Stories of the Scottish Border — Chapter 6 Mystery of the Eildons

*The Mystery of the Eildons* "Before their eyes the Wizard lay As if he had not been dead a day.

His hoary beard in silver roll'd, He seemed some seventy winters old.

High and majestic was his look, At which the fellest friends had shook, And all unruffled was his face;

They trusted his soul had gotten grace."

SCOTT: _Lay of the Last Minstrel.

_ Just above Melrose, the ruined abbey of which is one of the beauties of Scotland, there rises a striking mass of three hills known as "the triple Eildons."

They rise very high above the surrounding land, and are steep enough to need a very hard scramble to mount to the very summit; but once at the top the view is wonderful indeed.

On a fine day the Tweed can be seen winding in and out most picturesquely, till it loses itself in the low distant haze of the North Sea, thirty miles away.

But even grander is the view of the entire line of the Cheviots, like a huge wall, fifty miles long, seen to immense advantage from Eildon, which towers over the rich valleys of Tweed and Teviot that lie between.

One of the legends of the triple Eildons is that King Arthur lies sleeping beneath them, some day to awaken.

Tradition says that he fought a great battle near here, by Gala Water, in the Vale of Woe.

However that may be, it is certain that at the foot of Eildon lie many famous dead.

In Melrose Abbey lies the heart of Robert Bruce, and also the body of the strong King Alexander II.

, he who first subdued and made obedient the wild tribes of Argyle.

Here, too, is buried the brave Douglas who died so gallantly on the field of Otterbourne; and also of another brave Douglas who got his death wound at Poictiers.

Sir Walter Scott, who did more than any other man to spread all over the world the knowledge of Scotland, Scottish history, Scottish romance, and Scottish character, lies buried on the southern side of Eildon, in the rival abbey of Dryburgh.

But Melrose can claim a man who in his day was an object of the deepest wonder and terror--Michael Scott, the famous wizard of the thirteenth century, he who brought the learning of Aristotle to expound to Western Europe, he whom Dante described as learned in every deep spell of the magic arts.

Perhaps he was only a scientist, born before his time; yet even to-day old folk in the country remember that it was he who is said to have cleft the head of Eildon Hill into three!

One of the many strange tales told of Michael Scott is this:-- They say that the lord of Morpeth, in Northumberland, promised the great wizard a rich reward if he would only make the sea roll up the valley of the pretty river Wansbeck till it reached Morpeth, so that vessels could sail up to the town.

The distance is seven miles, and the wizard, declaring the matter a most simple one, prepared his magic spell.

He then said that if a certain man would run from the sea to the town, and on no account look back, whatever he heard, the desire of the lord would be satisfied.

The man no sooner started to run than he heard the waters following him.

Faster and faster he went, and faster and faster came the ocean, dashing and roaring, never overtaking him, but always so near his heels as to fill him with ever greater and greater terror.

Before he had finished the third mile he was in such a state of alarm that he could not resist the impulse to see what was happening.

He turned round, and the spell was broken; the waters had followed him thus far, but would come no further.

Even the best of wizards will fail when his instructions are not obeyed.

So says the story.

People are free to believe it or not, as they please.

It is certain that the sea runs nearly three miles up the Wansbeck valley, and there stops; but many people think that that is explained by the natural rise of the land!

The story of how Michael Scott came to divide the Eildon Hill into three runs as follows:-- The wizard had one very active little demon, who was always bothering his master to give him something to do.

First Michael commanded him to put a barrier across the Tweed at Kelso, thinking to keep him quiet for at least a week; it was done in a single night, and again the demon demanded work.

Then Michael set him to divide Eildon into three; this also was done in a night, and again the demon came clamouring for employment.

So in despair the wizard ordered him to make ropes out of sea-sand!

This, of course, is impossible, as the sand will not hold together.

But if you go down to the shore on the south-east coast of Scotland on a dark and stormy night, you can still hear what sounds like the demon moaning and groaning over his impossible task; and there is certainly a barrier across the Tweed at Kelso, and the Eildon Hill is certainly divided into three!

So you may believe as much as you please of this story.

Another tale that is told of the magic powers of this famous man relates that he was once chosen to go as ambassador from the King of Scotland to the King of France on urgent business.

Instead of going, as is usual in such cases, with a number of followers, he conjured up a demon shaped like a huge black horse, and rode away over the sea.

When half-way across the North Sea the horse said to his rider:-- "What do the old women of Scotland say at bed-time?"

Had the magician fallen into the trap and named a prayer, the demon would have disappeared and the wizard would have been drowned!

But Michael Scott merely commanded his steed to go on quickly and not to talk.

Very soon he came to Paris, tied his horse to the gate of the French king's palace, and boldly entered and stated his business.

The French king sneered at an ambassador who was not followed by a train of knights, and began at once to refuse all he asked.

"Wait a moment, your Majesty," said Michael, "till you have seen my horse stamp three times."

At the first stamp the ground so shook that every steeple in Paris rocked, making all the bells ring loudly; at the second stamp the king heard behind him a loud crash that made him leap three feet in the air;

looking round, he saw that three of the towers of his palace had fallen;

the horse raised his foot to stamp a third time, but the king was so terrified that he shouted hastily that he would grant all that Michael asked if only he would keep his horse from stamping!

Whether this tale is true or not, Michael Scott was certainly one of the ambassadors sent to bring back the Maid of Norway to Scotland on the death of King Alexander III.

He wrote many learned books, and possessed many others; and they say that when he was buried at Melrose many of these same magic books were buried with him.

To this romantic district of the Eildons belonged True Thomas, Thomas the Rhymer, or Thomas of Ercildoune, as he was variously called, who was held in awe by Border-folks as a prophet.

The ruins of his tower are still shown by the pretty river Leader, just about two miles above the spot where it joins the Tweed.

The Rhymer seems to have died a few years before 1300; but despite the passing of six centuries he is still remembered.

The story of how he gained his prophetic powers is quite worth hearing, whether we believe it or not.

The tale goes that Thomas was on Huntlie bank, near the Eildon Hills, when he saw a wonderful lady approaching him.

She was dressed in grass-green silk, with a mantle of fine velvet, and the noble horse on which she rode had silver bells in its mane.

Thomas was so surprised at this remarkable sight that when the lady came near he dropped on his knee and pulled off his cap, and cried out, reverently, that she must be the Queen of Heaven.

But she answered that she was Queen of fair Elfland, and dared him, with a witching glance, to kiss her lips.

The bold and gallant Thomas did not need a second invitation, and promptly kissed the fairy, when she seized upon him and fled away with him swifter than the wind.

Soon all living land was left behind, and they came to a wild place where three roads met.

One was a narrow path, beset with thorns and briers; and this the fairy said was the road of righteousness, which very few people ever troubled to find.

Another was a broad and attractive road, which was the way of sinners; whilst the third, a pretty winding road, led to Elfland, and thither they went together.

Soon there was neither sun nor moon to lighten the way, and Thomas and his companion waded through rivers above the knee.

The sea moaned and roared in the dread darkness, and Thomas somehow found that they waded oft through streams of red blood--blood that had been shed on earth.

Then they came to a beautiful garden, and the Elfland queen gave Thomas an apple to eat, saying:-- "Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; it will give thee the tongue that can never lie."

Poor Thomas turned pale at the thought of such a gift.

"Let my tongue be my own!"

he pleaded; "how shall I buy or sell in any market, flatter a prince, or compliment a lady, if you give me such a tongue!"