MEMORIES
[Illustration:
_Engr. by J.J. Washington 2^a_
_The beautiful Duchess of Argyll with her daughters Lady Augusta and
Lady Charlotte Campbell_
_By Angelica Kauffman._
]
MEMORIES
BY
C. F. GORDON CUMMING
AUTHOR OF ‘WANDERINGS IN CHINA,’ ‘AT HOME IN FIJI,’ ETC.
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MCMIV
_All Rights reserved_
“_APOLOGIA._”
_I have mentioned many pleasant things that have been mine by
inheritance._
_But I have suffered much from one heritage of a very trying nature,
namely, the total inability to recognise general acquaintances when
meeting them unexpectedly; or even real friends, whom mentally I know
very well indeed, but quite fail to identify when we are suddenly
brought face to face._
_This grave social disability I inherit from my father, to whom the same
failing was a life-long trial. Moreover, it is one for which,
unfortunately, the sufferer does not always get sympathy from those whom
she has failed to recognise. I mention this chiefly in the hope that it
may meet the eye of some to whom I am told that I have thus occasionally
most unwittingly given offence._
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTORY 1
CHAPTER I.
ALTYRE—DUNPHAIL—NUMEROUS KINSFOLK—CORNISH RELATIONS—GRANTS OF
GRANT—EPISCOPAL CHURCH 3
CHAPTER II.
THE ALTYRE GARDENS—HOME INTERESTS—OUR MOTHER’S DEATH—EARLY
INFLUENCES—THE MORAY FLOODS 34
CHAPTER III.
THE ALTYRE WOODS—BANKS OF THE FINDHORN—CULBYN SANDHILLS—COVESEA
CAVES 52
CHAPTER IV.
GORDONSTOUN—A GLORIOUS PLAYGROUND—THE GREAT PICTURE—THE
DUNGEONS—THE CHARTER-ROOM—OLD LETTERS—ECCLESIASTICAL
CENSURES—SUCCESSIVE LAIRDS—WINDOW-TAX 72
CHAPTER V.
MY ELDEST SISTER’S MARRIAGE—LIFE AT CRESSWELL—SCHOOLDAYS IN
LONDON—FIRST SEA VOYAGES—ROUALEYN’S RETURN FROM SOUTH AFRICA 102
CHAPTER VI.
MY FIRST LONDON SEASON—MY FATHER’S ACCIDENT—BEGINNING OF THE
CRIMEAN WAR—DEATH OF CAPTAIN CRESSWELL—DEATH OF MY FATHER—WE
LEAVE ALTYRE 122
CHAPTER VII.
LIFE IN NORTHUMBERLAND—MY SISTER ELEANORA’S WEDDING—ALNWICK CASTLE
IN 1855 AND 1892—SERIOUS ILLNESS—DEATH OF OSWIN AND SEYMOUR
CRESSWELL 140
CHAPTER VIII.
AT HOME ON SPEYSIDE—THE LAST CALL TO ARMS OF CLAN GRANT—A DOUBLE
FUNERAL—MACDOWAL GRANT OF ARNDILLY—ABERLOUR ORPHANAGE 159
CHAPTER IX.
THE “HOME-GOING” OF THREE BROTHERS 173
CHAPTER X.
MARRIAGES OF MY SISTER EMILIA AND MY BROTHER WILLIAM—WE LEAVE
SPEYSIDE AND SETTLE IN PERTHSHIRE—MY VISITS TO SKYE AND INDIA 191
CHAPTER XI.
RETURN TO ENGLAND—VISIT CORNWALL _EN ROUTE_ TO CEYLON FOR TWO
HAPPY YEARS 205
CHAPTER XII.
START FOR FIJI—LIFE IN AUSTRALIA AND NEW ZEALAND—DEATH OF THE REV.
F. AND MRS. LANGHAM 216
CHAPTER XIII.
CRUISE ON A FRENCH MAN-OF-WAR—TONGAN
ISLES—SAMOA—TAHITI—CALIFORNIA—JAPAN 227
CHAPTER XIV.
JAPANESE BURIAL-GROUNDS—CREMATION IN MANY LANDS—SACRED SCRIPTURE
WHEELS—BUDDHIST ROSARIES 245
CHAPTER XV.
MYTHOLOGICAL PLAYS—JAPANESE THEATRES—THE FORTY-SEVEN RÔNINS—FLOWER
FESTIVALS 270
CHAPTER XVI.
WAYSIDE SHRINES—THE FOX-GOD—OLD DRUGGISTS’ SHOPS—PUNISHING
REFRACTORY IDOLS 288
CHAPTER XVII.
ASCENT OF FUJIYAMA—ITS CRATER—VIEW FROM THE SUMMIT—TRIANGULAR
SHADOW—NUMEROUS VOLCANIC ERUPTIONS 307
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE PEOPLE ENTERTAIN THE MIKADO AND GENERAL ULYSSES GRANT—RETURN
TO SAN FRANCISCO 334
CHAPTER XIX.
IN THE HAWAIIAN ISLES—SPIRITUALISM IN BOSTON—RETURN TO
BRITAIN—INVENTION OF THE SYSTEM OF EASY READING FOR BLIND AND
SIGHTED CHINESE 347
APPENDIX.
NOTE
A. THE WOLF OF BADENOCH 379
B. THE LOWLANDS OF MORAY 381
C. A LEGEND OF VANISHED WATERS 403
D. ELGIN CATHEDRAL AND THE CHURCH OF ST GILES 427
E. ANNE SEYMOUR CONWAY 442
F. CONDITIONAL IMMORTALITY 443
G. INTERCESSORY PRAYER 454
H. CHANGE IN SOCIAL DRINKING CUSTOMS 460
I. USE OF THE ROSARY 464
J. HAIR OFFERINGS 467
K. ON THE MEDICINAL USE OF ANIMALS IN CHINA AND BRITAIN 468
L. MAGAZINE ARTICLES 477
INDEX 481
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PHOTOGRAVURES.
PAGE
THE BEAUTIFUL DUCHESS OF ARGYLL, WITH HER DAUGHTERS LADY
AUGUSTA AND LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL _Frontispiece_
By Angelica Kauffman.
LADY CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL 16
ELIZA MARIA, LADY GORDON-CUMMING OF ALTYRE 38
By Saunders about 1830.
ANDROMACHE BEWAILING THE DEATH OF HECTOR (THE BEAUTIFUL
DUCHESS OF HAMILTON AS HELEN OF TROY) 76
By Gavin Hamilton.
SIR WILLIAM GORDON GORDON-CUMMING 136
By Saunders about 1830.
ELIZABETH GUNNING, DUCHESS OF HAMILTON, AS HELEN OF TROY 158
By Gavin Hamilton.
ROUALEYN GEORGE GORDON CUMMING IN 1851 176
───────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────────
ALTYRE PRIOR TO 1854 52
THE BATHING-PLACE, COVESEA 58
HELL’S HOLE, HOPEMAN 62
THE SCULPTURE CAVE, COVESEA 68
GORDONSTOUN PRIOR TO 1900 72
THE ROUND SQUARE, GORDONSTOUN 74
A CORNER OF THE OLD ROOF, GORDONSTOUN 86
OLD DOVE-COT AT GORDONSTOUN 96
AN ATTIC WINDOW IN THE INNER COURT 100
THE OLD MICHAEL KIRK, 1866 188
MISS C. F. GORDON CUMMING IN 1887 196
SCRIPTURE WHEEL 254
SHRINE CONTAINING THE SCRIPTURE WHEEL AT NIKKO 258
FUJIYAMA FROM THE OTOMITONGA PASS 308
MISS C. F. GORDON CUMMING IN 1904 372
A CAVE AT COVESEA 402
THE PALACE AT SPYNIE, 1860 412
INTRODUCTORY
“THOSE WHO ON GLORIOUS ANCESTORS ENLARGE
PRODUCE THE DEBT—WE LOOK FOR THE DISCHARGE.”
_Old Chronicle._
In the rush and hurry of this twentieth century, the present generation
find themselves so fully occupied with their own contemporaries, that
for the most part they can take little or no interest, even in their own
immediate predecessors, still less in their progenitors of old
generations.
But we, who were born before life’s unsatisfying rush became so great,
still like to gather up the traditions of bygone years, and in fancy see
our own “forbears” as we know them to have been long ago.
As a daughter of the Chief of Clan Cumming, my home was, of course, at
Altyre, in Morayshire, _i.e._ at headquarters—a goodly heritage in
truth, and yet a mere fragment of the vast possessions of the Clan in
the days of its power. With regard to antiquity, it is said that the
Cummings of Altyre are directly descended from the Counts de Comyn who
were directly descended from Charlemagne. Robert, who was fifth in
descent, was created Earl of Northumberland by his cousin, William the
Conqueror. He was killed in Durham in January 1069. Besides broad lands
in Northumberland, his family held estates in Yorkshire and Wiltshire.
From him the old knights of Altyre (who were also Lords of Badenoch)
prove direct descent in the male line.
In the reign of Alexander III. the Comyns were also Earls of Buchan,
Earls of Menteith, Lords of Galloway, and Lords of Lochaber, owning vast
tracts of country. And besides these great barons, there were then
thirty landed knights in the Clan.
Of the Red Comyn who (while alone at prayer in Greyfriars Church in
Dumfries) was stabbed in sudden passion by Robert Bruce and murdered by
Kirkpatrick, it is recorded that sixty belted knights, with all their
vassals, were bound to follow his banner. But in that sacred and
unguarded hour, only his uncle, Robert Comyn of Altyre, was near, and
shared his fate.
The spelling of surnames in ancient documents is always liable to
variation, but probably no other has lent itself so largely to the fancy
of scribes. In one old charter of the Altyre family it is spelt in five
different ways. Cumeine, Chuimein, Commines, Cumyn, Comyn, Comin,
Coming, Cumin, Cummine, Cuming, and the modern form of Cumming, are
among these varieties.
The Clan is spoken of by various old writers as the most potent that
ever existed in Scotland; and a quaint old atlas, published in Amsterdam
in 1654 by Jean Blaeu, quotes a somewhat older Latin work by Sir Robert
Gordon of Stralloch, concerning
“Altyr, qui appartenoit à ceux de la maison de Cumines qui estoit, il y
a plus de trois cens ans, la plus riche, et la plus puissante de
l’Ecosse.”
How it came to pass that this powerful family should, so quickly after
the accession of Robert Bruce, have been reduced to the comparatively
small proportions of later years, is one of the unsolved mysteries of
Scottish history.
CHAPTER I
“SURELY GOODNESS AND MERCY HAVE FOLLOWED ME ALL THE DAYS OF MY
LIFE.”—Psalm xxiii. 6.
Altyre—Dunphail—Numerous Kinsfolk—Cornish Relations—Grants of
Grant—Episcopal Church.
Many a time I have been asked by friends who have found pleasure in
reading my notes of travel in divers countries to write a record of my
early home-life and of various matters of local interest.
Having rarely kept a journal, except when travelling, I felt that I had
insufficient materials from which to compile such a record; but after a
while I bethought me of one friend (Miss Murray of Polmaise), with whom
for more than forty years I had corresponded regularly, and as I had
preserved most of her letters, it was possible that she might have done
the same by mine. So to her I applied. The answer was, “Why did you not
write a month sooner? I have been setting my house in order, to minimise
trouble for my survivors, and have just burnt all my old letters,
including yours.” A few weeks later she entered the Larger Life, and for
a while the thought passed from me.
But now that I am rapidly nearing the appointed term of threescore years
and ten, and have far outlived thirteen of my fifteen brothers and
sisters—_i.e._ all save one of my brothers, and one half-sister—it seems
well to thread together such scattered details as may prove of interest
to some of my numerous friends, known and unknown, many of whom I can
never hope to meet face to face, but who have gladdened me by kind
letters, telling me how the records of my wanderings have beguiled weary
hours of suffering and weakness (one of these, which gave me special
pleasure, was from the author of the celebrated _Book of Nonsense_).
So for such sympathetic friends, I will now note some early memories of
those happy days—
“When we all were young together
And the earth was new to me.”
And if such notes are apt to appear egotistic, may I be forgiven, for
assuredly the records of the first fifty years of my life are those of
some one quite different from my present self in every respect, both of
personality and of surroundings. Indeed, I received a hint of this about
twenty-five years ago, when on my return from wandering in far
countries, I was told that an old family servant was anxious to see me
again after an interval of about fifteen years. I went to her house, and
was received with the cold glare of non-recognition. I said, “Don’t you
remember Miss Eka?” “Miss Eka,” she said beamingly, “Oh, fine do I mind
her, but,” doubtingly, “surely you are no her? Eh!! and ye WERE so
good-looking!” I like to treasure that tribute to a forgotten past.
Though I cannot say that I remember the 26th of May 1837, I do vividly
remember my father’s assuring me that early on that morning he had found
me in the heart of a fine large cabbage; so I greatly respected the tall
cabbages, from beneath which I retrieved deliciously sweet, small pears,
which fell from a large overhanging tree—one of the countless joys of
the most delightfully varied series of gardens that ever gladdened the
heart of happy children, and their elders of all ages.
In looking back and considering lives and characters, I often think how
little weight we give to the inestimable advantages which have enfolded
some of us from our birth to our grave. Ay, and long, long before our
birth, in the unspeakable blessing of healthy, well-conditioned
ancestors, who have transmitted to their descendants well-balanced minds
in healthy bodies, naturally cheerful dispositions, and many another
pleasant inheritance; all natural gifts which we accept as our
birthright, quite as a matter of course, yet the lack of which are to so
many life-long drawbacks for which all the world’s wealth cannot
compensate.
And when to these personal gifts there is added the charm of being born
and brought up in singularly lovely and delightful homes, nurtured in
simple, practical faith and reverence for all holy things, and enfolded
in the love of a large and attached home-circle, and the wider
friendship of very numerous kinsfolk, equally happy in their
surroundings, such an one is truly of the number of those “to whom much
is given.”
Such has been my own experience of life, always surrounded by good
influences.
My mother was the very embodiment of health and beauty, bodily and
mental. In physical stature, tall and stately, but above all, great in
soul and intellect. My father, Sir William Gordon-Cumming, Chief of Clan
Comyn or Cumming, was as splendid a Highlander as ever trod the heather,
only excelled in beauty and stature by his own second son, Roualeyn, who
was certainly the grandest and most beautiful human being I have ever
beheld.
My mother, Eliza Maria Campbell of Islay and Shawfield, had eight
brothers and sisters, twenty-one nephews and nieces, and ever so many
grand-nephews and nieces. My father had fifteen brothers and sisters (of
whom seven died young), twenty-nine nephews and nieces, and thirty-four
grand-nephews and nieces.
So I started in life with fifty first cousins, about twice as many
second and third cousins, and collaterals without number, for the family
tree had roots and branches ramifying in every direction; and as each
group centred around some more or less notable home, it followed that
England and Scotland were dotted over with points of family interest, in
those good old days when it was held that “blood was thicker than
water,” and kinship, however much diluted, was fully recognised.
Looking back to those numerous centres of cheery and hospitable welcome,
I realise that they now exist only in memory. At best the old friends
are replaced by a second or third generation, but too often the old
homes have changed hands; iniquitous death-duties have done their
malignant work in ruining the old landowners and dispersing the many
retainers who for generations had worked on the estates, in healthy,
peaceful country homes.
On the death of my grandfather, Sir Alexander Penrose Gordon Comyn, my
father, then a minor, succeeded to the great estates of Altyre and
Dallas, Gordonstoun, and Rose-isle, all in the county of Moray.
Although the Comyns have held Altyre for certainly seven
hundred—probably a thousand years—(it was Sir Robert Comyn of Altyre
who, on 10th February 1305, came to the rescue of his nephew Sir John
Comyn, Lord of Badenoch, commonly called the Red Comyn, when he was
stabbed by Bruce in the Greyfriars Church at Dumfries, and who was
himself slain by Kirkpatrick)—they seem to have lived about seven miles
from Altyre at the castle of Dallas (which for a while was called
Torchastle), on a bleak, uninviting moorland. The very ruins of this
have now disappeared, and a luxurious modern house has been built as a
shooting-lodge.
At what date the original house of Altyre was built is uncertain, but
contracts of marriage were there signed about 1581 and 1602 (the latter
between James Cuming and Margaret, sister to Symon, Lord Fraser of
Lovat). That old house was inhabited till A.D. 1789, when my
grandfather, finding it too small for his sixteen children, bought
Forres House, at Forres, from the Tullochs of Tannachie. On his death it
became the dower-house of his widow, who died there in 1832. For a few
years after their marriage, they had lived at Cothall, close to the
river Findhorn, a very pleasant situation in a green meadow enclosed by
old trees. Only a fragment of ruin now marks the spot.
My father’s intention always was to build an entirely new house on a
hill about a mile from old Altyre. At great cost, he levelled the summit
of the said hill, making an excellent carriage road, winding gently
round to the proposed site, from which there is a wide, beautiful view,
overlooking the Altyre and Darnaway woods, with a distant view of the
pretty little town of Forres and of Findhorn Bay, and across the Moray
Firth to the faint blue distant hills of Ross, Sutherland, Caithness,
and Cromarty. It is a delightful spot, known to this day as “the
Situation,” and for many years building thereon was the dream of my
father’s life.
Close to the Situation, another heathery, fir-crowned hill has from time
immemorial been known as the “Gallows Hill,” whereon any one who had the
misfortune to incur the wrath of the knights of Altyre was ruthlessly
hanged in the “good old days,” when it is related of one awe-stricken
wife that she urged her unwilling husband to go quietly to his doom and
“dinna anger the laird.”
As it was not convenient to begin at once building on the new site, my
father and mother decided that for a while they would continue to live
in the old house; and then began the laying out of those great,
beautiful gardens and shrubberies of which comparatively little now
remains—sacrificed to the changing taste of successive generations. They
also laid out many miles of romantic woodland paths, which made the
whole place a dream of delight. And so they became more and more
disinclined to leave the home they had made so fascinating; and as their
family increased they occasionally added a few rooms to the old place,
which thus gradually developed into a picturesque patchwork, covered
with climbing roses, honeysuckle, and jessamines, and beloved by the
happy children, to whom it was indeed an earthly paradise, the profusion
of flowering shrubs so lavishly planted in every direction adding their
fragrance to that of the sweet woods.
Moreover, in those halcyon days, we were allowed to breathe the pure air
as God created it for us, unpolluted by the fumes of tobacco, which
assuredly can have no place in any paradise—certainly not in the
Celestial! Only as years went on did my brothers yield to the new
temptation, and venture to smoke a pipe in the kitchen when all the
household were safe in bed. As to smoking-rooms, they were not invented
in any houses within our ken.
Among the many incongruities in that dear old home, not the least was
the importation from abroad of three large fixed baths, which, with an
abundant supply of hot and cold water ready to hand, were a luxury by no
means common eighty years ago.
But far more attractive to the younger generation was a wooden
enclosure, built across a pool in a delightful rivulet on the further
side of the lawn, which, by means of a sluice, could be deepened at
pleasure; and there we could bathe to our hearts’ content in the
clearest and softest brown water, with trees and sky overhead, only one
corner being roofed as protection in case of rain.
All the water-supply for washing purposes came from one of these brown
rivers, and sometimes after heavy rain its colour was so dark as greatly
to surprise guests from the south, unused to peat regions; but all
confessed that no crystal streams could yield water so delightfully
soft.
Though the entailed lands necessarily passed to my father, Sir
Alexander’s love centred on his second son, Charles Lennox, to whom he
left the lovely estate of Dunphail, on the romantic banks of the river
Devie, just above its junction with the Findhorn, which is by far the
loveliest river in Scotland, and which divides the fascinating woods of
Altyre from those of Darnaway Castle, one of the Earl of Moray’s many
estates. Dunphail, which had formerly belonged to the Cummings, had
fallen into other hands. Sir Alexander bought it back for his favourite
son.
Of all legends of the north, none is more gruesome than that which tells
how, about the year 1340, Randolph Stuart (who had been created Earl of
Moray by his uncle, King Robert Bruce) besieged Alexander de Comyn, the
old knight of Dunphail, and five of his six sons in their strong castle.
For long they held out, till at length Randolph discovered that night
after night the eldest son, Alastair Bhan (_i.e._ the fair), contrived
to bring them food.
Soon he tracked him to his hiding-place, Slaginnan, a well-concealed
cave in a thickly wooded ravine beside the river Devie. His followers
closed the entrance to the cave with piles of heather and brushwood, and
to his prayer to be allowed to come out and die “like a man,” fighting
for life, they replied, “No, you shall die like a fox,” and so they
fired the brushwood and smoked him to death. Then they cut off his head
with its masses of golden hair, and threw it over the castle wall to the
unhappy father, crying “There is beef to your bannocks.”
Starvation soon compelled surrender, and the besiegers ruthlessly
beheaded all their prisoners, carrying off the heads as trophies, but
burying the seven headless bodies in one grave at the foot of the castle
rock; a grave always known as that of the Seven Headless Comyns. It was
opened in the last century, I believe, by order of Major Cumming-Bruce,
and the truth of the story was fully confirmed.
This Randolph Stuart was very nearly akin to that other miscreant,
Alexander Stuart, known as the “Wolf of Badenoch,” son of King Robert
II., who bestowed on him the lordship and lands of Buchan and of
Badenoch, wrested from the Comyns, and who was distinguished only for
his savage brutality. In the year 1390 he swooped down from his castle
of Lochindorb and burnt first the town and church of Torres, and a month
later did likewise by the stately cathedral of Elgin, the parish church
of St. Giles, and other ecclesiastical buildings, as well as a great
part of that city.
I feel bound to mention this detail, because I have so often heard it
asserted that the cruel “Wolf” was a Comyn, whereas our forbears were
then in the position of the unjustly maligned lamb.[1]
Many and glad were the happy weeks we so often spent among the lovely
ferny and birch-clad glades and glens on every side of beautiful
Dunphail, which to us was just as much home as Altyre itself. These
homes were connected not only by a first-rate carriage road, but by
miles of skilfully led footpaths along the beautiful, craggy banks of
the Findhorn, the Devie, and the Dorbach, through the estates of Altyre,
Logie, and Relugas, all the estates of Cumming cousins,[2] who were of
one heart and one mind in all that tended to open up their lovely
estates, and make their beauty accessible to themselves and others.
But as both my father and his brother had a curious talent for
instinctively hitting on the very best line for constructing roads and
footpaths through dense and well-nigh untrodden brushwood, the task was
altogether left to them, resulting in the excellent paths, most of which
remain to this day as their abiding memorial. Others (extending for
miles up the Altyre burn—“by the sweet burnside”—and through one
specially lovely glade known as “the Sanctuary,” where stately silver
pines cast their cool, deep shade over a carpet of greenest moss) were
demolished when the ruthless railway was led down that glen, and many
more have now been closed, but enough remain to earn the gratitude of
successive generations.
Perhaps the loveliest, and certainly the most unique stretch of
river-hewn rock, is the half mile of the Findhorn on the estate of
Relugas, just above its junction with the Devie, where at one point the
whole volume of brown waters rushes through a cleft so deep and narrow,
that on one occasion when Randolph, Earl of Moray, was closely pursued
by foes, he actually leaped from crag to crag and so escaped. This spot,
known as “Randolph’s Leap,” is naturally the chief attraction to
visitors who drive from afar to carry to more prosaic homes a memory of
the dreams of beauty, which by the generosity of all the lairds in the
glen have for the last three generations been made so easy of access.
Very sad to say, the continuity of these beautiful paths has recently
been destroyed through the selfish policy of the late non-resident
proprietrix of this most fascinating estate. In order to make her own
walks more attractive to summer tenants, by ensuring their own privacy
while taking unrestricted enjoyment of all walks and drives on the
neighbouring estates, she for some years past only allowed the public
access to this specially attractive half mile on one day of the week,
while quite excluding them from other lovely river-paths. So that the
most interesting point on the beautiful Findhorn is now the one blot;
which sends many away bitterly disappointed, because their only
opportunity (perhaps in a lifetime) of visiting the district (or of
revisiting the haunts of their youth) was not on the day so arbitrarily
fixed. Remonstrances and representations on this subject have hitherto
proved all in vain.
At the time when I can first remember lovely Relugas, it was the scene
of a curious instance of a man gaining his heart’s desire. Young Mr.
Mackilligan started from Elgin to carve his fortune in Ceylon, then
comparatively unknown to planters. As he left Scotland, he confided to a
friend that his ideal of all possible bliss would be to own Relugas
(then the property of Sir Thomas Dick Lauder), and to be the husband of
Eliza Marquis, a very handsome and winsome girl.
Strange to say, on his return, having made his pile, he found that
Relugas was for sale, and that he was still in time to woo and win the
maiden. Thus was his double ideal fulfilled. But alas! his health was
shattered, and his wife proved equally delicate, so it was truly
pathetic to visit them, and find each confined to a sofa, only able to
enjoy the beauty which they could see from the windows.
After his death, his widow deemed it best for her children to sell the
place, which was bought by the George Robert Smiths, who proved the
kindest of neighbours. To them a special attraction was the near
neighbourhood of Dunphail (only a mile by a lovely river path) the home
of their dear friends, the Cumming-Bruces.
My uncle, Charles Lennox Cumming, had married Mary, the grand-daughter
and heiress of Bruce the famous Abyssinian traveller, from whom she
inherited the estate of Kinnaird near Falkirk, and the old house
containing many valuable sketches and all manner of travel treasures
from Abyssinia, the Hawaiian Islands, and other regions, to visit which,
in his days, had been a matter worthy indeed of a great explorer. Of
course the heiress retained her own name, hence the family of
Cumming-Bruce.
Even in the beginning of the nineteenth century, the difficulties of
travel were still so great that my Uncle Charles was deemed quite a hero
on his return from wanderings in Turkey, Greece, and Italy. To the
latter he took his bride—a honeymoon commemorated by the Italian
character of the picturesque house which they built at Dunphail on their
return, also of the little Episcopal Church in Forres. The very
ornamental farm buildings at Altyre were a similar tribute to Italy by
my father.
To students of old Scottish story, it is worthy of note that this was
the very first occasion since the murder of our ancestor the Red Comyn
by King Robert Bruce that the two clans had intermarried. Curiously
enough, the combination was repeated in the next generation, their only
child, Elma Cumming-Bruce, having married James Bruce, Earl of Elgin.
She died in Jamaica, leaving one infant, Lady Elma Bruce, who inherited
the estates of her grandparents. She married Lord Thurlow, but her
children decided to bear their clan names. Her eldest son, “Fritz”
Cumming-Bruce, was killed when gallantly leading his 42nd Highlanders in
the deadly charge at Magersfontein, and a younger son, Sigurd, died of
enteric almost at the same time.
The eldest brother now surviving is the Rev. Charles Cumming-Bruce, who
is establishing much-needed Seamen’s Institutes at many points between
Vancouver and Portland (Oregon), where he ministers to seamen of many
nationalities and tries to protect them against sharpers of the worst
type. We may be excused a little pardonable pride in him and his good
work as, so far as we can trace, he is the only relation bearing our
name who in recent centuries has entered holy orders. In fact two Forbes
and two Dunbar cousins are apparently our only ecclesiastical
representatives in any branch of the family.
But it is satisfactory to know that twelve hundred years ago Cumming the
Fair held the Bishopric of the Isles, as seventh bishop of Iona; and in
his memory the Highlanders still call Fort Augustus on Loch Ness “Kil
Chuimein,” “the Cell of the Cumming.” Now the grey fort has in its turn
been demolished, to be replaced by St. Benedict’s Abbey, and a large
Benedictine monastery.
To return to the beginning of the nineteenth century. It was not only
continental travel which was difficult in those days. Many a time have I
heard my father describe his early experiences of being sent from
Morayshire to England and back for his holidays by a slow sailing-smack,
a mode of transit which, besides being wretchedly uncomfortable, cut
largely into the holidays; as in foul weather the voyage to London might
take three weeks or even four. When Sir Robert Gordon brought his family
from London to Gordonstoun, the voyage took them forty days. It was not
till 1822 that the first steamer of any importance appeared in the Moray
Firth, and several years later ere sufficient trade was developed to
make it worth while to establish a weekly steamer between Inverness and
Leith, calling at intermediate ports.
In common with several of our kinsfolk, my grandfather availed himself
of his right to send my father to be educated at Winchester College,
being “Founder’s kin” to William of Wykeham. Hence our early familiarity
with the good old Wykeham motto, “Manners maketh man,” and with that
curious old picture, a life-sized copy of which hung in the kitchen at
Altyre, showing the “Trusty Servant,” with the swift feet of the deer,
the long ears of the patient ass, the snout of a pig “not nice in diet,”
and the padlocked mouth, which proved how safe in his keeping were his
master’s secrets.
In their early days my father and his brother Charles travelled together
in Italy, where the handsome Highland dress, which the former always
wore in the evenings, attracted much admiration and curiosity. On one
occasion he observed that two Italian ladies, who were sitting beside
him, were deep in the discussion of some question, and that his
neighbour edged nearer and nearer to him. At last a gentle finger
suddenly touched his knee, and its owner rapidly retreated with an
expression of disgust, exclaiming to her companion, _Carne da vero!_[3]
The gay Cumming tartan of scarlet and bright green, crossed with narrow
lines of black and white, has generally been reserved by the men of our
family for evening wear, the dark green and purple, with narrow yellow
stripe, of the Gordons being preferable for day wear. Of course, as
chief of the Clan, my father wore the symbolic three eagle’s feathers in
his broad blue bonnet.
Of our two Clan badges, the Gordon evergreen ivy leaf, with its pretty
motto, _Je meurs où je m’attache_, has naturally been more popular than
the saugh, or broad-leafed deciduous willow, known in Scottish song as
“the frush” _i.e._ brittle saugh-wand. Our family mottoes, _Sans
crainte_ of the Gordons, and _Courage_ of the Cummings, have undoubtedly
proved inspirations.
It was in Italy that the brothers first made the acquaintance of my
beautiful grandmother, Lady Charlotte Campbell of Islay, and her lovely
daughters.
Here I must record a curious detail of fortune-telling. Shortly before
that memorable meeting, Lady Charlotte and some of her daughters visited
an Italian lady, who expressed a wish to tell Eliza’s fortune. The girl
objected, but the lady insisted. She told them that political troubles
were even then brewing, and that within a few days complications would
arise which would make their position in Florence very uncomfortable.
But just in the hour of need two fair-haired Scotsmen would come to
their rescue, and that she would marry the elder of the two.
Strange to say, all came about exactly as the lady foretold. Sir William
and his brother did arrive in Italy just when political complications
had arisen, and hearing that some of their countrywomen were in
difficulties, they at once went to offer themselves as their escort to
Switzerland. And so it came to pass that in September 1815, in the
little Church at Zurick, Eliza Maria Campbell, aged seventeen, became
Lady Comyn-Gordon, for so the order of the double surname was then
arranged, and the old spelling was not finally given up till later.[4]
My mother’s sisters, as also her two brothers, were not long in
following her example. BEAUJOLAIS (so called after the Comte de
Beaujolais,[5] who was a special friend of Lady Charlotte) married the
Earl of Charleville. JULIA married Mr. Langford Brooke, of the Mere in
Cheshire. (She had the anguish of seeing him drowned before her windows
while skating on his own lake.) EMMA married William Russell, son of
that Lord William who was murdered by his own valet, Courvoisier.
CONSTANCE ADELAIDE married Lord Arthur Lennox. (Her daughter Constance
married Sir George Russell of Swallowfield.)
It was of ELEANORA, the loveliest of all, that Harriet, Countess
Granville (see her _Memoirs_) wrote: “She is decidedly the girl I should
prefer Hartington’s marrying. She is beautiful, and _dans le meilleur
genre_, with the sweetest manners I ever met with. She is really quite
enchanting.”... She goes on to speak of her own little Granville as “a
delightful little companion, so full of natural tact and instinctive
civility, which prevents his ever being _de trop_.”
Curiously enough, when the little son grew up, he was equally attracted
by Eleanora’s beautiful niece Castalia, daughter of Uncle Walter, and
they filled the same rôle of ambassador and ambassadress as his parents
had done before him.
Aunt Eleanora was my mother’s favourite sister, and it was in the pretty
sitting-room at Altyre that, in 1819, she was married to the Earl of
Uxbridge. Her life was very brief, and in an album of my mother’s I find
the verse quoted as relating to her:—
“Elle était de ce monde où les plus belles choses
Out le pire destin
Et Rose, elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses,
L’espace d’un matin.”
Her son succeeded his father as Marquis of Anglesea; and of her
beautiful daughters, Ellen married a son of Sir Sandford Graham, and
Constance married the Earl of Winchelsea.
[Illustration:
_Emery Walker. ph. sc._
_Lady Charlotte Campbell._
]
Of the brothers, WALTER FREDERICK, owner of Islay and Shawfield, married
his own first cousin, Lady Ellinor Charteris, who died, leaving only one
son, John Francis, the well-beloved Ian, whose home, Niddry Lodge, near
London, was for so many years the central gathering-point, not only for
all the family, but for all sorts and conditions of men with whom his
great mind found congenial interests in all the countries where he
wandered, sketching and studying geological and other problems. His book
on the action of _Fire and Frost_ made a considerable mark, as did also
his _Tales of the West Highlands_, four volumes of old Celtic legends
collected by himself from Highlanders and Islanders, whose hearts opened
wide at the sound of their own Gaelic tongue, a birthright which
likewise proved a key to sympathy wherever the old Celtic races still
survive.
Uncle Walter married secondly Katharine, daughter of Lady Elizabeth
Cole, a sister of Lord Derby. She had one son, Walter, and four
daughters, Augusta, Eila, Violet, and Castalia, who married
respectively, Mr. Bromley-Davenport, Sir Kenneth Mackenzie of Gairloch,
Henry West, and Earl Granville.
Alas! two bitter sorrows early overshadowed the life of this dear aunt.
First when Uncle Walter discovered that the princely fortune, which had
been deemed inexhaustible, had, in some totally unaccountable manner,
melted away in the hands of his agents, and that when, in the terrible
years of famine caused by the potato-blight, he was supplying his
starving islanders on Islay with shiploads of grain imported from
America, it was being paid for with borrowed money. (The islanders, of
whom to-day there are only seven thousand, then numbered twenty
thousand.)
It is said that any man of business would have put the whole matter into
the hands of trustees, who could have put all right in two or three
years. But his only instinct (in which Ian implicitly agreed) was at
once to get rid of the disgrace of being in debt to any one, and so all
the properties were at once thrown on the market. No sooner were they
sold than minerals were discovered on the estate of Shawfield, which
would have cleared off all deficits, and which have built up the great
wealth of the Whites, as represented by Lord Overtoun.
The terrible sorrow of leaving beloved Islay was doubtless in a great
measure responsible for the still greater loss which shortly
followed—namely, that of sight. Doubtless there had been some
constitutional weakness latent, but inability to restrain the bitter
tears that would keep on flowing, even more in sympathy for her adored
husband than for her own great sorrow, was apparently the immediate
cause of this terrible loss, which for fifty long years threw the shadow
of darkest night over one hitherto so joyous and so blest.
Ere long came the crowning sorrow, when her noble husband was taken from
her; but then as a pillar of strength came the life-long devotion of her
step-son, who thenceforth made it the chief concern of his life in every
way to minister to her in her darkened lot, and to be at once father and
brother to her children—children of whose beauty she heard on every
side, but whom she was never to see.
In all my memories none are more pathetic than those of delightful
summer afternoons in the pleasant shady garden at Niddry Lodge, with all
her own strikingly handsome family and their husbands gathered round
her, sometimes to watch a game of chess with Lord Granville, which was
her special delight, and as she turned her large grey eyes on one or
other of us, and made some comment concerning friends whom she had
recently “seen” and how they looked, it was difficult to realise that to
her all was total darkness.
Ere she once more entered into Light, one great joy was granted to her
in the form of a true romance of the nineteenth century. Naturally the
very name of Mr. Morrison—the purchaser of her beloved island home—was
to her abhorrent. But once again, as in the days of the Capulets and
Montagues, deepest love was born of her only hate. A third generation
grew up, and Hugh Morrison wooed and won the love of Lady Mary
Leveson-Gower; and when he brought sweet Mary Morrison to her ancestral
home on Islay, the joy of the Islanders at this return of the beloved
old race was unbounded.
Of my mother’s other brother JOHN and his wife, I have no recollection,
only that they left a son, Walter, and a bright, pretty daughter, Edith,
who married Mr. Callander of Ardkinglas, near Inveraray, and died
leaving two sons.
Now I must go back to the previous generation to tell of the mother of
all these beautiful sons and daughters, namely my grandmother, LADY
CHARLOTTE CAMPBELL. She lived till I was quite grown up, and even in old
age she was stately and fair to see, notwithstanding the lamentably free
use of red and white paint. Even in very advanced years she always sat
rigidly upright, and sorely disapproved of the lounging habits of the
younger generations, which she described as “sitting on their spines”—a
most undignified position.
Latterly she was known to the world as Lady Charlotte Bury, having
unfortunately contracted a second marriage with the Rev. Edward Bury,
which was in no way conducive to her happiness. Amongst other
iniquities, he stole and sold to a publisher her private journals, kept
during the years when she was the faithful attendant of Queen Caroline.
She never discovered the theft till they appeared in print as the _Diary
of a Lady of Quality_. The book was promptly suppressed “by authority,”
and the social annoyances which ensued were painful to a degree.
By her second marriage she had happily only one daughter, Blanche, who
married Mr. Lyon, and died childless.
In her old age, Lady Charlotte always kept a lovely portrait of herself
standing on an easel beside her, of which the dear old lady used
complacently to say, “It is the only picture that ever did me justice!”
It was just head and shoulders, with the strikingly picturesque
head-dress which so well became her, namely a band of black velvet above
her fair hair, and above that, fluffy lace, surmounted by a tall pale
pink or blue satin cap. I think it was by Sant, and that it was in
crayon. (One such remains in the family, but not the one of which I
speak.) Shortly before her death it disappeared, and none of the family
have ever been able to trace it. Possibly some reader of these pages may
be able to afford a clue to its fate.
She died on Easter Day (31st March) 1861, the same month in which my
father’s sister Sophia, “Saint Cecilia,” received her promotion to the
Celestial Choir.
Lady Charlotte was a daughter of John, fifth Duke of Argyll, who, in
1759, married Elizabeth, the lovely young widow of the sixth Duke of
Hamilton, one of the three beautiful Miss Gunnings, whose combined
loveliness set first Dublin and then London crazy.[6]
MARIA married the Earl of Coventry, and KITTY, who, from their
portraits, must have been the loveliest of all, preferred a quiet
country life, and married Mr. Travers.
ELIZABETH (or, as she was generally called, “Betty”) was as winsome as
she was fair. Curiously enough, her two sons by each marriage succeeded
to their respective fathers, so that she had the unique distinction of
having been wife of two dukes and mother of four! Her only daughter by
the first marriage, Lady Betty, married the Earl of Derby, and of her
Campbell daughters, Lady Augusta married General Clavering, and Lady
Charlotte married “Beautiful” Jack Campbell of Shawfield and Islay.
He was one of a family of thirteen, of whom MARGARET married the Earl of
Wemyss; GLENCAIRN (or “Aunt Glen,” as she was called by my older
sisters) married Mr. Carter; HAMILTON married Lord Belhaven (for many
years they acted the part of King and Queen at Holyrood at the General
Assembly of the Church of Scotland); MARY married Lord Ruthven; KATE
married Sir Charles Jenkinson (their daughters Ellen, Catherine and
Georgiana married respectively the Duke de Montebello, Mr. Guinness and
Mr. Nugent); ELIZABETH married Mr. Threipland, and HARRIET married Mr.
Hamilton of Gilkerscleuch, whose daughter Ellinor married Hamilton of
Dalzell.
Of all these, the one who held the largest share in my personal
affection was Mary, Lady Ruthven, whose talent for water-colour
painting, for music, and her intense appreciation of everything good and
beautiful, together with her large-hearted welcome for a wide circle of
friends, made a visit to her favourite home at old Winton Castle in East
Lothian (one of her own beautiful properties) an ever-recurring
pleasure. Some of her own best pictures were of temples in Greece, where
she had travelled much in her early married days, about the year 1819,
when such travel was a great event.
Lord Ruthven died in his prime, but she lived to the great age of
ninety-six; and very pathetic it was to see this aged lady every night
place beneath her pillow a beautifully painted miniature of a handsome
young man, the love of her youth. In the picturesque old churchyard at
Winton is the tall Celtic cross which she erected to his memory, bearing
for inscription these words from Dan. X. 19: “O man, greatly beloved,
peace be unto thee.”
She was the owner of large mining property, and took the keenest
interest in personally visiting the families of her villages with
creature comforts for the sick and sympathy for all. As years advanced,
she was sorely tried by ever-increasing blindness and deafness, while
her heart and mind were active as ever, and longing for information on
the politics and literature of the day. In order in some measure to
satisfy these cravings, her butler had every morning to read a large
part of _The Times_ in a stentorian voice, and in the afternoon one of
the footmen read lighter literature. Hence her anxiety to be told of
“good novels, which will not hurt John’s morals.” But she used to
complain pathetically that invariably when they reached the most
interesting point, John would close the book and say, “I must stop now,
my lady, the butler wants me to clean the silver”—the poor man’s lungs
being probably exhausted.
But the most touching incident of the day was the invariable assembling
of the large household for family worship, when in a deeply reverent,
and perfectly modulated voice, she would recite a chapter of the Bible,
of which she knew more than fifty chapters and a great many Psalms by
memory, and then offer prayer and praise from the depths of her own
heart. Those family prayers were very real.
Very impressive also to me was the unfailing regularity with which the
dear old lady invariably marched off to the parish church. If her guests
excused themselves on the score of weather, she would say to me, “My
dear, _we_ are not made of sugar, and we are not made of salt, so we
will go.” And go we did.
I referred to the beautiful modulation of her voice in prayer or in
reciting the Scriptures, or poems. Unfortunately as deafness increased,
she lost all control of voice in ordinary conversation, and often her
newly introduced young guests have been electrified by her deeply
resonant tones telling some one else what an excellent _parti_ the young
man or the heiress was, and how suitable a match he or she would be for
the other!
But such little details as these were but the infirmities of extreme old
age of one who, from her birth in 1789 to her death in 1885, lived under
four sovereigns, taking a keen interest in all political and national
events, from the days of Pitt, and the battle of Waterloo; who had been
the chosen friend of Sir Walter Scott, and frequently his guest at
Abbotsford; who was intimately acquainted with Rogers and Thomas Moore,
Wilson, Lockhart, and a multitude of other poets and literary men,
including Byron, and most of the leading artists of that long period.
Of my grandfather’s brothers, ROBERT inherited the estates of Skipness,
and COLIN those of Ard Patrick. WALTER was a naval officer, father of
Lady Chetwynd and Lady Trevelyan.
Robert’s son Walter, who was quite an ideal Highlander, wrote various
capital books on Indian sport, _My Indian Diary_ and _The Old Forest
Ranger_, by which name he himself came to be generally called. His
eldest daughter, Constance, married Macneal of Ugadale, whose delightful
home in the Mull of Cantyre overlooks the most magnificent waves and
most beautiful sands and golf-links to be found in Scotland.[7]
The two youngest sons, whom I vividly remember as merry, sunny-haired
mites, chasing the butterflies among tall lilies and roses in the old
garden, are now the Rev. Archibald Campbell, Bishop of Glasgow, and the
Rev. Alan Campbell, Episcopal clergyman at Callander. The latter, alas!
became blind soon after his ordination, but seems to have found that
sore affliction no great hindrance to the success of his ministerial
work, so that for several years (ably seconded by his widowed sister,
Mrs. David Ricardo) he continued his work among rough dock labourers on
the Thames, with whom his influence seemed to be enhanced by his sore
affliction.
The Campbells of Ard Patrick also represent an extensive branch of our
kinsfolk—the one who has entered most largely into our lives being
Ellinor, who married Michael Hughes, who for many years rented Huntly
Lodge, and made it a centre of hospitality so long as they lived.
Almost all these thirteen grand-uncles and grand-aunts married, and the
majority left children, and children’s children, to further extend the
family connections.
These were equally numerous on my father’s side, his GRANDFATHER,
ALEXANDER CUMMING or Cumyn, having in most romantic fashion, when
semi-shipwrecked off the coast of Cornwall, wooed and won GRACE PEARCE,
niece and heiress of John Penrose of Penrose, who was the last heir male
of that ancient family. On the lovely estate of Penrose close to
Helston, the young couple abode; and in the old charter-room at
Gordonstoun are preserved some quaint letters concerning Cornish
customs,[8] especially the value of the many wrecks, which were commonly
spoken of as God’s blessings. In the same old charter-room there is also
a brief memoir of his father by the eldest son, Alexander Penrose, in
which he tells of his father’s start in life as a midshipman on board
H.M.S. _Trafford_, whence he was transferred to H.M.S. _Kent_, and sent
to the West Indies.
On the voyage he deemed himself insulted by a lieutenant, so on arriving
at Port Royal in Jamaica he called him out, wounded and disarmed him.
But as such a breach of discipline as a middy fighting a lieutenant
would have made his life in the navy a burden, he resigned his naval
career, and enlisted as a grenadier in Harrison’s Regiment, till he was
able to buy his commission, and distinguished himself at the storming of
Boccachica.
At Jamaica, he was stricken with fever; thence the regiment was ordered
to Ostend, which was then held by the Austrians and besieged by the
French. The siege lasted for three years!
After a brief interval at Portsmouth, the regiment was ordered to
Ireland in transports, but these were compelled by stress of weather to
seek refuge at Falmouth, where all the regiment was disembarked and
remained in cantonments for some time till the damaged ships could be
repaired.
At a ball in Falmouth, the young heiress of Penrose graciously signified
her willingness to dance with any of these shipwrecked officers with the
exception of “that ugly Scotchman,” Captain Cumyn, who, however, was not
long in finding favour with the lady; and being for some time encamped
at Penrhyn, he made such good use of his opportunities, that when the
regiment again set sail for Ireland, Captain Cumyn and his bride were
happily settled at Penrose.
In due time they were blessed with six sons and three daughters, most of
whom married county neighbours. Hence our kinship with the Rashleighs,
Veales of Trevayler, Fitz-Geralds, and Quickes of Newton St. Cyres.
Alexander survived his wife, and died at Penrose in 1761. That estate
was subsequently sold to make provision for the eight younger children,
apparently in total ignorance of the valuable tin mines on the estate,
which are said to have sometimes yielded more in one year than the total
price paid for the whole property.
Their eldest son, SIR ALEXANDER PENROSE COMYN, who was born at Helston
in May 1749, assumed the name of GORDON, when, on the death of Sir
William Gordon of Gordonstoun, and in right of his ancestress, Dame Lucy
Gordon, he succeeded to that property[9] with its delightfully quaint
old house, a mile from the sea, and from the enchanting coast of broad
yellow sands stretching on either side of sandstone cliffs and large
caves of very varied form, which extend along the shore for a couple of
miles, forming at low water the most fascinating rock scenery I know of
in Britain or elsewhere, and a truly entrancing playground.
Gordonstoun is only sixteen miles from Altyre, but is in every respect
as complete a contrast as could well be imagined: the one a simple old
Scotch house, with patchwork additions, all embowered in greenery and
blossom, and the other a stern, uncompromising, large grey mansion, with
steep-pitched roofs, slabbed with grey and lichened stone, and turrets
at all corners. Only when inside does the explorer discover traces of
the successive generations which have produced it—the extraordinary
dungeons, the secret stairs and quaint hiding-places in the thickness of
the walls, behind cupboards, or under floors. Surely no children ever
possessed more delightful homes!
My grandfather did not go far afield in search of a bride. At Castle
Grant, which had for at least eight hundred years been the headquarters
of the Chiefs of Clan Grant, he found his bride HELEN GRANT OF GRANT,
one of the six daughters of Sir Ludovick Grant of Grant by Lady Margaret
Ogilvie-Grant, eldest daughter of James, Earl of Findlater and Seafield.
Sir Ludovick was a fine specimen of the true Highland chief of the best
type, and while not neglecting the estates, he represented the County of
Elgin as M.P. for twenty years, from 1741 to 1761. He died at Castle
Grant 18th March 1773.
His only son succeeded as Sir James, whose sons, Lewis and Francis
William, successively became Earls of Findlater and Seafield. Thus “Dame
Helen”—my grandmother—was aunt to the fifth and sixth, and grand-aunt or
great-grand-aunt to the seventh, eighth, ninth, tenth, and eleventh
earls. Was ever succession so rapid in any other family?
Of my five grand-aunts, Hope Grant married Dr. Waddilove, Dean of Ripon,
and Penuel married Henry Mackenzie, author of _The Man of Feeling_, a
volume very much admired in its day. One of their sons, John Henry, was
an eminent lawyer, and was raised to the bench as Lord Mackenzie,
generally called “of Belmont” to distinguish him from two later law
lords, who each took the title of Lord Mackenzie.
He married the Honourable Helen Anne Mackenzie of Seaforth.
Sir Alexander and Dame Helen had fourteen children besides MY FATHER,
and Uncle CHARLES CUMMING-BRUCE. Their Daughter HELEN PENUEL married Sir
Archibald Dunbar of Northfield and Duffus; the latter, which is the
family home, being only one mile from Gordonstoun, the Dunbars have ever
been our very closest kinsfolk. That couple were blessed with ten
children, one of whom married Mackintosh of Raigmore, near Inverness,
and became the mother of some of our dearest relations.
Her eldest son Eneas, generally known in our family as “the Beloved,”
was the very incarnation of genial hospitality, and many a joyous
gathering have we all held under his elastic roof, especially at the
annual great Highland meeting every September. Never was the fine old
proverb
“Where there is heart-room
There is hearth-room,”
better illustrated, for when the utmost possibilities of packing seemed
to have been attained, there was always some corner found for an extra
guest.
He married a sister of Sir Robert Menzies of Menzies, and thus began our
life-long close intimacy with Perthshire, and especially with Sir
Robert’s beautiful wife, _née_ Annie Alston Stewart, and her sisters,
two of whom owned Killiecrankie Cottage, overlooking the famous Pass.
Many a happy week have I spent in that exquisite nest, and at Urrard on
the opposite bank of the Garry.
Another of Aunt Helen Dunbar’s daughters married Rawdon Clavering, and
another, Mr. Warden.
The eldest and third sons, Sir Archibald and Edward, lived till January
1898, when they passed away within a few days of one another, Sir
Archibald in his ninety-fifth, and Edward in his eighty-first year.
Then we were all electrified when the newspapers informed us that the
cousin whom we had always distinguished as “Young Archie” was actually
verging on threescore years and ten! His mother was Keith Alicia Ramsay
of Barnton, and his wife was Isabella Eyre of Welford Park. His father
married, secondly, Sophia Orred of Tranmere Hall, in Cheshire, and in
1890 they celebrated their golden wedding in the same year as the
younger couple celebrated their silver wedding.
Sir Archibald, senior, was always a fragile invalid, in pathetic
contrast with my stalwart brothers. But he was wont to say, “A glass box
will last as long as an iron one, if you take care of it.” And he did
take such care of his glass box, that he outlived all save one of my
brethren.
Both he and his cheery brother Edward were storehouses of learning on
all points concerning old Scotch lore, especially on local subjects, and
they were the last survivors of those to whom we could refer any
disputed questions. Edward’s delight was in puzzling out quaint letters
in the old family charter-rooms, many of which he published in three
volumes, entitled, _Social Life in Former Days_ and _Documents Relating
to the Province of Moray_.
His elder brother’s chief delight was in his gardens, and in proving how
excellent is the soil and climate of “the Laich” or lowlands of Moray
for the growth of fruit, especially pears, apples, plums, and small
fruits. Great was his satisfaction when some of his pears took the first
prize at Chiswick, in days when most folk south of the Tweed still
believed Scotland to be a land where a semi-civilised race lived on
oatmeal! How anxiously he watched the ripening of the first fruits of
new varieties, and then at the exact right moment he brought the
precious fruit, divided into sections that we might each give our
verdict of its merits.
These two dear old brothers lived about twelve miles apart, Edward’s
home being at Sea Park, about a mile from Findhorn Bay, and their great
pleasure in later days was an occasional visit of one to the other. Both
retained all their mental faculties perfect to the very end, and were
only laid aside by bodily illness for a brief period. When, on 6th
January 1898, Sir Archibald passed away, Edward being unable to attend
his funeral, telegraphed to his son the Rev. John Archibald, to come
from London to take his place. Obedient to his summons, the son reached
Sea Park on 11th January, just in time to witness his father’s death ere
attending his uncle’s funeral, returning thence to make the necessary
arrangements for that of his father.
To return to my father’s numerous sisters. MARGARET married Major Madden
of Kellsgrange, in County Kilkenny, and from her descend our Mortimer
cousins. EDWINA married Mr. Miller of Glenlee, the eldest son of Lord
Glenlee, the judge, and her son succeeded to the baronetcy. She was one
of the kindest-hearted women that ever lived, but she was sorely tried
by the number of grandchildren who accumulated around her. One of these
having died, a friend called to express polite regret, and was somewhat
startled at the truthful, though unconventional reply, “Oh! my dear, do
not condole with me. There is much more room for it in heaven than in my
house!”
LOUISA married Lord Medwyn, who, like Lord Glenlee, was what is known in
Scotland as “a law lord,” the wife not sharing his title, but being
simply Mrs. Forbes of Medwyn. Her eldest son, William, married Miss
Archer Houblon. Their daughter Louisa married Sir James Ferguson, and
Mary married Lord Mar and Kellie.
The second son, Alexander, became the saintly and greatly beloved Bishop
of Brechin. He was greatly helped in church-work by his sisters Helen
and Elizabeth (commonly called “Buffy”). Helen, under the name of
“Zeta,” published many lovely songs—in fact all this branch of the
family have been specially distinguished for musical talent.
Their sister Louisa Forbes married Colonel Abercromby, eldest son of
Lord Abercromby, whose delightful home, Airthrie Castle, lies at the
foot of the Ochils, between romantic Stirling and Bridge of Allan. Her
only daughter, “Monty,” married the Earl of Glasgow.
In those days party politics ran so high as to mar many a happy
courtship, and as all the Forbes and Cumming connection were
uncompromising Tories, Louisa’s engagement to the son of a staunch Whig
family aroused much opposition. Nevertheless love carried the day, but
her mother’s parting counsel on the wedding day was delightfully
characteristic: “Well, daughty” (_i.e._ dearie), “you’ll sometimes hear
something good about the Tories, and I’ll tell you what to do then. Just
go to your own room and lock the door, and have a bit dance by
yourself!”
Four of my father’s sisters who did not marry, namely JANE, MARY,
EMILIA, and SOPHIA, lived together with their mother, Dame Helen, in her
dower-home, Forres House, three miles from Altyre; and on her death,
they rented Moy on the other side of the river Findhorn, and were
familiarly known as “the Moy Aunts.”
The eldest of the four, Miss JANE, was considered the cleverest, and she
certainly was the managing partner, much given to having a finger in
every pie, in a fashion which did not tend to make her popular with her
younger relations. She was noted for her ready wit, of which, however,
only one instance now occurs to me. There had been a dispute between
several of the neighbouring proprietors concerning certain boundaries,
and they were disposed to carry the matter to the law-courts. At last
one not interested (I think it was MacPherson Grant of Ballindalloch on
the Spey) stepped in, and decided the matter to the satisfaction of all
concerned, whereupon the disputants resolved to present him with a
thankoffering, and what could be so useful as a silver hot-water jug for
the brewing of the toddy (whisky with boiling water and sugar), which
invariably ended every dinner, no matter how great had been the variety
of wines consumed, and of which every lady present accepted a
wine-glassful from the tumbler of the gentleman next to her, doled out
with a silver ladle.[10]
But now the question arose what would be a suitable inscription, and
here again much discussion ensued, when happily Miss Jane entered the
room, and all agreed to refer the decision to her. Without a moment’s
hesitation she replied, “Presented to Ballindalloch to keep him in hot
water, for keeping his friends out of it,” a neat solution of the
difficulty, which was accepted with acclamation.
The handsomest sister, EMILIA, was beloved by Charles Grant, who
afterwards became great in law, and assumed the title of Lord Glenelg.
But her kinsfolk refused to sanction her marriage to a young Whig
barrister, so they were compelled to part, but each remained constant to
the memory of the other till death reunited them.
SOPHIA, a fair-haired, gentle little soul, was an exquisite musician,
and was accounted a sort of Saint Cecilia. There was a charmingly mellow
old organ in the dining-room at Altyre, on which she was wont to play
divinely. My brother Henry likewise delighted in it. After my father’s
death, it was transferred to the Bishop of Brechin’s Church at Dundee.
In common with all the family, all these sisters were great pillars of
the Episcopal Church in Forres, that singularly inconvenient cruciform
chapel which was built in 1841. (Prior to that date there seems to have
been no Episcopal service in the town since 1745.) Many of the
congregation drove very long distances every Sunday; and it must have
been bad weather indeed when the Cumming-Bruces from Dunphail were
missing, though they had to drive eight miles, and others came from
still further.
For some time there was no parsonage, and the first incumbent, the Rev.
Alexander Ewing, afterwards Bishop of Argyll and the Isles, lived at
lovely Logie on the Findhorn, the property of our cousins, the Cummings
of Logie. He was a charming personality, and continued one of our
dearest friends till the day of his death.
His first wife was a daughter of General Stewart of Pittyvaich, in the
valley of Mortlach, in Banffshire. Her sister Elizabeth married my
brother Henry, and Clifford married Canon Robinson of Norwich Cathedral,
who is also Master of St. Catherine’s at Cambridge. She was one of the
best-loved women in either city, and one of Dean Goulburn’s most
pathetic utterances was his address in Norwich Cathedral on the occasion
of her funeral. To the grand teacher, whose motto was “Detest
affectation” (how often I think of him when I see women raise their
elbow at a right angle when they shake hands!), her perfectly natural,
genuine sweetness and cordiality to every one especially appealed.[11]
Mr. Ewing was succeeded at Forres by the Rev. Hugh Willoughby Jermyn,
who was afterwards Bishop of Colombo in Ceylon, and when driven back to
the home-land in shattered health, was appointed to succeed my cousin,
Alexander Forbes, in the Bishopric of Brechin, and elected Primus of the
Episcopal Church in Scotland.