Border Raids and Reivers Part 12

The more famous reivers whose names have been handed down in the traditions, poetry, and history of the Scottish Border, are seldom regarded with any very p.r.o.nounced feelings of aversion. The Armstrongs, Elliots, Graemes, Stories, Burneses, and Bells; the Scotts, Kers, Maxwells, and Johnstones--whose depredations have been recorded with much fulness of detail in the annals of the country, were no doubt quite as bad as they have been described. They cannot be acquitted of grave moral delinquencies, judged even by the standard of the age in which they lived.

But at this distance of time many are disposed to regard their depredations and lawless life, if not with a kindly, at least with an indulgent eye. It must be frankly admitted that there was an element of genuine heroism in their lives, which goes far to redeem them from the contempt with which, under other conditions, we would have been compelled to regard them. What they did was, as a general rule, done openly, and evidently with a certain sub-conscious feeling that their actions, if rightly understood, were not altogether blame-worthy. Their reiving was carried on under conditions which developed some of the best as well as worst elements of their nature and manhood. The Border reiver, whatever he was, can certainly not be described as cowardly. He carried his life in his hands. He never knew when he went on a foraging expedition, whether he might return. The enemy with which he had to contend was vigilant and powerful. Before he could drive away the cattle, he had, first of all, to settle accounts with the owner. He might be worsted in the encounter, and instead of securing his booty, he might find himself a captive, with the certainty of being strung up on the nearest tree, or drowned in some convenient pool. Such incidents were of almost every day occurrence.

Reiving was therefore one of the most exciting and hazardous of occupations, demanding on the part of those engaged in it, a strong arm and a dauntless spirit. The burglar who sneaks up to a house while the inmates are asleep, and plies his nefarious calling in silence and under shade of night, and is ready to start off, leaving everything behind him, the moment the alarm is raised, is a contemptible miscreant, for whom the gallows is almost too mild a form of punishment. But the Border reiver was made of different metal; was, indeed, a man of an essentially higher type.

He was prepared to fight for every hoof or horn he wished to secure. It was a trial of skill, of strength, of resource, with the enemy. No doubt he had occasionally to ride during the night, aided only by the mild rays of the moon. The way was often long, the paths intricate, and the dangers manifold; but he was also prepared, under the full blaze of the noonday sun, to challenge those he had come to despoil, to protect and retain their property if they could. It was open and undisguised warfare on a miniature scale. This, of course, was not true of _all_ the reivers on the Borders. Some of them were hardly worthy of their profession. There are black sheep in every trade--men who represent the baser qualities of their kind, and who bring discredit on their a.s.sociates.

In looking back over the long list of famous reivers there are many names which, somehow or other, we are disposed to regard with a more or less kindly feeling. This may be difficult to explain, but the fact is undeniable. Perhaps the feeling is due, to a certain extent at least, to the fact that, despite the mode of life adopted by these men, they represented many really admirable qualities, both of intellect and heart.

Johnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, for example, was one of the most notorious of the clan to which he belonged, and yet he was evidently regarded as a great hero, who had been most shamefully treated by the King. It is also interesting to find that he had a high opinion of himself. He prided himself on his _honesty_. However much injury he had inflicted on the unfortunate Englishmen, who had to bear the brunt of his onslaughts, it gives him infinite pleasure and satisfaction to affirm that "he had never skaithed a Scots wife a puir flee." It is possible, too, that his tragic end may have something to do with the kindly feeling with which his memory is cherished, though this in itself is not sufficient to account for the place he occupies in the Valhalla of Border heroes.

In the same way a halo of romance has gathered round the name of the "Bold Buccleuch," whose spirit of chivalry has gone far to redeem his memory from opprobrium. The penetrating eye of the English Queen was quick to discern in him qualities of a high order which only required the proper sphere for their development. He may well be regarded as a truly great man who was compelled by the circ.u.mstances in which he found himself placed, to devote his time and talents to tasks which were quite unworthy of his genius. Hence, when the opportunity occurred, he speedily proved himself not only a great leader of men, but a most potent factor in the social and moral regeneration of the district with which he was so intimately a.s.sociated.

But of all the Border reivers whose names have been handed down in song and story, none is regarded with more kindly, we might almost say affectionate interest, than that of "Auld Wat of Harden." For many years he played an important part in Border affairs, and was always to the front in hara.s.sing and despoiling the English. We have already noticed the a.s.sistance he gave his near kinsman, the "Bold Buccleuch," in the a.s.sault on Carlisle castle, when Kinmont Willie was so gallantly rescued from imprisonment. But, four years prior to this event, in the year 1592, he took part, under the leadership of Bothwell, in the famous "Raid of Falkland," when the King was surprised in his Palace, and would have had short shrift from the Borderers, had not timely warning been given him of his danger. This escapade entailed on the laird of Harden somewhat serious consequences. An order was issued by the King, with the consent of the Lords of his Council, to demolish the _places, houses, and fortalices_ of Harden and Dryhoip, pertaining to the said Walter Scott. The order runs thus--"Apud Peiblis, xiij die mensis Julij, anno lx.x.xxij (1592)--The Kingis Majestie, with aduise of the Lordis of his Secreit Counsale, Gevis and grantis full pouer and Commission, expres bidding and charge, be thir presentis, to his weil-belouitt Williame Stewart of Tracquair, to DIMOLEIS and cause to be dimoleist and ca.s.sin doun to the ground, _the place and houssis of_ TYNNEIS, quhilkis pertenit to James Stewart sumtyme of Tynneis; as alswa, the lyke pouer and commissioun, expres bidding and charge, to Walter Scott of Gouldielandis and Mr Iedeon Murray, conjunctlie and seuerallie, to dimoleis and caus be dimoleist and ca.s.sin doun to the ground, _the placeis, houssis, and fortalices of_ HARDEN _and_ DRYHOIP, pertening to Walter Scott of Harden, quha, with the said James Steuart, wes arte and parte of the lait tresonabill fact, perpetrat aganis his hienes awin persone at Falkland: And that the foirsaidis personis caus the premisses be putt in execution with all convenient expeditioun in signne and taikin of the foirsaidis uthiris personis tressounable and unnaturall defection and attemptat, committ.i.t be thame in manner foirsaid. As thay will ansuer to his hienes upon thair obedience."[102]

This was a severe blow to the laird of Harden, but he doubtless bore it with that fine philosophical indifference for which he was distinguished.

The motto of the Harden family, "We'll hae moonlight again," breathes the spirit of optimism, and indicates that the reverses of fortune were never regarded as irreparable. Hope sprang eternal in the Harden breast!

But Auld Wat was never disposed to linger unduly, even when courting the smile of the capricious G.o.ddess. He believed in himself, and relied mainly for his good fortune on his own energy and skill. He was a man of the world--keen, subtle, far-seeing, energetic--never allowing the gra.s.s to grow under his feet. He believed in taking time by the forelock--in making hay while the sun shone. Rarely did he ever miss a favourable opportunity of increasing "his goods and gear." And his reiving was carried on in no paltry or insignificant fashion. He was a man of large ideas, and he carried them out on a splendid scale. For example, we find that in 1596 he ran a day foray into Gilsland, and carried off "300 oxen and kye, a horse and a nag." This was a large addition to make to his stock, and one cannot help thinking that the "dell" in front of Harden castle, where he kept his captured nowte, must have often been unduly crowded. But then it ought be remembered that the demands on his hospitality were numerous and not always easily met. He had a numerous body of retainers, as was befitting a man of his position, who had to be kept in "horse meat and man's meat,"

and having so many to provide for, his large herds often disappeared with great rapidity. The result was that he was constantly under the necessity of crossing the Border in order to replenish his stock. It is related that on one occasion he overheard the town herd calling out to some one, as he was pa.s.sing, to "send out Wat o' Harden's coo." "Wat o' Harden's coo!" the old reiver indignantly exclaimed, "My sang, I'll soon mak ye speak of Wat o' Harden's kye," and so he at once gathered his forces, marched into Northumberland, and before long he was seen on his way back driving before him a big herd of cows and a ba.s.son'd bull. On his way he pa.s.sed a large sow-backed haystack. Turning round in his saddle and looking at it wistfully, he said, in a regretful tone of voice, "If ye had four feet, ye wadna stand long there!"

It is perhaps to this successful foray that Lord Eure refers in a letter addressed to Cecil under date July 15, 1596, in which he says:--"Watt Ellatt, _alias_ Watt of Harden, with other East Tividale lairds had 300 or 400 able hors.e.m.e.n, laying an ambush of 300 or 400 foote, brake a day forray a myle beneathe Bellinghame, spoiled the townes men in Bellinghame, brake the crosse, toke all the cattell upp the water to the number thre or fower hundred beastes at the leaste, hath slaine three men of name and wounded one allmoste to deathe, fired noe houses. The fray rose and being brought to me at Hexhame about ix or x houers in the morning, I rose myself with my household servuantes, caused the beacons to be fired and sent the fray eche way rounde aboute me, and yet could not make the force of the countrie iiij{xx} hors.e.m.e.n and some six score footmen. I followed with the hors.e.m.e.n within twoe or three myles of Scotland, and except Mr Fenwick of Wellington, together with the Keaper of Tindale, Mr Henry Bowes, ther was not one gentleman of the Marche to accompanie me, or mett me at all; and when all our forces were togeither, we could not make twoe hundredth horsse, nor above twoe hundredth footmen.... With shame and greife I speake it' the Scottes went away unfought withall."[103]

It will thus be seen that within a few months this famous freebooter had transferred from English soil some six or seven hundred head of cattle. No doubt like his neighbours, who were engaged in the same precarious line of business, he had many unsuccessful raids to recount, but he was certainly one of the most wary and successful of the reivers on the Scottish side of the Border.

Sir Walter Scott, who was a descendant of Wat of Harden, has an interesting note in his "Border Minstrelsy" regarding the family. "Of this Border laird," he says, "commonly called _Auld Wat of Harden_, tradition has preserved many anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, celebrated in song by the t.i.tle of 'The Flower of Yarrow.' By their marriage contract, the father-in-law, Philip Scott of Dryhope, was to find Harden in horse meat and man's meat at his Tower of Dryhope for a year and a day; but five barons pledge themselves, that, at the expiry of that period, the son-in-law should remove without attempting to continue in possession by force! A notary-public signed for all the parties to the deed, none of whom could write their names. The original is still in the charter-room of the present Mr Scott of Harden. By 'The Flower of Yarrow' the Laird of Harden had six sons; five of whom survived him, and founded the families of Harden (now extinct), Highchesters (now representing Harden), Reaburn, Wool, and Synton. The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting match, by the Scotts of Gilmanscleuch. His brothers flew to arms; but the old laird secured them in the dungeon of his tower, hurried to Edinburgh, stated the crime, and obtained a gift of the land of the offenders from the Crown. He returned to Harden with equal speed, released his sons, and showed them the charter. 'To horse, lads!' cried the savage warrior, 'and let us take possession! The lands of Gilmanscleuch are well worth a dead son.'"

Hogg's description of "Auld Wat" as he set out for Edinburgh on this occasion is humourously realistic:

And he's awa' to Holyrood, Amang our n.o.bles a', With bonnet lyke a girdle braid, And hayre lyke Craighope snaw.

His coat was of the forest green, Wi' b.u.t.tons lyke the moon; His breeks were o' the guid buckskyne, Wi' a' the hayre aboon.

His twa hand sword hang round his back, An' rattled at his heel; The rowels of his silver spurs Were of the Rippon steel;

His hose were braced wi' chains o' airn, An' round wi' ta.s.sels hung: At ilka tramp o' Harden's heel, The royal arches rung.

Ane grant of all our lands sae fayre The King to him has gien; An' a' the Scotts o' Gilmanscleuch Were outlawed ilka ane.

But Harden's best fortune came to him with his wife--the far-famed "Flower of Yarrow."

This beautous flower, this rose of Yarrow, In nature's garden has no marrow.

So sang Allan Ramsay. And since his day the charms of "Yarrow's Rose" have inspired many a more or less tuneful ode. But Mary Scott's beauty was, after all, not her greatest gift. She was wise beyond most of her s.e.x, and skilful to a degree in the management of her husband. We find, for example, that instead of remonstrating with him on his culpable negligence in allowing the larder to become depleted, she quietly set before him when he came to dinner a pair of clean spurs! The hint thus indirectly conveyed was quite sufficient. Immediately her worthy spouse was in the saddle and riding as fast as his nag could carry him towards the English fells. It is interesting to know that the spurs that were thus suggestively served up for dinner are still in the possession of the family, being carefully preserved among Lord Polwarth's treasures at Mertoun House.

But while Wat of Harden could look after his own interests, he was never unmindful of the interests of others. When the Captain of Bewcastle came over to Ettrick "to drive a prey," and carried off Jamie Telfer's kye, he rendered splendid service in rescuing the herd from the hand of the spoiler. Though Telfer, with "the tear rowing in his ee," pled with the Captain to restore his property, he was only laughed at for his pains--

"The Captain turned him round and leugh, Said--"Man, there's naething in thy house, But ae auld sword without a sheath That hardly now would fell a mouse."

Telfer first of all applied for a.s.sistance at Stobs Ha', evidently thinking that he had some special claim on "Gibby Elliot," but he was unceremoniously turned from the door, and told to go to "Branksome" and "seek his succour where he paid blackmail." When Buccleuch heard what had taken place, he cried--

"Gar warn the water, braid and wide, Gar warn it sune and hastilie!

They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, Let them never look in the face o' me!"

Auld Wat and his sons having also been informed of the Captain's raid, lost no time in getting out their steeds and hurrying after the English reiver. Over the hills, down near the Ritterford on the Liddel, the melee began. The Captain was determined to drive Jamie Telfer's kye into England despite the opposition of the Scotts, but he was made to pay dearly for his temerity.--

Then til't they gaed, wi' heart and hand, The blows fell thick as bickering hail; And mony a horse ran masterless, And mony a comely cheek was pale.

Willie Scott, the son of Buccleuch, was left dead on the field. When Harden saw him stretched on the ground "he grat for very rage."--

"But he's ta'en aff his gude steel cap, And thrice he's waved it in the air-- The Dinlay snaw was ne'er mair white Nor the lyart locks of Harden's hair.

"Revenge! revenge!" Auld Wat 'gan cry; "Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!

We'll ne'er see Teviotside again, Or Willie's death revenged sall be."

The conflict was speedily ended. The Captain of Bewcastle was badly wounded, and taken prisoner; his house was ransacked, his cattle driven off, and Jamie Telfer returned to the "Fair Dodhead" with thirty-three cows instead of ten.--

"When they cam' to the fair Dodhead, They were a wellc.u.m sight to see!

For instead of his ain ten milk kye, Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.

And he has paid the rescue shot, Baith wi' goud and white monie: And at the burial o' Willie Scott, I wat was mony a weeping ee."

The eldest son of Wat of Harden was destined to become as famous as his father, though in a different way. He had evidently, from what we learn of him, inherited all the reiving tendencies of his race. But the difficulty of crossing the Border had been considerably increased. Buccleuch, the Keeper of Liddesdale, had changed his tactics. He had now begun to use his utmost endeavour to bring about a better understanding, and a better state of feeling, between the two countries. Willie Scott no doubt realised that a raid on the English Border, though successful, might now get the whole family into serious trouble. But the kye "were rowting on the loan and the lea," and something had to be done to augment the quickly vanishing herd.

He took into his confidence a farmer, who lived on the banks of the Ettrick--William Hogg--well known as the "Wild Boar of Fauldshope." This redoubtable reiver was a progenitor of the Ettrick Shepherd, whose family, it is said, possessed the lands of Fauldshope, under the Scotts of Harden, for a period of 400 years. He was a man of prodigious strength, courage, and ferocity, and ever ready for the fray. For some reason or other he had a strong antipathy to Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, the picturesque ruins of whose Castle may still be seen on the banks of the Tweed, a mile or two above Ashiesteel. That young Harden could have no particular liking for him is easily understood, as he was one of the men who had been commissioned by the government to destroy Harden castle as a punishment for the part taken by his father in the Raid of Falkland. Sir Gideon had a splendid herd of cattle pasturing on the green slopes above the Tweed, and so Willie Scott resolved, with the a.s.sistance of his powerful coadjutor, to transfer as many of them as possible to his own pastures. The night was set, the expedition was carefully planned, and fortune seemed to smile upon the project. But--

The best laid schemes o' mice and men Gang aft a glee.

Some one was good enough to convey to Sir Gideon a hint of what was on foot, and he at once took measures to give the thieves, when they came, a warm reception. After a sharp encounter, Willie Scott was taken prisoner, and thrown into the dungeon of the Castle, with his hands and feet securely bound. He knew quite well the fate which awaited him on the morrow. He would be led forth to the gallows, and there made to pay the forfeit of his life. A better lot, however, was in store for him. A good angel, in the person of Lady Murray, interfered on his behalf. She had been anxiously considering how she could save his life. Her plans were speedily formed, and in the morning she ventured to lay them before her irate husband. As Hogg has humorously described the scene--

The lady o' Elibank raise wi' the dawn, An' she waukened Auld Juden, an' to him did say,-- "Pray, what will ye do wi' this gallant young man?"

"We'll hang him," quo Juden, "this very same day."

"Wad ye hang sic a brisk an' gallant young heir, An' has three hamely daughters aye suffering neglect?

Though laird o' the best of the forest sae fair, He'll marry the warst for the sake o' his neck.

"Despise not the lad for a perilous feat; He's a friend will bestead you, and stand by you still; The laird maun hae men, an' the men maun hae meat, An' the meat maun be had be the danger what will."

The plan thus suggested seemed feasable. It might really be the wisest course to pursue, at least so Sir Gideon was disposed to think, and no time was lost in bringing the matter to an issue. Young Scott was at once brought into the hall, the terms on which his life was to be spared were briefly stated, and he was afforded an opportunity of seeing the young lady whom fortune had thus strangely thrown in his way. One glance sufficed. The features of Sir Gideon's daughter, known to fame as "Muckle-mou'd Meg," were not attractive. The condemned culprit felt that even the gallows was preferable to such an objectionable matrimonial alliance.

"Lead on to the gallows, then," Willie replied, "I'm now in your power, and ye carry it high; Nae daughter of yours shall e'er lie by my side; A Scott, ye maun mind, counts it naething to die."

These were brave words, bravely spoken. Sir Gideon, however, had made up his mind as to the course he meant to pursue, and Willie Scott was at once led forth to make his acquaintance with the "Hanging Tree." But when he drew near and saw the fatal rope dangling in the wind, his courage began to fail him. The prospect was far from inviting, and he pled for a few days respite to think on his sins, "and balance the offer of freedom so kind." But the old laird was inexorable. He simply said to him, "There is the hangman, and there is the priest, make your choice." Thus driven to bay, Willie saw that further parleying would not avail, and so he thought he had better make the best of a bad business. As he thought over the matter, he began to discover certain traits in the young lady's person and character of a more or less pleasing description. He concluded that, after all, he might do worse than wed with the daughter of Elibank.--

"What matter," quo' he, "though her nose it be lang, For noses bring luck an' it's welcome that brings.

There's something weel-faur'd in her soncy gray een, But they're better than nane, and ane's life is sae sweet; An' what though her mou' be the maist I hae seen, Faith muckle-mou'd fok hae a luck for their meat."