THE HISTORICAL HOMES OF SCOTLAND.

Otago Witness, Issue 2647, 7 December 1904, Page 71

THE HISTORICAL HOMES OF SCOTLAND.

— Floors Castle. — j The Duke and Duchess of Roxburghe have returned to Floors Castle from their shooting lodge at Byrecleuch, Berwickshire. \ The young Duchess, like so many of her compatriots, is deeply interested in the lomaace of the past! Nothing — perhaps not even the ducal coronet its-eli — helped her i lover's success in his wooing more than the fact that Ms lands are, in part, held by . charters away back in the. Middle A&a. j From the windc ws of Floors she can see ' auld Roxburghe" — the heritage granted to xVndrew Ker of Cessford, the Warden of the Middle-March, in 1460 — "auld Roxburghe " even then, with chapters of tragical history attached to its name. The dainty boudoir which, has been prepared for the Duchess is on the garden iron* of Floors Castle, in one of the stately wings built a hundred years ago by Sir John Vanbrugh. But her favourite sit- j tdng room looks southwards, over one of j the" fairest views in Britain. One can see ■ the stretch of the .peaceful stream, with ' its fringe of sedges and osiers, sweeping away xo the spot where ,the Teviot' joins the Tweed. A bridge with many arches crosses just below, and the noble tower of KelsoV ruined abbey stands almost beside it. ' '' On the spur of land at the confluence of the rivers is the shattered wall and broken fosse of what was once a royal castle, the ' strongest fortress on all the- Border side — old Roxburghe. Tiie castle Avas the scene of many notable gatherings. Kings and knights, cardinals vnd ambassadors, came and went through its stately gates. Princes hero were born and died, and were married ' and were given in marriage. Here King Alexander 111 and his fair young English j Avife entertained King Hemy 111 with much I magnificence. Jousts were held, and j knightly feats of arms were done, to the j vast contentment of the King of Scots and ; his powerful guest. And here "the Prince Royal of Scotland was married to the ' Count of Fianders's heiress with festivities ; lasting fifteen days. j But the old castle on Teviot-side echoed to shrieks as well as laughtei- — shouts of i battle as well ,as songs of revelry. When i William the Lion fell a captive into j English hands Roxburghe was one of the j castles they wrested from him as part I price of his freedom. It was taken and J re-taken half a score of times, its nearness j to the Border making it the object of either side to retain possession. Fire and sword did their worst upon Roxburghe. Edward of England, the victor of many .Scottish battlefields, rested often within its walls ; Wallace and Bruce besieged it in turn. Bruce, indeed, had a personal reason for using against it every art and artifice he could command, for it was at Roxburghe his best-beloved sister suffered the refinement of cruelty at the hands of his enemies. The Piincess Mary, a noble and devoted woman, was captured while trying to carry* help to her brother Edward, himself afterwards a king ; and according to the diabolical usage of' those days, which spared neither jrentle nor simple, she was shut up in a gigantic cage and hung from a turret of Roxburghe Castle, that all the Avorld might see the fate which could overtake " rebels " against England. In the town of Berwick, not so many miles away, Isabel Countestj of Buchan was hung out in a similar cage to punislh her for having dared to set the Crowni of Scotland on .Uruce's head at Scone. "Auld Roxburghe is peaceful enough now. Its last act in the drama of Scottish history was startling enoulgh, and since then it has lain, dismantled and deserted, above its peaceful streams. It was in 1460 that Jame's II of Scotland Avas superintending a siege-train he had brought against the castle, then in the hands of the foes. A great culverin, " The Lion of Flanders," of Avhieh he was inordinately proud, burst, killing the King in the destruction itdealt around. The besieging army, dishastened at the death, of their royal leader, Avas on the point of abandoning the struggle in despair, when the Queen, Mary of Gueldies, Imrried into the midst of the camp with her son, a child of eight, at her side. " You have lost one king," sbe cried ; " but here is another ! Be true to him, and God will be true to you !" A woman's ready Avit won the day. The boy king, was hurriedly croAvned at Kelso Abbey, and a desperate onslaught brought tlie. castle to surrender. The walls were broken, down, the great towers demolished, and the very name of Roxburghe was struck off the roll of the cities of Scotland. And to this day it has not been rebuilt, * j Very soft and fair is the scene iioav, ; where once kings met in the shock of battle or rode the lists in mimic fight. | The earth wihiclii trembled to the tranu> of

armies is blue with spring's forget-me-nots or golden with autumn's wealth of fallen leaved The shallows are dippiiig their wings in the Teviot's ripples, and cattla stand knee-doep where Twepd comes swi.'tly down towards the sea. Kclso Abbey lifts its red ruins over the water, and oa the softly sweliing hills beyond slancls Floors, (he great white modernised castle which the eighth D\,kc piepared last year for his American brdf. — Loch Nevis and Loch Hourn. — The Lake of Heaven (Loch Nevis) and the L;,ke of Hell \Loch Honrn) will have an added historic interest since Lord ar.d Lady Burton took King Edward VII to -explore the wild scenery of .Mora..- and -Mallaig. Prince Charlie set foot on this spot \rhen, in the little Doutelle frigate, he had eluded King George's cruisers and landed on the rocky shores of the kingdom he haJ come to win back for the Stuarts. To a man reared under the shadow of the Quirinal, with memories of Roman palaces in his mind, accustomed to the stately life of the Roman nobles and to J the rich accents of the Southern tongue, ' it mi!"t have been little short of appalling to find himsaif surrounded by Skye fishermen and Mo id art clansmen, in a place ' where the only habitations were the castles ; of the chiefs — rough and plain as the lives | of their masters — aiid the rude cnbins of the peasantry — cabins which, even after the " improvements '" of the twentictli cen- . tmy, raise a shudder of disgust. 1 That Charles .Stuart. Prince of_ Wales, .heir to the English and Scottish thrones, with the blood of a hundred kings in his veins, should be brave surprises ro one. The 1 romance of the " Forty-five " will appeal to all hearts as long as history is read and [ stories ar i told. But never, we think, did I " bonny Princs Charlie " show his mettle so truly as. on the morning when he landed on that wild Scottish shore, refusing to be disheartened by the savagery of the scene r,r_ the indifference of the clans. For at first all men looked coldly at the " madcap adventurer." Where are his troops? Where were . arms for the people, or money for JLhe war-rhest? The Scots are proverbially cautious, and in those first days the Prince , must have suffered a martyrdom, i But his spirit never quailed. His father i m " the Fifteen *' had found circumstances ! too depressing -to face, ard had promptly ?ailed away again. Prince Charles benfe .those very same circumstances to his will.. He managed to stir the Highland hearts at last to cany the standard of his forlorn hope so near to success that had the fire , of his enthusiasm only <l caught on " south of the Tweed. King George might have gone back to Herrenhausen and the Stuarts enjoyed " their am " again. The King spread out his map and studied the district well. He noted the exact spot where the Doutelle's boats lauded their ! royal passenger' on that dreary momhig I m the slimmer of 1745 ; and he asked , that the yacht P>>ver might sail round Ihe Point of Sleat, lluit he might see that other spot, not so many miles away, i whence the Prince, defeated, despairing. j set sail for France, carrying his -brokrj fortunes and his broken heart from v i lar.d for ever. [ Loch Nevis, "the heavenly lake," smiles i blue in the autumnal sun ; the rowans ars red on .the hills, and the white stems oil j the birches gleam like silver in the clear I north air ; the heather has faded) into . bronze and purple, and the bracken blazes i golden in the light. There is not a. | fairer scene in Britain. Round the head- ! land to the north lies Loch Hourn, black I and grim, the huge mountains shutting j off the stoping sun. Waterfalls thunder 1 from th& cliffs, and hill tarns lie like ink ! in the bosom of the moors. Tradition says that this loch is the haunt of a sea-demon more terrific than that which claimed Andromeda as its prey. Stories, blood-curdling in their diatail, are repeated by the cabin hearths on winter nights, and strange sounds are heard am£:l the bowlings of the November ytorms, at \ those seasons w-hen witches have their plenitude.,. .of power. Wild disturbance troubles the deep loch water, and the spray is flung skyward as by some submarine _ force. Who dares deny that a ■ monster does haunt these desolate seas? There are strong men and sturdy lasses living in Moidart and Morar, but we doubt if -man or woman would have courage to stand at midnight and dip hand or foo* into the waters of Loch^Hourn. —The Isle of Skye.— Skye is seen at its best undei the atmospheric effects of mist and storm, which come hurtling in from the Atlantic to break upon the lofty cliffs and heathery heights of the Cuchullins. There can scarcely be a greater contrast than that which the wide fields of Norfolk or the heavy woods of Cheshire make when compared with the savage and gloomy grandeur of Skye. The widths of Norfolk green, with the soft horizon. line unbroken save by trees, or the quiet, sedge-shored reaches of the lake at Combermere are as different as contrasts can be from the lofty ridge of Blaven, the dark waters of Coruisk, and the surging waves of Scavaig. Lord Edward Grosvenor, who is just 12 years old, is immensely impressed by the "stiffness" of the Skye climbing. There is one hillside, near Loch Coruisk, which rejoices in an unpronounceable Gaelic name, meaning, "Come, let us run down it!" Certain it is that if anybody were mad enough to accept the ironical invitation, and to attempt to descend) the almost precipitous slopes — rubbed as they are into dangerous smoothness by the glaciers of the prehistoric iceage — he would inevitably go heacf first into the sea beneath. Prince Charlie found hiding here in~the terrible days after Culloden. The Skye men still point out the cavg where Flora, j Macdonald bade him farewell after having:' . been his guardian angel during the days of the fierce efforts to take him prisoner.* | Her own home, Kingsburgh, is at the north end of the island. Here Flora con/

veyed the Prince, disguised as her wait-ing-woman, in a "flowered) linen gown, a quilted petticoat, and a mantle of dun camlet" — and an apron ! "Oh, give me an apron," cried the Prince ; "you have forgotten my apron."' And forthwith Flora gave him the wide white embroidered apron she was herself wearing at the time Mrs Maedonald, or, as she was always termed, Lady Kingsburgh, received Flora without having the least idea whom she had brought with her ; but her little daughter Jeannie cried out in alarm when she caught sight of the "odd muckle gowk of a wife" who was stalking behind) Flora. Lady Kingsburgh saw immediately it was. a man in disguise, and she imagined Tiim to be some unfortunate fugitive from Charles's army. (Flora caught her arm, and whispered that it was the Prince himself. Lady Kingsburgh screamed ouet in terror. "Then we are all ruined!" she said. "We shall all be hanged for harbouring the Prince !" inKgsburgh, her husband, looked from, his weeping wife to the "muckle gowk." "We can die but once," he said, "and the cause is the cause of the unfortunate. Bring out food — eggs, butter, and cheese, for the Prince is hungered." "Breadi, butter, and chesse! What supper is that for a Prince?" she cried. "Madam" — Charles had the sweetest voice in the world, and even the apron could not disguise the manners which had entranced Versailles — "Madiam," he said, "you little know how I have fared of late. And as for a bed, I have forgotten almost what a bed feels like. The poorest cabin in Skye w6\ild be a welcome refuge. Think, then, how ' fortunate I deem myself to be your ladyship's guest at Kingsburgh." How pathetic the story is ! Even now hearts beat faster as it is told by Highland) lips in Skye. The gallant lad, who had staked his all, and lost, is- still a living individuality in the Highlands, and eyes still gi'ow dim and voices falter as they sing of the bonnie Prince who, with his life in his hand, crossed "over the sea to Skye." — Carlavercock Castle. — A really beautiful function took place in old Carlavercock Castle recently, when Lord Herries entertained his kinsfolk and neighbours to afford them an opportunity of meeting his daughters, both of whom have been married during the past season. The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk and the ,Hon. J. E. Drummond and his bride, together with all the Herries of the Border-side, met in the banqueting hall of the singularly picturesque old castle to celebrate the two marriages. There are few places in all Britain where such an occasion could have found such a "setting." Tho castle is scarcely discovea'ed of tourists. It stands on a promontory of land covered' with copsewood, where acres of sea-pinks glow crimson in the summer sun, and June roses throw long trails of loveliness over the hedges. The Nith River ccmes brawling from the highlands above Sanqtihar, down past ducal Drumlanrig and saintly Lincludin, to Solway Sea. At Carlaverock ifc widens into an estuary, which, if artists had ever discovered it, would be of all their haunts the best be- . loved. The ruined walls of deep red stone cover the tiny islet surrounded by the ancient moat. The swallows now dip their sharp wings there, and the coots lead their Huffy broods across between the flowering rushes and the "long purples" that stand tall — knee-deep, as it were, in the quiet water. Small traces now exist of the strength that once made the fortress of Carlaverock so formidable. Archer-men and retainers with .the heavy arquebus of the time might have held the place against besiegers, but under the conditions of modern warfare it could not stand five minutes. Edward I of England wrested it from the Scots, and made it his headquarters during the time he waged his bitter warfare in bebaif of Baliol. The Lady Devorgilla dwelt here while she watched the building of the exquisite Abbey of Dulce Cor — Sweetheart Abbey, as they term it now — which remains for all ages as a monument of wifely devotion and humble piety. Here, too, in later times came Winifred Lady Nithsdale, ancestress of the present Lord's Herries of Terregles. She rivalled Lady Devorgilla in her own lines, for if the Galloway Princess made her dead husband's heart famous, the Nithsdale Counte&s saved her lord alive to her everlasting fame. — Modern Societj\