LOCH-AN-EILAN is one of the loveliest bits
of scenery in Scotland, and the special show-place of the district. All
roads in Rothiemurchus therefore lead to it. But the high-road goes
round from Aviemore by the Doune, which is the residence of the
proprietor. Doune House is a square, modern building, substantially
constructed, in the midst of spacious parks and richly-wooded policies,
on the banks of the Spey, whose soft, cultivated beauty contrasts
strikingly with the bare rocks and brown, heath-clad mountains around. A
high mound crowned with trees lies to the east, from which the mansion
received its name. It was originally a fort, and tradition says that it
was inhabited by a brownie which faithfully served the household for
many years, probably a personification of the protection which the mound
afforded. This family seat was occupied for many years by the Duke and
Duchess of Bedford. The Duchess was the daughter of the famous Jane,
Duchess of Gordon, who lived on the neighbouring property of Kinrara,
and seems to have inherited the vivacity of disposition and the active
benevolence of her mother. A large number of the leading men of the day
were entertained in the Doune during her occupancy, among others Lord
Brougham. A dispute arose one night among the visitors as to whether the
Lord Chancellor of England carried the Great Seal about with him when he
travelled. The Duchess put the matter to the test at once, and marching
at the head of her friends to the bedroom of Lord Brougham, who was
lying ill at the time she persuaded him to imprint a cake which she had
just baked with an impression of the Seal, which, of course, settled the
question.
Rothiemurchus originally
belonged to the powerful family of the Comyns, who owned all the lands
of Badenoch. With the displacing of the Comyns is associated a tradition
of the Calart, a wooded hill to the west of the little loch of
Pityoulish. In the pass close to this loch one of the Shaws, called Buck
Tooth, waylaid and murdered the last of the Comyns of Badenoch. The
approach of the Comyns was signalled by an old woman seated on the top
of the Calart engaged in rocking the tow, and Shaw, with a considerable
force of his clansmen, sprang from his ambush and put them all to the
sword. The graves of the Comyns are still pointed out in a hollow on the
north side of the Calart, called Lag-nan— Cumineach. Unswerving
tradition asserts that this Shaw was no other than Farquhar, who led
thirty of the clan Chattan in the memorable conflict with the thirty
Davidsons of Invernahaven, on the North Inch of Perth, in 1396. His
remains were interred in the churchyard of Rothiemurchus, and a modern
flat monument with an inscription, and with the five cylinder.shaped
stones, the granite supporters of the original slab, resting upon it,
indicates the spot. Tradition says that these curious stones appear and
disappear with the rise and fall of the fortunes of the House of
Rothiemurchus. During the Duke of Bedford’s tenancy of the Doune, a
footman removed one of them to test the truth of this tradition. But he
was obliged speedily to restore it, owing to the indignation of the
people. A few days after putting back the stone upon the grave he was
drowned in fording the Spey, and his death was considered in the
district the just punishment of his sacrilege.
The Shaws held possession
of Rothiemurchus till they were finally expelled by the Grants of
Muckerach in 1570. On account of their frequent acts of insubordination
to the Government, the Lands of the Shaws were confiscated and bestowed
upon the Grants, "gin they could win them." Many conflicts
took place between the two rivals, one of them in the hollow now
occupied by the large, well-stocked garden of the House. Though defeated
and slain, the chief of the Shaws would not surrender his rights, but
even after death continued to appear and torment the victor, until the
new laird of Rothiemurchus buried his body deep down within the parish
church, beneath his own seat; and every Sunday when he joined in the
prayers of the congregation he had the satisfaction of stamping his feet
upon the body of his enemy. The last of the Shaws of Rothiemurchus was
outlawed on account of the murder of his stepfather, Sir John Dallas,
whom he hated because of his mother’s marriage to him. One day,
walking along the road near a smithy, his dog, entering, was kicked out
by Dallas, who happened to be within, when the furious young man drew
his sword and cut off Dallas’s head, with which he went to the Doune
and threw it down at his mother’s feet. The room she was in at the
time is still pointed out, and the smithy where the murder occurred is
now part of the garden. It is said that on the anniversary of the
tragedy, every August, the scent of blood is still felt in the place,
overpowering the fragrance of the flowers.
Muckerach Castle, some
three miles from Grantown, and now in ruins, was the earliest seat of
the Rothiemurchus family. The lintel-stone of the doorway was removed
and built into the wall of Doune House. It has carved upon it the date
of the erection of the Castle in 1598, and the proprietor’s arms,
three ancient crowns and three wolves’ head; along with the motto,
"In God is all my trust" Several members of the Rothiemurchus
family greatly distinguished themselves in the world of diplomacy and
politics. Sir John Peter Grant, a clever barrister, was first M.P. for
Great Grimsby and Tavistock, and in 1828 was appointed one of the Judges
of the Supreme Court of Bombay. His son was Lieutenant-Governor of
Bengal, and ultimately Governor of Jamaica, and for his valuable
services was knighted. His sister, who married General Smith, of
Baltiboys, in Ireland, wrote the charming Memoirs of a Highland Lady,
giving a social account of Rothiemurchus in the early years of last
century.
Not far from the garden
of the Doune, on a knoll which commands an extensive view, is the
mansion-house of the Polchar, where the late Dr. Martineau resided for
many years. The house has long sloping roofs and low walls, and is well
sheltered by trees from the blasts which in winter must blow with great
violence here.
From June to November the
venerable divine was accustomed to come to this place from London, and
the change no doubt helped to prolong his valuable life. When he came
first to Rothiemurchus he found that everything was sacrificed for the
sake of the deer forest. Old roads were shut up, and the public were
excluded from some of the grandest glens. Dr. Martineau set himself to
counteract this spirit of exclusiveness, and in a short time he
succeeded in securing free access to the loneliest haunts of Nature. Of
an extremely active habit of body, he climbed the heights and explored
all the recesses of the Cairngorms. In his later years, however, he
seldom moved beyond the scenes around his own door. His refined face and
earnest manner always impressed one. I shall not soon forget his look,
when I called upon him on his ninety-second birthday to offer my
congratulations and good wishes, as of one already a denizen of another
world, who had brought its far-reaching wisdom and experience to bear
upon the fleeting things of time. The family of Dr. Martineau have done
an immense amount of good in the locality, having founded a capital
library for the use of the inhabitants and visitors, and a school for
wood-carving, with an annual exhibition and sale of the articles made by
the pupils, which has stimulated the artistic taste of the young people
in a wonderful degree.
Passing the low-browed
manse, whose situation in the shadow of Ord Bàn is exceedingly
picturesque, a beautiful path at the foot of the hill conducts the
visitor to Loch-an-Eilan. A stream flows all the way from the loch
beside the path, which is over—arched by graceful birch-trees, such as
MacWhirter loved, and which he actually painted on the spot several
years ago while residing at the manse in a series of studies of the Lady
of the Woods, exceedingly beautiful and true to nature. The slender
trees here hang their long waving tresses overhead and cast cool shadows
over the white path, while the murmur of the stream soothes the senses
and makes one see visions and dream dreams. In a little while the
northern shore of Loch-an-Eilan comes in sight, embosomed among
dark-green fir-forests. It occupies an extensive hollow, overshadowed on
the east by the bare round mountain mass of Creag Dubh, one of the outer
spurs of the Cairngorm range, while on the other side rise up the grey
precipitous rocks of the Ord Bàn, clothed with birches and pines to the
top. Ord Bàn is composed mostly of primitive limestone and bands of
micaschist very much bent and twisted by the geologic forces to which it
owed its origin. It is easily ascended, and the view from the summit,
owing to its central position, is both extensive and magnificent,
including the two horizons to the north-east and south-west, with their
clothing of dark fir-forests in one direction, and of birch-woods in the
other. Loch Morlich shows itself distinctly in its wide basin glancing
in the sun, while far over the wild mountains that surge up tumultuously
in the south-west, Ben Nevis storms the sky with its broad summit.
Charles V. said of
Florence, "It is too beautiful to be looked upon except on a holy
day." The same might be said in a truer sense of Loch-an-Eilan, for
it is a sanctuary of Nature. Its beauty touches some of the deepest
chords of the heart. It is not a mere landscape, it is an altar picture.
It is a poem that gives not merely a physical or intellectual sense of
pleasure, but awakens the religious faculty within us, creating awe and
reverence like a holy hymn. One of its great charms is its
unexpectedness. It comes upon you with a sense of surprise in the heart
of the woods. Its water is the spiritual element in the dark fir-forest
It is to the landscape what the face is to the human body—that which
gives expression and imagination to it,—and therefore it lends itself
easily to spiritual suggestiveness. It is the face of Nature looking up
at you, revealing the deep things that are at the heart of it. All
around the loch are fir-woods, miles in extent, in whose depths one may
lose oneself. But here at the lochside one comes out into a wide open
space, and finds a mirror in which the whole sky is reflected. There is
a sense of freedom and enlargement. One sees more of the shadow than of
the sunshine among the fir-trees, and only bits of the blue sky appear
high up between the green tops of the trees; but here the whole heavens
are seen not only above but below, with the double beauty of reflection.
The water makes the blue sky bluer, and the golden sunshine brighter.
The sight awakens the thought that it is good to have clear open spaces
in our life, in which heaven may be brightly imaged. It is good to have
in our souls parts devoted to a different element from that of which our
life is mostly composed, in which we may have large glimpses of the
world that is above us, the spiritual and eternal world. Life must
broaden if it is to brighten. Over the narrow stream the trees arch,
shutting out the sky. To the shores of the wide lake they retreat,
leaving it open to the whole firmament.
THE little island which
gave the loch its name was originally a crannog or artificial
lake-dwelling. After affording a secure retreat for ages to the
primitive inhabitants by its wicker huts built on wooden platforms, it
finally formed a foundation for a Highland feudal stronghold of
considerable dimensions, covering all the available space and appearing
as if rising out of the water. Tradition asserts that it was originally
built by the Red Comyns, who once owned all the country round about. The
lands of Rothiemurchus having been granted by Alexander IL to Andrew,
Bishop of Moray, in 1226, the Earl of Buchan, son of Robert II., better
known on account of his ferocity as the Wolf of Badenoch, took forcible
possession of these lands, and was in consequence excommunicated. In
revenge he sacked and burned the Cathedral of Elgin. For this
sacrilegious act he had to do penance by standing barefoot for three
days at the door of the cathedral, and was restored to the communion of
the Church on condition that he would return to the Bishop of Moray the
lands he had wrested from him. This castle was one of the possessions
which the Wolf gave up. During his occupation we may well suppose that
it was the scene of many bloody deeds and crimes. It was afterwards
bestowed in lease upon the Shaws, whose chief dwelt there for more than
a hundred years without molestation. From the Shaws it ultimately passed
to the Grants of Muckerach, who have continued to hold it ever since.
One event only has been recorded since they took possession. In 1690,
after the disastrous battle on the "Haughs of Cromdale," so
long celebrated in song and dance in Scotland, the remnant of the
defeated adherents of James II., the followers of Keppoch under General
Buchan, fled to Loch-an-Eilan for refuge, and made an attempt from the
mainland to seize the castle, which was defeated by the Rothiemurchus
men under their valiant laird. A smart fire of musketry greeted them
from the walls of the castle, the bullets for which were cast by Grizzel
Mor, the laird’s wife, and they were repulsed with great loss. Since
then the castle has become a roofless ruin, whose time-stained walls,
mantled with a thick growth of ivy, add greatly to the picturesque
appearance of the loch. The stumps of the huge fir-trees, from which the
timber for the roofing and flooring of the castle was obtained, may
still be seen on the margin of the peat-bogs behind the loch from which
the people of the neighbourhood obtain their fuel, preserved as hard and
undecayed as ever after the lapse of all these centuries. It has been
persistently said that a zigzag causeway beneath the water led from the
door of the castle to the shore, the secret of which was always known
only to three persons. But the secret has never been discovered, and the
lowest state of the loch has never given any indication of the causeway.
On the top of one of the towers the osprey or sea-eagle, one of the
rarest of our native birds, used to build its nest. For several seasons
unfortunately the birds have abandoned the locality, possibly because
they were not only persecuted by the crows, which stole the materials of
their eyrie, but also frightened by the shouts of visitors on the shore
starting the curious echo from the walls of the castle. I was fortunate
enough, one recent summer, to see the male bird catching a large pike
and soaring up into the sky with it, held parallel to its body, with one
claw fixed in the head and the other in the tail. After making several
gyrations in the air, with loud screams, it touched its nest, only to
soar aloft again, still pertinaciously holding the fish in its claws. A
seagull pursued it, and rising above, attempted to frighten it, so that
it might drop the fish, but the osprey dodged the attacks of the gull,
which finally gave up the game and allowed the gallant little eagle to
alight on its nest in peace, and feed its clamorous young ones with the
scaly spoil. The fish in Loch-an-Eilan are principally pike, which often
attain a large size, especially in the eastern bays, being there so
little disturbed.
Sir Thomas Dick Lauder
realised the capabilities of Loch-an-Eilan for figuring in romance, and
has given us a vivid description of its picturesque features in his
story of Lochandhu. It combines within the small area of three
miles in circumference all the elements of romantic scenery. There is no
monotony, but, on the contrary, an infinite variety along its shores,
which form coves and inlets and low, rocky points and gravelly beaches
and open green banks. On the east side the rocky precipices rise almost
immediately from the water and fling a dark shadow over it. The path
here is seldom used, and one rarely meets a visitor in the solitude. On
the nearer or western side there is a large promontory of green
meadow-lad, standing out against the richly-wooded background of the Ord
Bàn, on which is situated an ornamental cottage with a red roof, which
in summer is frequented by crowds of visitors who come from all parts of
the country in carriages and on bicycles and make delightful picnics on
the shore. The site of this picturesque cottage was first occupied by a
house which was built by a General Grant for his widowed mother in
accordance with her own wishes. This General was originally a turnspit
in the kitchen at Doune. Quarrelling one day with the cook, the boy cut
off her hair with his knife and then ran off down the avenue at full
speed. The cook came crying to her master who shouted after him in
Gaelic, "Come back, you black thief, and get your wages."
"Wait till I ask for them," was the reply. He then enlisted as
a soldier and rose rapidly from the ranks to the highest position in the
Indian army and amassed a large fortune. He never came back to his
native glen, but he provided for all his relations and gave his mother a
pension, on which she lived happily for many years, not priding herself
very much on her son’s wonderful career, nor held in any high
consideration by her neighbours in consequence. On the promontory below
the cottage stands a rough granite monument intimating that at this
point General Rice, who did a great deal of good in the locality during
his sojourn in it, and whose portrait may be seen in almost every house,
was drowned by the breaking of the ice while skating on the loch on 26th
December 1892.
The southern end of the
loch is formed by precipitous grey rocks in the background, crowned with
dark woods, the haunt in former times of the wild cat, and surmounted at
the highest point by a monument now almost entirely concealed by the
trees, erected by her husband to the Duchess of Bedford, whose favourite
outlook was from this place. The shore here consists of magnificent
moraines covered with grass, heather and bracken, which produce in their
autumnal fading the most gorgeous effects of colour. Beyond these
immediate boundaries the open country reveals itself, taking into the
horizon the round peaks of the Boar of Badenoch and the Sow of Atholl,
and so completing the magic picture of the loch by the ethereal blue
colours of the far distance. The quieter bays are white with whole
navies of waterlilies, and when the hills and open parts of the woods are crimson with
the heather in full bloom, almost changing the water of the loch by the
enchantment of its reflection into wine and contrasting with the rich
blue-green of the fir trees, there is no finer sight to be seen in all
the land. It was feared at the time that the terrible conflagration
which ravaged the wooded shores on the eastern side some years ago would
destroy for ever much of the beauty of the loch. But while a vast
portion of the luxuriant undergrowth of the woods was burnt down on this
occasion, the loss was more than made up by the revelation of the varied
rocky features of the scene, which this undergrowth had hidden by a
monotonous covering of uniform vegetation; and now, after the rains and
storms of several winters have washed away the charred and blackened
wrecks, the recuperative powers of Nature have already spread over the
naked spaces a healing mantle of tenderest green. The woods at the head
of the loch were left altogether untouched; and here, by the side of the
charming path, which at every step discloses some new combination of
beautiful scenery, there is a number of very ancient firs, whose
gnarled, exposed roots form the banks of the path, and whose venerable
trunks and branches overshadowed the spot long before the castle on the
island was built. They are the relics of the great aboriginal Caledonian
forest; their huge red boles, armoured from head to foot with thick
scales like a cuirass, Nature’s own tallies, record in the mystic
rings in their inmost heart the varying moods of the passing seasons.
Beyond Loch-an-Eilan is a
much smaller loch where the conflagration began, and which, therefore,
suffered greater havoc in the destruction of its woods. It is called
Loch Gamhna, or the Loch of the Calves, on account of its old connection
with the creachs which used to take place along its shores. On the
eastern side there is a path through the forest called
Rathad-na-Meirlich, or "the reivers’ road," because along it
the cattle stolen by the Lochaber marauders in Speyside were driven to
the south. There is a tradition that Rob Roy himself took part in such
raids, and was no stranger in these parts. An old fir-tree, to which the
Speckled Laird of Rothiemurchus, as he was called, tied a bullock or two
during these forays, in order to procure immunity for his own herds, was
standing until it was burnt down by the recent forest fire. I possess
some fragments of this old tree, so surcharged with turpentine that they
act like torches, and burn down to the hand that holds them with a
steady bright flame. Several of the Macgregors whom Rob Roy took with
him from the south to aid in one of these expeditions remained behind
and settled in Rothiemurchus, and became allied with the laird’s
household. A tombstone preserves their memory in the churchyard. The
laird, Patrick Grant, who got the name of Macalpine because of his
friendliness to the unfortunate clan Alpine or Macgregors, was greatly
helped by Rob Roy in a time of sore need. Mackintosh, the nearest
neighbour of Grant, built a, mill just outside the west march of
Rothiemurchus, and threatened to divert a stream from Grant’s lands to
it. A fierce quarrel arose between the two lairds on this account, and
Mackintosh threatened to burn the Doune to the ground. Marching for this
purpose with his men, he suddenly encountered the forces of Rob Roy, and
fled precipitately. Rob Roy set fire to Mackintosh’s mill, and sent
him a letter in Gaelic, in which he threatened to kill every man and
burn every house on the Mackintosh estate, unless he promised to abstain
in future from molesting Rothiemurchus. A song was composed on the
occasion, entitled "The Moulin Dhu," or Black Mill, the tune
of which is one of the best reel tunes in Highland music. The Street of
the Thieves is the most celebrated of the forest paths of Rothiemurchus;
but the whole district is full of paths, used for more innocent
purposes. They are most intricate and bewildering to one who does not
know the ground, but are easily traversed by the natives. Being covered
with russet carpets of pine-needles, as if Nature herself had made them,
and not man, they are always dry and elastic to the tread. What heavenly
lights and shades from the branches overhead play upon them; and how the
westering sun with its level rays brings out the red hues, until the
forest paths glow in sympathy with the splendid .Abendglühen on
the sunset hills!
The dense mass of
vegetation in these forests strikes one with astonishment. Not an inch
of soil but is covered with a tangled growth of heather, blaeberry and
cranberry bushes and juniper; and feeding parasitically upon the
underground stems are immense quantities of the yellow Melampyrum or
cow wheat, and pale spikes of dry Goodyera, that looks like the
ghost of an orchis. Here and there in the open glades the different
species of Pyrola, or winter—green, closely allied to the lily
of the valley, send up from their hard round leaves spikes with waxen
balls of delicate whiteness and tender perfume.
The one-flowered Moneses
grandiflora, exceedingly rare, is found in some abundance in the
woods at the south-west end of the loch. And it may chance that in some
secret spot the charming little Linnaea, named after the father
of botanical science, may lurk, reminding one of the immense profusion
with which it adorns the Norwegian forests in July. The mosses are in
great variety and extraordinary luxuriance, especially the rare and
lovely ostrich-plume feather moss, which grows in the utmost profusion
on the shady knolls. The Rothiemurchus forests have always been famous
for their rare fungi, especially for their Hydna, a genus of
mushroom, which has spikes instead of gills on the under surface of its
cap. One species, the Hydnum ferrugineum, is found only in these
forests, and exudes, when young, drops of blood from its spongy
substance. There are innumerable ant-hills of various sizes, some being
enormous, and these must have taken many years to accumulate. You see
them at various stages. Some are fresh and full of life, crowded with
swarms of their industrious inhabitants. But many are old and deserted,
either half grown over with the glossy sprigs of the cranberry, or
completely obliterated by the other luxuriant vegetation.
All through the forest
you see little mounds covered with blaeberry and cranberry bushes, which
clearly indicate their origin. They were originally ant-hills. Each
particle of them was collected by the labours of these insects. If you
dig into them you will find the foundation to be composed exclusively of
pine-needles, and you can trace the tunnels and galleries made by the
ants. It is a curious association this—of plant and animal life—a
kind of symbiosis. The struggle between the two kinds of life is seen
here in a most interesting way. The wave of the undergrowth of the
forest, in its slow, stealthy, irresistible progress, encroaches upon
the ant-hills, and forms at first a ring round their base. Gradually it
creeps up their sides, and you see one-half of the ant-hill covered with
cranberry bushes and the other half retaining its own characteristic
appearance of a heap of brown fir— needles with the ants swarming over
them, busy at their work. But the vegetable wave still advances and
finally extinguishes the last spark of animal life on the mounds, and
rolls its green crest over their buried contents. In this remarkable way
the soil of the forest is formed by a combination of the labours of
plant and animal life. Looking at the vast mass of animal and vegetable
life, you feel that there is something almost terribly impressive in
this rapacious, ever-splendid Nature, tirelessly working in its
unconscious forces, antagonistic to all stability. You have an
overpowering conception of vital energy, of individual effort,
upreaching to the sun and preserving the equilibrium of Nature!
One has no idea from the
uniform clothing of the fir-forests of the extraordinary irregularity of
the ground, except here and there in the open parts and places bare of
timber, where the ups and downs of the landscape may be seen to
perfection. Huge moraines and heaps of river-drift show what elemental
forces were at work, in the later geologic periods, in moulding the
aspects of the scenery. Volcanic forces first piled up the gigantic
granite masses of the mountains on the horizon, and great glaciers
planed down their sides and deposited the debris over the low grounds
where the forest now creeps. The past here seems to be all Nature, a
theatre where only the physical powers have been operating. Human life
at the beginning must have been on too small a scale to contend with the
mighty natural forces, and was soon wiped out and effaced. In a
fir-forest, with its heather and juniper, man could find almost no
subsistence in his primitive state—no kind of scenery could have been
so inhospitable to him. And yet over the green upland slopes of
Tullochghru, where the ground has not been broken for centuries, great
quantities of burial cairns and circular dwellings and artificial mounds
or places of popular assembly show that there was here, in far-off
times, a large population. At a place called Carn-rhu-AEnachan, near the
Croft, where evidences of glacial action are most striking, there is a
green hillside which must have been the earliest clearing in the great
aboriginal forest, on which lies a half-hidden stone with three
cup-marks rudely hollowed out on its surface by a flint implement,
surrounded by faint traces of human habitation. These cup-marks are as
significant as the footprints which Robinson Crusoe saw on his lonely
island. They are the only ones I have been able to find in all the
district. They people the past for us, and give it that human interest
without which the grandest scenery becomes desolate and uninviting. They
show that where man had made a home for himself in the primeval forest,
there beside it he prepared an altar for the unknown god of his
unconscious worship. Older far, and of happier memory than the
castellated lair of the Wolf of Badenoch on Loch-an-Eilan, these
primitive cup-marks speak, not of man’s inhumanity to man, but of
man’s reverence and upward look of soul, and of the peace that binds
heaven and earth. The eternities of the past and the future are
associated with these rude symbols. We feel that the persons who scooped
them out with their flint tools were men of like passions with ourselves; that they had similar experiences and similar fears and hopes. Their
dust has utterly disappeared, their memories have altogether perished,
but what they dedicated to religion has survived, has shared in the
immortality of religion; and Nature has here preserved the first feeble
steps of primitive man along the upward path with sacred inviolability
amid the inhospitable waste. |