(To be continued.)
THE FIRE OF FRENDRAUGHT.
About six miles from the thriving market-town of Huntly, in Aberdeenshire, stands the mansion-house of Frendraught, built on the site and incorporating the ruins of the old castle of that name. In the seventeenth century it was the scene of a strange and inexplicable event—an event which, on the supposition that it was not accidental, might well be regarded as tragic.
The lands of Frendraught, towards the beginning of the seventeenth century, were in the possession of James Crichton, a laird or minor baron of the period, sufficiently proud of that designation to slight and reject the title of viscount which his son accepted in his father’s lifetime. His wife was Lady Elizabeth Gordon, a woman of a proud and resolute character, daughter of the Earl of Sutherland, and a ‘near cousin,’ as Spalding expresses it, of the Marquis of Huntly, a connection which should be remembered in the course of the narrative. On the crest of a knoll that overlooks the river Deveron, stood and still stands the Tower of Kinnairdy, another baronial residence of Crichton, at the distance of a few miles from Frendraught. Four miles above Kinnairdy, on the same river, stood Rothiemay, the home of the Gordons of Rothiemay, a sept of that numerous and powerful clan of which the Marquis of Huntly was chief. The lairds of Frendraught and of Rothiemay were thus neighbours, at a period when neighbourhood as surely engendered strife as friction develops heat. It chanced that Gordon of Rothiemay sold a portion of his lands adjoining the Deveron to the laird of Frendraught.
At the present day, there is perhaps no river in Scotland which at certain seasons of the year furnishes better sport to the angler for salmon than the Deveron, and its excellence in this respect must equally have characterised it two centuries ago; for the right to the valuable salmon-fishing appertaining to the land which had been sold became the subject of bitter strife between the two lairds. Frendraught appealed to the law; but while the cause was winding its way slowly through the courts, he managed, by persecution and provocation, to hurry Rothiemay into acts of exasperation and illegality, which made it easy to procure a decree of outlawry against him. After this, as a contemporary historian has it, ‘Rothiemay would hearken to no conditions of peace, neither would he follow the advice of his wisest friends.’ He made a raid upon the lands of Crichton, who thereupon obtained from the Privy-council a commission to apprehend him.
On the 1st of January 1630, the laird of Frendraught, accompanied by Sir George Ogilvie of Banff, and, among others of less note, by young Leslie of Pitcaple and John Meldrum of Reidhill, set out to seize Rothiemay in his own domain. Rothiemay, having learned their intention, mustered what forces he could, and marched to meet them. A desperate encounter took place. Rothiemay’s horse was killed under him. He continued to fight on foot till his followers were driven from the field, leaving his son and himself still maintaining a struggle against outnumbering foes. At length he fell, whereupon young Rothiemay sought safety in flight. His father, covered with wounds, was left for dead on the ground; but having been carried home by his friends, survived for three days. On Frendraught’s side, one gentleman was slain, and John Meldrum—of whom more will be heard—was wounded.
The feud between the two houses, rancorous enough before, was prosecuted with the deadliest animosity now that blood had been shed on both sides. Deeds of savage reprisal ensued; and as each party sought to strengthen itself by enlisting new adherents, the area of strife grew wider, and assumed proportions so menacing to the public peace, that the Privy-council made earnest but fruitless endeavours to effect a reconciliation between the hostile houses.
Young Gordon of Rothiemay feeling himself the weaker in the struggle, called to his aid the notorious Highland cateran, James Grant, and his band. It is singular that we have neither ballad nor legend commemorating the career of this person—a career which, in its extraordinary feats of daring insolence, its marvellous escapes, and dark deeds of blood, outrivals all that is recorded of Rob Roy. At this juncture, while Grant and his followers were mustering at Rothiemay House for a raid against Frendraught, and when the Earl of Moray, Lieutenant of the North, had confessed himself utterly unable to suppress the commotion, a commission, sent by the Privy-council, associating itself with the Marquis of Huntly, succeeded in effecting an arrangement between the hostile parties. Grant was dismissed to his mountain fortresses; Crichton and Rothiemay were persuaded to meet at Strathbogie, the residence of the Marquis, where, after much earnest intercession, the commissioners succeeded in settling terms of peace and reconciliation. The deeds of blood were mutually forgiven, and, as a concession to the greatest sufferer, Crichton agreed to pay fifty thousand merks to the widow of the slain laird of Rothiemay. Over this arrangement all parties shook hands in the orchard of Strathbogie.
Little did they suspect, while congratulating themselves on the termination of the quarrel, that one spark had been left smouldering, which was soon to blaze into a more destructive conflagration than that which had just been extinguished. Among those who had fought on Crichton’s side against the laird of Rothiemay we have mentioned one John Meldrum as having been wounded. This Meldrum was one of those ruffianly retainers, half-gentleman half-groom, who hung on the skirts of the more powerful barons, ready for any task assigned them without a question or a scruple. At this time he was an outlaw. Conceiving that Frendraught had too lightly estimated his service and his sufferings, he persecuted the laird with appeals for ampler remuneration, and finding them disregarded, took satisfaction in his own way by stealing two of the laird’s best horses from a meadow adjoining the castle.