come on. We had to drive home very
slowly, as the road is not good, and very steep in parts.
A mild night. Home by ten minutes past eight, enchanted with our day.
How I wish we could travel about in this way, and see _all_ the wild
spots in the _Highlands_! We had gone 35 miles, having ridden 19 and a
half! The little girls were in great glee the whole time.
ASCENT OF BEN MUICH DHUI.
_Friday, October 7, 1859._
Breakfast at half-past eight. At ten minutes to nine we started, in the
sociable, with Bertie and Alice and our usual attendants. Drove along
the opposite side of the river. The day very mild and promising to be
fine, though a little heavy over the hills, which we anxiously watched.
At _Castleton_ we took four post-horses, and drove to the _Shiel of
the Derry_, that beautiful spot where we were last year--which Albert
had never seen--and arrived there just before eleven. Our ponies were
there with Kennedy, Robertson, and Jemmie Smith. One pony carried the
luncheon-baskets. After all the cloaks, &c. had been placed on the
ponies, or carried by the men, we mounted and began our “journey.”
I was on “Victoria,” Alice on “Dobbins.” George McHardy, an elderly
man who knew the country (and acts as a guide, carrying luggage for
people across the hills “on beasts” which he keeps for that purpose),
led the way. We rode (my pony being led by Brown most of the time both
going up and down) at least four miles up _Glen Derry_, which is very
fine, with the remnants of a splendid forest, _Cairn Derry_ being to
the right, and the _Derry Water_ running below. The track was very bad
and stony, and broken up by cattle coming down for the “Tryst.” At the
end of the glen we crossed a ford, passed some softish ground, and
turned up to the left by a very rough, steep, but yet gradual ascent to
_Corrie Etchan_, which is in a very wild rugged spot, with magnificent
precipices, a high mountain to the right called _Ben Main_, while to
the left was _Cairngorm of Derry_. When we reached the top of this very
steep ascent (we had been rising, though almost imperceptibly, from the
_Derry Shiel_,) we came upon a loch of the same name, which reminded us
of _Loch-na-Gar_ and of _Loch-na-Nian_. You look from here on to other
wild hills and corries--on _Ben A’an_, &c. We ascended very gradually,
but became so enveloped in mist that we could see nothing--hardly those
just before us! Albert had walked a good deal; and it was very cold.
The mist got worse; and as we rode along the stony, but almost flat
ridge of _Ben Muich Dhui_, we hardly knew whether we were on level
ground or the top of the mountain. However, I and Alice rode to the
very top, which we reached a few minutes past two; and here, at a cairn
of stones, we lunched, in a piercing cold wind.
Just as we sat down, a gust of wind came and dispersed the mist, which
had a most wonderful effect, like a dissolving view--and exhibited the
grandest, wildest scenery imaginable! We sat on a ridge of the cairn to
take our luncheon,--our good people being grouped with the ponies near
us. Luncheon over, Albert ran off with Alice to the ridge to look at
the splendid view, and sent for me to follow. I did so; but not without
Grant’s help, for there were quantities of large loose stones heaped up
together to walk upon. The wind was fearfully high, but the view was
well worth seeing. I cannot describe all, but we saw where the _Dee_
rises between the mountains called the _Well of Dee_—_Ben-y-Ghlo_--and
the adjacent mountains, _Ben Vrackie_--then _Ben-na-Bhourd_--_Ben
A’an_, &c.--and such magnificent wild rocks, precipices, and corries.
It had a sublime and solemn effect; so wild, so solitary--no one but
ourselves and our little party there.
Albert went on further with the children, but I returned with Grant to
my seat on the cairn, as I could not scramble about well. Soon after,
we all began walking and looking for “cairngorms,” and found some
small ones. The mist had entirely cleared away below, so that we saw
all the beautiful views. _Ben Muich Dhui_ is 4,297 feet high, one of
the highest mountains in _Scotland_. I and Alice rode part of the way,
walking wherever it was very steep. Albert and Bertie walked the whole
time. I had a little whisky and water, as the people declared pure
water would be too chilling. We then rode on without getting off again,
Albert talking so gaily with Grant. Upon which Brown observed to me in
simple Highland phrase, “It’s very pleasant to walk with a person who
is always ’content.’” Yesterday, in speaking of dearest Albert’s sport,
when I observed he never was cross after bad luck, Brown said, “Every
one on the estate says there never was so kind a master; I am sure our
only wish is to give satisfaction.” I said, they certainly did.[50]
[50] We were always in the habit of conversing with the
Highlanders--with whom one comes so much in contact in the Highlands.
The Prince highly appreciated the good-breeding, simplicity, and
intelligence, which make it so pleasant and even instructive to talk to
them.
By a quarter-past six o’clock we got down to the _Shiel of the Derry_,
where we found some tea, which we took in the “shiel,”[51] and started
again by moonlight at about half-past six. We reached _Castleton_ at
half-past seven--and after this it became cloudy. At a quarter-past
eight precisely we were at _Balmoral_, much delighted and not at all
tired; everything had been so well arranged, and so quietly, without
any fuss. _Never_ shall I forget this day, or the impression this very
grand scene made upon me; truly sublime and impressive; such solitude.
[51] “Shiel” means a small shooting-lodge.
FIRST GREAT EXPEDITION:--TO GLEN FISHIE AND GRANTOWN.
_Hotel Grantown, Tuesday, September 4, 1860._
Arrived this evening after a most interesting tour; I will recount
the events of the day. Breakfasted at _Balmoral_ in our own room at
half-past seven o’clock, and started at eight or a little past, with
Lady Churchill and General Grey, in the sociable (Grant and Brown on
the box as usual), for _Castleton_, where we changed horses. We went
on five miles beyond the _Linn of Dee_, to the _Shepherd’s Shiel of
Geldie_, or, properly speaking, _Giuly_, where we found our ponies and
a guide, Charlie Stewart. We mounted at once, and rode up along the
_Geldie_, which we had to ford frequently to avoid the bogs, and rode
on for two hours up _Glen Geldie_, over a moor which was so soft and
boggy in places, that we had to get off several times. The hills were
wild, but not very high, bare of trees, and even of heather to a great
extent, and not picturesque till we approached the _Fishie_, and turned
to the right up to the glen which we could see in the distance. The
_Fishie_ and _Geldie_ rise almost on a level, with very little distance
between them. The _Fishie_ is a fine rapid stream, full of stones.
As you approach the glen, which is very narrow, the scenery becomes
very fine--particularly after fording the _Etchart_, a very deep ford.
Grant, on his pony, led me through: our men on foot took off their
shoes and stockings to get across. From this point the narrow path
winds along the base of the hills of _Craig-na-Go’ar_--the rocks of the
“Goat Craig;”—_Craig-na-Caillach_; and _Stron-na-Barin_--the nose of
the queen.” The rapid river is overhung by rocks, with trees, birch and
fir; the hills, as you advance, rise very steeply on both sides, with
rich rocks and corries, and occasional streamlets falling from very
high--while the path winds along, rising gradually higher and higher.
It is quite magnificent!
We stopped when we came to a level spot amongst the trees. The native
firs are particularly fine; and the whole is grand in the extreme. We
lunched here--a charming spot--at two o’clock; and then pursued our
journey. We walked on a little way to where the valley and glen widen
out, and where there is what they call here a green “hard.” We got on
our ponies again and crossed the _Fishie_ (a stream we forded many
times in the course of the day) to a place where the finest fir-trees
are, amidst some of the most beautiful scenery possible.