"The ox bath, therefore, stretched his yoke in vain;
The ploughman lost his sweat; and the green corn
Hath rotted ere his youth attained a beard."

In 1881, there was intense and long-continued frost, reminding old people of 1809, the year Mr Patrick of Duthil died, when, owing to the depth of the frost, it was necessary to keep up large fires in the church-yard before the grave for the parson could be opened. There was also a remarkable frost in 1895, which was severely felt over the whole country. The years 1846 and 1849 were notable for disastrous floods. On the morning of Saturday, 8th August, 1846, there was an outbreak of thunder and rain. At breakfast-time there came a lull. Then, shortly after, the rain began to fall in torrents, accompanied by the most appalling thunder.

"Since I was a man,
Such sheets of fire, such bursts of horrid thunder,
Such groans of roaring wind and rain, I never
Remember to have heard."

This fall lasted only about two hours. When the sky cleared the scene was extraordinary. On the hills every gully was a torrent, and every cliff a waterfall. The streams rose with marvellous rapidity, carrying destruction along their course. The bridge at Congash, and five others in this parish were destroyed. The potato disease broke out immediately after, and many people connected it with the thunderstorm. The flood of 1849, by which the old bridge at Inverness was carried off, was very destructive. The Nethy undermined and swept away some 50 to 6o feet of the gravel bank at the Causair, and made a new and straighter channel, abandoning the old course, which, in the form of a gigantic S, it had followed previously, by the Dell Island and Heather Brae. In February, 1893, there was an alarming ice-flood. The Nethy and Dorback had been covered with thick ice, which gave way suddenly.

"Resistless, roaring, dreadful down it comes
From the rude mountain and the mossy wild."

This happened at night, and the darkness added to the confusion and terror. At Nethy the bridges were choked, and some of the houses flooded, but, though there was considerable damage to property, no lives were lost. 1804 is memorable as the year of the loss of the soldiers on the Lang. About the end of December seven militiamen left Edinburgh on furlough. They rested at Castleton, and, as there was heavy snow on the hills, and signs of an approaching storm, they were urged to wait for an improvement in the weather; but, eager to reach home, they would not be persuaded. They started on the morning of old Christmas Day, some of their friends escorting them for a mile or two. Soon snow began to fall, but they pressed on bravely. In the Valley of the Avon they met the full fury of the tempest, and they found it hard to keep together and make way. It was here, near Lochan-a-bhainne, they made their great mistake. In the gloom and stress of the storm, they took the wrong turn, following the Glasalt instead of breasting the Larig. Gradually their strength gave way, and they were separated, or sank to the ground overpowered, to sleep the sleep that knows no waking. Donald Elder and Alexander Forsyth alone escaped. They fought their way over the hills till they reached the Drum, where they found shelter. Their comrades, John Tulloch, Donald Cameron, Donald Ross, Peter Mackenzie, and William Forsyth perished. The body of John Tulloch was found in a moss-hag at Ruigh-allt-an-fheidh, near the junction of the Glasalt and Uisge-dubh-pollchoin. Peter Mackenzie came by Carn-tarsuinn, and his body was not recovered till some 18 months after. It is said that Cameron of Caolachie was looking on the hills for a lost horse. He saw something white at a distance, which he took for the bones of the carcase. But when he came near he discovered it was the remains of poor Mackenzie. The body was a ghastly sight, as the flesh was torn and the head severed from the trunk. Cameron never recovered from the effects of the shock. One pathetic incident is remembered. The two Forsyths stuck to one another. At last the younger grew faint, and lay down, saying, "I can do no more." His brother, seeing he was lapsing into unconsciousness, took him on his shoulders, and gallantly struggled on. The rest and warmth revived him, and when his brother set him down he was able to make his way alone. He escaped, but his brother, who had so nobly tried to save him, perished. "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." The three bodies first found were buried in the Church-yard of Abernethy, a little to the right of the gate. It is said that, before the coffins were lowered, Mr John (the parson) threw some silver into the grave, as if to purchase the ground for the strangers.

Another sad loss from a snowstorm occurred in 1826. The Tomintoul market used to be held on the Friday before Martinmas, and as the weather was often cold and stormy at that time, it was known as the Feill-fhuar, the Cold Market. In 1826 there was a great gathering from all the parishes round. The morning was fair, and business went on briskly, but in the afternoon the sky darkened, and snow began to fall. At first it came down gently in light flakes, but soon there was a change. The snow fell as if in masses, and a tempest of tremendous fury burst upon the town. The square was soon cleared, and people driven for refuge to the houses. For hours the blizzard raged without intermission, and there was great anxiety as to the people who had set out for their homes, and who might have been caught by the fierce wind and blinding drift amidst the wilds of the mountains. Next day the storm continued, and as the village was crowded with strangers, there soon arose a cry of scarcity; both food and water failed. It was a terrible time, but the sad results of the storm were only discovered by degrees. Donald Cameron, Culdunie, had, as was his custom, attended the market for the sale of quick-fir. He left early, and had got beyond Bridge of Broun before the storm broke upon him. He pressed on up the hill, turned off by the old road, but near Lynebeg his strength failed. He took off the empty panniers, put them on the ground beside his horse, and lay down between them. Here he and his horse were found dead together. John Tulloch and his wife made their way by the Lecht till they were near home. Then Tulloch gave way. His wife sat down with him under a rock, and tried by rubbing and every kindly art, even putting his chill hands into her bosom, to restore him.

By God’s mercy she succeeded. With some words of love and good cheer they parted—he to seek help and she to await what doom might be appointed for her. Her husband soon returned, but too late. His dear wife was frozen to death. The words of Thomson, slightly altered, may be quoted—

"Alas! nor child, nor husband more shall she behold,
Nor friends, nor sacred home. On every nerve
The deadly winter seizes, shuts up the sense,!
And o’er her inmost vitals, creeping cold,
Lays her along the snow, a stiffen’d corse,
Stretch’d out and bleaching in the northern blast."