CHAPTER IX.

=Legend of Montrose.=

(_Plot of the Tale._)

There can be little doubt that the Author of “Waverley” has taken the grounds of this Tale from the following interesting story, related in a critique on the “Culloden Papers,” in the _Quarterly Review_, which is said to have been written by the Great Novelist’s _other self_, Sir Walter Scott.

“The family or sept of Macgregor is of genuine Celtic origin, great antiquity, and, in Churchill’s phrase,

‘doubtless springs From great and glorious, but forgotten kings.’

“They were once possessed of Glenurchy, of the castle at the head of Lochowe, of Glendochart, Glenlyon, Finlarig, Balloch, now called Taymouth, and of the greater part of Breadalbane. From these territories they were gradually expelled by the increasing strength of the Campbells, who, taking advantage of a bloody feud between the M‘Gregors and M‘Nabs, obtained letters of fire and sword against the former; and, about the reigns of James III. and IV., dispossessed them of much of their property. The celebrated M‘Gregor a Rua Rua, the heir-male of the chief, and a very gallant young man, was surprised and slain by Colin Campbell, the Knight of Lochowe, and with him fell the fortunes of his family. From this time, the few lands which remained not sufficing to support so numerous a clan, the M‘Gregors became desperate, wild, and lawless, supporting themselves either by actual depredation, or by the money which they levied as the price of their forbearance, and retaliating upon the more powerful clans, as well as upon the Lowlands, the severity with which they were frequently pursued and slaughtered. A single trait of their history will show what was the ferocity of feud among the Scottish clans.

“The remaining settlements of the M‘Gregor tribe were chiefly in Balquhidder, around Loch Katrine, as far as the borders of Lochlomond. Even these lands they did not possess in property, but by some transactions with the family of Buchanan, who were the real landholders; but the terrors of the M‘Gregors extended far and wide, for they were at feud with all their neighbours. In the year 1589, a party of the M‘Gregors, belonging to a tribe called Clan-Duil a Cheach, _i.e._ the children of Dougal of the Mist, (an appropriate name for such a character,) met with John Drummond of Drummondernoch, who had, in his capacity of stewart-depute, or provincial magistrate of Strathearn, tried and executed two or three of these M‘Gregors, for depredations committed on his chief Lord Drummond’s lands. The Children of the Mist seized the opportunity of vengeance, slew the unfortunate huntsman, and cut off his head. They then went to the house of John Stewart of Ardvoirlich, whose wife was a sister of the murdered Drummondernoch. The laird was absent, but the lady received the unbidden and unwelcome guests with hospitality, and, according to the Highland custom and phrase, placed before them bread and cheese, till better food could be made ready. She left the room to superintend the preparations, and when she returned, beheld, displayed upon the table, the ghastly head of her brother, with a morsel of bread and cheese in its mouth. The terrified lady rushed out of the house with a fearful shriek, and could not be found, though her distracted husband caused all the woods and wildernesses around to be diligently searched. To augment the misery of Ardvoirlich, his unfortunate wife was with child when she disappeared. She did not, however, perish. It was harvest season, and in the woods and moors the maniac wanderer probably found berries and other substances capable of sustaining life; though the vulgar, fond of the marvellous, supposed that the wild deer had pity on her misery, and submitted to be milked by her. At length some train of former ideas began to revive in her mind. She had formerly been very attentive to her domestic duties, and used commonly to oversee the milking of the cows; and now the women employed in that office in the remote upland grazings, observed with terror, that they were regularly watched during the milking by an emaciated, miserable-looking, female figure, who appeared from among the bushes, but retired with great swiftness when any one approached her. The story was told to Ardvoirlich, who, conjecturing the truth, took measures for intercepting and recovering the unfortunate fugitive. She regained her senses after the birth of her child; but it was remarkable, that the son whom she bore seemed affected by the consequences of her terror. He was of great strength, but of violent passions, under the influence of which he killed his friend and commander, Lord Kilpont, in a manner which the reader will find detailed in Wishart’s Memoirs of Montrose.

“The tragedy of Drummondernoch did not end with the effects of the murder on the Lady Ardvoirlich. The clan of the M‘Gregors being convoked in the church of Balquhidder, upon the Sunday after the act, the bloody head was produced on the altar, when each clansman avowed the murder to have been perpetrated by his own consent, and, laying successively his hands on the scalp, swore to defend and protect the authors of the deed,—‘in ethnic and barbarous manner,’ says an order of the Lords of the Privy Council, dated 4th February, 1589, ‘in most proud contempt of our Sovereign Lord and his authority, if this shall remain unpunished.’ Then follows a commission to search for and pursue Alaster M‘Gregor of Glenstrae, and all others of his name, with fire and sword. We have seen a letter upon this subject from Patrick, Lord Drummond, who was naturally most anxious to avenge his kinsman’s death, to the Earl of Montrose, appointing a day in which the one shall be ‘at the bottom of the valley of Balquhidder with his forces, and advance upward, and the other, with his powers, shall occupy the higher outlet, and move downwards, for the express purpose of taking _sweet revenge_ for the death of their cousin.’ Ardvoirlich assisted them with a party, and it is said they killed thirty-seven of the clan of Dougal of the Mist upon the single farm of Inverneuty.”—_Quarterly Review_, vol. xiv., p. 307.

THE GREAT MONTROSE.

The illustrious personage whose fortunes form the ground-work of this Tale, was the only son of John, fourth Earl of Montrose,[48] by Lady Margaret Ruthven, daughter of William, first Earl of Gowrie.[49] He was born in the year 1612, succeeded his father in 1626, and was married soon after, while yet very young,—a circumstance which is said to have somewhat marred his education. He travelled into foreign parts, where he spent some years in study, and in learning the customary accomplishments of that period, in which he excelled most men; and he returned home in 1634.

Meeting with a cold and forbidding reception at Court, his Lordship joined the supplicants in 1637, and became one of the most zealous supporters of the Covenant in 1638. Next year he had the command of the forces sent to the north against the town of Aberdeen, which he obliged to take the Covenant; and the Marquis of Huntly, who, on his approach, disbanded the men he had raised, was sent prisoner to Edinburgh. Lord Aboyne appearing in arms in the north the same year, Montrose was despatched against him, and totally routed his forces at the Bridge of Dee. When the pacification of Berwick was concluded, Montrose was one of the noblemen who paid their respects to Charles I. at that place in July, 1639.

Next year, an army being raised to march into England, Montrose had two regiments given him, one of horse and one of foot. He led the van of that army through the Tweed on foot, and, totally routing the vanguard of the King’s cavalry, contributed to the victory at Newburn. But, in 1643, moved with resentment against the Covenanters, who preferred to his prompt and ardent character the wily and politic Earl of Argyll, or seeing, perhaps, that the final views of that party were inimical to the interests of monarchy and of the constitution, Montrose espoused the falling cause of loyalty, and raised the Highland clans, whom he united to a small body of Irish, commanded by Alexander Macdonald, still renowned in the north under the title of Colkitto. With a few troops collected in Westmoreland, he first raised the royal standard at Dumfries in April, 1644, but was soon obliged to retire into England; and he was excommunicated by the commission of the General Assembly.[50] To atone, however, for so severe a denunciation, the King, about this time, raised him to the dignity of Marquis; and he soon after had the pleasure of routing the Parliament army at Morpeth. He was next successful in throwing provisions into Newcastle. After the defeat of Prince Rupert at Marston Moor in July, 1644, he left his men with that general, and went to Scotland. At this period of his adventures the Author of “Waverley” takes him up in his “Legend of Montrose.”

Disguised as a groom, with only two attendants, Montrose arrived in Strathearn, where he continued till rumour announced the approach of 1500 Irish, who, after ravaging the northern extremity of Argyllshire, had landed in Skye, and traversed the extensive districts of Lochaber and Badenoch. On descending into Atholl in August, 1644, they were surprised with the unexpected appearance of their general, Montrose, in the garb of a Highlander, with a single attendant; but his name was sufficient to increase his army to 3000, for commanding whom he had the King’s warrant. He attacked an army of Covenanters, amounting to upwards of 6000 foot and horse, at Tippermuir, 1st September, totally routed them, and took their artillery and baggage, without losing a man. Perth immediately surrendered to the victor; but, Argyll approaching, he abandoned that place as untenable, took all the cannon, ammunition, and spoil of the town with him, and went north. He defeated the Covenanters a second time at the Bridge of Dee, on the 12th of September; and, continuing the pursuit to the gates of Aberdeen, entered the town with the vanquished. The pillage of the ill-fated burgh was doomed to expiate the principles which Montrose himself had formerly imposed upon them.

Argyll came from Stirling to Perth on the 10th of September; and his army following him in a desultory manner, is said to have taken about a week in passing through the latter town.[51] He passed the Tay in boats, which Montrose had left undestroyed, and pursued that general to the north. Meanwhile, Montrose had left Aberdeen, and sought the assistance of the Gordons; but finding the Spey well guarded, he retreated over the mountains to Badenoch, burying his artillery in a morass. He descended into Atholl and Angus, pursued by Argyll, but by a sudden march repassed the Grampians, and returned to rouse the Gordons to arms! At Fyvie, he was almost surprised by Argyll, 27th October, 1644, but maintained a situation, advantageously chosen, against the reiterated attacks of a superior army, till night, when he made good his retreat into Badenoch. He immediately proceeded into Argyllshire, which he ravaged, and sentence of forfeiture was passed against him in Parliament.

So extraordinary were the evolutions of Montrose, that on many occasions the appearance of his army was the first notice the enemy had of his approach; and of his retreats, the first intelligence was that he was beyond their reach. Argyll, exasperated with the devastation of his estates, marched against Montrose; but he, not waiting to be attacked, marched thirty miles, by an unfrequented route, across the mountains of Lochaber, during a heavy fall of snow, and came at night in front of the enemy, when they believed him in a different part of the country. This was in February, 1645, during a very inclement season. “The moon shone so clear,” says Bishop Wishart, “that it was almost as light as day. They lay upon their arms the whole night, and, with the assistance of the light, so harassed each other with slight alarms and skirmishes, that neither gave the other time to repose. They all wished earnestly for day: only Argyll, more intent on his own safety, conveyed himself away about the middle of the night: and, having very opportunely got a boat, escaped the hazard of a battle, choosing rather to be a spectator of the prowess of his men than share in the danger himself. Nevertheless, the chiefs of the Campbells, who were indeed a set of very brave men, and worthy of a better chief and a better cause, began the battle with great courage. But the first ranks discharging their muskets only once, Montrose’s men fell in upon them furiously, sword in hand, with a great shout, and advanced with such great impetuosity, that they routed the whole army, and put them to flight, and pursued them for about nine miles, making dreadful slaughter the whole way. There were 1500 of the enemy slain, among whom were several gentlemen of distinction of the name of Campbell, who led on the clan, and fell in the field of battle, too gallantly for their dastardly chief. Montrose, though an enemy, pitied their fate, and used his authority to save and give quarter to as many as he could. In this battle Montrose had several wounded, but he had none killed but three privates, and Sir Thomas Ogilvie, son of the Earl of Airley; whilst Argyll lost the Lairds of Auchinbreck, Glensaddell, and Lochnell, with his son and brother, and Barbreck, Inneraw, Lamont, Silvercraigs, and many other prisoners.” Spalding, in his “History of the Troubles,” states, that “there came direct from the committee of Edinburgh certain men to see Argyll’s forwardness in following Montrose, but they saw his flight, in manner foresaid. It is to be considered that few of this army could have escaped if Montrose had not marched the day before the fight thirty-three miles, (Scots miles) on little food, and crossed sundry waters, wet and weary, and standing in wet and cold the hail night before the fight.”

Montrose, flushed with victory, now proceeded to Moray, where he was joined by the Gordons and Grants. He next marched to the southward, taking Dundee by storm; but being attacked by a superior force under Baillie and Hurry, began to retreat. Baillie and Hurry divided their forces, to prevent his return to the north; but, by a masterly movement, he passed between their divisions, and regained the mountains. He defeated Hurry at Meldrum, near Nairn, on the 14th May, 1645, by a manœuvre similar to that of Epaminondas at Leuctra and Mantinea. In that battle, the left wing of the Royalists was commanded by Montrose’s able auxiliary, Alister Macdonell, or Maccoul, (as he is called in Gaelic) still celebrated in Highland tradition and song for his chivalry and courage. An elevation of ground separated the wings. Montrose received a report that Macdonell’s wing had given way, and was retreating. He instantly ran along the ranks, and called out to his men that Macdonell was driving the enemy before him, and, unless they did the same, the other wing would carry away all the glory of the day. His men instantly rushed forward, and charged the enemy off the field, while he hastened with his reserve to the relief of his friend, and recovered the fortune of the day.[52] At this battle, in which 2000 Covenanters fell, Campbell of Lawers, though upwards of seventy years of age, fought on the Presbyterian side, with a two-handed broadsword, till himself, and four of his six sons, who were with him, fell on the ground on which they stood. Such was the enemy which the genius and courage of Montrose overcame. Pursuing his victory, Montrose encountered and defeated Baillie at Alford, on the 2nd of July; but on this occasion his success was embittered by the loss of Lord Gordon, who fell in the action. His victories attracted reinforcements from all parts of the country: he marched to the southward at the head of 6000 men, and fought a bloody and decisive battle near Kilsyth, on the 15th August, when nearly 5000 Covenanters fell under the Highland claymore.

This last and greatest of his splendid successes opened the whole of Scotland to Montrose. He occupied Glasgow and the capital, and marched forward to the border, not merely to complete the subjection of the southern provinces, but with the flattering hope of pouring his victorious army into England, and bringing to the support of Charles the swords of his paternal tribes.

Montrose was now, however, destined to endure a reverse of his hitherto brilliant fortune. After traversing the border counties, and receiving little assistance or countenance from the chiefs of these districts, he encamped on Philiphaugh, a level plain near Selkirk, extending about a mile and a half along the banks of the rivers Tweed and Ettrick. Here he posted his infantry, amounting to about 1500 men, while he himself and his cavalry, to the amount of about 1000, took up their quarters in the town of Selkirk.

Recalled by the danger[53] of the cause of the Covenant, General David Lesly came down from England at the head of those iron squadrons whose force had been proved in the fatal battle of Long Marston Moor. His army consisted of from 5000 to 6000 men, chiefly cavalry. Lesly’s first plan seems to have been to occupy the midland counties, so as to intercept the return of Montrose’s Highlanders, and to force him to an unequal combat. Accordingly, he marched along the eastern coast from Berwick to Tranent; but there he suddenly altered his direction, and, crossing through Midlothian, turned again to the southward, and, following the course of Gala Water, arrived at Melrose the evening before the engagement. How it is possible that Montrose should have received no notice whatever of the march of so considerable an army seems almost inconceivable, and proves that the country was very disaffected to his cause or person. Still more extraordinary does it appear, that, even with the advantage of a thick mist, Lesly should have, the next morning, advanced towards Montrose’s encampment without being descried by a single scout. Such, however, was the case, and it was attended with all the consequences of a complete surprisal. The first intimation that Montrose received of the march of Lesly was the noise of the conflict, or rather that which attended the unresisted slaughter of his infantry, who never formed a line of battle: the right wing alone, supported by the thickets of Harehead-wood, and by their entrenchments, stood firm for some time. But Lesly had detached 2000 men, who, crossing the Ettrick still higher up than his main body, assaulted the rear of Montrose’s right wing. At this moment the Marquis arrived, and beheld his army dispersed, for the first time, in irretrievable rout. He had thrown himself upon a horse the instant he heard the firing, and, followed by such of his disordered cavalry as had gathered upon the alarm, he galloped from Selkirk, crossed the Ettrick, and made a bold and desperate attempt to retrieve the fortune of the day. But all was in vain; and after cutting his way, almost singly, through a body of Lesly’s troopers, the gallant Montrose graced by his example the retreat of the fugitives. That retreat he continued up Yarrow, and over Minchmoor; nor did he stop till he arrived at Traquair, 16 miles from the field of battle. He lodged the first night at the town of Peebles.[54] Upon Philiphaugh he lost, in one defeat, the fruit of six splendid victories; nor was he again able effectually to make head in Scotland against the covenanted cause. The number slain in the field did not exceed 300 or 400; for the fugitives found refuge in the mountains, which had often been the retreat of vanquished armies, and were impervious to the pursuer’s cavalry. Lesly abused his victory, and disgraced his arms, by slaughtering in cold blood many of the prisoners whom he had taken; and the court-yard of Newark Castle is said to have been the spot upon which they were shot by his command. Many others are said by Wishart to have been precipitated from a high bridge over the Tweed,—a circumstance considered doubtful by Laing, as there was then no bridge over the Tweed between Peebles and Berwick, though the massacre might have taken place at either of the old bridges over the Ettrick and Yarrow, which lay in the very line of flight and pursuit. It is too certain that several of the Royalists were executed by the Covenanters, as traitors to the King and Parliament.[55]

After this reverse of fortune,[56] Montrose retired into the north. In 1646, he formed an association with the Earls of Sutherland and Seaforth, and other Highland chieftains, and they laid siege to Inverness; but General Middleton forced Montrose to retreat, with considerable loss. Charles I. now sending orders to Montrose to disband his forces and leave the kingdom, he capitulated with Middleton, July, 1646, and an indemnity was granted to his followers, and he was permitted to retire to the continent. The capitulation was ratified by Parliament, and Montrose was permitted to remain unmolested in Scotland for a month to settle his affairs.

He now proceeded to France, where he resided two years. He had the offer of the appointments of general of the Scots in France, lieutenant-general of the French army, captain of the _gens d’armes_,[57] with an annual pension of 12,000 crowns, and a promise of being promoted to the rank of _maréchal_, and to the captaincy of the King’s guards, all which preferments he declined, as he wished only to be of service to his own King. He retired privately from Paris, in May, 1648, and went to Germany, from thence to Brussels, where he was, at the period of the King’s execution, in 1649. He then repaired to the Hague, where Charles II. resided, and offered to establish him on the throne of Scotland by force. The King gave him a commission accordingly, and invested him with the order of the garter. Montrose, with arms supplied by the court of Sweden, and money by Denmark, embarked at Hamburg, with 600 Germans, and landed in Orkney in spring 1650, where he got some recruits, and crossed over to Caithness with an army of about 1400 men; and he was joined by several Royalists as he traversed the wilds of Sutherland. But, advancing into Ross-shire, he was surprised, and totally defeated, at Invercharron, by Colonel Strachan, an officer of the Scottish Parliament, who afterwards became a decided Cromwellian. Montrose’s horse was shot under him; but he was generously remounted by his friend, Lord Frendraught. After a fruitless resistance, he at length fled from the field, threw away his ribbon and George, changed clothes with a countryman, and thus escaped to the house of M‘Leod of Assint,[58] by whom he was betrayed to General Lesly.

Whatsoever indignities the bitterness of party rage or religious hatred could suggest, were accumulated on a fallen, illustrious enemy, formerly terrible, and still detested. He was slowly and ostentatiously conducted through the north by the ungenerous Lesly, in the same mean habit in which he was taken. His devastations were not forgotten,—his splendid victories never forgiven,—and he was exposed, by excommunication, to the abhorrence and insults of a fanatical people. His sentence was already pronounced in Parliament, on his former attainder, under every aggravation which brutal minds can delight to inflict. He was received by the magistrates of Edinburgh at the Watergate, 18th May, 1650, placed on an elevated seat in a cart, to which he was pinioned with cords, and, preceded by his officers, coupled together, was conducted, bareheaded, by the public executioner, to the common jail. But his magnanimity was superior to every insult. When produced to receive his sentence in Parliament, he was upbraided by the Chancellor with his violation of the Covenant, the introduction of Irish insurgents, his invasion of Scotland during a treaty with the King; and the temperate dignity which he had hitherto sustained, seemed, at first, to yield to indignant contempt. He vindicated his dereliction of the Covenant, by their rebellion,—his appearance in arms, by the commission of his Sovereign,—and declared, that as he had formerly deposited, so he again resumed his arms, by his Majesty’s command, to accelerate the treaty commenced with the States. A barbarous sentence, which he received with an undaunted countenance, was then pronounced by a Parliament who acknowledged Charles to be their King, and whom, on that account only, Montrose acknowledged to be a Parliament,—that he should be hanged for three hours, on a gibbet 30 feet high; that his head should be affixed to the common jail, his limbs to the gates of the principal towns, and his body interred at the place of execution, unless his excommunication were taken off, and then it might be buried in consecrated ground. With dignified magnanimity, he replied, that he was prouder to have his head affixed to the prison walls than his picture placed in the King’s bedchamber; “and, far from being troubled that my limbs are to be sent to your principal towns, I wish I had flesh enough to be dispersed through Christendom, to attest my dying attachment to my King.” It was the calm employment of his mind that night to reduce this extravagant sentiment to verse. He appeared next day on the scaffold, in a rich habit, with the same serene and undaunted countenance, and addressed the people, to vindicate his dying unabsolved by the Church, rather than to justify an invasion of the kingdom during a treaty with the Estates. The insults of his enemies were not yet exhausted. The history of his exploits, which had been written in Latin by Bishop Wishart, and published all over Europe, was attached to his neck by the executioner; but he smiled at their inventive malice, declared that he wore it with more pride than he had done the garter, and when his devotions were finished, demanding if any more indignities were to be practised, submitted calmly to an unmerited fate.[59]

Thus perished, at the age of thirty-eight, the gallant Marquis of Montrose, with the reputation of one of the first commanders that the civil wars had produced. He excelled in the stratagems of war; but his talents were rather those of an active, enterprising partisan, than of a great commander,—better fitted to excite and manage a desultory war, than to direct the complicated operations of a regular campaign. He may be admired for his genius, but he cannot be praised for his wisdom. Though he excelled in the performance of rapid movements, and had the quick eye of a serpent approaching its prey, he had not the firmness, perseverance, and vigilance which form the necessary qualifications of a great general. Most of his victories were gained by the celerity of his approaches and the impetuosity of his attacks, yet he did not prove himself any better qualified to avert the fatal consequences of surprise than those whom his manœuvres had so often defeated. His genius was great and romantic, in the opinion of Cardinal de Retz, no mean judge of human nature, approaching the nearest to the ancient heroes of Greece and Rome. But his heroism was wild and extravagant, and was less conspicuous during his life than from the fortitude with which he sustained an ignominious death.

Montrose’s sentence, in all circumstances, was executed _ad literam_. His head was stuck upon the tolbooth of Edinburgh, where it remained, blackening in the sun, when his master, Charles II., soon thereafter arrived in the Scottish metropolis. His limbs were dispersed to Perth, Glasgow, Stirling, and Aberdeen, and his body was buried at the place of execution, from whence it was afterwards removed to the common moor,[60] whence it was lifted at the Restoration. On this event, when Charles found opportunity for testifying his respect for Montrose, his scattered remains were collected. There was a scaffold erected at the tolbooth, and some ceremony was used in taking down his head from its ignominious situation. According to Kirkton,[61] some bowed and some knelt while that relic was removed from the spike, which was done by Montrose’s kinsman, the Laird of Gorthie, who, according to the covenanting account, died _in consequence_, after performing his triumphant but melancholy duty. The Laird of Pitcurre, too, who in his joy had drunk a little too much on the occasion, was, by the same account, found dead in his bed next morning; though we find little hesitation in giving the brandy more of the credit due to that event than what the Presbyterian annalist is pleased to call “the pleasure of Heaven.” Montrose’s remains were deposited in Holyroodhouse, where they remained some time in state; and, on the 14th of May, 1651, they were buried, with great pomp and ceremony, in the cathedral church of St. Giles.

* * * * *

Such is a brief but correct historical detail of the events which the Author of “Waverley” has confounded and misrepresented, for his own purposes, in the “Legend of Montrose.” We have given at best but a meagre outline of the events, but as they run in their proper series, our narrative will serve to correct the irregularity into which the Great Novelist has thrown them. It may here be observed, that the last event in the Tale is the attempted murder of Lord Menteith, which our Author has placed after the battle of Inverlochy. Now this circumstance, which was of real occurrence, took place on the 6th of September, 1644, a few days after the battle of Tippermuir, whereas the battle of Inverlochy happened on the 1st of February, 1645, five months after. We have made some collections respecting the assassination, and give the result.

John, Lord Kinpont, the Lord Menteith of the “Legend of Montrose,” was the eldest son of William, seventh Earl of Menteith, and first Earl of Airth, who rendered himself remarkable in the reign of Charles I. by saying that he had “the reddest blood in Scotland,” alluding to his descent from Euphemia Ross, then supposed the first wife of Robert II.,—in consequence of which expression he was disgraced and imprisoned by his offended Sovereign. Lord Kinpont married, in 1632, Lady Mary Keith, a daughter of Earl Marishal; consequently he could not be the hero and lover which he is represented to have been in the fiction, and the story of Allan Macaulay’s rivalry, which prompted him to the wicked deed, must be entirely groundless. Kinpont joined Montrose in August, 1644, with recruits to the amount of 400 men, and was present at the battle of Tippermuir, immediately following. A few days thereafter, James Stewart, of Ardvoirlich, basely murdered his Lordship at Colace, in Perthshire. A different colour is given to this circumstance by different narrators. A citizen of Perth, who wrote a manuscript giving an account of some remarkable events in his own time, (quoted in “_The Muse’s Threnodie_,”) says simply that Stewart committed the murder “because Lord Kinpont had joined Montrose.” But, in Guthrie’s Memoirs, we find, that “Stewart having proposed to his Lordship a plan to assassinate Montrose, of which Lord Kinpont signified his abhorrence, as disgraceful and devilish, the other, without more ado, lest he should discover him, stabbed him to the heart, and immediately fled to the Covenanters, by whom he was pardoned and promoted.[62] The Marquis of Montrose, deeply affected with the loss of so noble a friend, gave orders for conveying his body in an honourable manner to Menteith, where he was interred.” In the “Staggering State of Scots Statesmen,”[63] we find the following passage:—“The Lord Kinpont, being with James Graham in the time of the late troubles, was stabbed with a dirk by one Alexander Stewart, and his lady, daughter of the Earl of Marishal, was distracted in her wits four years after.” Here a remarkable discrepancy is observable. The assassin is termed _Alexander_, whereas every other authority gives _James_ as his Christian name. Yet this discordance in names is not more worthy of remark than another of the same description, which we are about to point out to the amateurs of the Scotch Novels, as occurring in the Tale before us. In the first edition of this Tale (1819) at the 321st page of the third volume, the Great Unknown, for once, forgets the fictitious appellation Macaulay, and terms the visionary brother Allen _Stuart_, which, we think, completely serves to identify the above story with the dreadful one in the “Tale.”

Wishart says, that such was the friendship and familiarity of Kinpont with his murderer, that they had slept in the same bed the night previous to the horrid deed, which took place, it appears, in the grey of the morning. It is true that he killed also “the centinel who stood at the entry of the camp, it being so dark that those who pursued him could not see the length of their pikes. Montrose was very much afflicted with the untimely fate of this nobleman, who had been his own special friend, and most faithful and loyal to the King his master, and who, besides his knowledge in polite literature, philosophy, divinity, and law, was eminent for his probity and fortitude.”—_Memoirs_, p. 84.

* * * * *

PHILIPHAUGH.[64]

Selkirk lies on the face of a long range of hills stretching from north to south. The Ettrick water, a pretty little river, runs at their base. A bridge of four arches crosses the stream, and carries the road from the low, flat, and swampy plain of Philiphaugh, up the eminence, in a gracefully winding direction, to the town. A mountain streamlet, called the Shawburn, disembogues itself at the bridge. This in summer is quite dry, but in winter, or during wet weather, descends in torrents, and assists the Ettrick in overflowing the field of Philiphaugh. This celebrated field is now partly inclosed, and bears a few patches of turnips; but the chief produce seems to be rushes, a species of crop which may perhaps yield little comfort to the agriculturist, but which will give a more than proportionable pleasure to the amateur, assuring him that the ground has lost little of its original character, and is much the same now as when it was trod by Montrose.

The hill on which Selkirk stands is studded round with neat gentlemen’s seats, and forms a striking contrast with those on the opposite side of Philiphaugh, which are uniformly dark, bleak, and unproductive. Sheltered by one of these, and situated directly south from Selkirk, there stands, in the ravine formed by the Shawburn, a little cottage thatched in the Scottish fashion, with the usual accompaniments of a _kail-yard_, a _midden_[65] before the door, and a _jaw-hole_. The inhabitants of this humble tenement, if, like us, you be driven in by stress of weather, will be very obliging in telling all they know about Philiphaugh, and how Montrose galloped “up the burn and away over Minchmoor,” in his retreat before Lesly’s victorious army. They will likewise tell an indistinct story about a division of Lesly’s troops, which, led by a countryman, came down this way in order to cut off his retreat. This evidently alludes to the circumstance of Lesly despatching a body of his horse across the river to attack Montrose’s right wing in the rear, upon which the unfortunate general, finding himself hemmed in on all sides, cut his way through his foes, and abandoned the field.[66] In corroboration of what we suppose, the inhabitant of the cottage points out several _tumuli_ or mounds[67] on a little peninsula formed by a sweep of the stream, where the conflict had been greatest. He also speaks of having now and then dug up in his potato-field the remains of human bones.

This _cicerone_ of Philiphaugh is a very singular-looking man, and well merits the little attention which you may feel disposed to pay him. He is what is called a country weaver—that is, a person who converts into cloth the thread and yarn spun by the industrious female peasantry of his neighbourhood. It is not perhaps generally known—at least among our southern neighbours—that the common people of Scotland in general manufacture their own clothes, and that from the first carding of the wool to the induing of the garment. The assistance of the weaver and the dyer is indeed required; but every other department of the business they are themselves fit to undertake,[68] and sometimes the aid of the dyer is entirely dispensed with, when the cloth, bearing the natural colour of the wool, is termed _hodden-grey_, an expression to which Burns has given a more than ordinary interest. The weaver is usually a person of no little importance in a rural district; for his talents are in universal request. The specimen of the craft now before us was unusually poor, and, not being free of the Selkirk incorporation, was, like the Paria of the Indian tale, obliged to fly from the customary haunts of his brethren, and seek an asylum in this solitary place. According to his own account of his affairs, he “daikers on here in a very sma’ way,” but when he can get _customer-wark_, has no occasion to complain. _Customer-wark_ is the species of employment which we have described, and he says that he can make eighteen-pence a day by it, which seems to him to constitute a superlative degree of prosperity. We visited his loom, which we found half embedded in the damp earth in a low-roofed part of the cottage, and separated from the domestic establishment by two large wooden beds. Here he seemed engaged upon a piece of woollen cloth at least half an inch thick, the surface of which appeared fully as rough and unequal as the map of Selkirkshire in our good friend Mr. John Thomson’s Scottish Atlas. One peculiarity in his method of working is worthy of remark. Instead of impelling the shuttle in the improved modern manner, by means of a simple piece of mechanism, he sent it through the web by his hands, throwing it from the right and receiving it into the left, and _vice versa_, while the hand immediately unemployed with the shuttle, was employed for the instant in drawing the _lay_ in upon the thread. This old fashion, which formerly prevailed in every species of weaving, is now disused by all the Glasgow manufacturers and others who work upon fine materials, and is only kept up in remote parts by the coarse country weavers. We entered into a discussion of the various merits and demerits of different sorts of work; and found that Glasgow was blessed with no share of the goodwill of our friend the weaver. Jaconets, blunks, ginghams, and cambrics were alternately brought up, and each successively declared stale, flat, and unprofitable, in comparison with the coarse stuff upon which he was now employed. _Customer-wark_ was superior to every other work; and customer-wark was, indeed, the very god of his divinity. _Customer-wark_ seemed to give a sort of _character_ to his conversation, for the phrase was generally introduced three or four times into, and formed the termination of, every sentence. When he paused for breath, he recommenced with “customer-wark;” and this ludicrous technical accented every cadence. The world was to the weaver all a desert, wherein only one resting-place existed—_customer-wark_!

The poor weaver’s workshop is a miserable-looking place, and so damp that the walls have a yellow tinge, which also affects the three-paned window, through which the light finds its way with difficulty. The family pig is disposed in the same place,—an unusual mark of squalor and poverty. The weaver tells that his loom now occupies the precise spot on which the tent of Montrose formerly stood; but this can scarcely be correct, as, by all accounts, the general resided, with all his horse, in the town of Selkirk.

When we visited Philiphaugh, in September, 1824, we entered fully into the spirit of the weaver, and on that occasion extended our observations to his wife, who is a tall, hollow woman, with dark eyes, and who speaks and smokes with equal assiduity. The result of our investigation was the following versified sketch, in which we have endeavoured to give the reader a complete idea of that hitherto nondescript animal, a country weaver: his feelings, fortunes, family, domestic economy, and—above all—his _customer-wark!_

FOOTNOTES:

[48] “19th January, 1595, the young Earl of Montrose fought a combat with Sir James Sandilands, at the salt trone of Edinburgh, thinking to have revenged the slaughter of his cousin, Mr. John Graham, who was slain with the shot of a pistol, and four of his men slain with swords.”—_Birrel’s Diary_, p. 34.

[49] It was reported that Montrose, while a child, swallowed a toad, by the command and direction of his mother, in order to render himself invulnerable. As Mr. Sharpe says, in his amusing work, “Law’s Memorialls,” he swallowed in after-life something worse,—the Covenant.

[50] Wood’s Peerage, vol. ii.

[51] “The Muse’s Threnodie.”

[52] Stewart’s “Sketches of the Highlands,” vol. ii.

[53] “Border Minstrelsy,” vol. iii.

[54] Wishart.

[55] A covenanted minister, present at the execution of these gentlemen, observed,—“This wark gaes bonnily on!”[A] an amiable exclamation, equivalent to the modern _ça ira_, so often used on similar occasions.

[A] Wishart, “Memoirs of Montrose.”

[56] Wood’s Peerage.

[57] Letter of Archibald, Lord Napier, Brussels, 14th June, 1648, _penes_ D. Napier.

[58] M‘Leod got 400 bolls of meal from the Covenanters for his treachery.

[59] Laing’s History, vol. i.

[60] “Law’s Memorialls.”

[61] “History of the Church of Scotland,” p. 126. In the “Mercurius Caledonius” the place of this inhumation was “under the public gibbet, half a mile from town.”

[62] The rescinded acts, January, 1645, contain a ratification of James Stewart’s pardon for killing Lord Kinpont. He was made major of the Marquis of Argyll’s regiment of foot, 24th October, 1648.—_Nisbet’s Heraldry_, vol. ii., _App._ 77.

[63] Scott of Scottstarvet’s “Staggering State of Scots Statesmen” is a curious memoir, written shortly after the Restoration, but not printed till early in the year 1754, after the death of the persons whose characters and actions are mentioned with so little respect in the course of its satirical details. It is adverted to, as in a condition of manuscript, at the 25th page of the 2nd volume of the “Bride of Lammermoor”; and the Author appears to have made some use of its informations in the construction of the subsequent Tale.

[64] This article forms part of a work which I have recently projected, to be entitled, “Pilgrimages to the most remarkable Scenes celebrated in Scottish History.”

[65] This ungainly word is from the Danish; and it is somewhat remarkable, that it is also used in the county of Northumberland, the population of which is supposed to partake with the Scotch in a Danish extraction.

[66] Wishart, p. 200.

[67] These are the remains of the trenches which Montrose threw up to defend the flanks of his infantry.

[68] It ought to be mentioned that the tailor is also called in. In former times this craftsman used to visit a farmer’s or cottager’s house, with all his train of callow apprentices, once a year; and he lived in a family way with the inhabitants till his work was finished, when he received twopence a-day for what he had done, and went away to mis-shape human garments at some other house. About sixty years ago, there was a sort of _strike_ among the tailors, for a groat instead of twopence a day; and this mighty wage continued without further increase till the practice of taking tailors into the family has been nearly discontinued everywhere. It was not the wages, however, but the food of the tailor, which constituted his chief guerdon. The tailor was always well-fed, and if there were anything better than another in the house it was reserved for him. When, in spring time, the gudewife’s _mart-barrel_ was getting nearly exhausted of its savoury contents, she would put off the family with something less substantial for a few weeks in expectation of her annual visitors—“We maun hain a bit for the tailyeours, ye ken!” she would say.

In support of what we advance in the text, we may observe that it is not more than half a century since house-spinning was nearly as prevalent in the city of Edinburgh as in the country, and it will yet be in the recollection of the most aged of our readers, that signs were prevalent in the streets, bearing that “Lint was given out to spin—in here,—down this close,—through this entry,” etc., etc. In these days the Netherbow, a mean range of buildings at the eastern extremity of the High Street, was entirely occupied by weavers who “took in _customer-wark_,”—in proof of which fact we may cite the multiplicity of the windows in those houses, which are still permitted to exist. Now, alas! the shuttles of this busy neighbourhood, are as silent as the wheels of the spinsters, in whose hands pianofortes and Brookman’s pencils supply the place of “rocks and reels.”

CUSTOMER-WARK.

A POETICAL SKETCH.

_With a Marginal Commentary._

=Part First.=

I.

[Sidenote: On the celebrated field of Philiphaugh, where Montrose fought his last battle in the cause of Charles the First, there now resides a poor weaver, who tells to strangers that his loom stands upon the very spot which the tent of the great Marquis once occupied. The scene of so many cares and councils has become the home of a contented and humble mechanic, who has only to battle with poverty, and whose whole ambition is to get a regular supply of]

Near Selkrit, where Leslie ance met wi’ Montrose, And ga’e the King’s army its last bloody nose, There lives an auld wabster, within an auld shiel, As lang, and as ugly, and black as the de’il. He works e’en and morn for his wife and his weans, Till the very flesh seems to be wrought frae his banes; Yet canty the wabster, and blyth as a lark, Whene’er he gets what he ca’s customer-wark!

II.

[Sidenote: _Customer-wark_—that is, the employment of weaving the homespun linens and woollens of the industrious country wives and maidens, which yields a much better scale of profits than the staple commodities of Glasgow. The superiority of customer-wark over that sent out to the country villages by Glasgow manufacturers,—which is just the preference of straitened poverty over utter starvation,—forms the theme of this poem.]

This customer-wark’s the delight o’ his soul, Whether blanket, or sheetin, or sarkin, or towel. Nae trashtrie o’ cottons frae Glasgow he cares for,— Their tippence the ell is a very gude wherefore;— But God bless the wives, wi’ their wheels and their thrift, That help the puir wabster to fend and mak’ shift; Himsel’, and his wife, and his weans might been stark, An it hadna been them and their customer-wark.

III.

[Sidenote: Description of the weaver’s house, which, having two apartments, belongs to the aristocracy of country cottages.]

[Sidenote: The weaver’s neglect of cleanliness and order, not to be attributed to laziness, but to the want of leisure, all his time being engrossed by the important business—_customer-wark!_]

The wabster’s auld house—it’s an unco like den, (Though, atweel, like its neebors, it has a ben-en’!) It’s roof’s just a hotter o’ divots and thack, Wi’ a chimley dressed up maist as big’s a wheat-stack. There’s a peat-ruck behind, and a midden before, And a jaw-hole would tak a mile race to jump o’er! Ye may think him negleckfu’ and lazy,—but, hark, He’s better employed on his customer-wark!

IV.

[Sidenote: Furniture of the cottage.]

[Sidenote: The poor weaver has to work sixteen hours a day, in order to provide food for his children.]

Whate’er ye may think him,—the wabster’s auld hut Has twa looms i’ the ben, and twa beds i’ the butt, A table, twa creepies, three chyres, and a kist, And a settle to rest on, whene’er that ye list; The ben has a winnock, the butt has a bole, Where the bairns’ parritch-luggies are set out to cool, In providin’ o’ whilk he has mony a day’s darque, O’ saxteen lang hours at the _customer-wark_!

V.

[Sidenote: The weaver’s wife a noisy scold, and appropriately named _Bell_.]

[Sidenote: The children _wind_ the pirns.]

[Sidenote: The wife’s tongue rivals the weaver’s shuttle both in sound and swiftness.]

[Sidenote: Worse than that, she occasionally _lays on_!]

The wabster’s auld madam—her name it is Bell— Lang, ugly, and black, like the wabster himsel— She does nought the hale day but keeps skelpin the bairns, And hauds three or four o’ them tight at the pirns. Her tongue is as gleg and as sharp as a shuttle, Whilk seldom but gi’es her the best o’ the battle; And sometimes her neive lends the wabster a yerk, That he likes na sae weel as his customer-wark!

VI.

[Sidenote: The weaver given to prosing upon his traditions of the battle.]

[Sidenote: How the inhabitants of Selkirk stood off during the fight, not knowing, as they pretended, whether the battle was “_in daffin_” or in earnest, till they saw Montrose’s army fly, when they enthusiastically joined in the pursuit!!!]

[Sidenote: The wife, who has heard the story till she is sick of it, bids him mind his work, and not take up his head with things that do not put a penny in his purse.]

The wabster whiles jaunders a lang winter night, On his ae single story—_Montrose and the fight_— And tells how “_the Sutors_” stood aff up the brae, Preservin’ their hides till the end o’ the play. The wife she breaks in wi’—“Dear Jamie, what ken ye ’Bout feghts? ’Twill be lang or they bring you a penny! Sic auld-warld nonsense is far frae the mark— I wish ye wad mind just the customer-wark!”

VII.

[Sidenote: The weaver was once told that great encouragement was given at New Lanark to weavers with large families, and for a long time _craiked_ to be there. But the wife, who, with all her tongue, fists, etc., has some good sense, would not hear of removing to any such faraway country, and at last frightened him out of the humour he had taken, by saying that she had heard there was _nae customer-wark to be got_ in Mr. Owen’s Utopia.]

The wabster has heard about ane they ca’ Owen, That keeps twa-three toons in the wast-kintry growin’, Where there’s weavers that live just like beass in their sta’s, Without kirks or taxes, debts, hunger, or laws! And he whyles thinks he’d like to be there;—but the wife Knocks him down wi’—“Dear Jamie, man, ne’er fash your life! Do ye think Mr. Owen, or ony sic clerk, Could e’er gie ye ought like the customer-wark?”

=Part Second.=

I.

[Sidenote: Improvident domestic habits, in time of plenty,]

The black cutty-pipe, that lies by the fireside, Weel kens it the day when a wab has been paid, For then wi’ tobacco it’s filled to the ee,— And the wabster sits happy as happy can be; For hours at a time it’s ne’er out o’ his cheek, Till maist feck o’ his winnings ha’e vanished in reek: He says that o’ life he could ne’er keep the spark, An it werena the pipe and the customer-wark!

II.

Then the wife, that’s as fond o’ her pleasure as he, Brings out a black tea-pot and maks a drap tea; And they sit, and they soss, and they haud a cabal, And ye’d think that their slaistrie wad never divaul. By their wee spunk o’ ingle they keep up the bother, Each jeerin’, misca’in’, and scauldin’ the tother; While the bairns sit out by, wi cauld kale, i’ the dark— Nae gude comes to them o’ the customer-wark!

III.

[Sidenote: produce proportionate want and misery in the exhaustion of their resources.]

[Sidenote: In the absence of _customer-wark_, the weaver flies to his _dernier resort_, the loom of reserve, on which he works a web for private sale, but which his funds will scarce allow him to carry on upon his own foundation.]

[Sidenote: The implements of luxury thrown by neglected.]

When the siller grows scarce and the spleuchan gets toom, The wabster gangs back to his treddles and loom, Where he jows the day lang on some wab o’ his ain, That’ll bring in nae cash for a twalmonth or twain; Then the pipe lies exhaustit o’ a but its stink, And the pourie is washed and set by on the bink; There neglected they’ll lie, like auld yads in a park, Till Heaven shall neist send some customer-wark!

IV.

[Sidenote: Description of a process of starvation, which reduces the weaver from his natural and customary meagreness to a perfect anatomization.]

[Sidenote: A simile picked up in trout fishing.]

[Sidenote: The weaver saved, in his extremity, by a supply of his darling _customer-wark_.]

Then the puir starvin’ wabster grows thinner and thinner, On a ’tatoe for breakfast, a ’tatoe for dinner, And vanishes veesibly, day after day, Just like the auld moon whan she eelies away. Clean purged out he looks, like a worm amang fog, And his face is the colour o’ sweens in a cogue. At last, when grown hungry and gaunt as a shark, He revives wi’ a mouthfu’ o’ customer-wark.

V.

[Sidenote: Arrival of a customer.]

[Sidenote: Familiar condescension of a farmer’s wife in visiting a weaver’s.]

[Sidenote: Disappointment on finding the hopeless state of the _cutty_.]

[Sidenote: Trait of the excitement produced in the household by the arrival of _customer-wark_.]

A branksome gudewife, frae the neist farmer toon, Comes in wi’ a bundle, and clanks hersel’ down, “How’s a’ wi’ ye the day, Bell? Ha’ ye ought i’ the pipe? Come rax me a stapper? the cutty I’ll rype! I maun see the gudeman—bring him ben, hinney Jess! Tut!! the pipe’s fu’ o’ naithing but fusionless asse!” The wife ne’er lets on that she hears the remark, But cries, “Jess! do ye hear, deme?—_It’s customer-wark!!!_”

VI.

[Sidenote: Transport of the weaver himself at hearing the news.]

[Sidenote: His behaviour towards the customer.]

[Sidenote: Politeness and flattery.]

[Sidenote: Affected solicitude about his customer’s domestic welfare, while his whole soul is in reality entranced in the contemplation of _customer-wark_.]

Having gotten her lick i’ the lug, Jess gangs ben, And tells her toom father about the God-sen’; Transported, he through the shop-door pops his head, Like a ghaist glowrin’ out frae the gates o’ the dead. Then, wi’ a great fraise he salutes the gudewife,— Says he ne’er saw her lookin’ sae weel i’ his life,— Spiers for the gudeman and the bairns at Glendeark,— While his thoughts a’ the time are on customer-wark!

VII.

[Sidenote: Makes himself immediately very busy in the delightful details prefatory to his employment.]

[Sidenote: Praises the wife’s handiwork, for courtesy’s sake, but does not approve of the bounds which her niggardliness has imposed upon the possibility of _cabbage_.]

[Sidenote: Rapture of the children, which is much more disinterested, and not less heartfelt, than the weaver’s own.]

Then, wi’ the gudewife, he claps down on the floor, And they turn and they count the hale yarn o’er and o’er: He rooses her spinning, but canyells like daft ’Bout the length o’ her warp and the scrimp o’ her waft. At last it’s a’ settled, and promised bedeen To be ready on Friday or Fursday at e’en; And the bairns they rin out, wi’ a great skirlin’ bark, To tell that their dad’s got some customer-wark!

VIII.

[Sidenote: Recovery from starvation.]

[Sidenote: Revival of former domestic comfort.]

Then it’s pleasant to see, by the vera neist ouk, How the wabster thowes out to his natural bouk, How he freshens a thought on his diet o’ brose, And a wee tait o’ colour comes back to his nose! The cutty’s new-mountit, and everything’s snug, And Bell’s tongue disna sing half sae loud i’ his lug; Abstracted and happy, and jum as a Turk, He sits thinking on nothing but customer-wark!

IX.

[Sidenote: Concluding benediction upon customer-wark, and recapitulation of its virtues.]

Oh, customer-wark! thou sublime movin’ spring! It’s you gars the heart o’ the wabster to sing! An ’twerena for you, how puir were his cheer, Ae meltith a day, and twa blasts i’ the year: It’s you that provides him the bit, brat, and beet, And maks the twa ends o’ the year sweetly meet, That pits meat in his barrel and meal in his ark! My blessings gang wi’ ye, dear customer-wark!