Part 7

[32] The same who, in 1858, became my regular attendant out of doors everywhere in the Highlands; who commenced as gillie in 1849, and was selected by Albert and me to go with my carriage. In 1851 he entered our service permanently, and began in that year leading my pony, and advanced step by step by his good conduct and intelligence. His attention, care, and faithfulness cannot be exceeded; and the state of my health, which of late years has been sorely tried and weakened, renders such qualifications most valuable, and indeed, most needful in a constant attendant upon all occasions. He has since (in December, 1865), most deservedly, been promoted to be an upper servant, and my permanent personal attendant. He has all the independence and elevated feelings peculiar to the Highland race, and is singularly straightforward, simple-minded, kind-hearted, and disinterested; always ready to oblige; and of a discretion rarely to be met with. He is now in his fortieth year. His father was a small farmer, who lived at the Bush on the opposite side to Balmoral. He is the second of nine brothers,--three of whom have died--two are in Australia and New Zealand, two are living in the neighbourhood of Balmoral; and the youngest, Archie (Archiebald) is valet to our son Leopold, and is an excellent, trustworthy young man.

[33] Now, since some years, piper to Farquharson of Invercauld.

The moon rose, and was beautifully reflected on the lake, which, with its steep green hills, looked lovely. To add to the beauty, poetry, and wildness of the scene, Coutts played in the boat; the men, who row very quickly and well now, giving an occasional shout when he played a reel. It reminded me of Sir Walter Scott’s lines in _The Lady of the Lake_:—

“Ever, as on they bore, more loud And louder rung the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellow’d along the waters came, And, lingering long by cape and bay, Wail’d every harsher note away.”

We were home at a little past seven; and it was so still and pretty as we entered the wood, and saw the light flickering from our humble little abode.

TORCH-LIGHT BALL AT CORRIEMULZIE.

_September 10, 1852._

We dined at a quarter-past six o’clock in morning gowns, (not ordinary ones, but such as are worn at a “breakfast,”) and at seven started for _Corriemulzie_, for a _torch-light ball_ in the open air. I wore a white bonnet, a grey watered silk, and (according to Highland fashion) my plaid scarf over my shoulder; and Albert his Highland dress which he wears every evening. We drove in the postchaise; the two ladies, Lord Derby and Colonel Gordon following in the other carriage.

It was a mild though threatening evening, but fortunately it kept fine. We arrived there at half-past eight, by which time, of course, it was quite dark. Mr. and Lady Agnes Duff[34] received us at the door, and then took us at once through the house to the open space where the ball was, which was hid from our view till the curtains were drawn asunder. It was really a beautiful and most unusual sight. All the company were assembled there. A space about one hundred feet in length and sixty feet in width was boarded, and entirely surrounded by Highlanders bearing torches, which were placed in sockets, and constantly replenished. There were seven pipers playing together, Mackay[35] leading--and they received us with the usual salute and three cheers, and “Nis! nis! nis!” (pronounced: “Neesh! “neesh! neesh!” the Highland “Hip! hip! hip!”) and again cheers; after which came a most animated reel. There were about sixty people, exclusive of the Highlanders, of whom there were also sixty; all the Highland gentlemen, and any who were at all Scotch, were in kilts, the ladies in evening dresses. The company and the Highlanders danced pretty nearly alternately. There were two or three sword dances. We were upon a _haut pas_, over which there was a canopy. The whole thing was admirably done, and very well worth seeing. Albert was delighted with it. I must not omit to mention a reel danced by eight Highlanders holding torches in their hands.

[34] Now Earl and Countess of Fife.

[35] My Piper from the year 1843, considered almost the first in Scotland, who was recommended by the Marquis of Breadalbane; he unfortunately went out of his mind in the year 1854, and died in 1855. A brother of his was Piper to the Duke of Sussex.

We left at half-past nine o’clock, and were home by a little past eleven. A long way certainly (14 miles I believe).

ACCOUNT OF THE NEWS OF THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON’S DEATH.

_Alt-na-Giuthasach, Thursday, September 16, 1852._

We were startled this morning, at seven o’clock, by a letter from Colonel Phipps, enclosing a telegraphic despatch with the report, from the sixth edition of the _Sun_, of the Duke of Wellington’s death the day before yesterday, which report, however, we did not at all believe. Would to God that we had been right; and that this day had not been cruelly saddened in the afternoon.

We breakfasted with Miss Seymour;[36] and, after writing and reading, we started at a quarter to eleven with her and our Highland party. The day was not cold, and would, in fact, have been very fine, if it had not been for a constant succession of very slight showers, or clouds coming down. We walked along the loch, the road up to which is excellent. It has been widened and would admit of a carriage. We arrived at the _Alt-na-Dearg_, a small burn and fall, which is very fine and rapid. Up this a winding path has been made, upon which we rode; though some parts are rather steep for riding. The burn falls over red granite; and in the ravine grow birch, mountain-ash, and alder. We got off and walked a good long way on the top of the very steep hills overhanging the loch, to the _Stron_, and the _Moss of Mon Elpie_, whence you overlook all the country belonging to Lord Panmure, _Mount Keen_, the _Ogilvie Hills_, &c. We stopped to rest a little while--though the walking is excellent, so hard and dry--on a point overlooking the _Shiel of the Glassalt_, and the head of the loch. Here I suddenly missed my watch, which the dear old Duke had given me; and, not being certain whether I had put it on or not, I asked Mackenzie[37] to go back and inquire. We walked on until we reached the higher part of the _Glassalt_, which we stepped across. We had passed over the tops of these hills on that expedition to the _Dhu Loch_ three years ago, when the ground was so soft, that ponies could scarcely get along, the roads were so very bad.

[36] Now Hon. Lady Biddulph.

[37] One of our keepers and a very good man; he lives at Alt-na-Giuthasach.

Then we began the descent of the _Glassalt_, along which another path has been admirably made. From here it is quite beautiful, so wild and grand. The falls are equal to those of the _Bruar_ at _Blair_, and are 150 feet in height; the whole height to the foot of the loch being 500 feet. It looked very picturesque to see the ponies and Highlanders winding along. We came, down to the _Shiel of the Glassalt_, lately built, where there is a charming room for us, commanding a most lovely view. Here we took the cold luncheon, which we had brought with us; and after that we mounted our ponies, and rode to the _Dhu Loch_, along a beautiful path which keeps well above the burn, that rushes along over flat great slabs of stone. The scenery is exquisite. We passed a small fall called the _Burn of the Spullan_ (“spout”). In half or three quarters of an hour we were at the wild and picturesque _Dhu Loch_.

We got off our ponies, and I had just sat down to sketch, when Mackenzie returned, saying my watch was safe at home, and bringing letters: amongst them there was one from Lord Derby, which I tore open, and alas! it contained the confirmation of the fatal news: that _England’s_, or rather _Britain’s_ pride, her glory, her hero, the greatest man she ever had produced, was no more! Sad day! Great and irreparable national loss!

Lord Derby enclosed a few lines from Lord Charles Wellesley, saying that his dear great father had died on Tuesday at three o’clock, after a few hours’ illness and no suffering. God’s will be done! The day must have come: the Duke was eighty-three. It is well for him that he has been taken when still in the possession of his great mind, and without a long illness,--but what a _loss_! One cannot think of this country without “the Duke,”--our immortal hero!

In him centered almost every earthly honour a subject could possess. His position was the highest a subject ever had,--above party,--looked up to by all,--revered by the whole nation,--the friend of the Sovereign;--and _how_ simply he carried these honours! With what singleness of purpose, what straightforwardness, what courage, were all the motives of his actions guided. The Crown never possessed,--and I fear never _will_--so _devoted_, loyal, and faithful a subject, so staunch a supporter! To _us_ (who alas! have lost, now, so many of our valued and experienced friends,) his loss is _irreparable_, for his readiness to aid and advise, if it could be of use to us, and to overcome any and every difficulty, was unequalled. To Albert he showed the greatest kindness and the utmost confidence. His experience and his knowledge of the past were so great too; he was a link which connected us with bygone times, with the last century. Not an eye will be dry in the whole country.

We hastened down on foot to the head of _Loch Muich_; and then rode home, in a heavy shower, to _Alt-na-Giuthasach_. Our whole enjoyment was spoilt; a gloom overhung all of us.

We wrote to Lord Derby and Lord Charles Wellesley.

BUILDING THE CAIRN ON CRAIG GOWAN, &c.

_Monday, October 11, 1852._

This day has been a very happy, lucky, and memorable one--our last! A fine morning.

Albert had to see Mr. Walpole, and therefore it was nearly eleven o’clock before we could go up to the top of _Craig Gowan_, to see the cairn built, which was to commemorate our taking possession of this dear place; the old cairn having been pulled down. We set off with all the children, ladies, gentlemen, and a few of the servants, including Macdonald and Grant, who had not already gone up; and at the _Moss House_, which is half way, Mackay met us, and preceded us, playing, Duncan and Donald Stewart[38] going before him, to the highest point of _Craig Gowan_; where were assembled all the servants and tenants, with their wives and children and old relations. All our little friends were there: Mary Symons and Lizzie Stewart, the four Grants, and several others.

[38] One of the keepers, whom we found here in 1848. He is an excellent man, and was much liked by the Prince; he always led the dogs when the Prince went out stalking. He lives in the Western Lodge, close to Grant’s house, which was built for him by the Prince.

I then placed the first stone, after which Albert laid one, then the children, according to their ages. All the ladies and gentlemen placed one; and then every one came forward at once, each person carrying a stone and placing it on the cairn. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were there; Mackay played; and whisky was given to all. It took, I am sure, an hour building; and whilst it was going on, some merry reels were danced on a stone opposite. All the old people (even the gardener’s wife from _Corbie Hall_, near _Abergeldie_,) danced; and many of the children, Mary Symons and Lizzie Stewart especially, danced so nicely; the latter with her hair all hanging down. Poor dear old “Monk,” Sir Robert Gordon’s faithful old dog, was sitting there amongst us all. At last, when the cairn, which is, I think, seven or eight feet high, was nearly completed, Albert climbed up to the top of it, and placed the last stone; after which three cheers were given. It was a gay, pretty, and touching sight; and I felt almost inclined to cry. The view was so beautiful over the dear hills; the day so fine; the whole so _gemüthlich_. May God bless this place, and allow us yet to see it and enjoy it many a long year!

After luncheon, Albert decided to walk through the wood for the last time, to have a last chance, and allowed Vicky and me to go with him. At half-past three o’clock we started, got out at Grant’s, and walked up part of _Carrop_, intending to go along the upper path, when a stag was heard to roar, and we all turned into the wood. We crept along, and got into the middle path. Albert soon left us to go lower, and we sat down to wait for him; presently we heard a shot--then complete silence--and, after another pause of some little time, three more shots. This was again succeeded by complete silence. We sent some one to look, who shortly after returned, saying the stag had been twice hit and they were after him. Macdonald next went, and in about five minutes we heard “Solomon” give tongue, and knew he had the stag at bay. We listened a little while, and then began moving down hoping to arrive in time; but the barking had ceased, and Albert had already killed the stag; and on the road he lay, a little way beyond _Invergelder_--the beauty that we had admired yesterday evening. He was a magnificent animal, and I sat down and scratched a little sketch of him on a bit of paper that Macdonald had in his pocket, which I put on a stone--while Albert and Vicky, with the others, built a little cairn to mark the spot. We heard, after I had finished my little scrawl, and the carriage had joined us, that another stag had been seen near the road; and we had not gone as far as the “Irons,”[39] before we saw one below the road, looking so handsome. Albert jumped out and fired--the animal fell, but rose again, and went on a little way, and Albert followed. Very shortly after, however, we heard a cry, and ran down and found Grant and Donald Stewart pulling up a stag with a very pretty head. Albert had gone on, Grant went after him, and I and Vicky remained with Donald Stewart, the stag, and the dogs. I sat down to sketch, and poor Vicky, unfortunately, seated herself on a wasp’s nest, and was much stung. Donald Stewart rescued her, for I could not, being myself too much alarmed. Albert joined us in twenty minutes, unaware of having killed the stag. What a delightful day! But sad that it should be the last day! Home by half-past six. We found our beautiful stag had arrived, and admired him much.

[39] These “Irons” are the levers of an old saw-mill which was pulled down, and they were left there to be sold--between thirty and forty years ago--and have remained there ever since, not being considered worth selling, on account of the immense trouble of transporting them.

LAYING THE FOUNDATION STONE OF OUR NEW HOUSE.

_September 28, 1853._

A fine morning early, but when we walked out at half-past ten o’clock it began raining, and soon poured down without ceasing. Most fortunately it cleared up before two, and the sun shone brightly for the ceremony of laying the foundation stone of the new house. Mama and all her party arrived from _Abergeldie_ a little before three. I annex the Programme of the Ceremony, which was strictly adhered to, and was really very interesting:—

PROGRAMME.

The stone being prepared and suspended over that upon which it is to rest, (in which will be a cavity for the bottle containing the parchment and the coins):

The workmen will be placed in a semicircle at a little distance from the stone, and the women and home servants in an inner semicircle.

Her Majesty the Queen, and His Royal Highness the Prince, accompanied by the Royal Children, Her Royal Highness the Duchess of Kent, and attended by Her Majesty’s guests and suite, will proceed from the house.

Her Majesty, the Prince, and the Royal Family, will stand on the South side of the stone, the suite being behind and on each side of the Royal party.

The Rev. Mr. Anderson will then pray for a blessing on the work. Her Majesty will affix her signature to the parchment, recording the day upon which the foundation stone was laid. Her Majesty’s signature will be followed by that of the Prince and the Royal Children, the Duchess of Kent, and any others that Her Majesty may command, and the parchment will be placed in the bottle.

One of each of the current coins of the present reign will also be placed in the bottle, and the bottle having been sealed up, will be placed in the cavity. The trowel will then be delivered to Her Majesty by Mr. Smith of Aberdeen, the architect, and the mortar having been spread, the stone will be lowered.

The level and square will then be applied, and their correctness having been ascertained, the mallet will be delivered to Her Majesty by Mr. Stuart (the clerk of the works), when Her Majesty will strike the stone and declare it to be laid. The cornucopia will be placed upon the stone, and the oil and wine poured out by Her Majesty.

The pipes will play, and Her Majesty, with the Royal Family, will retire.

As soon after as it can be got ready, the workmen will proceed to their dinner. After dinner, the following toasts will be given by Mr. Smith:—

“The Queen.”

“The Prince and the Royal Family.”

“Prosperity to the house, and happiness to the inmates of Balmoral.”

The workmen will then leave the dinner-room, and amuse themselves upon the green with Highland games till seven o’clock, when a dance will take place in the ball-room.

We walked round to the spot, preceded by Mackay. Mr. Anderson[40] made a very appropriate prayer. The wind was very high; but else everything went off as well as could possibly be desired.

[40] The Minister of Crathie: he died November, 1866.

The workmen and people all gave a cheer when the whole was concluded. In about three-quarters of an hour’s time we went in to see the people at their dinner; and after this walked over to _Craig Gowan_ for Albert to get a chance for black game.

We dressed early, and went for twenty minutes before dinner to see the people dancing in the ball-room, which they did with the greatest spirit.

THE KIRK.

_October 29, 1854._

We went to Kirk, as usual, at twelve o’clock. The service was performed by the Rev. Norman McLeod, of _Glasgow_, son of Dr. McLeod, and anything finer I never heard. The sermon, entirely extempore, was quite admirable; so simple, and yet so eloquent, and so beautifully argued and put. The text was from the account of the coming of Nicodemus to Christ by night; St. John, chapter 3. Mr. McLeod showed in the sermon how we _all_ tried to please _self_, and live for _that_, and in so doing found no rest. Christ had come not only to die for us, but to show how we were to live. The second prayer was very touching; his allusions to us were so simple, saying, after his mention of us, “bless their children.” It gave me a lump in my throat, as also when he prayed for “the dying, the wounded, the widow, and the orphans.” Every one came back delighted; and how satisfactory it is to come back from church with such feelings! The servants and the Highlanders--_all_--were equally delighted.

ARRIVAL AT THE NEW CASTLE AT BALMORAL.

_September 7, 1855._

At a quarter-past seven o’clock we arrived at dear _Balmoral_. Strange, very strange, it seemed to me to drive past, indeed _through_, the old house; the connecting part between it and the offices being broken through. The new house looks beautiful. The tower and the rooms in the connecting part are, however, only half finished, and the offices are still unbuilt: therefore the gentlemen (except the Minister[41]) live in the old house, and so do most of the servants; there is a long wooden passage which connects the new house with the offices. An old shoe was thrown after us into the house, for good luck, when we entered the hall. The house is charming: the rooms delightful; the furniture, papers, everything perfection.

[41] A Cabinet Minister is always in attendance upon the Queen at Balmoral.

IMPRESSIONS OF THE NEW CASTLE.

_September 8, 1855._

The view from the windows of our rooms, and from the library, drawing-room, &c. below them, of the valley of the _Dee_, with the mountains in the background,--which one never could see from the old house, is quite beautiful. We walked about, and alongside the river, and looked at all that has been done, and considered all that has to be done; and afterwards we went over to the poor dear old house, and to our rooms, which it was quite melancholy to see so deserted; and settled about things being brought over.

NEWS OF THE FALL OF SEVASTOPOL.

_September 10, 1855._

Mama, and her lady and gentleman, to dinner.

All were in constant expectation of more telegraphic despatches. At half-past ten o’clock two arrived--one for me, and one for Lord Granville. I began reading mine, which was from Lord Clarendon, with details from Marshal Pélissier of the further destruction of the Russian ships; and Lord Granville said, “I have still better news;” on which he read, “From General Simpson--_Sevastopol is in the hands of the Allies_.” God be praised for it! Our delight was great; but we could hardly believe the good news, and from having so long, so anxiously expected it, one could not realize the actual fact.

Albert said they should go at once and light the bonfire which had been prepared when the false report of the fall of the town arrived last year, and had remained ever since, waiting to be lit. On the 5th of November, the day of the battle of _Inkermann_, the wind upset it, strange to say; and now again, most strangely, it only seemed to _wait_ for our return to be lit.

The new house seems to be lucky, indeed; for, from the first moment of our arrival, we have had good news. In a few minutes, Albert and all the gentlemen, in every species of attire, sallied forth, followed by all the servants, and gradually by all the population of the village--keepers, gillies, workmen--up to the top of the cairn. We waited, and saw them light the bonfire; accompanied by general cheering. It blazed forth brilliantly, and we could see the numerous figures surrounding it--some dancing, all shouting;--Ross[42] playing his pipes, and Grant and Macdonald firing off guns continually; while poor old François d’Albertançon[43] lighted a number of squibs below, the greater part of which would not go off. About three-quarters of an hour after, Albert came down, and said the scene had been wild and exciting beyond everything. The people had been drinking healths in whisky, and were in great ecstasy. The whole house seemed in a wonderful state of excitement. The boys were with difficulty awakened, and when at last this was the case, they begged leave to go up to the top of the cairn.

[42] My Piper since 1854; he had served seventeen years in the 42nd Highlanders--a very respectable, good man.

[43] An old servant of Sir R. Gordon’s, who had charge of the house, and was a native of Alsace; he died in 1858.

We remained till a quarter to twelve; and, just as I was undressing, all the people came down under the windows, the pipes playing, the people singing, firing off guns, and cheering--first for me, then for Albert, the Emperor of the French, and the “downfall of _Sevastopol_.”

THE BETROTHAL OF THE PRINCESS ROYAL.

_September 29, 1855._

Our dear Victoria was this day engaged to Prince Frederick William of Prussia, who had been on a visit to us since the 14th. He had already spoken to us, on the 20th, of his wishes; but we were uncertain, on account of her extreme youth, whether he should speak to her himself, or wait till he came back again. However, we felt it was better he should do so; and during our ride up _Craig-na-Ban_ this afternoon, he picked a piece of white heather, (the emblem of “good luck,”) which he gave to her; and this enabled him to make an allusion to his hopes and wishes, as they rode down _Glen Girnoch_, which led to this happy conclusion.

THE KIRK.

_October 14, 1855._