A far more remarkable instance of such recession is to be found a little further along the coast, beyond the fine Covesea Cliffs, whose fantastic caves and strangely water-quarried rocks tell of a time when they, too, must have lain for countless ages deep beneath the ocean.

But of the changes which have occurred in historic times, undoubtedly the most remarkable is that to which I have already alluded, whereby the ocean deliberately built up the mighty sea-wall which so effectually shut it out from the once beautiful harbour of Spynie.

Such are a few of the many singular changes which would doubtless amaze our ancestors considerably could they return in this nineteenth century to visit their favourite hunting-grounds in the Lowlands of Moray.

Note C
A Legend of Vanished Waters

Although in speaking of the Lowlands of Moray I have briefly referred to the very remarkable changes which within the last five hundred years have befallen the beautiful Loch of Spynie, I think it well to record these in fuller detail.

The loch, which was about three miles from Gordonstoun, was till recently the fairest sheet of blue water in all the once great and important province of Moray. Now only a tiny lake, covering an area of about eighty acres, remains in that little corner, which alone of all the ancient province, still bears the name of Moray—a small lakelet in a small county.

Not fifty years have elapsed (I write in 1904) since this great fresh-water lake was one of the most important features in the scenery of the east coast. But the circumstance of chief interest connected with it is that within comparatively recent years, when our ancestors and their contemporaries built their castles on the shores of the lake, it was an estuary of the sea, a secure harbour, where fishing-smacks and sometimes trading-ships from far countries found secure refuge. And now, so complete is the transformation, and so utterly have the waters vanished, that the whole district is one wide expanse of rich arable land.

The two prominent objects in the midst of those level corn-fields, are the little hill on which stand the ruins of old Duffus Castle, and those of the Palace of Spynie. The former was once the fortified stronghold of Freskinus de Moravia, one of a race of barons of renown in the days of King David I. In later ages it passed to the possession of the Lords Duffus, who held it till the beginning of the eighteenth century.

One of their servants, who only died in 1760, used to tell of the time when Bonnie Dundee, the celebrated Claverhouse, was a guest in the castle, about the year 1689, and how she brought the claret from the cask in a timber stoup, and served it to the guests in a silver cup. She described Claverhouse as “a swarthy little man, with keen lively eyes, and black hair, tinged with grey, which he wore in locks which covered each ear, and were rolled upon slips of lead twisted together at the ends.”

The old castle was a square tower, with walls about five feet thick, and defended by parapet, ditch, and drawbridge; and round about it was an orchard and garden, noted for its excellent and abundant produce. The moss-grown fruit-trees remain to this day.

Speaking of this castle, my dear old friend Cosmo Innes, historian and antiquarian, and for many years Sheriff of Moray, said: “Of domestic comfort these great lords had not dreamt. This castle of Duffus had no chimneys nor any window glass. When the winter winds blew fiercely across the fen, they shut their stout window-boards—outside window-shutters—and crowded round a fire of peats in the middle of the hall, while the smoke found its way out as it could, and was welcome as communicating some feeling of heat to the upper chambers.” What a suggestive description of a cheerful home!

At a distance of about five miles, on another slightly raised site, stand the stately ruins of the Palace of Spynie, which, six hundred years ago, was the summer home of the Bishops of Moray, at a time ere their magnificent Cathedral of Elgin (still so beautiful in its decay) had been ruthlessly pillaged and destroyed. Notwithstanding its ecclesiastical character, this too was a stronghold, with loopholed walls of enormous thickness, watch-towers, and portcullis; and here baronial warrior-bishops, backed by a goodly company of armed retainers, held their supremacy over turbulent neighbours, not only by Divine right, but by very emphatic temporal force, for, as has been well said, “while holding the crosier in one hand, they could ever wield the sword with the other, and act the part of commanders of their stronghold at Spynie, whenever danger threatened.”

Various kings and great nobles had bestowed on the diocese of Moray grants of land, forests, and fishing, and the revenues and temporal power of its Bishops as “Lords of Regality of Spynie,” were so great, that they could well afford to live as princes, and accordingly they did so—their households including as many officials, with high-sounding titles, as those of the greatest nobles.

The title of “Lord of Regality” was no empty name. It was a grant from the Crown, conferring the right of legal jurisdiction in a specified district, both in matters civil and criminal. The Lord of Regality held the power of life and death, and was the arbitrary sovereign within its territory. These extraordinary and most dangerous powers were bestowed on various subjects, and in 1452 were granted by King James II. to the Bishop of Moray and his successors. The jurisdiction extended over the lands of the Church in the shires of Elgin, Nairn, Inverness, Ross, Banff, and Aberdeen, and included no fewer than nine baronies, besides other lands.

These magnificent Prelates were certainly “lords over God’s heritage” in a most literal sense. Their daily lives practically exemplified how “when a strong man armed keepeth his palace, his goods are in peace,” for dire experience had taught them the need of supplementing their spiritual armour with every efficient temporal defence. For though their tenants and vassals were so far privileged that they were not liable to be called upon to serve the king in time of war, they were not infrequently compelled to act on the defensive.

Thus it was that when David Stewart of Lorn was made Bishop in 1461, and was so sorely troubled by the Earl of Huntly as to be compelled to pass sentence of excommunication against him, the wrathful Clan Gordon threatened to pull the Prelate from his pigeon-holes (in allusion to the small rooms of the old palace). The Bishop replied that he would soon build a house out of which the Earl and all his clan should not be able to pull him. Thereupon he built the great tower which has ever since borne his name—“Davie’s Tower,” four stories high, with walls of solid masonry nine feet in thickness.

Even the large windows of the upper rooms were defended by strong iron bars, while the casement was occupied by vaulted rooms, doubtless for the use of the men-at-arms. The roof is also vaulted and surrounded with battlements. But neither devotion nor recreation were forgotten in the building of this lordly palace, for within its great quadrangle stood the Bishop’s Chapel, and also a spacious tennis-court, while round about the precincts were gardens well supplied with fruit-trees. Here the poor of the parish daily assembled at a given hour, when a bell was rung, and from the postern gate an abundant supply of bread and soup and other food was freely dispensed to all comers.

Many a strange change have these grey walls witnessed—ecclesiastical pomp and martial display—pious and benevolent lives contrasting with scenes of cruel warfare and outrage—but no such changes have been half so startling as those physical transformations which have altered the whole aspect of the land. In place of rich harvest-fields extending far as the eye can reach, much of the country round and all the distant high ground, was covered with dense natural forest, haunted by wolves, which were the terror of the peasants, and afforded worthier sport for the barons than their descendants can create for themselves in the slaughter of home-reared pheasants.

Even the older members of the present generation found true sport in abundance round the reedy shores of the great fresh-water Loch of Spynie—the largest loch in the land of Moray—a beautiful sheet of water which, after long resisting successive efforts at drainage, has within the last forty years yielded to a determined attack, to the joy of the farmers and the bitter regret of naturalists and sportsmen.

The latter might (but do not) find a corner of consolation in being saved from the temptation to lay up for themselves after years of agonising rheumatism, brought on by long hours spent in creeping among marshy shallows on bitter winter mornings—such expeditions as were deemed joy by my brothers, whose well-filled bag often included some rare bird—a chance visitor of these shores. For until the middle of this century the rushes and water-grasses and rank herbage of the swamps offered such favourable breeding-grounds as to attract wild-fowl in incalculable numbers; widgeon and mallard, pochard and pintail ducks, teal, moorhens, and great flocks of coot. The loch was also the resort of numerous wild swans, though these had already become rarer visitants than of yore.

Many were the grey-brindled wild cats which haunted the neighbouring fir-woods, and many the badgers, which burrowed like rabbits in the dry banks, thence emerging to dig up the soil after the fashion of pigs. So numerous must these creatures have been in bygone times, that they have bequeathed their name to the lands of Inch-brock, “The Isle of Badgers,” a name worthy of note in that it tells not only of the presence of an animal now well-nigh extinct, but also of the time when the sea covered these lowlands, and this now inland farm was a wave-washed isle.

The capercailzie, too (which, being interpreted from the Gaelic, means “the cock of the woods,” and which had entirely died out of Scotland till it was recently re-imported from Norway to Perthshire, where now twenty to twenty-five brace sometimes figure in a single day’s battue), was a regular winter guest in the pinewoods of Moray,^[79] until the latter part of the eighteenth century, when it ceased to make its annual appearance, a loss not much regretted by the proprietors of the forests, in which this “cock of the woods” leaves his mark in the destruction of many a promising shoot.

But when we speak of the blue, fresh-water loch (familiar to many travellers from the fact that some fifty years ago the railroad from Elgin to Lossiemouth was constructed right across its shallow, half-drained bed, so that the passengers looked to right and left across its glassy waters),^[80] we are speaking of a comparatively modern feature in the landscape. At the time when these two grey ruins, the Palace of Spynie, and the Castle of Duffus, were built, both stood on the brink of a broad estuary of the sea—indeed, there is little doubt that prior to A.D. 1200, the Castle of Duffus, on its green hill, was actually an island. Up to the year 1380, Spynie was a secure harbour, whence “the fishers of sea-fish” were in the habit of sailing with their wives and children to the sea, thence bringing back fish in boats.

Thither came trading-vessels from France, Flanders, and Holland, for until the fifteenth century this loch, known as the Bishop’s Port, was the seaport for Elgin, involving only two miles of land transport. After the closing up of the lake, Findhorn became the chief port. But in its earlier days the sea-lake extended about five miles eastward of the Palace of Spynie to a spot called Kintrae, a Gaelic name signifying “the top of the tide.”

Strange to say, there are actually four places bearing this name, each but a little distance from the other, and evidently marking the gradual recession of the tide, as the coast-line changed. Finally we come to a spot which still bears the name of Salterhill, and here, about fifty years ago, the remains of a salt factory were discovered, in the course of digging deep drains. There were also salt-works on the banks of Loch Spynie itself, for they are mentioned in a deed by Bishop Bricius, bearing date A.D. 1203.

Nearly two centuries later, in A.D. 1383, a protest was made by the Lord Bishop Alexander Bar, against Lord John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, and the burgesses of Elgin, respecting the right of the fishing and of the harbour of Spynie, which he maintained to be within the ecclesiastical marches, and to have ever been held by the Bishops of Moray, who, each in his time, had “fishers, with cobles and boats, for catching salmon, grilses, and finnacs, and other kinds of fish, with nets and hooks, without impediment or opposition, the present dispute excepted.”

Later documents, bearing date 1451, still speak of the fishermen and harbour of the town or burgh of Spynie.

All manner of shell-fish abounded in this ancient sea-loch, more especially cockles and oysters. The latter, alas! have long since disappeared from our shores, together with the alluvial mud in which they formerly flourished, the sea-coast being now essentially sandy; but their presence in older days is proven by the numerous shellmounds, marking where clusters of fishers’ huts once stood. These “kitchen-middens” have in recent years been discovered all along the banks of this great basin. One of these (at Briggsies), which covers a space nearly an acre, and is in many places about a foot in depth, consists of masses of periwinkles, mussels, limpets, razor-shell, cockles, and oysters, but especially oysters of very large growth, such as may well increase our regret that they should have ceased to exist on these shores. A good deal of charred wood mingled with the shells, tells of the kitchen fires of the consumers, and one bronze pin has been found, as if just to prove that these villagers were possessed of such treasures.

A very remarkable confirmation of the old records regarding the ancient bounds of the sea was obtained when the loch was drained, and large beds of oysters and mussels were found buried beneath the deposit of fresh-water shells and mud. Several anchors of vessels were found, and sundry skeletons. In the same connection we may notice the name of Scart-hill, i.e., the Cormorant’s hill, which now lies at some distance inland, but which assuredly was originally on the sea-shore.

When the recession of the ocean deprived the bishops of their natural harbour, and the fish-supply could no longer be landed at their very door, they still retained their right to the coast fishing; and so, in the year 1561, we find the Bishop and Chapter of Moray granting a charter for “the fishing called the Coifsea” (which we now call Covesea), to Thomas Innes, in consideration of certain payment in kind, the Bishop reserving the right of purchasing the fish caught at the rate of twenty haddocks or whitings for one penny, a skate or ling, twopence, a turbot, fourpence, and a seleich, or seal, for four shillings.

The harvest of the sea included cod, skate, halibut, haddocks, whitings, saiths, crabs, and lobsters. The latter continued abundant until the close of the eighteenth century, when an English company established a lobster-fishery in the bay of Stotfield, for the London market, and in the first season forwarded sixty thousand lobsters alive to town, in wells formed in the hold of the ship, the prisoners simply having their claws tied to their sides. They were captured in iron traps, which seem to have had the effect of frightening the lobsters away from the coast, for, like the oysters, their presence here is now a tale of the past.

The lobsters, when captured, were stored in a marine prison, till an opportunity presented itself for sending them to the southern market; and the lobster-catchers were apparently not very discriminating in their selection of a suitable spot where these cases should be sunk. Hence, in April 1677, we find an appeal from the Captain of a trading-ship, The Margaret of Inverness, who, having occasion to call at the port of Crail, summoned a pilot to take in his vessel. He says: “Ane Inglish man being heir had two Lapister-kists^[81] in the harbour-muth, and the boatmen towed close to them, and they aleadge that they did losse two hundred Lapisters, for which the Bailies heir has fyned me in thretie punds Scots, and arested and lodged me in prison till I will pay the same, which I doe think ought not to be payed by me, since that I had a Poileot, and the chists lay right in the midle of the harbour-muth.”

No historical record tells how or when the sea threw up the wide barrier of shingle and sand which in later ages separated it from the loch, transforming the broad estuary into a brackish lake with wide-spreading marshy shores, extending as far as Gordonstoun.

That the change was gradual seems proven by the formation of a series of raised beaches, distant about a mile inland from the present coast-line, and forming a succession of plateaus covered with large rounded stones, extending for about three miles along the shore. This curious ridge averages a height of twenty feet above the sea-level, and is from fifty to a hundred yards in width. It is known that in these remote times, the River Spey, which now enters the sea at Fochabers, flowed far more to the west, and probably brought down from the mountains those vast supplies of gravel and water-worn boulders. But though the Spey may have brought the material, the process by which the separation of the sea and lake was effected is all a mystery.

Whether, as some suppose, by sudden storms, or else by gradual recession of the ocean, certain it is that when Boece wrote his History of Scotland (which, though not published till 1526, was probably written earlier, since we learn that the author was born in Forfarshire in 1465), the sea was shut out from the lake; and though he mentions that in his time old persons remembered the lake being stocked with sea-fish, and although the river Lossie continued to flow right through the loch, certainly as recently as 1586 even salmon had all forsaken the loch, and were replaced by pike and trout, and multitudes of eels.

The cockles and oysters, too (the possession of which the Bishops maintained as their right), had disappeared with all other denizens of the salt sea, and in place of the brown, tangled seaweeds, fresh-water plants had sprung up. The old historian specially noted the abundant growth of swangirs, whatever they may be, on the seeds of which the wild swans love to feed, and large flocks of these beautiful birds floated in stately pride in the calm blue loch, while multitudes of wild-duck and all manner of water-fowl found refuge among the tall bullrushes and sedges.

“In this region,” says he, “is a lake named Spiney, wherein is exceedingly plentie of swans. The cause of their increase in this place is ascribed to a certeine herbe, which groweth there in great abundance, and whose seed is verie pleasant unto the said fowle in the eating, wherefore they call it swangirs; and hereunto such is the nature of the same, that where it is once sowne or planted it will never be destroyed, as may be proved by experience. For albeit that this lake be five miles in length, and was some time within the rememberance of man verie well-stocked with salmon and other fish, yet after that this herbe began to multiplie upon the same, it became so shallow that one may now wade through the greatest part thereof, by means whereof all the great fishes there be utterlie consumed.”

Very lovely in those days must have been the view from “Bishop Davie’s Great Tower,” overlooking the wide expanse of quiet lake, fringed with willows and rustling reeds and dark green alders (precious to the fishers as yielding a valuable dye for their nets), while beyond the recently created ridge of shingle lay the great stormy ocean, and the watchers on the tower might mark the incoming of the fleet of brown-sailed fishing-smacks, or catch the first glimpse on the horizon of the approach of some gallant merchantman (or perchance a smuggler’s craft) bringing stores of claret and brandy, and other foreign goods. The lake extended from Aikenhead in the east, far to the west of the ancient salt-works at Salterhill, etc., close to Gordonstoun, and ferry-boats took passengers across from point to point.

About the centre of the loch rose the island of Fowl Inch, where multitudes of water-fowl found a quiet breeding-place, while the west end of the loch was dotted with green islets called holmes, which were covered with coarse, rank pasture, called star grass. In days when no foreign grasses had yet been imported, this natural growth was precious, so in the summer-time the cattle were carried by boat and turned loose on the isles to graze. Of these isles, the principal were those known as Wester Holme, Easter Holme, Tappie’s Holme, Skene’s Holme, Picture Holme, Long Holme, Little Holme, and Lint Holme. This precious star grass also grew luxuriantly on some parts of the shore at the west end of the loch, and gave its name to those favoured spots—such were the Star Bush of Balornie, the Star Bush of Salterhill, and the Star Bush of Spynie.

Now, he who has a steady head and sufficient nerve to venture on climbing the ruined and broken spiral stairs (through the gaps of which he looks down into the empty space left by the total disappearance of the rafters and flooring which once divided the great tower into four stories) may still stand on Bishop Davie’s battlement, but in place of the broad lake, he will see only one little corner of blue water, sparkling like a sapphire in a setting of yellow gold—the withered reeds of autumn.

This small lakelet, covering about a hundred and ten acres, of which eighty are open water, lies on the edge of the dark fir-woods of Pitgaveny, and is carefully preserved by means of strong embankments separating it from the broad main ditch, which has so effectually carried off most of the water. Small as it is, it suffices to attract a considerable number of wild-duck, and a number of black-headed gulls breed on its margin, notwithstanding that their nests are freely pillaged, as their beautiful green, russet, or brown eggs are in great request for the table. About eighty dozen are thus taken each week during the breeding-season.

A neighbouring tract of rush-land still shows that art has not yet wholly triumphed over nature, but to all intents and purposes Loch Spynie has vanished “like as a dream when one awaketh.” Gone are the quiet pools, well sheltered by tall reeds, where wild geese and ducks, herons and coots, were wont to rear their young; no longer does the otter haunt the shore, or the booming note of the bittern echo from the swamp whence the white mists rose so eerily, and where the fowlers devised cunning snares for the capture of wild-fowl.

The thick mud, once tenanted by multitudinous eels, and which afforded such excellent sport to the spearers, was turned to good account by large tile-works, and the waters are everywhere replaced by rich green pasture, dotted over with sheep and cattle or comfortable homesteads with well-filled stack-yards; while straight, dull roads take the place of the old ferries; the boatmen have vanished, the wayfarer trudges on mile after mile across a monotonous expanse of ploughed land or harvest-fields, and the wild cries of the water-fowl are replaced by the shrill steam-whistles that tell of railway-trains, steam-ploughs, or reaping-machines. In short, the days of romance and of ague are a dream of the past, and unpoetic wealth and health reign in their place.

The means by which in the course of many generations this transformation has been effected, form a curious chain of incidents in the history of reclaimed lands. For many years after the separation of the sea from the loch, the River Lossie continued to flow in its ancient channel, passing right through the loch, draining the surrounding land, and carrying superfluous water to the sea. There is reason to believe that the Bishops, who were then almost sole proprietors, assisted this natural drainage by the cutting of deep lateral ditches, by which means some land was reclaimed, and the loch became so shallow that a road of stepping-stones was constructed right across it, so that the Bishop’s Vicar, after preaching to his congregation at Kinnedar (or “The head of the water”) might thereon cross to hold another preaching in Oguestown (the ancient name for the parish church at Gordonstoun).

This road across the water was carefully constructed, and was known as “The Bishop’s Stepping-Stones.” These were three feet apart, and on them was laid a causeway of broad, flat stones, along which the great Church dignitaries might walk in safety. There was also an artificial island near the Palace of Spynie—measuring about sixty paces by sixteen. For what purpose it had been constructed no one can guess, but it was built of stone, bound together by crooked branches of oak—a strange survival of those oak-forests which flourished in this district at the time when the Danes occupied Burghead, and came to repair old galleys and build new ones at Rose Isle, compelling the inhabitants to cut timber for this purpose in the oak-forests.

Now only bleak, bent-clothed sandhills stretch along the shore, and from time to time an old root or log is upturned as if to prove that the tradition was not wholly a delusion.

Not only have the oak-forests disappeared, but the inlet of the sea where the galleys were constructed has been so wholly blocked up with sand, that not a trace of it is to be found, nor is there any mark to suggest at what period this portion of the coast can have been an island, as its name indicates.

Strange to say, however, the fisher-folk in the neighbouring village of Hopeman tell us that about forty years ago a foreign vessel (“we call them all foreigners unless they’re British,” say the fishers), bound for Burghead, being caught in a storm, ran right ashore near Lossiemouth, as the captain understood by his very old chart that he could run into Spynie harbour, and thence sail round under shelter by the back of Rose Isle.

A similar change, though in a smaller matter, is suggested by the name of Brae-mou, which was formerly Burn-mouth, at Hopeman, and also by the neighbouring farm of Burnside, which lies on rising ground near the sea-board of crags, but where now not the tiniest trickling brooklet is to be found, nor the faintest indication of any fresh-water stream having ever flowed.

There is, however, a tradition that two hundred years ago this and several other burns flowed westward into the lochs of Rose Isle and Outlet, both of which were filled up, and their very sites obliterated in the awful sand-storms which, in the autumn of 1694 and spring of 1695, overwhelmed so many miles of the most fertile land along the shores of Moray.

These streams, thus diverted from their natural channel, turned eastward, and thenceforward flowed into the Loch of Spynie, thus adding to its water-supply at the same time as the drifting sand had partly filled up its basin. Consequently the loch overflowed its bounds, and did vast damage to the surrounding lands. The Bishop’s causeway and other artificial roads, the Spynie islet and various homesteads, were lost to sight, and well-nigh to tradition.

After the Reformation, when Church and lands were divorced, the Protestant Bishops, shorn of all temporal power, might indeed inhabit the Palace of Spynie, but were compelled to be passive witnesses of the decay of the ancient drain-works, and the enlargement of the lake. The newly-created Lord Spynie never lived in the country, and suffered everything to go to ruin, so the accumulating waters encroached on the arable land to such an extent as to necessitate some very energetic measures—nothing less than turning the course of the river Lossie and providing it with a new seaward channel.

So in the year 1599 two of the proprietors, Sutherland of Duffus and Archibald Douglas of Pittendreich, whose lands chiefly suffered, agreed on this action.

How these “twa lairds” set about their work does not appear, but they evidently failed, for early in the seventeenth century most of the neighbouring proprietors combined, and having taken counsel with Anderson of Finzeach of Aberdeen, a skilful engineer, they succeeded in turning the Lossie into a new channel, separating it from the loch by a great embankment. A map of the province of Moray, published in 1640 by Sir Robert Gordon of Straloch, shows that this great work had been successfully accomplished.

After this the waters were fairly kept within bounds for half a century, during which men were too much occupied with stormy politics to give much heed to the care of their lands. But in 1694 their attention was rudely reawakened by the terrible calamity to which I have already referred. The drifting sands which desolated so wide a belt of the most fertile lands of Moray did similar damage, though in a less degree, in this district, and so effectually filled the channels of all streams and a great part of the bed of Loch Spynie, that its waters, now greatly enlarged, again overflowed their bounds, covering the cultivated lands, and presenting a wide but very shallow surface.

There was danger, too, lest the river Lossie should break its artificial banks, and return to its original channel. So in 1706 the neighbouring lairds bound themselves “to maintain and support the banks of the said river with earth, feal (i.e. turf), stone, creels, etc., ... in order to keep her in the channel where she now runs, and where she had been put by art and force.”

Dunbar of Duffus next attempted to reclaim his own swamped lands, which bore the appropriate name of Waterymains. He made great dykes and embankments, set up a windmill with pumping machinery, and all went well till a great tempest overthrew the mill and destroyed the machinery, whereupon the waters once more overswept the arable lands, of which they retained possession for many years, during which the neighbouring proprietors endeavoured to decide on some system of concerted action.

This, however, was effectually prevented by the counter interests of the family of Gordonstoun. It appears that when, in A.D. 1636, Sir Robert Gordon purchased these estates, he had obtained a charter from John Guthrie, Bishop of Moray, bestowing on him various lands, including those of Salterhill, otherwise called Little Drainie, “with all singular parts, pendicles, and pertinents, together with the passage or ferry-boat in the Loch of Spynie, with the privileges, liberties, profits, and duties of the same.”

In consequence of this charter, the family of Gordonstoun claimed the sole right, not only to the possession of boats on the loch, but also to the fishing and fowling and the use of the natural pastures on the shores, and the determination to preserve these rights was a fruitful source of litigation. It was therefore evident that whatever means were adopted to diminish the lake would infringe on the “profits and privileges” of the Gordons.

Thus matters were left until the year 1778, when we find local chroniclers bewailing the neglect which had suffered “the ancient ditch” to be so filled up that the loch was daily increasing westward, forming a level sheet of water upwards of four miles in length, and covering a space of 2500 acres, besides the broad margin of marshy land which, owing to occasional overflows, was rendered worthless.

In the following year Mr. Brander of Pitgaveny (whose low-lying lands near the loch suffered more severely than those of his neighbours), resolutely set to work at his own expense, aided by his brother, to restore the old drain, and enlarge it so as to form a canal of some importance. He succeeded in lowering the surface of the lake upwards of three feet, and recovered 1162 acres of land, of which eight hundred fell to his own share, and the remainder to Gordonstoun and other adjacent estates, which touched the shores of the loch.

Then it was that the stone causeway (which was dimly remembered in local tradition) reappeared, as did also the artificial islet aforesaid, and an isle at the west end of the loch, on which were the ruins of a turf cottage. On excavating these, there were found a quantity of peat-ashes and a number of coins, which had apparently been here buried on some sudden alarm. Little did their possessor dream what changes would pass over his humble home ere his hidden treasure was again brought to light!

For a while Sir William Gordon (the last of the strong-minded, energetic race of the Gordonstoun family) looked on with comparative indifference, supposing that this effort to drain the loch would prove as unsuccessful as those of the past. But when he found that the waters had actually fallen so low as to stop his ferry-boat, he deemed it necessary to take active steps for the protection of his rights; and by application to the Crown he obtained a new charter, bearing date 22nd July 1780, giving him a right to “the whole lake or loch of Spynie, and fishings of the same, with all the privileges and pertinents thereof, together with the ferry-boat upon the said loch, with the privileges, liberties, profits, and duties of the same.” The granting of this charter was vehemently opposed by the neighbours, and the Messrs. Brander raised a counter-action and counter-claims, which kept all the lawyers busy for many years.

Meanwhile, nature and art continued in conflict. Three years after Mr. Brander’s canal was finished, a great flood occurred which did it considerable damage; the loch regained much of its lost ground, and the ferry-boat continued to ply even to Salterhill until the beginning of the nineteenth century.

By this time Sir William Gordon was dead, and the neighbouring proprietors awoke to a conviction that it would prove remunerative to unite their efforts in making a great new canal so as to reclaim more land. Telford, the most eminent engineer of his day, was consulted. (He was then engaged in the construction of the great Caledonian Canal.) His suggestion was that a canal should be cut through the high ramparts of shingle so as to give the loch a direct outlet to the sea, with mighty sluices at the mouth to keep back the tide.

It was determined to carry out this scheme, but a considerable time elapsed ere the neighbouring proprietors could come to an agreement respecting their several shares in the expenditure, and in the division of land to be reclaimed. This matter involved so much discussion, so many surveys and reports, such examination of witnesses, and other legal forms, that it dragged on, at an enormous expense, from 1807 to 1822! when the dispute was finally submitted to arbitration by the Dean of Faculty.

The work was, however, not allowed to suffer by these long legal proceedings, and by 1812 it was completed, at a cost of £12,740, a sum in which law-expenses formed a heavy item. The lowering of the waters put a stop to ferry-boats, so it became necessary to construct a turnpike road right across the loch. The workmen stood in some places breast-deep in the water: thus the Bishop’s stepping-stones, ere many years passed, were succeeded by a substantial turnpike road; and the eels and pike, which still found a home in the shallow water, were further disturbed by the construction of a pathway for “the iron horse.”

For about seventeen years all went well, and although the sluices at Lossiemouth were of wood and not self-acting, involving constant watchfulness on the part of the men in charge, the surface of the loch was maintained at an almost permanent level. Some expensive alterations were made in 1827 to avert a threatened danger of inundation in the fishing town of Lossiemouth; but all such minor fears were swallowed up in the reality of the great calamity which befell the whole land of Moray in the memorable floods of 1829, when very heavy rains on the high lands caused all the rivers to overflow their natural bounds and ravage the land. Even the little Lossie, usually so peaceful, was transformed into a raging torrent, and, bursting the barriers which had grown up between her and the loch, overflowed the canal, leaving it choked with great stones and earth; and rushing seaward, carried away the sluices. Thus in a few brief hours did the mocking waters destroy the labour of years.

In that widespread desolation, men had neither money nor inclination to return at once to the battle; but ere long the canal was partially cleared, the Lossie turned back into her accustomed channel, and high banks were raised to keep her therein. The sluices, however, had vanished, consequently the canal was simply a great tidal ditch, so that the loch itself rose and fell about three feet with every tide. The said ditch was, however, so far effectual that although the loch did overflow a considerable amount of cultivated ground, its limits were well defined, and the raised turnpike road continued perfectly dry.

As years passed by, however, the bottom of the canal gradually filled up, and the loch thereupon commenced to spread further and further, so that the neighbouring farms suffered severely, as field after field was inundated. Finally, in 1860 all the tenant-farmers united in a petition to the proprietors to set about a thorough drainage of the loch. This was agreed upon, and after many consultations, the landowners resolved to send a deputation to the fen-country of England, there to study the various methods successfully adopted for marsh drainage. Three reliable men were accordingly selected to represent the proprietors, the factors, the tenants, while a fourth was added to the number as professional adviser. These made a careful examination of the principal waterworks in England, and of all the various kinds of sluices in use, together with the methods of working them.

On their return they drew up a report, recommending, in the first instance, a partial drainage by means of self-acting sluices, which they calculated would, at a cost of £2430, so reduce the waters as to leave only a pool covering about a hundred acres near the old Palace of Spynie. Steam power, they considered, might, if requisite, be applied later to a final drainage.

As there were at that time two thousand acres of land either under water or so moist as to be worthless, there appeared a fair prospect of a good return for the outlay. The works were accordingly commenced. Sluices were put on at the sea, but months of toil and grievous expense were incurred ere they were in working order. In the first instance, a foundation of solid masonry had to be raised on what proved to be a quicksand, and an artificial foundation of heavy piles had to be prepared. Then the water poured into the cutting made through the shingly beach on the one hand, and through the sand on the other—so that the works were inundated both by sea and loch. The unhappy contractor, who had never calculated on such a contingency, pumped and pumped with might and main for months, till at length in despair, “out of heart and out of pocket,” he quietly disappeared from the country.

It was necessary, however, that the work, once begun, should be finished. It was accordingly undertaken by two local tradesmen, who in due time accomplished it satisfactorily, but at a very heavy loss on their contract. Four sluices of cast iron, each weighing eighteen hundredweight, were so finely poised as to be opened or closed by the rise or fall of a quarter of an inch in the surface of the water; and when shut not one drop of water could ooze through from the sea into the canal. Then followed the great labour of again digging and deepening the canal, and ere the works were finally accomplished, the expenditure was found to have been about £8000—rather an increase on the estimate! Nevertheless, the work is considered to have been remunerative, as the greater part of the two thousand acres thus reclaimed has proved first-class soil, and even the poorer portions are capable of considerable improvement.

Of course there is a necessity for some annual expenditure, as repairs are needed to keep the whole in working order; but so far the drainage of what was once the beautiful Loch of Spynie may be deemed a complete success from an agricultural point of view, though to the naturalist and the sportsman the farmer’s gain is an irreparable loss.

Much of the low-lying land thus reclaimed proved to be heavy clay, which produced rich wheat-crops, and till about thirty years ago a large proportion of this, and indeed of all the lowlands of Moray, was devoted to this grain. Now, however, since Russia and California furnish such abundant supplies, home-grown wheat is no longer a remunerative crop, so the wheat-fields have vanished, and are replaced by barley and oats, and especially by turnips, for Moray is now emphatically a stock-rearing district, and the farmer’s energies are concentrated on care of his beasts.

As concerns the fine old palace with “regality,” its glory rapidly waned after the date of the Reformation. The last Roman Catholic Bishop, Patrick Hepburn, was a man who fully understood the art of making friends with the unrighteous mammon, and, foreseeing the storm of 1560, he made provision in due season, and sought to secure a powerful ally against the day of need. He therefore presented a large part of the most valuable land of the diocese to the Earl of Moray, Regent of Scotland, with fishing and other privileges. He also handsomely endowed many of his own kinsfolks and friends, including his own sons, which was indeed adding injury to insult, so far as his relation to the church was concerned! Having thus disposed of her property for his own benefit, forestalling other robbers of church lands, he settled down to a less harassing life in the old palace, and there died at an advanced age.

At his death the remaining lands of the diocese were confiscated by the Crown, and in 1590 were granted to Sir Alexander Lindsay, son of the Earl of Crawford, who had found favour with King James VI. by advancing ten thousand gold crowns to help to defray his majesty’s travelling expenses when journeying to Denmark to wed the Princess Anne. Sir Alexander accompanied his sovereign as far as Germany, when he was attacked by severe illness, and had to remain behind. King James wrote from the castle of Croneburg, in Denmark, promising to bestow on him the lordship of Spynie, with all lands and honours pertaining thereto. “Let this,” said he, “serve for cure to your present disease.” Sir Alexander was accordingly created Lord Spynie, but not caring to live in the north, he appointed a neighbouring laird to act as constable of the Fortalice and Castle of Spynie. He himself afterwards lost favour with the king, and in 1607 had the misfortune to get mixed up in a family fight in the streets of Edinburgh, which resulted in his death.

This method of settling a family difficulty was curiously illustrative of the times. The Earl of Crawford had assassinated his kinsman, Sir Walter Lindsay, whereupon Sir David Lindsay of Edzell, nephew of the murdered man, assembled his armed retainers to avenge the death of his uncle. The two armed forces met at Edinburgh, whereupon Lord Spynie interposed and strove to bring about a reconciliation. Hot words soon resulted in a fray, and the mediator was accidentally slain, and fell pierced with eleven wounds. Altogether this is a very pretty picture of the mediæval method of settling such questions.

The title died out in the third generation, when the lands reverted to the Crown, and have since passed from one family to another, till both lands and ruined palace reached the hands of the present owner—Captain Brander Dunbar.

Three centuries have passed by since the death of Bishop Hepburn, for the first hundred of which the old palace was the seat of the Protestant Bishops, to whom it was transferred after the Reformation. One of these, John Guthrie of that Ilk (which means that he was the proprietor of Guthrie in Angus), held it in the year 1640, when the Covenanters took arms, whereupon he garrisoned the palace and prepared for a siege. But when General Munro arrived with a force of three hundred men, the Bishop was persuaded to surrender, so only his arms and riding-horses were carried off.

Again, in 1645, when Montrose laid waste the lands of Moray with fire and sword, the inhabitants of the neighbouring town of Elgin (the cathedral town of the diocese) fled at his approach, to seek shelter for themselves, their wives, and their treasure, in the Palace of Spynie, which continued to be the episcopal residence till the time of Bishop Colin Falconer, who died there in 1686.

Two years later, in the Revolution of 1688, the palace was annexed to the Crown, as the lands had already been, and since that date it has remained uninhabited. As a natural consequence, its timber and iron-work have gradually been removed by the neighbouring farmers—the doors and flooring, the oaken rafters, the iron gate, the iron chain of the portcullis, have all disappeared, and only a portion of the massive stone walls now remains to tell of the glory of this ancient palace. Even the best of the hewn stones, and the steps of the old stairs, have been thus appropriated. Never was transformation more complete than that which has changed this once mighty ecclesiastical fortress and palace of the sea-board into a peaceful inland ruin, whose grey walls, now tottering to their fall, re-echo only the scream of the night-owl, or the bleating of the sheep which crop the sweet grass within its courts.

Nevertheless, the position of those who occupy the reclaimed lands is by no means one of absolute security. Not only might another year of unwonted rainfall on the hills repeat the story of the floods of 1829, and restore the Lossie to its self-chosen channel through Loch Spynie, to the total destruction of all sea-sluices—but there exists the ever present and far more serious danger on the west, where only a narrow belt of low sandhills protects the cultivated lands from the sea, which in the eighteenth century made such serious encroachments on the neighbouring bay of Burghead.

When we note its ceaseless activity all along this coast (one year building up huge barriers of great boulders to a height of perhaps thirty feet or more, and in the following year carrying them all away, to leave only a gravelly shore), we cannot ignore the possibility that a day may very possibly come when, after a night of unwonted storm, the morning light may reveal a gap in the sandhills, and the fertile lands, which at eventide appeared so safe and so peaceful, may lie deep beneath the salt sea, which, reclaiming its rights, has once more resumed its original channel, passing round the back of Rose-isle, to restore to the ancient harbour of Spynie its long-lost character.

Note D
Elgin Cathedral and the Church of St. Giles.

There are some points of special interest connected with these ancient buildings, apart from the ruthless destruction by “the Wolf of Badenoch” of all that was beautiful in the town of Forres and the cathedral city of Elgin. (It is a moot-point whether the possession of a picturesque ruin still entitles the burgh of Elgin to this honorary title—a doubt carefully expressed by a conscientious young revivalist in his prayer for a special blessing on “this city of Elgin, if it be a city!” By the way, it is interesting to note that in the Chartulary of Moray, about A.D. 1190, the name Elgin was spelt as at present, although in various later writings it is called Elgyn, Helgun, and Aigin.)

The first bishop of the Roman Church in the diocese of Moray (dating about A.D. 1115) by some means obtained possession of the Culdee Church, which had long been established at Birnie, near Elgin—a simple building of wood and clay. The present church was built about A.D. 1150. Here the first four bishops lived and died in all simplicity; but Richard, the fifth bishop, removed the seat of the diocese to Spynie, and there a stately palace was erected overlooking the lake, and in 1215 a site was chosen for a cathedral. But Andrew de Moravia, the seventh bishop (a son of the powerful family of Duffus^[82]), deeming this site too isolated, and otherwise inconvenient of access for the people, obtained the sanction of Pope Honorius (about 1224) to build the cathedral at Elgin on the fertile banks of the river Lossie. This was accordingly done, and the noble building was completed ere the middle of the century, as were also twenty-two manses as residences for the canons, all enclosed within the great precinct wall. The canons were the clergy of parishes in all parts of the diocese.

But misfortunes soon began, for the cathedral and the manses were partially burnt in 1270, and in 1390 the ruthless Wolf of Badenoch (Alexander Stewart, Earl of Buchan) raided the town and set fire to the cathedral, destroying the nave and roof and all woodwork. The great steeple, which is said to have been a hundred and ninety-eight feet in height, was cracked by the heat, but the western steeples and beautiful stone arches resisted the fire. All the manses were totally destroyed.

Only twelve years elapsed ere the town was again raided by another “noble savage,” namely, Alexander Macdonald, son of the Lord of the Isles, who plundered whatever had escaped the covetous Wolf. After this the work of rebuilding the cathedral progressed slowly, the most energetic worker being Bishop John Innes, who was consecrated in 1407 and died in 1414—a brief seven years, in the course of which he also erected the Bishop’s House in Elgin, and carried out important works at Spynie.

At the time of the Reformation no damage was done to the noble pile, but eight years later, in 1568, the Privy Council ordered that all lead should be stripped from the cathedral churches of Elgin and Aberdeen and sold for the maintenance of soldiers, the sheriffs and bishops being commanded to assist the spoilers. It seems certain that the nave and side aisles were covered with slates and the chapterhouse with freestone slabs, and that the lead only covered wooden spires crowning the three steeples to protect them from rain and frost. Every trace of spires and steeples has disappeared, doubtless from that cause.

This mean and sacrilegious theft was the first step towards the destruction of the grand old cathedral, and met its just reward, in that the vessel on which the lead was shipped at Aberdeen for sale in Holland foundered on its voyage.

In 1637 a terrible gale unroofed the choir and blew down the rafters. On 28th December 1640 Gilbert Ross, the iconoclastic Presbyterian minister of Elgin, in company with the lairds of Brodie, of Innes, and others, took upon him to destroy the beautiful carved woodwork, their special spite being directed against the Rood screen, separating the nave from the choir, on one side of which was depicted the Day of Judgment, and on the other the Crucifixion—all in colours and gold so rich that neither had faded or tarnished, although for well-nigh eighty years they had been exposed to rain and snow, sun and frost, which had free access to the unroofed temple.

Mr. Ross, being of a utilitarian spirit, had the woodwork cut up and brought to his own house as fuel. In those days, ere lucifer matches were invented, it was very desirable to keep sufficient fire smouldering all night to secure a kindling for the following morning, but it was found that the wood so sacrilegiously hewn down would not keep alight, so that it was necessary each morning to kindle fresh fire by means of the cumbersome flint and steel, which required such patience ere light could be obtained.

When, ten or twelve years later, a party of Cromwell’s soldiers were quartered here, they could find nothing left for them to destroy save the beautiful stone tracery of the great windows, and this they did most effectually, especially in the western window over the grand porch.

In 1711 the great steeple fell, crushing the whole body of the building, and for the next hundred years this mass of finely-hewn stone served as a convenient quarry for the builders of modern houses in the town, while the cathedral precincts became the receptacle for all the dirt and rubbish of the town.

Not till the beginning of the present century was there a trace of even antiquarian reverence for this sacred spot. Then, happily, an enlightened provost was elected (Mr. King of New-mill) who commenced the work of protection, and in course of time the Board of Public Works was induced to take the matter in hand and undertake such repairs as have prevented further decay, and preserve at least a memorial of how nobly our ancestors could once build.

Though all the bishops were buried here, few of their tombs bear any inscriptions. Among those of most special interest are a large, bluish slab on the south side of the choir, beneath which lies the quiet dust of Bishop Andrew de Moravia, the founder, under whose energetic supervision it is probable that the stately building was completed. Once it was covered with fine brass, but that, of course, was soon pillaged.

Another grave of interest, which can still be recognised by a sculptured stone showing a recumbent figure in episcopal robes, is that of Columba Dunbar, who was Bishop in A.D. 1430. He was a son of the Earl of March, and nephew of John Dunbar, Earl of Moray, and was himself a powerful noble who, on his journeys to Rome and to the Council of Basle, travelled with a retinue of thirty servants. He died in his palace at Spynie, and was buried in the cathedral, in the north transept, in the aisle of St. Thomas the Martyr, now known as “Dunbar’s Aisle.”

Near his dust lies that of Sir Alexander Dunbar of Westfield, son of the fifth Earl of Moray. He died in 1498, and is represented as a recumbent figure in armour, having his armorial bearings on his breast-plate. Both these monuments were much injured by the fall of the great steeple, which totally destroyed so much that was interesting and beautiful.

Among the modern memorials is a slab of red granite in the chancel, above the high altar. It was placed there in 1868 to the memory of the Rev. Lachlan Shaw, who died in 1777, aged ninety-one, and was buried here. He was the author of a very valuable History of the Province of Moray, up to his own times.

Two burials of interest in the last century were those of the very latest Duke of Gordon and his wife. He died in London, 28th May 1836. His body was brought by sea, and landed near Gordon Castle, whence it was conveyed to Elgin. On 31st January 1864 Elizabeth, his widow, died at Huntly Lodge, and she was buried beside the Duke in the last available space in the family vault beneath the ruins of the cathedral.

Lastly, I must not fail to claim reverent notice for the humble grave of a truly devout lover of the cathedral, namely, John Shanks, one of the earliest keepers appointed to protect the ruins, when the whole place was still a wilderness of dirt and rubbish overgrown with tall grass, brambles, and rank nettles. By his own exertions, without any one to help him, this frail old man gradually cleared away the rubbish, laying bare the original outlines of the building, and collecting such sculptured stones as had escaped the spoilers. On his tomb is the epitaph written by Lord Cockburn:—