At another part of the same river (the Divie) Sir Thomas describes, from his own observations, the progress of the flood. The noise was a distinct combination of two kinds of sound: one, an
uniform continued roar; the other, like rapidly repeated discharges of cannon. The first of these proceeded from the violence of the water; the other, which was heard through it, and as it were muffled by it, came from the numerous stones which the stream was hurling over its uneven bed of rock. Above all this was heard the shrieking of the wind. The leaves were stripped off the trees and whirled into the air, and their thick boughs and stems were bending and cracking beneath the tempest. The rain was descending in sheets, not in drops: and a peculiar lurid, bronze-like hue pervaded the whole face of nature. And now the magnificent trees were overthrown faster and faster, offering no more resistance than reeds before the mower’s scythe. Numerous as they were, they were all, individually, well-known friends. Each, as it fell, gave one enormous plash on the surface, then a plunge, the root upwards above water for a moment; again all was submerged—and then up rose the stem disbranched and peeled; after which, they either toiled round in the cauldron, or darted, like arrows, down the stream. “A chill ran through our hearts as we beheld how rapidly the ruin of our favourite and
long-cherished spot was going on. But we remembered that the calamity came from the hand of God; and seeing that no human power could avail, we prepared ourselves to watch every circumstance of the spectacle.” In the morning the place was seen cleared completely of shrubs, trees, and soil; and the space so lately filled with a wilderness of verdure was now one vast and powerful red-coloured river.
On the left bank of the Findhorn the discharge of water, wreck, and stones that burst over the extensive plain of Forres, spreading devastation abroad on a rich and beautiful country, was truly terrific. On the 3d of August, Dr. Brands, of Forres, having occasion to go to the western side of the river, forded it on horseback, but ere he crossed the second branch of the stream, he saw the flood coming thundering down. His horse was caught by it; he was compelled to swim; and he had not long touched dry land ere the river had risen six feet. By the time he had reached Moy the river had branched out into numerous streams, and soon came rolling on in awful grandeur; the effect being greatly heightened by the contrary direction of the northerly
wind, then blowing a gale. Many of the cottages occupied a low level, and the inhabitants were urged to quit them. Most of them did so; but some, trusting to their apparent distance from the river, refused to move.
About ten o’clock the river had risen and washed away several of the cottages; and on every side were heard reports of suffering cottagers, whose houses were surrounded by water. One of them was Sandy Smith, an active boatman, commonly called Whins, (or Funns, as it is pronounced,) from his residence on a piece of furzy pasture, at no great distance from the river. From the situation of his dwelling he was given up for lost; but for a long time the far-distant gleam of light that issued from his window showed that he yet lived.
The barns on the higher grounds accommodated many people; and large quantities of brose (broth) were made for the dripping and shivering wretches. Candles were placed in all the windows of the principal house (that of Mr. Suter) that poor Funns might see he was not forgotten. But, alas! his light no longer burns, and in the midst of the tempest and darkness, it was utterly vain to attempt to assist the distressed.
At daybreak the wide waste of waters was only bounded by the rising grounds on the south and west: whilst, towards the north and east, the watery world swept off, uninterruptedly, into the expanding Frith and the German Ocean. The embankments appeared to have everywhere given way; and the water that covered the fields, lately so beautiful with yellow wheat, green turnips, and other crops, rushed with so great impetuosity in certain directions, as to form numerous currents, setting furiously through the quieter parts of the inundation, and elevated several feet above it. As far as the eye could reach the brownish-yellow moving mass of water was covered with trees and wreck of every description, whirled along with a force that shivered many of them against unseen obstacles. There was a sublimity in the mighty power and deafening roar of waters, heightened by the livid hue of the clouds, the sheeting rain, the howling of the wind, the lowing of the cattle, and the screaming and wailing of the assembled people, that riveted the attention. In the distance could dimly be descried the far-off dwelling of poor Funns, its roof rising like a speck above the flood, that had evidently made a breach in one of its ends.
A family named Kerr, who had refused to quit their dwelling, were the objects of great anxiety. Their son, Alexander Kerr, had been watching all night, and in the morning was still gazing towards the spot in an agony of mind, and weeping for the apparently inevitable destruction of his parents. His master tried to comfort him; but even whilst he spoke, the whole gable of Kerr’s dwelling, which was the uppermost of three houses composing the row, gave way, and fell into the raging current. Dr. Brands, who was looking on intently at the time, with a telescope, observed a hand thrust through the thatch of the central house. It worked busily, as if in despair of life; a head soon appeared; and at last Kerr’s whole frame emerged on the roof, and he began to exert himself in drawing out his wife and niece. Clinging to one another, they crawled along the roof towards the northern chimney. The sight was torturing. Kerr, a little a-head of the others, was seen tearing off the thatch, as if trying to force an entrance through the roof, whilst the miserable women clung to the house-top, the blankets which they had used to shelter them almost torn from them by the violence of the
hurricane; and the roof they had left yielding and tottering, fell into the sweeping flood. The thatch resisted all Kerr’s efforts; and he was now seen to let himself drop from the eaves on a small speck of ground higher than the rest, close to the foundation of the back wall of the buildings, which was next the spectators. There he finally succeeded in bringing down the women; and there he and they stood, without even room to move.