. . . . . .
There were several days to be spent in the Deeside Highlands before the classes should assemble for the work of the winter, and right pleasantly were they spent now by our heroes and their friend Mackenzie. The weather was most delightful, cold, crisp, and clear, with bright starry nights and dancing aurora. The aurora is here called the Merry Dancers, and right well does it deserve the name.
Long spears of light that meet, and mix, and clash in such a way as quite to bewilder the senses. It is in, the following way Burns the poet talks about pleasures—
“But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snowfall in the river,
One moment white, then melts for ever;
Or like the Borealis race
That flit ere ye can point their place.”
It was cold work fishing now, but they did spend one forenoon by a trout stream-side, and, much to his joy and pride, Willie caught no less than three handsome trout. He duly entered the fact in his note-book, and henceforward he said he thought he should be quite justified in dubbing himself a member of the gentle craft and a disciple of Walton’s.
But it was glorious weather for walking, and together they climbed some of the highest hills in the neighbourhood, the view spread out beneath them, wintry aspect though it was, being sometimes magnificent. The many streams winding out and in through snow-clad glens, and woods and wilds, the rocks and hills, the black solemn river itself, the cliffs above it, and the weird-like forests of pines—the whole formed a scene that was impressive in the extreme. “That tall sugar-loaf mountain to the east,” said Mackenzie, “some day we will climb. It towers half-a-mile above the level of the sea, and the view obtained from its summit is awe-striking and magnificent. Some day, Willie, when, as the song says,
‘Summer comes lilting out o’er the green leas,’
we will climb that hill. There is a romance attached to it that few are aware of. The mountain is called Benachie, or the Hill of the Mist, and many hundreds of years ago a wild Highland chieftain had a castle or stronghold on the very summit of it. He also had a castle below here, that old ruin that you can just see peeping round the corner of the pine wood. He owned all the land you can see to the east of us here. I am sorry to tell you this chief was a bad man. His constant habit was to abduct young ladies from the country of his hereditary enemy, just beyond the Don, and convey them to his fortress on the mountain; and never were they seen again. Well, it came to pass that a wealthy laird across the water was to be married to a beautiful young lady, the daughter of the chieftain, and the chief of Benachie’s son, who was now of age, thought he would follow in his father’s footsteps. So he made a raid across the Don one dark night, attacked the castle and carried off the daughter, taking her right to the stronghold on the summit of the mountain. When he heard of it, the young lady’s intended husband could not contain himself with rage. He collected a force with which he crossed the Don, and commenced laying waste the country with fire and sword. But his triumph was short-lived, for Benachie came down in force. Not only did he hurl the invader backwards into the dark rolling Don, but—oh! pitiful to relate!—he crossed the river and commenced an indiscriminate slaughter of young and old, while every cottage was fired, the chief slain, and his castle laid in ruins.[5]
“I do not tell you this story, boys, for the sake of sensation, but that you may thank Heaven in your hearts, we do not live in such dark and terrible times.”