|
It is a common remark that the kind of
people called "Characters" are becoming fewer and
fewer. This seems the natural effect of education, and of
the constantly increasing intercourse between all parts of
the country. As Tennyson sings. "The individual withers,
and the world is more and more." Even in our remote
Highland glens the change is felt. The old "Characters"
that gave romance and interest to a district are dying
out, and they have no successors. ln our parish we have
had to lament the passing away of not a few of this class
within the last sixty years. JOHN FRASER,
Tulloch, commonly called "The Doire," might
be taken as representing the "Bards." He belonged to the
Balliefurth Frasers, and claimed kin with the late Colonel
Malcolm Fraser of Quebec. He received a fair education,
and when a young man paid a visit to his cousins in
Canada, but he soon returned. Having learnt the trade of
an upholsterer in London, and being an excellent workman,
he might have done well if he had settled in one of the
towns; but he was never happy save when his foot was on
his native heather. Again and again he came back, from
working excursions, to his "humble hut" in the wilds of
Tulloch; and there he spent his latter days, struggling
against poverty and the growing infirmities of age with a
sturdy spirit of independence. He was remarkable for his
strong attachments. Nothing vexed him more than the
changes which were being introduced into the country for
the advantage of sportsmen and strangers without regard
for the people. He mused much on these things, and as the
fire burned he would pour forth his feelings in indignant
letters to sundry high personages, and, at times, in
passionate bursts of song. His eccentricity had a dash of
genius, and his poetical pieces, mostly in Gaelic, had
very considerable merit. "The Doire" had a great fund of
local traditions and stories, and was a good genealogist.
The changes in the country in his time had been so great,
that he used to say "he had lived in two worlds." During
his stay in England he had acquired a certain air of
distinction. His accent was good, and his talk
intelligent, "with something of a lofty utterance
dressed." His stately step would have attracted notice
anywhere. Latterly he kept a donkey, which he called his
"Jerusalem pony"; and, as he always wore a black coat and
hat, and had a grave and reverend aspect, he might have
been taken for some Rabbi on his travels. Once, when
slowly riding past Nethy Bridge, some schoolboys tried to
frighten the ass, but "The Doire," quietly patting him on
the cheek, said, "Friend, don’t be disturbed; it’s only
your brother." One of his poems was entitled "The Child of
Destiny." It told his own story. The moral was that of the
old poet Daniel: "Unless above himself he can erect
himself, how poor a thing is man."
It was customary at one time for
tradesmen of various kinds to go round amongst the people,
stopping for work here and there as they were required.
Thus there were the cobbler, the saddler, the jobbing
tailor, and so on. One of the best representatives of the
latter class was NIEL GRANT, of
Glenbroun, who claimed to be the Cean-tighe of the
Achernack family. He had served in the army (42nd
Regiment), and was stationed for some time at Gibraltar.
Subsequently he started business in London as a master
tailor, and was doing well; but his health gave way, and
he had to seek new strength in his native air. One of
Niel’s favourite haunts was the Dell. Here he bad an attic
to himself, where he plied his trade, making and mending
the boys’ clothes with great zest and skill. In the
evening he always had visitors, and charmed them,
especially the young folks, with his tales of soldiering,
and of the wonders of Gibraltar - the impregnable
fortifications; the mysterious caves, and the strange
monkeys that lived on the upper part of the rock, and
which were said to have come across, under sea, from
Barbary. At times he would relax to have a turn at his
favourite game of draughts, of which he was a master; but
his greatest delight was an excursion with "the boys" on
the Saturday to troll on the Spey for pike—"Jack," as he
called them in the English way—or to fish for trout
on the Dorback or the Nethy. Nights with
Niel were much liked, and it is worth noting the
beneficial effect which the society of such a man, who had
travelled and seen something of the world, but was
unchanged in his integrity, modesty, and love of home, had
upon the young people and others with whom he came in
contact.
MURDOCH MACKENZIE, Garlin, was a
weaver, but his chief trade was in midwifery. Hence he was
called ’Murrach-nam-ban. He was said to have a
"gift," which had come into the family far back from the
Fairies, for some service rendered to them. When called
in, he pretended to relieve women in labour by taking
their pains on himself. He would stroke the patient’s
hands, and then lie down in front of the fire, and roll
and roar as if in agony. His sufferings seemed to increase
as things reached their climax. Many people had faith in
him, and he was sent for from far and near. But some had
doubts as to his sincerity. It was said he had been seen
tickling his throat with a feather, and using other arts
to bring on the appearance of sickness and labour. One
curious story is told of him. He had been called in a bad
case to Glenmore, and was making his way there riding on
his white pony. The husband who had summoned him was
eager, and urged him again and again to make haste, lest
his wife should be dead before they reached. Murdoch at
last lost patience, and turning upon the man in a rage, he
said, with one of his horrid grimaces, "On
you be the pains."
According to report, the poor man had to
lie down in the heather in great distress, and the spell
was not taken off till the woman was delivered. Pennant in
his Tour (1712) refers to a similar
belief that prevailed at one time in the west: "nothing
less than that the midwife had the power of transferring
part of the primeval curse from the goodwife to her
husband. I saw," he says, "the
reputed offspring of such labour, who kindly came into the
world without giving her mother the least uneasiness while
the poor husband was roaring with agony in
his uncouth and unnatural pains."
The Pensioners were formerly an
important class. Many a long winter night was enlivened by
their talk, and many a youthful heart stirred to martial
ardour by their tales of "moving accidents by flood and
field." Among others well known were Sergeant
RATTRAY, 78th Regiment, DUNCAN
GRANT, elder, 79th Highlanders, who had a
medal with six clasps for services in the Peninsular War;
and Sergeant Roy (GRANT) of the 42nd Royal Highlanders,
who had served under Abercromby and Moore, and thought
them better soldiers than Wellington. Sergeant Roy was one
of the men who helped to carry Moore from the field of
Corunna, and the tears used to run down the veteran’s
cheeks as he told of the death of his beloved General. He
was also present when Abercromby received his fatal wound.
Dr Brown, in "Horae Subsecivae," gives an
interesting reminiscence of the glorious victory of
Alexandria. When the dying General was being carried on a
litter to the boat of the Foudroyant he was in great pain.
"Sir John Macdonald (afterwards Adjutant-General) put
something under his head. Sir Ralph smiled, and said—’That
is a comfort; that is the very thing. What is it, John?’
‘It is only a soldier’s blanket, Sir Ralph.’ ‘Only a
soldier’s blanket, Sir,’ said the old man, fixing his eye
severely on him. ‘Whose blanket is it?’ ‘One of the
men’s.’ ‘I wish to know the name of the man whose this
blanket is ‘—and everything paused till he was satisfied.
‘It is Duncan Roy’s, of the 42nd, Sir Ralph.’ ‘Then see
that Duncan Roy gets his blanket this very night,’ and
wearied and content, the soldier's friend was moved to his
deathbed."
Another pensioner, who lived at a later
date, was JAMES GRANT, Rivoan, of
the 79th Regiment. He enlisted at a Figgat Fair, in 1804,
when only 16. His first engagement was at Copenhagen,
1807. Subsequently he served
throughout the Peninsular War, and received a medal and
three clasps for Corunna, Busaco, and Fuentes d’Onor. In
the latter battle he was brought to the ground by a ball
in the leg, but he managed to get upon his knee, and to
discharge his musket at the French. This he used to call
his farewell shot. On coming home, he married and settled
at Rivoan. His wife, Elsie Grant, was one of the great
beauties of the parish. The others were Margaret M’Intyre,
wife of John Black, Clachaig, and Jane Blair, wife of
Grigor Cameron, Tulloch. Mr Martin used to say of the
latter pair that they were the handsomest couple he had
ever married, and during his pastorate of upwards of
fifty years he must have married
hundreds. Marriages were then performed in Church. Rivoan
died in 1876. He was then, perhaps, the oldest pensioner
in the British Army—1812-1876.
The Beggars were another class,
belonging to the olden time. There were not a few of them
who made their rounds from time to time, and at certain
farms they knew that there was a bed for them in the barn,
and a welcome at the kitchen fire. GILBERT
STEWART was one of them. He claimed a
certain respect from his name, and from having been an old
soldier. He lived to be over 100, and latterly had to be
carried about in a cart or barrow. CAPTAIN FERGUSON was a
grey-headed tar. His distinction was that he had fought
under Nelson, and that he had a silver plate on his head
to cover a hole made by a bullet. KING JOHN was another
curious character. He dressed fantastically with a hat
decorated with peacock feathers, and used to carry a
wooden sword. Another character, better known in the low
country, was MAD CHALMERS. He dressed decently, with long
hair hanging in curls, and speckled buckles fixed with
pins on his collar, He claimed to be of the same spirit as
John the Baptist. One day when holding forth, he was
interrupted by another wanderer, Eppie Laing, who cried
out, "I see noo what the Almichty never seed." Chalmers
shook his head at such impiety, but Eppie answered, "It’s
true at ony rate, for I see my ain equal (you’re a feel,
and am anither), a thing the Almichty never seed." "Wonnerfu’
woman !" said Chalmers. Another
beggar of a somewhat different type was a man whose name
was not known, but who was called after one of his songs,
"Philip O’Sogan." He used generally to come to the Dell on
a Saturday, and stayed over Sunday. He was well educated,
and always had some books. He claimed to be a poet, and
used to say that now that Burns and Ramsay were gone, he
was one of the only Scottish bards left! It was a
peculiarity with him to dislike heat, and he used to keep
as far back as possible from the fire-place, sitting upon
a meal girnel, but when he sang he stood on the floor, and
made the rafters ring with "Fye let us all to the Bridal,"
and other songs. He spoke remarkably good English with a
good accent. Once on a cold wintry day he was offered a
dram by the mistress of the house, and asked how he would
take it. His answer was, "In its pristine purity," which
became a saying in the country. Another time he was asked
if he would have some gooseberries. "Thank you, madam," he
said, "I should like much to have some, they are
considered a good aperient." And to give one reminiscence
more of poor old Philip. On a certain Sabbath he was seen
by the lady of the house reading a newspaper, and she
gently reproved him, but Philip answered calmly, "Madam, I
cannot see that there is any more harm in my reading a
newspaper on Sunday than in your giving orders to your
cook as to the dishes for dinner." PETER
MACKINTOSH, called Peter Bain, was a
celebrated piper and violin player. He came of a family
eminent for musical talent. His father, born in Tulloch,
gained the office of piper to Sir James Grant at a public
competition, and others before him had a reputation as
musicians, Peter, therefore, had the advantage of good
training, and not only possessed a wonderful stock of
excellent tunes, but could play them in a style which Niel
Gow or Wandering Willie, "the best fiddler that ever
kittled thairm wi’ horse-hair," could hardly have
surpassed. None that heard him in his prime can forget the
spirit and magic power of his "Tullochgorin," "Highland
Donald kissed Katie," and other favourites. Some sixty
years ago there were few Highland parishes that could
boast of such society as Abernethy, and there was much
pleasant intercourse between all classes. Peter used to
get a boll of meal annually from each of the principal
families, and for this he made due return by playing at
Harvest Homes and other festivities, and by giving a
"spring" to the young folks now and again on a Saturday
evening. On special occasions Peter showed wonderful tact
in the tunes he selected. When the gentlemen came in from
dinner he would play "The Bottom of the Punch Bowl." In
compliment to Captain Gordon, he would give "The Bonnie
Wife o’ Revack," and to gratify Captain Macdonald,
Coulnakyle, he would strike up "Mullochard’s Dream." He
always finished with the Gaelic air, "Mhuintir mo ghaol,
thugaibh am bruach oirbh" (" Dear people, it is time to
take to the hill"), which agrees with the Scottish tune
"Good Nicht." Peter was a man of an honest and kindly
heart. He had the appearance of simplicity, but behind
there was considerable shrewdness and a sort of dry humour
which flashed out sometimes in sayings still remembered.
At the time of "the rejoicings" on the late Master of
Grant visiting the country, a ball was given at the Dell
in his honour. When the Master retired, a party of
Highlanders with torches, and Peter as piper, escorted him
to the house. He asked for a last reel on the green, and
when this was over he bade all good-night, and turning to
Peter, with that graceful courtesy which won all hearts,
he said, shaking his hand warmly, "Peter, you have done
well; I am much obliged to you." Peter’s heart was full.
He tried to answer, but words failed. He could only say,
"Sir, sir," and then with a gasp, "I canna speak !" The
Master used to say it was the best speech he ever heard.
The scene realised the words of Shakespeare :—" Only my
blood speaks to you in my veins," and "Love, therefore,
and tongue-tied simplicity in heart, speaks most, to my
capacity." Peter lived to be upwards of 80, and died in
1873. His life was quiet and inoffensive, and his latter
days marked by genuine if unobtrusive piety. There are
some Abernethy boys still surviving, in whose hearts his
name will awaken kindly thoughts and dear memories of home
and of the happy days of "Auld Lang Syne." |
|
|
|
|
