Border Raids and Reivers

One of the most important strongholds on the Borders was Hermitage, a well-built castle, placed near the watershed, on the banks of a swift-flowing mountain stream – the Hermitage water, which joins the Liddle a little above the village of Newcastleton. This famous Border tower was built and fortified by Walter, Earl of Menteith, in the beginning of the thirteenth century. It was a royal fortress, built and maintained for the defence of the Kingdom. Numerous interesting associations cluster around its mouldering walls. It has, unhappily, been the scene of many a blood-curdling tragedy. Could its massive walls only recount the deeds which have been done under their shadow, they would many a strange tale unfold. Hermitage was long associated with the name of Lord Soulis, a fiend in human form, whose crimes have been painted in blackest hues, and to whom tradition has ascribed almost every conceivable kind and degree of wickedness. He seems, at least, to have been utterly destitute of the divine quality of mercy.

“The axe he bears, it hacks and tears;
’Tis form’d of an earth-fast flint;
No armour of knight, tho’ ever so wight,
Can bear its deadly dint.

No danger he fears, for a charm’d sword he wears,
Of adderstone the hilt;
No Tynedale knight had ever such might,
But his heart-blood was spilt.”

He invited the young laird of Mangerton to a feast, and treacherously murdered him. The “Cout of Keeldar,” also, was drowned by the retainers of Lord Soulis in a pool near the castle, being held down in the water by the spears of his murderers.

“And now young Keeldar reach’d the stream,
Above the foamy linn;
The Border lances round him gleam,
And force the warrior in.

The holly floated to the side,
And the leaf on the rowan pale;
Alas! no spell could charm the tide,
Nor the lance of Liddesdale.

Swift was the Cout o’ Keeldar’s course
Along the lily lee;
But home came never hound nor horse,
And never home came he.

Where weeps the birch with branches green,
Without the holy ground,
Between two old gray stones is seen
The warrior’s ridgy mound.

And the hunters bold, of Keeldar’s train,
Within yon castle’s wall,
In a deadly sleep must aye remain,
Till the ruin’d towers down fall.

Each in his hunter’s garb array’d,
Each holds his bugle horn;
Their keen hounds at their feet are laid
That ne’er shall wake the morn.”

Tradition says that, when the people complained to the King of the atrocities committed by Lord Soulis, he said to them in a fit of irritation – “Go, boil Lord Soulis and ye list, but let me hear no more of him.” No sooner said than done —

“On a circle of stones they placed the pot,
On a circle of stones but barely nine;
They heated it red and fiery hot,
Till the burnish’d brass did glimmer and shine.

They roll’d him up in a sheet of lead,
A sheet of lead for a funeral pall;
They plunged him in the cauldron red,
And melted him, lead, and bones and all.

At the Skelfhill, the cauldron still
The men of Liddesdale can show;
And on the spot where they boil’d the pot
The spreat and the deer-hair ne’er shall grow.”

At a place called the “Nine Stane Rig” there may still be seen a circle of stones where it is supposed this gruesome tragedy was enacted. The “cauldron red,” in which Lord Soulis was boiled, is now in the possession of the Duke of Buccleuch. The Nine Stane Rig derived its name from an old Druidical circle of upright stones, nine of which remained to a late period. Two of these are particularly pointed out as those that supported the iron bar upon which the fatal cauldron was suspended.

The castle of Hermitage ultimately passed into the possession of the Douglasses, and became the principal stronghold of the “Black Knight of Liddisdale,” a natural son of the good Lord James Douglas, the trusted friend and companion of Bruce. In the year 1342 it was the scene of the following terrible tragedy:

Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie, a brave and patriotic Scottish baron, who had specially distinguished himself in the wars with England, was appointed governor of the castle of Roxburgh and Sheriff of Teviotdale. Douglas, who had formerly held the office of Sheriff, was enraged when he heard what had occurred, and vowed revenge against Ramsay, his old companion in arms. He came suddenly upon him with a strong party of his vassals while he was holding his court in the church of Hawick. Ramsay, suspecting no harm, invited Douglas to take a seat beside him. The ferocious warrior, drawing his sword, rushed upon his victim, wounded him, threw him across his horse, and carried him off to the remote and inaccessible castle of Hermitage. There he was thrown into a dungeon, and left to perish of hunger. It is said that his miserable existence was prolonged for seventeen days by some particles of corn which fell from a granary above his prison. Tytler, in commenting on this abominable crime, justly remarks: – “It is a melancholy reflection that a fate so horrid befell one of the bravest and most popular leaders of the Scottish nation, and that the deed not only passed unrevenged, but that its perpetrator received a speedy pardon, and was rewarded by the office which led to the murder.”

In later times Hermitage is chiefly associated with the names of Bothwell and Buccleuch. It is still in the possession of the latter noble family, and is one of the most interesting of all the old Border castles.

In the olden time Liddesdale was chiefly inhabited by two numerous and powerful families – the Armstrongs and the Elliots. The laird of Mangerton was the head of the former, and the laird of Redheugh of the latter. Both families were, almost without exception, notorious freebooters. Reiving was the business of their lives. They were inspired, if not with a noble, at least with an overmastering enthusiasm for their nefarious calling. They were strongly of opinion that all property was common by the law of nature, and that the greatest thief was the man who had the presumption to call anything his own! Might was right.

“They may take who have the power,
And they may keep who can.”

It was, no doubt, a simple rule, but the consequences resulting from its application were not always of an agreeable description.

It is said that the original name of the Armstrongs was Fairbairn, and that the change of name was brought about by a curious incident. The King on one occasion asked a Fairbairn to help him to mount his horse. Stretching out his arm, he caught the King by the thigh, and lifted him into his saddle. From henceforth he was known by the name of Armstrong.

The name “Elliot” has undergone considerable changes. It is spelled in some of the older documents in at least seventy or eighty different ways, the most common being Ellwood, Elwald, Elwand, Hellwodd, Halliot, Allat, Elliot. It is remarkable that in many districts in the south of Scotland the name is still pronounced “Allat,” though this is one of the older forms in which it appears.

The Elliots and Armstrongs and other inhabitants of Liddesdale attained an unenviable notoriety. The picture which Maitland has drawn of these “Liddesdale Limmers” may be here and there too highly coloured; yet those who are most familiar with the facts of Border history will be the first to admit that it is, on the whole, a fairly accurate description. It is entitled, “A Complaynt against the Thieves of Liddesdale” —

“Of Liddesdale the common thieves,
Sae pertly steals now and reives,
That nane may keep
Horse, nolt, nor sheep
For their mischieves.

They plainly through the country rides,
I trow the mickle devil them guides,
Where they onset
Ay in their gait,
There is no yett,
Nor door them bides.

They leave richt nocht wherever they gae;
There can nae thing be hid them frae;
For gif men wald
Their houses hald,