CHAPTER VIII

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.”

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