At Home on Speyside—The Last Call to Arms of Clan Grant—A Double
Funeral—Macdowal Grant of Arndilly—Aberlour Orphanage.
The George Grants being now comfortably settled at Easter Elchies, on
the banks of the Spey, early in January 1859 I joined them there at what
proved to be their happy home for the next eight years. It is one of the
many minor properties of the Earls of Seafield, and so at that time
belonged to George’s brother, from whom he rented it. It is a
comfortable old house, commanding a beautiful view looking in one
direction down the river to Craigellachie, a noble wooded crag, with the
river sweeping round its base, and a fine bridge at right angles to the
crag. On the further bank lies the village of the same name, and beyond,
above beautiful Arndilly, rises the fine heathery mountain Ben Agan.
Looking in the opposite direction, up the river lie the house and
village of Aberlour, above which rises Ben Rinnes (2747 feet in height).
Curiously enough, near Grantown, another crag likewise bears the name of
Craigellachie, “the beacon crag,” and from it Clan Grant takes one of
its two mottos, “Stand Fast,” and the war-cry “Craig-Ellachie.” What a
romance of olden times it seems when we think of the fiery cross being
carried “o’er mountain and through glen” by fleet-footed runners to call
the clan together for a fray. And yet it was only seventeen years before
I was born that (in 1820) Clan Grant was thus hastily called together
for the defence of Lady Ann and Lady Penuel Grant, who were then living
at Grant Lodge,[38] in Elgin, taking care of their brother, Lord
Seafield, the fifth earl, who was of weak intellect.
Lady Ann was very much the reverse, and was greatly revered by Clan
Grant, who virtually regarded her as their chief,[39] although her
brother, the Honourable Colonel Francis William Grant of Grant, was
really curator for the earl, and succeeded him in the title. He does not
seem to have been in Elgin at the time I refer to. He had been Provost
of the town for three years, but in 1819 was succeeded in that office by
Sir Archibald Dunbar of Northfield. It was then customary for county
gentlemen to act in that honourable capacity, and the annals of Nairn
record that my father and his brother Charles were elected again and
again to be Provost of Nairn.
The death of King George III. (29th January 1820) necessitated a general
election, and a meeting of the Town Council of Elgin was called to elect
a delegate to represent the burgh on the day of the election at Cullen.
General Duff, the popular brother of Lord Fife, was the Whig candidate,
and Mr. Robert Grant, Lord Glenelg’s well-beloved younger brother, who
had hitherto been the Tory member, refused to stand against him, so his
place as Tory candidate was taken by Mr. Farquharson of Finzean, who was
little known, and far from popular. General Duff was well known, and
warmly supported by Lord Fife, who, fearless of any charge of bribery
and corruption, freely bestowed gifts of all sorts among the poorer
electors—money, trinkets, dresses, shawls, bonnets; and by exceeding
courtesy to all, and stirring addresses, so turned the tide of popular
favour, that the issue of the election became a matter of extreme
anxiety.
Members of the Town Council were equally divided, the casting vote
resting with the Provost, Sir Archibald Dunbar, who at this critical
moment was absent. All stratagems being deemed fair, several voters were
kidnapped and forcibly abducted. The Duffs captured Mr. Dick, a
councillor in the Grant interest, and hurrying him into a post-chaise,
drove him off to the seaport of Burghead, where a boat lay ready to
carry him across the Moray Firth to Sutherland. There he was set at
liberty, but was so hospitably entertained that Elgin saw him no more
till after the election.
The Duffs also captured Bailie Taylor, who was acting chief magistrate,
and carried him down a back lane to where a post-chaise awaited him
likewise, and conveyed him also to the coast, where an open boat lay in
readiness to take him also to Sutherland. A storm arose, and for
seventeen hours he and his captors were tossed about in some danger.
Finally they managed to land at Brora, and eventually got home after the
election.
The excitement became so great that Lady Ann considered herself and her
brother and sister to be in danger, and so sent a message to Speyside
addressed to young Patrick Grant (son of Major John Grant of
Auchterlair), bidding him, “Young as you are, rally the Highlanders, and
come to the rescue of your Chief.” That young Highlander lived to be one
of Scotland’s bravest soldiers, Field-Marshal Sir Patrick Grant, and
from his own lips, as well as from others, I learnt all details of this
his first experience of prompt action as a leader of men.
The express reached Cromdale on Sunday morning, just as the church was
“scaling” (_i.e._ the congregation dispersing), and three hundred
able-bodied men started then and there, a summons being sent to the
remoter glens to bid others follow with all speed. They marched down
Speyside with such goodwill that they reached the village of Aberlour in
the night, and still pressing on, reached Elgin at about 3 A.M.
But as they passed through Aberlour, an adherent of the other faction,
the Duffs, despatched a mounted messenger in hot haste to warn the Earl
of Fife and the Duff party. The messenger reached the town in time to
rouse the sleepers, who rapidly armed themselves with old swords,
bludgeons, and other weapons, and formed a guard for the protection of
such members of the town council and magistrates as were favourable to
the Duff candidate, and therefore liable to be captured by the Grants.
The Highlanders, finding the townsfolk on the alert, marched to the
grounds of Grant Lodge (adjoining the beautiful old cathedral). There a
few hours later they were joined by about four hundred more staunch men
and true, ready to obey the behest of their chief. Under the
circumstances, it must have been somewhat a difficult matter to provide
food for seven hundred hungry men, though doubtless even the enemy would
be ready so far to conciliate the invaders.
Ere noon, large bodies of the Earl of Fife’s tenants assembled from the
sea-board villages, and other estates, armed with bludgeons, so there
was a strong probability that a collision might ensue, more especially
as “the mountain dew” was flowing freely on all sides.
To avert this grave danger, Sir George Abercromby, the sheriff of the
county, escorted by the clergy, came to crave an interview with Lady
Ann, and to entreat her forthwith to bid her noble guard return to
Strath Spey. Sir Patrick Grant told me that the civic authorities came
and knelt before her, praying her to consent, which she finally did, on
the assurance of the sheriff that special constables would be sworn-in
to ensure peace.
This was accordingly done, and the “specials” patrolled the streets all
night, but so great was the dread lest the Highlanders should return to
carry off members of the council known to be favourable to the Duffs,
that the townsfolk resolved to watch all night, and illuminate their
houses, so that no one might approach under cover of darkness. (An
attempt at lighting the streets in 1775 had quickly been abandoned, and
till gas was introduced in 1830, not a glimmer illumined the night.)
That danger was by no means imaginary was proven by the kidnapping which
had already taken place. The very day but one later, was that appointed
for the election by the town council of the delegate, but owing to the
abduction of Councillor Dick and Bailie Taylor, the Grant party absented
themselves from the meeting, so, although the Duff party nominated their
delegate, there was neither town clerk nor town seal to attest the
commission, which consequently was invalid.
When the kidnapped councillor and bailie returned, they in their turn
called a meeting, and, thanks to the casting vote of the provost,
elected the delegate in the Grant interest, whose commission was duly
attested by the town clerk and town seal. Though much legal discussion
ensued, the vote of Elgin in favour of the Grant candidate was
sustained, and Mr. Farquharson was elected member for the district of
Burghs.[40]
Many years elapsed ere the ill-feeling stirred up at this time abated,
and bitter family divisions and estrangement of old friendships
continued for a whole generation.
To us, however, the interest of the election turns on the picturesque
incident of this, probably the last rallying of a Highland clan for the
defence of its chief, and at the time of which I write many of the older
generation were able to speak as eye-witnesses of the start from
Cromdale.
Another incident which had vividly impressed itself on the hearts of the
Highlanders, was the deeply pathetic double funeral of George Grant’s
mother and eldest brother. The former, a beautiful and much-loved woman,
Mary Ann, only daughter of Charles Dunn, most unexpectedly died in
London, 27th February 1840, of measles, caught while nursing her
daughter Jane, who was said to have caught the infection while on a
visit to Lord Selkirk at St. Mary’s Isle, but it did not develop till
she reached London.[41]
Shortly before his death in 1903, the Honourable Lewis A. Grant, while
on a visit to his niece, Lady Walter Gordon Lennox, pointed out to her
the house in Belgrave Square in which his mother died, and to which he
and his brothers had been summoned to see her for the last time,
apparently regardless of possible infection.
Jane continued so seriously ill that it was impossible for her father to
leave her. The Cullen factor was accordingly summoned to London, and he
brought Mrs. Grant’s body by sea to Cullen by the steamer _North
Star_—the same by which, a few years later, I travelled on my school
journeys.
Her two eldest sons, Frank (Francis William), the young Master of Grant,
aged twenty-six, and his next brother, Ian (John Charles), starting a
few days later, travelled more rapidly by coach to Aberdeen, posting
thence to Cullen House (a beautiful family home on the sea-coast).
There they arrived on March 10th. The Master, never robust, and now
crushed with sorrow, had been unable to eat on the long journey, and
arrived utterly exhausted, feeling so unwell that the family doctor
prescribed as a simple remedy a Dover’s powder. Alas! when his servant
went to call him in the morning he was dead.
It was generally said that he literally died of grief. But as the
factor’s daughter, Catherine Fraser, who had to handle and arrange his
clothes, caught measles, as did also her child (although careful inquiry
failed to discover any other case of that illness anywhere in
Banffshire), there can be no doubt that his clothes carried the
infection, and it seems more than probable that the Master really died
of suppressed measles of a peculiarly virulent type, thrown inward by
the chill of the long, cold journey, and the preliminary funeral
arrangements when the coffin was shipped from the misty Thames.
The news of his untimely death caused the deepest consternation
throughout the clan, by whom he was idolised, his personal beauty and
bright, sunny nature (so like that of his youngest brother George)
having personally endeared him to them all. Never was there a sadder
scene than the double funeral on its long journey to Castle Grant, where
for several days the two coffins lay in state in the long drawing-room,
the mother’s coffin draped with black and the son’s with white, all the
pictures and the stairs being likewise covered with white.
For two days the mournful procession of townsfolk and tenants continued
passing through that sad room, and on the day of the funeral, the clan
assembled from far and near in heartfelt grief to follow the mother and
son whom all loved so truly, and the pipers played their saddest laments
while the solemn procession wended its way through the dark fir-forests
to Duthil, the family burial-place of the chiefs of Clan Grant, half-way
between Grantown and Carr Bridge, where, only the previous year, Colonel
Francis William had completed the new mausoleum, little dreaming that
the first to be laid therein would be his own wife and eldest son.
A curious detail of funeral trappings was that, while the hearse and
four black horses which conveyed the beloved mother were all bedecked
with tall, black ostrich-plumes, and the attendants wore black crape
scarves and weepers, the hearse and horses conveying the young Master
were adorned with white plumes, and the hearse was draped with white,
the attendants wearing white crape scarves.
In the same year, on the 26th October, the fifth Earl died, and once
again the clan assembled at Castle Grant to follow their chief to his
last resting-place at Duthil.
He was succeeded by his brother, Colonel Francis William, who, thirteen
years later, died at Cullen. Well do I remember watching his funeral
pass through the Altyre woods by the Highland road from Forres to Castle
Grant. My sister Nelly and I, with our Highland maid, lay hidden like
roe-deer among the tall bracken, chiefly to catch a glimpse of George in
that sad procession.
Many have been the changes in the immediate neighbourhood of
Craigellachie since the time when we lived there. The picturesque
village itself was a mere hamlet—now there are villas and a large hotel
and whisky distillery; then in all this district there were only about
three small distilleries. Nowadays the excellent quality of the water
has led to the establishing of about twenty great factories of
fire-water, dotted all over the country, in many a hitherto delightful,
secluded glen.
At that time there was no railway down Speyside from Grantown to Elgin,
or down Glen Fiddich from Keith, joining the other line at
Craigellachie, and crossing the Spey by a bridge a little lower down the
river than the beautiful carriage-bridge. All this was done before our
eyes on the opposite bank of the Spey. We had feared it would be a
continual eyesore, but, on the contrary, it proved on the whole a
picturesque feature in the general scene.
Moreover, we found considerable interest in making friends with many of
the navvies, of whom there were fully two thousand in the district. They
welcomed being recognised as human beings, and were touchingly grateful
for a very little kindness, especially in cases of sickness. A large
number of them could only speak Gaelic, which was to us an unknown
tongue, but we secured a grant for a large number of both Gaelic and
English Bibles and New Testaments, which were sold at a reduced
rate—also Gaelic tracts, which were welcomed and, I believe, in many
cases truly valued. I like to remember that my very first venture into
print was a leaflet to accompany these Bibles.
There was at that time no Gaelic service in the neighbourhood, but some
of the men themselves gathered others together and held open-air
meetings every Sunday in the Arndilly woods and at the quarry—very
pleasant in the sweet summer days, but a very trying ordeal in bitterly
cold winter. Partly for their benefit, but chiefly for that of other
lads in the neighbourhood, I started a lending library of really
readable books, which “took” very well for a while, but died away when I
left the district.
About three miles down the Spey, at beautiful Arndilly, lived Hay
Macdowal Grant, one of the saintliest and most lovable men I have ever
known. His one aim in life was to awaken or deepen the spiritual life of
every one with whom he came in contact, and undoubtedly his efforts and
his prayers were often crowned with success. He loved to fill his
delightful home with large parties of happy young people, to all of whom
he and his kind wife were “Uncle Hay and Auntie Loo,” and many a lovely
ramble we all had under his escort.
Perhaps the most notable change in that district has been the creation
of the admirable Orphanage at Aberlour, on what was then a bare
hillside. Now an ideal group of cottage-homes, clustering round a
central hall, form the happy and real home of upwards of three hundred
children, poor waifs from many parts of the country and many cities,
who, but for this blessed haven, could have known no shelter but the
workhouse, or worse quarters. Now hundreds of well-to-do young men and
maidens, earning their own living in many parts of the world, speak with
warm affection of this, their only home; and many try, when possible, to
come to spend their brief Easter or Christmas holidays here, and attend
the church services at the beautiful episcopal church, which forms a
prominent feature in the grounds.
In our time it was a rare event to have an occasional episcopal service
in some one’s drawing-room, but somewhere about 1870 the Bishop sent the
Rev. Charles Jupp to live at Craigellachie and hold service regularly.
He and his wife had no children of their own, and their income was
infinitesimal, but when a poor little orphan child seemed somehow to be
thrust upon their care, they felt bound to do what they could for it.
Presently however, another and yet another seemed to be equally forced
upon them—poor little lonely creatures with no one to care for them. The
matter grew serious indeed, but they seemed to hear a Voice saying:
“Take this child and nurse it for ME,” so they agreed that if GOD really
intended them to tend HIS poor neglected little ones, HE would provide
the necessaries of life. So in this practical faith they accepted the
charge, and like George Müller of Bristol, Quarrier of Glasgow, and Dr.
Barnardo, they proved how faithful a Master they served.
Many a time their faith was sorely tried, when their great family went
on ever increasing, and food and firing were well-nigh exhausted, but
whenever they seemed quite at the end of their resources, help came from
some unexpected quarter.
So year by year this great work has developed, and under the hands of
the gifted organiser and a body of trustees, all has been placed on such
a sound business footing as to ensure the local authorities against the
possibility which they so much dreaded (and which for some years led to
considerable antagonism) lest the founder should die, and leave a large
pauper population dependent on the parish.
A monthly magazine now carries to all friends reports of work done and
gifts received, and invites purchasers to stock their gardens with
plants from the Aberlour Orphanage garden. All manner of gifts in aid of
this excellent work should be addressed to “The Rev. The Warden, The
Orphanage, Aberlour, Banffshire,” by whom all visitors to Speyside will
be cordially welcomed.
My journals of the next eight years are records of a very full social
life—of innumerable pleasant, leisurely visits to many relations and
friends scattered over England and Scotland, not forgetting London and
Edinburgh in their respective seasons, and a full share of very gay
doings. I must say that whatever we did in those days we did in earnest,
and however much bodily exercise in the way of walks, etc., we had got
through in the day-time, we were never too tired for frequent cheery
dances and balls, at which we all prided ourselves on never missing a
dance from the beginning to the end, which was never before 4
A.M.—sometimes much later. In short, we all had an apparently
inexhaustible fund of health and spirits.
As I turn page after page, full of details of that kaleidoscopic life,
it seems like watching the mazy dances of midges in the sunshine, never
for one moment at rest. And of all that multitude of active dancers, I
am now almost the sole survivor.
The autumn of 1859 was one never to be forgotten in our family annals.
The return from India, after prolonged service there, of the 78th
Highlanders, to be stationed at Fort George, half-way between Inverness
and Nairn, gave rise to a succession of enthusiastic “welcomes” in the
form of banquets, sports, and balls. This naturally attracted an unusual
number of visitors; and the Northern Meeting at Inverness in September
was quickly followed by a very cheery ball at Nairn, to which a hundred
and fifty people came by special train from Inverness, and all the
officers from Fort George, many of whom had only arrived that afternoon
direct from India, having been five months on the homeward voyage,
sailing round the Cape. (Now we can travel from London to Peking in
three weeks by Trans-Siberian Railway!)
Then followed a very gay ball at Rosehaugh, given by Sir James and Lady
Anne Mackenzie of Scatwell to the officers of the 78th and all the
neighbourhood from far and near. I was one of a large merry party who
drove all the way from Moniack—a distance of seventeen miles each way,
and as the ball was kept up till 6 A.M., the morning was far advanced
ere we thought of a little sleep.
Ten days later, Nairn entertained the whole regiment—such a
noble-looking lot of bearded men! The weather was glorious, and every
one walked about on the links beside the calm, blue sea, while the band
played.
A similar banquet at Inverness was quickly followed by a very brilliant
ball for the officers, and on November 4th they gave a return ball at
Inverness which, in point of tasteful decoration and general
satisfaction to all concerned, was voted an unqualified success.
To us, as a family, a main pleasure in all this autumn was that so many
of ourselves were in the north and constantly meeting. We four sisters,
Alice and John Jenkinson, Nelly and George Grant, Ida and myself, and
also our brothers, Penrose and Lady Gordon-Cumming, and Henry and his
Bessie, were together more than we had been for years. Little did we
dream that it was for the last time, and that one brief month later our
bright, beautiful sister Alice was to be taken from us.
But so it was. From Nairn we all scattered. I returned with my eldest
brother (Sir Alexander—to us Penrose) to Altyre, where he had a large
houseful. These dispersed a week later, as one of the guests developed a
gastric or typhoid fever. The children were sent away, but I elected to
stay and take some little share of nursing, and so it was in the quiet
of the old home that I learnt to face the great blank that nothing could
ever fill for any of us.
Alice and her husband and three little ones had reached Cresswell (in
Northumberland) on their homeward way, and as usual, she and Ida were
the life of the party, both in bright, happy spirits, and Alice in
excellent health except for a twinge of toothache. This must have got
worse in the night, for in the dark, not to disturb her husband, she had
vainly tried to open a tiny bottle of chloroform, a touch of which
sometimes eased the pain. She had therefore felt for and opened a larger
bottle, the fumes of which had overcome her, the bottle had fallen from
her hand, and her dear face had sunk to rest on that wet pool, to be
found cold and rigid when, in the morning of December 9th, her poor
husband awoke to find only that fair soul-case, from which the pure
spirit had been recalled to GOD WHO gave it.
So another of our happy band of sisters was laid to await the
resurrection morning in old Woodhorne Churchyard by the sea. The pure
white snow lay deep on the ground, and the day was bitterly cold, but
happily there was calm, bright sunshine and no wind to cause danger to
the many mourners who assembled from far north and south.
Our beloved “parson,” Mr. Jermyn, who had left Forres to face yellow
fever in the West Indies as Archdeacon of St. Kitts[42] (and had
recently returned, broken in health, and with a sadly diminished
family), came all the way from Somerset to speak the grand words of
promise: “I am the Resurrection and the Life. He that believeth in ME,
though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and
believeth in ME shall never die.”