Account of the News of the Duke of Wellington’s Death.
Alt-na-Giuthasach, Thursday, September 16, 1852.
We were startled this morning, at seven o’clock, by a letter from Colonel Phipps, enclosing a telegraphic despatch with the report, from the sixth edition of the Sun, of the Duke of Wellington’s death the day before yesterday, which report, however, we did not at all believe. Would to God that we had been right; and that this day had not been cruelly saddened in the afternoon.
We breakfasted with Miss Seymour;[36] and, after writing and reading, we started at a quarter to eleven with her and our Highland party. The day was not cold, and would, in fact, have been very fine, if it had not been for a constant succession of very slight showers, or clouds coming down. We walked along the loch, the road up to which is excellent. It has been widened and would admit of a carriage. We arrived at the Alt-na-Dearg, a small burn and fall, which is very fine and rapid. Up this a winding path has been made, upon which we rode; though some parts are rather steep for riding. The burn falls over red granite; and in the ravine grow birch, mountain-ash, and alder. We got off and walked a good long way on the top of the very steep hills overhanging the loch, to the Stron, and the Moss of Mon Elpie, whence you overlook all the country belonging to Lord Panmure, Mount Keen, the Ogilvie Hills, &c. We stopped to rest a little while—though the walking is excellent, so hard and dry—on a point overlooking the Shiel of the Glassalt, and the head of the loch. Here I suddenly missed my watch, which the dear old Duke had given me; and, not being certain whether I had put it on or not, I asked Mackenzie[37] to go back and inquire. We walked on until we reached the higher part of the Glassalt, which we stepped across. We had passed over the tops of these hills on that expedition to the Dhu Loch three years ago, when the ground was so soft, that ponies could scarcely get along, the roads were so very bad.
[36] Now Hon. Lady Biddulph.
[37] One of our keepers and a very good man; he lives at Alt-na-Giuthasach.
Then we began the descent of the Glassalt, along which another path has been admirably made. From here it is quite beautiful, so wild and grand. The falls are equal to those of the Bruar at Blair, and are 150 feet in height; the whole height to the foot of the loch being 500 feet. It looked very picturesque to see the ponies and Highlanders winding along. We came, down to the Shiel of the Glassalt, lately built, where there is a charming room for us, commanding a most lovely view. Here we took the cold luncheon, which we had brought with us; and after that we mounted our ponies, and rode to the Dhu Loch, along a beautiful path which keeps well above the burn, that rushes along over flat great slabs of stone. The scenery is exquisite. We passed a small fall called the Burn of the Spullan (“spout”). In half or three quarters of an hour we were at the wild and picturesque Dhu Loch.
We got off our ponies, and I had just sat down to sketch, when Mackenzie returned, saying my watch was safe at home, and bringing letters: amongst them there was one from Lord Derby, which I tore open, and alas! it contained the confirmation of the fatal news: that England’s, or rather Britain’s pride, her glory, her hero, the greatest man she ever had produced, was no more! Sad day! Great and irreparable national loss!
Lord Derby enclosed a few lines from Lord Charles Wellesley, saying that his dear great father had died on Tuesday at three o’clock, after a few hours’ illness and no suffering. God’s will be done! The day must have come: the Duke was eighty-three. It is well for him that he has been taken when still in the possession of his great mind, and without a long illness,—but what a loss! One cannot think of this country without “the Duke,”—our immortal hero!
In him centered almost every earthly honour a subject could possess. His position was the highest a subject ever had,—above party,—looked up to by all,—revered by the whole nation,—the friend of the Sovereign;—and how simply he carried these honours! With what singleness of purpose, what straightforwardness, what courage, were all the motives of his actions guided. The Crown never possessed,—and I fear never will—so devoted, loyal, and faithful a subject, so staunch a supporter! To us (who alas! have lost, now, so many of our valued and experienced friends,) his loss is irreparable, for his readiness to aid and advise, if it could be of use to us, and to overcome any and every difficulty, was unequalled. To Albert he showed the greatest kindness and the utmost confidence. His experience and his knowledge of the past were so great too; he was a link which connected us with bygone times, with the last century. Not an eye will be dry in the whole country.
We hastened down on foot to the head of Loch Muich; and then rode home, in a heavy shower, to Alt-na-Giuthasach. Our whole enjoyment was spoilt; a gloom overhung all of us.
We wrote to Lord Derby and Lord Charles Wellesley.
Building the Cairn on Craig Gowan, &c.
Monday, October 11, 1852.
This day has been a very happy, lucky, and memorable one—our last! A fine morning.
Albert had to see Mr. Walpole, and therefore it was nearly eleven o’clock before we could go up to the top of Craig Gowan, to see the cairn built, which was to commemorate our taking possession of this dear place; the old cairn having been pulled down. We set off with all the children, ladies, gentlemen, and a few of the servants, including Macdonald and Grant, who had not already gone up; and at the Moss House, which is half way, Mackay met us, and preceded us, playing, Duncan and Donald Stewart[38] going before him, to the highest point of Craig Gowan; where were assembled all the servants and tenants, with their wives and children and old relations. All our little friends were there: Mary Symons and Lizzie Stewart, the four Grants, and several others.
[38] One of the keepers, whom we found here in 1848. He is an excellent man, and was much liked by the Prince; he always led the dogs when the Prince went out stalking. He lives in the Western Lodge, close to Grant’s house, which was built for him by the Prince.
I then placed the first stone, after which Albert laid one, then the children, according to their ages. All the ladies and gentlemen placed one; and then every one came forward at once, each person carrying a stone and placing it on the cairn. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson were there; Mackay played; and whisky was given to all. It took, I am sure, an hour building; and whilst it was going on, some merry reels were danced on a stone opposite. All the old people (even the gardener’s wife from Corbie Hall, near Abergeldie,) danced; and many of the children, Mary Symons and Lizzie Stewart especially, danced so nicely; the latter with her hair all hanging down. Poor dear old “Monk,” Sir Robert Gordon’s faithful old dog, was sitting there amongst us all. At last, when the cairn, which is, I think, seven or eight feet high, was nearly completed, Albert climbed up to the top of it, and placed the last stone; after which three cheers were given. It was a gay, pretty, and touching sight; and I felt almost inclined to cry. The view was so beautiful over the dear hills; the day so fine; the whole so gemüthlich. May God bless this place, and allow us yet to see it and enjoy it many a long year!
After luncheon, Albert decided to walk through the wood for the last time, to have a last chance, and allowed Vicky and me to go with him. At half-past three o’clock we started, got out at Grant’s, and walked up part of Carrop, intending to go along the upper path, when a stag was heard to roar, and we all turned into the wood. We crept along, and got into the middle path. Albert soon left us to go lower, and we sat down to wait for him; presently we heard a shot—then complete silence—and, after another pause of some little time, three more shots. This was again succeeded by complete silence. We sent some one to look, who shortly after returned, saying the stag had been twice hit and they were after him. Macdonald next went, and in about five minutes we heard “Solomon” give tongue, and knew he had the stag at bay. We listened a little while, and then began moving down hoping to arrive in time; but the barking had ceased, and Albert had already killed the stag; and on the road he lay, a little way beyond Invergelder—the beauty that we had admired yesterday evening. He was a magnificent animal, and I sat down and scratched a little sketch of him on a bit of paper that Macdonald had in his pocket, which I put on a stone—while Albert and Vicky, with the others, built a little cairn to mark the spot. We heard, after I had finished my little scrawl, and the carriage had joined us, that another stag had been seen near the road; and we had not gone as far as the “Irons,”[39] before we saw one below the road, looking so handsome. Albert jumped out and fired—the animal fell, but rose again, and went on a little way, and Albert followed. Very shortly after, however, we heard a cry, and ran down and found Grant and Donald Stewart pulling up a stag with a very pretty head. Albert had gone on, Grant went after him, and I and Vicky remained with Donald Stewart, the stag, and the dogs. I sat down to sketch, and poor Vicky, unfortunately, seated herself on a wasp’s nest, and was much stung. Donald Stewart rescued her, for I could not, being myself too much alarmed. Albert joined us in twenty minutes, unaware of having killed the stag. What a delightful day! But sad that it should be the last day! Home by half-past six. We found our beautiful stag had arrived, and admired him much.
[39] These “Irons” are the levers of an old saw-mill which was pulled down, and they were left there to be sold—between thirty and forty years ago—and have remained there ever since, not being considered worth selling, on account of the immense trouble of transporting them.