--The fortunate obstinacy of Morton saved his party. Stubborn
and undaunted, he defended his house till the assailants set it in
flames, and then yielded with reluctance to his kinsman, Buccleuch.
But the time, which he had gained, effectually served his cause. The
borderers had dispersed to plunder the stables of the nobility; the
infantry thronged tumultuously together on the main street, when the
Earl of Mar, issuing from the castle, placed one or two small pieces
of ordnance in his own half-built house[24], which commands the market
place. Hardly had the artillery begun to scour the street, when the
assailants, surprised in their turn, fled with precipitation. Their
alarm was increased by the townsmen thronging to arms. Those, who had
been so lately triumphant, were now, in many instances, asking the
protection of their own prisoners. In all probability, not a man would
have escaped death, or captivity, but for the characteristic rapacity
of Buccleuch's marauders, who, having seized and carried off all the
horses in the town, left the victors no means of following the chace.
The regent was slain by an officer, named Caulder, in order to prevent
his being rescued. Spens of Ormeston, to whom he had surrendered, lost
his life in a generous attempt to protect him[25]. Hardly does our
history present another enterprise, so well planned, so happily
commenced, and so strangely disconcerted.
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