ETTRICK KIRK
|And{273} now we shall go--as they say in Selkirk--"up the Watters," a
phrase which, to us of "the Forest," used of old to convey the idea of
going on a vast journey. "Did ye see the Eclipse, on Monday?" asked a
Selkirk man of his crony. "Man, _No!_ I was up the Watters that day."
Which reply-conveyed, perhaps not so much the feeling that an eclipse
was a frivolous affair pertaining to geographically remote Selkirk
alone, as that the answerer had been too deeply engaged up the waters
with other business to have leisure to attend to such petty trifles as
solar phenomena. Business "up the Watters," one used to understand, was
not seldom protracted far into the night, and at times there were lunar
phenomena observable, such as double moons, and stars whose place in the
heavens was not definitely fixed.
Leaving Selkirk by the Ettrick road, in about a couple of miles we come
abreast of the spot where Yarrow drowns herself in Ettrick. And here
below Bowhill, on the sunny, wooded peninsula formed by the two rivers,
lies Carterhaugh, scene of that famous fairy tale "The Young Tamlane."
Tamlane when a boy of nine was carried off by the Fairies.
"There came a wind out of the north,
A sharp wind and a snell;
And a deep sleep came over me,
And frae my horse I fell."
{274}The Queen of the Fairies "keppit" (caught) him as he fell, and bore
him off to dwell in Fairyland. There he remained, neither increasing in
years nor in stature, but taking at will his human shape, and returning
to earth for a time when it pleased him.
[Illustration: 0294]
Carterhaugh was his special haunt, and here, if they did not altogether
shun that neighbourhood, young women too often had cause to repent
having met him.
"O I forbid ye, maidens a',
That wear gowd on your hair,
To come or gae by Carterhaugh,
For young Tamlane is there."
"Fair Janet," however, was one who would take no warning:
"I'll cum and gang to Carterhaugh,
And ask nae leave o' him," {275}said she. And she went. But
"She hadna pu'd a red red rose,
A rose but barely three;
Till up and starts a wee wee man,
At Lady Janet's knee."
"He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand, amang the leaves sae
green,"--and Janet rued her visit. Later, Tamlane tells her how he may
be rescued from Fairyland, and the ballad relates Janet's successful
venture:
"The night it is good Hallowe'en,
When fairy folk will ride;
And they that wad their true love win
At Miles Cross they maun bide.
"Gloomy, gloomy, was the night,
And eiry was the way,
As fair Janet in her green mantle,
To Miles Cross she did gae.
"The heavens were black, the night was dark,
And dreary was the place;
But Janet stood, with eager wish
Her lover to embrace.
"Betwixt the hours of twelve and one,
A north wind tore the bent;
And straight she heard strange elritch sounds,
Upon that wind which went.
"About the dead hour o' the night,
She heard the bridles ring;
And Janet was as glad o' that
As ony earthly thing.
"Their oaten pipes blew wondrous shrill,
The hemlock small blew clear;
And louder notes from hemlock large,
And bog-reed, struck the ear.
"Fair Janet stood, with mind unmoved,
The dreary heath upon;
And louder, louder wax'd the sound,
As they came riding on.
"Will o' the Wisp before them went,
Sent forth a twinkling light;
And soon she saw the Fairy bands
All riding in her sight.
"And first gaed by the black, black steed.
And then gaed by the brown;
But fast she grip't the milk-white steed,
And pu'd the rider down.
"She pu'd him frae the milk white steed,
And loot the bridle fa';
And up there raise an erlish cry--
'He's won among us a'!'
"They shaped him in fair Janet's arms,
An esk, but and an adder;
She held him fast in every shape--
To be her bairn's father.
"Th ey shaped him in her arms at last
A mother-naked man:
She wrapt him in her green mantle,
And sae her true love wan!"
A mile or two up the river from Carterhaugh, on Ettrick's right bank,
stands the interesting and well-preserved old tower of Oakwood, the
property of the Scotts of Harden, in whose possession it has been since
1517. Locally, the belief is implicitly held that this tower was, in
the thirteenth century, the residence of the great Michael Scott, the
Wizard, out of whose tomb in Melrose Abbey William of Deloraine took
"From the cold hand the Mighty Book,
With iron clasp'd, and with iron hound:
He thought as he took it the dead man frowned."
There _was_ a Michael Scott who once owned Oakwood, but that was long
after the Wizard's day. In spite of all tradition--for whose birth Sir
Walter is probably responsible--it is not {277}likely that the veritable
Michael (Thomas the Rhymer's contemporary, and a Fifeshire man) ever was
near Oakwood.
[Illustration: 0297]
Certainly he never lived in the tower that stands now on the steep bank
hard by the river. That is no thirteenth century building. I fear,
therefore, that the story of Michael and the Witch of Fauldshope, and of
how, bursting one day from her cottage in the guise of a hare, he was
coursed by his own dogs on Fauldshope Hill, can no more be connected
with Selkirkshire than can the legend of his embassy to Paris, to which
city he journeyed in a single night, mounted on a great coal-black
{278}steed, who indeed was none other than the Foul Fiend himself. There
is, however, a Witchie Knowe on Fauldshope; perhaps the Michael who
really did live at Oakwood, sometime about the beginning of the
seventeenth century, may have had dealings with the woman, which in some
way gave rise to the legend. This "witch," by the way, was an ancestress
of Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd.
Oakwood Tower is not very old, and it never was very strong--as the
strength of peel towers is reckoned; its walls are little more than four
feet in thickness, which is almost flimsy compared with those of its
near neighbour, Newark. Above the dungeons, Oakwood is three stories in
height, and its external measurements are thirty-eight by twenty-three
and a half feet. Into one wall is built a stone on which are the initals
R.S. L.M, initials of Robert Scott and his wife, probably a Murray.
Between them is the Harden crescent; and below, the date, and 1602,
which is no doubt the true year of the present tower's erection.
Tradition tells of a haunted chamber in Oakwood; the "Jingler's Room,"
it was called, but what the story was, the writer has not been able to
learn. The tower now is used chiefly as a farm building, and if there
are any hauntings they probably take the unpleasant form of rats.
Following up the Ettrick, presently we come to the village of
Ettrickbridgend, near to which are the picturesque Kukhope Linns and
Kirkhope Tower, a well preserved Border peel. In this tower in old days
at times dwelt Auld Wat of Harden, or one of his family. Tradition
tells that it was Wat who first spanned Ettrick with a bridge. It was a
penance, self-inflicted, because of a mishap that occurred at the ford
here to a young boy, heir of the Nevilles, whom Wat had carried off from
his home in Northumberland. Wat's bridge stood a little way above the
site of that which now crosses Ettrick at Ettrickbridgend, and I am
told--though I have not seen it--that a stone from the old bridge, with
the Harden coat of arms carved on it, may now be seen built into the
present structure.
{279}
[Illustration: 0299]
A little higher up, there falls into Ettrirk the Dodhead Burn, at the
head of which is "the fair Dodhead," the reputed residence of Jamie
Telfer, hero of the famous ballad.
[Illustration: 0300]
These Border hills have produced from time to time many a long-distance
runner of immense local celebrity,--such for instance, as the far-famed
Will of Phaup--but few of them, I imagine, could have "lived" with Jamie
Telfer in that burst of his across the trackless heather and the boggy
moors from the Dodhead, over by the headwaters of Ale, across Borthwick,
across Teviot, on to Slitrig at "Stobs Ha'," and from there back again
to Teviot at Coultercleuch. It must be a good sixteen miles at the
least, across a country over which no runner could travel at a pace so
fast as that with which the ballad credits Jamie. But if anyone did this
run, I fear it was no Jamie Telfer. At least in the fair Dodhead
up Ettrick there was at the supposed date of the ballad, and for
generations before, no Telfer, but a Scott. The Dodhead of the ballad
must be some other place of the same name, possibly that near Penchrise,
by Skelfhill.
Following up Ettrick, past Hyndhope and Singlie, we come to Deloraine,
an ancient possession of the Scotts, for ever {281}famed through
its association with William of Deloraine and the "Lay of the Last
Minstrel":
"A stark moss-trooping Scott was he,
As e'er couch'd Border lance by knee."
There are various theories as to the derivation of the name "Deloraine."
[Illustration: 0301]
One, in accord with the local pronunciation of the word--"Delorran,"
with the accent on the second syllable--gives its origin as from the
Gaelic, "dal Grain," the place or land of Orain, who, I understand,
was a Celtic saint. There is also the explanation given by the Rev. Dr.
Russell of Yarrow, in the Statistical Account of the Parish of 1833. "In
1503, James IV endowed his Queen, the Lady Margaret of England, with the
Forest of Ettrick and Tower of Newark, which had formerly been the dowry
of Mary of Guelders. Hence, probably, our two farms of Deloraine (de
la reine) received their name, or afterwards perhaps from Mary of
_Lorraine_." One would prefer to adopt Dr. Russell's interpretation of
the name, but probably the place was called "Delorran" long before the
day of any of the historical characters mentioned.
Higher still up Ettrick is Tushielaw, with its fragment of{282} a ruined
tower, the home in old days of that formidable freebooter Adam Scott,
"the king of the Border," or "king of thieves." Local tradition tells
that he was hanged by James V to the branch of an ash tree that grew
within his own castle walls--retributive justice on a man who had
himself, in like manner, sent to their doom so many poor wretches
from the branches of that same tree. The ash no longer stands, but in
_Chambers' Gazetteer_ for 1832 there is this note concerning it: "It
is curious to observe that along its principal branches there are yet
visible a number of nicks, or hollows, over which the ropes had been
drawn wherewith he performed his numerous executions."
Like too many local traditions, however, the story of his execution will
not bear examination. Adam Scott was arrested and hanged in Edinburgh, a
full month before the King set out on his memorable expedition to pacify
the Border. James certainly laid a heavy hand on the freebooters; and
he appears also to have very materially altered the face of things in
other ways in these Border hills. The timber which clothed them began
from this time to disappear--birch and oak it appears to have been for
the most part, interspersed with ash, mountain-ash, thorn, and hazel, to
judge by the numbers of stumps and pieces of decayed trees still found
in mossy ground. They mostly suggest timber of no great size, but now
and again the remains of a fine tree are come upon, even in exposed and
high-lying situations. The remains of a very large oak, for instance,
were discovered some years ago during draining operations among the wild
hills right at the head of Jed.
Probably James destroyed a great deal of timber in his efforts to
convert the country into a sheep-run. According to Pitscottie, the king
soon had "ten thousand sheep going in the forest, under the keeping of
Andrew Bell, who made the King as good an account of them as if they
had gone in the bounds of Fife." {283}James V no doubt was a good
husbandman,--it was his boast that in these wilds he "made the rush bush
keep the cow,"--but he was a better husbandman than he was a sportsman,
at least as we now understand the word.
[Illustration: 0303]
We should now probably call him a pot-hunter. It was early in June when
he started on his expedition; young calves are then with the hinds,
and the harts are yet low in condition, and "in the velvet" as to
their horns. Yet Pitscottie says: "I heard say he slew in these bounds
eighteen score of harts." However, if his expedition had to be made
then, {284}his army--and it was an army--must necessarily be fed; and
no doubt if he wanted to run sheep there, the stock of deer had to be
cleared out.
[Illustration: 0304]
But what a place for game of all kinds this forest must then have been.
One may learn from the place-names which still linger among the hills
what manner of beasts formerly inhabited this part of the Border:
Ox-cleuch, Deer-law, Hart-leap, Hynd-hope, Fawn-burn, Wolf-cleuch,
Brock-hill, Swine-brae, Boar-cleuch, Cat-slack. The Hart's-leap is said
to have got its name owing to an incident that occurred during King
James's expedition in 1530; a deer, in sight of the king, is said to
have cleared at one bound a distance so remarkable that James directed
his followers to leave a memorial of the leap. Two grey whinstones here,
twenty-eight feet apart, are said to be those which were then set up.
Ox-cleuch was probably so named from some ancient adventure with a Urus,
or wild bull, or possibly because it was a favourite haunt of those
formidable beasts. Their skulls are still occasionally dug up during the
process of draining swampy lands among our Border hills. There is a very
fine specimen {285}now at Synton (between Selkirk and Hawick), home of
one of the oldest branches of the Scott family.
[Illustration: 0305]
If one may judge from that skull, the horns must have been something
like twice the size of the ox of the present day. He was the ancestor, I
suppose, of the fierce wild cattle of Chillingham. {286}Half a mile, or
a little more, above the inn at Tushielaw--a comfortable hostelry, and a
good fishing centre--the Rankle Burn flows into Ettrick.
[Illustration: 0306]
Up this burn's right bank, through the lonely vale and over the hills
runs a road leading to Hawick, and on your right, as you head in that
direction, a few miles up is Buccleuch, one of the earliest possessions
in the Border of the great Scott clan. Near the road, in a deep ravine
or cleuch, is pointed out the spot where, they say, the buck was slain
from which' originated the title of the present ducal house. Farther on,
just upon the water-shed between Ettrick and Teviot, is Bellenden, which
became the Scotts' mustering place and whose name was the clan's slogan.
As Mr. Thomson's sketches show, it is a wild country enough; in winter
its bleakness at times is surely past the power of words to tell. It
must be a hardy race that can live and thrive here. A land of swamp, and
sullen, dark, moss-hag, this must have been in days of old. Still among
the hills, bogs and lochs innumerable are scattered: of the latter,
Clearburn, Ringside, Crooked Loch, Windylaw, Hellmuir, Alemuir, and
various {287}others, all within a few miles, but not many, I think, such
as need tempt the wandering fisher.
A couple of miles up Ettrick, above Tushielaw, is Thirlestane, the seat
of Lord Napier of Ettrick, surrounded by its woods. It is a mansion
built something less than a hundred years ago, but close to it are the
remains of the old Thirlestane Castle. I do not know if Hertford's long
arm was responsible in 1544 for its ruin. It is probable enough. The
stronghold belonged then to Sir John Scott, a prominent man in those
days, and the only Scottish baron at Fala-muir who did not refuse to
follow James V into England, for which reason the king charged "our lion
herauld and his deputies for the time be and, to give and to graunt to
the said John Scott, ane Border of ffleure de lises about his coatte of
armes, sik as is on our royal banner, and alsua ane bundell of launces
above his helmet, with thir words, _Readdy, ay Readdy_, that he and all
his after-cummers may bruik the samine as a pledge and taiken of our
guid will and kyndnes for his true worthines." Lord Napier is this John
Scott's descendant.
Across the river from Thirlestane are the ruins of another
castle--Gamescleuch, built by Simon Scott, named Long Spear, a son of
John of Thirlestane. Tradition says that Gamescleuch was never occupied,
but was allowed to fall into decay because its owner, Simon of the
Spear, was poisoned by his step-mother the night before he should have
been married and have taken up his abode there.
We are getting far into the wild hills now, near to the head of Ettrick,
by Ettrick Pen, Wind Fell, and Capel Fell, all hills considerably over
two thousand feet in height. But before crossing over to Yarrow and
St. Mary's, there remain to be noticed Ettrick Kirk, and James Hogg's
birthplace, Ettrick Hall. Ettrick Kirk, of course, is inalienably
associated with the Rev. Thomas Boston, "Boston of Ettrick," minister of
the parish for a quarter of a century, a man who left a deep mark on the
religious life of Scotland. He died here in 1732, and {288}his monument
stands in the little graveyard by the kirk, not lar from the head-stone
to the memory of the Ettrick Shepherd, and near to the spot where, as
the stone tells us, "lyeth William Laidlaw, the far-famed Will of Phaup,
who for feats of Frolic, Agility, and Strength, had no equal in his
day." Liaidlaw was Hogg's grandfather.
[Illustration: 0308]
How many persons now-a-days are familiar with, or indeed, perhaps, ever
heard of, Boston's "Fourfold State," or his "Crook in the Lot"? Perhaps
in Ettrick there may yet be, in cottages, an odd copy or two, belonging
to, and possibly yet read by, very old people. But Boston, who as a
theologian had once so marked an influence, is now little more than a
name, even to the descendants of his flock in Ettrick, and his books,
which {289}formerly were to be found in almost every peasant's house in
Scotland, are unknown to later generations. Nor, perhaps, is that great
matter for wonder. It must be confessed that these writings, which,
up to even quite a recent date, had so great a hold on the Scottish
peasant, and which, indeed, with the Bible formed almost his only
reading, do not appeal to present day readers. The plums in the pudding
to modern eyes seem few and far between. But there _are_ plums to be
found, and many a forcible expression. In "The Crook in the Lot," for
instance, where his theme is profligacy, the expression is a happy one
whereby he warns the vicious man against the possibility of a "leap out
of Delilah's lap into Abraham's bosom."
Like most of his class and creed in those days, Boston was stern and
unbending in his Calvinism, and when he came to Ettrick in 1707, he was
faced by a state of affairs that bred for a time great friction between
minister and congregation. The flock had been for a while without a
shepherd, and laxity had crept into their church-going. Boston had to
complain of the "indecent carriage of the people at the kirk, going out
and in, and up and down the kirkyard the time of divine service." But
he speedily drilled them into a line of conduct more seemly; and whereas
when he dispensed the Sacrament for the first time in 1710 there had
been present only fifty-seven communicants, in 1731 when he dispensed
it for the last time, there were no fewer than seven hundred and
seventy-seven. Crowds of people from other parishes came vast distances
over the pathless mountains in order to be present. Where did they all
find food and accommodation, one wonders. The farmers, then as now the
most hospitable and kindly of human beings, fed and housed numbers, as a
matter of course, but they could not accommodate all, and there was then
no inn at Tushielaw, none indeed nearer than Selkirk. Great must have
been the fervour of those many scores of men and women who resolutely
tramped so far over {290}the wild hills to be present at "the
Sacrament." There were no roads in those days, or practically none.
[Illustration: 0310]
Even at late as 1792, the Statistical Account of the Parish says: "The
roads are almost impassable. The only road that looks like a turnpike is
to Selkirk, but even it in many places is so deep as greatly to obstruct
travelling. The distance is about sixteen miles, and it requires four
hours to ride it. The snow also at times is a great inconvenience;
often for many months we can have no intercourse with our neighbours....
Another great disadvantage is the want of bridges. For many hours the
traveller is obstructed on his journey when the waters are swelled."
Such was the condition of the hill country sixty-years after Boston's
death. In his day it must have been even worse; probably the only road
that resembled a road in 1792 was a mere track earlier in the century.
Close by Ettrick Kirk is Ettrick Hall, where Hogg was born. Though in
name suggestive of a lordly mansion, it was in reality but a mean, and
rather damp, little cottage, or "butt and ben," of which there are now
no remains. I understand that the walls fell down about the year 1830.
There is {291}now a monument to "the Shepherd" where the cottage stood;
and there is of course the commemorative statue over by St. Mary's, hard
by "Tibbie Shiels."
Hogg was, as the late Professor Ferrier said: "after Hums (_proximus sed
longo intervallo_) the greatest poet that has ever sprung from the bosom
of the common people."
[Illustration: 0311]
But to how many of those who visit his birth place, or look on his
monument over in Yarrow, are his works now familiar? How many of
us, indeed, have any but the merest nodding acquaintance even with
"Kilmeny"? And of his prose waitings, who of the general public, except
here and there a one, knows now even the "Brownie of Bodesbeck," a
Covenanting story that used to thrill every Scottish boy?