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OF such ancestors as are
described in the previous chapter was descended the last of the old
poachers. Though little is known of his boyhood, he early began to
display a touch of that chivalrous and generous nature for which he was
afterwards distinguished, as well as a contempt for walking in the paths
usually trodden by humanity, for which he was still more remarkable. An
incident is recorded of his early manhood, which made people apply to
him the old saying, “Sic like father, sic like son.” There were in those
times, and even down to a year ago, when the present Chancellor of the
Exchequer’s gun tax put a stop to them, shooting matches at which each
competitor contributed a certain sum, and the money so collected was
given in prizes to the best shots, or more frequently in the olden time
expended in the purchase of articles of various kinds that some poor man
had made for the occasion, which articles then constituted the prizes.
Sandy had been at one of these, probably one of his first appearances on
such occasions. The prizes were to be “cogs” made by some poor cooper,
to earn a little money thereby. He had won a large number of the cogs;
but instead of carrying them home in triumph, he set to toss them up in
the air, and shot balls into them. After thus destroying his own, he
turned round, and seeing a young fellow looking with blank astonishment
at such a proceeding, offered to purchase the few he had won. The offer
being accepted, he treated them in the same manner; and handing the
young man something to drink his health with, remarked, “If all the cogs
were to be done that with, the poor man we have been helping to-day
would get more work.”
About the time Sandy attained manhood, the most stirring gentleman on
Deeside was Lord Kennedy, son of the Earl of Cassillis. This young
nobleman was devoted to sporting of all kinds, and along with Mr.
Farquharson of Finzean and two or three more of like disposition, led a
very fast life. The party had shootings in various parts of the
Highlands, but their principal quarters were at Falar, a deer forest and
grouse shooting near the sources of the Tilt Sandy’s first engagement
was as gamekeeper to his lordship at this place; but he did not remain
long in their service, being “disgusted,” as he often said, “at the fast
and godless life led by his employer and party.”
The Duke of Atholl, from whom the shootings were rented, had found it
necessary to put certain restrictions on the party which were considered
vexatious and oppressive. This roused their ire, till the feeling
between them ran so high that one day when passing Blair Castle and
seeing the Duke sitting in front of his mansion, Lord Kennedy, probably
in jest, though it was not so understood, said to Sandy, “Now, Sandy, if
you go and shoot that man, I will give you five hundred pounds.”
“Though your lordship would give me five thousand pounds, I would not do
it,” replied Sandy, manfully; “for I have a soul to be saved as well as
your lordship.”
His spirit was not of a temper to endure gentlemen’s service, even under
the most favourable conditions, having frequently been heard to remark,
“Sooner than be in any way a flunkey, Fd rather go and beg.” But
especially odious to him was the service of such a man as Lord Kennedy,
since to the degradation of the position must be added the shock his
religious feelings often experienced through the life led by the party,
especially through their profanation of the Sabbath, a day always held
in high esteem by Sandy. His master insisted that he should go out with
him and his companions to shoot on that, as well as on other days; and
Sandy’s stout resistance to such an order was probably the reason of his
giving up his situation. The party, however, often went without him; and
when they did not go, they betook themselves to other sports, equally
offensive to Sandy’s feelings, such as playing cards and shooting at
targets. Sometimes they would lie on their backs and shoot their rifles
sheer up into the air, to test the truth of the natural law that a
bullet so shot will come right down again. This practice Sandy used to
denounce as “not only a violation of the Lord’s day, but a tempting of
Providence as well.”
At this period of his life he was a money-making man; and though he
attended the balls and other merry-makings in his neighbourhood, he did
not acquire the too common habit of excessive drinking, which is all the
more to his credit, as he was “much taken out at them.”
Smuggling was then the ordinary means resorted to, to earn a little
spare cash. There were, however, two departments in the illicit trade,
one the production of the whisky, in which the population generally,
both male and female, engaged; the other the transportation of the
manufactured article to market in the large towns, which, though more
perilous, was also perhaps more lucrative than the other; but it
required more daring and caution in those who embarked in it It was to
this branch of the traffic that Sandy gave his attention; and in
conducting it had many a hairbreadth escape, and many a brush with the
gaugers, even, it is said, encountering the dreaded Gillespie himself.
He was now in his prime; and his personal appearance was so remarkable
that the writer remembers well how, when a boy, he and his playfellows
used to gaze upon it with admiration. Yet it was not for any gigantic
proportions his frame exhibited—he was only 5 feet n inches in
height—nor yet for the idea of strength and muscular power it displayed,
though that was striking, but for its wonderful symmetry of mould, and
the noble bearing and lordly demeanour of the owner. How we used to
steal up to where he might be sitting or standing, that we might enjoy
the feeling of wonder which an inspection of his leg was always sure to
inspire! It measured 17 inches round the calf, and yet, was so neat and
“ clean in the bone,” that he could clasp it at the ankle with his hand.
We knew by inquiry—it was a matter on which we had a craving for the
fullest and most exact information—the length of his foot, the girth and
length of his arms, his breadth between the shoulders, and his girth
round the waist; in short, the exact measurements of his frame were to
us matters of great importance, because they formed in our opinion the
standards by which to estimate the perfection of other human forms. Add
to this physical development a face so finely chiselled that it might
have formed a model for Grecian statuary, a luxuriant, jet black beard
and moustache, thick curly hair of the same colour, a dark hazel eye
with an eagle glance, and we have a pretty correct idea of the personnel
of the last, if not also the best, of the old poachers.
Sandy had too much sense to be vain of his personal appearance, but he
cannot be acquitted of a consciousness that nature had cast his frame in
her finest mould, and that it was his duty to invest it with suitable
and becoming setting. He was therefore almost always clad in the garb of
Old Gaul, which he had also strong patriotic reasons for wearing. His
step was singularly elastic, and his movement when walking so light and
graceful, that it might have served as a model to lady students of
calisthenics. To the same feeling is probably to be ascribed the style
he adopted in conversation. His mother tongue was Gaelic, which he used
on all suitable occasions. When, however, this was unsuitable, he
adopted pure English, which he spoke with the ease and accent of a real
English gentleman. He never spoke Scotch, and seldom did a Scotch word
escape his lips, and when it did, it was always tinged with an English
accent
The Forest of Mar, which anciently filled both sides of the valley of
the Dee, from Mar Lodge upwards to the slopes of Caimtoul and Braeriach,
with the tributary glens of the Lui and the Derry, had been much reduced
in its vast extent since the time when John Erskine, Earl of Mar,
assembled on its confines the chiefs of twenty powerful clans with their
followers to waken its echoes with the sound of the huntsman’s horn, and
then to march at their head to place the “auld Stuarts” on the throne of
the three kingdoms. But there was still a large quantity of valuable
timber in these glens, especially the Derry, which the late Earl of Fife
desired to turn to cash, and accordingly offered it for sale. Sandy
Davidson, having made a considerable sum of money by the illicit traffic
in which he had been engaged, turned his attention to this new
speculation, after the smuggling days thus early fallen under the
suspicion of being an occasional poacher in the Invercauld forests. The
factor on the estate, Mr. Roy, had accordingly put him under ban of
house and hauld, with the view of driving him from the country. It is
probable that Sandy was not quite guiltless. He was too good a shot not
to hanker after the sport which his gun afforded him, and too fond of
excitement calmly to calculate the consequences to his temporal
interests; for morally he held he was entitled to the indulgence. Mr.
Roy’s action in the matter wounded him deeply; he resented what he
deemed his tyranny, and took revenge by more frequently invading the
forest than he might otherwise have done. That he was now an extensive
contractor in the interest of the Earl of Fife had no tendency to
mollify the feeling of hostility entertained towards him by the factor
to the neighbouring chief, but rather tended to make him the reverse of
accommodating to the floaters.
A little beyond the bridge of Invercauld, and in view of the mansion
house, there was in the channel of the river a large fragment of rock,
highly prized by the proprietor for its picturesque appearance, and as
affording harbourage to salmon, but very obnoxious to the floaters, as
it caught their logs in a part of the river where, on account of the
dangerous rapids with which it was surrounded, it was impossible to
reach them when the river was in floating condition. A huge cairn had
collected on the summit of this rock, designated the “big stane o’ the
Cluny,” and all efforts to move the logs and cause them to pursue their
journey had been unavailing. When the river was high they could not be
reached, and when low they were too firmly matted together and too heavy
for human effort to produce much impression. The floaters therefore
resolved to blast the obstructing rock, so that, when the next flood
came, the whole cairn would be carried clear over the top of it. To this
work they addressed themselves without leave asked of the factor, whose
permission they knew they had no reason to expect Could it have been
accomplished in the course of one night, it would have been done without
his knowledge; but he had a sharp eye on these wild fellows, and
learning early in the morning what had been going on while he slept, he
lost no time in interposing his authority to stop the destruction of the
favourite “ salmon rock.” An altercation took place, in which personal
violence was threatened to the factor if he did not desist from his
vexatious visits, and defiance was hurled in his face. An interdict was
procured from the Sheriff of the County, but there was some difficulty
experienced in serving it, and it too was set at defiance. Meanwhile the
floaters had become desperate, and a plot was formed among some of the
more lawless that, should Mr. Roy and his myrmidons dare to come on the
cairn “he should be thrown into the river, sink or swim.” An insecure
temporary gangway of logs had been constructed to afford a passage from
the bank to the cairn, and it was planned that should Mr. Roy venture to
come on this gangway, the log should be slipped, and he should be left
to his fate. Sandy Davidson was no party to this murderous plot, but he
had heard of it and resolved to frustrate it, though the intended victim
was the man who had exercised towards him every species of persecution
in his power. He took care, therefore, to be on the cairn next day, when
the factor's visit was expected. The river had risen overnight and was
in a very dangerous condition. When the factor, attended by a few
followers, appeared in the distance, Sandy heard one of the men, not one
of his company, swear that if the “tyrant” should come on the bridge he
would never go back. He remonstrated against any personal violence being
offered to him, however tyrannical he might be, but all to no purpose.
Mr. Roy, on reaching the bank, determined, against the advice of those
who were with him, at once to cross to the cairn. Sandy, observing his
intention, bawled out in a voice that rose shrill over the roar of the
stream—
“Don’t come, Mr. Roy; your life is in danger.”
“I’ll take my chance of that,” replied the courageous factor, and
continued to advance, cautiously balancing himself on the unsteady logs.
“For God’s sake and your wife’s, if not for your own,” cried Sandy,
“don’t venture on the cairn.”
But by this time Mr. Roy was midway across, with the foaming torrent
beneath him.
“Slip the log,” said the leader in the plot, and suiting the action to
the word, set his spoke in rest to hitch it off.
“On your life, don’t,” interposed Sandy, endeavouring to push the man
from his rash act But finding that he was not supported by the other
men, he leaped on the gangway, caught Mr. Roy in his arms, and by
superior strength bore him safe to the bank. In another second the
fabric swept down the river.
Whatever may be thought of Mr. Roy’s want of gratitude for his kindly
act, there is but one opinion about Sandy’s conduct in sinking all
differences, and braving all dangers to save the life of the man who had
endeavoured by harsh means to drive him from the country. As a Justice
of Peace, and as factor to an employer in whose eyes poaching was an
unpardonable offence, Mr. Roy was justified in taking the most vigorous
measures to prevent the destruction of his master’s property; and even,
on finding that the usual legal steps were unavailing, in calling in the
aid of the military to enforce the authority of the law; but he might
have dealt a little more leniently with Sandy afterwards, without
violating any part of his duty.
This floating business was the ruin of Sandy. The speculation proved
unprofitable. The cost of conveying the heavy timber of Glen Derry 70
miles to market in Aberdeen far exceeded his calculation; and to put the
cope-stone on his misfortune, he had re-sold to the Earl of Fife two
hundred pounds’ worth of timber, the cutting down of which his lordship
thought would be destructive of the amenities of Mar Lodge, soon after
which the Earl became bankrupt, leaving poor Sandy unpaid and without
any acknowledgment of the debt. When Sandy would be asked, “How were you
so simple as to trust the Earl, when a report that he was on the point
of failure was current?” he would reply with a degree of surprise at the
question, “What! not trust a Lord of the Realm?” pronouncing the word in
two syllables to give it more importance.
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