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.
Crichton at first appealed to the law; but Meldrum failed to appear in
answer to the charge, and was outlawed. Crichton therefore received
a commission to arrest him; and learning that he had taken refuge
with the Leslies of Pitcaple, relatives by marriage, set out with a
small party in quest of him; but the encounter only resulted in one of
Crichton’s friends wounding a son of Pitcaple.
Afraid of the consequences of this new feud, and remembering the
good offices of the Marquis of Huntly on a former occasion, Crichton
solicited his intercession with the laird of Pitcaple. The Marquis
invited both lairds to the Bog of Gicht, now Gordon Castle; but old
Leslie remained obdurate, declaring that he would entertain no terms
of reconciliation until he saw the issue of his son’s wound; and
departed with unabated resentment. The Marquis detained Crichton two
days longer, having also as his guest young Gordon of Rothiemay; and on
Crichton’s departure, fearing that he might be attacked by the Leslies,
he sent as an escort his second son, Viscount Melgum (who was also
frequently called Aboyne), and young Rothiemay, with their attendants.
The party reached Frendraught Castle in the evening (October 8, 1630);
and the Viscount, with his friend Rothiemay, was induced by the
entreaties of Crichton and his lady, to remain for the night.
Thus far the course of events is clear and intelligible; what followed
is involved in doubt and obscurity. Spalding, in his _Memorials_,
says: ‘They [the guests] were well entertained, supped merrily, and
to bed went joyfully. The Viscount was laid in a bed in the old tower
(going off of the hall), and standing upon a vault, wherein there was
a round hole, devised of old just under Aboyne’s bed. Robert Gordon,
born in Sutherland, his servitor, and English Will, his page, were
both laid beside him in the same chamber. The laird of Rothiemay, with
some servants beside him, was laid in an upper chamber just above
Aboyne’s chamber; and in another room above that chamber were laid
George Chalmer of Noth, and George Gordon, another of the Viscount’s
servants, with whom also was laid Captain Rollok, then in Frendraught’s
own company. Thus all being at rest, about midnight that dolorous
tower took fire in so sudden and furious a manner, yea, and in a clap,
that this noble Viscount, the laird of Rothiemay, English Will, Colin
Eviot, another of Aboyne’s servitors, and other two, being six in
number, were cruelly burnt and tormented to the death but [without]
help or relief; the laird of Frendraught, his lady [both of whom had
slept in a separate wing of the building], and his whole household
looking on without moving or stirring to deliver them from the fury of
this fearful fire, as was reported. Robert Gordon, called Sutherland
Gordon, being in the Viscount’s chamber, escaped this fire with his
life. George Chalmer and Captain Rollok, being in the third room,
escaped also this fire; and, as was said, Aboyne might have saved
himself also, if he had gone out of doors, which he would not do,
but suddenly ran up-stairs to Rothiemay’s chamber and wakened him to
rise; and as he is wakening him, the timber passage and lofting of
the chamber hastily takes fire, so that none of them could win down
stairs again; so they turned to a window looking to the close, where
they piteously cried Help, help, many times, for God’s cause. The laird
and the lady, with their servants, all seeing and hearing this woful
crying, but made no help nor manner of helping; which they perceiving,
they cried oftentimes mercy at God’s hand for their sins, then clasped
in other’s arms, and cheerfully suffered this cruel martyrdom....
It is reported that upon the morn after this woful fire, the lady
Frendraught, daughter to the Earl of Sutherland, and near cousin to the
Marquis, busked in a white plaid, and riding on a small nag, having a
boy leading her horse, without any more in her company, in this pitiful
manner came weeping and mourning to the Bog [Gordon Castle], desiring
entry to speak with my lord; but this was refused; so she returned back
to her own house the same gate [way] she came, comfortless.’
It is clear from this extract that Spalding’s opinion was that which
the Marquis of Huntly adopted after consultation with his friends,
namely, that the fire was not accidental, but the result of a plot,
in which Frendraught and his lady were accomplices. This belief takes
forcible expression in the ballad which was composed on the occasion,
and is still popular in the neighbourhood of Frendraught. It is
sufficient to cite a few verses:
When steeds were saddled and well bridled,
And ready for to ride,
Then out came her and false Frendraught
Inviting them to bide.
. . . . .
When they were dressëd in their cloaths,
And ready for to boun,
The doors and windows was all secured,
The roof-tree burning down.
. . . . .
‘O mercy, mercy, Lady Frendraught!
Will ye not sink with sin?
For first your husband killed my father,
And now you burn his son.’
. . . . .
Oh, then outspoke her Lady Frendraught,
And loudly did she cry—
‘It were great pity for good Lord John,
But none for Rothiemay;
But the keys are casten in the deep draw-well;
Ye cannot get away.’
That the laird of Frendraught and his lady either contrived the deed or
acquiesced in it, is difficult of belief. The presumptions generally
are against such a conclusion. There is no reason for supposing that
the laird of Frendraught was not honest in reconciling himself to
Rothiemay; but even allowing him to be wicked enough to plan the
destruction by fire of the son of the man whom he had slain, while a
guest under his roof, how is it possible to believe that he chose a
plan which must involve the death of Viscount Melgum, a son of the
Marquis of Huntly, and hitherto his friend?
Crichton was perfectly aware of the popular suspicion; and the
fruitless visit of his wife to Gordon Castle sufficiently disclosed
the sentiments of the Marquis. Shortly after the fire, therefore, he
placed himself under the protection of the Lord Chancellor, offering
to undergo any trial, and to assist in every way in discovering the
perpetrators of the crime.
The Privy-council made the most strenuous efforts to pierce the
mystery. Before the end of the year, John Meldrum and three of his
servants, and about thirty of the servants or dependents of Crichton,
had been apprehended, and about as many more summoned to Edinburgh to
give evidence; but not the slightest clue was obtained as to the origin
of the fire.
In the following April, a commission, consisting of the Earl Marischal,
the bishops of Aberdeen and Moray, with three others, was sent to
investigate the occurrence on the spot. They cautiously reported thus:
‘We find by all likelihood that the fire whereby the house was burned
was first raised in a vault, wherein we find evidences of fire in
three sundry parts; one at the furthest end thereof, another towards
the middle, and the third on that gable which is hard by the hole that
is under the bed which was in the chamber above. Your good lordships
will excuse us if we determine not concerning the fire whether it was
accidental or of set purpose by the hand of man; only this much it
seemeth probable unto us, after consideration of the frame of the house
and other circumstances, that no hand from without could have raised
the fire without aid from within.’
For a year the Council did nothing, being utterly at a loss as to
what they should do; but public indignation, and the desire to bring
home the guilt to the criminals—if guilt there were—had not abated,
and, stimulated by a message on the subject from the king, the
Council actually resolved to devote one day every week to further
investigation. At the same time, John Meldrum was ordered to be tried
by torture.
In August 1632, John Tosh, master of the household at Frendraught, was
brought to the bar of the Court of Justiciary on the charge of setting
fire to the vault from within. It was pleaded for him that, having
endured the torture of the ‘boots,’ and thereafter of the ‘pilniewinks’
or thumbikins, and having on oath declared his innocence, he could not
be put to further trial; and this plea was sustained.
In August 1633—nearly three years after the fire—John Meldrum of
Reidhill was put upon his trial, charged with having set fire to
the vault from the outside. It was urged against him, that he had
associated himself with James Grant, the notorious robber, in order
to wreak his vengeance on Frendraught; that he had threatened to do
Frendraught an evil turn some day; and being asked how, had said that
the laird would be burned; and that he had been seen riding towards
Frendraught Castle on the evening before the fire. It was suggested
that he had set fire to the vault by throwing combustibles, such as
powder, brimstone, and pitch, through the narrow slits that served as
windows. On such evidence as was offered against him, no jury at the
present day would convict. The assumption that fire had been introduced
from the outside was directly against the conclusion of the Council’s
commission; and Meldrum’s counsel insisted on the impossibility of
kindling a fire in a vault to which the only access from the outside
was by narrow slits piercing a wall ten feet thick. Nevertheless,
Meldrum was convicted, and hanged.
The jury seem to have thought some victim should be offered for the
public satisfaction, and that no injustice would be done to John
Meldrum in assigning him as a sacrifice, seeing that he had done quite
enough to deserve hanging, even if he had no hand in the burning
of Frendraught Castle. With the execution of Meldrum, all further
proceedings in the case ceased; but suspicion and animosity rankled
long in the House of Huntly against Frendraught. The origin of the fire
still remains a mystery.