Part 6

We now find ourselves on the steep ridge known as Edmonstone Edge, on which the Scots pitched their camp before the battle of Pinkie in 1547. To our right lies Woolmet, now only a farm, but once the property of the Edmonstones of Woolmet, cadets of the Edmonstones of that Ilk. After descending the hill we see to our left one of the oldest and most interesting places in Midlothian. The old house of Niddrie Marischal is hidden among the trees, and beyond it stretches a wilderness of shady walks, high holly hedges, and velvety bowling-greens, through which wanders the Burdiehouse burn, here full of trout, which have been the sport and amusement of many generations. The Wauchopes are undoubtedly the oldest family in the county. It is not known when they acquired Niddrie, and the difficulty of tracing their origin is aggravated by the loss of their more ancient muniments. "The family of Niddrie Marischal," say the MS. notes written by William Wauchope in 1700, "was forfaulted in James II.'s time, for making an inroad into England, so that by that means most of the old charters and evidents were lost." The house was burnt in Queen Mary's time, and the few charters that survived that disaster were mostly destroyed when the English came to Scotland in Cromwell's time. The tradition in the family is that Niddrie[37] was granted to the Wauchopes by Malcolm Canmore. Mackenzie, in his _Lives of Eminent Scotsmen_, says they came from France in his reign about the year 1062. The first to whom a charter appears is Gilbert Wauchope, who had a charter of "the lands of Niddery" from Robert III. (1390-1406). From him the present laird, Colonel Wauchope of the Black Watch, is the seventeenth in direct succession.

[37] Various derivations have been given of the name of Niddrie Marischal. It is said to have been originally a hunting-seat of the king's, and therefore called _Nid-du-Roy_. The Rev. Mr. Whyte--the historian of Liberton parish--derives it from the Gaelic _Niadh_ and _Ri_, "the King's Champion." The addition of Merschell, Marischal, or Marshal, as it is variously spelt, and which distinguishes it from Niddrie Seton in West Lothian, arose, say Sir George Mackenzie, Nesbit, and others, from "the heads of this family of Wauchope of Niddrie having been hereditary Bailies to Keith Lords Marischal, and Marischal-Deputes in Midlothian; from the Lords Marischal they had the lands of Niddry designed Niddry Marischal." The Rev. Mr. Whyte repeats this statement, with the verbal confirmation of Lord Hailes--no mean authority; but we must confess we have not met with anything like proof of the fact. (_History and Genealogy of the Family of Wauchope._)

Always a true and loyal race, the Wauchopes remained faithful to the old religion, and supported Queen Mary's cause to the end. The sad fate of young Niddrie, and the circumstances which led to the destruction of the ancient castle in 1596 by the Edmonstones, hereditary enemies of the Wauchopes, are well-known.[38] Nearly a hundred years later, the adherence of the family to the cause of James VII. proved the ruin of the chapel, which had been founded by Archibald Wauchope in 1502, and dedicated to the Blessed Virgin, and, as we have elsewhere said, was subordinate to the church of Liberton. A mob from Edinburgh first wrecked the Chapel-Royal of Holyrood, and then came out to Niddrie, and demolished this chapel also.

[38] "The estate was again forfaulted in Archibald's time, father to Francis, my great-grandfather, because he followed Queen Mary; and possibly having some power at that time, satisfied his own bold humour in disobliging his neighbours. He mutilated the Laird of Woolmet, and never rid without a great following of horsemen, whom he maintained, and gave to every man a piece of land as a gratuity, which continued during their service. The house at that time was of long standing, capable to lodge a hundred strangers, and lay most eastwards from the place it now stands in. It was then burnt by his neighbours, after he broke his neck in Skinner's Close (Edinburgh), being alarmed by his man, and thinking to save himself out of a storm window, while his enemies were already in great number at his door, with design to murder or take him prisoner." (_MS. Notes by William Wauchope_, 1700.)

There seems to have been a hereditary friendship between the Bothwell family and the Wauchopes. Robert Wauchope is the "young Niddrie" mentioned in the following lines, as riding with James, Earl of Bothwell, to intercept the queen and carry her off to Dunbar--

Hay, bid the trumpet sound the march, Go, Bolton, to the van; Young Niddrie follows with the rear. Set forward, every man!

AYTOUN--"Bothwell."

His son Archibald (the young Niddrie of William Wauchope's notes) was a friend and companion of Francis, Lord Bothwell, and was concerned in the attack on the palace of Holyrood, December 27, 1591. (See _History and Genealogy of the Family of Wauchope of Niddrie-Merschell_, by James Paterson, 1858. Privately printed.)

When the year 1745 brought Prince Charles to this country to make his gallant attempt to win back his father's throne, the Laird of Niddrie collected a considerable sum of money for the royal cause. The prince was encamped at Duddingston, but, as some of the enemy's troops lay between that village and Niddrie, it was difficult to convey the money to him. The plan the laird adopted was this: he sent his son (my great-great-grandfather), a boy about six years old, in charge of his tutor, with a large basket of fruit as a present to the prince. The money was carefully concealed at the bottom of the basket. The boy passed through the enemy's lines in safety, they suspecting nothing, and reached the royal camp, where he delivered the money into the prince's own hands. A few days afterwards, as the prince was marching out with his troops, he perceived the boy walking with his tutor on the farther side of a hedge. He stopped and said, "Is that the young Laird of Niddrie?" and, desiring the tutor to lift him over the hedge, he took him up in his arms and gave him his blessing.

This was not the only time that the Laird of Niddrie sent supplies to his royal master, for, on another occasion, the money was successfully taken to the prince by one of the Yetholm tenants, a man named Thomson, who packed the coins in a load of hay, and succeeded in crossing the country undiscovered. As a reward for his courage and loyalty, the laird gave him his farm rent free from that time. The laird's own family were of divided opinions. His wife, a Hume, Lord Kimmerghame's daughter, was a Whig, like all her family. She had a cousin, a Sandilands, in the Hanoverian army. He was wounded at Prestonpans. She went out secretly and brought him back from the field of battle; and, unknown to her husband, lodged him in some safe place, and attended him till he was better.

When all hope of the royal cause was lost, the Wauchopes appear to have reconciled themselves to the reigning family, and the young Laird fought at Minden in the British army. It is to this that Sir Walter Scott alludes:

Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true, Girt with the sword that Minden knew. We have o'er few such lairds as you.

He was a singularly handsome man, and there is a fine portrait of him in his old age, by Raeburn, at Niddrie.

Another link with the old Jacobite days lasted well into this century, in the person of Lucky Brown, who lived at one of the lodges. She had been Mrs. Wauchope's nurse, and was a Cumberland woman by birth. In the '45, she was living near Carlisle with her father, and when Prince Charles passed their house on his march south, they had breakfast laid out for him on the "louping-on stane." He stopped and breakfasted there. A few months later, when the Hanoverians fastened the heads of the executed Jacobites over the gates of Carlisle, Lucky Brown and another young woman got a ladder, and went in the dead of the night, and took down every head, carried them away in their aprons, and buried them. My aunt, Lady John Scott, remembers Lucky Brown quite well, and she has often heard her grandfather tell the story of his expedition to the prince's camp.

It is a curious thing that when that laird of Niddrie succeeded to the property in the last century, the workers in the coal-mines were still in a state of slavery. They were bought and sold with the pits, and they and their families were in bondage for ever. Mrs. Wauchope's aunt, Miss Johnstone of Hilton, "Aunt Soph," who was always a great deal at Niddrie, used to sing "The Coalbearer's Lamentation," a song sung by these people.

When I was engaged a coal-bearer to be, When I was engaged a coal-bearer to be, Through all the coal-pits, I maun wear the dron brats.[39] If my heart it should break, I can never won free!

[39] _Dron brats_, a kind of apron worn behind. (Jamieson's _Dictionary_.)

The house has been very much altered and added to at different times. The original castle stood a little to the eastward. After its destruction in 1596, the present house was built by Sir Francis Wauchope, "Young Niddrie's" son, but it has been very much altered and modernized since. The King's Room, where Charles I. slept, has completely disappeared, the floor having been taken out to heighten the hall below. There used to be a ghost called Jenny Traill, which haunted a room up a little steep stair near the roof. She was supposed to have killed herself there, but I have never heard of her appearance of late years.

In very old days, a large and thriving village clustered on both sides of the stream, round the old keep of Niddrie. At one time it contained three hundred families, three breweries, and fourteen houses that sold liquor. That has long been swept away. A few houses still remain at the north-east corner of the park, where Niddrie Mill formerly stood. My aunt remembered a family named Simon that lived here. They had been from father to son bakers to the Wauchopes for nearly five hundred years; but they died out in the time of Colonel Wauchope's father.

Four important roads meet at this spot,--the one from Edinburgh, the one from Musselburgh, the one by which we have just travelled from Edmonstone, and the one to Portobello, which we now follow. We are fast approaching the sea, but, as to-day's walk is already long enough, we shall leave Portobello to be described to-morrow; and, taking the first turn to the left, we very soon find ourselves facing the gates of Duddingston House. The crowned antelopes that surmount the gate-pillars show that this is Abercorn property. It is a flat, uninteresting park, well-wooded, with a summer-house like a Grecian temple, forming a _point-de-vue_ from the house, which was built in 1768 after designs by Sir William Chambers, and cost £30,000.

The original owners of Duddingston, after the Reformation had dispossessed the monks of Kelso, were a family named Thomson, created later Baronets of Nova Scotia, and now extinct. In 1674 it became the property of the Duke of Lauderdale, and after his death, his duchess continued to live there. It was then that the lawsuit took place between her and Sir James Dick, respecting the swans which she had placed on Duddingston Loch, and which he, as owner of the loch, had shut up. The duchess won her point at last, with the help of the Duke of Hamilton, who, as keeper of the King's Park, interfered on her behalf. Duddingston passed as pin-money to her daughter (by her first marriage), Elizabeth Tollemache, who married the first Duke of Argyle. She lived here constantly, and her son, the famous Duke of Argyle and Greenwich, was brought up here. In 1745 the place was sold to the Abercorns, who still possess it. They have not lived here for many years, and now it is always let. Prior to the purchase of Sandringham, there was some idea of its being bought for the Prince of Wales, but the plan came to nothing.

The road we are following skirts the park, and after crossing the Braid Burn, which runs out of an ornamental piece of water just above us, we come to some substantial and comfortable-looking villas surrounded with shrubberies and gardens. The road in front of us leads to Piershill, but we take the one to the left, and soon reach the other entrance to Duddingston House. Here formerly stood a thorn-tree of great age and immense size. It was called "Queen Mary's Tree," though it was known to have existed as far back as the reign of Alexander I. (1107), when it was one of the landmarks of the property on which it grew. A storm in 1840 tore it up by the roots.

We now see the little village of Duddingston, nestling between the hill and the loch. The church stands on a rocky knowe just above the water, and two narrow roads (for streets we can hardly call them), bordered with houses, gardens, and orchards thrown together in picturesque confusion, make up the rest of the village. The house in which Prince Charles and his staff slept before Prestonpans lies a little back from the main road, while his army was encamped on the sunny slopes behind, which rise without a break to the edge of Dunsappie. As we pass the church, we see the "louping-on stane," so necessary in the days when our forefathers invariably rode everywhere. The "jougs" still hang close by on the wall behind. Though rusty now, they were once the terror and the punishment of wrong-doers, who stood there, as in a pillory, with the iron collar firmly clasped round the offender's neck.

The church, which is of great antiquity, belonged to the Tironensian Monks of Kelso.[40] Twice since the Reformation has its pulpit been filled by very remarkable men, who have each left a memory behind,--the one by his pen, the other by his brush. The first, Robert Monteith (so much better known as Mentet de Salmonet), had a curious and romantic story. He was the son of a poor fisherman on the Forth, above Alloa; but, having shown much quickness and aptitude for learning, he was educated for the ministry, and eventually, in 1630, obtained the living of Duddingston.

[40] Tironensian Monks, a branch of the Benedictines, so called from the Abbey of Tiron in France, from which they were brought by David I. in 1113, and planted at Selkirk. He removed them to Kelso in 1126. (See _Registrum Cartarum de Kelso_, Ban. Club, 1846.)

The care of this small parish gave little scope to a bold, restless nature like Monteith's. The intriguing spirit that possessed him wearied of the petty incidents of his daily life, and, in an hour of idleness, the flame of an absorbing passion was lit in his breast by the beautiful eyes of Lady Hamilton of Priestfield.[41] Sir James was absent in England, Monteith was a daring and unscrupulous lover, and used every art to win her affection, in which at last he succeeded. It is easy to imagine the hours of stolen happiness that followed,--how, in the soft summer twilight, Monteith would unmoor the boat which lay hidden in the deep shadows below the church, and steal noiselessly across the loch to where his love was waiting. Many a moonlight evening must the two have wandered hand in hand between the high clipped hedges, and lingered in the shady bowers of Priestfield; but to dreams like these there is generally a bitter wakening, and when Sir James returned, rumour was not slow to tell him why his lady's eyes now turned coldly from him, and gazed ever over the blue waters to Duddingston. Monteith had to fly. What was Lady Hamilton's fate,--we do not know; but, as in the history of the family she is set down as having had a long life, and borne her husband many children, we can infer that he forgave her, and that years brought forgetfulness in their train.[42]

[41] She was Anne Hepburn, a famous beauty, eldest daughter of Sir Patrick Hepburn of Waughton, and wife of Sir James Hamilton of Priestfield, second son of Thomas, first Earl of Haddington.

[42] See Scot's _Staggering State_, edited with notes by Charles Rogers.

This love was the turning-point of Monteith's life. He never saw his native land again, but in the new one that adopted him he won honours and fortune far above the lot of the Scottish minister. He abjured the Protestant faith, and became secretary to Cardinal de Retz, who bestowed on him a canonry in Nôtre Dame. When first soliciting the Cardinal's favour, the latter asked him to which branch of the Monteith family he belonged. With ready wit he answered, "To the Monteiths of Salmon-net," alluding to his father's occupation. The Cardinal replied he did not know the name, but had no doubt it was an ancient and illustrious family; and as Monteith or Mentet de Salmonet he was hereafter known. He was remarkable for the elegance and purity with which he spoke the French language; but to us he is best known by his folio work, _Historie des Troubles de la Grande Bretagne depuis l'an 1633 jusques 1649_, which he published in 1661, and dedicated to the Cardinal-Coadjutor.

Nearly two centuries after Monteith's time, John Thomson, the famous painter, was minister of Duddingston. He was born near Girvan in 1778, and in 1805 was given the living of Duddingston, where he spent the remaining thirty-five years of his life. From his boyhood he had been devoted to art. Nasmyth was his master, but he greatly formed his style on that of Claude Lorraine. Like him, he possessed, in an unusual degree, the art of pictorial composition. His chiaroscuro was bold and effective, his colouring agreeable, and an undefinable charm is given to his pictures by the poetical suggestiveness that underlies them. His works are greatly valued. Two very fine examples hang in the Scottish National Gallery. Thomson was a great friend of Sir Walter Scott, for whom he painted the picture of Fast Castle, now at Abbotsford. He formed one of the brilliant circle which was then the glory of Edinburgh.

Leaving Duddingston, we enter the Queen's Park, and, struggling with difficulty up the steep, rocky pass, called Windygoul (where even on the calmest day gusts are always eddying), we see before and above us the grand basaltic columns known as "Samson's Ribs." To the left, down the slope, are the Wells o' Wearie, often celebrated in song;[43] and before us lies St. Leonards, so imperishably associated with _The Heart of Midlothian_, that a cottage used to be pointed out as that of "Douce Davie Deans." Now even that has disappeared, in the wilderness of new houses that has completely changed St. Leonards. The eastern side of the crags, being within the boundary of the park, alone retains its original character.

[43] Two of these songs, being less well known than others, I quote from the versions given me by Lady John Scott.

THE WATER O' WEARIE'S WELL.

There cam a bird out o' a bush On water for to dine, And sighing sair, said the King's dochter, "O! wae's this heart o' mine."

He's ta'en a Harp into his hand, He's harped them a' asleep, Except it was the King's dochter, Who ae wink couldna get.

He's luppen on his berry-brown steed, Ta'en her on behind himsel', And they rade down to that water That they ca' Wearie's Well.

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair, Nae harm shall thee befa'. Aft times I hae watered my guid steed Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."

The first step she steppit in, She steppit to the knee, And sighin' said this ladye fair, "This water's no' for me."

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair, Nae harm shall thee befa'. Aft times I hae watered my guid steed Wi' the water o' Wearie's Well."

The next step that she stepped in, She steppit to the middle, And sighin' said that ladye fair, "I've wat my golden girdle."

"Wade in, wade in, my ladye fair, Nae harm shall thee befa'. Aft times I hae watered my guid steed Wi' the water o' Wearies Well."

The next step that she stepped in, She steppit to the chin, And sighin' said this ladye fair, "It will gar our loves to twine."

"Seven King's dochters I hae drowned In the water o' Wearie's Well, And I'll mak' you the eighth o' them, An' I'll ring for you the Bell."

"Sin' I am standin' here," she says, "This dowie death to die, Grant me ae kiss o' your fause, fause mouth, For that would comfort me."

He leaned him ower his saddle bow To kiss her cheek and chin, She's ta'en him in her arms twa And thrown him headlong in.

"Sin' seven King's dochters ye've drowned there In the water o' Wearie's Well, I'll mak' you bridegroom to them a', An' ring the Bell mysel'."

An' aye she warsled, an' aye she swam, Till she won to dry land, Then thankit God maist heartilie The dangers she'd ower cum.

The other song is the Scottish version of the old fairy tale of the Frog Prince, and runs thus:--

THE LADYE AND THE FAIRY; OR THE PADDO'S SANG.

Oh, open the door, my hinnie, my heart! Oh, open the door, my ain true love! An' mind the words that you and I spak By the well o' the woods o' Wearie O!

Oh, gi'e me my castock,[44] my hinnie, my heart, Oh, gi'e me my castock, my ain true love, An' mind the words that you and I spak' By the well o' the woods o' Wearie O!

Oh, gi'e me my kail, my hinnie, my heart, Oh, gi'e me my kail, my ain true love! An' mind the words that you and I spak' At the well in the woods o' Wearie.

Oh, gi'e me your hand, my hinnie, my heart, Oh, gi'e me your hand, my ain true love, An' mind the words that you and I spak' By the well in the woods o' Wearie.

Oh, wae to ye now, my hinnie, my heart, Oh, wae to ye now, my wise fause love; Ye've broken the words ye gi'ed to me At the well in the woods o' Wearie!

There is a very pretty old tune to "The Paddo's Sang."

[44] Castock, cabbage-stock.

It was here that, in 1596, a bloody murder was committed. On the 22nd of December, James Carmichael, the Laird of Carmichael's second son, surprised and slew Stephen Bruntfield, the Captain of Tantallon. History does not relate what cause or provocation there was for this crime; but it did not long go unavenged, for the following March, Adam Bruntfield, younger brother of the murdered man, challenged Carmichael, and, having procured a licence from the king, fought with him in single combat on Barnbougle Links, before five thousand spectators. The lists were erected under the superintendence of several of the nobles of James VI.'s court. The Duke of Lennox, Sir James Sandilands, the Laird of Buccleuch, and Lord St. Clair acted as judges. The combatants were curiously arrayed,--the one in blue taffety, the other in red satin. Carmichael was a strong, powerful man, and at the first encounter he wounded his adversary, who was much younger, and of a mean stature; but, to the surprise of every one, Bruntfield immediately after struck Carmichael on the neck and slew him. He was taken back to Edinburgh in triumph, while his antagonist was borne in dead.[45]

With this curious instance of the troubled times in which our forefathers lived, we shall end this walk, having returned to Edinburgh very nearly at the spot from which we started.

[45] Birrel's _Diary_; Anderson's _MS. History of Scotland_ in the Advocates' Library.

WALK IV.

St. Margaret's Well--St. Anthony's Chapel--Muschat's Cairn--Jock's Lodge--Portobello--Restalrig.