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The Tweed and some of its

Associations.

BY REV. W. S. CROCKETT, OF TWEEDSMUIR,
Author of "Minstrelsy of the Merse," etc.
(SECOND PAPER.)

LONG Tweedside we meet with not merely ruined castles, reminding us of the warring past when each baron's hand was against his neighbour, but occasionally we come upon some antique and venerable pile with associations of a more peaceful character. What is by far the oldest dwelling on the Tweed, and declared to be the oldest inhabited house in Scotland, is Traquair. Magic memories are in its name. Very much is bound up in the history of this old Border barony. Romance and song have treasured its brilliant past. Robert Crawford sang of its "bonnie bush" in old-world strains, that have found a rival in Shairp's immortal lyric --perhaps the grandest in the Scottish dialect. The Principal confessed to a friend that after penning this unsurpassed production he felt "he had lived after all."

"Will

ye gang wi' me and fare
To the bush aboon Traquair?
Ower the high Minchmuir we'll up and awa',
This bonny summer noon,

While the sun shines fair aboon.

And the licht sklents gently doon on holm and ha'.

They were blest beyond compare,
When they held their trysting there,
Amang thae greenest hills shone on by the sun;
And then they wan a rest,

The lownest and the best,

I' Traquair kirkyard when a' was dune.

Now the birks to dust may rot,
Names o' luvers be forgot,

Nae lads and lasses there ony mair convene ; But the blithe lilt o' yon air, Keeps the bush aboon Traquair, And the luve that ance was there, aye fresh and green." James Nicoll, once minister of Traquair, sang winsomely of "Quair sweet amang the flowers." William Laidlaw, Scott's trusted friend and amanuensis, celebrated its charms in one of the tenderest pastorals, "Lucy's Flittin'." James Hogg, the shepherd-poet of the Ettrick hills, founded his inimitable "Kilmeny" from a legend gathered near the old house of Traquair. Here Queen Mary rested, in 1566, during one of her Border pilgrimages, and Montrose, defeated at Philiphaugh on the other side of the valley, rode across dark Minchmuir to find a brief shelter under its friendly roof. Legends many crowd around Traquair. The main gateway, flanked by figures of two huge Bradwardine bears, has remained unopened since the '45, for the Stuarts were, as their name implies, ardent Jacobites. Scott is understood to have made

Traquair the prototype of his Tully Veolan in Waverley.

Innerleithen, a busy manufacturing town is best known to fame as the scene of St. Ronan's Well. A natural spring of certain mineral properties attained no small celebrity during last century, but having diminished somewhat in popularity, an attempt is presently being made to revive its ancient glory. Ashestiel is a name sacred in Scottish literary history. Bowered in woods of birch, and rowan, and oak, the lineal descendants of the old Forest, it looks a trig and snug abode. Here Sir Walter Scott had his first Border home. From 1804 to 1811 has been described as his happiest years. He was Sheriff of Selkirkshire, and the law of Scotland required residence for a certain number of months within his jurisdiction. Ashestiel was the property of his cousin, General Russell, but he being absent on foreign service, gave a generous and free hand to the young "Shirra." At Ashestiel nearly all his poetical productions were written. On a knoll, still known as the "Shirra's Knowe "where you catch a glimpse of the most delightful Tweedside scenery, Scott had erected a turf seat, and much of Marmion gathered its inspiration as he sat and gazed and meditated on the romantic land lying all around. Ashestiel house has changed considerably, and been enlarged since Scott found in it his Paradise, but the place is yet full of fadeless memories. A melancholy relic in the shape of a large easy chair is seen in what used to be the study. Scott had given it to his invalid cousin, Jane Russell, but when the peerless romancist was brought home to die, the chair was returned to Abbotsford. For a week previous to his death, he sat in it for an hour or two each day, and after his eyes had been sealed in their last long sleep, the chair again found its restingplace beneath that roof where so many of his truest joys had been known. It has been said that had Sir Walter been able to purchase Ashestiel, Abbotsford would never have arisen from the swamps of "Clarty Hole," and it is just possible that much of the misfortune which crowded into the life of this prince of Scottish writers might never have burdened and chilled his last sad days.

Further down near Ashestiel stand the old Border demesnes of Yair and Fairnilee. At the latter place Eliza Rutherford, afterwards Mrs. Patrick Cockburn, penned her version of the most winsɔme and pathetic lyric, "The Flowers of the Forest ".

"I've seen the smiling of fortune beguiling,

I've felt all its favours and found its decay;
Sweet was its blessing, kind its caressing,
But now it is fled-fled far away!"

The fair river now takes a circuitous bend, and after meeting the waters of the Ettrick, which already have been joined by the mournful Yarrow, it is now speeding along past the turrets of Abbotsford, that romance, if not tragedy, in stone and lime. Before it became in 1811 the property of Sir Walter Scott, a small farm called by the not very attractive name of Cartley Hole-locally styled Clarty Hole-occupied its site. This its new owner transformed to the more euphonious Abbotsford, near the ford by which the monks of Melrose crossed the river he has rendered so classic. A small villa, which is now the western wing of the mansion, was first built, and between the years 1817 24

that to him was dearest in the land he loved so well. Verily, Abbotsford is among the most sacred of Scottish shrines. For no man has proved himself a worthier patriot, no man has accomplished so much for his country's lasting

renown.

Close at hand is Melrose and Saint David's ruined pile, with its memoirs of many a monkish revel. Fancy may yet picture the memorable midnight ride of the Knight of Deloraine, and bring us to the grave of Michael Scott, where lay the seer folding c'ose his Book of Might. Here, too, reposes the heart of the Kingly Bruce, while the good Sir James, Liddesdale's dark Knight, the gallant Percy of Otterburne, and

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ASHESTIEL. Illustration kindly lent by Secretary, Innerleithen Alpine Club. the remaining portions were gradually added on no set plan, but with the desire to make them resemble as closely as possible some of the features of ancient Scottish architecture. Here he gathered a marvellously miscellaneous collection of his country's relics, relating to almost every chapter of its history. Here he loved to spend the long warm days of summer, roaming by hill side and river bank attended by his favourite dogs and his mind filled with favourite themes. Here he wrote those matchless romances that have made him easily the first of Scottish immortals; and here, within sound of the gentle ripple of Tweed, over its pebbly bed, the "wondrous wizard" closed his eyes on all

many others of patriot fame have found their last resting-place under its sacred and historic shade. A few miles downward, passing many a spot famous in Border story-the fairy haunted Eildon, where Thomas the Rhymer met with the Elfin Queen; Old Melrose by the beautiful bend of Tweed, Scott's favourite view, where on the rounded promontory the wattled fane of Melrose first arose to be sanctified by the memory of its pious prior, Cuthbert of Durham; Bemersyde, the seat of the ancient family of Haig, of whom it was said by the sage of Ercildoune as early as the thirteenth century-

"Tyde, tyde, what may betyde,
Haig shall be Haig of Bemersyde,"

so that at this day there is a Haig still in possession-and then our river winds its way around Dryburgh, most hallowed of all, where rests the Mighty Minstrel in his dreamless sleep. Sir Walter's life was practically passed by Tweedside. Though born in the Scottish Capital he went early to Sandyknowe where his boyhood years were spent. There he was within easy distance of the Tweed. At Kelso his school days were begun. In the queenly Border town he imbibed much of that spirit of romance which afterwards characterised the whole of his life. Its venerable Abbey had many attractions for the youthful antiquary, and from ruined Roxburgh betwixt Tweed and Teviot's flow he gathered many of the old-world traditions which helped to make him so good and true a Scot. Coldstream, which lies in sylvan loveliness on the left bank -the Scottish side—of the noble river, has been the scene of many an armed gathering when Scottish and English crossed the Tweed to invade each other's territory. So near the Border, the place had at one time considerable notoriety for its runaway marriages, among the most notable of which was that of Lord Brougham in 1819. Not far from Coldstream are Wark Castle where Edward III. instituted the order of the Garter Ford Castle where King James dallied with the Lady Heron to the ultimate destruction of his army; Twizel Bridge cleverly crossed by the English general and his men ; and Flodden Hill so disastrous to the Scots,

"Where shivered was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield."

Next we come to Norham the great fortress of the Borders, set down, as it were, to overawe a kingdom. From its strong "castled steep" a commanding view is obtained of an extensive tract of country on both sides of the Border. Nothing can equal Scott's description of Norham in Marmion, and the old castle becomes to the sympathetic visitor all the more interesting from the entrancing charms which his imagination. has cast around it.

Last of all we reach Berwick where Tweed empties itself into the sounding sea. These are few towns richer in historic associations than this quaint Border borough by the banks of the Border river and the moaning ocean. Much of Berwick's history is the history of the two Kingdoms. Her old Border Bridge has many a time been a Bridge of Sighs for both nations; but now as it joins in firmer bonds the lands that long centuries alienated, may the union for both countries become increasingly strong, sincere, and flourishing, a mighty source of happiness to all who are privileged to live under its peaceful and smiling sway!

To sum up, then, in a single paragraph. The Tweed has associations entwined around it that are second to none in the Kingdom. History, romance, poetry, dwell by its banks. The name of Walter Scott lives in every wavelet. Thousands of genius-honouring and pleasure-loving pilgrims, yearly pay their devotions at the shrines of Tweedside, attracted thither by the magic spell of the mighty romancist. While Tweed bends its silver way through its hundred miles of Borderland, never shall the history that enfolds it be forgotten, but in the years to come ever shall still be gazing at its quiet upland origin, and still tracing, with as much delight and enthusiasm as their forefathers, its rich, glorious sweep to the world encircling sea.

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momentous as that of Flodden must have a casus belli such as, if not altogether sufficient to justify it, will at all events bear some proportion to the nature and extent of the quarrel and the issues involved. One of the very saddest things we have to face in the consideration of these Border conflicts, is the fact that thousands of precious human lives were sacrificed to gratify, in most cases, an idle whim on the part of a monarch or chief. That James, in the present instance, had no higher or nobler aim than that of weakening the power and crippling the resources of England in the approaching war between the latter and France, is a fact which, at the very outset, it is well to understand.

Of his wisdom and prudence in plunging the two nations into a war involving such tremendous issues we can only speak in terms of strongest censure. And yet we must remember that wisdom and prudence were qualities of minor significance in the days when "might was right." On the other hand, his courage in the face of danger, his chivalric bearing, personal sacrifice, even his honour, we dare not impugn.

It must be confessed that, apart from the king, it required but little in these days to arouse the people to a state of military enthusiasm. True, for over a century there had been no pitched battle between the two countries. The spirit of war, however, was only dormant, and but a very small spark sufficed to kindle the flame.

James IV. of Scotland had married Margaret, the eldest sister of Henry VIII. From such an alliance we might have expected peace between the two kingdoms. James, however, entertained a strong partiality towards the King of France, and when Henry proclaimed war against that country, it was the si.nal for a strong protest on the part of the Scottish monarch. Before proceeding with his French invasion, Henry took the precaution of appointing Thomas, Earl of Surrey, Lieutenant-General of the Northern counties, with instructions to keep a diligent watch over these parts, and neglect nothing that would tend to the safety and welfare

The news soon spread throughout Scotland. Active preparations were at once made for the speedy equipment of a force sufficient to cope with that which Surrey was able to bring into the field. Great excitement prevailed amongst all classes. The King's summons for all men capable of bearing arms to meet him in the course of three weeks was obeyed with alacrity. Swords and spears, which for a generation, had lain untouched, were brought forth, burnished and sharpened for the combat. Within that short space of time, 100,000 men met on the Borough Moor near Edinburgh, equipped and provisioned for 40 days, ready

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of his kingdom. Henry entertained strong suspicions that James was secretly preparing an army either to aid France or invade England during his absence; and the development of events shows that he was not mistaken. James, it is true, had exerted himself with commendable zeal to persuade Henry not to enter into a conflict with France; but in this he was entirely unsuccessful; and Henry, mindful only of his own glory and renown, pushed forward with all possible haste his arrangements for the projected invasion. James at once proclaimed war against England with the ostensible purpose of weakening the power of Henry, and thus indirectly aiding France, the ancient friend and ally of Scotland.

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nay, eager to follow their king wherever, and to whatever, fate he chose to lead them. Border men especially were burning with a desire to grapple with their enemies. This led to several raids on either side the Border as a prelude to the great conflict at Flodden. In this way much blood was spilt, especially on the part of the Scots.

It was thus that, in the early part of August, 1513, Scotland was in a fever of excitement. The memory of Bannockburn, though 200 years old, fired the soul of every man as he buckled on his armour and stepped into the ranks.

The King held several consultations with his nobles, many of whom were opposed to war, and sought by earnest entreaty to dissuade the

king from his purpose. The queen (sister of Henry VIII.) was also much opposed to it, and used all her influence and earnest pleading in that direction. Even the necromantic art was brought into requisition, as it was known that James was naturally superstitious. Nothing, however, could shake his determination. Before him stood perhaps the finest, best equipped, and largest army that ever assembled in Scotland. The entire nobility of the kingdom, were there— men of noble lineage, such as the Douglases, Kers, Homes, Scotts, Morays, whose ancestors had won renown in previous wars, and to whom the present occasion afforded an opportunity of adding fresh lustre and glory to their names.

When everything was in readiness the vast army left the Borough Moor, headed by the king and the Scottish nobles. In all the pride and pomp of martial glory they marched to the stirring strains of drums and bagpipes. Flags and pennons innumerable waved over the heads of the vast throng. The subordinate chiefs and men-at-arms were all well mounted, clad in complete mail. They marched from Edinburgh to the banks of the Tweed, arriving at Coldstream on Sunday, the 21st of August, 1513. Here, on the Leeshaugh, they encamped for the night; alas! the last night on which thousands were destined to sleep on Scottish soil.

Early on the Monday morning the left bank of the Tweed was thronged with a gay and excited concourse of men inspired with one supreme, all absorbing passion, that of glory and conquest. Crossing over to the enemy's territory, they laid siege to the castles of Norham, Wark, and Etoll in succession, and these in about a week were captured. Ford Castle proved more formidable.

It was occupied by Lady Heron, with whom James had become seriously entangled.

"O'er James's heart, the courtiers say, Sir Hugh the Heron's wife held sway." It seems that, under some private arrangement, it was agreed that this castle should not be thrown down. Whether by a breach of agreement on his part or otherwise we are left to conjecture, but at all events the place was besieged and considerable damage done to the castle. There can be little doubt that this lady played a deceitful part towards James prior to the battle. To her treachery indeed may be traced several important circumstances which led

up to the Scots' defeat. While pretending to be friendly to the Scottish cause, she was all the while conducting a secret correspondence with the Earl of Surrey, supplying him with such information concerning the movements and strength of the Scottish army as must have

proved of great advantage to the English cause. Elaborate and expeditious as the Scots had been in their preparations, the English had been not a whit behind. Not only had they amassed a large army, but, by consummate skill and diplomacy, by means of emissaries and spies, they had made themselves masters of every detail concerning the Scottish army and their movements. In the latter end of July, Surrey had only a few hundred men. At Pontefract Castle he met the English nobles and there, deliberating together, they perfected their plans. Orders were given that, from all parts of the country, horse and foot soldiers should assemble and prepare for immediate action. At Newcastle, by arrangement, Surrey met Lord Dacre, commander of the horse, Sir William Bulmer, Sir Marmaduke Constable, and many others of high rank from the northern provinces.

From all parts of England troops poured in to strengthen the hands of Surrey. Even from France Lord Thomas Howard, High Admiral of England, was dispatched with a force of 5,000 which probably could be ill spared from the English army there.

By the 5th of September, the English tents were pitched at Bolton near Alnwick. The soldiers, men at-arms and knights, were clad much in the same way as the Scots, certainly in no way inferior in point of splendour and general military equipment. Surrey despatched a message to James, reproaching him for breaking faith with the King of England, and offering him battle on the following Friday, 9th September. James promptly accepted the challenge, stating that had he been in Edinburgh instead of on English soil he would even then gladly have hastened to obey the summons. The two armies were now comparatively near to each other. That of James occupied a commanding position on the eastern end of Flodden Hill, from which an excellent view is obtained of that part of the country to the north and east, over which the English army might be expected to march. The Till, a deep sluggish river, afforded protection on the north and east.

On the afternoon of Tuesday the 6th, Surrey removed his army from Bolton to Wooler Haugh, and there remained until the day preceding the battle James's strong position on Flodden Hill alarmed the English leader not a little. He tried many devices to induce him to descend and meet the southern host on Milfield Plain, but without effect. So far undoubtedly the King's prospects were good. He had chosen an impregnable position from which, did he choose to remain, it would be almost impossible to dislodge him.

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