10–16 June 1872

Brown came in soon after four o'clock, saying he had been down at the waterside, for a child had fallen into the water, and the whole district was out to try and recover it — but it must be drowned long before this time. I was dreadfully shocked. It was the child of a man named Rattray, who lives at Caim-na-Craig, just above where the new wood-merchant has built a house, and quite close to the keeper Abercrombie's house, not far from Monaltrie Farmhouse in the street. At a little before five, set off in the waggonette with Beatrice and Janie Ely, and drove along the north side of the river. We stopped a little way beyond TyncbaicJi, and saw the people wandering along the riverside. Two women told us that two children had fallen in (how terrible !), and that one " had been gotten — the little een " (as the people pro- nounce " one "), but not the eldest. They were searching everywhere. While we were there, the old grandmother, Catenach by name, who lives at Scutter Hole, came running along in a great state of distress. She is Rattray's mother. We drove on a little way, and then turned round. We heard from the people that the two boys, one of ten or eleven and the other only three, were at Monaltrie Burn which comes down close to the farmhouse and below Mrs. Patterson s shop, passing under a little bridge and running into the Dee. This burn is generally very low and small, but had risen to a great height — the Dee itself being- tremendously high — not a stone to be seen. The little child fell in while the eldest was fishing- ; the other jumped in after him, trying to save his little brother ; and before any one could come out to save them (though the screams of Abercrombie's child- ren, who were with them, were heard) they were carried away and swept by the violence of the current into the Dee, and carried alone. Too dreadful ! It seems, from what I heard coming- back, that the poor mother was away from home, having- eone to see her own mother who was dying, and that she purposely kept this eldest boy back from school to watch the little one. We drove back and up to Mrs. Grant's, where we took tea, and then walked up along the river- side, and heard that nothing had been found and that the boat had gone back ; but as we approached nearer to the castle we saw people on the banks and rocks with sticks searching ; amongst them was the poor father — a sad and piteous sight — crying and looking so anxiously for his poor child's body.

Drove up to the Bush to warn Mrs. William Brown never to let dear little Albert run about alone, or near to the burn, of the danger of which she was quite aware. She said her husband, William, had started off early at three this morn- ing. Some people went down to Abergeldie and as far as the Girnoch to search, and others were up and below the castle. No word of the poor child being found. All were to start early to search.

After luncheon, at a quarter to three, drove with the two children up as far as the West Lodge, and then just descried the sad funeral procession slowly and sadly wending its way along the road ; so we drove back again, catching glimpses of it as we went along, and drove on a little way beyond the bridge, when, seeing the first people not far off, we turned and drove back, stopping close to the bridge, and here we waited to see them pass. There were about thirty people, I should say, including the poor father, Jemmie and Willie Brown, Francie's brother, Alick Leys, Farmer Patterson, etc. The poor father walked in front of one of the coffins ; both covered with white, and so small. It was a very sad sight. Dr. Taylor walked last with another gentleman. He had of course been up to the house and performed the service there, as is always done throughout Scotland by all the Protestant deno- minations except the Episcopalian, and no service whatever near the grave.* We watched the sad procession as long as we could, and drove home again.

We had come home at five minutes past eight ; I had wished Brown good-night, and was just going to my dressing-room, when he asked to come in again and say a few words to me. He came in, and said, very kindly, that he had seen Colonel Ponsonby, and that there was rather bad news of Dr. Macleod, who was very ill, in fact that they were afraid he was dead ! Oh ! what a blow ! How dreadful to lose that dear, kind, loving, large-hearted friend ! My tears flowed fast, but I checked them as much as I could, and thanked good Brown for the very kind way he broke this painful and most unexpected news to me. I sent for and told Leopold, who was quite stunned by it, and all my maids. Every one was most deeply grieved — the Duchess of A thole, Janie Ely, Miss MacGregor, Colonel Ponsonby, and Dr. Taylor, who was so overcome as hardly for some time to be able to speak. The loss, he and we all felt, was quite irreparable. Dr. Taylor knew (which I did not) that he had been very ill for a week, and that he might die at any moment, and that the long and most admirable speech which he made in the Assembly had been far too much for him. That was on the 30th. Still we all hoped that rest would have restored him. How thankful I felt that I had seen him so lately ! When the Duchess came upstairs, we could speak of little else. After she left, and I was alone, I cried very bitterly, for this is a terrible loss to me.