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<p class="center pfirst"><span class="x-large">STORIES OF THE
<br/>SCOTTISH BORDER</span></p>
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<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">Mr and Mrs WILLIAM PLATT</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY
<br/>M. MEREDITH WILLIAMS</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.
<br/>LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY</span></p>
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</div>
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<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">First published December 1910</em><span class="small">
<br/></span><em class="italics small">by</em><span class="small"> GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY
<br/></span><em class="italics small">39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2
<br/>Reprinted: December 1916; March 1919;
<br/>April 1929</em></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><em class="italics small">Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh</em></p>
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</div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Contents</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#introduction">INTRODUCTION</SPAN></p>
<ol class="upperroman simple">
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-character-of-the-borders">THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#a-brief-history-of-the-border">A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#what-the-border-names-tell-us">WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US</SPAN></p>
</li>
</ol>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></p>
<ol class="upperroman simple">
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#bamburgh-and-its-coast">Bamburgh and its Coast</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#athelstan-at-vinheath">Athelstan at Vinheath</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#monks-and-minstrels">Monks and Minstrels</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#sir-patrick-spens">Sir Patrick Spens</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#auld-maitland">Auld Maitland</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-mystery-of-the-eildons">The Mystery of the Eildons</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#black-agnes-of-dunbar">Black Agnes of Dunbar</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-young-tamlane">The Young Tamlane</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-gay-goss-hawk">The Gay Goss-Hawk</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-corbies">The Corbies</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#otterbourne-and-chevy-chase">Otterbourne and Chevy Chase</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-douglas-clan">The Douglas Clan</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#alnwick-castle-and-the-percies">Alnwick Castle and the Percies</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#hexham-and-queen-margaret">Hexham and Queen Margaret</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#fair-helen-of-kirkconnell">Fair Helen of Kirkconnell</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#johnie-of-breadislee">Johnie of Breadislee</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#katharine-janfarie">Katharine Janfarie</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#by-lauder-bridge">By Lauder Bridge</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-battle-of-flodden-field">The Battle of Flodden Field</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#after-flodden">After Flodden</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#graeme-and-bewick">Graeme and Bewick</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-song-of-the-outlaw-murray">The Song of the Outlaw Murray</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#johnie-armstrong">Johnie Armstrong</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-lament-of-the-border-widow">The Lament of the Border Widow</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-raid-of-the-kers">The Raid of the Kers</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#merrie-carlisle">Merrie Carlisle</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#kinmont-willie">Kinmont Willie</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#dick-o-the-cow">Dick o' the Cow</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-lochmaben-harper">The Lochmaben Harper</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#id2">The Rookhope Ride</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#barthram-s-dirge">Barthram's Dirge</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#queen-mary-and-the-borders">Queen Mary and the Borders</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-raid-of-the-reidswire">The Raid of the Reidswire</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#jock-o-the-side">Jock o' the Side</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#hobbie-noble">Hobbie Noble</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-laird-o-logie">The Laird o' Logie</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#jamie-telfer-of-the-fair-dodhead">Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#muckle-mou-d-meg">Muckle-Mou'd Meg</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-dowie-dens-of-yarrow">The Dowie Dens of Yarrow</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#belted-will-and-the-baronry-of-gilsland">Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#gilderoy">Gilderoy</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#archie-armstrong-s-oath">Archie Armstrong's Oath</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#christie-s-will">Christie's Will</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#northumberland-at-the-time-of-the-civil-war">Northumberland at the Time of the Civil War</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#montrose-and-lesly">Montrose and Lesly</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-death-of-montrose">The Death of Montrose</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-borderers-and-the-jacobites">The Borderers and the Jacobites</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-nine-nicks-o-thirlwall">The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall</SPAN></p>
</li>
<li><p class="first noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#in-wild-northumberland-to-day">In Wild Northumberland To-Day</SPAN></p>
</li>
</ol>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Illustrations</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-rookhope-ride">The Rookhope Ride.</SPAN><span> . . . . . . Frontispiece</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#egil-at-vinheath">Egil at Vinheath</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-siege-of-maitland-castle">The Siege of Maitland Castle</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#black-agnes">Black Agnes</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-twa-corbies">The Twa Corbies</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-final-battle-in-the-streets-of-hexham">The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#id1">Johnie of Breadislee.</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#flodden-field">Flodden Field</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#tell-us-alloh-tell-us-true">"Tell Us All—Oh, Tell Us True!"</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-border-widow">The Border Widow</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-escape-of-kinmont-willie">The Escape of Kinmont Willie</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#queen-mary-crossing-the-solway">Queen Mary crossing the Solway</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#a-boon-a-boon-my-noble-liege">"A Boon, a Boon, my Noble Liege!"</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#she-kissed-his-cheek-she-kaim-d-his-hair">"She Kissed his Cheek, She Kaim'd his Hair"</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#the-storming-of-newcastle">The Storming of Newcastle</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><SPAN class="reference internal" href="#tis-i-tis-thy-winifred">"'Tis I, 'Tis thy Winifred!"</SPAN></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">In liquid murmurs Yarrow sings</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Her reminiscent tune</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Of bygone Autumn, bygone Springs,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">And many a leafy June.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">No more the morning beacons gleam</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Upon the silent hills;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">The far back years are years of dream—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Now peace the valley fills.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">No more the reivers down the vale</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">On raid and foray ride;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">No more is heard the widow's wail</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">O'er those who fighting died.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">When morning damns with all its joys</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Then from the meadows rise</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">A hundred throbbing hearts to voice</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Their anthems to the skies.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">When noontide sleeps where brackens wave,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Ere shadows yet grow long,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">No sound awakes the echoes save</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">The Yarrow's pensive song.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">And when the eve, with calm delight,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Betokens night is nigh,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Beneath the first star's tender light</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">Is heard the owlet's cry.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">While Yarrow's liquid cadence swells</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">By meadow, moor, and hill,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span class="italics">At morn or noon or eve there dwells</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span class="italics">A mournful memory still.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block no-italics outermost">
<div class="line"><span>W. CUTHBERTSON.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-character-of-the-borders"><span id="introduction"></span><span class="bold x-large">Stories of
The Scottish Border</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">Introduction</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">I.—THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The district called the Border is one of the
most interesting in Great Britain. It consists
of that part of England that is nearest Scotland,
and that part of Scotland that is nearest England,
mainly the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland,
Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, and Dumfriesshire.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The country is very picturesque and highly romantic.
It abounds in great rolling, breezy hills, with swift
streamlets or "burns" running down their sides to
swell the rushing rivers. No part of our island has more
beautiful valleys than those of the Border.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This bold, rough district, well adapted to defence, and
situated also just where the island of Great Britain is
almost at its narrowest, became, after many a struggle,
the boundary between England and Scotland. The
character of the country was suited to the rearing of
hardy Moorland sheep and cattle; its inhabitants therefore
were a tough, open-air race of men, strong, strapping
fellows, fearless riders, always ready for an adventure,
especially if it meant a fight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In those days of Border strife there was hardly such a
thing as international justice, that is to say, the people of
one nation were not very particular as to what they did
to people of another nation; therefore these bold, hardy
Border men, Englishmen and Scot alike, were fond of
creeping across the boundary to steal the cattle of their
neighbours. Men devoted to such raids were called
"Freebooters" or "Mosstroopers," the name "Moss"
being given in the North Country to boggy tracts that
lie about the hill-sides.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So it happened that the Border was in a perpetual
state of petty warfare, conducted, it is true, with a
certain amount of good-will and a rough approach to
chivalry, and with the concurrence of the powerful
Border nobles of both nations, who often played an
important part therein. At times these raids developed
into important warlike expeditions, when a fierce noble,
or even a king, had some reckless game to play. Hence,
among the ballads which give us so vivid an account
of Border strife, we find descriptions not only of the
minor doings of picturesque sheep-stealers, but also
of pitched battles such as Chevy Chase and Homildon Hill.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The union of England and Scotland in 1603 naturally
put an end to all the former excuses for raiding, and
therefore terminated the true Freebooter period. After
this, despite one or two belated attempts, such as Elliot's
big raid in 1611, sheep-stealing ceased to be looked upon
as an honourable calling, and became mere thieving.
The men who would have raided one another's farms
in 1602 became friendly neighbours after the Border
Commission of 1605. There had been little malice in
their former freebooting. Both sides were of one race;
and they had the pleasure of finding that their lands
went up greatly in value in consequence of the Border peace.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To-day, the Border presents scenes of peaceful
cattle-farming. But Romance is still in the air, hangs about
the fine, breezy moorlands and beautiful dales, and is
seen clearly in the faces of the healthy Border-folk. A
holiday at any Border farm would prove a most
enjoyable one. There are wonderful Roman remains, for
here it was that the Romans built their wall; there are
castles of the Border barons; the views are wide and
grand; the river-valleys are unmatched for beauty,
and delightful wild flowers are plentiful, chief among
which are fox-gloves, the giant wild Canterbury Bells,
the handsome North Country wild geranium, several
interesting kinds of wild orchids, and a variety of others
too numerous to mention. Last, but not least, it is
often possible in the evenings to see the farmers' sons
engaged in friendly wrestling in the meadows, when
we can realise that these great manly fellows are of the
same vigorous race that kept the Borders lively a few
centuries ago.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="a-brief-history-of-the-border"><span class="medium">II.—A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Before dealing in detail with the stirring stories of
Border history and legend, to retell which is the purpose
of this book, we will first inquire—What is it that
settles exactly the position of the border-line between
two countries? To find the answer we must think
what happens when a country is invaded.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If the invaders are stronger than the people whom they
attack, they go on thrusting back their foes till these
reach some strong position where, by the aid of mountain,
river, or marsh, they are able, at any rate for a time,
to hold their own. Thus, a border-line is always
determined by some natural feature of the country which
gives the defenders an advantage.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The attackers will not always operate from the same
locality, and the defenders will not always fall back in
the same direction; the two sides, also, will vary in
power from time to time. For these reasons a border-line,
especially in the old fighting days, was often altered.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Romans invaded Britain they gradually
conquered the southern part of it, but they could not
subdue the wilder north; one of their boundary lines
was drawn from the Solway to the Tyne; then they
fought their way further north and their next definite
boundary was a line running from the Forth to the Clyde.
Along each of these boundaries they built a great wall,
and to this day parts of these Roman walls remain.
But it is worth noting that neither of these wall
border-lines stands upon the present border, one being
all in England and the other all in Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Romans left Britain, called back to defend
their own native land from invasion, there followed a
brief period for which we have no definite record of
events in this island. This is the period of King Arthur,
and none can say how much is true in the Arthurian
legends.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But history begins to become clear again about the
time that the Angles came in their ships across the
North Sea, bent on conquest. They landed on all the
natural harbours of the east coast, driving the Britons
back and taking the land for themselves. The fact that
they landed on the East and drove the Britons westward,
leads us to think that sooner or later a boundary
would have been formed dividing the island into the east
side (for the Angles) and the west side (for the Britons).</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now that is exactly what did happen. The border-lines
were nowhere like the present ones. The northern
kingdom of the Angles reached to the Forth, where these
people founded Edinburgh (Edwin's burgh). On the
west the Britons had sway in Cornwall (Corn-Walles),
Wales, Cumbria (which stretched from the Mersey to
the Solway), and Strathclyde (from the Solway to the
Clyde). North of the Forth was the country of the Picts;
while the Scots were a race recently come from Ireland,
and they only owned what we now call Argyleshire, and
the islands lying near to it. Not one inch of the present
Border was at that day in the border-line!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Of the various races that lay round about where the
Border now is, the Northumbrians seemed at first to be
the strongest. The capital of their kingdom was
Bamburgh, a place still famous for its castle, though
to-day it is not important enough to have a railway
station! But it still looks very picturesque on the wild
coast, with the Farne Islands, the first seat of
Northumbrian Christianity, in the near distance.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Ambition had much to do with the downfall of
Northumbria. The famous King Eadbert would not rest
content till he had scaled Dumbarton, the capital of
Strathclyde. This was to his career what the march
to Moscow was to Napoleon's, for, though Eadbert got
safely to Dumbarton (756) his army was cut to pieces
in getting back again. The Northumbrians seem to
have lost some of their northern lands, for they moved
their capital further south, to the old Roman city of
Corbridge which stood on the Tyne just where the
delightful country town of that name stands to-day.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 844 a king of the Scots, named Kenneth MacAlpin,
became (we don't quite know how) king of the Picts also,
joining two strong races under one ruler, and thus was
powerful enough to give great trouble to the weakened
kingdom of Northumbria. He several times led his army
through Lothian, the district belonging to the Angles
between the Forth and the Tweed, but was never quite
able to conquer it. It is important to remember that
up to that date Lothian had never belonged to Scotland.
The appearance of the Danes added to the confusion
of those restless days. For some few years it was
doubtful whether Scot, Dane, or Angle would get the best of it
in Northumbria. But at last the genius of Athelstan of
Wessex revived the power of the Angles over the whole
of that large part of the island which they had settled,
right up to the Forth itself. Edinburgh was still English
in 957, and the border-line was still very far from the
present one. But there was no longer a king of
Northumbria; only an earl, who was subject to the will
of the West-Saxon kings.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This fact of the dominance of the West Saxons, whose
capital was far to the south at Winchester, must have
added to the weakness of the Northumbrian border.
By the year 963 the Scots had conquered Edinburgh,
and it was now never again to return to English rule.
Before very long the whole of Lothian had passed under
Scottish control; but it was not yet held to be part of
Scotland. Nor must it be thought that this conquest
of Lothian fixed the border-line in its present position,
for the king of the Scots was at that time ruler over
Cumberland, which had never yet been English and was
all that was left of the old British kingdom of Cumbria.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Frontier wars with varying successes between Scot,
Angle, and Dane mark the stormy history of this time.
The power of Cnut held back the Scotch attempts upon
Nothumberland; but during a lull in the wars the grand-son
of the Scottish king married the sister of Earl Siward,
and received as her dowry twelve towns in the valley
of the Tyne, an astonishingly imprudent arrangement.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At the time of the battle of Hastings, the earldom of
Northumberland was so far distant from Winchester
as to be somewhat out of the control of the King of
England; the power of the Scottish kings threatened it;
they held twelve towns in Tynedale, and Cumberland
was a part of Scotland. The Northumbrians refused to
accept William the Conqueror as their king; and had
they been able to make good their refusal, they must
sooner or later have been conquered by the Scots, and
the border-line between England and Scotland would
then most probably have been formed by the Tees, the
mountain boundary of Westmoreland, and Morecambe Bay.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But William was not a king to be played with. He
reduced Northumberland to subjection and carried his
army into Scotland as far as the river Tay, where he
forced the King of Scotland to admit that he, William,
was his overlord.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Notwithstanding this humiliation, when King William
returned to Winchester, the Scots several times went
back to their favourite amusement of raiding unhappy
Northumberland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One of these invasions took place in the reign of
William Rufus (1093), who went north in person. He
doubtless recognised the fact that owing to the Scots
possessing Cumberland they were in the strong position
of being able to attack Northumberland on two sides.
He took Cumberland by force of arms, and thus for the
first time it became a part of England (the word
"Cumberland" means the land of the Cumbrians or
Welsh, a Saxon form of the Welsh word Cymry).</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Rufus rebuilt the strong fortress of Carlisle to defend
his new border at its weakest corner. For the most part
this border is excellently protected by the natural
rampart of the wild Cheviot Hills, and is in every way as
good a border as could be devised. It runs in a fairly
straight line from south-west to north-east, across a
narrow part of the island.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But although this border-line proved to be a
permanent one, it must not be thought that it remained
undisputed. The times were rough, and hardy fighting
folk lived on the Border. They had many grounds for
quarrel, and took advantage of them all. For one thing,
the exact boundary of North Cumberland was never
quite defined till 1552; up to which year there was a
tract of land between the rivers Esk and Sark, which was
claimed by both countries, and therefore called the
"Debateable Land." Then the Scots maintained that
they were overlords of Northumberland, while the
English kings cherished the notion that they were
overlords of the whole island of Britain, and the wild spirits
on both sides were always ready to fight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Out of this fighting spirit sprung the stirring history
of the Border, which forms the theme of the deathless
Ballads, the stories of which it is now our purpose to
retell.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="what-the-border-names-tell-us"><span class="medium">III.—WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Many a name holds a meaning wrapt up within itself
like a nut in its shell. For instance, "Edinburgh"
is a Saxon name—Edwin's burgh—and the word tells
us that this noble city, though now the capital of
Scotland, was originally founded by and belonged to
a Saxon king of Northumbria. The Highlanders, in
their own Gaelic language, called it Dunedin. This has
the same signification as Edinburgh, but, like most
Gaelic names, it is arranged in the reverse order to that
in which an English name is generally put together.
"Dun" means burgh, "Edin" is Edwin. This is the
same Dun that we have in "Dundee," which means
the burgh on the Tay, and might be translated as
"Tayburgh." "Dumbarton" means the burgh of the
Britons, and teaches us another notable lesson, namely,
how far north in the old times the British influence
extended. For "British" in this case means
"Welsh." Nowadays we associate the Welsh with Wales only.
Formerly there must have been a numerous colony of
Welsh in Scotland, as the name "Dumbarton" testifies,
as also many Scottish family names. The great name
of Wallace itself, for instance, suggests such an origin,
for "Wallace" is merely a corrupt form of the word
"Welsh," and proves that the great national hero was
of Welsh extraction. Then "Cumberland"—Cymry
land—means the land of the Welsh, or Cymry, as they
call themselves. The county of Cumberland did not
really belong to the English till the time of William
Rufus. The first syllable of "Carlisle" denotes a Celtic
fortified town, and must be compared with the first
syllable of "Carnarvon."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The presence of the Roman wall is shown in many
names in Northumberland, such as "Wallsend,"
"Walltown," "Wallridge," "Heddon-on-the-Wall,"
"Wallhouses," and "Thirlwall."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For a very interesting instance of what a name tells
us we may leave the Border for a moment and consider
why the northernmost part of Scotland is called
"Sutherland." It must have been so named by people
living in the Orkney and Shetland isles, of a different
race from the Scotch—that is, Norse settlers in those
islands.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With regard to surnames, how many stop to think
that "Oliphant" is merely a form of "elephant," and
was originally an allusion to a big, burly ancestor?
"Grant," which is the same as "grand," must also have
been once applied to one who was a giant in size. The
Frazers somehow got their name from the French word
for a strawberry, fraise. The odd-looking
"Scrymgeour" means simply a scrimmager or skirmisher.
"Turnbull" recalls one who turned the bull at a
bull-baiting. The well-known "Gladstains" or "Gladstone"
has nothing to do with "glad," but is from "glede,"
an old word for the kite, and commemorates some stone
where these birds frequented. "Buccleuch" is from
the killing of a buck in a cleugh or ravine.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Christian names of the Borderers are full of
life and local colour, and differ much from those of
Southern England. "Barthram" is the northern form
of "Bertram," "Nigel" of "Neil," "Jellon" of
"Julian," "Ringan" of "Ninian." It was the general
custom to abbreviate Christian names or use them in
the diminutive form, as is constantly the practice in
these Border ballads. "Hobbie" stands for "Halbert,"
a fine old name which must not be confused with
"Albert." "Dandie" or "Dandrie" is "Andrew,"
"Eckie" is "Hector," "Lammie" is "Lambert,"
"Lennie" is "Leonard." "Adam" becomes, in the
familiar form, "Aicky," "Christian" becomes "Christy,"
"Gilbert" becomes "Gibby."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Another peculiarity of the ballads is the regular
recurrence of such phrases as "the Laird's Jock,"
"the Laird's Wat," "Ringan's Wat," etc. These
expressions mean, "John the son of the Laird,"
"Walter the son of the Laird," "Walter the son of
Ringan or Ninian."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="bamburgh-and-its-coast"><span class="bold large">Chapter I</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Bamburgh and its Coast</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The little town of Bamburgh has two striking
features—the great castle upon its stern rock,
and the wild coast-line at its feet where dash
the storms of the North Sea.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To-day it is not important enough to have a railway
station of its own; yet once it was the capital of the
great Saxon kingdom of Northumbria. Its original
name was Bebbanburgh, so called after Queen Bebba;
of its Saxon fortress hardly a trace remains, the present
building being partly the old Norman castle, with repairs
and additions of a later date. The ancient pile has a
strength, dignity, and grandeur which accords well with
its truly noble situation.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The North Saxons in choosing such a spot for their
capital showed a very evident desire to keep in touch
with the sea. Over the sea they had come; and over
the sea would come both friends and enemies. Many a
meeting of both friend and foe has taken place at
Bamburgh!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Perhaps the fiercest of the enemies was Ragnar of the
hairy-breeches, a famous viking who plundered, ravaged,
and burnt without mercy. These vikings, powerful
men and fearless sea-rovers, were a standing terror to
Northumbria. Men with frames and muscles strong as
iron; at home both on the sea and on the battle-field;
fair-haired, blue-eyed men, guarded by helmet, breast-plate,
and shield, armed with heavy weapons, because
at that date the art of the smith was not equal to making
them sharp, light, and strong at once. So these mighty
warriors hewed their way through the field of battle
with great strokes, and when their foes fled in terror, the
vikings took back to their ships all the treasure they
could find, and away they went across the sea again.
But with all their fierceness they loved poetry (wild
war-poetry, most of it) and they loved their strong,
brave women.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Ragnar was a thorough viking. He loved fighting,
and his handsome wife, and the battle songs he made.
But the Saxons had no cause to love him, and when his
ship ran aground near Jarrow, they bound him and cast
him into a pit of snakes, and watched him slowly die.
The viking had no fear of death. He sang as he lay
there, of his life and his deeds—of the great banquets he
had given to the wolves and the vultures and the fierce
battles he had won, spreading the terrors of his name
from the Orkneys to the Mediterranean; of his beautiful
wife and strong sons, and of how they would avenge
him; and of how Woden, the lord of all warriors, was
calling him to his Hall.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Many a battle has been fought on that wild coast since
Ragnar died; much history has been made thereabouts,
and many legends have attached themselves to
Bamburgh. Like most famous places, it had its own special
dragon, the "Laidly Worm" or loathsome serpent of the
ancient ballad.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"For seven miles east, and seven miles west,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And seven miles north and south,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>No blade of grass or corn would grow,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>So venomous was her mouth!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>And yet, when the gallant knight gave her "kisses
three," she changed at once into a beautiful lady!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But despite its castle, its battles, and its legends,
Bamburgh slowly declined in importance. As the
capital of Northumbria it had been one of the chief towns
in England. But the gallant Northumbria of the Saxons
was more open to enemies than any other part of the
country; Cumbrians were on the west and Scots on the
north, and this was of all Saxon kingdoms the most
exposed to the ravages of the Danes. From the capital
of a kingdom it became the capital of a county
(Bamburghshire), returning two members to Parliament in the
reign of Edward I.; but it grew of less and still less
importance, till at last it was known only to the student
of history. It shared this fate with Lindisfarne, called
Holy Island, once the Canterbury of the North, on
whose rocky shores still stand the ruins of the fine
Norman cathedral which took the place of the old
Saxon one. Lindisfarne and Bamburgh—neighbours,
divided only by a narrow belt of sea—two names that
conjure up vivid pictures of romantic history. Yet
suddenly, early in the nineteenth century, the great
deed of a splendid heroine lent new glory to the wild,
sea-girt town.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Grace Darling was born at Bamburgh in 1817, in a
cottage on the south side of the village street, which can
still be seen to-day. Her father became keeper of the
lighthouse on the Langstone, a rocky islet five miles
from the coast, guarding ships from the dangerous
Farne Islands, a group of iron-bound rocks where
seabirds dwell. In the early morning of September 7, 1838,
during the raging of a most terrible storm, she heard
the crash of a ship dashed upon the rocks, and anguished
cries; as soon as dawn enabled them to see, the girl and
her father made out the dark outline of the wreck, and
the miserable forms of the mariners crouching on rocks
from which the rising tide would sweep them inevitably
to death. With superb heroism Grace and her father
pushed their small boat into the furious waters, and after
strenuous and dauntless efforts, always at the peril of
their own lives, they saved the whole ship's company,
nine souls in all. So fierce was the storm that it was
three days before a boat dared take them from the
Langstone to the mainland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The roar of approbation which greeted her from the
whole country found her as modest as she was brave.
But for all her courage, this noble girl was not strong.
She died four years later, and lies buried at Bamburgh,
within sound of the sea. And the Langstone is known
to-day as "Grace Darling's Island," and the tomb of the
brave girl rouses sweeter memories than the frowning
fortress of Bamburgh.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="athelstan-at-vinheath"><span class="bold large">Chapter II</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Athelstan at Vinheath</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Famous among the old Norse sea-rovers was
Egil, son of Skallagrim. In the course of his
many voyages, he visited all the lands between
the White Sea and the Bay of Biscay, and when at last
he settled down in his Iceland home, where he lived on
till well past the age of eighty, he loved to gather his
children and grandchildren around him by the fireside
during the long Icelandic winter, and to tell the story
of his adventures. He was a true Norseman, fond of the
sea and the fight, fond of his wife and children, fond of
song, at which he was highly skilled. His songs and his
stories of adventure were listened to with eagerness, and
they were repeated after him, and were at last written
down, probably between one hundred and fifty and two
hundred years after his death. Books were scarce in
those days, and stories were treasured and faithfully
re-told. So this story of Egil was probably written out
very much in the simple, vigorous style in which the old
warrior would have told it to his grandchildren, as they
listened to him with wide-open, wondering eyes. And
as the old man had taken part in an early battle between
Saxon-English and Scots, upon the Border, we have here
a fine picture of how fights were fought in the reign of
King Athelstan.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Egil was speaking to Icelandic children who knew
little about England, so he began by telling how in the
days when Harold Fairhair was king of Norway, Alfred
the Great was the first supreme king over all England.
When Alfred died he was succeeded by his son Edward,
who was followed by Athelstan the Victorious. In
Egil's day Athelstan was young and had but just been
made king, and many chieftains, who had kept quiet
before, now thought that the time had come when they
could do as they pleased again. But Athelstan meant
to show them that he too could rule England strongly
and wisely.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>These were the days of brute force, and the king had
first to get an army together. Besides his own English
folk, many roving Norsemen came to take his pay, and
among the number were Egil and his elder brother
Thorolf, with their men. They saw the king himself,
who received them well. Athelstan was a good Christian,
known as the Faithful, and he desired that Thorolf and
Egil should submit to be marked with the Cross, that they
might take their place by his Christian soldiers without
quarrel. This they agreed to, and the king gave them
command over three hundred men. Now Olaf the Red
was king in Scotland. His father was a Scot, but his
mother was a Dane of the family of Ragnar
with-the-hairy-breeches, that savage old viking.
Northumberland, which in those days extended to the Humber, and
included York as its chief city, was half-full of Danes,
and King Olaf wished to claim it for his own, and add
it to Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Athelstan had set Earl Alfgeir and Earl Gudrek to rule
Northumberland and defend it from the Scots. But
Olaf of Scotland came south with his mighty host;
there was a fierce battle; Earl Gudrek was slain and Earl
Alfgeir fled. When Athelstan heard of the triumph of
Olaf, he began at once to march northward with all
the men he could get together; but he was yet young,
and some of the treacherous earls, hearing that Olaf
had so far been victor, deserted King Athelstan. Chief
among these traitors were Earl Hring and Earl Adils, who
should have been in the very front of the English army,
but who basely went over to the Scots. Thus Olaf's
host became exceeding great, greater by far than the
English army.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Athelstan called together his captains and his
counsellors; Egil was there, and heard all the grave
talk as to what should be done. At last a plan
was made that all thought good, and this is what
followed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>First, messengers were sent to King Olaf, saying that
King Athelstan would meet him in fair fight at Vinheath
by Vinwood, in Northumberland, where he would mark
out the field of battle with rods of hazel. He who won
the battle should be king over all England. The armies
should meet a week hence, and whichever was first
on the ground should wait a week for the other. King
Olaf should bide quiet, and not harry the land till the
battle was ended. North of the heath was a town;
there King Olaf stayed, for there he could best get
provisions for his army. But some of his men he sent
to the heath, to view it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The hazel-poles were already set up on the large level
plain. A river was on one side, and a wood was on the
other. And where river and wood were nearest to one
another, there King Athelstan's tents were pitched.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Many tents there were, but the front line of tents
stood high, so that the Scots could not see how many
were behind. Every third tent was empty, but many
men were sleeping on the grass in the open, so that the
Scots might think that the English had a large army
there. Every day more English troops came in, and
when the time was come that was fixed for the battle,
English envoys went to the King of the Scots asking if
there need be the great fight and bloodshed that
threatened; if Olaf would go peaceably home, Athelstan
would give him a shilling of silver for every plough that
ploughed in England. The Scots took counsel together
and said they must have more than this. Then the
messengers begged a three days' truce to consider this.
On the third day they came again, saying that King
Athelstan would give what he offered before and also to
the Scottish army a silver shilling for every freeman
soldier, a silver mark for every lesser officer, a gold
mark for every captain, and five gold marks for every
earl. But the Scots asked not only for this, but also
for Northumberland to be yielded to them. Then the
English messengers answered that Scottish messengers
must ride back with them, to take the answer from
Athelstan himself.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now the truth is this: that the Scottish king had
taken Athelstan by such surprise that he needed time
to get his men together; all these messages were but a
trick to gain time till the king should come up himself
with all the men he could gather. When, therefore, the
messengers rode up to King Athelstan, he had but just
arrived on the scene of battle. And when he heard the
message he said: "Tell King Olaf this, that I will give
him leave to return to Scotland safely if only he give
back all he has unjustly taken from this land, and if he
own himself my under-king, holding Scotland for me and
at my behest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This proud answer made the Scottish messengers at
once see what had been going on. So they hastened
back to their king to tell him how they had been received
and what the meaning of it was.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Scots found that the English had thus
outwitted them, they took counsel together in some anger.
Earl Adils, he who had deserted the English, said that he
and his brother, Earl Hring, would that very night make
a surprise attack; if it succeeded, well and good; if
not, then they could easily withdraw, and the main
battle could begin in the morning. This the King of
Scots held to be good advice.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So the two traitor earls and their men moved
southward under cover of the darkness. But Thorolf the
Norseman was used to the ways of war, and his sentries
were alert and blew a great war-blast on their horns.
And thus the fight began.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thorolf was armed with a massy halberd that stood
taller than a man; broad was its blade and thick its
socket, and it ended in a four-edged spike. He had a
strong sword by his side and a big, heavy shield on his
left arm; he had a helmet but no shirt of mail. His
brother Egil was armed in much the same way.
The Norsemen's standard was borne by Thorfid the
strong.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Next to the Norsemen, in the first rank also, was the
division led by Earl Alfgeir, he who had once before fled
from the Scots. King Athelstan gave him this chance
to redeem himself. Now when the first onslaught of the
Scots took place, Earl Adils came against Earl Alfgeir,
while Earl Hring came against the Norsemen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And now the battle began. The two traitor earls
urged on their men, who charged with spirit. The fight
was fierce, and soon Alfgeir gave ground; this made
the foe press on the fiercer, and before long Alfgeir was
in full flight. He avoided the town where Athelstan
was, and fled night and day to the coast, where he took
ship out of the country he had served so ill.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Adils did not dare to pursue him far, for fear of being
himself cut off from his friends. So he returned to help
his brother Hring against the Norsemen. Thorolf, like
a true general, saw the danger of this, and at once told
Egil to turn aside with half their force to prevent Adils
from joining his brother. The Norsemen fought a grand
fight, but were badly outnumbered, and the battle
seemed to be going against them. Then Thorolf became
furious. Disdainful of life, he cast his shield behind his
back, grasped his great halberd with both hands, and
sprang forward, hacking down all who opposed him.
Straight for Hring's standard he went, nothing could stop
him. He slew the standard-bearer, cut through the
standard-pole, and with a mighty stroke thrust his
halberd right through the body of Hring, the traitor
earl, and lifted him up in the air that all might see that
he was slain. Then Adils and the rest of the men fled
to the wood, and thus ended the first part of the fight.
More was to come on the morrow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At dawn next day King Athelstan came forward
with his main army. He had heard of the great deeds of
the brothers Thorolf and Egil; most courteously he
thanked them, and said that he would always reckon
them as his friends. Then with his captains he made
his plans for the battle. Egil he put in command of the
front ranks of his men, and Thorolf he set aside to face
those of the Scots who might charge the English in loose
array.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 61%" id="figure-146">
<span id="egil-at-vinheath"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Egil at Vinheath" src="images/img-028.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">Egil at Vinheath</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>"For this is the way of the Scots," he said; "they
dash to and fro, rush forward and hither and thither,
and are dangerous except to a commander who is both
wary and bold."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Egil said, "I would rather that Thorolf and I were
near together"; but Thorolf answered, "As the king
commands, so will we do."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The battle began, and soon waged furiously. Thorolf
and his men pressed forward along the woodside, hoping
to take the enemy on the flank. Now, unknown to him,
Adils and his followers were hiding among the trees,
and of a sudden Adils sprang out and smote him down.
Thorfid, too, the brave standard-bearer, was pressed
back, but rallied the men, who fought desperately.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Scots had raised a great shout at the fall of
Thorolf, and this was heard by Egil, who, when he saw
the standard forced back, feared that his brother was
dead, for Thorolf had never drawn back from any foe.
So with a fierce cry Egil hacked his way through to that
part of the field, and when he learnt the truth from
his men, he never rested till he had slain Adils with
his own hand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The followers of Adils then fled, and Egil and the
Norsemen hewed their way through the flank of the Scottish
force towards the place where King Olaf's standard
was. Noting this, King Athelstan, that wary general,
caused his own standard to be set forward and all his
army to attack at once. Fierce and furious was the
fight, and great was the slaughter. King Olaf was slain,
with great numbers of his men, and the rest fled in
confusion. The English victory was complete.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as Athelstan saw that victory was his, he left
the pursuit to his captains and hastened to the town to
make his arrangements. Egil pursued far and fiercely,
and when at last he came back to the battlefield
his first thought was for his dead brother. Worn out
though he was, he would take no rest until he had buried
the warrior with full honours, with his arms and his
raiment; and before the sad farewell was said Egil
clasped a gold bracelet on both of Thorolf's wrists to
show his deep love. Then they buried the hero deep
and put a high cairn of stones over him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then one last tribute Egil paid to his brother, the
greatest of them all. Among these old Norse warriors
there existed a great love of song; the great fighters
strove also to be great song-makers, and Egil was famous
above most for this power. The Norsemen's poems had
not rhymes like ours; they had short vigorous lines, and
in each pair of lines three of the important words had to
begin with the same letter. Wild strong chants they were.
This is the song that Egil sang at the burial of his
brother, Thorolf Skallagrimsson:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"The halberd of the hero</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Hewed down the foe before him;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then in the brunt of battle</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Was spilt brave Thorolf's blood.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The grass is green on Vinheath</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where sleeps my great-souled brother;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But death, in doubled sorrow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Our doleful hearts must bear."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>When Egil got to the town he found the king and his
army making merry over their victory at a huge feast.
The courteous king saw Egil and bade him come and sit
near to him. The king watched the burly Norseman,
who was tall, with broad shoulders, a powerful head and
mighty strength; but now his head was bent forward,
and he kept his sword across his knees, and now and
again half drew it and then clashed it back into its
scabbard like a man who fights with heavy thoughts.
He ate little and drank less. Then King Athelstan,
watchful and courteous, took a gold ring from his arm,
and placing it on his sword-point, handed it thus to
where Egil sat. At this mark of honour the Norseman's
face grew brighter. Then the king sent round his own
horn for Egil to drink; so he drank to the king and sang
a verse of wild poetry in his praise, made on the spur
of the moment; and with this the king was much pleased.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then the king sent also for two chests full of silver,
and said to Egil:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"These chests carry to thy father; it is fitting that
King Athelstan make him some gift for the loss of his
son. And do thou stay with me long, and I will give
thee honour and dignity."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the great king in kindness and courtesy did what
he could to soothe the grief of the warrior; and Egil
stayed the winter with Athelstan, but when the summer
came he wished to go back to his own people. But he
had much respect for King Athelstan, and ere he bade
him farewell he made a long poem to his glory.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><em class="italics">From the Song of Egil Skallagrimsson, to the Glory of
King Athelstan.</em></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"See how the kingly warrior,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Land-warder, battle-wakener,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Smites even to the earth</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The earls who rise against him!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Glad is now Northumberland,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>This the king she needed,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Wise and bold of race and blood,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Dauntless in the battle-field!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Many were the verses of this stirring song; and after
each came the refrain:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Scottish hills where reindeer roam</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Own the rule of Athelstan!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The king gave Egil two heavy gold rings and a
handsome cloak that he himself had worn; then the Norseman
sailed away, for always near to his heart was the
welfare of his dead brother's wife and child. Yea, for the
rest of his long life he loved this child even as he loved
his own.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="monks-and-minstrels"><span class="bold large">Chapter III</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Monks and Minstrels</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The wild Borderland was the scene of the labours
of many ol the first great Christian leaders.
Where the arts of war were so much practised,
it was needful that the arts of peace should flourish also.
Great was the influence, even in the wildest times, of
these able, serious, devoted leaders of early religious
thought, men like Ninian and Kentigern.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Christianity first came into Britain in Roman times,
and some of the Britons were converted. After the
Romans quitted the country, King Arthur was the
leader of the Christian Britons, and he is said to have
fought with the pagan Britons, the pagan Picts, the
pagan Saxons, who had begun their invasions, and the
disorderly soldiers of various races, probably pagans
whom the Romans left behind along the wall.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In due time the fight developed into a struggle between
Christian Britons and pagan Saxons, and then the Saxons
themselves began to accept the new religion. Oswald,
a Northumbrian prince, had in a time of peril hidden in
the island of Iona, to where the great Irishman Columba
had come from Ireland as a missionary. When Oswald
returned to power he summoned to his kingdom Aidan,
a high-minded Christian teacher, whom he made first
bishop of Lindisfarne (Holy Island). Aidan being a
Celt, had to do his work through interpreters, but he
did it well, and laid the foundations of Christianity
and learning in Northumbria. Cuthbert was another
famous missionary. Rising from shepherd-boy to bishop,
he impressed both king and peasant by the dignified
simplicity and sincerity of his life. His place of
meditation was a sea-girt rock by Lindisfarne, lonely and
picturesque, and still called after his name. A curious
fossil, with the mark of a cross, is plentiful there, and
goes by the name of St Cuthbert's beads. Other famous
teachers were Wilfrid of York, who founded the churches
of Hexham and Ripon; Boisil, who founded Melrose,
and Biscop, who founded Jarrow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But perhaps the most celebrated of all was Bede,
the "Venerable Bede," who lived at Jarrow and wrote
forty-five learned books on all subjects, including music,
astronomy, and medicine. All the scholars in England
flocked to hear his teachings, and he was justly called
"the father of English learning." He it was who first
introduced into England the art of making glass.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His last work was to translate the Gospel of St John
into Northumbrian English. This was in the year 735.
Being too ill to hold a pen, he dictated to his favourite
pupil. "Write quickly," he said, for he felt that he was
dying. "It is finished," answered the lad, and the old
man's heart was satisfied. In a faint, brave voice he
chanted the </span><em class="italics">Gloria</em><span>, and so died singing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In those days there was, of course, no such thing as
printing. Every manuscript was written and rewritten,
carefully, by hand, and treasured as a sacred possession
in the seats of learning. So proud were they of their
manuscripts that they beautified them with illustrations
in colour. Many of these manuscripts have, of course,
been destroyed; for instance, the Danes in 875 burnt
the priceless library of Bishop Acca at Hexham, destroying
in one day the treasured collection of a lifetime;
but many remain to show the love of learning which
existed even then. Bishop Edfrid, who lived in the little
rocky island of Lindisfarne, made a copy of the Gospels,
which is looked upon with wonder even to-day. Strings
of beautiful birds and quaint animals are drawn upon
his pages; evangelists with mantles of purple and tunics
of blue, pink, or green. With the writing clear and
beautiful, the decorations showing the greatest care and
devotion, this manuscript of one thousand two hundred
years ago has been the delight of thousands, and comes
down to us to witness to the loving care of the scholars
of old in the days before printing was known.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Great as was their love of beautiful manuscripts, they
had an equally noble passion for grand buildings. A
superb monument of simple dignity and religious
grandeur is the Norman Cathedral at Durham, commenced
by Bishop Carilef in 1093, and finished by Bishop
Flambard in 1128. Occupying a wonderful position at
the top of a wooded hill, around which flows the
beautiful river Wear, Durham Cathedral is in itself one
of the noblest buildings in the world. While the Church
in those troublous times kept thus a storehouse of
learning for serious scholars, other methods kept the
people informed of the more stirring events of their day.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In the old days, when no newspapers existed to tell
people the news, when books were scarce and history
was not taught to every lad as a part of his training, the
ballad-writer and the wandering minstrel played a very
important part. Ballads, sometimes really fine pieces of
poetry, sometimes a mere halting troop of lame lines,
were made upon every occasion of local or general
interest. They were sung to simple and often beautiful
tunes or chants. The best of the minstrels were welcome
to the halls of the nobles, and even to the king himself;
the poorest of them sang on the village green. The
ballads were learnt and repeated by the folk of the
country-side; some were in later times printed on loose
sheets, but at first they were handed on from mouth to
mouth. Alterations and errors often crept in; mistakes
due to a sameness of sound. For instance, in the old
ballad of </span><em class="italics">Mary Ambree</em><span>, a soldier is referred to as "Sir
John Major," probably meaning Sergeant-major. In
one of the versions of the battle of Chevy Chase, Henry
Percy was said to have been killed there, whereas he
really lived on to be slain at Shrewsbury. But, despite
such occasional blunders, the ballads on the whole throw
a vivid light on the manners and customs of the old days,
as well as being usually stirring and sometimes strikingly
noble and pathetic pieces of poetry. They deal as a rule
rather with the side currents than with the main stream
of history; but they express themselves with such
homely force and directness that they bring home to us
with wonderful clearness the character of the vigorous
manly men with whose doings they are chiefly concerned.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>During the last one hundred and fifty years many able
men have laboured to collect old ballads, writing them
down from the mouths of the country-folk and printing
them in books with notes of explanation. One of the
earliest thus to collect ballads seriously was Bishop
Percy; the best known is Sir Walter Scott, of whose
interest in the subject Lockhart, his biographer, writes
very pleasantly.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Prefaced to many of the stirring tales in this present
book are lines from the old Border ballads from which
they are taken. It is to be hoped that readers will be
tempted sooner or later to read the rest of these fine
ballads for themselves.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="sir-patrick-spens"><span class="bold large">Chapter IV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Sir Patrick Spens</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"The king sits in Dunfermline town</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Drinking the blood-red wine;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>'O where shall I get a well-skilled skipper</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To sail this new ship of mine?'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Almost every collection of Scottish songs
contains this picturesque old ballad, which refers
to a very remote time in Scottish history,
probably the end of the thirteenth century. King
Alexander III. of Scotland died in 1285; he had the
bitter grief of seeing all his children die before him. His
daughter Margaret had been married to Eric, King of
Norway, and she left a daughter also called Margaret,
and known as the "Maid of Norway." This maid was
now heiress to the Scottish throne, and it is natural
to suppose that the lonely king should wish her to
return to Scotland, and should send a richly appointed
ship to fetch her back. And although there is no
strictly historical record of such an expedition, the truth
of the ballad is made more probable by the fact that it
opens in the fine old town of Dunfermline.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dunfermline was a favourite residence of Alexander,
who was killed in its neighbourhood by a fall from his
horse, and was buried in the abbey there, the ruins of
which beautiful structure still remain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this ballad the king is feasting at Dunfermline
town, and calls for a skilful mariner to sail his new ship.
An old knight at the king's right hand answers that the
best sailor who ever sailed the sea is Sir Patrick Spens.
So the king writes a letter, sealing it with his own hand,
and sends it to Sir Patrick, commanding him to sail
away to Norway over the white sea-foam and bring
home the maid.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now every good sailor dreaded the rough Northern
seas in winter, so though the brave Sir Patrick laughed
aloud when he began to read, he wept blinding tears
before he had ended. "Who has done this deed?"
he cried; "who has told the king of me and urged him
to send us out at this time of the year to sail on the
stormy sea? Yet, wind, wet, hail, or sleet, we must
set out, for 'tis we who must fetch home the maid."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they set sail on a Monday morning, and reached
Norway on a Wednesday. History tells us that Eric
of Norway was very unwilling to part with his daughter.
This probably accounts for the fact that the old ballad
tells us that the Scotsmen had only been there a
fortnight when the lords of Norway began to say that Sir
Patrick and his men were spending the gold of their
king and queen. "Ye lie," cried Sir Patrick, "loudly
I hear ye lie, for I brought with me over the sea enough
red gold and white money to supply the wants of my
men. Make ready, make ready, my merry men; we
will sail at daybreak." "Alack," quoth the men, "a
deadly storm is brewing. Yesterday evening the new
moon was seen carrying the old moon in her arms; we
shall certainly come to harm if we go to sea."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Barely had they sailed three leagues when the sky
darkened, the wind blew loudly, and the sea grew
boisterous. Soon they were in the midst of a terrible
storm. The anger of the sea was far more dreadful
than the anger of the lords of Norway. The anchors
broke away, the topmasts snapped, and the waves came
over the broken ship, tearing her sides asunder. "O
where shall I get a good sailor to take the helm while
I climb the tall topmast to see if I can espy land?" "That
I fear ye never will," cried a sailor as he took
the helm, and scarcely had Sir Patrick gone a step when
a plank started in the ship's side and the water came
pouring in.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fetch a web of silken cloth, and fetch a web of
twine," cried Sir Patrick, "and cast them down to our
ship's side!" For it was the custom in those days, when
a leak could not be reached from inside the vessel,
to cast down some closely woven stuff in the hope that
the suction of the water would drag it across the leak
and stop thus the fatal inrush of water. Alas! all their
efforts failed. Then the ballad-writer says somewhat
grimly of the dandies among the Scottish lords that
whereas at first they grumbled to see the water spoil their
fine cork-heeled shoes, when the storm had done its
fatal work the sea was "above their hats"!</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"And many was the feather bed</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That fluttered on the foam;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And many was the gude lord's son</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That never mair came home!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The ladyes wrang their fingers white;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The maidens tore their hair,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A' for the sake of their true loves;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For them they'll see nae mair.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' their fans into their hand,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Before they see Sir Patrick Spens</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Come sailing to the strand!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And lang, lang may the maidens sit,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>With their goud kaims[#] in their hair,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A' waiting for their ain dear loves!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For them they'll see nae mair.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Golden combs.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O forty miles off Aberdeen,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>'Tis fifty fathoms deep,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' the Scots lords at his feet."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="auld-maitland"><span class="bold large">Chapter V</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Auld Maitland</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"'Wha holds this house?' young Edward cried,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>'Or wha gives it o'er to me?'</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>''Tis I will keep my good old house,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>While my house will keep me!'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The story of Auld Maitland is said to be taken
from a very old ballad, and known chiefly to
the people who lived in the neighbourhood of
Ettrick Forest. The old folks there would while away
the long winter evenings by singing of the deeds of their
ancestors, and the ballad of </span><em class="italics">Auld Maitland</em><span>, as thus
chanted, was written down by the mother of James Hogg,
the "Ettrick Shepherd."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The castle of Thirlestane stood on the river Leader,
and still, in its restored form, deserves its name of "the
darksome house." It may have often withstood the
English during the Baliol wars, and hatred of the
English and of Edward I. is expressed with extreme
virulence throughout the poem. Here is the story:—</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>There lived in the south country a king named
Edward, who wore the crown unworthily for fifty years.
This king had a nephew, strong in blood and bone,
who bore the same hateful name. One day the young
man came before the king, and kneeling low, he said,
"A boon, a boon I crave of thee, my good uncle. Oft
have I wished to take part in our long wars in fair
Scotland. Grant me fifteen hundred chosen strong men
to ride there with me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly thou shalt have them, and more, and I
myself, though old and grey, will see thy host arrayed
for battle."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>King Edward sent hither and thither, and assembled
fifteen hundred men on Tyne side, and three times as many
at North Berwick, all bound for battle. They marched
up the banks of Tweed, burning the Merse and Teviotdale,
and up and down the Lammermoor Hills, until they came
to the darksome house called, by some, "Leader-Town."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who holds this house?" cried young Edward,
"or who gives it over to me?" He was answered, as
proudly, by a grey-haired knight: "I hold my house
of Scotland's king, who pays me in meat and fee, and
I will hold it as long as it will stand together."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thereupon the English brought up their sows[#] to
the wall with many a heavy sound, but the soldiers on
the wall cast down blazing pitch and tar barrels, to
consume the formidable machine. They also threw
down stones and beams and darts from their springalds,[#]
and slew many of the English.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A military engine framed of wood, covered with hides and mounted
on wheels, so that, being rolled forward to the foot of the wall, it
served as a shed to defend the miners underneath it and their
battering-rams from the stones and arrows of the soldiers above.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Large crossbows worked by machinery.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Fifteen days they besieged the castle of Auld Maitland,
but left him at the end of that time unhurt within his
stone stronghold.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-147">
<span id="the-siege-of-maitland-castle"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*The Siege of Maitland Castle*" src="images/img-042.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">The Siege of Maitland Castle</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>They loaded fifteen ships with as much spoil as they
could carry away from the district around, and claimed
that now they had conquered Scotland with buckler, bow,
and brand. So they sailed away to France to meet the old
King Edward, who was burning every castle, tower, and
town that he met with. They came at last to the town
of Billop-Grace, where Auld Maitland's three sons were
at school.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Edward had quartered the arms of Scotland with
his own. "See'st thou what I see?" said the eldest
son to the youngest; "if that be true that yonder
standard says, then are we all three fatherless, and
Scotland conquered up and down. Never will we bow
to the conquerer. Let us go, my two brothers, and
try our chance in an adventure?" Thereupon they
saddled two black horses and a grey, and rode before
day-dawn to King Edward's army. Arrived there,
they hovered round, and Maitland begged to be allowed
to carry the king's standard, the Golden Dragon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where wast thou born and bred, and in what
country?" demanded the knight who bore the banner.
"I was born in the north of England," answered
Maitland; "my father was a knight and my mother a lady,
and I myself am a squire of high renown, and may well
carry the banner of a king." "Never had the son of an
Englishmen such an eye or brow," answered the knight;
"thou art more like Auld Maitland than any man I
have ever seen; yet God grant that such a gloomy
brow I never see again; he slew and wounded many
of our men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At the mention of his father's name Maitland's anger
burst out, and lifting up a gilded dagger that hung low
by his knee, he struck fiercely at the standard-bearer,
and, catching hold of the corner of the standard, rode
swiftly away with it, crying to his brothers, "Is it not
time to flee?" "Ay, by my sooth," they both shouted,
"we will bear you company." So they rode off at hot
speed, the pursuers following. The youngest Maitland,
turning round in the path, drew his brand and killed
fifteen of the foremost, and the rest fell back. Then he
dug his spurs into the sides of his faithful grey, until
both the sides ran blood. "Thou must carry me away,
or my life lies in pledge," he cried.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>About daybreak the brothers arrived at their uncle's
castle, who, seeing the three Scottish lads with pursuers
riding hard at their heels, ordered the portcullis to be
drawn up and the drawbridge let down, for that they
should lodge with him that night in spite of all England.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the three came inside the gate, they leapt down
from their horses, and taking three long spears in their
hands, they fought till it was full daylight, killing and
wounding many of the Englishmen round the drawbridge.
Some of the dead were carted away in waggons,
and stones were heaped upon the rest as they lay in
the gutter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>King Edward proclaimed at his pavilion door that
three lads of France, disguised, and with false words,
had come and stolen away the standard, and had slain
his men in their lawful attempt to regain it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It ill befits a crowned king to lie," said the youngest
Maitland, "and he shall be reproved for it before I
taste meat or drink."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Straightway he went before King Edward, and,
kneeling low, begged leave to speak a word with him.
"Man, thou shalt have leave to speak, even though
thou shouldst speak all day," answered the king.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye said," spoke the youngest Maitland, "that three
young lads of France had stolen away the standard with
a false tale, and slain many men. But we are not lads of
France, and never have pretended to be; we are three
lads of fair Scotland, and the sons of Auld Maitland, nor
are there men in all your host dare fight us three to three."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, by my sooth," said the young Edward, who
stood by, "Ye shall be well fitted, for Percy shall fight
with the eldest, and Egbert Lunn with thee, and William
of Lancaster with the other, and the surviving brother
shall fight with me. Remember, Percy, how oft the
Scot has cowered before thee; I will give thee a rig of
land for every drop of Maitland blood."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they set to, and the eldest Maitland clanked
Percy over the head and wounded him so deeply that
the best blood of his body ran down his hair. "I have
slain one," shouted Maitland to his brothers; "slay
ye the other two, and that will be good company, and
if the two shall slay ye both, ye shall get no help from
me."[#]</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] According to the laws of chivalry,
having slain his own man, he
could, if he pleased, come to the assistance of the others.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>But Egbert Lunn was like a baited bear and had
seen many battles, and when Maitland saw that his
youngest brother was having the worst of it, he could
not restrain himself longer, and shouting, "I am no
king; my word shall not stand," he struck Egbert
over the head and slew him. "Now I have slain two;
slay ye one for good company," he cried; "neither
shall ye get any help from me even if the one shall
slay ye both." So the two brothers slew the third,
and hung him over the drawbridge for all the host
to see.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then they rode and ran, but still got not away,
but hovered round, boasting: "We be three lads of
fair Scotland that fain would see some fighting."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When young Edward heard this, he cried wrathfully,
"I'll take yon lad and bind him, and bring him bound
to thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now God forbid that ever thou shouldst try that,"
said the king; "we have lost three worthy leaders;
wouldst thou be the fourth? Never again would I be
happy if thou wert to hang on yonder drawbridge."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Edward struck fiercely at Maitland, cleaving his
stout helmet and biting right near his brain. When
Maitland saw his own blood flowing he threw away his
weapon, and springing angrily at young Edward's
throat, he swung him thrice about and flung him on
the ground, holding him there though he was of great
strength.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now let him up," cried King Edward, "let him
come to me, and for thy deed thou shalt have three
earldoms."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," replied Maitland, "never shall it be said
in France or in Scotland that Edward once lay under
me and got up again," and with that he pierced him
through the heart and hung him over the drawbridge
with the other three.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now take from me my bed of feathers," said the
king, "make me a bed of straw. Would that I had
not lived to see the day that makes my heart so sad."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-mystery-of-the-eildons"><span class="bold large">Chapter VI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Mystery of the Eildons</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Before their eyes the Wizard lay</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As if he had not been dead a day.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His hoary beard in silver roll'd,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He seemed some seventy winters old.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>High and majestic was his look,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>At which the fellest friends had shook,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And all unruffled was his face;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They trusted his soul had gotten grace."</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>SCOTT: </span><em class="italics">Lay of the Last Minstrel.</em></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One of the many strange tales told of Michael Scott is
this:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The story of how Michael Scott came to divide the
Eildon Hill into three runs as follows:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"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."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>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:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"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!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the Elfland queen would take no denial, and
Thomas had to do her behest, wherefore for the rest of
his life Thomas carried with him this gift of truthfulness.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="black-agnes-of-dunbar"><span class="bold large">Chapter VII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Black Agnes of Dunbar</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The fortress of Dunbar was always a very
important one to the Scots. It commanded the
coast road from England across the Border to
Edinburgh, not only one of the best routes in itself,
but one which had the additional advantage to the
English that by following it they could keep in touch
with their ships. So it is not surprising that many
stirring events in history took place at this historic
town.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>King Edward I. of England won a very important
victory at Dunbar during his first invasion of Scotland,
and to the place which had witnessed the triumph of the
father, his son, Edward II., fled for safety after his
defeat at Bannockburn, taking ship thence back to
England. In the time of Mary Queen of Scots the
fortress was held by Earl Bothwell; from here he
consented to the surrender of poor Mary, and here he
rested in safety before his final flight to Scandinavia.
Oliver Cromwell fought and won at Dunbar his desperate
battle with the Scottish Presbyterians, the fate of which
for some time hung in the balance. Cromwell
considered the place so valuable that he had new harbour
works made there, and a portion of his work, forming
part of the east pier of the present much larger harbour,
is still to be seen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The last time that Dunbar resounded to the march
of an army bent on immediate fight was in 1745, when
the boastful English general, Sir John Cope, landed
here to engage the Highland followers of Prince Charles
Edward (called the "Young Pretender"). Prince
Charlie was at Edinburgh, and Dunbar Castle
commanded the road into England. Cope asserted that the
Highlanders would run away at the mere sight of his
army. He marched westward, but was surprised in the
early morning by his enemies when near Prestonpans.
In less than ten minutes it was the unprepared English
who were flying in disorder, utterly routed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The foregoing is but a brief outline of the stormy
history of those grey and ruined battlements
overlooking the bleak North Sea at the southernmost point
of entrance to the noble Firth of Forth. The mention
of these stirring incidents, however, will serve to show
what a very important place Dunbar was, and that it
was necessary to Scottish safety that a strong hand
should have charge of its fortress. We are now to see
how at one of the most critical hours a woman was to
hold command, and to hold it worthily.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Early in the reign of King Edward III. of England
Scottish affairs were in some confusion. King Robert
Bruce had lately died, leaving a son, King David II.,
then only five years old. That great leader and friend
of Bruce, Randolph, Earl of Moray, was appointed
Guardian of Scotland, but he too soon died. Edward
III., anxious to interfere in Scottish affairs, agreed
to help Edward Balliol to make himself king of the
Scots. So an English army was again in Scotland, and
one of the places they were keenest to take was the
fortress of Dunbar.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-148">
<span id="black-agnes"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*Black Agnes*" src="images/img-054.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">Black Agnes</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>The castle was a very strong one. It was built on a
chain of great rocks that stretched out to sea, and could
only be reached from land by one road, which was, of
course, strictly guarded. The lord of the castle was the
Earl of March (the word March in those days meant a
border-land), but he was away with the Scottish army,
and his wife was in charge of the castle. She was the
daughter of that brave Earl of Moray, Guardian of
Scotland, who has just been mentioned. The English
army was led by an experienced general, the Earl of
Salisbury, and he probably thought that he would not
have much trouble in overcoming "Black Agnes,"
as the dark-haired countess was called.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He soon discovered that she was of heroic mould,
however, for though he himself led the storming-parties,
she on her side, urging on her men in person, hurled back
his every attack. The Lady Agnes was quite fearless,
and treated the siege as if it were a pastime to be enjoyed.
When the English, with machines made for the purpose,
hurled heavy stones against the walls, Black Agnes
would call one of her maidens with a napkin to wipe off
the dust that they made! The biggest of all the English
war-machines was called a sow, and when it was brought
to the walls the countess cried out in rough jest that it
was surrounded by little pigs. At the same moment
a mass of rock, which she had caused to be loosened,
was hurled by her men on to the English, crushing their
sow and many soldiers with it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At last there seemed a chance for the English. Near
midnight a Scot came into their camp, saying that he
was ready to betray the castle for a reward. The Earl
of Salisbury and some chosen knights rode carefully
forward, and found the gate open and the portcullis
raised, as the man had promised. But for all that, they
doubted if Black Agnes could so far relax her vigilance;
wherefore instead of the earl entering first, he sent
forward a retainer. His caution was soon justified,
for no sooner had this man passed the gate than the
portcullis fell. It was a trick to capture the earl,
but the Scots were disappointed this time.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The gallant English lord was loud in admiration of
the brave Scottish lady who was thus defying him.
Once when examining the defences with a lieutenant,
an arrow struck his companion dead. "The countess's
love-arrows pierce to the heart," said Salisbury, on his
return to the camp. Despite the courtly manner in
which the well-bred baron referred to the lady, however,
he did not relax his efforts to overcome her.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Salisbury's land forces had now surrounded the
castle on the land side, while his ships at sea completed
the blockade. The garrison was threatened with
starvation. Greater and greater became the privations
of the heroic defenders. The countess, no less brave
than ever, hoped on, though ground for hope grew less
and less. She could not bring herself to think of defeat,
and her brave, bright face still gave courage and
inspiration to all.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meantime the story of the struggle and difficulties of
the defenders was raising up helpers, and Sir Alexander
Ramsay of Dalhousie got ready a light vessel filled with
provisions and manned by forty brave Scots, who only
waited for a dark night to make the attempt to steal
past the English fleet. They lay hidden by the Bass
Rock, a lofty islet at the mouth of the Firth of Forth,
some seven or eight miles from Dunbar, until one
starless night they stole very cautiously down the wild
coast-line of Haddingtonshire, sometimes all but bumping
into an English vessel in the dark. Fortune favours the
brave, and despite dangers and difficulties they got
safely at last to the castle, whose distant light had been
their guide. Be sure Black Agnes welcomed them!
This proved to be the turning-point of the long siege.
With fresh hope, the garrison made a sudden sally on the
English, driving back their advance guard, and after
five months of fierce but fruitless attempts, Salisbury
was compelled to withdraw his forces and admit defeat.
Nevertheless, the English were gallant enough to sing
their praises of this Scottish heroine; their minstrels
made songs in her honour, in one of which Salisbury
is made to say:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Came I early, came I late,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I found Black Agnes at the gate."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-young-tamlane"><span class="bold large">Chapter VIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Young Tamlane</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Among the leaves so green."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>This tale belongs to the romantic side of the
Border minstrelsy, and illustrates some of the
common superstitions of olden times concerning
elves and fairies. The scene is laid in the Selkirk
or Ettrick Forest, a mountainous tract covered with
the remains of the old Caledonian Forest. About a
mile above Selkirk is a plain called Carterhaugh, and
here may still be seen those fairy rings of which it was
believed that anyone sleeping upon one will wake in a
fairy city. And here was, and perhaps still is, an ancient
well. The ballad opens by telling how all young maids
were forbidden to come or go by way of Carterhaugh,
"for young Tamlane (or Thomalin) is there," and
every one going by Carterhaugh is obliged to leave him
something in pledge. But the Lady Janet, the fairest
of the Selkirk lasses, was obstinate, and declared that
she would come or go to Carterhaugh, as she pleased,
"and ask no leave of him," since the land there belonged
to her by hereditary right. She kilted her green mantle
above her knee, and braided her yellow hair above her
brow, and off she went to Carterhaugh. When she got
to the well, she found the steed of the elfin knight
Tamlane standing there, but he himself was away.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"She hadna pu'd a red, red rose,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>A rose but barely three;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Till up and starts a wee, wee man</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>At Lady Janet's knee.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Says—'Why pu' ye the rose, Janet?</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>What gars (makes) ye break the tree?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Withouten leave of me?'</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Says—'Carterhaugh it is mine ain;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My daddy gave it me:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And ask nae leave o' thee.'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>But Tamlane took her by the hand and worked upon
her his spells, which no maiden might resist, however
proud she might be.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When she came back to her father's hall, she looked
pale and wan; and it seemed that she had some sore
sickness. She ceased to take any pleasure in combing
her yellow hair, and everything she ate seemed like to
be her death. When her ladies played at ball, she, once
the strongest player, was now the faintest. One day
her father spoke out, and said he, "Full well I know that
you must have some lover." She said:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"'If my love were an earthly knight,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As he's an elfin grey,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I wouldna give my own true love</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For no lord that ye hae.'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Then she prinked herself, and preened herself, all by the
light of the moon alone, and went away to Carterhaugh,
to speak with Tamlane. When she got to the well, she
found the steed standing, but Tamlane was away. She
had barely pulled a double rose, when up started the elf.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why pull ye the rose, Janet?" says he; "why
pull ye the rose within this garden green?" "The truth
ye'll tell me, Tamlane; were ye ever in holy chapel, or
received into the Christian Church?" "The truth I'll
tell thee, Janet; a knight was my father, and a lady
was my mother, like your own parents. Randolph,
Earl Moray, was my sire; Dunbar, Earl March, is thine.
We loved when we were children, which yet you may
remember. When I was a boy just turned nine, my
uncle sent for me to hunt, and hawk, and ride with him,
and keep him company. There came a wind out of the
north, a deep sleep came over me, and I fell from my
horse. The queen of the fairies took me off to yon
green hill, and now I'm a fairy, lithe and limber. In
Fairyland we know neither sickness nor pain. We
quit our body, or repair unto them, when we please.
We can inhabit, earth, or air, as we will. Our shapes and
size we can convert to either large or small. We sleep
in rose-buds, revel in the stream, wanton lightly on the
wind, or glide on a sunbeam. I would never tire, Janet,
to dwell in Elfland, were it not that every seven years
a tithe is paid to hell, and I am so fair of flesh, I fear
'twill be myself. If you dare to win your true love,
you have no time to lose. To-night is Hallowe'en, and
the fairy folk ride. If you would win your true love,
bide at Miles Cross." Miles Cross is about half a mile
from Carterhaugh, and Janet asked how she should know
Tamlane among so many unearthly knights. "The
first company that passes by, let them go. The next
company that passes by, let them go. The third
company that passes by, I'll be one of those. First
let pass the black steed, Janet, then let pass the
brown; but grip the milk-white steed, and pull down
the rider—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"For I ride on the milk-white steed,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And aye nearest the town;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Because I was a christened knight,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They gave me that renown."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Tamlane went on to explain that his fairy comrades
would make every effort to disgust her with her captive.
They would turn him in her very arms into an adder;
they would change him into a burning faggot, into a
red-hot iron goad, but she must hold him fast. In order
to remove the enchantment, she must dip him in a
churn of milk, and then in a barrel of water. She must
still persevere, for they would shape him in her arms
into a badger, eel, dove, swan, and, last of all, into a
naked man, but</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Cast your green mantle over me,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>I'll be myself again."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>So fair Janet in her green mantle went that gloomy
night to Miles Cross. The heavens were black, the
place was inexpressibly dreary, a north wind raged;
but there she stood, eagerly wishing to embrace her
lover. Between the hours of twelve and one she heard
strange eldrich sounds and the ringing of elfin bridles,
which gladdened her heart. The oaten pipes of the
faires grew shrill, the hemlock blew clear. The fairies
cannot bear solemn sounds or sober thoughts; they
sing like skylarks, inspired by love and joy. Fair Janet
stood upon the dreary heath, and the sounds waxed
louder as the fairy train came riding on. Will o' the
Wisp shone out as a twinkling light before them, and
soon she saw the fairy bands passing. She let the black
steed go by, and then the brown. But she gripped fast
the milk-white steed, and pulled down the rider. Then
up rose an eldrich cry, "He's won among us all!" As
Janet grasped him in her arms the fairies changed
him into a newt, an adder, and many other fantastic
and terrifying shapes. She held him fast in every
shape. They turned him at last into a naked man in
her arms, but she wrapped him in her green mantle.
At last her stedfast courage was rewarded, she redeemed
the fairies' captive, and by so doing won his true love!
Then up spoke the Queen of Fairies, "She that has
borrowed young Tamlane has got a stately groom!
She's taken the bonniest knight in all my company!
But had I known, Tamlane," said the fairy queen,
"had I known that a lady would borrow thee, I would
have taken out thy two grey eyes, and put in wooden
eyes. I would have taken out thy heart of flesh, Tamlane,
and put in a heart of stone. I would have paid my
tithe seven times to hell ere I would have let her win
you away."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-gay-goss-hawk"><span class="bold large">Chapter IX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Gay Goss-Hawk</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In the opening lines of this old ballad Lord William
is talking to the goss-hawk, who tells his master
that he is looking pale and thin, and seeks to know
che cause.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Gin your feathering be sheen!"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"And waly, waly, my master dear,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Gin ye look pale and lean!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O have ye tint[#] at tournament</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Your sword, or yet your spear?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Or mourn ye for the Southern lass,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Whom ye may not win near?"</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] lost</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"I have not tint at tournament</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My sword, nor yet my spear;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But sair[#] I mourn for my true love,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' mony a bitter tear.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] sore</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ye can baith speak and flee;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Ye sall carry a letter to my love,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Bring an answer back to me."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"But how sall I your true love find,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Or how suld I her know?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>An eye that ne'er her saw."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O weel sall ye my true love ken,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sae sune[#] as ye her see;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For, of a' the flowers of fair England,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The fairest flower is she.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] soon.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The red that's on my true love's cheek</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Is like blood-drops on the snaw;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The white that is on her breast bare,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Like the down o' the white sea-maw.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And even at my love's bour-door</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>There grows a flowering birk;[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And ye maun sit and sing thereon</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As she gangs to the kirk.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] birch.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And four-and-twenty fair ladyes</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Will to the Mass repair;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But weel may ye my ladye ken,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The fairest ladye there."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Lord William has written a love-letter,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Put it under his pinion grey;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>An' he is awa' to Southern land</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As fast as wings can gae.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And even at the ladye's bour[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>There grew a flowering birk;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And he sat down and sung thereon</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As she gaed to the kirk.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] bower.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And weel he kent that ladye fair</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Amang her maidens free,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For the flower that springs in May morning</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Was not sae sweet as she.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He lighted at the ladye's yate[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And sat him on a pin,[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Till a' was cosh[#] within.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] gate.
<br/>[#] pine.
<br/>[#] quiet.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And first he sang a low low note,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And syne[#] he sang a clear;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And aye the o'erword[#] o' the sang</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Was—"Your love can no win here."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] then.
<br/>[#] refrain.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The wine flows you amang,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>While I gang to my shot-window</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And hear yon bonnie bird's sang.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The sang ye sung yestreen,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For weel I ken, by your sweet singing</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ye are frae my true love sen."[#]</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] sent.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O first he sang a merry song,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And syne he sang a grave;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And syne he picked his feathers grey,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To her the letter gave.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Have there a letter from Lord William;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>He says he's sent ye three;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He canna wait your love langer,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>But for your sake he'll die."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And brew his bridal ale;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And I shall meet him in Mary's Kirk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Lang, lang ere it be stale."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The lady's gane to her chamber,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And a moanfu' woman was she;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>As gin[#] she had taken a sudden brash[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And were about to die.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] if
<br/>[#] illness.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"A boon, a boon, my father dear,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>A boon I beg of thee!"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"Ask not that haughty Scottish lord,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For him ye ne'er shall see.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But for your honest asking else,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Weel granted it shall be."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"Then, gin I die in Southern land,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In Scotland gar[#] bury me.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] cause</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And the first kirk that ye come to,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ye's gar the mass be sung;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And the next kirk that ye come to</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ye's gar the bells be rung.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And when ye come to St Mary's Kirk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ye's tarry there till night."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And so her father pledged his word,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And so his promise plight.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She has ta'en her to her bigly bower</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As fast as she could fare;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And she has drank a sleepy draught,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That she had mixed wi' care.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That was sae bright of blee,[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And she seemed to be as surely dead</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As any one could be.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] bloom.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then spake her cruel step-minnie,[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"Tak ye the burning lead,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And drap a drap on her bosome,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To try if she be dead."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] mother.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They took a drap o' boiling lead,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They drapped it on her breast;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"Alas! alas!" her father cried,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"She's dead without the priest."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She neither chattered with her teeth,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Nor shivered with her chin;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"Alas! alas!" her father cried,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"There is nae breath within."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then up arose her seven brethren,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And hewed to her a bier;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>They hewed it frae the solid aik,[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Laid it o'er wi' silver clear.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] oak.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then up and gat her seven sisters,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And sewed to her a kell,[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And every steek[#] that they put in</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sewed to a siller bell.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] shroud.
<br/>[#] stitch.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The first Scots kirk that they cam to,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They garred the bells be rung;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The next Scots kirk that they cam to,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They garred fhe mass be sung.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But when they cam to St Mary's Kirk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>There stude spearmen all on a row;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And up and started Lord William,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The chieftaine amang them a'.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Set down, set down the bier," he said,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"Let me look her upon;"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Her colour began to come.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She brightened like the lily flower,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Till her pale colour was gone;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>She smiled her love upon.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"A morsel of your bread, my lord,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And one glass of your wine;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For I have fasted these three lang days,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>All for your sake and mine.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Gae hame and blaw your horn!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I trow[#] ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>But I've gi'en you the scorn.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] reckon.
<br/>[#] harm.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Commend me to my grey father,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That wished my soul gude rest;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But wae be to my cruel step-dame,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Garred burn me on the breast."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Ah! woe to you, you light woman!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And ill death may ye die!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For we left father and sisters at hame,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Breaking their hearts for thee."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-corbies"><span class="bold large">Chapter X</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Corbies</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Two ancient songs have come down to us in which
the principal speakers are supposed to be
Corbies, carrion-crows or ravens, birds which
feed on the flesh of the dead. In both songs the birds
discuss a dead knight upon whose rich body they wish
to feed. But deep interest lies in the fact that the two
song-writers present entirely different views of the case.
One appeals to our feelings with a beautiful and touching
picture of devotion, the knight's companions proving
true to him in death. The other is far more grim, and
causes us to shudder at the utter loneliness of the dead
man, deserted by all those who in life were beholden to
his friendship. Both are powerful and striking examples
of ancient vigour and directness.</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="large">THE TWA CORBIES</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>As I was walking all alane,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I heard twa corbies making a mane;[#]</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The tane unto the t'other say,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?"—</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] moan.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"In behint yon auld fail dyke,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I wot there lies a new-slain knight;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And naebody kens that he lies there,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>His hound is to the hunting gane,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His lady's ta'en another mate,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Sa we may mak our dinner sweet.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,[#]</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And I'll pick out his bonny blue een:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We'll theek[#] our nest when it grows bare.[#]</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] neck.
<br/>[#] thatch.
<br/>[#] Variant reading—"We'll theek our nest—it's a' blawn hare."</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Mony a one for him makes mane,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But nane sall ken where he is gane;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O'er his white banes, when they are bare,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The wind sall blaw for evermair."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-149">
<span id="the-twa-corbies"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="The Twa Corbies" src="images/img-070.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">The Twa Corbies</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">THE THREE RAVENS</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There were three ravens sat on a tre,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They were as black as they might be:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The one of them said to his mate,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Where shall we our breakfast take?"—</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Downe in yonder greene field,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There lies a knight slain under his shield;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So well they their master keepe;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"His hawkes they flie so eagerlie,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There's no fowle dare come him nie.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Down there comes a fallow doe,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As great with yong as she might goe.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"She lift up his bloudy hed,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And kist his wounds that were so red.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"She got him up upon her backe,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And carried him to earthen lake.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"She buried him before the prime,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She was dead her selfe ere even song time.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"God send every gentleman,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Such hawkes, such houndes, and such a leman."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="otterbourne-and-chevy-chase"><span class="bold large">Chapter XI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Otterbourne and Chevy Chase</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"It fell about the Lammas-tide,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When moor-men win their hay,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The doughty Douglas bound him to ride</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Into England, to drive a prey."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The ballads of </span><em class="italics">Otterbourne</em><span> and </span><em class="italics">Chevy Chase</em><span>
record the Scottish and English versions of a
most stubborn Border battle. Whichever of the
two contains the greater amount of truth, it is clear that
the day was a bloody one, and that, moreover, it was
fought on both sides with a chivalrous admiration for
the powers of the other which is characteristic of those
strife-loving days. Sir Philip Sidney wrote of it: "I
never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I
found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The ballad of </span><em class="italics">Chevy Chase</em><span> is of later date than its
rival, and it contains certainly one misstatement of
historical fact, since Hotspur outlived the fight at Chevy
Chase (1388) and was slain some fifteen years later at the
battle of Shrewsbury (1403).</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Scottish version of the battle of Otterbourne tells
us that it was about the Lammas-tide or haymaking time
of the year 1388 when the brave Earl of Douglas, with his
brother, the Earl of Murray, made a foray into England,
with a gay band of Gordons, Graemes, and Lindsays. He
burned Tynedale and half of Bamborough and Otterdale,
and marching up to Newcastle, rode round about the
castle, crying, "Who is lord of this castle, and who is
its lady?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then up spake proud Lord Percy, known as </span><em class="italics">Hotspur</em><span>,
and said, "I am the lord of this castle, and my wife is the
gay lady of it."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That pleases me well," answered Douglas, "yet, ere I
cross the Border hills, one of us shall die."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Percy took his long spear, shod with metal, and
rode right furiously at the Douglas; but his lady, looking
from the castle wall, grew pale as she saw her proud
lord go down before the Scottish spear.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Had we two been alone, with never an eye to see, I
would have slain thee, but thy lance I will carry with
me," said Douglas, and, to complete the disgrace, this
lance bore attached to it the Percy pennon.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Go then to Otterbourne," said Percy, "and wait
there for me, and if I come not before the end of three
days, call me a false knight."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Otterbourne is a pleasant and a bonny place,"
answered Douglas; "but though the deer run wild among
the hills and dales, and the birds fly wild from tree to
tree, yet is there neither bread nor kale nor aught else to
feed me and my men. Yet will I wait thee at Otterbourne
to give thee welcome, and if thou come not in
three days' time, false lord, will I call thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By the might of Our Lady, I will come," cried the
proud Percy. "And I," answered Douglas, "plight thee
my troth that I will meet thee there."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Douglas and his men encamped at Otterbourne,
and sent out their horses to pasture.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But before the peep of dawn, up spake a little page:
"Waken ye, waken ye, my good lord; the Percy is upon
us!" "Ye lie, ye lie," shouted Douglas; "yesterday,
Percy had not men enough to fight us. But if thou lie
not, the finest bower in Otterbourne shall be thy reward,
and if what thou sayest prove false, thou shalt be hanged
on the highest tree in Otterbourne. Yet I have dreamed
a dreary dream; I dreamed that a dead man won a battle
and that I was that dead man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Douglas belted on his good broadsword, and ran to
the field, but forgot his helmet, and Percy and the Douglas
fought with their swords together till the blood ran down
like rain, and the Douglas fell, wounded on the brow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then he called to him his little foot-page and told him
to run quickly and bring to him his sister's son, Sir Hugh
Montgomery.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My good nephew," said Douglas, "the death of one
matters not; last night I dreamed a dreary dream, but
yet I know the day is thine. My wound is deep; take
thou the vanguard; bury me in the bracken high that
grows on yonder lea, and let no man living know that a
Scot lies there. And know that I am glad to die in battle,
like my good forefathers, and not on a bed of sickness."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Montgomery lifted up his noble lord, while his eyes
wept salt tears, and hid him in the bracken bush that his
followers might not see, and before daylight the Scots
slew many a gallant Englishman. The good Gordons
steeped hose and shoes in the blood of the English; the
Lindsays flew about like fire till the battle was ended, and
Percy and Montgomery fought till the blood ran down
between them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, yield thee, yield thee, Percy," cried Sir Hugh,
"or I vow I will lay thee low!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Since it must be so," quoth Earl Percy, "to whom
shall I yield?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Thou shalt not yield to me or to any lord, but to the
bracken bush that grows on yonder lea!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not yield to briar or bracken bush, but I would
yield to Lord Douglas or to Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he
were here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Montgomery made himself known, and as soon
as Percy knew that it was Montgomery, he struck the
point of his sword into the ground, and Montgomery, who
was a courteous knight, took him up by the hand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This deed was done at Otterbourne at daybreak, where
Earl Douglas was buried by the bracken bush, and
Percy led captive into Scotland, and it is said that
Hotspur, for his ransom, built for Montgomery the castle of
Penoon, in Ayrshire.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the English version of these stirring events can
also claim to be heard; the ballad upon it is called </span><em class="italics">Chevy
Chase</em><span>, which means the Chase on the Cheviots; and so
popular was this ballad that its name was given to a boys'
game, which is so called even to this day. It tells how
the Percy, from his castle in Northumberland, vowed that
within three days he would hunt on the mountains of
Cheviot in spite of the doughty Douglas and his men, and
that he would kill and carry away the fattest deer in
Cheviot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By my faith," said Douglas, when he heard of the
boast, "but I will hinder his hunting."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Percy left Bamborough Castle with a mighty company,
no less than fifteen hundred bold archers chosen out of
three shires.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The foray began on a Monday morning in the high
Cheviot Hills, and many a child yet unborn was to rue the
day.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The drivers went through the woods and raised the deer,
and the bowmen shot them with their broad arrows. Then
the wild deer rushed through the woods, only to be met
and killed by the greyhounds, and before noontide a
hundred fat deer lay dead. The bugles sounded, "A
mort!" and on all sides Percy and his men assembled
to see the cutting up of the venison.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Said Percy: "The Douglas promised to meet me
here this day, yet right well did I know that he would
fail." But a Northumberland squire saw the doughty
Douglas coming with a mighty company, with spear
and batter-axe and sword. Never were men hardier of
heart and hand seen in Christendom—two thousand
spearmen born along the banks of the Tweed and Teviotdale.
Then said Lord Percy: "Now leave off the cutting of the
deer, and take good heed to your bows, for never had ye
more need of them since ye were born."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Earl Douglas rode before his men, his armour glittering
like a burning coal, and never was such a bold baron.
"Tell me whose men ye are," said he, "and who gave ye
leave to hunt in Cheviot without word asked of me?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then answered Lord Percy, "We will not tell thee
whose men we are, and we will hunt here in spite of thee.
We have killed the fattest harts in Cheviot and will
carry them away."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By my troth," said Douglas, "one of us shall die this
day. Yet it were great pity to kill all these guiltless
men. Thou, Percy, art a lord of land, and I am called
an earl in my country; let our men stand by, and we will
fight together."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Now a curse on his crown, who says nay to that,"
cried Lord Percy. "By my troth, Douglas, thou shalt
never see the day either in England, Scotland, or France,
when I fear to meet one, man to man."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then spoke Richard Witherington, a squire of Northumberland.
"Never shall this be told in England, to the
shame of good King Harry the Fourth. I wot ye be two
great lords, and I but a poor squire, yet would I never
stand and look on while my captain fought. While I
can wield a weapon, I will not fail, both heart and
hand."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So the English with good heart bent their bows, and
slew seven score spearmen with the first arrows they shot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Earl Douglas stayed on the field, but that he was a
good captain was truly seen, for he wrought great woe
and mischief. He parted his host in three like a proud
chieftain, and they came in on every side with their
mighty spears, wounding the English archers and slaying
many a brave man.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then the English pulled out their brands, and it was a
heavy sight to see the bright swords light on the helmets,
striking through the rich mail, and the cloth of many folds
under it, and laying many low.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At last the Douglas and the Percy met and fought with
swords of Milan steel till the blood spurted like rain and
hail from their helmets.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thee, Percy," said Douglas, "and I will bring
thee to James, our Scottish king, where thou shalt have an
earl's wages and free ransom, for thou art the manfullest
man that ever yet I conquered fighting in the field."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay, then," said Lord Percy. "I told thee before
that never would I yield to any man of woman born."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that there came an arrow hastily from a mighty
man, and struck Earl Douglas through the breast bone,
and never more did he speak a word but only this:
"Fight, my merry men, while ye may—my life's days are
done."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Percy leaned on his hand, and when he saw the
Douglas die, he said, "Woe is me. I would have parted
with my land for three years to have saved thy life, for a
better man of heart and hand was not in all the north
country."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Sir Hugh Montgomery, a Scottish knight, when
he saw the Douglas done to death, grasped a spear and
rode through a hundred archers, never slackening his
pace till he came to Lord Percy, whom he set upon,
sending his mighty spear clean through his body, so that
a man might see a long cloth-yard and more at the other
side. There were no two better captains in Christendom
than were that day slain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When one of the Northumberland archers saw this,
he drew an arrow to his bow and set upon Montgomery,
until the swan feathers of his arrows were wet with his
heart's blood.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Not one man gave way, but still they stood hewing at
each other, while they were able.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This battle began in Cheviot, an hour before noon, nor
was it half done at evensong, but they fought on by
moonlight though many had scarce the strength to stand.
Of fifteen hundred English archers only fifty-three
remained, and of two thousand Scottish spearmen only
fifty-five remained, all the rest being slain in Cheviot.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With Lord Percy were slain, Sir John of Agerstone,
Sir Roger the gentle Hartly, Sir William the bold Heron,
Sir George the worthy Lovel, a renowned knight, and Sir
Ralph the rich Rugby. Woe was it that Witherington
was slain, for when both his legs were hewn in two he
kneeled and fought on his knees.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With the brave Douglas were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery,
and worthy Sir Davy Liddle, that was his sister's
son; Sir Charles, a Murray who refused to flee, and Sir
Hugh Maxwell. On the morrow they made biers of birch
and grey hazel, and many widows bore weeping from the
field the bodies of their dead husbands. Well may
Teviotdale and Northumberland wail and moan for two
such great captains.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Word came to James the Scottish king at Edinburgh,
that the brave Douglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay
slain in Cheviot, and he wept and wrung his hands, and
said, "Alas! Woe is me; there will never be such another
captain in Scotland."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Word came also to London, to Harry the Fourth, that
Lord Percy, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in
Cheviot. "God have mercy on his soul," said King
Harry; "I have a hundred captains in England as good
as he, yet I wager my life that his death shall be well
avenged"; and this vow he kept, at the Battle of
Homildon Hill, where he beat down six and thirty Scottish
knights on one day.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But so real to the Borderers was their grief over their
dead that the ballad ends with a quaint but heartfelt
appeal to the Prince of Peace:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Jesus Christ our ills abate,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And to His bliss us bring!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>God send us all good ending!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-douglas-clan"><span class="bold large">Chapter XII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Douglas Clan</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The Douglas clan was at one time the strongest
of all the great Scotch families on the Border;
they were wild and proud and recklessly brave,
and no account of the Borders would be complete
without the broad details of their tragic history.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The first to raise the fame of the family to the highest
place in honour was the brave Sir James Douglas, the
friend of Bruce, and, after Bruce himself, the greatest
hero among the Scots of that stormy period. He was a
powerful, black-haired man with a dark complexion, and
was called by the English "The Black Douglas." So
great was the terror of his name that English mothers
on the Border, when their children were naughty, would
tell them that the Black Douglas would get them, or if
they were fretful they would comfort them with the
assurance—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The Black Douglas shall not get ye."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Sir Walter Scott relates how, when the garrison of
Roxburgh Castle were making merry at Shrovetide, the
castle was surprised by the Douglas, who mounted to
the ramparts where a woman was crooning the refrain
to her babe. "You are not so sure of that," he said,
laying his hand upon her shoulder. It is pleasant to
read that on this occasion the Black Douglas did not
turn out so black as he was painted, and beyond her
fright the woman came to no harm at the hands of Sir
James and his followers.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At one time the English had seized the Douglas
castle in Lanarkshire, and Sir James and his men
disguised themselves and came to church on Palm
Sunday, when the English soldiers were worshipping there.
Suddenly in the midst of the service Douglas dropped his
cloak and drew his sword and shouted: "A Douglas! a
Douglas!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The English soldiers were taken by surprise, and were
killed before they could recover themselves. This deed
brought Douglas great fame, but after all it was hardly a
fair fight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 1327, when Edward III. was only fifteen years old,
Douglas led a raid into Northumberland and Durham
which did the English much damage. Edward came
after them with an English army, and the Scots, being
outnumbered, were compelled to dodge up and down
in order to avoid a pitched battle. But in one bold
night attack, Douglas and five hundred of the Scots
penetrated to the king's tent, and almost succeeded in
taking him prisoner. Failing in this, they returned
unharmed to their own country, and shortly afterwards,
at the Treaty of Northampton in 1328, King Edward
III. agreed to acknowledge Robert Bruce as King of Scotland,
and the long war between Scotland and England ended.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A year later Bruce died, but after a romantic custom of
that day he bequeathed his heart to his gallant friend,
Sir James Douglas. Douglas had this heart enclosed in
a silver casket and carried it hung about his neck. The
war with England being over, this restless knight sought
adventures in Spain, fighting against the Saracen
followers of Mahomet. In one fierce battle, he and his
men were surrounded by their enemies. Douglas,
probably realising that this was his last fight, took the
casket and flung it into the midst of his foes, crying:
"Go first in fight, as thou wert used to do; Douglas will
follow thee or die!" He then rushed desperately after
it, fighting his way on till at last his dead body fell on
this dearly prized relic, which he guarded to the end.
The casket lies buried in the Abbey of Melrose, but
Douglas's body was laid in his own church.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Of the bold Earl Douglas who fought and died at
Otterbourne the tale is told in our last chapter. We
may pass on to another famous Douglas, this time a
heroine, who lived in the reign of James I. of Scotland
(quite a different king from James I. of England).
When James was only twelve years old, he was taken
prisoner by Henry IV. of England, and kept captive till
he was thirty. But he was given an education fit for a
king, and in England he met the lady he devotedly
loved, Lady Joan Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of
Somerset. He addressed a beautiful poem to her and
married her, and these two always most dearly loved one
another. When at last his long captivity came to an
end, he got back to Scotland to find the kingdom in
disorder, and the nobles defying the law and acting as they
pleased. James, a strong and able king, set his strength
against their strength, and gradually got his whole
kingdom into order and ruled with wisdom and justice.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But in these days it was impossible to be firm without
sternness, and James made enemies. When he was staying
at Perth one Christmas-time, these enemies, led by a
bold villain called Sir Robert Graham, secretly encircled
the house where he was staying. The unarmed king
only heard of their presence when they were advancing,
fully armed, to his room. He tore up a plank in the
floor, seeking thus to find a hiding-place. The enemies
were almost at the door, and it was necessary to delay
their entrance, for one minute might save his life. All
the bars of the door had been removed beforehand, but
a brave heroine, Kate Douglas, thrust her arm through
the staples. The villains were angered to find the door
barred against them, and hurled their weight upon it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Douglas heroine stood there, her pale face set
hard, without a cry, as the crash broke the bone of her
brave strong arm, and the would-be murderers staggered
in. But alas! the sacrifice of Kate Douglas availed
nothing except to place her name upon the immortal
roll of the heroes of the ages, for after a brief search the
murderers found the king and slew him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The queen, who had loved James with the utmost
devotion, found her love give added fierceness to her
hate against his murderers. They were all tracked down,
and she caused them to die with terrible tortures, the
cruellest of which she reserved for Graham. Thus did
great King James's "milk-white dove" revenge the
slaying of the husband she loved dearer than life itself.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Till this time it had seemed as if the Douglases were
devoted to the good of Scotland. But in those wild,
reckless times qualities that were strong for good could
also be strong for evil.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When James I. of Scotland was murdered, his young
son was only six years old. This meant that for many
years there would be no strong king able to cope with
the lawless spirit of the nobles, strongest among whom
were the proud, bold Douglases.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The lawlessness of the times is well shown by an act
of foul treachery committed by Sir William Crichton,
Governor of Edinburgh, and an enemy of the Douglas
family. He invited one of the earls to dinner at the
castle, and while there had him seized and beheaded.
It is said that a bull's head was placed on the dish in
front of Douglas, this being a sign that he was to be
killed. The people called this "Douglas's black dinner,"
and sang of the wicked deed in sorrowful verse:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Edinburgh Castle, town and tower</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>God grant thou sink for sin!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And even for that black dinner</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Earl Douglas got therein."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>But the new King James found, before he was twenty
years old, that the Douglases themselves could act with
equal cruelty and lawlessness.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The king was fond of a brave young soldier named
Maclellan, who, having some quarrel with Earl Douglas,
was thrown by him into a dungeon in his castle. So
the king wrote a letter to Douglas, saying he must set
Maclellan free, and sent this letter by Maclellan's uncle,
Sir Patrick Gray. When Douglas saw Gray riding up to
his castle, he at once guessed the errand. So he came
out as though he were delighted to see him, and insisted
on his sitting down and having dinner with him, before
the king's letter was opened and discussed. But the
treacherous earl had given secret orders that Maclellan
should be beheaded while they were dining, so that after
dinner was over, and the letter was read, he could say
that this had been done before he had seen the king's
message.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Gray dared not show his anger, for fear he too should
be killed. He mounted his swift horse and rode away,
but the moment he was outside the castle walls he shook
his mailed fist at Douglas and cried out—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Treacherous earl, disgrace to knighthood, some day
you shall pay for this black, base deed!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Douglas mounted his men, and they pursued Gray
almost to the gates of Edinburgh; but he rode for his
life, and faster than they.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When Douglas and the king next met there was a
stormy scene. The earl was so proud and wilful that
he would not bend to any of the king's wishes or heed
the king's anger in the least. So King James, mad with
rage, stabbed the reckless earl with his dagger, and Sir
Patrick Gray, seeing this, struck him a death-blow with
his axe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The king was in Stirling Castle, a powerful fortress at
the top of a steep hill, when the new earl, the younger
brother of the murdered man, rode up with six hundred
followers, and burnt and plundered the town before the
king's very eyes, and added to the insult by publicly
declaring that King James II. was a law-breaker.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>For three years the quarrel went on between the king
and the Douglases, but it was then evident that there
could be no peace between them. So at last the king's
army attacked the collected forces of the strong Douglas
family at a place on the Borders then called Arkinholm,
where the picturesque little town of Langholm now stands.
Here the beautiful river Esk receives the water of two
smaller streams, and so it was a good place to make a
stand for a fight. The battle was long and desperate;
three brothers of the bold black Douglases were there, and
they withstood the king's men till the rivers ran red;
but their cause was hopeless. One was slain in battle;
one was taken and executed; one escaped into England;
and the power of the Black Douglases was gone.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it was that the strongest and most famous family
of the Borders was broken up, because its proud leaders
dared to dictate to the king himself.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="alnwick-castle-and-the-percies"><span class="bold large">Chapter XIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Alnwick Castle and the Percies</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The castle of Alnwick stands on a hill on the
south bank of the river Alne; being protected
on one side by the river and on another by a
deep gorge, it stands in a strong natural position. There
are traces of earthworks that seem to show that the
spot was fortified in the old British days, but the earliest
fact which we know certainly is that there was a Saxon
fortress here, held by a Gilbert Tyson, when William
the Conqueror claimed England. Tyson hastened south
to fight on Harold's side, and was killed at the battle
of Hastings.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The fortress seems to have got into the hands of a
Norman knight, Ivo de Vesci, who married the
grand-daughter of Gilbert Tyson. King Malcolm of Scotland
was killed in front of it, in 1093, with three thousand of
his men. De Vesci's son-in-law was probably the knight
who rebuilt the castle in the Norman style, some portions
of which still remain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 1174, William the Lion, King of Scotland, who
had claimed Northumberland as his own, attacked
the castles of Wark and of Alnwick. Wark was
defended by a gallant knight named Roger de Stuteville.
William's brave men tried in vain to force their way
through the portcullis, but were beaten back. Then
William ordered up his </span><em class="italics">perière</em><span>, a machine made for
hurling stones. "This," said the king, "will soon
smash down the gate for us!" With great expectations
the machine was set in motion, but it acted so badly
that it threw the stones on to William's own men, and
nearly killed one of his best knights! William raved in
his fury, and swore he would rather have been captured
in fair fight than be made to look so foolish in the eyes of
his enemies. He gave word to burn the castle, but the
wind was in the wrong quarter and blew back the flames.
So he had to give up the siege. Stuteville, like a gallant
enemy, told his men not to shout taunts and jeers at the
departing Scots. But instead they blew trumpets and
horns, and sang songs, and called out a very loud and
hearty "Good-bye."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Shortly afterwards, William came before Alnwick, and
it was then De Vesci's turn. It was Saturday morning on
a hot July day, and the Scottish king's knights
flatteringly told him that the English were bound to give way
to him, and Northumberland would be his. The king
was dining in front of the castle, with no helmet on, when
suddenly a part of the English army made a surprise
attack. The bold king leapt on to his grey charger, and
unhorsed the first knight he met. So quick and brave
were the Scots that they had almost defeated the English
when an English foot-soldier stabbed the king's horse
with his lance, and it fell, bringing William down to the
ground and pinning him there. This turned the course
of battle; the Scots were beaten back, and William
taken prisoner.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In was in 1309 that the great Percy family first
obtained possession of Alnwick and its domain. Henry
Percy purchased it from Anthony Bek, Bishop of Durham,
who had somehow obtained power over it, and the brave
De Vesci family disappear. About this date Northumberland
was in a miserable condition; it was the reign
of the feeble Edward II., and Bruce had invaded the
four northernmost counties of England, and was exacting
tribute from them. The English were safe only within
their fortresses.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>However, the brave Sir Thomas Gray, who held
Norham Castle, did much to uphold the falling honour
of England, and Henry Percy almost rebuilt the castle
of Alnwick, which in his son's time successfully withstood
a siege. But at last peace was restored by the Treaty of
Northampton in 1328, by the terms of which the English
king renounced all claim to Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Percy family were of Norman origin, deriving
their name from a Norman village. William de Percy
crossed to England just after the battle of Hastings, and
received grants of land in Yorkshire. Agnes de Percy
married Jocelin, Count of Louvain, and their son Henry
took his mother's surname. From that year onward, the
the Christian name of Henry was always given to the
eldest son; there were fourteen Henry Percies!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even in these wild times the Percies were distinguished
by the boldness of their spirits. One of the Counts of
Louvain, grandfather of the first Henry Percy, shocked
the men of his day by hanging some of his enemies with
the church bell-ropes. It was not the hanging that was
objected to—hanging was common enough; but the use
of church-ropes for the purpose was thought very
wicked!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After they had rebuilt Alnwick Castle and settled down
there, the Percies soon established their power in the
North. At the coronation of Richard II., in 1377, a
Henry Percy was Marshal of England, and he was then
made Earl of Northumberland. His son, "Hotspur,"
was the most famous of all the Percies. In their time, the
battles of Otterbourne and Homildon Hill were fought.
But they rebelled against Henry IV. and Hotspur was
killed at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403), while his father
was slain a few years later at Bramham Moor, his head
set up on London Bridge, and quarters of his body on the
gates of Berwick, Newcastle, Lincoln, and London, to
discourage others from following in his footsteps!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Henry, son of "Hotspur," was the second earl. He
repaired and added to the castle and was present at the
battle of Agincourt. It was not the habit of the Percies
to die in their beds, and this one was killed in the Wars
of the Roses, at the first battle of St Albans, in 1455.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The fact of their having taken the losing Lancastrian
side in these wars kept the family under a cloud for a
number of years. One of them deserted Richard III. on
Bosworth field in 1485; one of them was beheaded at
York in 1572, for taking part in the "Rising of the
North"; one of them was found shot in his bed in 1585,
and another died in the Tower in 1632. So that the
family could hardly be said to be quieting down.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They sided with Parliament during the Civil War, but
later on they favoured the Restoration. At last there
came a time when there were no male heirs left in this
great line, but only a daughter, Elizabeth. She married
the Duke of Somerset, and had thirteen children, the
eldest surviving of whom was created Earl of Northumberland
in 1748. But he died the year after, leaving only
a daughter, who had married a very able baronet, to
whom was given the title of Duke of Northumberland
in 1766. He very wisely took the surname of Percy,
and again restored the castle of Alnwick, putting the
family estates and affairs in good order. So that the
Percies of Alnwick Castle are Dukes of Northumberland
to this day.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="hexham-and-queen-margaret"><span class="bold large">Chapter XIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Hexham and Queen Margaret</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The town of Hexham stands on the south bank
of the Tyne, rising gradually up the hill and
presenting a most picturesque appearance.
About two miles above Hexham the North and the
South Tyne meet, and the combined river is broad
and noble, and the hills around Hexham give
strength and beauty to the scene. The commanding
appearance and central position of the priory church
adds its note of dignity, and the total effect of the town
is very pleasing to the eye.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There is no doubt that from very early times there was
a town in this fine natural position. The burial-grounds
of primitive races have been discovered here, with stone
and bronze implements. The Romans had a town here
of some importance, although it was four miles south of
their great wall. A Roman tombstone was discovered
here, nine feet by three and a half feet, showing a Roman
officer on horseback, overthrowing in fierce fight a
savage and scowling foe. This fine relic is set up in the
church, and is not the only thing to see there. The
original church upon this spot was built in 674, in the
reign of King Egfrid of Northumbria. Wilfrid, the
very able and influential Bishop of York, was the
man who presided at the building of it, and there
were bishops at Hexham for a couple of centuries. In
875 the Danes ruthlessly burnt the town; and nearly
one thousand years later, in 1832, there was found buried
in the ground a bronze vessel containing about nine
thousand Saxon coins of the eighth and ninth century,
evidently buried to protect this treasure from the
invaders. Those who buried them were probably slain
before they had time to dig them up again. There was a
legend of another treasure hidden between Hexham and
Corbridge, and King John came to Hexham in 1201 to
search for it. He returned in 1208 and in 1212, but found
nothing. Time passed, and this tale of hidden treasure
ceased even to be local gossip, but in 1735 by accident it
was found.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The present handsome priory church must have been
built about the time of King John's visits to Hexham.
It is a noble building, well worth a visit. In 1725, when
some work was being done in the church, a wonderful
discovery was made. It was found that there was an
old Saxon crypt, a narrow vault with several passages,
underneath the church! This was so carefully hidden
that it was evidently intended as a place of refuge in
danger. It was built of Roman stones, several of which
have Roman inscriptions.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Scots several times attacked Hexham. Once
Sir William Wallace came there with his army, but he
would not let his Scots damage the church, so that
Hexham, on the whole, had a less stormy life than many
of the Border towns, although in 1537, when Henry
VIII. caused the monastery to be suppressed, the prior and
five of the leading monks were hanged before the gates
as a gentle reminder that they were to live there no
longer.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But by far the most stirring event in Hexham's history
was the battle which raged there in 1464. The Wars of
the Roses do not form a pleasing episode in English
history. They were pitiless, and treachery was mingled
with bloodshed; desertions and executions were the
accompaniment of every battle. Edward IV. was coldly
cruel and unscrupulous, one of the blackest figures of a
black time. But romance centres round Queen Margaret,
the dauntless and resourceful wife of the feeble King
Henry VI., with whom Edward disputed the throne.
She it was who, making up for her husband's weakness,
urged ever bravely and hopefully the cause of her son.
Thus she pressed on to the very end, till that son, worthy
of his heroic mother, proudly answered the taunts of his
base enemies, even though in their power, preferring
speedy death to any lessening of his tragic dignity, and
dying before the eyes of the successful and exultant
Edward.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this fierce drama, Hexham was but an episode.
The Lancastrians had scattered after their heavy defeat
at Towton. Margaret in person had begged a little help
of the King of Scotland, a little more of the King of
France. The Borderland was favourable to her, and
she gathered her forces together there, King Henry
VI. staying in Alnwick Castle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Montague, brother to the powerful but crafty
Earl of Warwick, was warden of the East Marches for
Edward, and he hastily collected the Yorkist forces. He
was swift, able, and unscrupulous. He attacked a small
body of Lancastrians on Hedgeley Moor, only ten miles
from Alnwick, and defeated them, killing their leader,
Sir Ralph Percy, son of Hotspur. As this gallant man
died he consoled himself by saying, "I have saved the
bird in my bosom," by which poetical phrase he meant
that he had saved his honour by being true to his queen.
In May the greater battle of Hexham was fought. King
Henry was there in person, with the dauntless Queen
Margaret and her son, and their brave general, the
Duke of Somerset. They marched out of Hexham to
attack Lord Montague; the battle began by the village
of Linnels, on the south side of the Devil's Water, a
stream that runs into the Tyne. The fight was
desperate, for both sides knew that no quarter would
be given. It is said by some that the Scots, having
no interest in the war, deserted Margaret; anyway, bit
by bit the Lancastrians were forced back, to the very
streets of Hexham itself, two miles away. In these
narrow streets, in the quarter that is still called Battle
Hill, the last desperate fighters on the side of the Red
Rose made their final and unavailing stand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>At last the remnant fled, and no doubt many a
Hexham maid and dame, at the risk of her own life or
limb, hid that day some devoted follower of Margaret.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The gallant Duke of Somerset was taken prisoner, and
there and then was brought to the block in the
market-place and beheaded. The cruel Montague had not the
true soldier's respect for a brave enemy, whose blood thus
mingled with that of his men. Other nobles were taken
as prisoners to Newcastle, but Edward also was devoid
of mercy, and all perished.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-150">
<span id="the-final-battle-in-the-streets-of-hexham"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham*" src="images/img-094.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>Till the last moment the queen hoped on. She was
not daunted by scenes of strife and bloodshed. When
defeat was an accomplished fact, she and her young son
fled to the Dipton Woods, where they fell into the hands
of rough men, some say a party of Yorkist stragglers.
Whilst these men were eagerly dividing and quarrelling
over the queen's jewels, she and the prince slipped away.
Deeper into the dangerous woods they had to go, for
worse than robbers were hunting for them around
Hexham. Suddenly an outlaw stood in their path with
drawn sword. Even after that day of stir and terror
Margaret's courage did not fail her. She boldly declared
to the man that she was the Queen of England, and with
her was her only son. Now, if he chose to betray them
he could do so; but if he had that natural nobility that
hailed gladly great chances to do great deeds, now was his
time to prove himself a man, and to save the ill-fated
prince and his queen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The robber bowed before her as though she were on
her throne, and as if the trees were her army around her.
He swore to die a hundred deaths rather than betray his
rightful sovereign and her prince. He honourably kept
his word; and through his safe guidance and steady
devotion, both queen and prince were able to join King
Henry in Scotland, to which place he had safely escaped.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thus the bandit of Hexham proved himself to be a
truer man than either Lord Montague, or Warwick, the
King-maker, or King Edward IV. of England.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="fair-helen-of-kirkconnell"><span class="bold large">Chapter XV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Fair Helen of Kirkconnell</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Very simple, very touching, is the story of fair
Helen of Kirkconnell. This beautiful maiden
had two lovers, one rich, one poor. Her friends
favoured the rich one, she loved the poor one. She and
her chosen lover used to meet secretly in the romantic
churchyard of Kirkconnell, by the side of the river
Kirtle. Learning this, the rejected lover crept up one
evening, with his carbine, to shoot his luckier rival;
Helen saw him at the moment of firing, and threw herself
forward to receive the shot in her bosom, and so save her
lover's life at the cost of her own.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The ballad describing the grief of her lover is one of
the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry in
existence, and must be given here entire.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">FAIR HELEN</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I wish I were where Helen lies;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Night and day on me she cries;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O that I were where Helen lies,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On fair Kirkconnell Lee!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Curst be the heart that thought the thought,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And curst the hand that shot the shot,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When in my arms burd Helen dropt,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And died to succour me.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O think ye not my heart was sair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When my love dropt and spak nae mair!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There did she swoon wi' meikle care,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On fair Kirkconnell Lee.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>As I went down the water-side,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>None but my foe to be my guide,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>None but my foe to be my guide,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On fair Kirkconnell Lee!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I lighted down my sword to draw,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I hacked him in pieces sma',</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I hacked him in pieces sma',</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For her sake that died for me.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O Helen fair beyond compare,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll make a garland of thy hair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shall bind my heart for evermair,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Until the day I die.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O that I were where Helen lies,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Night and day on me she cries;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Out of my bed she bids me rise,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Says, "Haste and come to me!"</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>If I were with thee, I were blest,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On fair Kirkconnell Lee.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O that my grave were growing green,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A winding sheet drawn ower my een,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And I in Helen's arms were lying,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On fair Kirkconnell Lee!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I wish I were where Helen lies!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Night and day on me she cries,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And I am weary of the skies,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For her sake that died for me.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="johnie-of-breadislee"><span class="bold large">Chapter XVI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Johnie of Breadislee</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Johnie of Breadislee, outlaw and deer-stealer,
was one of the "broken men," as they were
called, the Ishmaels of the Border. Johnie rose
up one May morning, and called for water to wash his
hands. He ordered to be unleashed his good grey dogs,
that were bound with iron chains. When his mother
heard that he had called for the dogs, she wrung her hands.
"O Johnie!" she cried, "for my blessing, do not go to
the greenwood to-day. Ye have enough of good wheat
bread, enough blood-red wine, therefore, Johnie, I pray,
stir not from home for any venison." But despite his
mother's tears, Johnie busked up his good bent bow, and
his arrows, and went off to Durrisdeer to hunt down the
dun deer. As he came by Merriemass he espied a deer
lying beneath a bush of furze. Johnie let fly an arrow,
and the deer leapt as the pitiless shaft found its mark,
and between the water and the brae his good hounds
"laid her pride." So Johnie cut up the venison, giving
the liver and lungs to his faithful hounds, as if they had
been earl's sons. With such zest did they eat and drink
that Johnie and the dogs fell asleep, as if they had been
dead. Then as they lay, there came by a silly old man,
and, as soon as he saw the poachers, he ran away to
Hislinton, where the Seven Foresters were. "What
news?" they asked. "What news bring ye, ye
grey-headed carle?" "I bring no news," said the grey-headed
carle, "save what my eyes did see. As I came
down by Merrimass among the stunted trees, the bonniest
child I ever saw lay asleep among his dogs. The shirt
upon his back was of fine Holland, his doubtlet, over that,
was of Lincoln twine, his buttons were of the good gold,
the mouths of his good grey hounds were dyed with blood."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now Johnie, like many another free-hearted outlaw,
was a well-liked man. So the chief forester said, "If
this be Johnie of Breadislee we will draw no nearer." But
this was not the spirit of his men. Quoth the sixth
Forester, "If it indeed be he, rather let us slay
him." Cautiously they went through the thicket, and when they
saw their man, asleep and helpless, they shot a flight
of arrows. Johnie sprang up, sore wounded on the knee.
The seventh forester cried out, "The next flight will
kill him," but little chance did the outlaw give them for
such an easy victory. He set his back against an oak
and propped his wounded leg upon a stone; with bow
or with sword he was a better man by far than any of his
foes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In the short, sharp fight that followed, he killed six of
the foresters, some with arrow, and some with steel;
and when the seventh turned to flee, Johnie seized him
from behind and threw him on to the ground with a force
that broke three of his ribs. Then he laid him on his
steed, and bade him carry the tidings home.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-151">
<span id="id1"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*Johnie of Breadislee*" src="images/img-100.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">Johnie of Breadislee</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Johnie himself was hurt to death. "Is there no
bonnie singing bird," he cried, "that can fly to my
mother's bower and tell her to fetch Johnie away?" A
starling flew to his mother's window sill, and sang and
whistled, and the burden of its tune was ever the same.
"Johnie tarries long." So the men made a litter from
rods of the hazel bush and of the thorn and fetched
Johnie away. Then his old mother's tears flowed fast,
and she said, "Ye would not be warned, my son Johnie,
to bide away from the hunting. Oft have I brought to
Breadislee the less or greater gear, but never what grieved
my heart so sorely. But woe betide that silly old
grey-headed carle! An ill death shall he die! The highest
tree in Merriemass shall be his reward."</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Now Johnie's gude bent bow is brake,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And his gude grey dogs are slain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And his hunting it is done."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="katharine-janfarie"><span class="bold large">Chapter XVII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Katharine Janfarie</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>This ballad is evidently the original of Sir
Walter Scott's "Lochinvar," though Sir
Walter reversed the names of the two leading
male characters. In "Katharine Janfarie"
Lochinvar plays the part of the craven bridegroom.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There was a may,[#] and a weel-far'd may,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Lived high up in yon glen;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Her name was Katharine Janfarie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>She was courted by mony men.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] maiden.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Up there came Lord Lauderdale,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Up frae the Lowland Border,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And he has come to court this may,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>A' mounted in good order.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He told na her father, he told na her mother,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And he told na ane o' her kin,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But he whispered the bonnie lassie hersell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And has her favour won.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But out there cam Lord Lochinvar,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Out frae the English Border,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>All for to court this bonny may,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Weel mounted, and in order.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He told her father, he told her mother,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And a' the lave[#] o' her kin;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But he told na the bonny may hersell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Till on her wedding e'en.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] rest.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Gin[#] he wad come and see,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And he has sent back word again,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Weel answered he suld[#] be.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] if.
<br/>[#] should.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And he has sent a messenger</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Right quickly through the land,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And raised mony an armed man</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To be at his command.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The bride looked out at a high window,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Beneath baith dale and down,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And she was aware of her first true love,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>With riders mony a one.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She scoffed him, and scorned him,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Upon her wedding-day;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And said, "It was the Fairy Court,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To see him in array!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O come ye here to fight, young lord,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Or come ye here to play?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Or come ye here to drink good wine,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Upon the wedding-day?"</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"I come na here to fight," he said,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"I come na here to play,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And mount, and go my way."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>It is a glass of the blood-red wine</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Was filled up them between,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And aye she drank to Lauderdale,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wha[#] her true love had been.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] who.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He's taen[#] her by the milk-white hand,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And by the grass-green sleeve;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He's mounted her hie behind himsell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>At her kinsmen speired[#] na leave.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] taken.
<br/>[#] asked.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Now take her if ye may!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But if you take your bride again,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>We'll call it but foul play."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>A' clad in the Johnstone grey;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>They said they would take the bride again,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>By the strong hand, if they may.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Some o' them were right willing men,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>But they were na willing a';</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And four-and-twenty Leader lads</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Bid them mount and ride awa'.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And swords flew frae the shea's,[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And red and rosy was the blood</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ran down the lily braes.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] sheathes.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The blood ran down by Caddon bank,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And down by Caddon brae,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And, sighing, said the bonnie bride—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"O wae's me for foul play."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wae to your wilfu' will!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There's mony a gallant gentleman</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Whae's bluid ye have garred[#] to spill.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] caused.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Now a' the lords of fair England,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And that dwell by the English Border,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Come never here to seek a wife,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For fear of sic[#] disorder.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] such.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They'll track ye up, and settle ye bye,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Till on your wedding-day;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And play ye foul foul play.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">LOCHINVAR</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In Sir Walter Scott's poem, Lochinvar is the hero,
and the story has a happier ending. The song was
supposed to have been sung to James IV. by Lady
Heron at Holyrood shortly before the fatal battle of
Flodden.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O young Lochinvar has come out of the west,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Through all the wide border his steel was the best;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The bride had consented, the gallant came late;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Among bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>So stately her form, and so lovely her face,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That never a hall such a galliard did grace;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>While her brother did fret, and her father did fume,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the bridgroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So light to the saddle before her he sprung!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"She is won! we have gone over bank, bush, and scaur;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="by-lauder-bridge"><span class="bold large">Chapter XVIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">By Lauder Bridge</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint
little border town with hardly more than one
street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on
the high road between Edinburgh and Kelso. It stands
very picturesquely, among the bold hills and fine woods
of Berwickshire, and the valley is called Lauderdale,
extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just
below Melrose. Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and
yet it was once the scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland,
who offended his subjects in two particulars.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>First, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead
with his silver money, and put it into circulation as pure
silver; next, he chose favourites from the common people,
and set these above the proud noblemen of Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This latter would not have been so bad a fault if the
king had always chosen wisely; but, as often in such
cases, he was led by flatterers rather than by worthy men.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 1482 the king declared war against England, and,
as in these warlike days the nobles were the leaders
of the army, this brought the discontented lords
together.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Scottish army reached Lauder in their
southward march, the proud nobles met in Lauder
church; all were angry with the king, yet each was
afraid to make the first move. So Lord Gray told them
a mocking fable.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you remember," said he, "how all the mice got
together and agreed that it would be a splendid thing if a
bell were hung round the cat's neck, so that wherever
she went she could be heard; the only difficulty was
to find a mouse to bell the cat!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>These warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of
as if they were mice, and it roused them to deeper rage.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the
head of the younger branch of the Douglas family.
"Trust me, I'll bell the cat!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect,
whom the nobles said had been a mason, but was now the
king's chief favourite, entered, dressed in black velvet,
with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a horn of gold
tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the
costliest. Angus caught the chain in his hands and said,
"A rope would suit that neck better!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's
low-born favourites and hanged them by the bridge of
Lauder, in front of the king's very eyes! Cochrane
was proud and brave to the last. He said that as the
king had made him an earl he should be hanged with a
rope made of silk; little did the nobles care for his
protests, the halter of a horse was in their opinion good
enough for him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>From this time onward the headstrong Earl of
Angus was known by the nick-name of "Bell-the-Cat." It
may be taken for granted that neither he nor
the nobles who supported him would have dared to
act so arrogantly and violently unless they felt quite
sure that the king had not the power to punish them.
He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more the captive
of the nobles than their master.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general
of the kingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour,
for he was suspected of too great a friendship for Edward
IV., King of England, and fled for safety to France,
giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for
himself.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not
destined to have much peace. Before very long,
another quarrel with his nobles led to their taking up
arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on
the throne. The king and his nobles met in battle near
Stirling, but, at the very beginning of the fight, James
was thrown from his horse and stabbed by a soldier,
whose name remained unknown. Thus died this weak
but amiable and unfortunate king.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-battle-of-flodden-field"><span class="bold large">Chapter XIX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Battle of Flodden Field</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>One of the most tragic episodes in the History
of the Borders was the battle of Flodden Field,
when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell
around their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against
the English under Surrey.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The causes of the war were many. Henry of England
refused to give up the jewels which had been promised
as the dowry of his sister Margaret on her marriage with
James IV.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund
Howard, had attacked and taken two Scottish ships, and
slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton. James, who
was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry
insolently replied that kings should not quarrel about
pirates.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the immediate cause was the friendship between
France and Scotland. Henry was preparing for war
with France, and James stood by his ally, declaring that
if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army
into England. The Queen of France sent James a
turquoise ring, asking him to carry out his threat to
serve her interests.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>James had been warned that his action would have
terrible consequences. A man appeared to him at
Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare head, and
carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his
dead mother had sent him to warn him not to go to
war against England, he disappeared as suddenly as he
had come.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Also at the dead of night a voice had been heard
proclaiming aloud at the market Cross in Edinburgh the
names of those who, within forty days, would be no more.
It was thought at the time that these happenings were
instigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still
persisted in his policy, and led his army across the Border,
in spite of the warnings of his counsellors and his queen.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter
Scott, when Lord Marmion watches the scene from
Blackford Hill.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Spread all the Borough-moor below,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Upland, and dale, and down:—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A thousand, did I say? I ween,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Thousands and thousands, there were seen,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That chequer'd all the heath between</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The streamlet and the town;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>In crossing ranks extending far,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Forming a camp irregular;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Oft giving way, where still there stood</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Some relics of the old oak wood,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That darkly huge did intervene,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And tamed the glaring white with green,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>In these extended lines there lay,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A martial kingdom's vast array.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>For from Hebudes, dark with rain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And from the southern Redswire edge,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>From west to east, from south to north,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Scotland sent all her warriors forth,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Marmion might hear the mingled hum,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of myriads up the mountain come;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And charger's shrilling neigh;</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>And see the shifting lines advance</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Whilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The sun's reflected ray.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>They saw, slow rolling on the plain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Full many a baggage-cart and wain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And dire artillery's clumsy car.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Nor mark'd they less, where in the air</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A thousand streamers flaunted fair,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Various in shape, device, and hue,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] there</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O'er the pavilions flew.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>Highest and midmost, was descried</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The royal banner floating wide;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Which still in memory is shown,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And gave to view the dazzling field,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed
them.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Marmion wondered that with such a glorious army at
his back anyone should try to dissuade James from
battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the Mount answered
him,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"'twere good</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>That Kings would think withal,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>'Tis better to sit still at rest,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than rise, perchance to fall."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Men-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour,
with battle-axe and spear, and mounted on Flemish
steeds. Young knights and squires practised their
chargers on the plain. Hardy burghers marched on
foot, armed with long pikes and two-handed swords and
bright bucklers.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack
quilted well with iron, and bearing at his back,
provisions for forty days. He seemed sad of cheer, and
loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would
till the land during his absence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There, too, was the Borderer:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"bred to war,</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He knew the battle's din afar,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And joy'd to hear it swell.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>His peaceful day was slothful ease,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Like the loud slogan yell."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>for</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"War's the Borderer's game,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Their gain, their glory, their delight,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To sleep the day, maraud the night,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O'er mountain, moss, and moor."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-152">
<span id="flodden-field"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*Flodden Field*" src="images/img-116.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">Flodden Field</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>There, too, were the Celts, with savage eyes looking
out wildly through red and sable hair, with sinewy
frames and legs bare above the knees, their chiefs known
by the eagle's plumage. They wore the skin of the red
deer, a graceful bonnet, and a plaid hung from the
shoulders, and carried as weapons a broadsword, a
dagger, and quivers, bows, and shafts.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Isles-men, too, were there, carrying the ancient
Danish battle-axe. While the army was mustering
together, James feasted the chiefs in Holyrood Palace,
for at dawn they were to march southward.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Well loved that splendid monarch aye</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The banquet and the song,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>By day the tourney, and by night</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The merry dance, traced fast and light,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The revel loud and long.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>This feast outshone his banquets past;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It was his blithest and his last."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And hazel was his eagle eye,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And auburn of the darkest dye,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His short curl'd beard and hair.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Light was his footstep in the dance,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And firm his stirrup in the lists;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And oh! he had that merry glance,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That seldom lady's heart resists."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Yet no fair lady was as dear to James as his own
Queen Margaret, who sat alone in the tower of Linlithgow
weeping for the war against her native country, and for
the danger of her lord.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On the morrow, James marched south, crossed the
Tweed, and encamped on the banks of the Till, near
Twisel Bridge. The Scottish army moved down the side
of the Tweed to Flodden Hill taking Norham Castle, and
the Border towns of Etal, Wark, and Ford. Much time
was wasted in these petty enterprises, time which should
have been spent in marching to Newcastle before the
English were prepared to offer resistance. When the
castle of Ford was stormed, Lady Heron, wife of Sir
William Heron, then a prisoner in Scotland, was taken,
and this beautiful and artful woman induced James to
idle away his time until all chance was lost of defeating
the enemy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The army suffered severely from want of provisions,
and many of the Highlanders and Isles-men returned
home, many who had come only for booty, deserted,
and the numbers were reduced to about thirty
thousand.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, the Earl of Surrey had raised twenty-six
thousand men, and received other enforcements as he
came north from Durham. He therefore challenged
James to fight, and charged him with violating the
treaty of peace between the two kingdoms.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Scottish nobles were unwilling to fight, and said it
was impossible to remain in a country so plundered;
also, if fight the king must, he would fight to much
greater advantage in his own country, to whose welfare
the loss of this battle would be fatal; while he had
sufficiently indicated his honour by crossing the Border.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>James would not listen to the counsel of his nobles,
though even the aged Earl of Angus expostulated with
him. To this old warrior he angrily said, "Angus, if you
are afraid, you may go home," at which insult the aged
Earl burst into tears.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The English army crossed the Till by Twisel Bridge
and pressed on while the Scottish army stood idly by,
the Scottish nobles in vain entreating the king to attack
the English while they were crossing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the English army had drawn up in order of
battle on the left bank of the river, the Scots, setting fire
to their temporary huts, came down the ridge of Flodden.
The clouds of smoke from the burning huts were driven
into the face of the English, so that the Scots had got to
within a quarter of a mile of them before they perceived
them.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"No martial shout, nor minstrel tone,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Announced their march; their tread alone,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>At times one warning trumpet blown,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>At times a stifled hum,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Told England, from his mountain-throne,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>King James did rushing come:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Scarce could they hear or see their foes</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Until at weapon-point they close."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>With clanging blows and arrows that fell like rain, with
yelling and clamour and sword-sway and lance-thrust,
the battle continued until the evening, and when even
fell, the Scots still fought in an unbroken ring round their
king. But when darkness came, and Surrey withdrew
his men, the flower of Scotland's chivalry had fallen, and
the king lay dead on the field.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Afar, the royal standard flies,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And round it toils and bleeds and dies.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Our Caledonian pride!"</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But yet, though thick the shafts as now,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Unbroken was the ring.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The stubborn spearmen still made good</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Their dark impenetrable wood,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Each stepping where his comrade stood</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The instant that he fell.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>No thought was there of dastard flight:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As fearlessly and well;</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>Till utter darkness closed her wing</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O'er their thin host and wounded King.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then skilful Surrey's sage commands</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Led back from strife his shattered bands;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And from the charge they drew,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sweep back to ocean blue.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then did their loss his foemen know;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Their King, their lords, their mightiest low,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They melted from the field as snow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When streams are swoln and south winds blow</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Dissolves in silent dew.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Still from the sire the son shall hear</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of the stern fight and carnage drear</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Of Flodden's fatal field,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And broken was her shield!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And well in death his trusty brand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Firm clench'd within his manly hand</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Beseem'd the Monarch slain."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="after-flodden"><span class="bold large">Chapter XX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">After Flodden</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>So deeply did the tragic result of Flodden touch
the hearts of the Scottish people that no Scot
could for many a long day hear it mentioned
without a heart-thrill.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Many are the songs written about it, the most famous
perhaps, being the "Flowers of the Forest," written
two centuries later, though partly founded upon an older
and almost forgotten song.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] a broad grassy lane used as milking-ground.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] rallying.
<br/>[#] joking.
<br/>[#] chatting.
<br/>[#] milking-pail.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] sheaf-binders.
<br/>[#] wrinkled.
<br/>[#] inclining to grey.
<br/>[#] coaxing.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Women and bairns are heartless and wae:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The following poem also gives eloquent and touching
expression to the deep gloom which descended upon
the Border after the fatal battle, and tells of the despair
felt in almost every Ettrick home:—</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span>(A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>It's but a month the morn</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sin' a' was peace and plenty;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Oor hairst was halflins shorn,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Eident men and lasses denty.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But noo it's a' distress—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Never mair a merry meetin ';</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For half the bairns are faitherless,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And a' the women greetin'.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Where forest flow'rs are fairest,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Ilka lassie's stricken doun,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A' the lads they used to meet</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>By Ettrick braes or Yarrow</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Lyin' thrammelt head and feet</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In Brankstone's deadly barrow!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Frae every cleuch and clan</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The best o' the braid Border</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Rose like a single man</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To meet the royal order.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Oor Burgh toun itsel'</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sent its seventy doun the glen;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk
from Flodden. Four brothers of that name are said to have perished
in the battle.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Round about their gallant king,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For country and for croun,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Stude the dauntless Border ring,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Till the last was hackit doun.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I blame na what has been—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They maun fa' that canna flee—</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But oh, to see what I hae seen,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To see what now I see!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The souters a' fu' croose,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O'er their leather and their lingle,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sat contentit round the ingle.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Noo there's naething left but dool,—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Never mair their work will cheer them;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>In Flodden's bluidy pool</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They'll neither wait nor wear them!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Whar the weavers used to meet,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In ilka bieldy corner,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Noo there's nane in a' the street,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Savin' here and there a mourner,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Walkin' lonely as a wraith,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Or if she meet anither,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Just a word below their braith</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O' some slauchtered son or brither!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There stands the gudeman's loom</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That used tae gang sae cheerie,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Untentit noo, and toom,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Till the sicht I canna dree;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For the shuttles lyin' dumb</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Speak the loudlier to me</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O' him that wunna come.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Just to haud it frae my een,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But I haena yet the pow'r</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To forget what it has been;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And I listen through the hoose</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For the chappin o' the lay,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Till the scrapin' o' a moose</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Tak's my very braith away.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then I turn to sister Jean,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And my airms aboot her twine,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And I kiss her sleepless een,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For her heart's as sair as mine,—</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A heart ance fu' o' fun,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And hands that ne'er were idle,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' a' her cleedin' spun</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Against her Jamie's bridal.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Noo we've naether hands nor hairt—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In oor grief the wark's forgotten,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Though it's wantit every airt,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And the craps are lyin' rotten.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>War's awsome blast's gane bye,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And left a land forlorn;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>In daith's dool hairst they lie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The shearers and the shorn.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Flodden Field.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' winter creepin' near us,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>When the nichts are drear and lang,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Nane to help us, nane to hear us,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>On the weary gate we gang!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Lord o' the quick an' deed,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sin' oor ain we canna see,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>In mercy mak gude speed,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And bring us whar they be,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Far, far, frae Flodden Field!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).</span></div>
<div class="line"><em class="italics">By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq.</em></div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Another lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden,
refers to the gallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of
Selkirk, who, to the number of eighty, and headed by
their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered England.
They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned.
The "yellow and green" are the liveries of the house
of Home, taxed by some with being the cause of the
defeat.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And doun wi' the Earl of Home;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And up wi' a' the braw lads</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That sew the single-soled shoon.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Fye upon yellow and yellow,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And fye upon yellow and green,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And up wi' the single-soled sheen.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For they are baith trusty and leal;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And up wi' the men o' the Forest,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," the
following well-known poem tells how the news of the
disaster at Flodden Field was received in Edinburgh:—</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span>I</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>News of battle! news of battle!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the archways and the pavement</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Bear the clang of hurrying feet.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>News of battle! Who hath brought it?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>News of triumph! Who should bring</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Tidings from our noble army,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Greetings from our gallant King?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>All last night we watched the beacons</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Blazing on the hills afar,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Each one bearing, as it kindled,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Message of the opened war.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>All night long the northern streamers</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shot across the trembling sky:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fearful lights that never beckon</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Save when kings or heroes die.</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>II</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>News of battle! Who hath brought it?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>All are thronging to the gate;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Warder—warder! open quickly!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Man—is this a time to wait?"</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the heavy gates are opened;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then a murmur long and loud,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And a cry of fear and wonder</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Bursts from out the bending crowd.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For they see in battered harness</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Only one hard-stricken man;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And his weary steed is wounded,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And his cheek is pale and wan.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Spearless hangs a bloody banner</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>In his weak and drooping hand—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>God! can that be Randolph Murray,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Captain of the city band?</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>III</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Round him crush the people, crying,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Tell us all—oh, tell us true!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where are they who went to battle,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Randolph Murray, sworn to you?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where are they, our brothers—children?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Have they met the English foe?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Why art thou alone, unfollowed?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Is it weal, or is it woe?"</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Like a corpse the grisly warrior</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Looks from out his helm of steel;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But no word he speaks in answer—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Only with his armèd heel</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Chides his weary steed, and onward</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Up the city streets they ride;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shrieking, praying by his side.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"By the God that made thee, Randolph!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Tell us what mischance hath come."</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then he lifts his riven banner,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the asker's voice is dumb.</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-153">
<span id="tell-us-alloh-tell-us-true"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*Tell us all—oh, tell us true!*"" src="images/img-126.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">Tell us all—oh, tell us true!</em><span class="italics">"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>IV</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The elders of the city</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Have met within their hall—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The men whom good King James had charged</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To watch the tower and wall.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Your hands are weak with age," he said,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Your hearts are stout and true;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So bide ye in the maiden town,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>While others fight for you.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My trumpet from the Border-side</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shall send a blast so clear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That all who wait within the gate</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That stirring sound may hear.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or, if it be the will of Heaven</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That back I never come,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And if, instead of Scottish shout,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ye hear the English drum,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then let the warning bells ring out,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then gird you to the fray,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then man the walls like burghers stout,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And fight while fight you may.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>'Twere better that in fiery flame</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The roofs should thunder down,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than that the foot of foreign foe</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Should trample in the town!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>V</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then in came Randolph Murray,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His step was slow and weak,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And, as he doffed his dinted helm,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The tears ran down his cheek:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They fell upon his corslet</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And on his mailed hand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As he gazed around him wistfully,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Leaning sorely on his brand.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And none who then beheld him</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But straight were smote with fear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For a bolder and a sterner man</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Had never couched a spear.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They knew so sad a messenger</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Some ghastly news must bring;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And all of them were fathers,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And their sons were with the King.</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>VI</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And up then rose the Provost—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A brave old man was he,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of ancient name, and knightly fame,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And chivalrous degree.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He ruled our city like a Lord</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Who brooked no equal here,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And ever for the townsmen's rights</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Stood up 'gainst prince and peer.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And he had seen the Scottish host</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>March from the Borough muir,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With music-storm and clamorous shout,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And all the din that thunders out</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When youth's of victory sure.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But yet a dearer thought had he;—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For, with a father's pride,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He saw his last remaining son</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Go forth by Randolph's side,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With casque on head and spur on heel,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>All keen to do and dare;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And proudly did that gallant boy</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Dunedin's banner bear.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Oh! woeful now was the old man's look,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And he spake right heavily—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>However sharp they be!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Woe is written on thy visage,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Death is looking from thy face;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Speak! though it be of overthrow—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It cannot be disgrace!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>VII</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Right bitter was the agony</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That wrung that soldier proud;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Thrice did he strive to answer,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And thrice he groaned aloud.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Then he gave the riven banner</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To the old man's shaking hand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Saying—"That is all I bring ye</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>From the bravest of the land!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ay! ye may look upon it—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It was guarded well and long,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>By your brothers and your children,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>By the valiant and the strong.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>One by one they fell around it,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As the archers laid them low,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Grimly dying, still unconquered,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With their faces to the foe.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ay! ye may well look upon it—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There is more than honour there,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Else, be sure, I had not brought it</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>From the field of dark despair.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Never yet was royal banner</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Steeped in such a costly dye;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It hath lain upon a bosom</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Where no other shroud shall lie.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Keep it as a sacred thing,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For the stain ye see upon it</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Was the life-blood of your King!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>VIII</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Woe and woe and lamentation!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>What a piteous cry was there!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Widows, maidens, mothers, children,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shrieking, sobbing in despair!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Through the streets the death-word rushes,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Spreading terror, sweeping on.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"Jesu Christ! our King has fallen—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O Great God, King James is gone!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Holy mother Mary, shield us,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Thou who erst did lose thy Son!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O the blackest day for Scotland</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That she ever knew before!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O our King—the good, the noble,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shall we see him never more?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Woe to us, and woe to Scotland!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O our sons, our sons and men!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Surely some have 'scaped the Southron,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Surely some will come again!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Randolph Murray describes how the monarch lies
dead on the field with his nobles round him.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"All so thick they lay together,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When the stars lit up the sky,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That I knew not who were stricken,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or who yet remained to die."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>A hollow knell is rung and the miserere is sung,
and all is terror and disorder until the Provost rouses
them.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"If our King be taken from us,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We are left to guard his son.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Up! and haste ye through the city,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Stir the burghers stout and true!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Gather all our scattered people,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fling the banner out once more—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Randolph Murray! do thou bear it,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As it erst was borne before:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Never Scottish heart will leave it,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When they see their monarch's gore!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="graeme-and-bewick"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Graeme and Bewick</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Good Lord Graeme and Sir Robert Bewick were
friends. They met one day in Carlisle, and
went arm in arm to the wine, and, as was too
oft the custom of these days, they stayed and drank till
they were both merry. Good Lord Graeme took up the
cup. "Sir Robert, and here's to thee!" he said, "and
here's to our two sons at home, for they like us best in
our own country."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"O were your son a lad like mine," answered Bewick,
boastfully, "and learnt some books that he could read,
they might be two brothers in arms, and lord it over the
Borderside.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>'But your son's a lad, and he's but bad,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And billie[#] to my son he cannot be.'</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Comrade, or brother-in-arms.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<p class="pnext"><span>You sent him to school, and he would not learn; you
bought him books, and he would not read!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Graeme called angrily for the reckoning. "My
blessing shall he never earn," said he, "till I see how his
arm can defend his head." He threw down a crown,
and went to the stable, took his horse, and rode home.
"Welcome, my old father," said his son, Christie Graeme,
"but where were ye so long from home?" "I have
been at Carlisle town, and a shamed man I am by thee,"
answered his father with a black look; "I have been at
Carlisle town, where Sir Robert Bewick met me. He
says you are but a bad, wild youth, and can never be
billie to his boy. I sent you to the school, and you would
not learn. I bought you books, and you would not read;
therefore you shall never have my blessing till I see
you save your head in fight with young Bewick." "Now
God forbid, my old father, that ever such a thing should
be! Billie Bewick was my master, and I his scholar, in
spite of the pains he wasted in teaching me." "O hold
thy tongue, thou foolish lad! If thou dost not soon end
this quarrel, there's my glove, I'll fight with thee myself."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Christie Graeme stooped low. "Father, put on
your glove again, the wind has blown it from your hand."</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"What's that, thou sayst, thou limmer loon?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>How darest thou stand to speak to me?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>If thou do not end this quarrel soon,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There's my right hand, thou'lt fight with me!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Then went Christie to his chamber, to consider what
should happen. Should he fight with his own father, or
with his brother-in-arms, Bewick?</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"If I should kill my billie dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>God's blessing I shall never win;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But if I strike at my auld father,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I think 'twould be a mortal sin.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But if I kill my billie dear</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It is God's will, so let it be;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But I make a vow, ere I go from home,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That I shall be the next man's die."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>He put a good old jack or quilted doublet on his back,
and on his head he put a cap of steel, and well did he
become them with his sword and buckler by his side!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now young Bewick had taken his father's sword under
his arm, and walked about his father's close. He looked
between himself and the sun, to see some approaching
object, and was aware of a man in bright armour, riding
that way most hastily.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O who is yon, that comes this way,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So hastily that hither came?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I think it be my brother dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I think it be young Christie Graeme.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Your welcome here, my billie dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And thrice you're welcome unto me."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Christie explained that he was come to fight, that his
father had been to Carlisle, and had met with the elder
Bewick. He retailed what had passed, "and so I'll never
earn my father's blessing, till he sees how my arm can
guard my head in fight against thee."</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O God forbid, my billie dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That ever such a thing should be!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We'll take three men on either side,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And see if we can our fathers agree."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Christie shook his head. He knew that it was useless.
"O hold thy tongue, billie Bewick. If thou'rt a man, as
I'm sure thou art, come over the dyke and fight with me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But I have no harness, billie, as I see you have."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"As little harness as is on your back shall be on mine."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With that Christie threw off his coat of mail and cap of
steel, stuck his spear into the ground, and tied his horse
up to a tree. Bewick threw off his cloak, and cast aside
his psalter book. He laid his hand upon the dyke, and
vaulted over. The two fought for two long hours. The
sweat dropped fast from them both, but not a drop of
blood could be seen to satisfy the requirements of honour.
At last Graeme hit Bewick under the left breast, and he
fell to the ground wounded mortally.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Arise and speak three words to me!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or if God and good leeching[#] may succour thee?"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Doctoring.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Bewick groaned. "Get to horse, billie Graeme, and
get thee hence speedily. Get thee out of this country—that
none may know who has done this." "O have I
slain thee, billie Bewick? But I made a vow, ere I
came from home, that I would be the next man to
die!" Thereupon he pitched his sword hilt downwards into a
mole-hill, took a run of some three and twenty feet, and
on his own sword's point he fell to the ground dead.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then up came Sir Robert Bewick. "Rise up, my
son," he said, "for I think you have got the victory."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"O hold your tongue, my father dear. Let me be
spared your prideful talking. You might have drunken
your wine in peace, and let me and my billie be! Go
dig a grave, both wide and deep, and a grave to hold us
both; but lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side, for
full sure I know that the victory was to him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas," cried old Bewick, "I've lost the liveliest
lad that ever was born unto my name." "Alas," quoth
good Lord Graeme, "my loss is the greater.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>'I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I've lost the key, but and the lock;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I durst have ridden the world around,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Had Christie Graeme been at my back!'"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-song-of-the-outlaw-murray"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Song of the Outlaw Murray</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Word is gone to our noble king,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>In Edinburgh where that he lay,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That there was an Outlaw in Ettrick Forest</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Counted him nought, nor all his Court so gay."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The King mentioned in the ballad is supposed
to have been either James IV. or James V.
This places the date somewhere in the early
part of the sixteenth century.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Outlaw Murray and his lady kept royal state in
Ettrick Forest. Here he lived with five hundred men,
all gaily clad in livery of Lincoln green. His castle,
built of lime and stone, stood fair and pleasantly in the
midst of the Forest, surrounded by pine trees under
which wandered many a hart and hind, many a doe and
roe and other wild creatures. In the forefront of the
castle stood two unicorns, with the picture of a knight
and lady with green holly above their brows.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The King in Edinburgh heard of all this royal state
and that the Outlaw in Ettrick Forest cared nought for
the King of Scotland and his court.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I make a vow," said the King, "that either I shall be
King of Ettrick Forest, or the Outlaw shall be King of
Scotland."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then up spoke Lord Hamilton to the noble King, "my
sovereign prince, take counsel of your nobles and of me.
I counsel ye to send to the fine Outlaw and see if he will
come and be your man and hold the Forest in fee from
you. If he refuse, we will conquer both him and his
lands, throw his castle down, and make a widow of his
gay lady."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then the King called to him James Boyd, son of the
Earl of Arran, and when Boyd came and knelt before him,
"Welcome, James Boyd," said the noble King; "you
must go for me to Ettrick Forest where bides yonder
Outlaw, ask him of whom he holds his lands, and who is
his master, and desire him to come and be my man, and
hold the Forest free from me. I will give him safe
warrant to and from Edinburgh, and if he refuse we will
conquer him and his lands, and throw down his castle,
and make a widow of his gay lady; and hang his merry
men pair by pair wherever we see them."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>James Boyd took leave of the King and went blithely
on his way, until he came to the fair Ettrick Forest, the
first view of which he got coming down Birkendale Brae.
He saw the doe and roe, the hart and hind and wild
beasts in plenty, and heard blows ringing boldly, and
arrows whizzing near by him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He saw, too, the fair castle, the like of which he had
never seen before, with the two gay unicorns on the
forefront, and the picture of the knight and lady with the
green holly above their brow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then he spied the five hundred men, all clad in livery
of Lincoln green, and shooting with their bows on
Newark Lee. In the midst of them was a knight armed
from head to foot, mounted on a milk-white steed, with
bended bow, all fine to look upon; whom Boyd knew
at once to be the Outlaw himself.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"God save thee, brave Outlaw Murray, thy lady, and
all thy chivalry!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Marry, thou art welcome, gentleman; thou seemst
to be a King's messenger."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The King of Scotland sent me here, good Outlaw,
to know of whom you hold your lands, and who is your
master."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"These lands are </span><em class="italics">mine</em><span>. I know no King in
Christendom. I won this Forest from the English when
neither the King nor his knights were there to see."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"The King desires that you come to Edinburgh, and
hold the Forest then of him. If you refuse, he will
conquer your lands and you, and he has vowed to throw
down your castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and
hang your knights pair by pair wherever he finds them."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, by my troth! I should indeed be far behind.
Before the King should get my fair native land, many of
his nobles would be cold, and their ladies right weary."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then spoke the lady of the Outlaw, fair of face.
"That an Outlaw should come before the King without
my consent makes me fear much that there is treason.
Bid him be good to his lords at home, for my lord shall
ne'er see Edinburgh."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>James Boyd took leave of the bold Outlaw and went
back to Edinburgh, and when he came to the King, knelt
lowly on his knee.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome, James Boyd," said the noble King, "of
whom is Ettrick Forest held?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ettrick Forest is the fairest forest that ever man
saw. There are doe and roe and hart and hind and wild
beasts in plenty; there's a fine castle of lime and stone
standing there pleasantly, and in the forefront of the
castle two unicorns all fine to see, with a picture of a
knight and a lady, and the green holly above their
brows. There the Outlaw keeps a royal company—five
hundred merry men, all gaily clad in Lincoln green, and
the Outlaw and his lady in purple. Surely they live
right royally. He says that the forest is his own, that
he won it from the English, and that as he won it, so will
he keep it against all the Kings in Christendom."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Go warn me Perthshire and Angus," cried the
King, "go warn Fife up and down and the three Lothians,
and harness my own horse, for I will myself to Ettrick
Forest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Outlaw heard that the King was coming to
his country to conquer him and his lands:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I make a vow," said he. "I make a vow, and that
truly, that the King's coming shall be a dear one."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then he called messengers and sent them in haste
hither and thither.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"One of you go to Halliday, Laird of Corehead, my
sister's son. Tell him to come quickly to my aid, for that
the King comes to Ettrick Forest, and we shall all be
landless."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What news? What news, man, from thy master?"
said Halliday.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"No news thou carest to hear; I come seeking your
aid; the King is his mortal enemy."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By my troth, I am sorry for that; if Murray lose
fair Ettrick Forest, the King will take Moffatdale from
me. I'll meet him with five hundred men, and more if
need be, and before he gets to Ettrick Forest, we will all
die on Newark Lee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Another messenger went from the Outlaw to Andrew
Murray of Cockpool, his dear cousin, to desire him to
come and help him with all the power he could get together.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is hard," said Andrew Murray, "very hard to go
against a crowned King and put my lands in jeopardy;
but if I come not by day I shall be there at night."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A messenger went also to Sir James Murray of
Traquair.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What news? What news, man, from your master
to me?" said James Murray.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What need I tell? Well ye know that the King is
his mortal enemy and that he is coming to Ettrick Forest
to make ye all landless men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"By my troth," said James Murray, "with yonder
Outlaw will I live and die; the King has long ago given
away my lands, so matters can be no worse for me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So the King came on with five thousand men through
Caddon Ford. They saw the dark forest before them
and thought it awesome to look upon, and Lord Hamilton
begged that the King should take counsel of his nobles
and should desire the Outlaw to meet him at Permanscore
with four of his company and that the King should
go there also accompanied by five Earls. "If he refuse
to do that, we'll conquer both him and his lands; there
shall never a Murray after him hold lands free in Ettrick
Forest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Laird of Buckscleuth, a man stalwart and stern,
thought it beneath the state and dignity of a King to
go and meet an Outlaw. "The man that lives in yonder
forest, lives by robbery and felony! wherefore, ride on,
my liege; we will follow thee with fire and sword; or if
your courtier lords fall back, our Borderers will make the
onset."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the King spoke forth, casting a wily glance
around. "Thou mayest hold </span><em class="italics">thy</em><span> tongue, Sir Walter
Scott, nor speak more of robbery and felony, for if every
honest man had his own cattle thy clan would be a poor
one."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The King then called to him a gentleman, a royal
banner-bearer, James Hoppringle of Torsonse by name,
who came and knelt before him. "Welcome, James
Pringle of Torsonse, ye must take a message for me; go to
yonder Outlaw Murray, where he bideth so boldly; bid
him meet me at Permanscore with four of his company,
I myself will come to him with five Earls. If he
refuse, bid him look for no favour from me. There shall
never a Murray after him have free land in Ettrick Forest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So James Pringle came before the Outlaw. "Welcome
James Pringle of Torsonse! What message bringst thou
from the King to me?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"He bids ye meet him at Permanscore, with four of
your company, and he will go there himself with no more
than five Earls. If you refuse, he will cast down your
bonny castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and loose
on you the bloodhound Borderers to harry you with fire
and sword. Never shall a Murray after you hold free
land in Ettrick Forest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It goes hard with me," said the Outlaw; "judge if it
go not very hard. I mind not the losing of myself, but
when I think of my offspring after me, my merry men's
lives, my widow's tears, that is the pang that pinches
me. Yonder castle will be right dreary when I am laid
in bloody earth. Auld Halliday, young Halliday, ye
two shall go with me, with Andrew and James Murray."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When they came before the King they fell on their
knees. "Mercy, mercy, noble King, for His sake who
died on the Cross."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Such mercy shall ye have; ye shall be hanged on the
gallows."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"May God forbid, and may your mercy be better than
that, else, when ye come to the port of Edinburgh, ye
shall be thinly guarded. These lands of fair Ettrick
Forest I won from the Southrons, and as I won them
so will I keep them, against all the Kings in
Christendom."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The nobles round the King thought it a pity that he
should die.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Grant me mercy, sovereign prince, and extend me
favour. If thou wilt make me Sheriff of Ettrick Forest,
and my offspring after me, I will give thee the keys of
my castle, and the blessing of my gay lady."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"If thou wilt give me thy castle keys and the blessing
of thy gay lady, I'll make thee Sheriff of Ettrick Forest
as long as the trees grow upward, and never shalt thou
forfeit it, if thou be not a traitor to the King."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But Prince, what shall become of my men? When
I go back they will call me traitor. I had rather lose
both life and land than be rebuked by my merry-men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I will pardon them all if they amend their lives.
Name thy lands where they lie, and I will render them
back to thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Philiphaugh and Lewinhope are mine by right,
Newark, Foulshiells and Tinnies I won by my bow and
arrow. I have farms at Newark Lee and Hangingshaw
which are mine by birth, and I have many farms in the
Forest whose names I do not know." Thereupon he
gave the King the key of his castle, with the blessing of
his fair lady, and the King made him Sheriff of Ettrick
Forest for as long as the trees should grow upward,
never to be forfeited while he and his descendants
remained faithful to the King. Much of this land belongs
to Murray's heirs, even to this day.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Wha ever heard in, in ony times,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Sicken an outlaw in his degré,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Sic favour got befor a King,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As did the Outlaw Murray of the Foreste free?"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="johnie-armstrong"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Johnie Armstrong</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"When Johnie came before the King,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With all his men so brave to see,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The King he moved his bonnet to him;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He knew he was a King as well as he."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In 1529 James V. visited the Border country to
execute justice on the wild freebooters.
Of these the chief was Johnie Armstrong of
Gilnockie, who levied blackmail for many miles round his
residence at the Hollows, and spread the terror of his
name as far as Newcastle. Acting on the evil counsel
of false friends, Johnie presented himself before the
King in all the pomp of Border chivalry.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>According to the old ballad the King wrote with his
own hand a loving letter to Johnie Armstrong, Laird of
Gilnockie, bidding him come and speak with him speedily.
Whereupon the Elliots and Armstrongs convened a
meeting, to which they came in gallant company, and
decided to ride out to meet the King and bring him to
Gilnockie.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Make ready rabbits and capon and venison in
plenty," said Johnie, "and we'll welcome home our
royal King to dine at Gilnockie."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they ran out their horses on Langholm Down, and
broke their spears, and the ladies, looking from their
high windows, cried "God send our men safe home again."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When Johnie came before the King with all his brave
fellows, the King took off his bonnet to him as to an
equal.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My name is Johnie Armstrong," said the freebooter,
"your subject, my liege; let me find grace for my loyal
men and me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the King cried, "Away with thee, thou traitor,
out of my sight! Never have I granted a traitor's life,
nor will I now begin with thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a
bonnie gift—four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, newly
foaled—I'll give thee four-and-twenty milk-white steeds
that prance and neigh at a spear, and as much English
gold as four of their broad backs are able to bear."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!
Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin
with thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a
bonnie gift—four-and-twenty mills that are working all
the year round for me—four-and-twenty mills that shall
go for thee all the year round, and as much good red
wheat as all their happers are able to bear."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!
Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin
with thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a
great gift—four-and-twenty sisters' sons shall fight for
thee though all should flee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!
Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin
with thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a
brave gift. All between here and Newcastle town shall
pay thee yearly rent."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!
Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin
with thee!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye lie, calling me traitor; ye lie now, King, although
ye be King and Prince. Well dare I say it, that all my
life I have loved naught but honesty, a fleet horse, a
fair woman, and two bonny dogs to kill a deer; yet had
I lived for another hundred years, England should have
still found me meal and malt and plenty of beef and
mutton. Never would a Scot's wife have been able to
say that I robbed her of aught. But surely it is great
folly to seek for hot water beneath cold ice. I have asked
grace of a graceless King, but there is none for me and
my men. But had I known before I came how unkind
thou wouldst prove to me, I would have kept the Borderside
in spite of thee and thy nobles. How glad would be
England's King if he but knew that I was taken, for once
I slew his sister's son and broke a tree over his breastbone."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now Johnie had a girdle round his waist embroidered
and spangled with burning gold, very beautiful to look
upon, and from his hat hung down nine tassels, each
worth three hundred pounds. "What wants that
knave that a King should have, but the sword of honour
and the crown?" cried the King.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did ye get those tassels, Johnie, that shine
so bravely above your brow?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I got them fighting in the field where thou darest
not be," replied Johnie. "And had I now my horse and
good harness, and were I riding as I am used to do, this
meeting between us should have been told these hundred
years. God be with thee, my brother Christy, long shalt
thou live Laird of Mangertown on the Border-side ere thou
see thy brother ride by again. God be with </span><em class="italics">thee</em><span>, my son
Christy, where thou sitst on thy nurse's knee; thou'lt
ne'er be a better man than thy father, though thou live
a hundred years. Farewell, bonnie Hall of Gilnockie,
standing strong on Eskside; if I had lived but seven
more years, I would have gilded thee round about."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Johnie Armstrong was slain by the King's orders
at Carlinrigg with all his gallant company, and Scotland's
heart was sad to see the death of so many brave men,
who had saved their country from the Englishmen.
None were so brave as they, and while Johnie lived on
the Border-side no Englishman durst come near his
stronghold.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lament-of-the-border-widow"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Lament of the Border Widow</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>How King James V. of Scotland, in 1529,
set forth to strike terror into the Border
freebooters, has been already told in the
account of Johnie Armstrong. A less celebrated
moss-trooper, Cockburne of Henderland, was hanged
by the pitiless King over the gate of his own tower.
The wife of Cockburne loved him most dearly, and when
she found the King would show no mercy, fled away
to the rocks behind the castle whilst the cruel sentence
was carried out. She sat by a roaring torrent of the
Henderland burn, the noise of which in her ears drowned
the savage shouts of the King's soldiers. The beautiful
song which describes the grief of this loving woman is
one of the gems of ancient poetry, and is here printed
entire.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>My love he built me a bonny bower,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And clad it a' wi' lilye flower,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than my true love he built for me.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There came a man by middle day,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He spied his sport, and went away;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And brought the King that very night,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He slew my knight to me sae dear;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He slew my knight, and took his gear;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My servants all for life did flee,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And left me in extremitie.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I sew'd his sheet, making my moan;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I watch'd the corpse, myself alone;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I watch'd his body, night and day;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>No living creature came that way.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I took his body on my back,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And happ'd him with the sod sae green.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But think na ye my heart was sair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O think na ye my heart was wae,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When I turn'd about, away to gae?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Nae living man I'll love again,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Since that my lovely knight was slain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll chain my heart for evermair.</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-154">
<span id="the-border-widow"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the corpse, myself alone.*"" src="images/img-148.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the corpse, myself alone.</em><span class="italics">"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-raid-of-the-kers"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Raid of the Kers</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The spirited ballad that describes this raid is
quite modern, since it was written by Hogg,
"the Ettrick Shepherd," in 1830. But the
rash raid it describes took place in 1549. The Kers were
an important Border family, the leaders of whom
afterwards became Earls of Roxburgh. Sir Andrew Ker was
warden of the Border at the time of the raid, but he
proved that it took place without his consent. The
Kers were all left-handed men, and puzzled their enemies
by their left-handed swordsmanship. Even to-day in
some parts of the borders a left-handed man is called
"Ker-handed."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On a fine September evening Tam Ker rode out, with
fifty in his company. They were armed for a fight and
their swords were keen; they rode by the Maiden Crags
and down the Osway burn, going carefully till the
daylight closed, for they were soon in Northumberland.
Their bold plan was to get down the valley of the Coquet
even as far as Rothbury where Withrington, the
English warden, kept a magnificent herd of cattle.
They had one castle to pass, that of Biddleston, which
had been held by the Selby family since the reign of
Henry III., and still belongs to them to this day.
Biddleston Castle guarded the Allanton or Alwinton ford,
where the Alwin stream enters the Coquet. So they
sent the reckless Mark Ker first, to scout along by the
ford, and told him to set up marks on the cairns to show
his progress. Having nothing else to mark with, he
tore the shirt off his back, and left strips of it on the
cairns. At the ford a sentry challenged him, and he
answered that he had a message for Withrington.
The sentry demanded his sealed warrant, and the Scot
drew his sword. They fought bravely and long before
the Englishman was killed, and the Scot marvelled that
a common soldier should so withstand him, for he was
the best swordsman of his race. On he galloped, on
and on, till he met a comely maiden, and addressing
her he tried to imitate the Northumberland speech,
saying that he had lost his way. She told him at once
that she knew he was a Scot, but so also was she. She
had been taken captive, but word had came by an
English spy that the Kers were out upon a raid, and
while the English had set a hundred soldiers to guard
their cattle she had slipped away to warn the Scots and
to return with them. Being a gallant after the manner
of that day, he sprang from his horse, kissed her, and
invited her to mount his saddle even if he had to run
beside till he could capture another steed. But an
English soldier came up and warned him roughly off the
road. Mark Ker had been brought up to answer rough
words with rougher blows; out leapt his sword, and he
cut the rude words short by slashing the man's head off.
Then he disguised the maid in the dead man's clothes,
and they retraced their steps that he might warn his
companions. They very soon came upon them, and all
together hid in the lowest dell of the Larbottle burn while
they made their plans. Tam Ker, with twenty of the
men, was to draw off the English, while Mark with
thirty others slipped round and drove off the cattle
unperceived. This was done, and till after midnight,
Tam, aided by the darkness and by the difficulties of
the wild locality, held the English at bay.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then he heard the bugle signal, and knew that Mark
was well on the road with the beasts, and that he must
follow quickly. But Withrington also guessed what the
signal meant, and pursued with all the speed he knew.
Mark had not long crossed the ford at Biddleston before
the English were on him. First Mark and Withrington
fought in single combat, hand to hand, all their men
watching eagerly; it was still very dark, but the
clash of sword against sword lit the air with sparks.
Withrington was badly wounded, but Mark was killed.
With desperate shouts the Scots fell upon the English;
then up came Tam and his men from behind to help the
Scots, but the Captain of Biddleston had also been
awakened, and galloped down with his men to aid the
English. Tam smote his head off with his sword, but
the horse galloped on with his headless body right into
the ranks of the Scots. They thought it must be a demon
and began to scatter in full flight to the Border. Tam
was slain, trying to follow them, and his men, seeing that
they had work enough to gallop for their lives, slew
the cattle they could no longer hope to steal. On and
on the hard-pressed remnant spurred their weary horses.
It was daylight now, and the English along the road
shot arrows at them as they galloped past. Out of
fifty-one hardy, healthy Kers who had started forth
in the raid, only seventeen, weary and wounded, saw
their homes again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>And back in the south country, the comely Scottish
maiden lay dead across the breast of the gallant Mark,
their hearts' blood mingling in a common stream. Small
wonder that a Scot should make a ballad of the story
and that Borderers should sing it even to this day.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="merrie-carlisle"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXVI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Merrie Carlisle</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The city of Carlisle stands in the midst of a
beautiful and fertile district with pleasant but
not too steep hills around. In the old days an
easy water-supply was a first essential, and at Carlisle
three rivers meet, the Caldew and the Petterill running
here into the broad stream of the Eden. These
three rivers almost enclose the ground upon which
the city is built, so that it is most probable that
there was an ancient British settlement upon so
advantageous a site, before the Roman invasion. Our
earliest record, however, goes back no further than
Roman days, and it is certain there was then a Roman
city here called </span><em class="italics">Luguvallium</em><span> (the trench of the legion).
Even to-day, when new gas-pipes are being laid in the
ground, it is by no means rare to dig up Roman relics.
The long Roman name became gradually corrupted into
"Luel," or "Liel," and the Britons added their word
"Caer," which means a city, hence "Caer-luel"—an
earlier form of the modern Carlisle. The Roman city
stood, as might be expected, by the great Roman wall,
guarding the spot where the wall crossed the river Eden.
And visitors may see to-day that the centre of Carlisle
consists of a market-place with two main streets leading
therefrom, the usual plan in cities of Roman origin.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Carlisle was destined to have a stormy history. Draw
a line from the Solway eastward, straight through
Carlisle, and it will be seen that here the mainland of
Britain is about at its narrowest, hardly so much as
seventy miles wide, as the crow flies. Note, too, that the
wild hills of the Pennines and the Cheviots fill in most
of this narrow district, and that the mainland of Scotland
strikes sharply off to the west. It is plain from these
facts that Carlisle commands the main road between
Scotland and England, and they provide the reason why
at the present day seven different railways, most of them
important ones, run their trains into Carlisle station.
The very same reason was responsible for the fact
that in the good old times no English town was more
often burnt down by enemies than "Merrie Carlisle."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Even in Roman days, during the reign of Nero, Carlisle
was burnt down at least once by the wild Picts, who
were brave enough to venture against the well-armed
troops of Rome. After the Romans left Britain this
town was one of the strongholds of King Arthur; to
be sure, nothing very definite is known about this
romantic king, but the old ballads tell us that he was
victorious over Gauls, Dacians, Spaniards, and Romans.
This sounds very unlikely to those who do not realise
that when Rome called home her best men for her own
defence she may have left behind many rough soldiers,
of various nations, to guard the wall. Although we know
nothing about King Arthur save what is vague and
legendary, we do know that the Roman legions were
recruited from all the provinces of the empire.
Cumberland had many connexions with King Arthur; within
twenty miles of Carlisle, near Penrith, is a big round
hill called "King Arthur's Table"; while nearer still,
on the Penrith and Carlisle road, is shown the spot where
stood Tearne-Wadling Lake and Castle, where King
Arthur was bewitched and taken prisoner by the "foul,
discourteous knight," only to be released provided one
of his men would consent to marry the hideous lady
with hair like serpents! When at last Sir Gawaine
married this hag for his King's sake, she, of course,
changed at once into a beautiful young woman! This
does not sound very convincing, it is true, but in the old
days many tales just as unlikely were told of famous men.
At any rate the ballad begins with the lilting line:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"King Arthur lives in merrie Carleile,"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>and all that concerns us at the moment is that perhaps
he really did live there, and did do some very real fighting
along the debateable line of the wall.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>We next learn of Carlisle that King Egfrid of
Northumbria rebuilt the city about the year 675,
wherefore we can only suppose that it had suffered its
somewhat usual fate, perhaps at the hands of that savage
Saxon warrior called The Burner. But in any case,
Carlisle never belonged to the Northumbrians for any
considerable space of time, but was the capital of the
Celtic or Welsh kingdom of Cumbria, from which the
present name of Cumberland is derived.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 875 the Danes had a turn at pillaging and harrying
Carlisle, which was again in sorry plight. Both Cumbria
and Northumbria were faring very badly in the struggle
between the various kingdoms which then divided up
Britain, and for a while it looked as if the energetic
kings of the Scots would annex both these northern
dominions. But the coming of the strong-handed
Normans altered all this; and by far the most noteworthy
event in the history of Carlisle was the fact that
during 1092 and 1093 William Rufus seized Cumberland,
and for the first time added it definitely to England.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Recognising at once the strength and value of Carlisle,
Rufus caused a strong Norman castle to be built where the
old Roman fort used to stand. To-day, despite the many
rough adventures which have befallen this northern city,
there yet remain portions of William Rufus's castle,
side by side with fragments of the old Roman walls.
Many of the modern buildings put up in King George's
day are crumbling, but the old Norman and Roman
remains are firm as a rock!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The castle was strengthened by King Henry I., but
this did not prevent its seizure in 1135 by King David
of Scotland, who added to it in turn. The Scots held the
keep till 1157, when it was retaken by Henry II., but a
few years later, in 1173, William the Lion, King of
Scotland, besieged it, and for the next fifty years it
changed hands several times, according to the fortunes
of war. It is significant that a main street in the
northern part of Carlisle is called "Scotch Street,"
while another in the southern part is called "English
Street!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Edward I. held a parliament here after defeating
Wallace at Falkirk; and it was from Carlisle that this
English King conducted his later operations against
Scotland. It is a pathetic picture, that of this stern
warrior in his old age, on his last march, trying to carry
out his pet scheme of uniting the entire island under
one rule. He was so ill that he had to be carried in a
litter as far as Carlisle. Finding himself again so near
the border, he felt the old fire glow within him, and sprang
upon his horse—but at Burgh-on-Sands, on the shore of
the Solway, whence he could view the goal of his
ambition, the brave King died.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>During the next thirty years Carlisle was frequently
attacked by the Scots, but they were usually defeated.
In 1337, however, they partly, and in 1345 almost
entirely burnt it down. Again in 1380 they burnt part
of what had been rebuilt! Had there been fire insurance
in these wild days, the premiums in Carlisle would have
been heavy!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After the Wars of the Roses, the city seemed to settle
down somewhat, and was chiefly known on the Border as
the place where Scottish freebooters were hanged if
caught. In one of the Border villages there is a famous
churchyard where of old only the graves of women and
children were to be seen. The explanation was given to
a passing traveller by an old woman, who said that the
men were all buried "in merrie Carlisle," meaning, that
is, that they had all been hanged there!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In 1537 there was a rising in England known as the
"Pilgrimage of Grace," in opposition to the savage policy
of Henry's minister, Thomas Cromwell, and no less than
eighty thousand insurgents are said to have attacked
Carlisle; but after much fighting the rebels were
defeated and seventy-four of their leaders were executed
on the city walls.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in Carlisle
in 1568 it was vainly besieged by a force that sought to
rescue her; but less than thirty years afterwards, in 1596,
by a bold stroke of daring, Lord Scott of Buccleuch
succeeded in surprising the castle and in liberating the
well-known freebooter, "Kinmont Willie."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When King James united England and Scotland, the
troubles of Carlisle might have been thought to be over.
But in the civil war between King and Parliament it was
again a storm centre, and was held alternately by each
of the parties.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The last warlike operations against this much-besieged
city were undertaken in 1745, when it was first
taken by Prince Charlie, who made a triumphal entry
without any serious fighting, and afterwards retaken
almost as easily by the cruel Duke of Cumberland,
whose entry into the place was followed, as usual, by a
series of executions.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Among those who suffered was Sir A. Primrose, a
gallant ancestor of the present Lord Rosebery. The
victims were executed, with the cruelties of the old law
against treason, on the celebrated Gallows Hill, at
Harraby, and were buried in nameless graves in the
Kirkyard of St Cuthbert's. Passing down the Botchergate
(the London Road), past the site of the old Roman
cemetery, the wayfarer may see Gallows Hill rise where
a deep cut has been made to avoid a steep rise in the road.
It was just outside the boundary of old Carlisle, and
executions were witnessed from the walls, by men and
women alike. Climb the hill—it is worth while. The
little river Petteril sparkles at our feet; the view, fresh
and green, stretches away nobly to the Pennines and the
Border Hills. Keep a warm thought in your heart for
all the gallant fellows who met death bravely in this
place.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>No history of Carlisle could omit to mention the
Cathedral. English cathedrals are shaped like a cross
lying on the ground; the long stem of the cross is the
</span><em class="italics">nave</em><span> of the cathedral; the two arms are the </span><em class="italics">transepts</em><span>;
and the upper end that continues the main stem is the
</span><em class="italics">choir</em><span>. Where choir, nave and transepts meet, the </span><em class="italics">tower</em><span>
rises. But unlike every other English cathedral, that of
Carlisle has height and width, but is too short in length,
two-thirds of the nave having been hurled down by the
Scots!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Every cathedral has its history written in its stones,
for those who know how to read it. That of Carlisle
shows a stormy history, stormier than any other. It
is not a peaceful building carried out very much in one
style and undisturbed. It is a building full of signs of
disturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in
their plans by war and frequently had their building
seriously damaged by their enemies. It is a mixture of
styles, a mass of re-buildings and afterthoughts, but for
that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the
much-harassed city. With all its signs of storm and stress
it has much beauty, and possesses the finest window in
all England, one of the finest in the world. Just outside
the Cathedral is a noble stretch of the old West Wall of
the city, which gives a vivid idea of its strength in the
old days.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The bishops of Carlisle live at Rose Castle, five miles
south of the Cathedral. This has been their residence
for over six hundred years. No doubt they thought it
advisable not to live in the "merrie city"!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In this castle King Edward I. stayed. It was once
partly burnt by Bruce, and again partly by the Puritans,
but this is a comparatively clean record for such a district!
In 1745 Captain Macdonald and his Scots came down
to besiege it, but hearing that the bishop's baby daughter
was about to be christened, the gallant captain would not
let warfare spoil so peaceful a ceremony, and not only
withdrew his men, but also left a white cockade behind
him as a sign that the place was not to be molested. In
all this he showed that true courtesy that always marks
the real Highland gentleman.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Standing to-day in this bustling, breezy, pleasant little
city, it is not easy to realise the wild scenes it has
witnessed. The charming rivers that hem it in show
no traces of the bloodshed of the past. Yet here have
contended painted Pict and war-trained Roman; here
the most skilful leaders of the Celts, Saxons, and Danes
have led their brave and sturdy men to battle; here
Norman knight has fought with hardy Scot, and fierce
Border factions have wrangled and sought speedy
justice; Puritan has fought Cavalier, and Jacobite
has faced Hanoverian; kings, generals, and warriors of
many centuries have found a fitting meeting-place before
or behind the walls of Carlisle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>An open, airy, quaint city. There is not very much
that is old in it, for the old was not allowed to stand long
enough! But on the top of its principal hill the tall
truncated Cathedral presents a picturesque figure, and
if we stand there or by the castle the eye commands fine,
ancient walls and very delightful distances. It is a
place of lingering memories, and if these are chiefly
of strife and bloodshed we do not forget that to the
Border folk the city was "Merrie Carlisle."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="kinmont-willie"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXVII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Kinmont Willie</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O have ye not heard of the false Sakelde,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O have ye not heard of the keen Lord Scroope,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On Haribee to hang him oop?"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The story of this famous freebooter, William
Armstrong of Kinmonth, belongs to the time
of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord Scroope was
Warden of the Western Marches, and Mr Sakelde of
Corby Castle was his Deputy.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Kinmont Willie was a descendant of the famous Johnie
Armstrong of Gilnockie, and his capture was a violation
of the existing truce between Scroope and Buccleuch,
the Keeper of Liddesdale. Elizabeth was indignant at
Buccleuch's action in rescuing Willie, and as the Scots
at that time were very anxious not to offend her,
Buccleuch was sent to England and came before the
Queen, who asked him how he dared to undertake such
an adventure. "What is it," answered he, "that a
man dare not do?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"With ten thousand such men," said Elizabeth, turning
to a lord-in-waiting, "our brother of Scotland might
shake the firmest throne of Europe."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The ballad tells of the capture of Kinmont Willie,
and how the false Sakelde and his men treacherously
seized him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They bound his legs beneath his horse, and tied his
hands behind his back, and with five men on each side
to guard him, brought him over Liddel ford and through
Carlisle sands to Carlisle castle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When he arrived there, Willie addressed his captor in
these words:</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free. Who will
avow this deed or answer for it to bold Buccleuch?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thy tongue, thou rank robber! Never a Scot
shall set thee free. Ye shall take farewell of me before
ye cross my castle gate," said Scroope.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Fear ye not that, my lord," answers Willie, "for by
the faith of my body, never did I yet lodge in a hostelry
but that I paid my reckoning before I went."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Word was sent to Branksome Hall to the Keeper of
Liddesdale that Lord Scroope had captured Kinmont
Willie, whereupon the Keeper smote the table with
his hand till the red wine sprang on high, "A curse on my
head," he cried, "if I be not avenged of Lord Scroope. Is
my helmet a widow's cap, or my lance a twig from a
willow-tree, or my fist a lady's lily hand, that an English
lord should appraise me so lightly? Have they taken
Kinmont Willie in spite of the truce, and forgotten that
the bold Buccleuch is Keeper on the Scottish side?
Have they taken Kinmont Willie so fearlessly, and
forgotten that the bold Buccleuch can back a steed and
wield a weapon? Were there but war between the lands,
then would I slight Carlisle Castle though it were built of
marble; I would set it on fire and drench it with English
blood. But since there is peace and not war, I'll set the
Kinmont free yet never harm English lad or lass!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Buccleuch called forty bold Marchmen, all of his
own name and kin except one, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Laird of
Stobs. They came spur on heel and armour on shoulder,
with gloves of green and feathers of blue. Five and five
came first with hunting-horns and bugles; five and five
more came with Buccleuch like Warden's men arrayed
for battle; five and five came like a gang of masons,
carrying long high ladders; and five and five came like
broken men, and so they reached Woodhouselee.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When they had crossed to the English side, the first
man they met was the false Sakelde.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are ye going, ye keen hunters?" quoth Sakelde.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We go to hunt an English stag that has trespassed
on Scottish ground."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are ye going, ye martial men?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We go to catch a rank robber that has broken faith
with the bold Buccleuch."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are ye going, ye mason lads, with all these
long high ladders?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"We go to harry a corbie's nest not far from here."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are ye going, ye broken men?" said false Sakelde.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Dickie of Dryhope, leader of the broken men, had
never a word of learning, and answered nothing.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Why trespass ye on the English side? Stand! ye
raw-footed outlaws!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Never a word yet said Dickie, but for answer ran his
lance clean through the body of the false Sakelde.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>On then they went to Carlisle town, crossing the Eden
at Staneshaw-bank, nor lost they either horse or man,
though the water was high in flood.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When they reached Staneshaw-bank the wind was rising,
and the Laird ordered them to leave there their horses
for fear they should stamp and neigh. The wind blew
loudly enough then, but when they came beneath the
castle wall there was wind and rain and flying sleet. On
they crept on their knees and held their breath till they
placed the ladders against the wall. Buccleuch himself
mounted first, took the watchman by the throat and
flung him down upon the leads. "Thou hadst gone on
the other side," said he, "had there not been peace
between our lands."</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 65%" id="figure-155">
<span id="the-escape-of-kinmont-willie"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*The Escape of Kinmont Willie*" src="images/img-162.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">The Escape of Kinmont Willie</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Sound out the trumpets!" quoth he; "let's wake
up Lord Scroope!" Then loud blew the Warden's
trumpet to the tune of "O wha dare meddle wi' me?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To work they went speedily, and cut a hole through
the lead, gaining thus the castle hall.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Those inside thought the castle had been taken by
King James and all his men, yet it was only twenty Scots
and ten that had put a thousand in such a stir. They
hammered and banged at the bars until they came to
the inner prison, where lay Kinmont Willie.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Do ye sleep or wake, Kinmont Willie, on the morn
when ye shall die?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"O I sleep lightly and wake often; it's long since sleep
was frightened from me. Give my service to my wife
and bairns and all good fellows that enquire after me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Red Rowan, the strongest man in Teviotdale, lifted
him up. "Stay now, Red Rowan, till I take farewell of
Lord Scroope. Farewell, farewell, my good Lord
Scroope," he cried. "I will pay ye for my lodging
when first we meet on the Border."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With shout and cry Red Rowan bore him on his
shoulders down the long ladder, the irons clanking at
every stride.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Many a time," said Kinmont Willie, "have I ridden
a horse both wild and unruly, but never have my legs
bestrode a rougher beast than Red Rowan. Many a
time have I pricked a horse over the furrows, but never
since I backed a steed have I worn such cumbrous spurs."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Scarcely had they won the Staneshaw-bank when all
the bells in Carlisle were ringing and Lord Scroope was
after them with a thousand men on horse and on foot.
But—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden water</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And safely swam them through the stream.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>He turn'd him on the other side,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he—</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>'If ye like na my visit to merry England,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In fair Scotland come visit me!'</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>He stood as still as rock of stane;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He scarcely dared to trew[#] his eyes,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>When through the water they had gane.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Trust</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Or else his mother a witch maun be;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I wadna have ridden that wan water,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For a' the gowd[#] in Christentie.'"</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Gold</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="dick-o-the-cow"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXVIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Dick o' the Cow</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Fair Johnie Armstrong to Willie did say</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>'Billie, a-riding we will gae.'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The ballad of this name, a popular one in
Liddesdale, relates, like that of Kinmont
Willie, to the time when Lord Scroope was
Warden of the West Marches and Governor of Carlisle.
Dick o' the Cow seems to have been his fool or jester.
Dickie, some years after the events described in the
ballad, fell a victim to the vengeance of the Armstrongs.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>There had been no raids from Liddesdale for a
considerable time, and no riding, and the horses had all
grown so fat that they dare scarcely stir out of the stall.
Then fair Johnie Armstrong said to his brother Willie,
"Brother, we will go a-riding. We have long been at
feud with England, and perhaps we shall find some spoil."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they rode to Hulton Hall and round about it, but
the laird, a wise man, had left neither goods nor cattle
outside to steal, except six sheep in a meadow. Said
Johnie, "I'd rather die in England than take those
six sheep to Liddesdale."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"But who was that man we last met as we came over
the hill?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, he is an innocent fool, and men call him Dick o'
the Cow."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That fool has three good cows of his own, as good
as there are in Cumberland. Betide me life or death,
they shall go to Liddesdale with me!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they came to the house of the poor fool, broke down
his thick wall, loosed his three cows, and took also three
coverlets from his wife's bed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In the morning at daylight when the loss was
discovered, there were loud lamentations. "Hold thy
tongue, wife," said Dickie, "and stop thy crying. I'll
bring thee back three cows for each one that thou hast
lost."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Dickie went to Lord Scroope. "Hold thy tongue,
fool," said Scroope. "I have no time for jesting."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"A shame on your jesting, my lord!" said Dickie,
"jesting agrees not with me. Liddesdale was in my
house last night and has taken my three cows. I can
no longer dwell in Cumberland as your poor faithful fool,
unless you give me leave to steal in Liddesdale."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I give thee leave, fool!" said Scroope; "but thou
speakest against me and my honour unless thou give me
thy hand and pledge that thou wilt steal from none but
those who stole from thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"There is my right hand and pledge! May my head
hang on Haribee, and may I never again cross Carlisle
sands if I steal from any man who stole not from me.",</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dickie joyfully took leave of his lord and master,
and went and bought a bridle and a pair of new spurs
which he packed up in the thigh of his breeches, then he
came on as fast as he could to Pudding-burn house, where
were thirty-three Armstrongs.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"O what has come to me now?" said Dickie, "what
great trouble is this? For here is but one innocent
fool against thirty-three Armstrongs?" Yet he went
courteously up to the Hall board.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well may ye be, my good Laird's Jock, but the devil
bless all your company. I'm come to complain of your
man, Johnie Armstrong, and of his brother Willie, that
they came to my house last night and took away my
three cows."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Quoth fair Johnie Armstrong, "We'll hang him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Nay," said Willie, "we'll slay him."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But up spoke another young Armstrong, "We'll give
him a thrashing and let him go."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then up spoke the good Laird's Jock, the best fellow
in all the company, "Sit down a while, Dickie, and we'll
give thee a bit of thine own cow's thigh."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dickie's heart was so sore that he could not eat a bit,
but he went and lay down in an old peat-house where he
thought to sleep the night, and all the prayers the poor
fool prayed were, "I wish I had amends for my three
good cows."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Now it was the custom of Pudding-burn house and of
the house of Mangerton, whose laird was chief of the
Armstrong clan, that any who came not to the table at
the first summons got no more meat till the next meal, so
some of the lads, hungry and weary, had thrown the key
of the stable above the door-head. Dickie took good
notice of that to turn it to his own account, went into
the stable where stood thirty-three horses and tied thirty
of them with St Mary's knot, tight to their stalls.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Of the remaining three, Dickie took two, which
belonged to Johnie and Willie Armstrong, and the one
belonging to the Laird's Jock he left loose in the stable.
Leaping on one, he took the other along with him, and
rode off as fast as he could.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When day came, there were great shouts and cries.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who has done this," quoth the good Laird's Jock;
"see that ye tell me the truth."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is Dickie that has been in the stable last night,
and has taken the horses."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ye never would listen to me," said the good Laird's
Jock, "though I told ye true tales. Ye would never
stay out of England but would steal everything, till ye
were crooked and blind."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Lend me thy bay," said fair Johnie; "he is the only
horse loose in the stable, and I'll either fetch back Dick
o' the Cow, or he shall die."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Lend thee my bay!" said Jock; "he is worth gold
and good money. Dick o' the Cow has taken two horses;
I would not ye make them three."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Johnie, however, took the Laird's steel jacket on his
back, and a two-handed sword by his side, and a steel
cap on his head, and galloped after Dickie, who was
barely three miles from the town when Johnie overtook
him on Cannobie Lee, on the borders of Liddesdale.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Abide, abide, thou traitor thief!" cried Armstrong;
"the day is come that thou shalt die!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dickie looked over his left shoulder and said, "Johnie,
hast thou no more in thy company? There is a preacher
in our chapel who teaches all the livelong day, and when
day is gone and night has come, there are only three words
I remember—the first and second are Faith and
Conscience—the third is 'Ne'er let a traitor free.' What faith
and conscience was thine, Johnie, when thou tookest away
my three cows? And when thou hadst taken them
away, thou wast not satisfied. Thou sentest thy brother
Willie, and took away three coverlets off my wife's bed!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Johnie let his spear fall low by his side, and
thought he would have killed Dickie, but the powers
above were stronger than he, and he only succeeded in
running through the fool's jerkin. Dickie out with his
sword and ran after him, and when he could not get at
him with the blade, he felled him with the butt-end over
the eye, felled Johnie Armstrong, the finest man in the
south country. "Gramercy," said Dickie, "I had but
two horses, thou hast made them three!"—and he took
Johnie's steel jacket off his back and his two-handed
sword, and his steel cap. "Farewell, Johnie," said he,
"I'll tell my master I met thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When Johnie wakened out of his swoon, he was a sad
man. "Art thou gone, Dickie?" he said. "Then the
shame and woe are left with me. Art thou gone? Then,
Dickie, the devil go in thy company, for if I live to be a
hundred, I'll never again fight with a fool."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Dickie came home to the good Lord Scroope as fast as
he could. "Now, Dickie, I'll neither eat nor drink till
thou art hanged on high." "Shame speed the liars, my
lord," said Dickie, "this was not the promise ye made
me, for I would never have gone to Liddesdale to steal
if I had not got leave from thee." "But why did ye steal
the Laird's Jock's horse? Ye might have lived long in
Cumberland before the Laird's Jock had stolen from thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, I knew ye lied, my lord. I won the horse from
fair Johnie Armstrong hand to hand on Cannobie Lee.
There is the jacket that was on his back, and the
two-handed sword that hung by his side, and the steel cap that
was on his head. I brought all these tokens to show thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"If that be true that thou tellest me (and I think thou
durst not lie) I'll give thee fifteen pounds for the horse, all
told out in the lap of thy cloak; I'll give thee one of my
best milk cows to maintain thy wife and three children,
and they will be as good as any two of thine would be."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Shame speed the liars, my lord!" said Dickie.
"Do ye think aye to make a fool of me? I'll either have
twenty pounds for the horse or else I'll take him to
Mortan fair."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Scroope gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all
in gold and good money, and one of his best milk cows to
maintain his wife and three children.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Dickie rode as fast as he could through Carlisle
town, and the first man he met was my lord's brother,
Ralph Scroope, Bailiff of Glozenburrie.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Well be ye met, Ralph Scroope!" said Dickie.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Welcome, my brother's fool!" said Ralph. "Where
did ye get Johnie Armstrong's horse?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Where did I get him? I stole him," said Dickie.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Wilt thou sell me the bonny horse?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Ay, if thou count out the money in the lap of my
cloak, for never a penny will I trust thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll give thee ten pounds for the horse and count it
into the lap of thy cloak, and one of my best milk cows to
maintain thy wife and three children."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Shame speed the liars, my lord! Do ye think aye
to make a fool of me? I'll either have twenty pounds
for the horse, or I'll take him to Mortan fair."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So Ralph gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all in
gold and good money, and one of his milk cows to
maintain his wife and three children.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Then Dickie leaped and laughed, and cried, "May the
neck of the third horse be broken if either of the two were
better than he!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So he came home to his wife and ye may judge how
the poor fool had succeeded. For her three stolen
coverlets he gave her two score English pounds, and two cows
as good as her own three. "And here," said he, "is a
white-footed nag that I reckon will carry us both. But
if I stay longer in Cumberland the Armstrongs will
hang me." So Dickie took leave of his lord and went to
live at Burgh under Stanmuir.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-lochmaben-harper"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXIX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Lochmaben Harper</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The castle of Lochmaben is said to have been
the residence of Robert Bruce while Lord
of Allandale. Hence, as a royal fortress, the
keeping of it was always granted to some powerful lord.
There is extant a grant giving to one of these, Robert
Lauder, the office of Captain and Keeper of Lochmaben
Castle for seven years, and among his perquisites were
"lands stolen from the King"!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The inhabitants of four small villages near the castle
have each still to this day a right to a small piece of
ground. These people are descendants of Robert
Bruce's retainers, to whom he assigned these portions
of land in reward for faithful service, and there are still
to be found some families (</span><em class="italics">e.g.</em><span> the Richardsons of
Lochmaben) who hold their lands direct from the times of
Bruce without a break.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O heard ye na o' the silly blind Harper,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>How long he lived in Lochmaben town?</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And how he wad gang to fair England,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To steal the Lord Warden's Wanton Brown?</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But first he gaed to his gude wyfe,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' a' the haste that he could thole[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>'This wark,' quo' he, 'will ne'er gae well</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Without a mare that has a foal.'</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Suffer.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Quoth his wife, "Thou hast a good grey mare that
can jump both high and low; so set thee on her
back and leave the foal at home with me." Away
went the Harper to England as fast as he might, and
when he came to Carlisle gate, who should be there
but the Warden himself?</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"'Come into my hall, thou silly blind Harper,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And of thy harping let me hear!'</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>'O, by my sooth,' quo' the silly blind Harper,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>'I wad rather hae stabling for my mare."</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>The Warden looked o'er his left shoulder,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And said unto his stable groom—</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>'Gae take the silly blind Harper's mare,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And tie her beside my Wanton Brown.'"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>So the Harper harped and sang, the lordlings danced,
and so sweet was the music that the groom forgot all
about the stable door. Still the Harper harped on till
all the nobles were fast asleep, when he quickly took off
his shoes, crept softly down the stair, and hied with
light tread to the stable door, which he opened and
entered. He found there three-and-thirty steeds. He
took a colt's halter which he had hidden in his hose,
slipped it over Wanton Brown, tied it to the grey mare's
tail, and turned them both loose at the castle gate.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Away they went over moor and moss and dale, and the
mare never let Wanton rest a moment, but kept him
galloping home to her foal. So swift of foot was she, and
knew her way so well, that she reached Lochmaben a
good three hours before daybreak.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When she came to the Harper's door, she neighed and
snorted. "Rise up," shouted the Harper's wife, "thou
lazy lass, and let in thy master and his mare." The lass
rose up, put on her clothes and looked through the
lock-hole. "By my sooth," cried she, "our mare has got a
fine brown foal!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Hold thy tongue, thou foolish wench, the light is
dazzling thine eyes. I'll wager all I have against a groat
that it's bigger than ever our foal will be."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Still in merry Carlisle the Harper harped to high and
low, and nought could they do but listen to him until
day-dawn. But when it was daylight they discovered
that Wanton Brown was gone and also the poor blind
Harper's mare.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas! alas!" cried the cunning old Harper,
"alas that I came here; in Scotland I have lost a brown
colt foal and in England they have stolen my good grey
mare."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Cease thy lamenting, thou silly blind Harper, and go
on harping; we'll pay thee well for the loss of thy colt
foal and thou shalt have a far better mare." So the
harper harped and sang, and so sweet were his harpings
that he was paid for the foal he never had lost and
three times over for the gray mare.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="id2"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Rookhope Ride</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>This Durham border song is supposed to be
spoken by a Weardale man, who begins by
denouncing the inhabitants of the Tyne valley,
"and all their companies there about" as false thieves,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"minded to do mischief</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And at their stealing stands not out."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>It must be confessed that the Tynedale men had an
unenviable reputation. They were such lawless
desperadoes, so addicted to rapine, that during more than
two centuries the merchants of Newcastle regularly
refused to take an apprentice born in that district. The
date is December 1572. The rebel Earl of Northumberland,
who had taken up arms for Mary Queen of Scots,
and for the old religion, had been betrayed by the Scots
and beheaded at York. Owing to this rebellion there
was great confusion in the northern counties, hence the
time was well chosen by the "limmer thieves" of
Tynedale to make a predatory raid on their neighbours.
They gathered together the stoutest men of arms and the
best in gear, a hundred or more in number, and in the
forenoon, about eleven o'clock, they came into a
"bye-fell" and stopped for a meal—the last which some of
them would eat. When they had eaten, they chose their
captains, Harry Corbyl, Simon Fell, and Martin Ridley.
Then they rode on over the moss, "with many a brank
and whew," saying to one another that they were men
enough,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"For Weardale-men have a journey ta'en,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They are so far out o'er yon fell,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>That some of them's with the two earls,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And others fast in Bernard castell.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There we shall get gear enough,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For there is nane but women at hame;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The sorrowful fend that they can make.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Is loudly cries as they were slain."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>They came in at Rookhope Head, which is the top of
a rocky valley, about five miles long, at the end of which
Rookhope Burn empties itself into the river Wear. This
valley is as wild and open to-day as it was then. In some
four hours they gathered together about six hundred
sheep and they were engaged in "shifting" the horses,
when the hue and cry was raised by one Rowley, whose
horse they tried to take. He was the first man to see
them. The cry spread rapidly down Rookhope burn
and through Weardale, and word came to the bailiff's
house at the East-gate. He was out, but his wife had
his horse saddled and sent it to him, together with his
sword, spear, and jacket quilted with iron plates, the
sort of harness worn by the moss-troopers and other
light horsemen of the time. The bailiff had already
heard the bad news, and was sorely troubled thereby.
His own brother had been attacked three days before by
marauders, and lay sick with nineteen wounds. Yet the
bailiff shrank not at all, but hied fast after the
sheep-stealers, with as many of the neighbours as he could
gather to bear him company.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The pursuers overtook the thieves in Nuketon Cleugh,
and gave them all the fighting they wanted. Not one
of them ever thought to see his wife again. They bore
three banners against the Weardale men, "as if the world
had been all their own." The fray lasted only an hour,
but many a tall man lay weaponless and sore wounded
before that hour was done, and four of the Northumbrian
prickers were slain, including Harry Corbyl whom they
had chosen to be their captain. Eleven of them were
taken prisoners. Only one of the Weardale men fell
but—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"These Weardale-men, they have good hearts,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They are as stiff as any tree;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For, if they'd everyone been slain,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Never a foot back man would flee.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And such a storm amongst them fell,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As I think you never heard the like;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For he that bears his head on high,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>He oft-tymes falls into the dyke.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And now I do entreat you all,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As many as are present here,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>To pray for the singer of this song,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For he sings to make blythe your cheer."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="barthram-s-dirge"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Barthram's Dirge</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The story of how this ballad came to be
preserved to us is a very interesting one. A
Mr Surtees, who was very interested in the old
ballads, used to give work to a poor old Scotswoman to
weed in his garden. Finding that she had learnt ballads
in her young days, he encouraged her to talk about
them, and this was amongst those which she recited to
him. She told him that it referred to a young man
named Bertram or Barthrum, who made love to a young
lady against the wish of her brothers. The cruel
brothers slew him, but the lady had him buried at the
very spot where he was wont to come to visit her in the
days of their love. Sir Walter Scott thinks that perhaps
Barthram was an Englishman and the lady was Scottish,
and that the anger of the lady's brothers against him
was partly on that account.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It must be remembered that in those stormy days,
when Border rivalry was keen, and all the Border
chiefs, on both sides, were men of war-like mould,
intermarriage between the two races was punishable by
Border law. Each side felt equally that such mixed
marriages would sooner or later produce a race that
was neither loyal English nor loyal Scotch. A spirit of
aloofness and rivalry was deliberately encouraged, right
up to the time of the union of the two countries under
one king.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">BARTHRAM'S DIRGE</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They shot him dead at the Nine-Stone Rig,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Beside the Headless Cross,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>And they left him lying in his blood,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Upon the moor and moss.</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>They made a bier of the broken bough,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The sauch and the aspin gray,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line"><span>And they bore him to the Lady Chapel,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And waked him there all day.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>A lady came to that lonely bower,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And threw her robes aside,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>She tore her long yellow hair,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And knelt at Barthram's side.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She bathed him in the Lady-Well,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>His wounds so deep and sair,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And she plaited a garland for his breast,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And a garland for his hair.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They rowed him in a lily-sheet,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And bare him to his earth,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's mass,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They buried him at the mirk midnight,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>When the dew fell cold and still,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>When the aspin gray forgot to play,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And the mist clung to the hill.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They dug his grave but a bare foot deep,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>By the edge of the Ninestone Burn,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And they covered him o'er with the heather-flower,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The moss and the Lady fern.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>A Gray Friar staid upon the grave,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And sang till the morning tide,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>While the Headless Cross shall bide.[#]</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Mr Surtees observes, on this passage, that in the return made by
the commissioners, on the dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is
an item of a Chauntery, for one priest to sing daily </span><em class="italics small">ad crucem lapideam</em><span class="small">.
Probably many of these crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for
persons slain there. They certainly did bury, in former days, near the
Ninestone Burn, for Sir Walter Scott found there, lying among the
heather, a small monumental cross, with initials, which he reverently
placed upright.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="queen-mary-and-the-borders"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Queen Mary and the Borders</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The brief reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, was so
crowded with incident that she was left with
little time to visit the disturbed borderland of
her kingdom. None-the-less her few visits to this district
were fraught with important consequences. In 1565, when
she married her cousin Lord Darnley, the head of the
Douglas faction and a Roman Catholic, the Protestant
nobles took up arms. In her very honeymoon she headed
her soldiers, pursued the rebels to Dumfries, entered
the town with a pistol in each hand, and laughed heartily
at the fun of making her enemies "skip like rabbits"
over the Border. She was only twenty-two years old—a
fearless, dashing, attractive woman, with a clever
head, a strong will, and a wild and lawless disposition.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In the next year she again visited the Border, but on a
very different errand. Mary had developed an extreme
fancy for that bold Border Lord, the Earl of Bothwell,
whose Castle of Hermitage commanded the picturesque
and important valley of the Liddel. The Queen had
given him authority to control the fierce Borderers; and
when the earl was riding out he met the most lawless
of them, Jock Elliot, of whom the couplet—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"My name is little Jock Elliot</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And who dare meddle wi' me?"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Bothwell fired straight at Elliot with his pistol, wounding
him in the leg. Elliot aimed a mighty blow at Bothwell
with his two-handed sword, giving the earl so sore a
wound that he was glad enough to gallop home while
there was yet time to save his life.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Mary was holding solemn court at Jedburgh when
she heard of her favourite's danger. She straightway
took horse and rode to Hermitage, a hard cross-country
ride of twenty miles, through a district infested with
reckless men. When she galloped back to Jedburgh, she
was in high fever and nearly died. Later on, in the
misery of her long imprisonment, she often said,
"Would I had died at Jedburgh!" Years later, a
broken piece of a silver spur was found at Queensmire,
on this difficult and dangerous road, just where Queen
Mary's horse was said to have come to grief.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Yet another time Queen Mary came to the Border,
this time to cross it—after her imprisonment at Lochleven,
her escape, and the disastrous rout of her followers
at Langside. Daring and resourceful as ever, she fled
across the Solway in an open boat; Scotland had failed
her, she sought the protection of England. She landed
at Cockermouth, and was led to Carlisle by Sir
R. Lowther, and kept there, in reality a prisoner, while
Elizabeth was musing of the dangers of the position.
The Earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland took
up Mary's cause and attempted to rescue her, but the
Warden of Carlisle, Lord Scroope, defended the town
successfully against the two earls, and they were soon
in flight, eastward for their very lives. After this
attempt at rescue Mary was, for greater safety, sent
down to Bolton Castle in Yorkshire.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-156">
<span id="queen-mary-crossing-the-solway"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="Queen Mary crossing the Solway" src="images/img-180.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">Queen Mary crossing the Solway</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>Leonard Dacre, a member of the powerful Cumberland
family of the Dacres, seems to have played a treacherous
part, first promising the earls his help, and then betraying
them to Elizabeth. He seized Nawarth Castle, which
properly belonged to his young niece, and collected
together three thousand men to the old Border war-cry,
"A Red Bull, a Red Bull!" (probably the nickname of
some fierce red-haired Celtic champion). The defeated
earls came to Nawarth for shelter, and Dacre refused to
harbour them. But by this time Elizabeth was
convinced of Dacre's treason, and ordered Lord Hudson,
the Governor of Berwick, to arrest him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Hudson appears to have marched by rather a round-about
way, for Dacre met him at Geltbridge, on the
west of Nawarth. A bridge is always a good point of
vantage for meeting an enemy, especially when the river
runs, as the Gelt does, through a deep and wooded gorge.
The enemy has only a narrow way by which to approach,
and no doubt Dacre posted his archers behind the trees
and among the great rocks. The fight was a desperate
one, but Hudson's men prevailed and pursued their foes
far up the hill of Gelt, scuffling fiercely among the forest
trees and dyeing a deeper hue the red sandstone cliffs
and quarries.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>All the rebels who could escape fled across the Border
to Scotland, where the Borderers, who were till then
their enemies, received them with that open and fair
hospitality which was one of their many great qualities.
Elizabeth demanded that the leading noblemen should
be given up to her; but although the Scottish Regent,
Murray, made a pretence of trying to secure the Earl of
Westmoreland, the Scots had too much sense of honour
to allow him to proceed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Earl of Northumberland, was however betrayed
to the Scottish Regent by Hector Armstrong of Harelaw;
but this the gallant Borderers held to be shameful, and
Armstrong was a ruined man from that day forth.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Two years later, this Earl was actually sold to Elizabeth
and beheaded at York. Thus ended this small rebellion,
called in history the Rising of the North, but which is
known locally in Cumberland as Dacre's Raid.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There is a little stream which rushes down a deep and
beautiful glade to join the river Gelt above Geltbridge;
this stream is known as "Hellbeck," and villagers tell
us that the reason for this name is that it was stained
with blood for two whole days after some battle that
took place there. This battle is probably the one spoken
of here.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A wicket gate by Geltbridge leads us to the path
through Gelt woods. The noble gorge is deeply cleft
through the grand red sandstone rocks. Below roars and
dashes the impetuous river; the path winds, sometimes
high, sometimes low, through wonderful weeds, carpeted
with beautiful mosses, gemmed with delightful flowers.
On one of the rocks is an inscription carved by a Roman
soldier, over fifteen hundred years ago. Follow the river,
up, up, till the little Hellbeck is seen trickling down from
the east; cross the little bridge and follow the streamlet
on its opposite bank, along a path so little trod as to be
scarcely visible; wander among ferns along one of the
loneliest glens in the whole of Britain, passing the great
railway bridge (</span><em class="italics">under</em><span> if the stream be low or </span><em class="italics">over</em><span> if it be
high) till you join the main road again. There is no spot
more beautiful or more peaceful. Yet this is the Hellbeck
where men fought and hacked, and slashed and slew,
among these woods, up and down these steep hillsides.
These old trees, when young, have felt warm blood at
their roots; and all because of a young, wild wilful
queen, who fascinated men's hearts then, and the
memory of whom fascinates them still.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-raid-of-the-reidswire"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Raid of the Reidswire</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"To deal with proud men is but pain,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For either must ye fight or flee,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Or else no answer make again,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>But play the beast, and let them be."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Reidswire, the name of a place about ten miles
from Jedburgh, means the Red Swire. Swire
is an old northern term for the descent of a
hill, and the epithet red may refer to the colour of the
heath.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The affair about which we are to tell took place on the
7th of July 1575, at a meeting held, on a day of truce,
by the Wardens of the Marches, for redressing wrongs and
adjusting difficulties which could not be prevented from
arising upon the Border. The Scottish Warden was Sir
John Carmichael, and among his following were the
Armstrongs and Elliots, Douglas of Cavers (a descendant
of the Douglas who fell at Otterbourne), Cranstoun, whose
ferocious motto was "Ye shall want ere I want,"
Gladstain, "good at need," and the ancient head of the
Rutherfoords, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill,
"with his nine sons him about." The English Warden
was the haughty Sir John Forster, and he had full fifteen
hundred men with him, chiefly Northumbrians, Tynedale,
and Reedsdale men, who looked with scorn upon the
much smaller array of their hereditary foes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The meeting, however, began meekly enough, with
merriment and jests. Such Border meetings of truce,
though they might wind up in blood, as was to happen
now, always began as occasions of marketing and
revelry. Both parties came fully armed to such a
tryst, yet intermixed in mutual sports and familiar
intercourse,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Some gaed to drink, and some stood still,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And some to cards and dice them sped."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The Scots planted their pavilions or tents and feared
no ill, even when they saw five hundred Fenwicks (a
powerful Northumbrian clan) "marching in a flock." The
clerk began to call the rolls, and to deal with one
complaint after another for the loss of cows or ewes or
other property. In the course of the proceedings an
accusation was raised against an English freebooter
named Farnstein, at the instance of a Scotch complainant.
A "true bill" was found against the man, which means
that he ought to be handed over to justice. But the
English Warden alleged that he had fled, and could not
be found. Carmichael, considering this as a pretext to
avoid making compensation for the felony, bade the
Northumbrians speak out plainly, and "cloke no cause
for ill nor good." Upon this Sir John Forster, a proud
and insolent man, "began to reckon kin and blood,"
by which picturesque phrase the ballad probably means
that he swiftly added up his forces. Then he drew
himself up, backed by his Dalesmen, all fingering their bows,
and with insulting expressions against Carmichael's kin
he bade him "match with his equals." The men of
Tynedale, who only wanted a pretext for a quarrel, drew
their bows and let off a flight of arrows among the Scots.
The more moderate men on both sides at first tried to
quell the tumult, but in vain. The fight was bound to
come.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Then there was naught but bow and spear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And every man pulled out a brand."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The English showed their usual dexterity with the bow.
The Scots, for some reason, never took to this weapon;
they had fire-arms, pistolets, and the like. The terrible
cloth-yard arrows "from tackles flew," and the old
proverb bade fair to justify itself, that every English archer
carried twenty-four Scots under his belt—an allusion to
his bundle of shafts. Success seemed certain for the
English side; some of the foremost men among the Scots
fell, and even Carmichael was thrown to the ground and
was within an ace of being made a prisoner. The air
resounded with the rallying cries of the English, the
names of their captains, "A Shaftoe! A Shaftoe!" "A
Fenwick! A Fenwick!" The Scots had little
harness among them, only a few had the jack which
served them as a defence for the body. Nevertheless,
they laid about them sturdily, with "dints full dour,"
and there was many a cracked crown. Then suddenly a
shout was heard. "Jedburgh's here!" A body of
Jedburgh burgesses appear to have arrived just in the nick
of time to add to the outnumbered force of Scots. They
probably wore armour and what were called "white
hats," that is steel caps. Meanwhile, the English, too
confident of easy victory, instead of slaying more Scots
and turning the repulse into a rout, thought only to
plunder the unhappy merchants, who, trusting to the
truce which had been proclaimed, had attached
themselves to the meeting. Had it not been for the English
greed, the Scots would have been defeated. As it was,
the Tynedale men, throwing themselves on the merchants'
packs, fell into disorder, their adversaries recovered from
their surprise, and the timely arrival of the Jedburgh men
turned the tables. A short, sharp bout ended in the
triumph of the Scots and the Northumbrians fled,
"Down ower the brae, like clogged bees." The Scots
took many prisoners, amongst whom were the English
Warden, and his son-in-law, Sir Francis Russell; but the
most gallant soldier taken that day was that courteous
knight, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, to whose family
Admiral Collingwood belonged. Several of those
"Fenwicks fierce," who had turned up five hundred
strong at the commencement of the fray, had the
mortification of being carried off in triumph by their
enemies. All these prisoners were sent to the Earl of
Morton, Regent of Scotland, who detained them at
Dalkeith for some days, until the bitter feeling natural
after such an affair had died down, at any rate in part,
and by this prudent precaution the Regent is thought to
have probably averted a war between the two kingdoms.
He ultimately permitted them to return to their own
country, parting from them with great expressions of
regard. The interest taken in the matter by Queen
Elizabeth, and the representations of her Ambassador
at Edinburgh, no doubt had something to do with this
happy issue.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It will probably occur to the careful reader of this
book as somewhat strange to find the ruling powers of
England and Scotland both so set upon peace; but it
must be remembered that at this period in the reign
of Queen Elizabeth the heir-apparent to the English
throne was the young James VI., King of Scotland,
who would naturally not wish for any quarrel with
the country which he hoped later on to rule.
Elizabeth, on the other hand, had Mary Queen of Scots as
her prisoner, and did not wish in any further way
to strain the already delicate relations between the
two countries.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Carmichael mentioned in this ballad, known in full
as Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, Scottish Warden of the
Middle Marches, was afterwards murdered by one of the
wild Armstrongs, who is said to have composed, the
night before his execution, the following manly and
pathetic "Good-night." The third and fourth lines
show clearly the disrepute into which this once honoured
clan was falling; the seventh and eighth lines could only
have been written by one who, despite his faults, had
the true gallant instincts deep in his blood.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"This night is my departing night,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For here nae langer must I stay;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>But wishes me away.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>What I have done thro' lack of wit,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>I never, never can recall;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Good-night and joy be with you all!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="jock-o-the-side"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Jock o' the Side</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"He is well kend, John of the Syde,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A greater thief did never ryde."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The subject of this ballad bears some resemblance
to Kinmont Willie, and such adventures were
not uncommon in those turbulent times. The
events we are to relate originated in a raid ridden by the
famous Liddesdale spearmen (the hardiest of the Scotch
moss-troopers) upon English ground.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"They had better hae staid at home," for the outcome
was that one of their best men, Michael of Winfield, was
killed, and Jock o' the Side, nephew to the Laird of
Mangerton, was taken prisoner, and promptly lodged in
Newcastle Jail. When the news reached Jock's mother
she kilted her coats up to her knee, and ran down the
water with the tears falling in torrents from her eyes.
She ran to Mangerton House, on the banks of the Liddel,
and told her brother, the good old lord, the bad news.
"Michael is killed, and they have taken my son John." "Never
fear, sister," quoth Mangerton, "I have eighty-three
yokes of oxen, my barns, my byres, my folds are all
filled, I'll part with them all ere Johnie shall die." Then
he thought out his plan. "Three men I'll send to set him
free, all harnessed in the best steel; the English loons
shall feel the weight of their broad swords. The Laird's
Jock shall be one, the Laird's Wat two, and Hobbie
Noble, thou must be the third. Thy coat is blue, and
since England banished thee thou hast been true to
me." Now this Hobbie was an Englishman, born in Bewcastledale,
the wildest district in Cumberland. Like numerous
other English outlaws, he had made his own country too
hot to hold him; his misdeeds had banished him to
Liddesdale, and he was now in high favour with the Laird
of Mangerton. The Laird gave the dauntless three
orders to reverse the shoes of their horses, so that anyone
crossing their trail might think they were proceeding in a
contrary direction. He also warned them not to seem
gentlemen, but to look like corn-carriers; not to show
their good armour, nor appear like men of war, but to
be arrayed as country lads, with halter and cart-collar
on each mare. So Hobbie mounted his grey, Jack his
lively bay, and Wat his white horse, and they rode for
Tyne water. When they reached the Tyne they lighted
down at a ford, and by the moonlight they cut a tree,
with fifteen nogs on each side, to serve them as a scaling
ladder, to climb Newcastle wall with. However, when
they came to Newcastle town and alighted at the wall,
their tree proved three ells too short, and there was
nothing for it but to force the gates. At the gate a proud
porter attempted to withstand them. The Armstrongs
wrung his neck, took his life and his keys at once, and
cast his body behind the wall. Soon they reached the
jail, and called to the prisoner,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or art thou weary of thy thrall?"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Jock answered dolefully, "Often I wake, nay,
sleep seldom comes to me—but who's this knows my
name so well?" Then out and spoke the Laird's
Jock, his cousin and namesake, "Now fear ye not,
my billie!" quoth he; "for here are the Laird's Jock,
the Laird's Wat, and Hobbie Noble the Englishman
come to set you free." Jock o' the Side did not think it
possible that they could effect his release. "Now hold
thy tongue, my good cousin," said he. "This cannot be—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>'For if all Liddesdale were here the night,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The morn's the day that I must die.'</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>They have laid full fifteen stone of Spanish iron on me,
I am fast bound with locks and keys in this dark and
dreary dungeon." But the Laird's Jock replied. "Fear
not that; faint heart never won fair lady. Work thou
within, we'll work without, and I'll be sworn we'll set
thee free." They loosed the first strong door without a
key, the next chained door they split to flinders. The
Laird's Jock got the prisoner on his back, irons and all,
and brought him down the stairs with no small speed
and joy. Hobbie Noble offered to bear some of his
weight, but the Laird's Jock said that he was lighter than
a flea. When they had all gone out at the gates, the
prisoner was set on horseback, and they all joked
wantonly. "O Jock," they cried, "you ride like a
winsome lady, with your feet all on one side." The night
was wet, but they did not mind. They hied them on full
merrily until they came to the ford at Cholerford, above
Hexham. There the water was running mountains
high. They asked an old man, "Honest man, tell us in
haste, will the water ride?" "I've lived here thirty
years and three," replied he, "and I never saw the Tyne
so big, nor running so like a sea." The Laird's Wat
counselled them to halt. "We need not try it, the
day is come we all must die!" "Poor faint-hearted
thief!" cried the Laird's Jock. "There'll no man die
but him that's fated; I'll guide you safely through; lift
the prisoner behind me." With that they took to the
water and managed to swim through. "Here we are all
safe," said the Laird's Jock triumphantly. "Poor faint
Wat, what think ye now?" They now saw twenty men
pursuing them, sent from Newcastle, all English lads,
stout and true. But when their leader saw the water he
shook his head. "It won't ride, my lads," said he.
Then he cried to the party of Scots: "Take the prisoner,
but leave me my fetters." But the Laird's Jock was not
a Scot for nothing. "I wat weel no," he shouted back,
"I'll keep them, they'll make horse-shoes for my
mare—for I am sure she's bought them right dear from
thee." Then they went on their way to Liddesdale, as fast as
they could, and did not rest until they had brought the
rescued prisoner to his own fireside, and made him free
of his irons.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="hobbie-noble"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Hobbie Noble</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For gold and gear he'll sell ye a'."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In the ballad of "Jock o' the Side," we have seen
Hobbie Noble act a distinguished part in the deliverance
from captivity of Jock, cousin of the Laird of
Mangerton, chief of the Armstrong clan. Now in the
following ballad we shall learn how ungrateful the
Armstrongs were for his faithful services. The Armstrongs
were one of those outlawed or broken clans, whose hand
was against every man, and living as they did in what
was called the Debateable Land, on the frontier between
Liddesdale and England, these stark cattle-lifters and
arrant thieves levied tribute from English and Scotch
alike. Halbert or Hobbie Noble was an Englishman, a
Cumbrian born and bred, but his misdeeds were so great,
they banished him never to return, and he established
himself among the Armstrongs. From their territory he
continued his depredations upon the English, in
resentment of which they at length offered a bribe to the
Armstrongs to decoy him into England under pretence of
inviting him to join them in a foray.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"At Kershope foot the tryst was set,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Kershope of the lily lee,"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>and the name of the chief traitor and leader of the gang
was Sim o' the Mains. Hobbie harnessed himself "both
with the iron and with the steel," buckled spur on his
heel and belted brand to his side, leaped upon his
"fringed grey," and rode down the banks of the Liddel.
As soon as he saw the others, "Well be ye met, my
comrades five," he cried. "Now, what is your will with
me?" They all answered, with one consent, "Thou'rt
welcome here, brave Noble; wilt thou ride with us into
England, and we will be thy safe warrant? If we get a
horse worth a hundred pounds thou shalt soon be upon
its back." But Hobbie said that he dared not ride into
England by day, as he had a feud with the Land-Sergeant
(an officer under the Warden, to whom was entrusted the
arrest of delinquents).</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"But will ye stay till the day gae down,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Until the night come o'er the ground,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And I'll be a guide worth any two</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That may in Liddesdale be found?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Though the night be black as pitch and tar,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And bring ye all in safety back,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>If ye'll be true and follow me."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>They let him guide them over moss and moor, over hill
and hope, and over many a down, until they came to the
Foulbogshiel. But meanwhile word was gone to the
Land-Sergeant, in Askerton, about seventeen miles from
Carlisle. "The deer that you have hunted so long, is in
Bewcastle Waste this day." The Sergeant understood
at once. Quoth he, "Hobbie Noble is that deer! He
carries the style full high. He has often driven our
bloodhounds back. Now go, warn the bows of Hartlie
Burn, see they sharpen their arrows on the wall! Warn
Willeva and Speir Edom, take word to them that they
meet me on the Rodric-haugh at break of day. We will
on to Conscouthart-green, for there, I think, we'll get our
quarry." In the meantime Hobbie had alighted and
was sleeping in the Foulbogshiel. He dreamed that his
horse was shot beneath him, and he himself was hard
put to it to get away. The cocks crowed, the day
dawned, and if Hobbie had not wakened he would have
been taken or slain in his sleep.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Awake, awake, my comrades five!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I trow here makes a full ill day;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Yet the worst cloak o' this company</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I hope shall cross the Waste this day,"</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus cried he to his companions, thinking the gates were
clear. But alas! it was not so. They were beset by
the Land-Sergeant's men, cruel and keen, and while
the Englishmen came before, the traitor Sim o' the Mains
came behind. Had Noble been as masterful a champion
as Wallace himself, he could not have won under such
untoward circumstances. He had but a laddie's sword,
but he did more than a laddie's deeds, for that sword
would have cleared Conscouthart-green had it not broken
over one of the English heads. So his treacherous
companions delivered Hobbie up to the officers of justice;
they bound him with his own bowstring, but what made
his heart feel sorest of all, was that it was his own five
who bound him. They took him on to Carlisle. They
asked him mockingly if he knew the way. He thought
much, but said little, though he knew it as well as they
did. As they took him up the Carlisle streets, the old
wives cast their windows wide, every woman whispering
to another, "That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side." The
poor fellow cried out, "Fie on ye, women! why
call ye me man? It's no like a man that I'm used, but
like a beaten hound that's been fighting in the gutter." They
had him up through Carlisle town, and set him by a
chimney fire, where they gave him a wheaten loaf to eat,
and a can of beer. "Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie,"
they said, "and to-morrow in Carlisle thou shalt not
die." "How can I confess them," says the poor man,
"when I never saw them." And he swore a great oath,
by the day that he was born, that he had never had
anything of my lord's. He had but short shrift and
they hung him the next morning.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>According to the ballad, his last words were of manly
pride:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That eats and drinks o' meal and malt."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus died the doughty Noble. It is proper to add,
however, that the Armstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton,
with whom Hobbie had been a favourite, took a severe
revenge on the traitors who betrayed him. The
contriver of the scheme, Sim o' the Mains, fled into England
to escape the resentment of his chief, and was there caught
by the English, and himself executed at Carlisle, two
months after Hobbie's death in the same place! Such
is, at least, the tradition of Liddesdale.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-laird-o-logie"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXVI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Laird o' Logie</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In 1592, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stuart, failed
in an attempt against King James VI., whom
he tried to surprise in the palace of Falkland.
Amongst his adherents, whom he sought about the King's
person, was the hero of this ballad, the Laird of Logie,
who was taken prisoner and laid in Edinburgh chapel in
the keeping of Sir John Carmichael, the hero of the ballad
called the "Raid of Reidswire." Carmichael was at this
time captain of the King's Guard, and had the keeping
of State criminals.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I will sing, if ye will hearken,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>If ye will hearken unto me;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The wanton laird o' young Logie.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And may Margaret's lamenting sair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A' for the love of young Logie.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And of your weeping let me be;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For ye maun to the King himsell,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To seek the life of young Logie."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"If I canna get young Logie's life,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Farewell to Scotland for evermair."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Clothing.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>When she came before the King,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She kneelit lowly on her knee—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"O what's the matter, may Margaret?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And what needs a' this courtesie?"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the first boon that I come to crave,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Is to grant me the life of young Logie."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-157">
<span id="a-boon-a-boon-my-noble-liege"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!*"" src="images/img-198.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">A boon, a boon, my noble liege,
A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!</em><span class="italics">"</span></div>
</div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O na, O na, may Margaret,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Forsooth, and so it mauna be;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Shall not save the life of young Logie."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And sent the tokens to Carmichael,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To cause young Logie get his life.</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Stolen.
<br/>[#] Dressing comb.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She sent him a purse of the red gowd,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Another o' the white monie;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She sent him a pistol for each hand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And bade him shoot when he gat free.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>When he came to the Tolbooth stair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There he let his volley flee;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It made the King in his chamber start,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>E'en in the bed where he might be.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And bid Carmichael come speak to me;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>That yon's the shot o' young Logie."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>When Carmichael came before the King,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He fell low down upon his knee;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The very first word that the King spake,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Carmichael turn'd him round about</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>(I wot the tear blinded his ee),</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"There came a token frae your grace,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Has ta'en away the laird frae me."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"The morn the justice-court's to stand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And Logie's place ye maun supplie."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Even as fast as he may dree—</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"O if young Logie be within,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Tell him to come and speak with me!"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>May Margaret turn'd her round about</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="jamie-telfer-of-the-fair-dodhead"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXVII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And a harried man I think I be!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There's nothing left at the fair Dodhead</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But a woeful wife and bairnies three!"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>About Martinmas time, when Border steeds get
corn and hay, the Captain of Bewcastle rode
over to Tividale to forage. And first he met a
guide high up in Hardhaughswire, and next he met a
guide low down in Borthwick water.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?"
"No tidings have I—yet if ye go to the fair Dodhead,
I'll let ye see many a cow's calf." Right hastily they
came to the fair Dodhead, loosed the cows and ransacked
the house.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Jamie Telfer's[#] heart was sore when he saw this, and
the tears ran down his cheeks, and he pleaded with the
Captain to give him back his gear, or else he would have
revenge upon him. But the Captain only laughed and
said, "Man, there's nothing in thy house but an old sword
without a sheath that could scarcely kill a mouse."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The Telfers, though they had become Scotch at the time of this
ballad, were originally a Norman family, descended from the knight
"Taille-fer" (cut-iron), who came over with William the Conqueror.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The sun was not up though the moon had gone down,
and there was a sprinkling of new-fallen snow upon the
ground when Jamie Telfer ran ten miles a-foot between
the Dodhead and Stob's Hall. When he came to the
tower gate he shouted aloud, and old Gibby Elliot came
out and asked the meaning of such disturbance.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a
harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead but
a sad wife and three bairnies."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Go and seek help at Branksome Hall, for ye shall
get none from me—seek help where ye paid blackmail,
for, man, never did ye pay </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> any."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>James turned him about, his eyes blinded with tears.
"Never shall I pay blackmail again to Elliot. My hounds
may all run masterless, my hawks may fly as they will
from tree to tree, and my lord may seize the lands of his
vassal, for never shall I see again the fair Dodhead."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He turned him to Tiviotside and made as fast as he
could for Coultart cleugh, and there he shouted aloud
until out came old Jock Grieve, and asked who it was
that made such a noise.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a
harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead
but a weeping wife and three bairnies, and six poor calves
stand in the stall crying aloud for their mothers."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alack!" quoth Jock Grieve, "alack, my heart is
sore for thee! for I married the eldest of three sisters, and
you married the youngest."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So he took out his bonny black horse, right well fed
with corn and hay, and set Jamie Telfer on his back, to
take his troubles to Catslockhill. When he came to
Catslockhill he shouted aloud until out came William's
Wat to ask what was the matter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a
harried man am I. The Captain of Bewcastle has driven
away my gear; for God's sake rise and help me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alas and alack," quoth William's Wat, "my heart is
sore for thee. Never did I yet come to the fair Dodhead
and found thy basket bare."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He set his two sons on coal-black steeds, and he himself
mounted a freckled grey, and with Jamie they rode to
Branksome Hall, where they shouted so loud and high
that old Buccleuch came out to ask what was the matter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a
harried man am I; there is nought left at fair Dodhead
but a weeping wife and three bairnies."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Alack," quoth the good old lord, "my heart is sorry
for thee; go call Willie, my son, to come speedily. Go
call up hastily the men that live by the waterside. They
who will not ride for Telfer's cattle, let them never again
look me in the face. Call up Wat o'Harden and his sons,
call up Borthwick Water, Gaudilands and Allanhaugh,
call Gilmanscleugh and Commonside; ride by the gate
at Priesthaughswire and call the Currors of the Lee, and
call brave Willie of Gorrinberry as ye come down the
Hermitage slack."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So the Scotts rode and ran bravely and steadily,
shouting "Ride for Branksome," and when Willie
looked ahead he saw the cattle being driven fast up the
Frostylee brook, and to the plain.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Who drives yon cattle?" cried Willie Scott, "to
make us a laughing stock?" "'Tis I, the Captain of
Bewcastle; I will not hide my name from thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Let Telfer's cattle go back, or by the faith of my
body," said Willie, "I'll ware my dame's calf-skin on
thee."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"I will not let the cattle go back neither for thy love
nor fear; I will drive Jamie Telfer's cattle in spite of all
your company of Scotts."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Set on them, lads!" cried Willie; "set on them
cruelly; there will be many an empty saddle before they
come to Ritterford."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they set to with heart and hand, and blows fell like
hail until many were slain and many a horse ran
masterless. But Willie was struck by a sword through the
headpiece and fell to the ground, and auld Wat of Harden
wept for rage when he saw that his son was slain. He
took off his steel cap and waved it thrice, and the snow
on the Dinlay mountain was never whiter than the locks
of his hair.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Revenge! revenge!" he cried; "lay on them, lads.
Willie's death shall be revenged or we will never see
Teviotside again."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The lances flew into splinters, and many another brave
rider fell, and before the Kershope ford was reached,
the Scots had got the victory. John of Brigham was
slain, and John of Barlow, and thirty more of the
Captain's men lay bleeding on the ground. The Captain
himself was run through the right thigh and the bone
broken, and never would woman love him again, if he
should live a hundred years.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Take back the kye!" said he; "they are dear kye
to some of us; never will a fair lady smile on me if I
should live to be a hundred."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Word came to the Captain's bride in her bower, that
her lord had been taken prisoner. "I would rather have
had a winding-sheet," said she, "and helped to put it over
his head than that he should have been disgraced by the
Border Scot when he led his men over Liddel."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There was a wild gallant there named Watty
Wudspurs (Madspurs) who cried, "Let us on to his
house in Stanegirthside, if any man will ride with us!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>So they came to Stanegirthside, pulled down the trees,
burst open the door, and drove out all the Captain's kye
before them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>An old woman of the Captain's kin cried, "Who dare
loose the Captain's kye, or answer to him and his men?"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"It is I, Watty Wudspurs, that loose the kye; I will
not hide my name from thee; and I will loose them in
spite of him and his men."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When they came to the fair Dodhead they were a
welcome sight, for instead of his own ten milk kye Jamie
Telfer had now got thirty-three. He paid the rescue shot
in gold and silver, and at Willie Scott's burial, there were
many weeping eyes.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="muckle-mou-d-meg"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXVIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Muckle-mou'd Meg</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The Scott family was very powerful on the
Border in the days of Queen Elizabeth, the
bravest and strongest of them being the bold
Lord of Buccleuch. His name is often mentioned in
Border history, and so is that of another Scott, "auld
Wat Scott of Harden." He was a fit man for these wild
times, being both brave and canny. He married a
beautiful Border lass, "the Flower of Yarrow," and it is
surprising how many able men have descended from this
marriage. Not only did Sir Walter Scott and Robert
Louis Stevenson claim descent from this fine old
freebooter; his daughter Maggie married Gilbert Elliot of
Stobs, nicknamed "Gibbie wi' the Golden Garters,"
and from them were descended George Augustus Elliot
(Lord Heathfield), famous for his splendid defence of
Gibraltar, worthy of the best Border traditions, and also
the Elliots of Minto, who have twice been Viceroys of
India, once late in the eighteenth and once early in the
twentieth century.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But on one occasion one of the sons of Scott of Harden
came perilously near to finding out how far his neck was
capable of carrying the weight of his body. It was late
in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and King James VI. of
Scotland was extra anxious to live at peace with England,
for he expected now very soon to be King over both
countries. So he told his Warden, the bold Buccleuch,
to restrain the wild Scotch freebooters; and you may
imagine that the order was little to their liking. Young
Willie Scott, Scott of Harden's son, quickly determined
that cattle he must steal anyhow; he was his father's
son, and did not his father once say, as he gazed longingly
at a fine English haystack, "if only ye'd got four legs,
haystack, ye would not be standing there!" So as
Willie Scott was forbidden to steal English cattle, he
decided to steal Scotch.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Sir Gideon Murray, of Elibank Castle, was an old
enemy of the Scott family, having once been told off to
punish them for some audacious act of theirs. And Sir
Gideon had some cattle that would make any Borderer's
mouth water and his arm itch to drive them home. So
Willie and a few boon companions started off one night
for Elibank. But a warning voice had reached Sir
Gideon, and Willie received a warm reception, and was
taken prisoner. He lay in the castle dungeon all night,
reflecting on the folly of being caught, and fully expecting
to be hanged very early next morning, perhaps without
even his breakfast to comfort him!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But early on the fatal morning, Lady Murray startled
her husband by asking him if he really meant to hang
Willie Scott. He looked at her as if she were mad; of
course, what else was there to do? Then she unfolded
her scheme. She had a very plain-looking daughter
known as "Muckle mou'd Meg," or Margaret with the
extremely large mouth. Young Scott was handsome
and of good family, and poor Meg would never again have
such a chance of getting a good husband. Why not
release Willie Scott, if only he would marry
Mucklemou'd Meg?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They were men of action in those days, and the priest
was instantly sent for. Then, all being ready, the
prisoner was brought forth. He was shown on the one
hand the priest and the girl, and on the other hand the
tree and the noose, and was asked to take his choice. His
first proud feeling was that he would be mocked at if he
married such a girl on such terms, and he walked bravely
towards the rope. But the nearer he got to it the uglier
it looked. He had to confess to himself that it was not
at all a comfortable looking rope; he had a nasty feeling
round his neck from merely looking at it, and thought it
would probably feel worse when it got round his throat.
Then he looked at the girl; she certainly was not as
beautiful as his mother, the lovely Flower of Yarrow; and
a Borderer loved a beautiful wife. But if he hanged he
would have no wife at all! Then he suggested that he
should have three days to think it over, but Murray said
no, neither priest nor noose was prepared to wait, he
must decide at once. Then he looked again at Meg and
saw a kind glance in her eye; she felt sorry for the
handsome young fellow. Then he knew she had a good heart,
and that decided the matter; he went up and kissed her
with a good grace, and the priest married them straight
away.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Afterwards he became Sir William Scott, and an
important man on the Border. And, best of all, Meg
proved to be a real good wife to him, and he never
regretted the day when he elected to suffer the knot to be
tied by the priest instead of by the hangman.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-dowie-dens-of-yarrow"><span class="bold large">Chapter XXXIX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Dowie Dens of Yarrow</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>This is one of the most famous and widely known
of all the Border ballads, and has proved a
source of inspiration to several poets, including
Wordsworth, who wrote three poems upon the subject.
The bard does not relate the full particulars, but gives
only the barest outlines of facts, which were well known
in his day, and still live in tradition. The story tells of a
duel between two brothers-in-law. The very spot where
it took place is still pointed out, a low muir on the Yarrow
banks. The slain knight was apparently Walter Scott,
one of the ancestors of Lord Napier. His murderer was
his brother-in-law, John Scott. "Dowie" means
melancholy, and "den" is a word used to describe a
narrow, rocky valley, usually wildly beautiful.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Late at e'en drinking the wine,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And e'er they paid the lawing,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They set a combat them between,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To fight it in the dawing.[#]</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Dawn.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O stay at home my noble lord,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O stay at home my marrow.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My cruel brother will you betray,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Hillocks.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O fare ye well, my lady gay!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>O fare ye well, my Sarah!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For I must go, though I ne'er return</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>From the dowie banks of Yarrow."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As oft she had done before, O,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She belted him with his noble brand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"And he's away to Yarrow."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>As he gaed up the Tennies bank</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I wot he gaed with sorrow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O come ye here to part your land,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The bonnie forest thorough?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Or come ye here to wield your brand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"I come not here to part my land,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And neither to beg nor borrow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I come to wield my noble brand</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And that's an unequal marrow;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Four has he hurt, and five has slain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the bloody braes of Yarrow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Till that stubborn knight came him behind,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And ran his body thorough.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And tell your sister Sarah,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Lawful.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I fear there will be sorrow!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' my true love on Yarrow.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>From where my love repaireth,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And tell me how he fareth!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"But in the glen strive armed men;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They've wrought me dole and sorrow;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He bleeding lies on Yarrow."</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>As she sped down yon high, high hill,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And in the den spied ten slain men,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the dowie banks of Yarrow.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She searched his wounds all thorough,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>On the dowie houms of Yarrow.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For a' this breeds but sorrow;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll wed ye to a better lord,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than him ye lost on Yarrow."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Hold.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O haud your tongue, my father dear!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ye mind me but of sorrow;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>A fairer rose did never bloom</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-158">
<span id="she-kissed-his-cheek-she-kaim-d-his-hair"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough.*"" src="images/img-210.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough.</em><span class="italics">"</span></div>
</div>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="belted-will-and-the-baronry-of-gilsland"><span class="bold large">Chapter XL</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"When for the lists they sought the plain</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The stately lady's silken rein</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Did noble Howard hold;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Unarmed by her side he walk'd</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And much, in courteous phrase they talk'd</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Of feats of arms of old.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With satin slashed and lined;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Tawny his boot and gold his spur,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His cloak was all of Poland fur,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His hose with silver twined.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Hung in a broad and studded belt;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will."</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>SCOTT, </span><em class="italics">Lay of the Last Minstrel</em><span>.</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>One of the many picturesque figures of Border
history was "Belted Will," or to call him
by his proper name and title, Lord William
Howard, a younger son of the powerful Duke of Norfolk.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His mother had died when he was an infant, and
his father, the foremost Roman Catholic nobleman in
England, took up the cause of Mary Queen of Scots,
whom he wished to marry. For this treason against
Queen Elizabeth he was beheaded in 1572, when young
Lord William was only nine years old. At the age of
fourteen the young lord's guardians arranged for him a
marriage with Elizabeth Dacre, a member of a powerful
Border family, and heiress to the Baronry of Gilsland.
As the bride was even younger than her boy-husband,
let us hope that they both went to school again
immediately after the marriage!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When he grew to manhood, Lord William warmly
supported the Roman Catholic cause and was imprisoned
by Elizabeth; but when James became King, he was
released and restored to his estates on the Border.
Throughout the remainder of his career he was the most
notable man of his district. He knew how to make
himself respected by his wild neighbours. His fame and
power were great. He founded the fortunes of his family
so surely that he it is who is usually thought of as the
ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle, though his great-grandson
was the first to hold the title.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Lord William had great energy and many interests, and
was remarkable as being an "all-round" man. He was
equally a leader of men and a lover of books; no detail
in the management of his estates was too small for him
to study; he was a good husband to his wife, and a
splendid father to his fifteen children. He selected the
most beautiful of his several castles, that of Naworth, and
repaired and almost rebuilt it; he took there the fine old
oak ceiling from the ancient castle of Kirkoswald, which
was ornamented with portraits of all the kings of England.
Visitors to Naworth can see to-day the "hall of Belted
Will," by kind permission of the present Earl of Carlisle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He was something of a poet and very much of an
antiquarian. His estates were full of interesting things,
and none knew them better than he. There were miles of
the Roman wall, still in excellent condition; there were
many Roman altars and inscriptions, which he copied and
translated; quite near him, at Coome Crags, was a Roman
quarry, which can still be seen to-day, with marks of Roman
tools on its stones. It stands in a beautiful wood by the
side of the lovely river Irthing. And only a little further
on, standing on a fine cliff overlooking the river, is the old
Roman station of Amboglanna, a fort that covered
five and a half acres, with walls that were once five feet
thick, the main foundations of which are still standing,
clear enough for anyone to trace them out. It is quieter
there to-day than it was in Roman times, or in the stirring
days of Belted Will!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It is good to think that this broad-shouldered,
gallant, powerful nobleman, who could ride, shoot, fight
and keep this wild district in order, was at the same time
such a clever student and book-worm. They tell a story
that he was once sitting in his library intent on a book
when his men brought in a robber whom they had caught
red-handed, and asked Lord William to try him. Belted
Will, angry at being interrupted, cried out:—"Don't
disturb me; hang him!" Half an hour later he rose
and came down to try the man, but finding that he
was already hanged he went on with his book. It is
only fair to add that robbers in those days expected no
mercy when caught.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One of the many clever things that Lord William did
was to have figures carved in oak to represent soldiers;
these he placed on the top of his high towers, and deceived
the Scots into thinking that he had a large and very
watchful garrison! These figures can still be seen at Naworth.
Near Naworth Castle is Lanercost Priory, where King
Edward I. stayed on his way to Scotland. There is a
secret passage from Naworth tower which is supposed
to run under the river to Lanercost. No one is allowed
to go through it, as it is considered dangerous; the
people of the district say that the last man to do so was
Oliver Cromwell.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Visitors to Naworth to-day should certainly go on
to Gilsland itself, the picturesque straggling little town,
which was the head of the Baronry which Elizabeth
Dacre brought to her boy-husband. The Irthing at
Gilsland runs through a wonderfully beautiful gorge,
rocky and wooded, wild and romantic. Stand on the
venturesome stepping stones near the old church, with
the river rushing at your very feet, and see if this is an
exaggeration of the beauties of the scene. Right in the
midst of the glen you can see the "Popping-stone" where
Sir Walter Scott walked with the lady of his choice and
asked her to marry him. Readers of "Guy Mannering"
can see in Over Denton church near Gilsland the grave of
Meg Merrilees, who died here at the age of ninety-eight.
The town is also interesting for the fact that the county
border is at Gilsland, and there is an inn so built that it
stands in both counties, and contains a bed in which you
can sleep with your head in Northumberland and your
feet in Cumberland!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>There is a story of Belted Will that tells eloquently of
the strength of his character. When he was released
from prison by King James he found his estates so ruined
by careless management that he knew that great care was
needed to put things right again; so until he got his
affairs into order, all the pocket-money that he would
allow himself was twenty shillings per month!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Bold William, Belted Will, gallant Lord Howard, as
you will, died at Naworth in 1640 aged seventy-seven,
one year after the death of his devoted wife. His
descendants were, like himself, students and men of
action; the present Earl of Carlisle is directly sprung
from him, and is very proud of the fact.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="gilderoy"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Gilderoy</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Gilderoy was a celebrated and most daring
highwayman, who roamed far, and was well-known
all over Scotland and indeed in London.
His death inspired a very striking ballad, but this is
hardly a Border Lowland ballad, but refers chiefly to
another Border district, namely, that between the
Lowlands and Highlands. Just as the Scottish Lowlanders
thought the English their legitimate quarry, so the
Highlanders in turn looked upon the Lowlanders as
created to supply them with all they lacked. There is a
story on record of a Highland chief who, finding his men
had carelessly robbed another Highlander, returned the
spoil with a handsome apology, and issued stringent
orders that in future nothing was to be taken except in
the Lowlands, "where all men make their prey."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Among the robber clans of the Highlands, the
MacGregors stand easily in the first rank. In a long series
of Scottish Acts of Parliament, they are habitually
referred to as "the wicked clan Gregor, so long continuing
in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery." One of their
most famous exploits was the battle of Glenfruin, when
they defeated their enemies, the Colquhouns, and slew
two hundred of them. The Colquhouns appeared before
the King at Stirling with the bloody shirts stripped off
their dead, and the law was put in motion against the
MacGregors more vigorously than ever. This was in
1603. The execution of Gilderoy, as described in our
poem, took place in 1638. His real name was Patrick
MacGregor, and the fact that he belonged to this
Ishmaelite clan, whose hand was directed against every
man, and whose very name had been solemnly abolished,
may well serve as an excuse for his career of crime.
Gilderoy, in Gaelic, means the red-haired gillie or lad,
and besides the name there are many other points of
similarity between him and Rob Roy, who was the head
of the Clan MacGregor in the following century. Both
Gilderoy and Rob Roy were professional blackmailers,
that is, they could be relied on never to plunder anyone
who was prudent enough to buy them off by paying a
fixed contribution. This is what is meant in the
following lines of the ballad—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"All these did honestly possess</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He never did annoy,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Who never failed to pay their cess</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To my love, Gilderoy."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The "cess" is the blackmail, or insurance against
robbery. The widespread reputation of Gilderoy is
attested by the many legends of him which are printed
in the old chap-books and "Lives of the Highwaymen." According
to these authorities, Gilderoy once robbed
Oliver Cromwell near Glasgow; but an even more
romantic episode of his career was a roaming trip upon the
continent, in the course of which he is said to have picked
Cardinal Richelieu's pocket while he was celebrating
mass in the King's presence, at the church of St Denis in
Paris. He made his way even to Madrid, where he
succeeded in carrying off the Duke of Medina-Cell's
plate. Altogether a most notorious and dashing cateran.
The ballad is supposed to be spoken by a young
woman who had all her life been attached to him.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Had roses to his shoon;[#]</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His stockings were of silken soy,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With garters hanging down.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>It was, I ween, a comely sight</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To see so trim a boy;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He was my jo, and heart's delight,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My handsome Gilderoy.</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>* * * * *</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>My Gilderoy and I were born</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Both in one town together;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We scant were seven years before</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We 'gan to love each other.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Our daddies and our mammies they</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Were filled with meikle joy,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To think upon the bridal day</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of me and Gilderoy."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Shoes.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>But there intervened the spirit of adventure which
had ever been the birthright of all of his surname,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Oh, that he still had been content</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With me to lead his life!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>But ah! his manful heart was bent</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To stir in deeds of strife;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And he in many a venturous deed</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>His courage bold would try;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And now this gars[#] my heart to bleed</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For my dear Gilderoy."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Makes.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>No doubt those who knew Gilderoy personally would
have agreed, as was actually said of Rob Roy, that he
was a benevolent and humane man "in his way."</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"My Gilderoy, both far and near,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Was feared in every town;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And boldly bore away the gear</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of many a Lowland loun,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For man to man durst meet him none,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He was so brave a boy;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>At length with numbers he was ta'en,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My winsome Gilderoy."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>He was not so fortunate as Rob Roy, who ultimately
died peacefully in his bed. Gilderoy had lost the game,
and he had to pay the stakes.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Of Gilderoy so feared they were,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They bound him fast and strong;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To Edinbro' they led him there,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And on a gallows hung.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They hung him high above the rest,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He was so trim a boy;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There died the youth whom I loved best,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My handsome Gilderoy."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Thus perished one of the characteristic products of
an age whose standards were so different from ours that
we can hardly judge him fairly. He was banned before
his birth, a scion of a race so indomitably and innately
ferocious that the law attempted to extirpate them, root
and branch. The very name of Gregor could be given
by no clergyman at baptism, under penalty of
deprivation and banishment. Cunning and politic neighbours
were not slow to take advantage of the stubborn
disposition of the MacGregors, and gradually stripped them
of their once extensive lands in Argyle and Perthshire.
Gilderoy might well consider that he was "an honester
man than stood on any of their shanks," and we may be
excused for feeling a very lively sympathy with him, and
for echoing in our inmost hearts the exquisitely feminine
point of view expressed by the lady composer of the
ballad.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"If Gilderoy had done amiss,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>He might have banished been;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Ah! what sore cruelty is this</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To hang such handsome men!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>To hang the flower of Scottish land,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>So sweet and fair a boy!</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>No lady had so white a hand</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>As thee, my Gilderoy!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>When he had yielded up his breath</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I bare his corpse away;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>With tears, that trickled for his death,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I washt his comely clay;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And sicker[#] in a grave sae deep</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I laid the dear lo'ed boy;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And now for ever maun I weep,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>My winsome Gilderoy."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Safely.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="archie-armstrong-s-oath"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Archie Armstrong's Oath</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"And oft since then, to England's King,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The story he has told;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Charlie his sides would hold."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Archie Armstrong lived in Eskdale, where
he did his best to keep up the grand reputation
of his family as being among the very boldest
sheep-stealers of the Border. His house was at Stubholm,
where the Wauchope stream runs into the river Esk,
near where the picturesque town of Langholm now
stands. Living in the reign of Charles I., after the union
of crowns, the profession of freebooter was far less
honourable than of old. He could not now plead that he was
a Border soldier, fighting against his nation's enemy.
The wild Border blood in him might cry out for the old
adventurous career, but he could no longer hope for the
aid of powerful Border families. When cornered, his sole
protector would be his own wits, and woe betide him if
they failed!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Archie's house was about eight miles from the Border,
and he could not help strolling towards the fascinating
line and tasting the sweetness of temptation. When
the chance came that seemed to him sufficiently safe,
he would go home in company though he had walked out
alone; the "company" being a good fat English sheep.
One night a shepherd had marked him lingering about,
and had watched him, and raised an alarm. Away went
stout Archie at a Marathon pace; half way home he
passed Gilnockie tower, where his ancestor bold Johnie
Armstrong lived so gaily. "Alas!" thought Archie,
dolefully, "he too was hanged in the end!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He got home well in front of his pursuers, but his wife
gave him small encouragement. With typical Scottish
dourness she remarked to him, "Ye will be ta'en this
night and hanged i' the morning."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But Archie put a braw face on it, and declared that he
would never hang for one silly sheep. Quicker than any
butcher he skinned and roughly trimmed the dead animal,
throwing the rejected parts into the swift stream.
Then rejoicing in the fact that his child was away with
its aunt, he put the carcase carefully in the cradle and
began rocking it and singing a lullaby to it, as if he were
the most loving father in all the British Isles.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The pursuers now rushed in, and began to accuse
Archie triumphantly; but he rebuked them for making
so much noise, telling them that his child was at death's
door! As for stealing their sheep, he took a solemn oath
that if he had done such a thing he would ask to be
doomed to "eat the flesh this very cradle holds!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Such an oath on the Borders was a very serious matter;
they little knew that the only flesh in the cradle was
sheep's flesh, which Archie asked nothing better than to
devour!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Impressed but not convinced, his enemies carefully
searched the whole of Archie's house and garden; it
was only with very great unwillingness that they at last
decided that they must miss the supreme pleasure of
hanging him! They went away saying that they must
have been deluded by the devil or by witches; and the
shepherd resolved to hang a branch of rowan-tree
(mountain-ash) by his fold, for that was well-known to
have the power to keep witches away.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as they were all on their road to England again,
Archie skipped about like a dancing fiddler. "Wife,"
he said, "I never knew before that I would make such
a good nurse."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>After this Archie wandered down to London, and his
wild jests becoming famous, he was made Court Jester
by King Charles I. And many a time he acted the story
to the King, rocking a pretended cradle, and singing a
persuasive lullaby, to the King's intense amusement.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, Archie lost his place by his boldness.
These were the days of Archbishop Laud (1637), who was
hated by the Scots. One day, as the archbishop was
about to say grace before dinner, Archie asked the King's
permission to say grace instead. The King consented,
and the jester's double-meaning words were as follows:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"All </span><em class="italics">praise</em><span> to God, and little </span><em class="italics">laud</em><span> to the devil!"</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The archbishop, in many senses a little man, had Archie
dismissed in disgrace. But, such were the chances of
these uncertain times, the archbishop was executed in the
end, while the sheepstealer escaped that fate!</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="christie-s-will"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Christie's Will</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The resourceful Archie, whose tale we have just
told, was not the only one of the reckless
Armstrongs to keep up the old freebooting habits
in the reign of Charles I. There lived at Gilnockie tower
(the old residence of the famous Johnie Armstrong) in
the parish of Cannobie, a notorious Willie Armstrong,
known as Christie's Will. Like Archie, he more than
once owed his life to his ready wit. He was shut up
in Jedburgh jail when the Earl of Traquair, Lord High
Treasurer, paid the prison an official visit. When he
asked Will the cause of his being there, the freebooter
answered:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"For stealing two halters, my lord."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Traquair was surprised, but Will afterwards owned
that there was a fine colt at the end of each halter.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Traquair was amused and pleased by the boldness of
the man, and had him set free.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Some little time afterwards Traquair was involved in
a law-suit which was set down to be decided by Lord
Durie, who seems to have let it be known before-hand
what his opinion was upon the case. Nothing would save
Traquair's interests except that Durie must be got out
of the way before the case began. But how was it to be
done?</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Christie's Will was appealed to, and merely said
"Leave it to me."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was the judge's habit to take horseback exercise on
the sands of Leith without any attendant. One
morning, whilst so riding, a well-dressed and gentlemanly
stranger, on a good horse, happened to overtake him;
a courteous greeting led to a friendly conversation, in
which the stranger proved himself so affable and entertaining
that the judge rode on by his side without suspicion.
Suddenly, when they had come to a lonely spot, Lord
Durie found himself seized by this muscular gentleman,
smothered up in a big cloak, whisked off his horse and on
to the stranger's, who galloped off, mischief knows where!
It was Christie's Will, carrying out his promise.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The judge's horse galloped home, riderless. Search
was made, but the judge could not be found. It could
only be supposed that he had been thrown off into the sea.
His successor was appointed, and Lord Traquair's case
was heard and won!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Lord Durie had languished for several months in a
dreary underground vault. I wonder if he thought of
the many poor wretches he had sentenced to a similar
fate? Suddenly at midnight he was roughly awakened,
muffled up as before, and carried away again by his
captor on horseback. Next morning, by the light of the
newly-risen sun, he found himself on the very spot by
the sands of Leith from which he had been kidnapped!
We will hope that every one, including his successor, was
glad when he thus came to life again.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When the Civil War began, the Earl of Traquair was
faithful to King Charles I. Having some papers of
importance that he wished to have given into the King's
own hands, he entrusted these to the bold freebooter.
Christie's Will did his errand, and received an equally
important answer. But spies at Court had given
Cromwell word of the matter, and the command was
sent up to Carlisle that Will Armstrong must be
intercepted there. Not knowing his danger, Will halted in
the town to refresh his horse, then pushed forward to
the bridge which crossed the Eden on the Northern
boundary of the city. Cromwell's soldiers were waiting
for him; the bridge was high and narrow, the broad
Eden waters were swirling in high flood.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Christie's Will, without one second's hesitation, spurred
his horse over the parapet. He sank ... he came up
... he sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he
came up, this time at the very bank. He cut his
heavy, dripping cloak from his shoulders; relieved of
the weight, his horse struggled to the land. Away went
Will, away went the troopers after him. It was a hard
race to the river Esk, and this also Will had to swim.
But now he was in Scotland, and his friends were at
hand; gaily Will turned to his pursuers, who dared not
cross the water; "Good friends," cried he, "come over
and drink with me!" But they showed him their backs,
and their horses's tails, and he saw no more of them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Such were the exploits of Christie's Will; he was the
last of the free-booters, but he certainly knew how to
live up to their boldest traditions.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="northumberland-at-the-time-of-the-civil-war"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLIV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Northumberland at the time of the Civil War</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>During the stormy days of King Charles I., the
Borders, and especially Northumberland, saw
many stirring scenes. It must be remembered
that shortly before the Long Parliament was elected, King
Charles almost came to war with the Scottish Presbyterians,
because they would not obey the harsh rule of
Archbishop Laud. The Scots raised an army under the
lead of shrewd general Alexander Leslie, the "old, little,
crooked soldier," of great experience, trained by the great
Gustavus of Sweden. In 1639 Charles sent ships up to
the Forth, in reply to which Leslie marched his army to
threaten the border. The old quarrel between the two
countries began to blaze up again. King Charles led an
army to the border and was received with splendid
applause at Newcastle. Many joined his army, and
shouted with joy at the thought of meeting the Scots in
battle. But they were an untrained disorderly crew, who
fired their guns off at random and kept no military order
whatever. Gallant Leslie marched his men down to
Duns Law, in South Berwickshire, and was ready to
fight. But King Charles would not trust his army that
length; he made terms with his opponents, promising
them the reforms they set their hearts upon, and the two
armies melted away like school-boys at the end of the
term.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Things were soon as bad as before. Lord Conway
was sent by the King to put Newcastle into a strong
defensive state. His greatest difficulty was to get money
for the purpose, for the King's quarrel with his various
Parliaments had deprived him of supplies. The badly
paid troops mutinied, and the ring-leader was shot.
Very soon the Scottish army came across the Tweed, the
Highlanders armed with bows and arrows.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>They pitched their camp on Heddon Law, and soon
proved to the country folk that they had not come for
plunder, but would pay for all they wanted to eat. This
re-assured the country people, who had no real quarrel
with the Scots, and even became most friendly to them.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>With Lord Conway it was otherwise; he was the
King's officer, and was bound to offer resistance. His
opinion was that if once the Scots crossed the Tyne, and
attacked Newcastle from the south or Gateshead side,
they were sure of victory. Accordingly, leaving a strong
garrison to protect the town, he marched out with two
thousand or more foot and fully one thousand horse to
command the important ford across the Tyne at Newburn,
a place five or six miles due west of Newcastle. It
is interesting to remember that here also the Romans had
had fortifications, along the line of the wall, and the very
spot where the Scots and English fought may well have
been the scene of contests between the Roman Legions
and the wild Picts.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The English arrived first, on the south bank of the
river, and threw up earth-works hastily. Very soon
they saw the Scots march into Newburn village, on the
north bank, where they employed themselves by hauling
their cannon up to the church tower. Remarkable
cannon they were, made out of bar-iron hooped together
with cord and wet, raw hides! But they were not
required to carry any distance, the foe was only on the
other side of the Tyne. All the morning the enemies
looked at one another across the river, each hesitating
to fire the first shot of the war. At last an English
officer shot a Scotch officer, and the fight began. The
Scots were on the higher ground, and their cannon, rough
as they were, sent heavy shot on to the English. Then
when the river tide went down, the Scots rushed across
the ford, and the battle was soon won, the royal standard
being taken. English runaways rushed through the
woods and into Newcastle, crying, "Fly for your lives,
naked devils have destroyed us!" Whether they
referred to kilted Highlanders is uncertain. Anyway,
Leslie and his Scots entered Newcastle in triumph, but
were afterwards bought off with a payment of £60,000
and recrossed the Tweed into Scotland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was in 1641, a year in which King Charles was
quarrelling bitterly with his Long Parliament, though
the actual civil war in England did not begin till 1642.
Early in 1642 it was decided that so important a
town as Newcastle ought to be put in a stronger state
of defence.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>William Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle, was made
governor of the town, but he was much hindered in his
plans by lack of money. King Charles, however,
promoted him from Earl to Marquis of Newcastle, and the
lack of funds he made up as best he was able. However,
the Governor of Holy Island, off the Northumberland
shore, found himself left for sixteen months without any
pay! He wrote to the King's treasury a protest in verse,
beginning:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The great commander o' the Cormorants,</em></div>
<div class="line"><em class="italics">The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,</em></div>
<div class="line"><em class="italics">Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,</em></div>
<div class="line"><em class="italics">These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands.</em><span>"</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The allusion in the first two lines is to the fact that
Holy Island and the Farne Islands were then, and are still
to-day, so thinly peopled that sea-birds gather there in
large numbers, adding greatly to the wild beauties of
these islets and rocks.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In January 1644 a serious struggle began. Leslie and
his soldiers crossed the Tweed at Berwick bridge and
again entered Northumberland. General Bayly marched
his men from Kelso across the frozen river and joined
Leslie at Alnwick. Warkworth Castle, though it
contained cannon and provisions, surrendered at once. The
Scottish general gravely told Bemerton, the governor,
that if he had learnt to fight as well as he had learnt to
dance his castle could never have been taken! The
country districts of Northumberland had no quarrel with
the Scots, and it was soon evident that the real fight
would be at Newcastle, bravely held by the Marquis
and by the Mayor, Sir John Marley.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Scottish "murthering pieces," as the cannon were
called, were brought down by sea, and the obstinate
conflict began. Despite the terrible weather of a very
rough February, frequent skirmishes took place, while
the Scots closed nearer and nearer round the gallantly
defended town. Leslie soon found that the defences
had been put into good order; the ditch round the town
was dug deep, and close to the walls; the walls
themselves were strongly underpinned. The battlements were
strengthened by stone and lime, but the top stones were
loosened so as to slip if the enemy attempted to mount
them. Every cannon was placed carefully, to the best
advantage.</span></p>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 65%" id="figure-159">
<span id="the-storming-of-newcastle"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="*The Storming of Newcastle*" src="images/img-228.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<em class="italics">The Storming of Newcastle</em></div>
</div>
<p class="pnext"><span>But the Marquis of Newcastle was called southward
by the needs of his King. With him were his thousand
brave "White coats," so called because they wore white
coats which they promised to dye in the blood of the
enemy. But they met the terrible Ironsides at Marston
Moor, and in a conflict of furious bravery on both sides,
all of the gallant thousand except thirty were slain on
the field of battle.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This was in July of 1644, but it did not affect the siege
of Newcastle, which still dragged obstinately on, under
the skilful guidance of the dauntless Mayor. By
October, Sir John Marley was so buoyed up by his success
that he sent a letter to General Leslie to ask if he was
still alive! This the Scots took to be an insult, and a
grand assault was begun. The Scots were furious, and
the defence was desperate. The roar of the cannon and
the rattle of the musketry were succeeded, as the assault
got nearer and nearer to its aim, by the clashing of swords
and the clanging of pikes. At last, the regiments of
Loudoun and Buccleugh succeeded in forcing their way
into the town. In vain the defenders made their last
gallant charge; their cause was now hopeless, and soon
the market-place was filled with fugitives, who flung
down their arms and cried aloud for quarter at the hands
of the triumphant Scots.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In these days the defender was often made to feel the
anger of the victors, who in the flush and cruelty of
victory avenged their dead, only too terribly, upon the
losing side. Not so at Newcastle. Prominent in its day,
it stands out because of the mercy of the Scottish
conquerors as much as for the heroism of its defence. In
this, the last great struggle on English ground between
Scots and English, it is pleasing indeed to recall facts
that redound to the high honour of both parties.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="montrose-and-lesly"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLV</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">Montrose and Lesly</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>James Graham, the great Marquis of Montrose
who at first sided with the Scottish Covenanters
against Charles I., was so out of sympathy with
the extreme turn which affairs took later against that
unhappy monarch that he went over to the King's side.
Gathering the Highland Clans under his standard, he
marched Southward and defeated the Covenanters in
a series of brilliantly fought battles. He occupied
Edinburgh, and laid great plans to complete the conquest of
Scotland by subduing the Borderland.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If the Borders had remained in their old fighting state
no doubt many a Border chief would have joined
Montrose's army and aided his bold plans. But,
unfortunately for King Charles, the Borders had been
tamed and disarmed since the union of England and
Scotland under James I. Only a few adventurous spirits like
Christie's Will remained as examples of the old wild days.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The remnant of the army of the Covenanters was
commanded by the stern General David Lesly (not the
Alexander Leslie who figures in the preceding chapter),
and was somewhere in the Border district. Gay Gallant
Montrose did not bother as to exactly where this army
was; he despised it too heartily. He himself was at
Selkirk, while his army was encamped on the
neighbouring plain of Philiphaugh.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Montrose was busy writing a cheering message to King
Charles to the effect that he had now no enemy left in
Scotland who could offer an effective resistance to his
arms. Little did he think that General Lesly was
gradually creeping nearer, nearer, and was now actually within
four miles of his army. With the advantage of a thick
Scotch mist, Lesly's men actually burst upon Montrose's
infantry without a single scout having seen them to give
warning of their approach! In such confusion,
Montrose's men had no chance whatever.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The Marquis galloped up, only to find his soldiers
hopelessly defeated and great numbers slain. There was
nothing left but for those to escape who could. The
Marquis succeeded in cutting his way through, and
gathered his troops to fight again later on; but his
efforts were doomed to failure.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>A popular ditty of these days, sung to a stirring tune,
was called "Lesly's March." Sir Walter Scott seems to
regard this as wholly serious, and ranks it as a Covenanter
song. It appears to me, however, that many of the lines
have a very sarcastic flavour; no doubt the Covenanters
did really think that</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"There's none in the right but we,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Of the old Scottish nation";</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>but they would probably have phrased it a little less
baldly. To me it appears as if this song were the work of
an onlooker and not a partisan; one ready to see the
faults of both sides, and very much inclined to hold back
his final opinion till he saw which was going to win.
But let the March speak for itself.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">LESLY'S MARCH</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>March! march:</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Why the de'il do ye na march?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Stand to your arms, my lads,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Fight in good order;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Front about, ye musketeers all,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Till ye come to the English Border;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Stand till 't, and fight like men,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>True gospel to maintain.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>When to the kirk we come,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>We'll purge it ilka room,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That a' the world may see,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>There's nane in the right but we,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Of the auld Scottish nation.</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>A truly partisan ballad of the day describes the battle
of Philiphaugh and exults in the defeat of Montrose,
"our cruel enemy," it calls him. As a ballad it has no
great poetic merit; the very sober Covenanters probably
regarded ballad-making as a frivolity. But it describes
rather graphically how an "aged father," from the
country-side, led Lesly's army very cautiously and
wisely to the very tents of the foe. These details are no
doubt accurate; though the ballad-writer (whoever
he was) displays his ignorance of other matters by making
the old soldier say that he was at the battle of Solway
Moss (which took place one hundred years before) and at
that of Dunbar, which was not fought till five years
later!</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The following are the opening verses of the ballad,
giving an idea of its plain, straightforward style:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>On Philiphaugh a fray began,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>At Hairhead-wood it ended;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sae merrily they bended;</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Sir David frae the Border came,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' heart an' hand came he;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To bear him company.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Wi' him three thousand valiant men,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>A noble sight to see!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>As close as e'er might be.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>When they came to the Shaw burn,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Said he, "Sae weel we frame.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I think it is convenient</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That we should sing a psalm."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>It is not necessary to quote more of it, but it may be
remarked that in place of the last line as given here, the
</span><em class="italics">unregenerate</em><span> substituted,</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"That we should take a dram."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>In point of actual fact, </span><em class="italics">both</em><span> versions are probably true!</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-death-of-montrose"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLVI</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Death of Montrose</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>During the imprisonment of King Charles I., at
a time when active war on his behalf might
do the unhappy monarch more harm than good,
the gallant Montrose had retired to France. His bright
military fame, his courteous manners, and manly bearing
made him friends everywhere, and when he visited
Germany the Emperor conferred on him the rank of
Marshal. Hearing of the execution of Charles I.,
Montrose at once placed himself at the disposal of Charles II.,
now a fugitive in Holland. This prince named him
Captain General of Scotland, and the daring hero set out
for the Orkney Islands with about five hundred paid
soldiers, mostly adventurous Germans and Dutchmen.
Only a reckless spirit like Montrose would have
undertaken so wild a commission.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Scotland was heartily sick of war, and learnt with
consternation of the arrival of this firebrand. Lesly was
sent forward with four thousand men to attack Montrose's
five hundred! Colonel Strachan led the advanced
guard, which fell unexpectedly upon the invading army,
and, after a brief, fierce struggle, totally defeated it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Montrose, disguised as a peasant, entrusted his life to
one he believed to be his friend, M'Leod, Laird of
Assaint. But this unworthy man betrayed him to his
bitterest enemy, General Lesly. Thus, at last, this
brilliant commander was in the hands of the bitter
Covenanters, into whose hearts his brilliant victories
had once spread such terror. Their treatment of him is
a black stain upon their memory. For days he was led
about in the peasant's disguise, which he had put
on; he was carted through the streets of Edinburgh,
accompanied by such insults that the populace cried
shame upon his captors.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>When tried before the Scottish Parliament for treason,
he made a most eloquent defence, one of the most notable
of his assertions being that he had never stained his
victories by slaughtering his foes in cold blood after the
battle. In this he was far above his enemies, who had
disgraced their victory of Philiphaugh by many an
execution, and who were now bent upon taking the life of
Montrose himself. The sentence against him was
probably decided before his defence had been heard; it
ran thus:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"That James Graham should next day be carried to
Edinburgh cross and there hanged on a gibbet 30 feet
high for the space of three hours; then to be taken down,
his head to be struck off on a scaffold and affixed to the
prison; his arms and legs to be stuck up on the four
chief towns of the Kingdom, his body to be buried
in the place set aside for common criminals."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To this sentence the great Marquis haughtily replied
that he would rather have his head so placed than his
picture in the King's bedchamber, and that he wished he
had limbs enough to be dispersed into all the cities of
Christendom, to prove his dying attachment to his king.
And in the one evening of life that still remained to him,
this accomplished and fearless nobleman employed his
time in turning these loyal sentiments into verse.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Despite the fact that he triumphed undaunted over all
the mean inventions of their malice, his enemies persisted
to the end.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The executioner tied mockingly round his neck the
book that had been published describing his victories;
Montrose thanked him, saying that he wore it with more
pride than he had ever worn the garter of honour. He
uttered a short prayer; then asking them what more
indignities they had prepared for him, he patiently and
with unbroken spirit yielded his life to the hangman, at
the too early age of thirty-eight.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Whatever opinions we may have as to the rights and
wrongs of the quarrel, this brutal killing of a gallant
soldier and accomplished gentleman can only rank as a
hideous blot upon all concerned in it. Every insult
hurled at Montrose has returned in the verdict of time
with redoubled force against the malice of those who
stooped to such vindictiveness. The execution of a
soldier who has violated no rule of war is at any time
a thing that revolts the human conscience, and a
sentence hoarse with the vile taunts of its utterers has so
far lost all semblance of justice that it is needless to
argue upon it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In the verdict of history, the great Marquis of
Montrose, whether right or wrong in his political views,
lived and died like a man of honour.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The ballad of the "Gallant Grahams," written about
this time, reflects very sincerely and touchingly the
devotion and affection surrounding the great Marquis,
accompanied by the very Scottish feeling that in
addition to his own personal power and genius, he
was also the head of the great Border family of Grahams.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold">THE GALLANT GRAHAMS</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For I maun away, and I may not stay,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To some uncouth land which I never knew.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] A corruption of Endrickdale.
The principal and most ancient
possessions of the Montrose family lie
along the water of Endrick, in
Dumbartonshire.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>To wear the blue I think it best,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Of all the colours that I see;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That are banished from their countrie.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>I have no gold, I have no land,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>I have no pearl nor precious stane;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But I wald sell my silken snood,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>To see the gallant Grahams come hame.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>In Wallace days, when they began,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the gree</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Through all the lands of Scotland wide:</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>He was lord of the south countrie.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The faithful friend and adherent of the
immortal Wallace slain at
the battle of Falkirk.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And so was seen full many a time;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For the summer flowers did never spring,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But every Graham, in armour bright,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Would then appear before the king.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They were all drest in armour sheen,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Before a king they might be seen,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>These gallant Grahams in their array.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>At the Goukhead our camp we set,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Our leaguer down there for to lay;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And, in the bonny summer light,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>We rode our white horse and our gray.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Our false commander sold our king,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Unto his deadly enemie,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>So I care not what they do with me.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>They have betray'd our noble prince,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And banished him from his royal crown;'</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For to command those traitors down.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>March'd to Glenshie by night and day.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And took the town of Aberdeen,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And met the Campbells in their array.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] Glen-Prosen is in Angusshire,
usually called Forfarshire. The
Glenshee road, over the Grampians,
is the highest road in Great
Britain.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Five thousand men, in armour strong,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Did meet the gallant Grahams that day</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>At Inverlochie, where war began,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And scarce two thousand men were they.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Courageous in the best degree,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Did for the king fight well that day;—</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The Lord preserve his majestie!</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Who aye were true to majestie.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And had him into Edinburgh town;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And frae his body taken the head,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And quarter'd him upon a trone,</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And our noble king is also gone;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He suffer'd death for our nation,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] The Marquis of Huntly,
one of the few Scottish nobles who never
wavered in his devotion to King Charles I.,
was beheaded by the
sentence of the Parliament of Scotland.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>But our brave young king is now come home,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>King Charles the Second in degree;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The Lord send peace into his time,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And God preserve his majestie!</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The ballad-writer's reference to the "coming home"
of Charles II. probably means his signing of the Covenant
and placing himself entirely at the mercy of the violent
bigots who had killed his most faithful servant, Montrose.
To this was Charles reduced by the desperate nature of
his fortunes. But this course of action entirely severed
the Scottish Covenanters from the English Puritans, and
admirers of the gallant Montrose can take a grim pleasure
in the fact that his arch-enemy, General Lesly, was most
disastrously defeated by Cromwell at the battle of
Dunbar.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-borderers-and-the-jacobites"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLVII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Borderers and the Jacobites</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>During the Jacobite Rising, many of the Border
chiefs took up arms in the Stuart cause. Two
of these, Lord Derwentwater and Viscount
Kenmure, were beheaded on Tower Hill for their part in
the unsuccessful rising of 1715, and another, Lord
Nithsdale, was only saved from the same fate by the
courage of his wife.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>This brave woman travelled in the depth of winter
from Scotland, but when she reached York the snow was
so deep that the stage coach could go no further. She
continued her journey alone, though the snow was
above the horse's knees, and by good luck she reached
London and the Tower in safety, where, by bribing the
guards, she managed to see her husband.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>She then resolved to petition the King for his life, and
she herself tells in a letter to her sister how she waited
in the ante-room to see the King (George I.), and how she
threw herself at his feet to present the petition. The
King tried to get away from her, but she seized hold of his
coat, and was dragged on her knees along the floor. This
scene produced no result, and as other efforts to procure
Nithsdale's release also failed, the Countess determined to
save him by a stratagem. She again bribed the guards
to let her in, telling them she had joyful news for her
husband about the petition. She dressed him in woman's
clothes, which she had smuggled in for the occasion, and
painted his face, and brought him out, speaking to him
as to the woman friend who had accompanied her, but
who had already left the prison, calling him "Mrs Betty,"
and asking him for the love of God to go as quickly as he
could to her lodging and fetch her maid, as she wished
to go and present her final petition for the release.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>All went well, and Nithsdale escaped to France; but
the King was highly incensed and declared that the
Countess cost him more trouble than any woman in Europe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Her adventures were not yet over, however. In spite
of the fact that the King had wished for her arrest, she
travelled to Scotland to fetch her son, and the valuable
papers which she had taken the precaution to bury
underground on her departure for London.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>She was successful in this second journey, and, after
concealing herself and her son, until no further search
was made for them, this noble and enterprising
woman escaped to France and joined her husband.
They afterwards went to Rome, where they lived
happily for many years.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In an old ballad called "Lord Nithsdale's Dream," he
is described as dreaming in the Tower the night before
his execution, after having said farewell to his beloved
wife.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."</span></div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>He listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches
the last glimpse of her robe at the door, and then all
joy and gladness depart out of his life, and he prays
alone in his dungeon, thinking of the dreadful dawn
that awaits him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy
again, playing amongst the bracken on the braes of the
Nith, bathing in its waters and treading joyfully the
green heather. Or again he is riding to the hunt on his
gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star
on his breast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain
roe.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling
his love to Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to
her, watching the red blushes rise on her cheeks at his
words of love, and hearing her sweet voice replying.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is
standing by his side, saying the prayers for the dead.
He hears the muffled drum and the bells tolling his death
knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and
the victim is led bare-headed from his cell.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the
pale, misty light of a taper, the form of his wife.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 64%" id="figure-160">
<span id="tis-i-tis-thy-winifred"></span><ANTIMG class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""*'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!*"" src="images/img-242.jpg" />
<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin">
<span class="italics">"</span><em class="italics">'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!</em><span class="italics">"</span></div>
</div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Then she puts woman's garb upon him, and together
they pass the unsuspecting guards and weary sentinels.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>When the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of
their Lord's escape their joy was unbounded.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>One of the songs published and sung everywhere at the
time, begins:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"What news to me, carlin'?</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>What news to me?"</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>"What news!" quo' the carlin',</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>The best that God can gie."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>The speaker asks if the true king has come to his own,
and the carlin' answers.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Our ain Lord Nithsdale</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Will soon be 'mang us here.</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Then the speaker says:—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Brush me my coat, carlin',</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>Brush me my shoon;</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>I'll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale,</span></div>
<div class="line"><span>When he comes to our town."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>"Alack-a-day," says the carlin'. "He has escaped to
France, with scarce a penny."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," says the first speaker, "we'll sell our corn
and everything we have and send the money to our lord,
and we'll make the pipers blow and lads and maidens
dance, and we'll all be glad and joyful and play 'The
Stuarts back again,' and make the Whigs go mad."</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Lord Derwentwater's fate was not so happy as that of
Lord Nithsdale, though Lady Derwentwater made a
desperate effort to save him.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It was she indeed who had urged him to throw in his
lot with the Stuarts, saying that it was not good that he
should hide his head when other gentlemen were mustering
for the cause.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The peasantry still think that Lady Derwentwater
sits on her ruined tower lamenting the evil counsel she
gave her husband, and they hasten by in fear when they
see her lamp-light flickering.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Derwentwater is described in the old ballads, as "a
bonny lord," with hair of gold, and kind love dwelling
in his hawk-like eyes.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He passionately loved his beautiful home in Tynedale,
the foundations of which may still be seen. The wooded
glen below the castle, with the little burn running through
it, spanned by a grey bridge is romantically beautiful.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His "Farewell" to all this beauty is pathetic.</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My father's ancient seat;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A stranger now must call thee his,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Which gars[#] my heart to greet.[#]</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Farewell each kindly well-known face,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My heart has held so dear:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>My tenants now must leave their lands,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Or hold their lives in fear.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] makes.
<br/>[#] weep.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>No more along the banks of Tyne,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>I'll rove in autumn grey;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>No more I'll hear, at early dawn,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The lav'rocks[#] wake the day:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And Forster ever true.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Receive my last adieu.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] larks.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And fare thee well, George Collingwood,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Since fate has put us down,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>If thou and I have lost our lives,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Our King has lost his crown.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Ill, ill thou counsell'dst me:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I never more may see thy babe</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That smiles upon thy knee.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That carried me aye so free;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>I wish I had been asleep in my bed,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The last time I mounted thee.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>The warning bell now bids me cease;</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My troubles nearly o'er;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Yon sun that rises from the sea,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Shall rise on me no more.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>Albeit that here in London town</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>It is my fate to die,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>O carry me to Northumberland,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In my father's grave to lie:</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There chant my solemn requiem</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>In Hexham's holy towers,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And let six maids of fair Tynedale</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Scatter my grave with flowers.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>And when the head that wears the crown,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Shall be laid low like mine,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Some honest hearts may then lament</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>For Radcliff's fallen line.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>My father's ancient seat;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>A stranger now must call thee his,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Which gars my heart to greet."</span></div>
<div class="line"> </div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="pfirst"><span>Before his death, Earl Derwentwater signed a paper
acknowledging "King James the Third" as his
sovereign, and saying that he hoped his death would
contribute to the service of his King.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>He is said to have looked closely at the block, and
to have asked the executioner to chip off a rough place
that might hurt his neck. Then, pulling off his coat
and waistcoat, he tried if the block would fit his head,
and told the executioner that when he had repeated
"Lord Jesus receive my soul" for the third time, he
was to do his office, which the executioner accordingly
did at one blow.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>History tells that Derwentwater was brave and
open-hearted and generous, and that his fate drew tears from
the spectators, and was a great misfortune to his country.
He was kind to the people on his estates, to the poor, the
widow and the orphan.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>His request to be buried with his ancestors was refused,
and he was interred at St Giles, Holborn, but his corpse
was afterwards removed and carried secretly to
Northumberland, where it was deposited in Dilston Chapel. The
aurora borealis, which appeared remarkably vivid on
the night of his execution, was long called in that part
of the country "Lord Derwentwater's Lights."</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Immediately after Derwentwater's execution, Lord
Kenmure also suffered death. After his execution, a
letter was found in his pocket addressed to the Pretender,
by the title of King James, saying that he died in his
faithful service, and asking him to provide for his wife
and children.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The following ballad describes his rising in the Stuart
cause—</span></p>
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>"O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Kenmure's on and awa';</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That ever Galloway saw.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Success to Kenmure's band!</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There's no a heart that fears a Whig,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>That rides by Kenmure's hand.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>His lady's cheek was red, Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>His lady's cheek was red,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Which smell'd o' deadly feud.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Here's Kenmure's health in wine;</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Nor yet o' Gordon's line.</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span class="small">[#] armour.</span></p>
<!-- -->
<blockquote>
<div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>There's a rose in Kenmure's cap,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blade,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Afore the battle drap.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Here's him that's far awa', Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>Here's him that's far awa',</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And here's the flower that I lo'e best,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>The rose that's like the snaw.</span></div>
</div></div>
<div class="line-block outermost">
<div class="line"><span>O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>O Kenmure's lads are men,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>Their hearts and swords are metal true,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>And that their foes shall ken.</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>They'll live, or die wi' fame,</span></div>
</div>
<div class="line"><span>And soon wi' sound o' victorie</span></div>
<div class="inner line-block">
<div class="line"><span>May Kenmure's lord come hame."</span></div>
</div></div>
</div>
</blockquote>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="the-nine-nicks-o-thirlwall"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLVIII</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>If you stand upon Rose Hill, which rises from the
banks of the river Irthing just where Northumberland
meets Cumberland, you have lying around you
one of the finest wild prospects in the United Kingdom.
Hills to the north, stretching away into Scotland; hills
to the east, broken into picturesque valleys, especially
the great gap through which rushes the young Tyne;
hills to the south, dominated by the powerful head of
Cross Fell, a great sprawling mountain, not a peaked one,
the highest stretch of which is nearly three thousand feet
above sea level.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But while drinking in the glories of the distances, the
eye will note with curiosity a strange-looking but
picturesque hill only a couple of miles to the South-east,
with a long rocky ridge at its top deeply cut into or
"nicked" in nine different places, this giving it a very
wild appearance. It is one of these hills which tempts
the keen observer to go on and explore it. If we cut
direct to it, over the fields, it is rough going, but the view
is good all the way. And there are four special objects of
interest, all close together; the rushing Tipalt river,
Thirlwall Castle, the Roman wall, and the Nine Nicks.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Thirlwall Castle rises tall, square, and stern, with a dark
fir-wood behind it at the foot of the hill, where a bend in
the river makes a natural moat. Approaching it from
Rose Hill, it looks as if the building were still nearly
complete, but the south side has almost entirely fallen
away and all the floors and the roof are out. Edward
I. slept in this Castle when it was newly built, in 1306;
but now it is grass-grown and moss-grown, and its
three bare walls rise gaunt and grim to the sky. It is
entirely built out of stones with Roman chisel marks,
taken from the great Roman wall, which unfortunately
was once regarded as a handy stone-quarry for anyone
to take from.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The name "Thirlwall" means "Drill-wall," and marks
the spot as that at which the wild Northern tribes first
"drilled" or broke through the wall. The name was,
of course, given to the place long before this castle was
built.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>To mount from Thirlwall Castle to the top of the Nine
Nicks is an easy enough task for any vigorous person.
It is just a fine healthy scramble. When at the top, it
becomes evident that some sort of fortification once
existed there. In point of fact this was the important
Roman station called "Magna" which stood at about
the middle of the Roman Wall. The wall ran from sea
to sea, that is to say, from the mouth of the Tyne to the
Solway. Thus it was nearly eighty miles long, and a
very elaborate structure indeed.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It consisted of three distinct portions:—</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>1. The main stone wall, with a ditch to the north
of it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>2. An earth-work to the south of this, consisting of
either two or three ramparts about seventy feet apart,
with a ditch between.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>8. Stations, Castles and Watch-towers. Sometimes
these were to the north of the wall, sometimes in the
middle, sometimes south, according to the nature of the
country.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The height of the main wall was from sixteen to twenty
feet, including battlements. It was six to nine feet
thick. Fancy a powerful military wall of about eighteen
feet high stretching nearly eighty miles right across
England! It hardly seems possible that the Romans
could undertake such a work. The square strong stones
were carefully selected and often brought from quarries
at a distance. These stones flanked the outsides of the
wall, and in between was strong concrete which was
poured in while in liquid.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>The second wall was of earth and stones, and, of
course, lower than the first. Then there was a castle
every mile, some of which can still be clearly traced, and
a "station," about every four miles, of which several
interesting ruins remain. There was a road eighteen feet
wide between the two walls.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Those who have the energy to toil on for a full dozen
miles of rough walking, along the wall, eastward from
Thirlwall, will be rewarded by some of the most romantic
scenes in Britain. They will see the wall at its best.
They will pass Whinshields, the highest point in the wall,
1230 feet above sea level. The wild Northumbrian
lakes will lie at their feet; if the day is fine, the Solway
will be seen glistening, thirty miles to the west; and on
the east the eye follows the Tyne almost to the sea. The
Pennine Ridge bars the view twenty miles to the south,
while on the North the High Cheviot is clear and strong,
thirty miles away.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Passing Whinshields, it is not far to Borcovicus (often
called Housteads) where lie the remains of a large Roman
Station, wonderful remains, showing the whole outline
with startling clearness. This station covered five acres,
and here was quartered a cohort of the Tungrian infantry,
consisting of a thousand brave soldiers, servants of
Imperial Rome.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But, after all, nothing is so impressive as the remains
of the wall itself. Stand at the top either of Whinshields
or of the Nine Nicks, and try to imagine what it looked
like in Roman days. Eastward along the Tyne valley
and westward along the Irthing valley ran this wonderful
work, this powerful girdle of stone. The very spot was
chosen with great judgment, for these valleys gave the
Romans a district protected by the bleak hills, where
they could live and where they could keep cattle and grow
grain. But the hilly nature of the ground must have
added to the difficulty of the builders. The wall had to
run up steep hill sides and cling to the edge of cliffs, and
precipices; it had to be carried by bridges over roaring
torrents, and when it reached low-lying ground it had to
avoid the treacherous swamps and morasses. And yet,
despite every obstacle, the great wall ran on its direct
way, as strong and persistent as the great people who
built it.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>It withstood the shock of war, it was not flung down
by soldiers marching against it. But to the people who
wanted to build castles or houses or farms, or even to
mend roads, the wall offered a mass of material ready to
hand, and it suffered not from man's energy so much as
from his laziness. Century after century it was robbed
of its stones; to-day a series of long grass-grown mounds,
a few feet high, running across the meadows, are nearly all
that remain of one of the most wonderful pieces of
building that was ever erected in Great Britain. Even today,
in its decay, it is one of the most romantic features
of a highly romantic district.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst" id="in-wild-northumberland-to-day"><span class="bold large">Chapter XLIX</span></p>
<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">In Wild Northumberland To-day</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"></div>
<p class="pfirst"><span>These tales of the Borders would hardly be
complete without a few concluding words about
the great romantic charm which still invests
the Borderline. Let us, for example, make a brief survey
of some of the haunting spots in wild Northumberland.
We will pass over such towns as Warkworth, Alnwick,
Alnmouth; beautiful as they are, they have moved with
the times and are too modern to be more than mentioned
here. But in a place like Holy Island we feel the call
of the old days, and the charm that was theirs. This
Island was the scene of the first efforts of Christianity to
curb the wild and warlike Northumbrians; St Aidan,
and St Cuthbert, both men of remarkable genius and
great influence, taught there lessons of peace and justice
without which every warlike state would descend into
mere savagery. The island is about two miles square,
and at low tide it is easy to walk across the sands to or
from the mainland of Northumberland. The distance is
two and a half miles, and it is necessary to take off shoes
and stockings, for the water on the sands will often be
six inches deep. A row of posts marks the way, and some
of them have ladders, reaching up to a barrel on the top,
so that any caught by the tide can find a safe harbour
wherein they will suffer nothing more serious than a long
wait! The island is inhabited by fishing folk, living
simple healthy lives. There are fine rocks and splendid
sands; beautiful flowers and lovely shells. The
seabirds are wonderful. The ruins of the old Cathedral
and castle are very interesting, it is a delightful
old-world place, out of the rush and hurry of modern life.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>Retracing our steps to the mainland, and proceeding
westward for a dozen or so miles as the crow flies, we
reach the River Till, and the field of Flodden. Here we
are near to the big wild wall of the Cheviot hills, and to
keep on the English side of the border we need to turn
due south. It is then about thirty miles of rough
walking through these grandly rugged hills before
we come to the field of Otterburn.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>But we realise in that walk how it was that the district
produced and still produces a hardy race of hunters and
sheep-farmers, and why it is that the towns and farms
nestle in the valleys, so that the Borderers, when they
meant to say, "Rouse the neighbourhood," used the
phrase, "Raise the </span><em class="italics">water</em><span>" (meaning, of course, the houses
along the waterside). Further south, still going among
splendid shaggy hills, we reach the North Tyne River,
and soon afterwards some highly interesting Roman
remains, including the arches of a fine bridge over the
river at the Roman Station of Cilurnum, near Chollerford.
This is on the Roman Wall, which has already been
described under the heading of Thirlwall. A few miles
to the west would bring us to the picturesque but
little-known Northumberland Lakes, where the wild swans
nest. If we continue south and south-west we can follow
the beautiful valleys of the Allan or the South Tyne.
This is a district of hills, roads, and castles; the domain
of the fated Lord Derwentwater was near here. For
beauty the whole of this neighbourhood would be hard to
beat; yet it is too little known.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>If we still go south, the scenery grows wilder and
wilder as we approach the huge mountain of Cross Fell.
We may cross into south-east Cumberland and visit
the quaint old town of Alston, one of the highest towns
in England. Here were once the royal silver mines,
when English coins were made from Alston silver.
Lead is chiefly mined there now, and the mines are
worth a visit. Near Cross Fell also is a rough road
called the "Maiden Way," and an old legend says it
was made by women, who carried the stones in their
aprons! The western slope of the Fell is famous for
a specially violent wind called the "Helm wind,"
which rages there at certain seasons. It is just as if
it were rushing fiercely down the hill, with a roaring
noise and strength enough to overturn a horse and cart,
and to beat the grass and grain till it is black! But
though it does a deal of damage it is very exhilarating,
making people feel merry in spite of themselves. And
on Cross Fell slopes can be seen the beautiful River
Tees, which can be followed to its grand waterfalls of the
the Cauldron and the High Force. In the first the
water dashes on to huge rocks, and is thrown back
on itself, roaring, foaming, and fighting; in the second,
it tumbles sheer down a dark and noble cliff. And
everywhere on the heights there are splendid views.</span></p>
<p class="pnext"><span>In making any such excursions as the ones here
outlined, into the out-of-the-way parts of Northumberland
and the Borders, we find an added pleasure in the
character of the people. The Borderers are still a
grand race; big men, vigorous, honest, courteous,
hospitable, free from all that is mean and small. In
some districts you can hear "thou" and "thee"
still used, and meet old men who have never seen a
railway. One dear old farmer, a real picture of a
simple honest man, hearing I had come from London,
asked me if the London men had got their hay-crop
in yet! One typical Northumbrian, of great natural
intelligence, bearing a name famous on the Borders,
is station-master at a local station that stands in a wood,
and between trains, studies bird and wild-flower till
he has made himself a most interesting naturalist. A
stranger who has lost his way will find these courteous
folk ready to walk a mile or two with him, out of their
own way, just to set him right; and he who is tired
and hungry will be invited to step in and eat, and
perhaps find himself introduced to all the family and
treated like an honoured guest; then, not a penny of
payment taken, they will set him on his way with a
bunch of the best flowers from the garden! For hearts
on the Border are very human and warm. So that
in due time he who knows the Borderers will delight
to hear the unmistakeable Northumbrian or the
pronounced Border accent. And he will say to himself:
Splendid is the Border scenery, and stirring are the
Border ballads, but best of all are the Border men.</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"></div>
<p class="center pfirst"><span class="large">TOLD THROUGH THE AGES</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Legends of Greece and Rome
<br/>Favourite Greek Myths
<br/>Stories of Robin Hood and his Merry Outlaws
<br/>Stories of King Arthur and his Knights
<br/>Stories from Herodotus
<br/>Stories from Wagner
<br/>Britain Long Ago
<br/>Stories from Scottish History
<br/>Stories from Greek Tragedy
<br/>Stories from Dickens
<br/>Stories from the Earthly Paradise
<br/>Stories from the Æneid
<br/>The Book of Rustem
<br/>Stories from Chaucer
<br/>Stories from the Old Testament
<br/>Stories from the Odyssey
<br/>Stories from the Iliad
<br/>Told by the Northmen
<br/>Stories from Don Quixote
<br/>The Story of Roland
<br/>Stories from Thucydides
<br/>The Story of Hereward
<br/>Stories from the Faerie Queene
<br/>Cuchulain: The Hound of Ulster
<br/>Stories from Xenophon
<br/>Old Greek Nature Stories
<br/>Stories from Shakespeare
<br/>Stories from Dante
<br/>Famous Voyages of the Great Discoverers
<br/>The Story of Napoleon
<br/>Stories of Pendennis and the Charterhouse
<br/>Sir Guy of Warwick
<br/>Heroes of the Middle Ages
<br/>The Story of the Crusades
<br/>The Story of Nelson
<br/>Stories from George Eliot
<br/>Froissart's Chronicles
<br/>Shakespeare's Stories of the English Kings
<br/>Heroes of Modern Europe
<br/>The Story of King Robert the Bruce
<br/>Stories of the Scottish Border
<br/>The Story of the French Revolution
<br/>The Story of Lord Kitchener
<br/>Stories of the Saints
<br/>The Story of St Elizabeth of Hungary
<br/>In Feudal Times
<br/>The High Deeds of Finn
<br/>Early English Travel and Discovery
<br/>Legends of Ancient Egypt
<br/>The Story of the Renaissance
<br/>Boyhood Stories of Famous Men
<br/>Stories from French History
<br/>Stories from English History
<br/>Famous English Books and their Stories
<br/>Women of the Classics
<br/>In the Days of the Guilds
<br/>Science through the Ages</span></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"></div>
<p class="noindent pfirst"><em class="italics small">Other volumes in active preparation</em></p>
<div class="vspace" style="height: 6em"></div>
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