Category Archives: 18th century history

Maybe, maybe not

Posted on September 19, 2017 | 4 comments

The story goes that my 4x-great grandfather was born on the Culloden moor in April of 1746, just before the Battle of Culloden. That information appeared in a typed history found in the family Bible. A visit to the Culloden Visitor Centre, however, revealed no such dwellings, just an empty, windswept moor (except for the Leanach House, a kind of memorial with a grisly history I won’t go into for the moment). The Culloden House, a large mansion of the Forbes family, was located on the moor, but burned down long ago.

At the Culloden Visitor Centre, I did find an old painting of the battle that showed the Culloden House with some small dwellings beside it. So as I’ve been researching in Invernessshire on the old ancestral turf, I’ve been keeping an eye out for records of the Forbes estate. I was thinking maybe the people in the dwellings on the moor worked for the Forbes estate? But so far, nothing like that has turned up.

Then yesterday, I was idly flipping through material on the bookshelves and happened upon a little one shilling booklet printed called Culloden Moor and Clava Circles. In it I came across a fold out map of the battlefield as drawn in 1746 by the military in command that day. And lo and behold, some wee cottage dwellings were drawn in, a number 3. by them designating them as dwellings of the Balvraid [Balvaird] Farm. And another two dwellings with the number 2. beside them designating them as the Culchunaig Farm.


(I’m only showing a partial image to give you an idea, as I’m not permitted to show the full image per photography restrictions here at the Archive.)
I’m trying not to get too excited, but it’s fun to speculate. Here in the Highland Archive Centre I’ve come across letters of the McIntoshes of Balnespicke and Balvaird. Could it be the lost is found? There are *so many* McIntosh families in this area, it’s nice to be able to narrow it down in scope. Then again, maybe not.

Regardless, it feels to me as if the existence of this Balvraid/Balvaird Farm on the Culloden Moor supports the story tucked away in our family Bible all these years.

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Research is proceeding apace

Posted on September 16, 2017 | 1 comment

Before heading off on this journey, I was nervous I wouldn’t find what I’m looking for. First person accounts by Scottish immigrants to the Ohio River area in the early 1800’s make mention of events — shipwrecks, infant births and deaths, ancestors signing the Covenant in their own blood — which I’m finding it difficult to verify.

The family history account of Duncan and Nancy Fraser begins thus:

Not wishing to rear his family in Scotland (after three of his uncles had been burned at the stake for their faith in Christ), Duncan Fraser (who was tailor to Lord Cavanough [sic]) started to America with his wife Nancy (both were Highland Scots from near Edinborough [sic]) and their four children — three girls and a boy, Daniel, in the year 1804.

It’s a mystery … since this account is about the turn of the 18th to the 19th century, the reference to three uncles burned at the stake for their faith in Christ seems out of place. The Covenant martyrdoms happened in the previous century, in the 1600s, didn’t they? So was this account referring to great uncles? or to 2x- or 3x-great uncles?

One place I hoped to glean more insights was at the National Library of Scotland in Edinburgh. I only had two days to spend, so prepared as much as I could in advance. Users of the library have to apply for a library card. I saved time by registering online here. I still needed to show an identification with my current address, but the process of getting a card definitely went more quickly.

Once in the library reading room, I began at the enquiries desk. If you want to take photos (which I did), I had to fill out paperwork and display a yellow card. First thing, I used the main catalogue to order documents not available on the open shelves (most of them), as it can take up to an hour for the material to be brought out.

And here’s where I messed up. The order slip in Special Collections had a blank for specifying my table number. Hence, I assumed materials would be delivered to my table, a common practice at other libraries. I sat waiting for a full hour before going up to make an inquiry (enquiry), only to learn I had was supposed to pick it up at the desk. My material had been there all along.

So, about those martyrs. Not sure I’ve found the event, but the book Martyrs and Heroes of the Scottish Covenant by George Gilfillan did a beautiful job of clueing me into the power struggles of the Scottish reformation. About Duncan Fraser’s “uncles,” however, I haven’t scored any specifics. It’s a tangent, anyway, not the main focus of this immigration tale. I was mainly interested in the historical context, and found great resources and voices.

Not in the National Library, but on the internet, I found a website indicating that 95 people in Edinburgh were executed for their faith in Christ in the 1600’s. What’s more, it’s estimated that “perhaps 30,000 may have died for their beliefs and Presbytery during the whole of the Scottish Reformation.”

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“A shieling on the braes”

Posted on September 11, 2017 | Leave a comment

Last Thursday afternoon at Moniack, a group of us signed up for a hike. I expected the trek to be stepping out the front door — there were plenty of scenic hillsides near Moniack Mhor all around. Instead, though, we divided up and hopped into cars to get to the Abriachan Forest Paths, about ten minutes away.

“We have a choice of where to go,” the guide said. “To a forest of tall old trees, or up a bit to see a shieling.”

“Oh, a shieling!” I put in before anyone else had a chance. “I’d love to see one.”

No one objected, although I had a hunch most had never heard of shielings. I knew about them because of a description in Alistair Moffatt’s “Highland Clans.”

In springtime clansmen undertook the ancient journey of transhumance, driving their black cattle and sheep up the hill trails to the high pastures and the shielings. These were temporary huts and in the light northern nights they were where herdsmen (often women and children) summered out with their animals in the mountains. In Gaelic the shielings were known as summertowns and the clachans as wintertowns. Around the cooking fires in the high pasture tales were told, songs sung and away from the older people, understandings exchanged.

I had pictured a shieling as a wooden lean-to structure. No doubt the style of them varies from region to region. This shieling had a turf roof, so it blended well into the heather.

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Boggy brogues

Posted on September 7, 2017 | Leave a comment

Research in books is all well and good, but I find conversations especially rich. Asking weird questions at improbable moments elicits some of the most intriguing ahas! Today, I was talking to this Irish guy about history, and Scottish history, and Ohio history. We were ranging over a wide variety of topics when I thought of an account I’d just been reading about an immigrant Scot in the mid-1700s taken captive by a Native Americans. I told him how I’d been especially impressed by the report of how the Native Americans had traveled great distances with their captive to avoid the British troops, running over 30 miles a day.

“So I’ve been wondering about that. How do you think the Highlanders traveled? I mean, other than by boat, do you think they ran? Before roads and carriages and such? They didn’t ride horseback, did they?”

“No, I don’t think by horseback,” the Irish guy said. “Actually, I doubt they ran. I think it’s more likely they trudged. It has to have been more like trudging, doesn’t it? The land here is so boggy.”

“Right, I’ve just discovered that, trying to walk in the woods out here,” I said. I had an inkling now of what he meant by boggy, having veered off into a forest near Moniack the other day for a quarter mile or so. I couldn’t believe what difficult going it was, the cushiony-deep, mossy ground. It was the oddest sensation, like walking across couches.

An example of boggy ground, the pillows of mosses and heather to the side of this spring

“Sure,” he went on. ” It’s like that in Ireland, too. You can see it in the brogues we wear. The bogs make for slow going, and they’re so wet. These holes in brogues originally had a purpose. The Irish designed them that way because the land was so boggy, when their feet got wet, all they had to do was lift up their shoes in such a way as to let the water run out of the toe holes. It’s one of the Irish contributions to the world, really.”

I gaped at him in disbelief, but tonight, a quick internet search proved him right. My Grandpa Lindsey, and my Grandpa Patterson, Scots-Irish and Scottish, always wore brogues. Hmm.

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Scotland tales

Posted on September 5, 2017 | 5 comments

As far back as I can remember, when growing up in a small mid-century home on the Southeast side of Cleveland, Ohio, there was this map at the end of our bedroom hallway.

It was actually pretty huge, about 2-1/2 feet wide by 3 feet tall, taking up most of the end of a hall lined with doors leading into the family bedrooms. So I saw it often, every single day of my formative years. I tell you what, without a clue what it was, that image captured my imagination. Does it, or does it not, resemble a witch with her skirts swirling around her?

When I grew older, my father impressed on me that it was there because it held family significance, it being the clan map of Scotland. “We’re Mackintoshes,” he used to say. “Touch not the cat bot a glove.” Apparently, Dad was quoting the motto on the Mackintosh crest, but again, for my young American English brain, life was full of mysteries. (It means, before you pick up a wild or feral cat, be sure to protect yourself with safety gloves.) The war cry of the clan was “Loch Moigh,” referring to their homeland in the Inverness region.

Today, after not a little effort and many hours of travel, I find myself ensconced very nearby Loch Moigh, just north of Loch Ness (Loch means Lake) at Moniack Mhor Writing Centre. While I’m feeling a bit jet-lagged, I’m oh so excited to have returned. As in, returned to Inverness-shire since a short visit here with Dave in 2015, and as in, returned to Inverness-Shire after my ancestors left this homeland for good circa 1803.

On the map, the Mackintosh clan laid claim to the upper shoulders of the witch, just beneath her head. Where all the muscular tension resides, come to think of it. The territory of the former site of the fateful 1746 Battle of Culloden.

I’m close, but I’ve actually missed the mark slightly. Judging by my rough calculation on the map above, Moniack Mhor is located in Fraser clan territory. Oh aye, now I’ve put my foot in it. But from what I understand, by the late 18th century, the clans weren’t warring so much with each other as they were struggling to survive under the “galling yoke” of England.

Or so first person accounts say, of those who emigrated in a last-ditch effort to escape the “galling yoke.” I’m looking forward to finding what I can about the Daniel Mackintoshes (McIntoshes) before they emigrated. They didn’t depart alone. Their exodus included the Roses, the McBains, the MacGillvrays, and others. A whole fistful of disaffected Highland Presbyterian Gaels, right at the scruff of things, it would appear.

So, after five days at this Tutored Fiction Retreat with Paul Murray, Amanda Smyth, and Jane Harris, my aim is to dig deeper and find out more.

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Abroad and at home

Posted on July 10, 2015 | Leave a comment

This May, I had the privilege of visiting the Archives Research Centre in Inverness, where I took a peak at Croy Parish Church registers. The Kirk, as it was known in those days. Unlike modern church sessions (at least, those of the mainline denominations with which I’m familiar), these Kirk sessions included provincial trials of misdeeds such as fist-fighting on the Sabbath.

Here’s an excerpt from one such record:

Croy July 13 1740 James Mitter Gardiner in [Cabrach] & Margaret Gordon in Mitten Delated for undecent correspondence are appointed to be cited to our next meeting of the Elders appointed to enquire into the grounds of such report. …
Croy July 20th 1740 Compeard James Mitter & Margaret Gordon & refusing their keeping any undecent correspondence the Elders were enquired if they searched into the grounds of such report & answered that they found there was such a flagrant story passing at that part of the Parish but that after diligent search they could find no ground for it. Closed with prayer.

Can you imagine such a meeting of sessions at a mainline church today? People might actually turn out for the show. Strange words appear in the text: Delated. Compeard. Then again, it’s fortunate I didn’t have to decipher them from Gaelic.

“Delate” does appear in the Merriam-Webster, an archaic word that means to denounce or accuse. Not so the word “compeard.” Perhaps it is dialect? I don’t believe it is a misreading of the handwriting–here’s a sample of transcribed text of another such record I found in Google books:
book scots regional dialect

Back home, I found another tidbit of Scots 18th century history in the oddest place — the Genealogical Abstracts from Newspapers of the German Reformed Church 1830-1839, collected by Barbara Manning.
book genealogical abstracts
In an abstract from the Weekly Messenger of the German Reformed Church dated Aug. 9, 1837, is the following:

//LONGEVITY. RICHARD TAYLOR, the oldest pensioner in Chelsea Hospital England, died on the 10th of June, aged 104. He was a drummer boy at the battle of Culloden in 1745; his last action was that of Alexandria in Egypt where SIR RALPH ABERCROMBIE fell. //

Other than the fact that the Battle of Culloden occurred in 1746, let’s give this the benefit of the doubt and assume the rest is correct. The announcement tells me several things. First, that Richard Taylor was most likely a drummer boy for the British side of that engagement. Second, that if Taylor did live 104 years, he was a drummer boy in the King’s service at the young age of 13 years. Third, back in the day the Battle of Culloden was so well known that the editors of  this small German denominational newspaper in the U.S. felt this news from England worthy of note. Yet today, many people I talk with have never heard of Culloden.

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Stumps in the road

Posted on June 15, 2015 | Leave a comment

When it comes to historical research, it’s all too easy to follow one thread, then another, until progress slows to the pace of a journey by horse and wagon in the 18th century.

Ohio near St Clairsville 2015

Ohio near St. Clairsville, 2015

Currently, in my studies of Scots immigrants to Ohio, I’m on the trail of pre-canal, pre-railroad travel. Via interlibrary loan, I’ve checked out a copy of Margaret Van Horn Dwight’s diary, published under the title “A Journey to Ohio in 1810.” A delightful account of an arduous trip delayed again and again, due to weather, flooding rivers, and a horse too exhausted to go on. Margaret and her companions were traveling from New Haven, Connecticut to Warren, Ohio. Below is a sample entry:

“Thursday night — Allegany (sic) Mtn Nov– 16 [1810]
We have had a warm & pleasant day till towards night, when it began to rain, as it has done every day for a fortnight — we are now at a tavern half a mile from the top of the Allegany Mt- this Mountain is 14 miles over- At the highest part of it is a most beautiful prospect of mountains- 5 or 6 ridges one after the other- … I pick’d a sprig of ivy from the top, which … came from the very backbone of America, as they all tell us — We have walk’d a great deal to day, & indeed we are oblig’d to every day, for the whole country seems one continued mtn…”

Because of the steep terrain, to spare the horse, Margaret and her companions climbed the mountains on foot, walking next to the wagon.

Another route over the Allegheny Mountains started out of Baltimore, Maryland. By the end of the 1700s, this road reached well into the Northwest Territory (present-day Ohio, Illinois, Michigan and Indiana). The first leg of the route from Baltimore went to Uniontown, Pennyslvania, a road cut in the 1750s by General Braddock’s troops during the French and Indian War. The second leg, Gist’s trace, was cut by white trader Thomas Cresap and his friend the Delaware Chief Nemacolin, and stretched from explorer Gist’s plantation in Uniontown as far as the Monongahela River at present-day Brownsville, Pennsylvania.

The third leg was cut by Ebenezer Zane around 1796. Called Zane’s Trace, it was a narrow, clumsily cut path through giant trees of the Ohio wilderness. Eventually, Zane’s trace extended from present-day Wheeling, West Virginia to Maysville, Kentucky. As the trees were felled by Zane’s men, the story goes, little care was taken about the tree stumps. As a result, wagons sometimes high-centered on stumps, or got stuck between them. It’s said that Zane’s Trace is where people first used the expression “to get stumped,” as in, stuck and going nowhere.

Huh. I know the feeling. Time for me to get off my research duff and start writing.

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Are you here because of “Outlander”?

Posted on May 30, 2015 | 4 comments

imageDave and I started off our morning at the harbour at Nairn. After we’d soaked up a little sunshine (and rain and hail), we dined on fish and chips at the Dolphin, then stopped in at the Nickel and Dime, me still clutching a cup of coffee.

“I don’t blame ya,” the shopkeeper said when I apologized. “Ya need somethin’ to keep ya warm.”

Time to head back to Edinburgh. On the way through Cairngorms National Park, we paused to stretch our legs at the Highland Folk Museum at Newtonmore.

image“Are ya here because of Outlander?” the exhibit interpreter asked as we entered the 17th century Highland village. She seemed so pleased about this connection I felt embarrassed to tell her not entirely.

Check out the gorgeous vest she’s wearing — the fleece of it was spun, dyed, woven and sewn on site.

imageThis living history museum was a serendipitous joy, real fires burning in the crofts, careful attention to every aspect of the buildings, artifacts, and the grounds, a replica of a village uncovered at an archeological site a few miles away. And also providing Dave and me with the added status of being able to say that, while in Scotland, we visited a genuine film location from the first season of Outlander. Not to mention the gorgeous forest path one takes to access the village. What a treat.

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Family history and archive at Inverness

Posted on May 29, 2015 | 2 comments

imageInverness, Scotland is a land of rainbows. We’ve seen at least half a dozen during our short stay here. Despite the breathtaking beauty, the weather–forty degrees, wind gusts and intermittent, torrential rain–drove us inside. (Conversation in the Ladies WC:
She: “Having a good day?”
Me: “Excellent, regardless of the downpour.”
She: “You mean, downpours! It’s usually so much nicer in May and June. It’s just been so cold this year.”)

imageFor shelter, I sought out the Highland Archive Centre, housed in a sleek building right beside the Ness River Islands. This is great. Apparently, enough family history types have come calling to warrant an investment in this state-of-the-art facility. No appointment necessary. I was helped by really knowledgeable, and patient, assistants.

imageMy favorite hour was the last, spent browsing through the church session minutes of Croy Parish (1730-1775). Lest you roll your eyes at the dryness of it all, these were steamy pages, accusations and confessions of fornication and adultery, or attempted same, quite detailed accounts in session after session. Gives one a whole different perspective on the Presbyterian Kirk of old.

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Culloden Battlefield

Posted on May 28, 2015 | Leave a comment

imageWe’ve made it up to Inverness, where our first stop yesterday was the Culloden Battlefield Visitor Centre. In April of 1746, a loose coalition of Highland clans mustered to the call to restore the Catholic Stuart dynasty to the Protestant Hanoverian English throne. The ill-fated political and military manuevres of Prince Charles Edward Stuart failed at this very place called Culloden. Not always a student of history, I had no idea how large this event loomed in Highland memory.

imageUntil recently, I mainly knew about this battle from family lore, which goes that my ancestor Daniel Mackintosh was a newborn infant in a croft (a thatched peasant hut) on that very Culloden field where the battle flared up that day. When it was clear the Highlanders were in retreat, his mother (my 4x great grandmother) was forced to gather up her babe and run for it.

imageNow Culloden is an uninhabited field, but this artwork of the battle depicts a manor and homes on the grounds. (Double-click on the image for a large view). It was a chilling day for the 13,000 Highland and British men who engaged in the rout, which ruined Jacobite hopes and started the final demise of the Gaelic Highland clans.

imageIt was a productive visit, especially since  this Scotsman helped me arm for battle as a Highlander. I tried on a shield and sharp dirk (dagger) with my left arm and hand, and clumsily practiced wielding a heavy, basket-hilted sword with my right. The Scotsman only flinched once.

Later, we visited the Inverness Museum, where they had an excellent display of the round, leather and metal Highland shield and array of dirks and swords.
image

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