On Eildon there were three;
The bugle-horn on muir and fell
Was heard continually."--JAMES HOGG.
[Footnote 12: Darnick Tower is still in possession of the old family,
and is at present the property of our respected townsman, John Heiton,
Esq., the lineal descendant of the hero of the legend.--ED.]
There is no country in the world that has so many legends, and legends
of so remarkable a character, as Scotland. The fact is attributable to
the peculiar mental form of the Saxon; always with a disposition to look
back, to cull glorious memories of the past, and from these, again, to
distil the spirit of a noble emulation for the present and the future.
We are not now speaking of a _dilettante_ antiquarianism, which becomes
_blase_ over a household utensil, or learned on a relic from the cradle
of art; but of that moral antiquarianism which courts examples of a
grand courage, exercised for the sake of liberty or Christianity, or
searches for traits of the domestic or social virtues, upon which the
true greatness of a nation is founded. In this sense, every Scotsman is
an antiquary--embracing his subject with enthusiasm, and inspiring his
contemporaries with the patriotism he himself feels. He cannot see an
old ruin, be it of a castle or a peel tower, but he must know what its
possessors did in the days of the red Flodden or the desperate
Drumclog--a good old grandam, but he must hear of a legend of foray, or
tournay, or love:
"A story old
Of baron bold,
Or trolled lay
Of lady gaye;"
and laugh or weep over the details, as they come from lips trembling as
if with inspiration.
Nor does time ever end legend, or the love of it, in the true legendary
lands. Time's embalming yields the incense, which, like the sweetness of
the vestal lamp, is fragrant for ever. Every recital, and every
listening, is a triumph of the genius of tradition; but, as if the past
were a thing of endless development, we are continually meeting with new
instances, to add to the treasury of the old, and increase the stock for
those who are to come after us, and live our feelings, and our
throbbings, and our sighs, over again, even as did those of the
dearly-beloved ones who have gone before, and now know the traditions of
eternity. Though every nook and corner has been searched, there is
something always left for such gleaners as we; and even now we are
discoverers at the very side and within the verge of the wand of a
magician. Notwithstanding that the old tower or peel of Darnick is
described in the "Monastery," it was practically known to Sir Walter
Scott principally as an ancient pile, which he wanted to possess, to
impart some dignity of antiquity to the domains of Abbotsford. If he
knew that it had been for ages the residence of the good old family of
the Heitons, with the sturdy bull for their crest, the sooner their
representative was engulfed in the Abbotsford swirl the better; for the
new edifice was not only to be composed of old armorial stones, but to
represent an _old_ family just brought into being by the modern
Libitina, Genius.[13]
[Footnote 13: Darnick Tower, so exquisite a bit of Border antiquities,
was the chief object of Sir Walter Scott's passion for acquisition, and
so well known was this foible of his, that he soon obtained the name of
the Duke of Darnick. Mr Heiton, though inclined to dispose of a portion
of the lands, was unwilling to part with the old tower, which had been
for hundreds of years in his family. We do not believe that Sir Walter
himself ever viewed with any feelings of disrespect a resolution so much
akin to his own family predilection; but his son-in-law, Mr Lockhart, in
his Life of Sir Walter, indulged in a sneer, that the proprietor of the
tower, _having made money_ in Edinburgh, was unwilling to part with it.
He forgot probably the counterpart, that Sir Walter, having also made
money in Edinburgh, was very anxious to get it. The passage is as
foolish as it is unjust, because it assumes that, while Sir Walter had a
right to be proud of _founding_ a family, Mr Heiton was not entitled to
hold the mark of _representing_ one.--ED.]
Now it was left for us to know something more of the old peel tower in
addition to what history tells. The traveller by the Tweed cannot fail
to observe the old peel, as it raises its grey head over the houses of
the village of Darnick, a little to the west of Melrose. The real
antiquary will turn from Abbotsford to examine it, and to admire its
wonderful preservation, after so many years' exposure to the
devastations of time and war. It is many a long day since a gallant
member of the house fell, as "one of the Flowers of the Forest," in the
battle of Flodden; or since another fought against the bold Buccleugh in
the fight with Angus, in the very precincts of the tower; or since
another Heiton, or De Heyton, as he was called, got the charter to the
lands from Queen Mary and Darnley; yet, dating from the last of these
periods, and we know for certain the strength then existed, we are left
to admire the old representative of defence against foray, as a kind of
contrast to the modern effort of the Great Unknown, so like an old-new
worm-eaten charter written in vellum, worm-eaten while on the sheep's
back--at least not so ancient as the skin of the goat which suckled
Jove!
But to proceed with our legend of Darnick:
It happened some time about the year 1526 that Andrew Heiton was sitting
in his tower of Darnick, thinking of the strange things doing in
Scotland at that time, which was the Augustan Era of the Borderers.
Scott of Buccleugh had risen from the condition of a riever, and would
have been a right poor clan, as the ballad says, if every honest man on
the Borders had had his own cow. The Homes and the Kers had also risen
into great power, and the Elliots, through the greatness of the Scotts,
stood second in the ranks of these sturdy champions of might against
right. All was tumult south of the Tweed, but it was not of the old
foraying kind simply, when cattle made hatred, and hatred made war, when
a Cockburn was against a Tushielaw, an Elibank against a Harden, an
Elliot against a Ker, only because, some twenty years before that, a
heifer or a sheep had chanced to change its ownership. When the king was
strong, the Borderers sometimes made a virtue of necessity, and leagued
together to save their necks; but, strange enough, this brotherhood
never stopped their depredations upon one another's property. These were
a necessity, a kind of birthright, and being inevitable, and born with
them, and ingrained to the very marrow, they were looked upon in a jolly
kind of way, even by the losers, because they knew they would have
better luck next time. The only difference was, that, when the king was
weak, or the crown in minority, their depredations got a wider scope.
The quiet proprietors then came in for their contribution, and in reward
for this, the greater rievers were grateful enough to do a good act for
their sovereign in their own way, but only if he kept out of their
province, and did not interfere with their feuds. In truth, the
Borderers never hated their king, when he did not shorten their swords,
or lengthen their necks. Amidst all their fighting and stealing, there
was lurking in their hearts that spirit of chivalry which, surviving in
their descendants, evolved, in the changes of time, into justice and
order, adorned by sagacity and good manners. So it was that, when King
James V. was a minor in the clutches of Angus, and Lennox could do
nothing to get him at liberty, a number of the greater chieftains were
on the side of the young prince, and among these the Scotts of Buccleugh
and the Elliots of Stobs; but others, such as the Homes, and Kers, and
Cockburns, were creatures of the Douglas; all the Borderland was divided
into king's parties and Douglas' parties, and these again were
partitioned into lesser rivalships, resulting from their personal feuds;
so that it often happened that the lesser proprietors knew not what side
to take, seeing their loyalty interfered with their revenge, or their
revenge with their loyalty. In this way, as was said by a writer of the
times, "a cow was greater than a king."
Now the Laird of Darnick was, as we have said, thinking of these things
in his tower of Darnick. "My father fell at the red Flodden," he said,
meditatively, "and our house has ever been a loyal one. If we joined in
a foray among the green fields of Wells or Harden, or took one upon our
own account, it was only what we had a right to do, by the laws of the
Borders, older, I ween, than those of Edinburgh or Scone. For what other
purpose has the bull upon our crest his horns, if not to show that we
had a courage to maintain, and which, thank God, has never been
disgraced by an inhabitant of this old peel. By my crest! I love this
young James Stewart as well as I love a Scott, or hate a Douglas, and I
will away to meet him on his journey from Jedburgh to Melrose."
And, calling together his retainers and all those who looked upon the
old tower as a rallying point, and these having got their shaggy
garrons, and as good equipments of shining rippons as they could muster,
they set out upon their journey, viewing, as they went along, the rich
pasturing places, to count how many sirloins they could turn out, when a
good riever was hungry, and was not forgetful of himself while he was
mindful of his king and his old country. They arrived in happy time to
join the cavalcade, and the eyes of the Laird of Darnick were blessed
with the sight of the young prince, though he was the son of the
imprudent king who led the last Laird of Darnick to his death at
Flodden.
"But where is Wat Scott?" he asked at many among the royal party; "where
is he who should be here with his strong arm and his sword, to show his
master the kind of man he has in those parts to help him in his need
against the Douglas, who holds him in a leash, and leads him about his
own kingdom as if he were a dog, to show his breed and his fine collar."
But no one could answer. Some said that the sturdy but changeable Wat
of Buccleugh, the most extraordinary man, next to the doughty Harden,
that ever led a foray by moonlight, had joined Angus, and turned against
the prince, and was to be King of the Borders, or keep the prince in his
own stronghold of Buccleugh, and rule Scotland himself. And some said
that he was afraid of the Douglas, and kept away; and others, that he
had gone west among the Johnstones and Blackets to get "kitchen,"[14]
because, while the king was about the forest, the kine had got saucy,
and would not follow a Scott.
[Footnote 14: The Borderers sometimes used the word for flesh-meat; so
our use of it is no novelty.--ED.]
All this confused the Laird of Darnick mightily, and he even regetted
coming among the royalists, because his display might raise Wat against
him some day, and he might have kept his loyalty without endangering his
clanship. But he could not help himself, now that he was there, and he
resolved to wait and see whether Wat would turn out to be loyal after
all.
When in this dilemma, and standing amidst the cavalcade, which had
stopped to recruit about midway, in a field still called the Prince's
Rest, he was surprised by a whisper in his ear:
"The mistress of Darnick says ye are to stand by Jamie Stewart."
"And by my faith I will," he said, as he turned to see who had come with
this news from Darnick. "Did Jessie tell you this herself, Will?"
"Ay," rejoined Will; "and what's more, she says that Wat Scott is
against James Stewart, and that, if the riever Buceleugh were ten times
greater than he is, all the men of his clan wouldna mak her consent to
desert her king."
"Just like the woman!" said Andrew. "Not the first time she has
unearthed the fox, and made him rue the day he has passed the peel. Get
thee back, and tell her I will obey her--not because it is a command of
a wife, but the request of one who might be a queen. While horse and man
may stand, or spear and blade hold together, neither bolt nor bar shall
keep me from the king--neither monk nor mass shall break my purpose."
"And what's more?"
"What more, man? is not that enough?" said Heiton.
"No; there's to be a fight at Darnick; for Wat is to try to tak the king
at Hallidon Hill, and you are to come hame to the tower, and be ready to
offer it as a place of refuge for him, and, if necessary, to defend it;
and if ye winna, she'll defend it hersel."
"Then take this other answer with you: say I will return as soon as I
can with credit get away, without creating the suspicion of going over
to Scott; and in the meantime get everything put into fighting order in
the tower. All this I know she can do as well as I."
The messenger departed with the answer; but he had scarcely got out of
sight, when Heiton encountered another man, whom he knew to be one of
Scott's retainers.
"Why are you here, man," he said, "and your master collecting his clan
yonder for treason against his lawful sovereign?"
"Because I am come to seek thee, as well as some others," replied he.
"My master, Walter Scott, sends this to thee, wi' his gude greetings,
that to-morrow night, by God's grace, he is to make a surprise on the
Douglas, and seize him, and confine him in his castle, till the prince
can get a better governor, or be able to reign himsel; and thou'rt to
meet him, with all the strength thou canst muster, at Hallidon."
"The foul fiend is in thee, man," said Heiton; "for thou dost not speak
the truth. It is the king your master wants, and then he will rule
Scotland and all of us as he listeth. Go, tell him I'll stand by the
prince, though I hate Angus; but if he'll let this alone, I will still
pay him his blackmail."
With this answer, which astonished the messenger, he went away, and the
cavalcade moved on. There was something like a difficulty into which
Heiton had got, and he began to cast up the odds. His wife, he knew, was
seldom wrong in her calculations; Scott was an old wolf, who never
hesitated to make honesty subserve his policy, and with him policy was
only another name for self-seeking.
Even as he so thought he might get out of his perplexity, a knight with
splendid armour rode past him, and whispered to him, as if afraid of
being overheard, "Heiton, if you're for the prince, join Scott."
"The foul fiend is in thee, too," muttered Heiton to himself. "Thou dost
prevaricate, sir knight. Thinkst thus to trick me with thy jugglery--ha!
ha!"
Now Heiton was no more than other gallant Border men long in coming to a
point, whether it was among black cattle or obscure fancies. His life
had been spent in asserting rights which were constantly liable to
invasion; and the prompt, fiery, and resolute disposition of the man had
been kept for ever on the alert by the circumstances of his situation.
Brave to intrepidity, almost to insensibility--strong and active in
person--master of his weapons, and always ready to use them in the
extremity of danger--his aid was courted in many a desperate enterprise
by the rival clans on the Borders. So, putting spurs to his garron, he
was galloping determinedly over the muir, when others might have been
groping about for a solution in the intricate chambers of the brain. His
face was turned to Darnick, and his spurs against his horse's side. Nor
was the occasion unworthy of his energy. There was mischief brewing
about the very precincts of his peel, and the torrent would be poured on
the very heart of his kindred. He might lose his head, or win a charter,
as the issue might show; and it was impossible that, in a contest where
royalty was engaged, or a Douglas endangered, he could, with his
stronghold in the midst of it, be permitted to be neutral.
"And by the horns of my crest, I don't wish," he said, as he spurred on;
"and if I did wish, the mistress of Darnick would teach me a better
lesson than to shame myself beside the husbands of Yarrow roses or
Ettrick lilies."
But a man is never so ready to be caught, as when his head is above the
bush; and Heiton's somewhat grand soliloquy was no sooner finished, than
he was stopped by a body of Borderers well equipped. "Bellenden!"
sounded in his ears. "Buccleugh himself!" he muttered, and in an instant
he stood before Wat Scott.
Now comes the storm, thought Heiton to himself, and began to collect his
thoughts, as the cautious master of a vessel furls his sails, and makes
his ship snug, when he discerns the approaching squall.
"Whither drive you, man, as if the mistress of Darnick waited for ye to
take your dinner off the best heifer in our enemy Home's parks?" said
Scott.
"Having only a small peel," rejoined Heiton, "it is necessary I should
look after it when a thousand Scotts are marching north by west. It is
not for crows' nests that Buccleugh marches with a thousand men, and
without a blast of his horn. May I take the liberty to ask why thou'rt
not with the followers of the prince?"
"Because I wish to do better for my king than follow him," said Scott.
"Make him follow _thee_," said Heiton. "Ay, so it is said; but, Walter
Scott, though I have no objection to be in train, I would not like to
see my king there."
"Nor wilt thou, man," said Scott. "Hush! what would Wat Scott do with a
king? Ha! ha! kings are ill to fodder, and when thou'st fattened them,
they don't make the pot boil or keep the spurs out of the pewter dish.
There are kings enow besouth the Tweed when Buccleugh is there. Let
Jamie keep north and Wat south, and there will be no strife in Scotland
but that of the good old custom of keeping thine own. Come, I want thee
and thy friends."
"I must know the foray first," replied Heiton.
"And so thou wilt. Come near," said Scott. "Listen. I know that the
prince wishes to get out of the hands of Angus, and I wish to undo the
grasp--understand ye."
"But an thou fail our heads may lick sawdust," replied Heiton.
"Good-by."
"When wilt thou return?" cried Scott after him.
"I will tell thee when I know what's o'clock at Darnick," was the reply.
And Heiton spurred on more hastily than ever, and never lifted rein or
rested heel till he was at his own tower.
"What's brought ye here, man, when the king needs thee?" said his wife,
when he entered. "Thou look'st as if the king's headsman were after
thee, and not thou after his enemies. Saw ye my messenger?"
"I did, Jessie," replied he; "but there's one wheel within another
wheel, and one within that."
"And thou'st lost thy wits among wheels, and may even lose thy head
under an axe."
"And 'tis because I fear that I am here," he said, "to tell thee thou'rt
wrong, lass. Scott wants only to free the king from the hands of the
Douglas. What am I to do? I am placed between the horns of a dilemma. If
I go with the king, I go against him, and may see the Heading Hill at
Stirling; if I go with Scott, I go against Douglas, and may lose my head
even before I get there."
"A woman's wits are like her palfrey," said the wife--"go quickest when
hardest pressed. Get thee back for the men, and come here to Darnick as
fast as spurs can drive thee. There's no fear of your being suspected
of a want of loyalty, for Douglas does not know that Scott is at the
back of Hallidon; but hark ye, keep out of Scott's path, for he has a
trick of keeping live stock when they come in his way."
"And what am I to do when I come back?" said he; "for if there's a fight
at Darnick, will the Laird of Darnick not be expected to be in the
thickest of it?"
"Certainly; and so ye will, man. Mount and go--begone! The cloud must
soon rise, or it must sink for ever!"
And Heiton, without putting more questions, returned to the Royal party,
which was now approaching danger. He got the men who had gone with him,
and returning by a round to avoid Scott, again reached his own peel.
There was not much time to be lost, for there were signs abroad of the
coming cavalcade. People were running hither and thither, under the
excitement so natural as a consequence of a Royal procession in a part
of the country accustomed only to lawless raids. There was a mystery too
among the more knowing, for Scott's manoeuvre could not be altogether
hidden. He was in the neighbourhood at no great distance from the Royal
procession, and yet he did not show any intention to be of it; but his
secret must have been wonderfully kept, for the generality had no
suspicion that within less than an hour a bloody contest would eclipse
by the confusion of its strife the _eclat_ of a Royal presence. Now the
mistress of Darnick evolved her plans. She sent the men away on various
errands, which somehow seemed to be all very necessary, though the
necessity never appeared till the moment it was made known.
"And now Andrew Heiton," she said, "thou'rt not to be found anywhere.
Away in the donjon there, to remain till I tell thee thou'rt wanted
either by James Stewart or Wat Scott."
This command Heiton would not obey, till he understood better her
intentions, and these were conveyed by a whisper which seemed to satisfy
him. He did as he was directed, and the portal of the peel tower was
closed and bolted.
The mistress then betook herself to the top, and planted herself where
she could see far around without being observed.
Nor was all this done more quickly than was required. By and by the
signs of the coming procession thickened. The indescribable stir of the
air on the approach of crowds of human beings might easily be detected.
Then the sounds of horses' feet, succeeded by the reverberations of
trumpets, which the heralds and pursuivants began to blow as the town of
Melrose came in view. The heraldic ensigns glittered in the rays of an
unclouded sun; the gay armour of barons and knights cast their
reflections everywhere, carrying the glory of war under the aspects of
peace and loyalty. The young prince was seated on horseback, with Angus
on the one side, and George Douglas on the other; their horses equipped
after the gaudy fashion of the times, which were not yet beyond the era
of chivalry, neighing to the sound of the horns, and curveting as if
under the very feelings which inspired the riders. The scene was such as
might seem the farthest removed from the inspirations of strife. Royalty
sat enshrined in peace, to receive the _eclat_ of admiration, and be
blessed with the breathings of gratitude.
But, quick as a blast of a horn among the hills or the advent of a
thunder-clap, the terrific cry of "Bellenden!" was heard, succeeded by
the Border hurrah, and the next instant a thousand wild men, with
glittering swords in their hands, the terrible battle-axe or the
piercing spear, rushed more like a cataract than a torrent on the
all-unprepared and utterly-unsuspicious party. In the midst of them was
Wat Scott, with his stern face and fierce eye. For an enemy to see it
was to tremble, for a warrior to be fired. Taken at once, the Royal
party swerved like a surging sea. The prince was cared for, and the
Douglas, maddened by the fear of losing their royal prize, and burning
with the revenge of an old hatred, flew from place to place, crying,
"For the king! for the king!" It was answered by the roar of the now
raised Scotts, returned again by the Royalists, and echoed with an
energy redoubled by the rising fury of opposition. The pressure of the
Borderers increased as their hopes rose, and their repeated hurrahs told
of their success amidst the clanging of swords, the heavy fall of the
axe, the sharp risp of the lance. Scott was still paramount, and
everywhere, pointing, hacking, calling to secure the prince.
"The noise of battle hurtled in the air,
Horses did neigh, and dying men did groan."
At first and for some time the contest had more the appearance of an
attack, ill resisted; but it soon ceased to present that aspect, and now
it was as if every man closed with every man. The sounds of triumph or
hope died away into hard breathings.
"With foot to foot, and eye opposed,
In dubious strife they darkly closed."