Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland Volume VII Part 17

"Bertha!" exclaimed Musgrave, and stepped forward, as if unconscious of what he did.

"Robert!" she rejoined, clasping her hands together. She started--she fell back; her brother supported her in his arms.

"Bertha!--father!--friend!" he exclaimed, hastily glancing to each as he spoke, "what means this?"

A man of middle age rose, and, as he hurried from the room, said--

"Farewell, Forster," addressing the old man; "you have deceived, you have insulted me. The man who is to be your daughter's husband is with her now."

It was the intended husband of Bertha that so spoke, and left the apartment. The old colonel rose to follow him.

"Stay, father," said his son; "what I have now witnessed requires an explanation. This stranger, to whom I owe my life, you have seen before--my sister has seen him--and there is something connected with your acquaintance with each other that I must understand."

"Yes," cried the old man, "I have seen him before--I have--I have."

"Bertha?" said his son; but she raised her hands before her face and wept.

"Sir," said the younger Forster, "I can be grateful. Though I am not acquainted with you, my sister is. Let me call my deliverer _brother_!"

And he took the hand of his weeping sister and placed it in that of Robert Musgrave.

The old man started; but his son soothed him. And Robert Musgrave stood with the hand of Bertha Forster locked in his; and within a few weeks he called that hand his own, and was happy--and the sufferings that the Poor Scholar had endured became as a tale that is told.

THE LAIRD OF DARNICK TOWER.[12]

"Red glared the beacon on Pownell-- 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 n.o.ble 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 princ.i.p.ally 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 st.u.r.dy 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 pa.s.sion 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 pa.s.sage is as foolish as it is unjust, because it a.s.sumes that, while Sir Walter had a right to be proud of _founding_ a family, Mr Heiton was not ent.i.tled 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 st.u.r.dy 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 c.o.c.kburn 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 c.o.c.kburns, were creatures of the Douglas; all the Borderland was divided into king's parties and Douglas' parties, and these again were part.i.tioned 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 G.o.d, 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 s.h.a.ggy 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 st.u.r.dy 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.s.s 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 G.o.d'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!"