There is very prevalent, along the Borders, an opinion that the arms of
the town of Selkirk represent an incident which occurred there at the
time of the battle of Flodden. The device, it is well known, consists of
a female bearing a child in her arms, seated on a tomb, on which is also
placed the Scottish lion. Antiquaries tell us that this device was
adopted in consequence of the melancholy circumstance of the wife of an
inhabitant of the town having been found, by a party returning from the
battle, lying dead at the place called Ladywood-edge, with a child
sucking at her breast.
We have not the slightest wish to disturb this venerable legend. It
commemorates, with striking force, the desolation of one of Scotland's
greatest calamities; and though the device is rudely and coarsely
imagined, there is a graphic strength in the conception, which,
independently of the truth of the story, recommends it to the lover of
the bold and fervid genius of our countrymen. We must, at same time, be
allowed to say that there is another version, and this we intend,
shortly, now to lay before the public, without vouching for its
superiority of accuracy over its more favoured and cherished brother;
and rather, indeed, cautioning the credulous lovers of old legends to be
upon their guard, lest Dr. Johnson's reproof of Richardson be applicable
to us, in saying that we have it upon authority.
When recruits were required by King James the Fourth for the invasion of
the English territory, which produced the most lamentable of all our
defeats, it is well known that great exertions were used in the cause by
the town-clerk of Selkirk, whose name was William Brydone, for which
King James the Fifth afterwards conferred on him the honour of
knighthood. Many of the inhabitants of Selkirk, fired with the ardour
which the chivalric spirit of James infused into the hearts of his
people, and with the spirit of emulation which Brydone had the art of
exciting among his townsmen, as Borderers, joined the banners of their
provost. Among these was one, Alexander Hume, a shoemaker, a strong
stalwart man, bold and energetic in his character, and extremely
enthusiastic in the cause of the king. He was deemed of considerable
importance by Brydone, being held the second best man of the hundred
citizens who are said to have joined his standard. When he came among
his companions he was uniformly cheered. They had confidence in his
sagacity and prudence, respected his valour, and admired his strength.
If Hume was thus courted by his companions, and urged by Brydone to the
dangerous enterprise in which the king, by the wiles and flattery of the
French queen, had engaged, he was treated in a very different manner by
Margaret, his wife,--a fine young woman, who, fond to distraction of her
husband, was desirous of preventing him from risking his life in a cause
which she feared, with prophetic feeling, would bring desolation on her
country. Every effort which love and female cajolery could suggest was
used by this dutiful wife to keep her husband at home. She hung round
his neck,--held up to his face a fine child five months old, whose mute
eloquence softened the heart, but could not alter the purpose of the
father,--wept, prayed, implored. She asked him the startling
question--Who, when he was dead--and die he might--would shield her from
injury and misfortune, and cherish, with the tenderness and love which
its beauty and innocence deserved, the interesting pledge of their
affection? She painted in glowing colours--which the imagination,
excited by love, can so well supply--the situation of her as a widow and
her child as an orphan. Their natural protector gone, what would be left
to her but grief, what would remain for her child but destitution? His
spirit would hear her wails; but beggary would array her in its rags,
and hunger would steal from her cheek the vestiges of health and the
lineaments of beauty.
These appeals were borne by Hume by the panoply of resolution. He loved
Margaret as dearly, as truly as man could love woman, as a husband could
love the partner of his life and fortunes. He answered with tears and
embraces; but he remained true to the cause of his king and his country.
"Would you hae me, Margaret," he said, "to disgrace mysel' in the face
o' my townsmen? Doesna our guid king intend to leave his fair Margaret,
and risk the royal bluid o' the Bruce for the interests o' auld
Scotland? and doesna our honoured provost mean to desert, for a day o'
glory, his braw wife, that he may deck her wimple wi' the roses o'
England, and her name wi' a Scotch title? Wharfore, then, should I, a
puir tradesman, fear to put in jeopardy for the country that bore me the
life that is hers as weel as yours, and sacrifice, sae far as the guid
that my arm can produce, the glory o' my king and the character o' my
country?"
Margaret heard this speech with the most intense grief. She was
incapable of argument. She was inconsolable. Her husband remained
inexorable, and entreaty gave way to anger. She had adopted the idea
that Hume was buoyed up with the pride of leadership; and she told him,
with some acrimony, that his ambition of being thought the bravest man
of Selkirk would not, in the event of his death, supply the child he was
bound to work for with a bite of bread. Her love and anger carried her
beyond bounds. She used other language of a harsher character, which
forced her good-natured husband to retaliate in terms unusual to him,
unsuited to the serious subject which they had in hand, and far less to
the dangerous separation which they were about to experience. The
conversation got more acrimonious. Words of a high cast produced
expressions stronger still, and Hume left his wife in anger, to go to
the field from which he might never return.
Regret follows close upon the heels of incensed love. Alexander Hume had
not been many paces from his own house, when his wife saw, in its proper
light, the true character of her situation. Her husband had gone on a
perilous enterprise. He might perish. She had perhaps got her last look
of him who was dearest to her bosom. That look was in anger. The idea
was terrible. Those who know the strength and delicacy of the feelings
of true affection may conceive the situation of Margaret Hume. Unable to
control herself, she threw her child into its crib, and rushed out of
the house. One parting glance of reconciliation was all she wanted. She
hurried through the town with an excited and terrified aspect, searching
everywhere for her husband. He had departed with his companions; and
Margaret was left in the agony of one whose sorrow is destined to be
increased by the workings of an excited fancy, and the remorseful
feelings of self-impeachment.
In the meantime, Hume having joined his companions, proceeded to the
main army of the king, which was encamped on the hill of Flodden, lying
on the left of the river Till. The party with which he was associated
put themselves under the command of Lord Home; who, with the Earls of
Crawford and Montrose, led the left of the van of the Scottish army.
This part of the king's troops, it is well known, was opposed to Sir
Edmund Howard. They were early engaged, and fought so successfully that
Howard soon stood in need of succour from Lord Dacre, to save him from
being speared on the field.
In this struggle Alexander Hume displayed the greatest prowess. He was
seen in every direction dealing out death wherever he went. He was not,
however, alone. His companions kept well up to him; and, in particular,
one individual, who had joined the party as they approached the field,
fought with a bravery equal to that of Hume himself. That person kept
continually by his side, and seemed to consider the brave Borderer as
his chosen companion-in-arms, whom he was bound to defend through all
the perils of the fight. A leather haubergeon and an iron helmet, in
which there was placed a small white feather, plucked from a cock's
wing, constituted the armour of this brave seconder of Hume's gallantry.
When Hume was attacked by the English with more force than his
individual arm could sustain, no one of his companions was more ready to
bring him aid than this individual. On several occasions he may be said
to have saved his life, for Hume's recklessness drew him often into the
very midst of the fight, where he must have perished had it not been for
the timely assistance of his friend. On one occasion, in particular, an
Englishman came behind him, and was in the very act of inserting a spear
between the clasps of his armour, when his companion struck the
dastardly fellow to the earth, and resumed the fight in front of the
battle.
This noble conduct was not unappreciated by Hume; for where is bravery
found segregated from gratitude and generosity? He called upon him, even
in the midst of the battle, for his name, that he might, in the event of
their being separated, recollect and commemorate his friendship. The
request was not complied with, but the superintending and saving arm of
the stranger continued to be exercised in favour of the Borderer. They
fought together to the end of the battle. The result of the bloody
contest is but too well known. The strains of poetry have carried the
wail of bereavement to the ends of the earth, and sorrow has claimed the
sounds as its own individual expression.
The Scottish troops took their flight in different directions. Hume and
his companions were obliged to lie in secret for a considerable time in
the surrounding forests. He made many inquiries among his friends for
the individual who had fought with him so bravely and saved his life. He
could find no trace of him, beyond the information that he had
disappeared when Hume had given up the fight. The direction in which he
went was unknown; nor could any one tell the place from which he came.
The people of Selkirk who had been in the fight, sought their town as
soon as they could with safety get out of the reach of the English.
Their numbers formed a sorry contrast to those who had, with light
hearts and high hopes, sought the field of battle; and it has been
reported that when the wretched wounded and bloodstained remnant entered
the town, a cry of sorrow was raised by the inhabitants collected to
meet them, the remembrance of which remained on the hearts of their
children long after those who uttered it had been consigned with their
griefs to the grave.
Hume, who had also grievously repented of the harsh words he had applied
to his beloved wife on the occasion of their separation, was all
impatience to clasp her to his bosom, and seal their reconciliation with
a kiss of repentance and love. Leaving his companions as they entered
the town, he flew to the house. He approached the door. He reached it
with a trembling heart. He had prepared the kind words of salutation. He
had wounds to show, and to get dressed by the tender hand of sympathy.
Lifting the latch, he entered. No one came to meet him. No sound, either
of wife or child, met his ear. On looking round he saw, sitting in an
arm-chair, the person who had accompanied him in battle, wearing the
same haubergeon, the same helmet, the individual white feather that had
attracted his attention. That person was Margaret Hume. She was dead.
Her head reclined on the back of the chair, her arms hung by her side,
the edge of her haubergeon was uplifted, and at her white bosom, from
which flowed streams of blood, her child sucked the milk of a dead
mother. _Omissis nugis rem experiamur_.