From Deeside Tales
Sketches of Men and Manners among the Peasantry of Upper Deeside since 1745
GEORGE BROWN - THE LAST OF THE SENNACHIES.
"His legendary song could tell
Of ancient deeds, so long forgot;
Of feuds, whose memory was not;
Of forests, now laid waste and bare;
Of towers, which harbour now the hare ;
Of manners, long since changed and gone;
Of chiefs, who under their greystone
So long had slept, that fickle fame
Had blotted from her rolls their name,
And twined round some new minion's head
The fading wreath for which they bled ,
In sooth, 'twas strange, this old man's verse
Could call them from their marble hearse"
Lay of the Last Minstrel.
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The main ' features of this scene are' unalterable, but the minor details have undergone much change since the century began. As an instance: This same picturesquely situated farmstead has taken the place'of a considerable clachan, the twin of another less prominent, but more populous, that nestled cosily in the " how-burn " close beside. This latter, whose sponsor was a huge boulder of granite resting on the summit of a neighbouring eminence, rejoiced in the name of Greystone. But notwithstanding the stability and sterling qualities of the patron, the protege has vanished entirely from the scene.
These two hamlets formed together a place of considerable note in the olden time. With the exception of a church and school the latter not much in repute in those days they contained within themselves all that was deemed necessary for the social and physical comfort of the inhabitants. Here the weaver, the carpenter, and the miller of the district had taken up their residence; and as for other trades, such as that of shoemaker and shopkeeper, they had not yet risen into separate branches of industry. Every man manufactured his own and dependants' brogues; and any luxury of foreign importation was not dreamed of.
About the period when Ion Allanach was fighting the battle of Fellinghausen for the first time, there was born in this same hamlet of Greystone a very remarkable man, of whom some account is here proposed to be given.
GEORGE BROWN was of humble but respectable parentage. His ancestors, with small fluctuations of fortune, had been the tenants of an oxgate of land for an unknown length of time. Indeed, for aught that appears to the contrary, they might have been the lineal deacendants of an aboriginal family. Most of them had never wandered beyond, the bounds of their native district, knew no wants but such as it could supply, felt no ambition to live otherwise than their fathers before them had lived, and saw no reason why their children after them should not be content with similar ways and means.
Entertaining these highly conservative ideas, and despising all new-fangled notions about improvement of either mind or manners, George's immediate ancestor was not the man to foster any bookish disposition his boy may have early displayed. It was the fashion of the time for the father, or rather the mother, to impart the first elements of education - early education it ought scarcely to ba called, because seldom was a child initiated into the mysteries of the Roman alphabet before his ninth or tenth birthday; and most mysterious must the thing have even then appeared to him, it being his first introduction to an unknown language. It was no unusual thing to find a boy or a girl with a good ear who could glibely enough run over whole pages of the Shorter Catechism without comprehending the import of a single sentence, or even the meaning of a single word.
Often, in the winter season, some neighbour, out of other employment, would be found to undertake the elementary instruction of the children of a small district, and so relieve the mother's hand, as it was expressed. In return for this service he received his victuals and the proceeds of the cock-fight, with which humane spectacle the labours of the short session were annually wound up. The instruction, if it deserved the name, was the same unintelligent and vicious type as that practised under the parental care, with the addition, however, of a larger allowance of birch (leather), which doubtless awakened much scholarly ardour in the youthful mind.
Subjected to this ordeal for two or three winters, the sons and daughters of a common man were supposed to be intellectually equipped for the discharge of the duties of their station in life: If they required more they could, and they generally did, finish off with a winter RETH (three months) at the Parish School, when they were " grown up," i.e., forisfamiliated. The benches of that seminary were accordingly, during this season, mostly occupied by men and women, whose mature intellects were duly sharpened by being made the butt of the coarse jokes and' nicknames of the Laird's ground officer - it would be a solecism to call him teacher, though he sat at his desk, and drew his salary, such as it was. The schoolmaster, in his treatment of his pupils, muat not be supposed to have outraged the usages socciety, or to have been a Philistine above all men. He but reflected the manners of his betters; and in his style of address was only a low imitator of the judges of the land, as may be seen from Lord Cockburn's Memorials.
How much of this rough, discipline George Brown passed through is not known; but it may be presumed it was either a minimum quantity, or his desire of knowledge was unquenchable; for it is certain that, while yet a young lad, he had read and fully mastered every printed volume within miles of his residence, and yet "was unsatisfied in getting, which was no sin."
This literature was almost wholly religious, coinsisting mainly of the Scriptures, with notes practical and critical by various divines, the Shorter Catechism, without comment, known in its spelling to all who had ever been at school, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress and Holy War, Baxter's Saints' Rest, and Boston's Fourfold State. He thus became a theologian at an early age and, though by no means exclusively devoting his attention on that subject, it was the one which engaged by far the largest portion of his thoughts through life.
It was not long till his acquirements attracted the attention of others besides his companions and neighbours. Arrived at the age (about 17) when it was deemed proper that he should become a member of the Church of his fathers, he presented himself before the minister of Crathie for examination as to his fitness. The clergyman, the Rev. Murdoch McLennan, author of the popular Scottish ballad of " Sheriffimuir," was a man of no mean literary taste and attainments, of a benevolent, kindly disposition, and a keen discerner of character. Perceiving that george was no ordinary young man, and, having ascertained by what means he had become possessed of so unusual an amount of Scriptural knowledge, he took an interest in him, fostered and directed his taste for reading by lending, him such books as he judged would be attractive, and improving to his mind.
The American war of Independence was then at its height; but in 'those days none but the laird and the minister had access to the news. Through the kindness of the latter, George was allowed to peruse such intelligence of the great struggle as found its way into the Aberdeen Journal, then the only newspaper that circulated in the district. Of this privilege he was not slow to take advantage. America soon became to him a land of romance. He was fired with a desire to know all about it - its discovery, its colonization, the history of the early settlers, the hardships they had to endure, and the hopes that cheered them, their conflicts with the Indians, and the inhuman barbarities these, at the instigation of the French, committed upon them in the first war. On all these matters, so far as the manse library contained information, he was fully read; and, being the only oracle open to the peasantry of the district, his company was eagerly sought, and his father's house nightly
thronged with listeners.
It was thus he acquired the art of effectively communicating to others his own stock of knowledge, and of imparting to his narratives the charm of graphic description. It was one of his characteristics to muse on whatever he read till he obtained a representation of the scene in his own mind, drawn to the minutest detail by his own lively imagination - not perhaps always correct in every particular, but always vivid and dramatic. The picture thus formed, he described as he beheld it himself, and hence the force of his delineations. Deriving the outline, or suggestive idea, through the staid medium of the English language, and being required to employ his own romantic Gaelic as the vehicle of communicating his thoughts to others, he was led, irrespective of the natural bent of his mind, to add fire to his narratives and colour to his sketches. Beyond this his stales were strictly true to fact. He never invented one merely to amuse, far less to deceive, though he often dealt in parables as well aa proverbs for the purpose of instruction. It was, besides, not till he had grown over to years, and had established a reputation for high moral worth, as well as his endowments, that his gifts of vivid description were truly exercised. Though his more solid qualities procured also the esteem and admiration of those above him in station, and doubtless this art earned for him the extraordinary regard with which his name was associated.
But besides affording him opportunities of becoming aquainted with the present transactions and past history of his country, Mr. McLennan, who was an Islesman by birth, and had thus been nurtured on the very Parnassus of Highland lore, opened up to his protege his own rich stores of Celtic legend and song. These he drank in as if they had been nectar sent him from the gods, treasured them up in his retentive memory, and in after life, made many a long winter evening fly but too quickly away with narratives of creach and foray, of love and war, or with recitations from Ossian and other Highland Bards less fortunate than him, who have found no McPherson, to rescue their names from oblivion.
Macaulay was wont to say that, should Milton's "Paradise Lost" happen to be destroyed, he believed he would restore every line of it from memory, and the same might have been said of George Brown, with respect to all poems. It is deeply to be regretted that the mantle of genius did not descend to some one of his many listeners. Mere fragments-a line here and there-is all that the memories of those who heard them most frequently have retained of many an heroic poem, soft song, and sad elegy. Even these fragments are now gone into irrecoverable oblivion with the decease of the few who attempted to commit them to memory.
It is not difficult to assign a sufficient reason for the loss of his lore. A change of manners, of taste, or of occupation, among a people does much to obliterate the recollection of a literature, born and bred in a state of society that has passed way and lost its interest. But more effectual than any or all of these is a change of language. Such a change had, indeed, made some progress on Deeside during the lifetime of George Brown, but within a period of twenty years after his death it had reached an entire revolution. In 1830 there was scarcely a family in the district in which he resided whose fireside language was not the Gaelic. In 1850 there were just as few who had not adopted the English; and now (1870) only very few people use the ancient tongue. The prose traditions may all be gathered up, because during the transition they were frequently repeated in both languages; but it has fared otherwise with the poetic, which do not admit of a translation without loss of character, and consequently, of interest.
Many years ago, the writer heard an aged person repeat a good few lines of a poem styled the Cloiginn (Skull) which is said to have been a favourite with George. The poem seemed to be somewhat in the strain of Blair's "Grave;" but the reflections were more quaint, and less philosophical, though, from the unconnected lines remembered, and the manner of the, reciter, it was difficult to form a decided opinion: a couplet, then a long pause with serious efforts at recollection, then an exclamation - "Oh! If I could remember," then another couplet, then a longer pause with more strenuous efforts at recollection, then another exclamation -" Oh! It was beautiful! But I have forgot it."
The writer has never met with anyone in the Highlands who was in the least acquainted with it, and he has, in consequence, been led to fancy that it must have been a fugitive piece by the author of "The Sheriffmuir" himself, the effect of which he might have been Playfully trying on George. If such, indeed, was its origin, it is doubly to be regretted that it has perished, as it was likely to have had an excellence not often attained by Gaelic poetry.
Had this good man survived a few years longer, it is not improbable that he might have put his pupil on some way of elevating himself in the social scalp, and of occupying a sphere where his talents would have had an ample scope for good, and might have gained for him something more than all ephemeral and merely local reputation. Death, however, takes no account of such things. Their intercourse had been sufficiently long and intimate to enable the master to lay the stamp of his character upon the scholar. Thenceforth the youth was left to hew out his own path through life.
George had now reached the age when it was necessary that he should betake himself to some means of earning his own livelihood. He accordingly, selected one of the few indoor occupations that held out that prospect, and became a weaver of woollen stuffs. This was a trade in which it was supposed no man could fail for want of employment. Many young men adopted it, and there was work for all; for, with the exception of the minister's Sunday clothes, there was not usually in the parish an article of male attire, (and very few of female) that did not pass through the hands of the district weaver.
After a time, having by industry and economy procured for himself a comfortable home, he began to look around him for a partner in life. The result of this undertaking was not so rumour went - so fortunate as might have been expected from a man of his sagacity. Love makes sport of wisdom. Her blessings are rarely in proportion to the sapiency of the receiver. Indeed, if any law regulates their bestowal, it would rather appear to be that they are in the inverse ratio. It is needless to give instances; Sacred history contains some, and the lights of modern literature have known of more. If love's gift to George was a Xanthippe, this was only one of the many respects in which, to compare small men with great, he resembled the ancient Grecian sage. Whether or not our little Socrates was, like his great prototype, unequally yoked in matrimony, he had too much good sense not to make the best of his bargain; and there is no reason to believe that his mate rendered him unhappy..
Soon after his marriage he began a practice which he continued till the frailties of age broke in upon it. It was that of paying an annual visit to Aberdeen, in search of books, and to post himself up in the literary topics of the day. The distance was 47 miles by the turnpike, and the journey he always performed on foot. His stay in the town did not usually exceed a week; but during that short time he visited all the book shops, museums, and manufactories, and by conversation and acute observation laid up in his retentive memory a great store of materials for after thought.
In one of these journeys he was overtaken by a storm, and obliged to seek shelter in the house of a small farmer in the parish of Culter. His conversation so engaged the family that time flew past unheeded till the preparations for the evening meal warned him that, if he meant to reach Aberdeen that night, there was no more time to be lost, and as the had
considerably abated, he prepared to depart. The mother of the
family, however, interposed:
"Ye'lI jist wait," she said, " an' tak yer supper wi's; for the like o' ye was never in my house afore."
"I am very much obliged by your kindness," replied George, "but it is a long way to Aberdeen and I do not like to be very late in getting in."
"It's' ower lang for you to go the nicht. It'll be vera dark; an' the road, they say, is nae ower chancy; sae ye'll jist tak a bit supper wi's, an' ye can get a bed tee, sic like as we hae to spare."
George accepted the friendly offer under the impression that he would be allowed to pay for his victuals and accommodation. But, on his proposing to do so, the gudewife, with a touch of injured hospitality in her manner, exclaimed:
"Pay for yer bed an' bit supper! We micht as seen speer at you what we hae tae pay for your stories. Na, na weel awyte! We're mair than pay't already. But gin ye widna tak it amiss, I wid like tae ken fat ye are, an' far ye come frae; for canna mak ye out by a' thing i' the warl'. Ye're surely college bred, an' yet ye dinna look like ane o' that kind o' folk."
"No, my good woman," replied George, " I was never at either college or grammar school; but am just a plain weaver from the - Highlands of Deeside, where my forebears lived before
me."
"Weel, weel, weaver or no weaver, ye're an extraordinary man; an' mony ane has a kirk that wid gie something for your talent. But ye maun promise me, afore ye gang awa', that, as aften as ye pass this way, ye'll stop a nicht wi's; an, as lang as I hae a house ye sanna want for onything it can afford."
In after years, George frequently visited this family, bringing the young members some little fairen from town, by way of sauce to his stories, and always held in high appreciation the kindness he uniformly received.
Though the cares of a large family by and bye pressed upon him, he still found time to pursue his old and favourite studies. He had gleaned from various sources a large amount of legendary lore relating to Deeside; and a better fortune attended his efforts to transmit these to posterity than fell to the lot of his poetic collections. Many of his stories were told -and re-told from fireside to fireside till they became common property, and now form a considerable portion of the current legends of the district, which, but for this one man, it may be safely affirmed, would not be very rich in this commodity.
The skeletons of a few of the more historic have of late years been oftener than once collected and published, though without any knowledge on the part of the collectors that it was mainly owing to George Brown that they had not long ago perished. This is perhaps the only form in which they can now appear; for, after having lain bleaching in an ungenial climate for more than half a century, it would require the magician touch of another Scott to reinvest these bones with their complement of humanity and bring them before us in life character. Without any pretension to such an aim, the writer yet feels that this sketch would be very imperfect indeed did it not contain at least one of these tales; and that in, as nearly as he remember, the very words in which he has often heard it t though that was only at second hand from George Brown.
THE writer is sensible that the preceding stories occupy far too much space in this sketch of the life of George Brown, but he has found it impossible to abbreviate them farther without destroying their character as specimens of the traditional tales which that singular man had collected, and was in the habit of narrating to delighted audiences during the long winter evenings.
His fund of this kind of lore seemed inexhaustible. There was not within the district the ruins or site of an old church or chapel, regarding which he had not gleaned some legend. The names of hills, glades, glens, corries, streams, and even pools and rapids in the river, had its each legend which accounted for its origin or related some circumstance connected with it.
It is a peculiarity of Highlanders - some ethnologists affirm of Celts universally - to attach a name to every locality, however small, that has anything distinctive about it. These names are mostly pictorial, or descriptive of physical features but a large number are also traditional, or commemorative of some striking event.
This latter class, by each of which there hung a tale, formed as it were an index to the greater part of the legends of the district. Accounts of miracles, generally cases of exorcism of evil spirits, constituted a principal feature of the legends attached to ancient chapels, while ghost stories prevailed to a great extent among those relating to ruined churches, and narratives of strife and blood among those commemorated by the names of less sacred places. George himself did not share the superstitions notions of the ignorant around him, and seldom failed to point out what priestcraft had to do with originating and propagating a miraculous story or legend.
It was not, however, in local traditions alone that he was great. He was conversant with general history, and particularly with the history, civil and ecclesiastical, of his native country; and delighted much more to rehearse stories from this source than the wild and unauthenticated tales of tradition. With his Bible, both in English and Gaelic, he was so familiar that he could repeat large portions of it from memory; and rarely could a text be quoted that he could not instantly refer to its chapter and verse. The use which his shrewd and acute mind enabled him to make of this knowledge, procured for him the respect and veneration of a wide circle.
Theological polemics were then the favourite subjects of discussion among the peasantry. The ignorance of the disputants, so far from imposing silence on them, only lent keenness to the arguments with which they supported their views; but their good sense led them very generally to constitute George sole arbiter of their differences on knotty points of doctrine and interpretations of obscure passages of Holy Writ, and from his decisions there seldom or never was any appeal. It was therefore no unusual thing to find his house filled of an evening with controversialists who bad come to have the matters in dispute between them adjusted. On these occasions George would take the judicial bench, and, after hearing each party state his views, would lay down the law on the point with a clearness and gravity that never failed to command acquiescence.
The annual diet of catechising was, however, his great theological field day. When the one appointed for the district in which he lived was announced from the pulpit on the Sabbath preceding, the old people employed all their leisure hours during the interval in a careful perusal of the Shorter Catechism with the contents of which, as the text book, all were expected to be familiar. Punctual to the hour, the minister presented himself at the house appointed for the meeting, and, having opened the diet with prayer, would request George to take a seat beside him. He then put a question from the catechism to each all round, till he came to George, when he would remark:
"I need not ask a question at you, George. I am well aware how familiar you are with the standards of our church. I shall, therefore, proceed to enquire what reason we can give for the hope that is in us."
When, in the course of the examination that followed, any one stated a difficulty he had regarding a point of doctrine or passage of Scripture, or when an answer of doubtful orthodoxy was received to a query, the clergyman would turn to George, and say
"What is your opinion on that point, George?"
Thus appealed to, he would handle the question in a manner that always gave satisfaction to the minister, and raised himself greatly in the estimation of his fellows.
From the reputation which he thus acquired for learning and wisdom, other disputes than theological were not unfrequently referred to him for settlement; and in his decisions he invariably sustained a character which he coveted even more than scholarly reputation - that of peace maker. He had the rare art of supporting his opinions with short sententious remarks that generally carried conviction of their wisdom. Many of these passed into proverbs, and are still occasionally quoted by the old people of the district.
There was, however, one man, though only one in the whole country, on whose erroneous theological opinions he could make no impression - this was Walter Stewart. Yet, strange to say, though their religious notions were wide as the poles asunder, the men themselves were staunch and bosom cronies. It will be better not here to interrupt this notice of, George Brown by any account of their intercourse, but it for a sketch of Walter, to be given anon.
Around George's hearth there was now springing up a blooming family of sons and daughters. The boys were in no, way remarkable; but one, at least, of the girls - Barbara, or as she was generally called "Babby "- was almost as celebrated for, her beauty as her father for his wisdom and knowledge. As she grew up to woman's estate, she attracted to the paternal fireside many a youth whose heart throbbed with a softer passion than a hankering after ancient lore or, modern news. With sweet, features and fair form, she was also gifted with captivating manners and sparkling wit. Nor was it a mere hamlet reputation her beauty had gained for her. Wherever she appeared she won both friends and admirers; so that before she was out of her teens She was universally acknowledged to be, and styled, "The Flower o' Deeside."
Babby Brown "had many hearts a keeping" and widely envied was the youth for whom she was supposed to have any partiality. Nor were her admirers confined to her own station in society. It was well enough known that, among others of the better sort, an officer, in His Majesty's Royal Militia was deeplysmitten by her charms, and for long was most assiduous in his attentions to her; but both she and her father had the good sense to discourage his suit.
Although Babby was no flirt, yet she was so sprightly that the state of her own heart was for long either free, or very well concealed. At last, however, it did begin to be rumoured that there was a favoured one among her - numerous wooers. This was Peter Frankie. Peter was in all respects an eligible match; and, however many might be disappointed, few were surprised at the selection she had made. Though her senior by several years, and a widower, he was still young, and without encumbrance. In personal appearance he was smart, neat, and active, dressed well, and in short was rather irresistible. Having been a favourite retainer of the Abergeldie family, he had been appointed to what was then considered one of the prize situations of the country - that of gamekeeper at Altanuisach, now one of Her Majesty's favourite mountain lodges. Such was the man who had won the heart of the "Flower of Deeside," and on whom she was about, to bestow her hand.
It is here necessary to interrupt this narrative a little in order to relate a bogle story, which will lead to its resumption again, with an account of a melancholy occurrence.
A BOGLE STORY AND A FATAL ACCIDENT.
The ghost or bogle story might have been omitted for any connection it has with this history; but, because it is a fair specimen of such tales, and will re-introduce the narrative in the words of a cotemporary of the events, it may not be amiss to relate it.
"I'm no believer in ghost% a& witches mysel'," usually began the person on whose authority the following account rests, who was a man of strict veracity, and by no means superstitious, and whose very words the writer believes he can now give, so often has he heard the tale, and so strong a hold did it take of his boyish mind:
"I'm no believer in ghosts and witchcraft and sic like things mysel', but this that I am ga'an to tell you, I saw wi' my ain een, though what it was I'll no pretend to say."
"So far as I can remember, it was in the year '23. In the go-hairst, when the black fish were coming on to the redds, I, and a cousin I had, took it into our heads to go down one evening to the Craiguise, to hole some fir to make blazes. I mind weel, it was on a Monday night; and down we went, and crossed over at the foot o' PoIslaig. We met wi' some disturbance in the wood, and had to come back without our errand.
"As we were coming up the waterside at the haughs o' Easter Micras, we fell in wi' an auld fashioned plue that the man had been fauchan wi'. We were feelish young men then, and, as young men sometimes will be, we did na' care muckle what we did gin we got fun, an' the mair mischief the better sport,' as the saying is. But nae good ever comes o' that. Howsomever, that's the humour we were in that night ; and so we began to joke about the plue, an' at last took it up an' threw it ower the bank, on to the stanners (river beach), thinkin' it would be sic a fine joke, as we would likely, hear a story in a day or twa how that the kelpie had been tryan' to make aff wi' the plue.
"We hadna' come awa mony hunder yards, when my cousin, he stops, and says be, 'What's that on the other side o' the water?"
"Now, if ye mind, there's a sheet o' backwater at the head o' PoIslaig. The night wasna dark; the meen was like a quarter auld, but gie well on to the setting., Aweel, I looks across, an' sees something white swimman' round and round about at the upper end o' the backwater, an' says I:
"That's surely ane o' the Abergeldie deuks that is come down the water an' tint the rest."
"Whatever it is,' says he, let 'a have a shot at it wi' a stane."
"Wi' that we fell to; but still it never minded the stanes, but kept swimman' round an' round as before. This made us a' the mair determined to put it out there, but it never minded, us, only it began to look bigger an' bigger.
"It's nae a deuk, say I, 'its ane o' the Abergeldie geese, an I think we should let it alane, for we may chance to strike it, an' kill 't."
"Whatever it is,' says he, 'We should be able to make it shift its quarters."
After a little it did shift, and began to leave the back water, and come across the stanners, makan' straight for where we were. I mind we thought that queer, but we made sure o' hittan't now, as it looked as big as a sheep. But no. On it came, and before it got to the water edge it was black instead o' white.
"Whatever it is, says my cousin, 'I'll gie't a sair hide gin it comes farther.'
"Wi' that he sets about gatheran' some stanes to throw at it.. I threw ane or twa I had in my hand, and wondered that I did na' hit it, and syne 1 fell a gatheran' stanes tee that we might baith charge it thegither. When I had gathered half a dozen good bumlacks out o' the land, I lookit round, but my cousin was na' there. He had taen to his heels, and was makan' for the road as fast as his legs could carry him. I gave a look at the thing, and there it was in the middle o' the water, as big's a calf.
"You may be sure, when ance we set out we werna lang on the road, and we had run near a mile before either o' 's spak a word. At last, says I to him:
"What gart ye run aff yon way, man?"
"Run! ' says he it was time to run Didna ye see the horns on 't an' the licht in its een?"
"Now , I saw nae sic thing" but at the same time I did think it was unearthly like.
Weel, we made straight for George Brown's; and we didna' meet nor see a body till we met Babby Brown at her ain father's door. We didna' wait to speak lang to her, but gaed in and told auld George a' that had happened.
"Weel, lads says he, I canna' but think ye were needan' a fleg. Ye shouldna' hae meddled wi' the honest man's plue; and I hope it will be a lesson to you for the time to come."
After that we put bye our fortnight wi' George; and I ,thought Babby wasna' sae cheery as she used to be, but maybe that was only my ain thought. She was aye sae cheery an' sae fu' of fun, but that night she hardly spak a word, though we expeckit - she wid tease us for being sae coordly.
"I've aften thought on this since, and aften considered what the thing we saw could be, but to this day I canna mak' it out; and what happened afterwards made it stranger still.
Aweel, time passed by, and we said naething mair about that night's business for fear o' folk makan' a story o' 't, and sayan' we had seen the kelpie, and the go-hairst came round again. Syne Babby Brown was marriet to Peter Frankie. She was to stop a week or twa at her father's after the marriage, till the house at Altanuisach would be put in order for her; and, as she was sae vera weel liket, a' the neighbours were askan' her to their houses afore she gaed awa. Ane o' the first places she an' Peter were to go to was Mr. Smart's, at the Mains o' Abergeldie, as he was a great friend o' Peter's.
It was a Sunday afternoon that they gaed across at the cradle. The water was na' what ye would ca' in flood, but far ower big for wadan' in ony place, for there had been a good sup rain the nicht afore. After supper time (9 pm.) some o' our folk chanced to be out about the doors -and came in cryan'
"Men, men! there's something nae richt about the cradle. There 's lichts ga'an up an' down the water in a fearsome, like' way. Run, run, an' see that naething has happened"
We that were men were aff in a minute, and the rest soon followed, but there was some folk nearer at han' there afore us.
"I'll never forget that night - Women no kenan' what do, runnan' about, an' cryan."
"Oh! Can naething be done, can naething be done? Babby Brown 'a lost ! Babby Brown 's lost!" And the folk at the Castle and the Mains wi' lichts an' lanterns runnan' here and there on the ither side, and cryan' across. I saw in a moment what had happened; for there was the rope floatin' down the water. The nicht was vera dark but I an', two or three ither young fellows took a hand o' ither's hands, and in we jumped to try to get at the rope thinkan' they might still be haudan' on to it. The stream was awfu' strong, and we had enough ado to keep our feet. At last we reached it; but there was naething there - neither sicht nor soun', but the sough o' the water ga'an swirlan', swirlan' down.
A' hope o' recoveran' them alive was now at an end, but we could na' go hame. The hail countra' was soon gathered; but what could they do? Down, down the water edge they wandered, peeran' into the dark stream to see if they could notice onything tumblan', or ony sight o' the lost bodies. Oh, it was a waesome night!
Peer' auld George! It would hae melted a heart o' stane to hae seen him, seldom speakan' a word to onybody; but what he did say was like a meek an' humble christian, as he' was. Now and then he would step close up to the water edge as gin something had caught his sight in the stream; but we a' kent it was only to hide his grief, for instead o' lookan' into the water he would bring the corner o' his grey plaid up to his een an' mony's the saut tear that fell into't that sorrowfu' night.
Ance somebody thought he saw something tumblan' wi' the water, and there was a rush to the place, but, if there was onything mair than the swirl o' the stream ower the head o' a stane, we could na' find it out.
It was just a little after this, when the folk were spreadan' themselves down the water side, that I chanced to come upon George among some arn bushes. He thought that they had a' gan past him, and that he was alane. I noticed that he was on his knees, and coveran' his face wi' his grey plaid. A kind o' an awe came ower me; and I creepit awa saftly that I might na' disturb him; for my ain heart tell't me, he should be left to the company he had chosen himsel'.
I could hae heard what he was sayan', for he was speakan' like under his breath, but a' that
I catch't as I was creepan' awa was:
"She was my favourite bairn, and fain would I that Thou hadst spared her whilst Thou wast pleased to spare me, but not thy will, but Thine be done.'
I When I saw - him next I could na' but think he was less waesome than afore.
After mair than threehours had been spent in vain search in the dark, we a' saw it was nae use till we got day-light, and so the search was given up. But next morning, as soon as it was clear, baith sides o' the water turned out, and it was renewed, beginnan' at the cradle again. And where should Babby Brown's body be gotton, but just on the very stanners where my, cousin an' me saw that nasty thing the nicht we were at the Craiguse; and what made it more strange still was, that it was, just that nicht twelve month bye-gane that we aw it. I'm nae believer in ghosts an, sic like superstitions, and may be it was mere chance but whatever,"it was the strangest thing that ever I met wi."
The bogle story is by no means difficult of explanation. The two youths had been engaged in an illicit affair during the evening, and their consciences were probably none of the easiest. Add, to this, that their, imaginations had been teeming with supernatural fancies they had actually been engaged in plotting, a kelpie farce-and we shall find their minds in a high state preparedness for -magnifying any optical delusion into a supenatural apparition. An object to excite the fancy might and probably was supplied by the pale beams of the setting moon, streaming through the trees and reflected on the water this motion could easily have been given by the wind moving the boughs. Nor is the change of colour inexplicable. A struggling ray might, as the moon pursued her course, be intercepted by a thick trunk, and thus a dark shadow would be cast where before there was a reflected moonbeam. Much less than such a change from light to shade would have sufficed to raise the phantom they imagined they saw.
That one of the bodies should have been found there is not at all surprising, because in making a sharp turn, the river spreads out over a shallow, and nothing was more likely than that a heavy body borne along by the stream should be stranded there. It is, however, by no means probable that the above, or any similar explanation, would have been satisfactory to the mind of the honest man, who saw the "nasty thing," as he was in the way of calling the vision. He always held it to be inexplicable; and having, by a general declaration of his disbelief in "kelpies, ghosts, an' sic like things," vindicated himself from any suspicion that he entertained superstitious notions regarding it, he indicated that he had said all that could be said, and that his tale was told.
Reverting to the sad death of Babby Brown, the inquisitiveness, of some youthful listener usually extracted the following observations connected with it:
Listener, "And was Peter Frankie got at the same place as Babby Brown?"
" Na, na, laddie, it was mair than a week afore his body was gotten ; an' there's no sayan when it would hae been gotten had it not been for auld John McRay. John was aye remarkable for the clearness o' his eye-sicht. He could hae seen things nae ither body could see, baith near at hand and far awa, but mair especially in the water. He could hae seen trouts there when ither folk couldna see salmon."
"Aweel, ye see, ae day, after the river had fa'an in a bit, John gaed out wi' some o' his neighbours to hae a look o' the water down about Coilachreach, but instead o' keepan close by the brink like the rest, he climbed up into a tree on a heich bank near a quarter o' a mile out ower."
"After lookan' a whilie, he cries down to the ithers, I see him."
At first they misdoubted John, but says he, ' "I'm sure I see Peter Frankie's white waistcoat, an', gin ye dinna' believe me, wade in where I'll tell ye, an' see for yersel s."
"They did sae, and there they got the body stickan', on a stane in the middle o' the water."
Listener, "An was it ever found out how the cradle rope broke?"
"No, laddie, that has aye been a mystery. Some said that 'it was a rotten spar that broke, an let the rope run off; but there were slooms that it had been meddled wi'; God knows. If it was sae, may the Lord have mercy on their souls that did it."
Listener, "But what could hae gart, ony body dee sic a fearful thing as that?"
"There's nae good raikan' up auld suspicions; an' far be it frae me to hurt onybody's character, when I ken so little about it?"
Listener, "Was there ever ony ither body lost at the cradle but just Babby Brown an' Peter Frankie ? "
Aye was there, laddie, lang, lang ago, when I was about your age, there was a gauger o' the name o' Bruce lost. But there was nae wonder, or vera muckle sorrow that time."
Listener, "Fu did it happen? Tell's about it."
" Weel, ye see, Bruce had got word that there was smuggling ga'an on i' the ither side o' the water, I think they said it was about Clachanturn, an ower he would be. The Dee was in Perfect flood, frae bank to brae, an' nane o' the boats' would venture out. He raged at the boatman o' Monaltrie, an' ca'd him a coord, till the man thought he wasna richt in his mind, or else he was fated. But a' would na' dee; the boatman had mair sense, an' wouldna' risk on the water."
"Bruce was a headstrong man, an', as he thought there was, a plot to keep him frae gettan' at the smugglers, he was the mair determined to be at them. At last he comes to the cradle, and, though there was as muckle water ga'an down the haughs o' Torgalter, as there is sometimes in the Dee itself, he waded in through this till he came to the post. As the man that wrought the cradle wasna' very willan' to venture, for the water wasna' far frae touchan' the rope, Bruce swore that, if he wouldna' come for him he would go across sprawlan' on's hands an, feet."
" Weel, the man risks, jumps into the cradle, an' off he goes. He got to this side quite safe, though the water was just touchan' his feet I' the middle. But as they were ga'an back, the weight o' the twa brought the rope further down, an', just as they were in the mids, the water catched them. Snap went the post on this side, and they were baith plunged into the roaring river.Bruce was a capital swimmer, but the man could swim nane, but he held on to the rope, and the force o' the water was so great that it soon swung him to the side. The people at the Castle were ready to catch at it as soon as it came within reach, an' there they got the man hau'dan' on wi' a death grip; but Bruce was gone, an' he was never mair seen alive."
"Weeks after this his body was gotten on ane o' the islands o' Polcholaig, mair than six miles down the river. There was little main made for Bruce, as it was his ain rashness that had caused his death and endangered the ither man's life as weel. But for Babby Brown and Peter Frankie, naething in my day has happened in this country that caused sae muckle sorrow."
The melancholy death of his favourite daughter produced an effect on George Brown's mind from which he never wholly recovered. In addition to this, the infirmities of age were creeping on him apace; and, although he still took an interest in his, former studies, the tone of his conversation was more subdued, and his manner of life, never wanting in gravity, now became almost solemn.
His society, however, lost none of its charms for the young. By them his fireside was more than ever frequented, and in them he seemed, with advancing years, to evince a growing interest. The patriarchal character has in it a halo of kindness and wisdom peculiarly attractive to youthful minds. But besides this character which George so well sustained, he possessed the gift, always indicative of a sound moral constitution, of entering heartily into their fancies and feelings.
During his remaining uneventful years, he still paid occasional visits to the Manse and Schoolhouse of Crathie; and not unfrequently would be seen, staff in hand, making his way with faltering steps over the hills to the Manse of Glengairn, where he was not only a welcome, but a valued visitor.
At last, in a good old age he was gathered to his fathers on the 9th day of February, 1828 ; and his mortal remains were, conveyed with more respect and regret than those of any man in his station in the present -or last generation to their kindred dust in the Churchyard of Crathie*
* The writer regrets that no tombstone marks the place where repose the ashes of a man so notable in his time and station, and who for no little in his limited sphere, " Has left his footprints on the sands of time;" and would express the hope that, while a few still remain who can point out the spot, this desideratum may be supplied.
