Muckle-mou'ed Meg

: Tales From Scottish Ballads

"O wha hasna heard o' the bauld Juden Murray,

The Lord o' the Elibank Castle sae high?

An' wha hasna heard o' that notable foray,

Whan Willie o' Harden was catched wi' the kye?"





Of all the towers and castles which belonged to the old Border reivers,

there was none which was better suited to its purpose than the ancient

house of Harden. It stood, as the house which succeeded i stands to

this day, at the head of a deep and narrow glen, looking down on the

Borthwick Water, not far from where it joins the Teviot.



It belonged to Walter Scott, "Wat o' Harden," as he was called, a near

kinsman and faithful ally of the "Bold Buccleuch," who lived just over

the hill, at Branksome.



Wat was a noted freebooter. Never was raid or foray but he was well to

the front, and when, as generally happened, the raid or foray resulted

in a drove of English cattle finding their way over the Liddesdale

hills, and down into Teviotdale, the Master of Harden had no difficulty

in guarding his share of the spoil. The entrance to his glen was so

narrow, and its sides so steep and rocky, that he had only to drive the

tired beasts into it, and set a strong guard at the lower end, and then

he and his retainers could take things easily for a time, and live in

plenty, till some fine day the beef would be done, and his wife, Dame

Mary, whom folk named the "Flower of Yarrow" in her youth, would serve

him up a pair of spurs underneath the great silver cover, as a hint that

the larder was empty, and that it was full time that he should mount and

ride for more.



'Twas little wonder that his five sons grew up to love this free roving

life, to which they had always been accustomed, and that they took ill

with the change when, in 1603, at the Union of the Crowns, Scotland and

England became one country, and King James determined to put down

raiding and reiving with a high hand.



It was difficult at first, but gradually a change came about. Courts of

justice were established in the Border towns, where law-breakers were

tried, and promptly punished, and the heads of the most powerful clans

banded themselves together to put down bloodshed and robbery, and a time

of quietness bade fair to settle down on the distressed district.



To the old folk, tired of incessant fighting, this change was welcome;

but the younger men found their occupation gone, while as yet they had

no thought of turning to some more peaceable pursuit. The young Scotts

of Harden were no exceptions to this rule, and William, the eldest,

found matters, after a time, quite unbearable. Moreover, his father's

retainers were growing discontented with their quiet life, and scanty

fare, for beef was not so plentiful at Harden now that Border law

forbade its being stolen from England; so, without telling either his

father or his brothers of his intention, he took a band of chosen men,

and rode over, in the gray light of an early spring morning, to the

house of William Hogg of Fauldshope, one of the chief retainers of the

family.



William was a man of great bravery, and so fierce and strong that he had

earned for himself the name of the "Wild Boar of Fauldshope."



He was still in bed when the party from Harden arrived, but rose hastily

when they knocked. Great was his astonishment when he saw his young

master with a band of armed men behind him.



"What cheer, Master?" he said, "and what doest thou out at this time of

day? Faith, it minds me of the good old times, when some rider would

come in haste to my door, to tell me that Auld Buccleuch had given

orders to warn the water."[3]



[Footnote 3: To call the countrymen to arms.]



"Heaven send that those times come back again," said young Harden

piously, "else shall we soon be turned into a pack of old wives. The

changes that have come to Harden be more than I can stand, Willie. Not

so many years past we were aye as busy as a swarm of bees. When we had a

mind, and had nought else to do, we leaped on our horses and headed

towards Cumberland. There were ever some kine to be driven, or a house

or two to be burned, or some poor widow to be avenged, or some prisoner

to be released. So things went right merrily, and the larder was always

full. But now that this cursed peace hath come, and King Jamie reigns in

London--plague on the man for leaving this bonnie land!--the place is as

quiet as the grave, and the horses grow fat, and our men grow lean, and

they quarrel and fight among themselves all day, an' all because they

have nought else to do. Moreover, the pastures round Harden grow rough

for want of eating. We need a drove of cattle to keep them down. So I

have e'en come over to take counsel with thee, Will, for thou art a man

after mine own heart, and I have brought a few of the knaves at my back.

What think ye, man, is there no one we could rob? Fain would I ride over

the Border to harry the men of Cumberland, but thou knowest how it is.

My kinsman of Buccleuch is Warden of the Marches, and responsible for

keeping the peace, and sore dule and woe would come to my father's house

were I to stir up strife now that we are supposed to be all one land."



"Ay, by my troth," said Will of Fauldshope, "the fat would be in the

fire if we were to ride into Cumberland nowadays; but, Master, the

Warden hath no right to interfere with lawful quarrels. There is the

Laird o' Elibank, for instance, old Sir Juden. Deil take me if anyone

could blame us if we paid him a visit. For all the world knows how often

some cows, or a calf or two, have vanished on a dark night from the

hillsides at Harden, and though a Murray hath never yet been ta'en

red-handed, it is easy to know where the larders o' Elibank get their

plenishing. Turn about is fair play, say I, and now that the pastures at

Harden are empty, 'tis time that we thought of taking our revenge. Sir

Juden was a wily man in his youth, and sly as a pole-cat, but men say

that nowadays he hath grown doited,[4] and does nought but sit with his

wife and his three ugly daughters from morning till night. All the same,

he hath managed to feather his nest right well. 'Twas told me at

Candlemas that he hath no less than three hundred fat cattle grazing in

the meadows that lie around Elibank."



[Footnote 4: In his dotage.]



Willie o' Harden slapped his thigh.



"That settles the matter," he cried, with a ring in his voice at the

thought of the adventure that lay before him. "Three hundred kye are far

too many for one old man to herd. Let him turn his mind to his three

ill-faured[5] daughters, whom no man will wed because of their looks.

This very night we will ride over into Ettrick, and lift a wheen[6] o'

them. My father's Tower of Oakwood lies not far from Elibank, and when

once we have driven the beasts into the Oakwood byres, 'twill take old

Sir Juden all his time to prove that they ever belonged to him."



[Footnote 5: Plain-looking.]



[Footnote 6: Few.]



Late that afternoon Sir Juden Murray was having a daunder[7] in the

low-lying haughs which lay along the banks of the Tweed, close to his

old tower. His hands were clasped behind his back, under his coat tails,

and his head was sunk low on his breast. He appeared to be deep in

meditation, and so indeed he was. There was a matter which had been

pressing heavily on his mind for some time, and it troubled him more

every day.



[Footnote 7: Gentle walk.]



The fact was, that it was a sore anxiety to him how he was going to

provide for his three daughters, for Providence had endowed them with

such very plain features that it seemed extremely unlikely that any gay

wooer would ever stop before the door of Elibank. Meg, the eldest, was

especially plain-looking. She was pale and thin, with colourless eyes,

and a long pointed nose, and, to make matters worse, she had such a very

wide mouth that she was known throughout the length and breadth of four

counties as "Muckle-Mou'ed Meg o' Elibank."



No wonder her father sighed as he thought of her, for, in spite of his

greed and his slyness, Sir Juden was an affectionate father, as fathers

went in those days, and the lot of unmarried ladies of the upper class,

at that time, was a hard one.



He was roused from his thoughts by someone shouting to him from the top

of the neighbouring hill. It was one of his men-at-arms, and the old man

stood for a moment with his hand at his ear, to listen to the fellow's

words. They came faintly down the wind.



"I fear evil betakes us, Sir Juden, for far in the distance I hear

bugles sounding at Oakwood Tower. I would have said that the Scotts of

Harden were riding, were it not for Buccleuch and his new laws."



Sir Juden shook his grizzled head. "Little cares Auld Wat o' Harden, or

any o' his kind, either for Warden or laws, notwithstanding that the

Warden is his own kith and kin. As like as not they have heard tell o'

my bonnie drove of cattle, and would fain have some of them. Run,

sirrah, and warn our friends; no one can find fault with us if we fight

in self-defence."



No sooner had the first man disappeared to do his master's bidding, than

another approached, running down the hillside as fast as he could. He

was quite out of breath when he came up to the Laird, and no wonder, for

he had run all the way from Philip-Cairn, one of the highest hills in

the neighbourhood.



"Oh, Sir Juden," he gasped, "lose no time, but arm well, and warn well,

if thou wouldst keep thine own. From the top of the hill I saw armed men

in the distance, and it was not long ere I knew the knaves. 'Tis a band

of reivers led by the young Knight of Harden, and, besides his own men,

he hath with him the Wild Boar of Fauldshope, and all the Hoggs and the

Brydons."



"By my troth, but thou bringest serious tidings," said Sir Juden,

thoroughly alarmed, for he knew what deadly fighters Willie o' Harden

and the Boar of Fauldshope were, and, without wasting words, he hurried

away to his tower to make the best preparations he could for the coming

fray.



He knew that even with all the friends who would muster round him, the

men of Plora, and Traquair, and Ashiestiel, and Hollowlee, Harden's

force would far outnumber his, and his only hope lay in outwitting the

enemy, who were better known for their bravery than for their guile.



So when all his friends were assembled, instead of stationing them near

the castle, he led them out to a steep hill-side, some miles away, where

he knew the Scotts must pass with the cattle, on their way to Oakwood.

As the night was dark, he bade each of them fasten a white feather in

his cap, so that, when they were fighting, they would know who were

their friends and who their foes, and he would not allow them to stand

about on the hill-side, but made them lie down hidden in the heather

until he gave them the signal to rise.



He knew well what he was doing, for he was as cunning as a fox, and

neither the Knight of Harden nor the Wild Boar of Fauldshope, brave

though they were, were a match for him.



They, on their part, thought things were going splendidly, for when they

rode up in the darkness of midnight to the Elibank haughs, all was

quiet; not so much as a dog barked. It was not difficult to collect a

goodly drove of fat cattle, and, as long as the animals were driven

along a familiar path, all went well. But all the world knows the saying

about "a cow in an unca loaning,"[8] and it held good in this case. The

moment the animals' heads were turned to the hills that lay between

Elibank and Oakwood the trouble began. They broke in confusion, and ran

hither and thither in the darkness, lowing and crying in great

bewilderment.



[Footnote 8: A cow in a strange lane or milking-place.]



"Faith, but this will never do," exclaimed Will of Fauldshope; "if the

beasts bellow at this rate, they will awaken old Sir Juden and his sons,

and they will set on in pursuit. Not that that would matter much, but we

may as well do the job with as little bloodshed as possible. See, I and

my men will take a dozen or so, and push on over the hill. If once the

way be trodden the rest will follow."



So Will of Fauldshope and his men went their way cheerily up the hill,

and over its crest, and down the other side, on their way to Oakwood,

with a handful of cattle before them, little recking that Sir Juden and

his sons, whom they thought to be sleeping peacefully at Elibank, were

crouching among the heather with their friends and retainers, or that

they had ridden over a few of them on their way, and that, as soon as

they were past, and out of earshot, and young Harden came on with the

main body of the stolen cattle, the Murrays would rise and set on him

with sudden fierceness, and after a sharp and bloody conflict would take

him prisoner, and kill many a brave man.



Nor would Will have heard of the fight at all, until he had arrived at

Oakwood, and his suspicions had been aroused by the fact that young

Harden did not follow him, had it not been for a trusty fellow called

Andrew o' Langhope, who was knocked down in the fight, and who thought

that he could serve his master best by lying still. So he pretended to

be dead, and lay motionless until the fray was over, and poor young

Scott bound hand and foot, and carried off in triumph by the Murrays;

then he sprang to his feet, and ran off in pursuit of Will of Fauldshope

as fast as his legs could carry him.



Now, if there was one man on earth whom the Wild Boar of Fauldshope and

his men loved, it was the young Knight of Harden. He was so handsome,

and brave, and debonair, a very leader among men, that I ween there was

dire confusion among them when they heard Andrew o' Langhope's tale. A

great oath fell from Will's lips as he threw off his jerkin and helmet,

to ease his horse, and turned and galloped over the hill again, followed

by all his company.



But in spite of their haste they were too late. The dawn was breaking as

they reined up on the green in front of Elibank, and the gray morning

light showed them that the stout oak door was closed, and the great iron

gates made fast. By now young Harden was safe in the lowest dungeon, and

right well they knew that only once again would he breathe the fresh air

of heaven, and that would be when he was led out to die under the great

dule-tree on the green.



Bitter tears of grief and rage filled the Boar of Fauldshope's eyes at

the thought, but no more could be done, except to ride over to Harden,

and tell old Sir Walter Scott of the fate that had befallen his eldest

son.



* * * * *



"Juden, Juden." It was the Lady of Elibank's voice, and it woke her

husband out of the only sound sleep he had had, for he had been terribly

troubled with bad dreams all night: dreams not, as one would have

imagined, of the fight which he had passed through, but of his eldest

daughter Meg, and her sad lack of wooers.



"What is it?" he asked drowsily, as he looked across the room to where

his worthy spouse, Dame Margaret Murray, already up and dressed, stood

looking out of the narrow casement.



"I was just wondering," she said slowly, "what thou intendest to do with

that poor young man?"



"Do," cried Sir Juden, wide awake now, and starting up in astonishment

at the question, for his wife was not wont to be so pitiful towards any

of his prisoners. "By'r Lady, but there is only one thing that I shall

do. Hang the rogue, of course, and that right speedily."



"What," said the Lady of Elibank, and she turned and looked at her angry

husband with an expression which seemed to say that at that moment he

had taken leave of his senses; "hang the young Knight of Harden, when I

have three ill-favoured daughters to marry off my hands! I wonder at ye,

Juden! I aye thought ye had a modicum of common sense, and could look a

long way in front of ye, but at this moment I am sorely inclined to

doubt it. Mark my words, ye'll never again have such a chance as this.

For, besides Harden, he is heir to some of the finest lands in Ettrick

Forest.[9] There is Kirkhope, and Oakwood, and Bowhill. Think of our

Meg; would ye not like to see the lassie mistress of these? And well I

wot ye might, for the youth is a spritely young fellow, though given to

adventure, as what brave young man is not? And I trow that he would put

up with an ill-featured wife, rather than lose his life on our

hanging-tree."



[Footnote 9: These lands were sold to the Scotts of Buccleuch sometime

afterwards, and the Duke of Buccleuch is the present owner.]



Sir Juden looked at his wife for full three minutes in silence, and then

he broke into a loud laugh. "By my soul, thou art right, Margaret," he

said. "Thou wert born with the wisdom of Solomon, though men would

scarce think it to look at thee." And he began to dress himself, without

more ado.



Less than two hours afterwards, the door of the dungeon where young

Scott was confined was thrown open with a loud and grating noise, and

three men-at-arms appeared, and requested the prisoner, all bound as he

was, to follow them.



Willie obeyed without a word. He had dared, and had been defeated, and

now he must pay the penalty that the times required, and like a brave

man he would pay it uncomplainingly, but I warrant that, as he followed

the men up the steep stone steps, his heart was heavy within him, and

his thoughts were dwelling on the bonnie braes that lay around Harden,

where he had so often played when he was a bairn, with his mother, the

gentle "Flower of Yarrow," watching over him, and which he knew he would

never see again.



But, to his astonishment, instead of being led straight out to the

"dule-tree," as he had expected, he was taken into the great hall, and

stationed close to one of the narrow windows. A strange sight met his

eyes.



The hall was full of armed men, who were looking about them with broad

smiles of amusement, while, on a dais at the far end of the hall, were

seated, in two large armchairs, his captor of the night before, Sir

Juden Murray, and a severe-looking lady, in a wondrous head-dress, and a

stiff silken gown, whom he took to be his wife.



Between them, blushing and hanging her head as if the ordeal was too

much for her, was the plainest-looking maiden he had ever seen in his

life. She was thin and ill-thriven-looking, very different from the

buxom lassies he was accustomed to see: her eyes were colourless; her

nose was long and pointed, and the size of her mouth would alone have

proclaimed her to be the worthy couple's eldest daughter, Muckle-Mou'ed

Meg.



Near the dais stood her two younger sisters. They were plain-looking

girls also, but hardly so plain-looking as Meg, and they were laughing

and whispering to one another, as if much amused by what was going on.



Sir Juden cleared his throat and crossed one thin leg slowly over the

other, while he looked keenly at his prisoner from under his bushy

eyebrows.



"Good morrow, young sir," he said at last; "so you and your friends

thought that ye would like a score or two o' the Elibank kye. By whose

warrant, may I ask, did ye ride, seeing that in those days peace is

declared on the Border, and anyone who breaks it, breaks it at his own

risk?"



"I rode at my own peril," answered the young man haughtily, for he did

not like to be questioned in this manner, "and it is on mine own head

that the blame must fall. Thou knowest that right well, Sir Juden, so it

seems to me but waste of words to parley here."



"So thou knowest the fate that thy rash deed brings on thee," said Sir

Juden hastily, his temper, never of the sweetest, rising rapidly at the

young man's coolness. He would fain have hanged him without more ado,

did prudence permit; and it was hard to sit still and bargain with him.



"So thou knowest that I have the right to hang thee, without further

words," he continued; "and, by my faith, many a man would do it, too,

without delay. But thou art young, William, and young blood must aye be

roving, that I would fain remember, and so I offer thee another chance."



Here the Lord of Elibank paused and glanced at his wife, to see if he

had said the right thing, for it was she who had arranged the scene

beforehand, and had schooled her husband in the part he was to play.



Meanwhile young Harden, happening to meet Meg Murray's eyes, and puzzled

by the look, half wistful, half imploring, which he saw there, glanced

hastily out of the little casement beside which he was standing, and

received a rude shock, in spite of all his courage, when he saw a strong

rope, with a noose at the end of it, dangling from a stout branch of the

dule-tree on the green, while a man-at-arms stood kicking the ground

idly beside it, apparently waiting till he should be called on to act as

executioner.



"So the old rascal is going to hang me after all," he said to himself;

"then what, in Our Lady's name, means this strange mummery, and how

comes that ill-favoured maiden to look at me as if her life depended on

mine?"



At that moment, old Sir Juden, reassured by a nod from Dame Margaret,

went on with his speech.



"I will therefore offer thee another chance, I say, and, moreover, I

will throw a herd of the cattle which thou wert so anxious to steal into

the bargain, if thou wilt promise, on thy part, to wed my daughter Meg

within the space of four days."



Here the wily old man stopped, and the Lady of Elibank nodded her head

again, while, as for young Harden, for the moment he was too astonished

to speak.



So this was the meaning of it all. He was to be forced to marry the

ugliest maiden in the south of Scotland in order to save his life. The

vision of his mother's beauty rose before him, and the contrast between

the Flower of Yarrow and Muckle-Mou'ed Meg o' Elibank struck him so

sharply that he cried out in anger, "By my troth, but this thing shall

never be. So do thy worst, Sir Juden."



"Think well before ye choose," said that knight, more disappointed than

he would have cared to own at his prisoner's words, "for there are

better things in this world than beauty, young man. Many a beautiful

woman hath been but a thorn in her husband's side, and forbye[10] that,

hast thou not learned in the Good Book--if ever ye find time to read it,

which I fear me will be but seldom--that a prudent wife is more to be

sought after than a bonnie one? And though my Meg here is mayhap no' sae

well-favoured as the lassies over in Borthwick Water, or Teviotdale, I

warrant there is not one of them who hath proved such a good daughter,

or whose nature is so kind and generous."



[Footnote 10: Besides.]



Still young Harden hesitated, and glanced from the lady, who, poor

thing, had hidden her face in her hands, to the gallows, and from the

gallows back again to the lady.



Was ever mortal man in such a plight? Here he was, young, handsome,

rich, and little more than four-and-twenty, and he must either lose his

life on the green yonder, or marry a damsel whom everyone mocked at for

her looks.



"If only I could be alone with her for five minutes," he thought to

himself, "to see what she looks like, when there is no one to peep and

peer at her. The maiden hath not a chance in the midst of this

mannerless crowd, and methought her eyes were open and honest, as they

looked into mine a little while ago."



At that moment Meg Murray lifted her head once more, and gazed round her

like a stag at bay. Poor lassie, it had been bad enough to be jeered at

by her father, and flouted and scolded by her mother, because of the

unfortunately large mouth with which Providence had endowed her, without

being put up for sale, as it were, in the presence of all her father's

retainers, and find that the young man to whom she had been offered

chose to suffer death rather than have her for a bride.



It was the bitterest moment of all her life, and, had she known it, it

was the moment that fixed her destiny.





For young Willie of Harden saw that look, and something in it stirred

his pity. Besides, he noticed that her pale face was sweet and

innerly,[11] and her gray eyes clear and true.



[Footnote 11: Confiding.]



"Hold," he cried, just as Sir Juden, whose patience was quite exhausted,

gave a signal to his men-at-arms to seize the prisoner, and hurry him

off to the gallows, "I have changed my mind, and I accept the

conditions. But I call all men to witness that I accept not the hand of

this noble maiden of necessity, or against my will. I am a Scott, and,

had I been minded to, I could have faced death. But I crave the honour

of her hand from her father with all humility, and here I vow, before ye

all, to do my best to be to her a loyal and a true man."



Loud cheers, and much jesting, followed this speech, and men would have

crowded round the young Knight and made much of him, but he pushed his

way in grim silence up the hall to where Meg o' Elibank stood trembling

by her delighted parents.



She greeted him with a look which set him thinking of a bird which sees

its cage flung open, and I wot that, though he did not know it, at that

moment he began to love her.



Be that as it may, his words to Sir Juden were short and gruff. "Sir,"

he asked, "hast thou a priest in thy company? For, if so, let him come

hither and finish what we have begun. I would fain spend this night in

my own Tower of Oakwood."



Sir Juden and his lady were not a little taken aback at this sudden

demand, for, now that the matter was settled to their satisfaction, they

would have liked to have married their eldest daughter with more state

and ceremony.



"There's no need of such haste," began Dame Margaret, with a look at her

lord, "if your word is given, and the Laird satisfied. The morn, or even

the next day might do. The lassie's providing[12] must be gathered

together, for I would not like it said that a bride went out of Elibank

with nothing but the clothes she stood in."



[Footnote 12: Trousseau.]



But young Harden interrupted her with small courtesy. "Let her be

married now, or not at all," he said, and as the heir of Harden as a

prospective son-in-law was very different from the heir of Harden as a

prisoner, she feared to say him nay, lest he went back on his word.



So a priest was sent for, and in great haste William Scott of Harden was

wedded to Margaret Murray of Elibank, and then they two set off alone,

over the hills to the old Tower of Oakwood--he, with high thoughts of

anger and revenge in his heart for the trick that had been played

him;--she, poor thing, wondering wistfully what the future held in store

for her.



The day was cold and wet, and halfway over the Hangingshaw Height he

heard a stifled sob behind him, and, looking over his shoulder, he saw

his little woebegone bride trying in vain with her numbed fingers to

guide her palfrey, which was floundering in a moss-hole, to firmer

footing.



The sight would have touched a harder heart than Willie of Harden's, for

he was a true son of his mother, and the Flower of Yarrow was aye

kind-hearted; and suddenly all his anger vanished.



"God save us, lassie, but there's nothing to greet[13] about," he said,

turning his horse and taking her reins from her poor stiff fingers, and,

though the words were rough, his voice was strangely gentle. "'Tis not

thy fault that things have fallen out thus, and if I be a trifle

angered, in good faith it is not with thee. Come," and, as he spoke, he

stooped down and lifted her bodily from her saddle, and swung her up in

front of him on his great black horse. "Leave that stupid beast of thine

alone; 'twill find its way back to Elibank soon enough, I warrant. We

will go over the hill quicker in this fashion, and thou wilt have more

shelter from the rain. There is many a good nag on the hills at Harden,

and, when she hears of our wedding, I doubt not but that my mother will

have one trained for thee."



[Footnote 13: Cry.]



Poor Meg caught her breath. She did not feel so much afraid of her

husband now that she was close to him, and his arm was round her;

besides, the shelter from the rain was very pleasant; but still her

heart misgave her.



"Thy Lady Mother, she is very beautiful," she faltered, "and doubtless

she looked for beauty in her sons' wives."



Then, for ever and a day, all resentment went out of Willie of Harden's

heart, and pure love and pity entered into it.



"If her sons' wives are but good women, my mother will be well content,"

he said, and with that he kissed her.



And I trow that that kiss marked the beginning of Meg Scott's happiness.



For happy she always was. She was aye plain-looking--nothing on earth

could alter her features--but with great happiness comes a look of

marvellous contentment, which can beautify the most homely face, and she

was such a clever housekeeper (no one could salt beef as she could), and

so modest and gentle, that her handsome husband grew to love her more

and more, and I wot that her face became to him the bonniest and the

sweetest face in the whole world.



Sons and daughters were born to them, strapping lads and fair-faced

lassies, and, in after years, when old Wat o' Harden died, and Sir

William reigned in his stead, in the old house at the head of the glen,

he was wont to declare that for prudence, and virtue, and honour, there

was no woman on earth to be compared with his own good wife Meg.