{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_38845/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_38845","id":"gutenberg_38845","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38845","summary":null,"tags":["Ballads","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Great Britain -- History","Scotland -- History"],"text":"Produced by Al Haines.\n\n\n\n[Illustration: _The Rookhope Ride_]\n\n\n\n\n                             STORIES OF THE\n                            SCOTTISH BORDER\n\n\n                                   BY\n\n                        Mr and Mrs WILLIAM PLATT\n\n\n\n                WITH SIXTEEN FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS BY\n                          M. MEREDITH WILLIAMS\n\n\n\n                      GEORGE G. HARRAP & CO. LTD.\n                          LONDON BOMBAY SYDNEY\n\n\n\n\n                    _First published December 1910_\n                    _by_ GEORGE G. HARRAP & COMPANY\n             _39-41 Parker Street, Kingsway, London, W.C.2\n                 Reprinted: December 1916; March 1919;\n                              April 1929_\n\n\n\n       _Printed in Great Britain by Turnbull & Spears, Edinburgh_\n\n\n\n\n                               *Contents*\n\n\nINTRODUCTION\n\n      I. THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS\n     II. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER\n    III. WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US\n\n\nCHAP.\n\n      I. Bamburgh and its Coast\n     II. Athelstan at Vinheath\n    III. Monks and Minstrels\n     IV. Sir Patrick Spens\n      V. Auld Maitland\n     VI. The Mystery of the Eildons\n    VII. Black Agnes of Dunbar\n   VIII. The Young Tamlane\n     IX. The Gay Goss-Hawk\n      X. The Corbies\n     XI. Otterbourne and Chevy Chase\n    XII. The Douglas Clan\n   XIII. Alnwick Castle and the Percies\n    XIV. Hexham and Queen Margaret\n     XV. Fair Helen of Kirkconnell\n    XVI. Johnie of Breadislee\n   XVII. Katharine Janfarie\n  XVIII. By Lauder Bridge\n    XIX. The Battle of Flodden Field\n     XX. After Flodden\n    XXI. Graeme and Bewick\n   XXII. The Song of the Outlaw Murray\n  XXIII. Johnie Armstrong\n   XXIV. The Lament of the Border Widow\n    XXV. The Raid of the Kers\n   XXVI. Merrie Carlisle\n  XXVII. Kinmont Willie\n XXVIII. Dick o' the Cow\n   XXIX. The Lochmaben Harper\n    XXX. The Rookhope Ride\n   XXXI. Barthram's Dirge\n  XXXII. Queen Mary and the Borders\n XXXIII. The Raid of the Reidswire\n  XXXIV. Jock o' the Side\n   XXXV. Hobbie Noble\n  XXXVI. The Laird o' Logie\n XXXVII. Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead\nXXXVIII. Muckle-Mou'd Meg\n  XXXIX. The Dowie Dens of Yarrow\n     XL. Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland\n    XLI. Gilderoy\n   XLII. Archie Armstrong's Oath\n  XLIII. Christie's Will\n   XLIV. Northumberland at the Time of the Civil War\n    XLV. Montrose and Lesly\n   XLVI. The Death of Montrose\n  XLVII. The Borderers and the Jacobites\n XLVIII. The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall\n   XLIX. In Wild Northumberland To-Day\n\n\n\n\n                            *Illustrations*\n\nThe Rookhope Ride. . . . . . . Frontispiece\n\nEgil at Vinheath\n\nThe Siege of Maitland Castle\n\nBlack Agnes\n\nThe Twa Corbies\n\nThe Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham\n\nJohnie of Breadislee.\n\nFlodden Field\n\n\"Tell Us All--Oh, Tell Us True!\"\n\nThe Border Widow\n\nThe Escape of Kinmont Willie\n\nQueen Mary crossing the Solway\n\n\"A Boon, a Boon, my Noble Liege!\"\n\n\"She Kissed his Cheek, She Kaim'd his Hair\"\n\nThe Storming of Newcastle\n\n\"'Tis I, 'Tis thy Winifred!\"\n\n\n\n\n_In liquid murmurs Yarrow sings_\n  _Her reminiscent tune_\n_Of bygone Autumn, bygone Springs,_\n  _And many a leafy June._\n\n_No more the morning beacons gleam_\n  _Upon the silent hills;_\n_The far back years are years of dream--_\n  _Now peace the valley fills._\n\n_No more the reivers down the vale_\n  _On raid and foray ride;_\n_No more is heard the widow's wail_\n  _O'er those who fighting died._\n\n_When morning damns with all its joys_\n  _Then from the meadows rise_\n_A hundred throbbing hearts to voice_\n  _Their anthems to the skies._\n\n_When noontide sleeps where brackens wave,_\n  _Ere shadows yet grow long,_\n_No sound awakes the echoes save_\n  _The Yarrow's pensive song._\n\n_And when the eve, with calm delight,_\n  _Betokens night is nigh,_\n_Beneath the first star's tender light_\n  _Is heard the owlet's cry._\n\n_While Yarrow's liquid cadence swells_\n  _By meadow, moor, and hill,_\n_At morn or noon or eve there dwells_\n  _A mournful memory still._\n\nW. CUTHBERTSON.\n\n\n\n\n                    *Stories of The Scottish Border*\n\n\n                             *Introduction*\n\n                   *I.--THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS*\n\n\nThe district called the Border is one of the most interesting in Great\nBritain.  It consists of that part of England that is nearest Scotland,\nand that part of Scotland that is nearest England, mainly the counties\nof Northumberland, Cumberland, Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, and\nDumfriesshire.\n\nThe country is very picturesque and highly romantic. It abounds in great\nrolling, breezy hills, with swift streamlets or \"burns\" running down\ntheir sides to swell the rushing rivers.  No part of our island has more\nbeautiful valleys than those of the Border.\n\nThis bold, rough district, well adapted to defence, and situated also\njust where the island of Great Britain is almost at its narrowest,\nbecame, after many a struggle, the boundary between England and\nScotland.  The character of the country was suited to the rearing of\nhardy Moorland sheep and cattle; its inhabitants therefore were a tough,\nopen-air race of men, strong, strapping fellows, fearless riders, always\nready for an adventure, especially if it meant a fight.\n\nIn those days of Border strife there was hardly such a thing as\ninternational justice, that is to say, the people of one nation were not\nvery particular as to what they did to people of another nation;\ntherefore these bold, hardy Border men, Englishmen and Scot alike, were\nfond of creeping across the boundary to steal the cattle of their\nneighbours.  Men devoted to such raids were called \"Freebooters\" or\n\"Mosstroopers,\" the name \"Moss\" being given in the North Country to\nboggy tracts that lie about the hill-sides.\n\nSo it happened that the Border was in a perpetual state of petty\nwarfare, conducted, it is true, with a certain amount of good-will and a\nrough approach to chivalry, and with the concurrence of the powerful\nBorder nobles of both nations, who often played an important part\ntherein.  At times these raids developed into important warlike\nexpeditions, when a fierce noble, or even a king, had some reckless game\nto play.  Hence, among the ballads which give us so vivid an account of\nBorder strife, we find descriptions not only of the minor doings of\npicturesque sheep-stealers, but also of pitched battles such as Chevy\nChase and Homildon Hill.\n\nThe union of England and Scotland in 1603 naturally put an end to all\nthe former excuses for raiding, and therefore terminated the true\nFreebooter period.  After this, despite one or two belated attempts,\nsuch as Elliot's big raid in 1611, sheep-stealing ceased to be looked\nupon as an honourable calling, and became mere thieving. The men who\nwould have raided one another's farms in 1602 became friendly neighbours\nafter the Border Commission of 1605.  There had been little malice in\ntheir former freebooting.  Both sides were of one race; and they had the\npleasure of finding that their lands went up greatly in value in\nconsequence of the Border peace.\n\nTo-day, the Border presents scenes of peaceful cattle-farming.  But\nRomance is still in the air, hangs about the fine, breezy moorlands and\nbeautiful dales, and is seen clearly in the faces of the healthy\nBorder-folk.  A holiday at any Border farm would prove a most enjoyable\none.  There are wonderful Roman remains, for here it was that the Romans\nbuilt their wall; there are castles of the Border barons; the views are\nwide and grand; the river-valleys are unmatched for beauty, and\ndelightful wild flowers are plentiful, chief among which are fox-gloves,\nthe giant wild Canterbury Bells, the handsome North Country wild\ngeranium, several interesting kinds of wild orchids, and a variety of\nothers too numerous to mention.  Last, but not least, it is often\npossible in the evenings to see the farmers' sons engaged in friendly\nwrestling in the meadows, when we can realise that these great manly\nfellows are of the same vigorous race that kept the Borders lively a few\ncenturies ago.\n\n\n\n                   II.--A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER\n\n\nBefore dealing in detail with the stirring stories of Border history and\nlegend, to retell which is the purpose of this book, we will first\ninquire--What is it that settles exactly the position of the border-line\nbetween two countries?  To find the answer we must think what happens\nwhen a country is invaded.\n\nIf the invaders are stronger than the people whom they attack, they go\non thrusting back their foes till these reach some strong position\nwhere, by the aid of mountain, river, or marsh, they are able, at any\nrate for a time, to hold their own.  Thus, a border-line is always\ndetermined by some natural feature of the country which gives the\ndefenders an advantage.\n\nThe attackers will not always operate from the same locality, and the\ndefenders will not always fall back in the same direction; the two\nsides, also, will vary in power from time to time.  For these reasons a\nborder-line, especially in the old fighting days, was often altered.\n\nWhen the Romans invaded Britain they gradually conquered the southern\npart of it, but they could not subdue the wilder north; one of their\nboundary lines was drawn from the Solway to the Tyne; then they fought\ntheir way further north and their next definite boundary was a line\nrunning from the Forth to the Clyde. Along each of these boundaries they\nbuilt a great wall, and to this day parts of these Roman walls remain.\nBut it is worth noting that neither of these wall border-lines stands\nupon the present border, one being all in England and the other all in\nScotland.\n\nWhen the Romans left Britain, called back to defend their own native\nland from invasion, there followed a brief period for which we have no\ndefinite record of events in this island.  This is the period of King\nArthur, and none can say how much is true in the Arthurian legends.\n\nBut history begins to become clear again about the time that the Angles\ncame in their ships across the North Sea, bent on conquest.  They landed\non all the natural harbours of the east coast, driving the Britons back\nand taking the land for themselves.  The fact that they landed on the\nEast and drove the Britons westward, leads us to think that sooner or\nlater a boundary would have been formed dividing the island into the\neast side (for the Angles) and the west side (for the Britons).\n\nNow that is exactly what did happen.  The border-lines were nowhere like\nthe present ones.  The northern kingdom of the Angles reached to the\nForth, where these people founded Edinburgh (Edwin's burgh).  On the\nwest the Britons had sway in Cornwall (Corn-Walles), Wales, Cumbria\n(which stretched from the Mersey to the Solway), and Strathclyde (from\nthe Solway to the Clyde).  North of the Forth was the country of the\nPicts; while the Scots were a race recently come from Ireland, and they\nonly owned what we now call Argyleshire, and the islands lying near to\nit.  Not one inch of the present Border was at that day in the\nborder-line!\n\nOf the various races that lay round about where the Border now is, the\nNorthumbrians seemed at first to be the strongest.  The capital of their\nkingdom was Bamburgh, a place still famous for its castle, though to-day\nit is not important enough to have a railway station!  But it still\nlooks very picturesque on the wild coast, with the Farne Islands, the\nfirst seat of Northumbrian Christianity, in the near distance.\n\nAmbition had much to do with the downfall of Northumbria.  The famous\nKing Eadbert would not rest content till he had scaled Dumbarton, the\ncapital of Strathclyde.  This was to his career what the march to Moscow\nwas to Napoleon's, for, though Eadbert got safely to Dumbarton (756) his\narmy was cut to pieces in getting back again.  The Northumbrians seem to\nhave lost some of their northern lands, for they moved their capital\nfurther south, to the old Roman city of Corbridge which stood on the\nTyne just where the delightful country town of that name stands to-day.\n\nIn 844 a king of the Scots, named Kenneth MacAlpin, became (we don't\nquite know how) king of the Picts also, joining two strong races under\none ruler, and thus was powerful enough to give great trouble to the\nweakened kingdom of Northumbria.  He several times led his army through\nLothian, the district belonging to the Angles between the Forth and the\nTweed, but was never quite able to conquer it.  It is important to\nremember that up to that date Lothian had never belonged to Scotland.\nThe appearance of the Danes added to the confusion of those restless\ndays.  For some few years it was doubtful whether Scot, Dane, or Angle\nwould get the best of it in Northumbria.  But at last the genius of\nAthelstan of Wessex revived the power of the Angles over the whole of\nthat large part of the island which they had settled, right up to the\nForth itself.  Edinburgh was still English in 957, and the border-line\nwas still very far from the present one.  But there was no longer a king\nof Northumbria; only an earl, who was subject to the will of the\nWest-Saxon kings.\n\nThis fact of the dominance of the West Saxons, whose capital was far to\nthe south at Winchester, must have added to the weakness of the\nNorthumbrian border. By the year 963 the Scots had conquered Edinburgh,\nand it was now never again to return to English rule. Before very long\nthe whole of Lothian had passed under Scottish control; but it was not\nyet held to be part of Scotland.  Nor must it be thought that this\nconquest of Lothian fixed the border-line in its present position, for\nthe king of the Scots was at that time ruler over Cumberland, which had\nnever yet been English and was all that was left of the old British\nkingdom of Cumbria.\n\nFrontier wars with varying successes between Scot, Angle, and Dane mark\nthe stormy history of this time. The power of Cnut held back the Scotch\nattempts upon Nothumberland; but during a lull in the wars the grand-son\nof the Scottish king married the sister of Earl Siward, and received as\nher dowry twelve towns in the valley of the Tyne, an astonishingly\nimprudent arrangement.\n\nAt the time of the battle of Hastings, the earldom of Northumberland was\nso far distant from Winchester as to be somewhat out of the control of\nthe King of England; the power of the Scottish kings threatened it; they\nheld twelve towns in Tynedale, and Cumberland was a part of Scotland.\nThe Northumbrians refused to accept William the Conqueror as their king;\nand had they been able to make good their refusal, they must sooner or\nlater have been conquered by the Scots, and the border-line between\nEngland and Scotland would then most probably have been formed by the\nTees, the mountain boundary of Westmoreland, and Morecambe Bay.\n\nBut William was not a king to be played with.  He reduced Northumberland\nto subjection and carried his army into Scotland as far as the river\nTay, where he forced the King of Scotland to admit that he, William, was\nhis overlord.\n\nNotwithstanding this humiliation, when King William returned to\nWinchester, the Scots several times went back to their favourite\namusement of raiding unhappy Northumberland.\n\nOne of these invasions took place in the reign of William Rufus (1093),\nwho went north in person.  He doubtless recognised the fact that owing\nto the Scots possessing Cumberland they were in the strong position of\nbeing able to attack Northumberland on two sides. He took Cumberland by\nforce of arms, and thus for the first time it became a part of England\n(the word \"Cumberland\" means the land of the Cumbrians or Welsh, a Saxon\nform of the Welsh word Cymry).\n\nRufus rebuilt the strong fortress of Carlisle to defend his new border\nat its weakest corner.  For the most part this border is excellently\nprotected by the natural rampart of the wild Cheviot Hills, and is in\nevery way as good a border as could be devised.  It runs in a fairly\nstraight line from south-west to north-east, across a narrow part of the\nisland.\n\nBut although this border-line proved to be a permanent one, it must not\nbe thought that it remained undisputed.  The times were rough, and hardy\nfighting folk lived on the Border.  They had many grounds for quarrel,\nand took advantage of them all.  For one thing, the exact boundary of\nNorth Cumberland was never quite defined till 1552; up to which year\nthere was a tract of land between the rivers Esk and Sark, which was\nclaimed by both countries, and therefore called the \"Debateable Land.\"\nThen the Scots maintained that they were overlords of Northumberland,\nwhile the English kings cherished the notion that they were overlords of\nthe whole island of Britain, and the wild spirits on both sides were\nalways ready to fight.\n\nOut of this fighting spirit sprung the stirring history of the Border,\nwhich forms the theme of the deathless Ballads, the stories of which it\nis now our purpose to retell.\n\n\n\n                  III.--WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US\n\n\nMany a name holds a meaning wrapt up within itself like a nut in its\nshell.  For instance, \"Edinburgh\" is a Saxon name--Edwin's burgh--and\nthe word tells us that this noble city, though now the capital of\nScotland, was originally founded by and belonged to a Saxon king of\nNorthumbria.  The Highlanders, in their own Gaelic language, called it\nDunedin.  This has the same signification as Edinburgh, but, like most\nGaelic names, it is arranged in the reverse order to that in which an\nEnglish name is generally put together. \"Dun\" means burgh, \"Edin\" is\nEdwin.  This is the same Dun that we have in \"Dundee,\" which means the\nburgh on the Tay, and might be translated as \"Tayburgh.\"  \"Dumbarton\"\nmeans the burgh of the Britons, and teaches us another notable lesson,\nnamely, how far north in the old times the British influence extended.\nFor \"British\" in this case means \"Welsh.\"  Nowadays we associate the\nWelsh with Wales only. Formerly there must have been a numerous colony\nof Welsh in Scotland, as the name \"Dumbarton\" testifies, as also many\nScottish family names.  The great name of Wallace itself, for instance,\nsuggests such an origin, for \"Wallace\" is merely a corrupt form of the\nword \"Welsh,\" and proves that the great national hero was of Welsh\nextraction.  Then \"Cumberland\"--Cymry land--means the land of the Welsh,\nor Cymry, as they call themselves.  The county of Cumberland did not\nreally belong to the English till the time of William Rufus.  The first\nsyllable of \"Carlisle\" denotes a Celtic fortified town, and must be\ncompared with the first syllable of \"Carnarvon.\"\n\nThe presence of the Roman wall is shown in many names in Northumberland,\nsuch as \"Wallsend,\" \"Walltown,\" \"Wallridge,\" \"Heddon-on-the-Wall,\"\n\"Wallhouses,\" and \"Thirlwall.\"\n\nFor a very interesting instance of what a name tells us we may leave the\nBorder for a moment and consider why the northernmost part of Scotland\nis called \"Sutherland.\"  It must have been so named by people living in\nthe Orkney and Shetland isles, of a different race from the Scotch--that\nis, Norse settlers in those islands.\n\nWith regard to surnames, how many stop to think that \"Oliphant\" is\nmerely a form of \"elephant,\" and was originally an allusion to a big,\nburly ancestor? \"Grant,\" which is the same as \"grand,\" must also have\nbeen once applied to one who was a giant in size.  The Frazers somehow\ngot their name from the French word for a strawberry, fraise.  The\nodd-looking \"Scrymgeour\" means simply a scrimmager or skirmisher.\n\"Turnbull\" recalls one who turned the bull at a bull-baiting.  The\nwell-known \"Gladstains\" or \"Gladstone\" has nothing to do with \"glad,\"\nbut is from \"glede,\" an old word for the kite, and commemorates some\nstone where these birds frequented.  \"Buccleuch\" is from the killing of\na buck in a cleugh or ravine.\n\nThe Christian names of the Borderers are full of life and local colour,\nand differ much from those of Southern England.  \"Barthram\" is the\nnorthern form of \"Bertram,\" \"Nigel\" of \"Neil,\" \"Jellon\" of \"Julian,\"\n\"Ringan\" of \"Ninian.\"  It was the general custom to abbreviate Christian\nnames or use them in the diminutive form, as is constantly the practice\nin these Border ballads.  \"Hobbie\" stands for \"Halbert,\" a fine old name\nwhich must not be confused with \"Albert.\"  \"Dandie\" or \"Dandrie\" is\n\"Andrew,\" \"Eckie\" is \"Hector,\" \"Lammie\" is \"Lambert,\" \"Lennie\" is\n\"Leonard.\"  \"Adam\" becomes, in the familiar form, \"Aicky,\" \"Christian\"\nbecomes \"Christy,\" \"Gilbert\" becomes \"Gibby.\"\n\nAnother peculiarity of the ballads is the regular recurrence of such\nphrases as \"the Laird's Jock,\" \"the Laird's Wat,\" \"Ringan's Wat,\" etc.\nThese expressions mean, \"John the son of the Laird,\" \"Walter the son of\nthe Laird,\" \"Walter the son of Ringan or Ninian.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter I*\n\n                        *Bamburgh and its Coast*\n\n\nThe little town of Bamburgh has two striking features--the great castle\nupon its stern rock, and the wild coast-line at its feet where dash the\nstorms of the North Sea.\n\nTo-day it is not important enough to have a railway station of its own;\nyet once it was the capital of the great Saxon kingdom of Northumbria.\nIts original name was Bebbanburgh, so called after Queen Bebba; of its\nSaxon fortress hardly a trace remains, the present building being partly\nthe old Norman castle, with repairs and additions of a later date.  The\nancient pile has a strength, dignity, and grandeur which accords well\nwith its truly noble situation.\n\nThe North Saxons in choosing such a spot for their capital showed a very\nevident desire to keep in touch with the sea.  Over the sea they had\ncome; and over the sea would come both friends and enemies.  Many a\nmeeting of both friend and foe has taken place at Bamburgh!\n\nPerhaps the fiercest of the enemies was Ragnar of the hairy-breeches, a\nfamous viking who plundered, ravaged, and burnt without mercy.  These\nvikings, powerful men and fearless sea-rovers, were a standing terror to\nNorthumbria.  Men with frames and muscles strong as iron; at home both\non the sea and on the battle-field; fair-haired, blue-eyed men, guarded\nby helmet, breast-plate, and shield, armed with heavy weapons, because\nat that date the art of the smith was not equal to making them sharp,\nlight, and strong at once.  So these mighty warriors hewed their way\nthrough the field of battle with great strokes, and when their foes fled\nin terror, the vikings took back to their ships all the treasure they\ncould find, and away they went across the sea again. But with all their\nfierceness they loved poetry (wild war-poetry, most of it) and they\nloved their strong, brave women.\n\nRagnar was a thorough viking.  He loved fighting, and his handsome wife,\nand the battle songs he made. But the Saxons had no cause to love him,\nand when his ship ran aground near Jarrow, they bound him and cast him\ninto a pit of snakes, and watched him slowly die. The viking had no fear\nof death.  He sang as he lay there, of his life and his deeds--of the\ngreat banquets he had given to the wolves and the vultures and the\nfierce battles he had won, spreading the terrors of his name from the\nOrkneys to the Mediterranean; of his beautiful wife and strong sons, and\nof how they would avenge him; and of how Woden, the lord of all\nwarriors, was calling him to his Hall.\n\nMany a battle has been fought on that wild coast since Ragnar died; much\nhistory has been made thereabouts, and many legends have attached\nthemselves to Bamburgh.  Like most famous places, it had its own special\ndragon, the \"Laidly Worm\" or loathsome serpent of the ancient ballad.\n\n    \"For seven miles east, and seven miles west,\n      And seven miles north and south,\n    No blade of grass or corn would grow,\n      So venomous was her mouth!\"\n\n\nAnd yet, when the gallant knight gave her \"kisses three,\" she changed at\nonce into a beautiful lady!\n\nBut despite its castle, its battles, and its legends, Bamburgh slowly\ndeclined in importance.  As the capital of Northumbria it had been one\nof the chief towns in England.  But the gallant Northumbria of the\nSaxons was more open to enemies than any other part of the country;\nCumbrians were on the west and Scots on the north, and this was of all\nSaxon kingdoms the most exposed to the ravages of the Danes.  From the\ncapital of a kingdom it became the capital of a county (Bamburghshire),\nreturning two members to Parliament in the reign of Edward I.; but it\ngrew of less and still less importance, till at last it was known only\nto the student of history.  It shared this fate with Lindisfarne, called\nHoly Island, once the Canterbury of the North, on whose rocky shores\nstill stand the ruins of the fine Norman cathedral which took the place\nof the old Saxon one.  Lindisfarne and Bamburgh--neighbours, divided\nonly by a narrow belt of sea--two names that conjure up vivid pictures\nof romantic history.  Yet suddenly, early in the nineteenth century, the\ngreat deed of a splendid heroine lent new glory to the wild, sea-girt\ntown.\n\nGrace Darling was born at Bamburgh in 1817, in a cottage on the south\nside of the village street, which can still be seen to-day.  Her father\nbecame keeper of the lighthouse on the Langstone, a rocky islet five\nmiles from the coast, guarding ships from the dangerous Farne Islands, a\ngroup of iron-bound rocks where seabirds dwell.  In the early morning of\nSeptember 7, 1838, during the raging of a most terrible storm, she heard\nthe crash of a ship dashed upon the rocks, and anguished cries; as soon\nas dawn enabled them to see, the girl and her father made out the dark\noutline of the wreck, and the miserable forms of the mariners crouching\non rocks from which the rising tide would sweep them inevitably to\ndeath.  With superb heroism Grace and her father pushed their small boat\ninto the furious waters, and after strenuous and dauntless efforts,\nalways at the peril of their own lives, they saved the whole ship's\ncompany, nine souls in all.  So fierce was the storm that it was three\ndays before a boat dared take them from the Langstone to the mainland.\n\nThe roar of approbation which greeted her from the whole country found\nher as modest as she was brave. But for all her courage, this noble girl\nwas not strong. She died four years later, and lies buried at Bamburgh,\nwithin sound of the sea.  And the Langstone is known to-day as \"Grace\nDarling's Island,\" and the tomb of the brave girl rouses sweeter\nmemories than the frowning fortress of Bamburgh.\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter II*\n\n                        *Athelstan at Vinheath*\n\n\nFamous among the old Norse sea-rovers was Egil, son of Skallagrim.  In\nthe course of his many voyages, he visited all the lands between the\nWhite Sea and the Bay of Biscay, and when at last he settled down in his\nIceland home, where he lived on till well past the age of eighty, he\nloved to gather his children and grandchildren around him by the\nfireside during the long Icelandic winter, and to tell the story of his\nadventures.  He was a true Norseman, fond of the sea and the fight, fond\nof his wife and children, fond of song, at which he was highly skilled.\nHis songs and his stories of adventure were listened to with eagerness,\nand they were repeated after him, and were at last written down,\nprobably between one hundred and fifty and two hundred years after his\ndeath.  Books were scarce in those days, and stories were treasured and\nfaithfully re-told.  So this story of Egil was probably written out very\nmuch in the simple, vigorous style in which the old warrior would have\ntold it to his grandchildren, as they listened to him with wide-open,\nwondering eyes.  And as the old man had taken part in an early battle\nbetween Saxon-English and Scots, upon the Border, we have here a fine\npicture of how fights were fought in the reign of King Athelstan.\n\nEgil was speaking to Icelandic children who knew little about England,\nso he began by telling how in the days when Harold Fairhair was king of\nNorway, Alfred the Great was the first supreme king over all England.\nWhen Alfred died he was succeeded by his son Edward, who was followed by\nAthelstan the Victorious.  In Egil's day Athelstan was young and had but\njust been made king, and many chieftains, who had kept quiet before, now\nthought that the time had come when they could do as they pleased again.\nBut Athelstan meant to show them that he too could rule England strongly\nand wisely.\n\nThese were the days of brute force, and the king had first to get an\narmy together.  Besides his own English folk, many roving Norsemen came\nto take his pay, and among the number were Egil and his elder brother\nThorolf, with their men.  They saw the king himself, who received them\nwell.  Athelstan was a good Christian, known as the Faithful, and he\ndesired that Thorolf and Egil should submit to be marked with the Cross,\nthat they might take their place by his Christian soldiers without\nquarrel.  This they agreed to, and the king gave them command over three\nhundred men.  Now Olaf the Red was king in Scotland.  His father was a\nScot, but his mother was a Dane of the family of Ragnar\nwith-the-hairy-breeches, that savage old viking. Northumberland, which\nin those days extended to the Humber, and included York as its chief\ncity, was half-full of Danes, and King Olaf wished to claim it for his\nown, and add it to Scotland.\n\nAthelstan had set Earl Alfgeir and Earl Gudrek to rule Northumberland\nand defend it from the Scots.  But Olaf of Scotland came south with his\nmighty host; there was a fierce battle; Earl Gudrek was slain and Earl\nAlfgeir fled.  When Athelstan heard of the triumph of Olaf, he began at\nonce to march northward with all the men he could get together; but he\nwas yet young, and some of the treacherous earls, hearing that Olaf had\nso far been victor, deserted King Athelstan.  Chief among these traitors\nwere Earl Hring and Earl Adils, who should have been in the very front\nof the English army, but who basely went over to the Scots.  Thus Olaf's\nhost became exceeding great, greater by far than the English army.\n\nThen Athelstan called together his captains and his counsellors; Egil\nwas there, and heard all the grave talk as to what should be done.  At\nlast a plan was made that all thought good, and this is what followed.\n\nFirst, messengers were sent to King Olaf, saying that King Athelstan\nwould meet him in fair fight at Vinheath by Vinwood, in Northumberland,\nwhere he would mark out the field of battle with rods of hazel.  He who\nwon the battle should be king over all England.  The armies should meet\na week hence, and whichever was first on the ground should wait a week\nfor the other.  King Olaf should bide quiet, and not harry the land till\nthe battle was ended.  North of the heath was a town; there King Olaf\nstayed, for there he could best get provisions for his army.  But some\nof his men he sent to the heath, to view it.\n\nThe hazel-poles were already set up on the large level plain.  A river\nwas on one side, and a wood was on the other.  And where river and wood\nwere nearest to one another, there King Athelstan's tents were pitched.\n\nMany tents there were, but the front line of tents stood high, so that\nthe Scots could not see how many were behind.  Every third tent was\nempty, but many men were sleeping on the grass in the open, so that the\nScots might think that the English had a large army there.  Every day\nmore English troops came in, and when the time was come that was fixed\nfor the battle, English envoys went to the King of the Scots asking if\nthere need be the great fight and bloodshed that threatened; if Olaf\nwould go peaceably home, Athelstan would give him a shilling of silver\nfor every plough that ploughed in England.  The Scots took counsel\ntogether and said they must have more than this.  Then the messengers\nbegged a three days' truce to consider this. On the third day they came\nagain, saying that King Athelstan would give what he offered before and\nalso to the Scottish army a silver shilling for every freeman soldier, a\nsilver mark for every lesser officer, a gold mark for every captain, and\nfive gold marks for every earl.  But the Scots asked not only for this,\nbut also for Northumberland to be yielded to them.  Then the English\nmessengers answered that Scottish messengers must ride back with them,\nto take the answer from Athelstan himself.\n\nNow the truth is this: that the Scottish king had taken Athelstan by\nsuch surprise that he needed time to get his men together; all these\nmessages were but a trick to gain time till the king should come up\nhimself with all the men he could gather.  When, therefore, the\nmessengers rode up to King Athelstan, he had but just arrived on the\nscene of battle.  And when he heard the message he said: \"Tell King Olaf\nthis, that I will give him leave to return to Scotland safely if only he\ngive back all he has unjustly taken from this land, and if he own\nhimself my under-king, holding Scotland for me and at my behest.\"\n\nThis proud answer made the Scottish messengers at once see what had been\ngoing on.  So they hastened back to their king to tell him how they had\nbeen received and what the meaning of it was.\n\nWhen the Scots found that the English had thus outwitted them, they took\ncounsel together in some anger. Earl Adils, he who had deserted the\nEnglish, said that he and his brother, Earl Hring, would that very night\nmake a surprise attack; if it succeeded, well and good; if not, then\nthey could easily withdraw, and the main battle could begin in the\nmorning.  This the King of Scots held to be good advice.\n\nSo the two traitor earls and their men moved southward under cover of\nthe darkness.  But Thorolf the Norseman was used to the ways of war, and\nhis sentries were alert and blew a great war-blast on their horns. And\nthus the fight began.\n\nThorolf was armed with a massy halberd that stood taller than a man;\nbroad was its blade and thick its socket, and it ended in a four-edged\nspike.  He had a strong sword by his side and a big, heavy shield on his\nleft arm; he had a helmet but no shirt of mail.  His brother Egil was\narmed in much the same way. The Norsemen's standard was borne by Thorfid\nthe strong.\n\nNext to the Norsemen, in the first rank also, was the division led by\nEarl Alfgeir, he who had once before fled from the Scots.  King\nAthelstan gave him this chance to redeem himself.  Now when the first\nonslaught of the Scots took place, Earl Adils came against Earl Alfgeir,\nwhile Earl Hring came against the Norsemen.\n\nAnd now the battle began.  The two traitor earls urged on their men, who\ncharged with spirit.  The fight was fierce, and soon Alfgeir gave\nground; this made the foe press on the fiercer, and before long Alfgeir\nwas in full flight.  He avoided the town where Athelstan was, and fled\nnight and day to the coast, where he took ship out of the country he had\nserved so ill.\n\nAdils did not dare to pursue him far, for fear of being himself cut off\nfrom his friends.  So he returned to help his brother Hring against the\nNorsemen.  Thorolf, like a true general, saw the danger of this, and at\nonce told Egil to turn aside with half their force to prevent Adils from\njoining his brother.  The Norsemen fought a grand fight, but were badly\noutnumbered, and the battle seemed to be going against them.  Then\nThorolf became furious.  Disdainful of life, he cast his shield behind\nhis back, grasped his great halberd with both hands, and sprang forward,\nhacking down all who opposed him. Straight for Hring's standard he went,\nnothing could stop him.  He slew the standard-bearer, cut through the\nstandard-pole, and with a mighty stroke thrust his halberd right through\nthe body of Hring, the traitor earl, and lifted him up in the air that\nall might see that he was slain.  Then Adils and the rest of the men\nfled to the wood, and thus ended the first part of the fight. More was\nto come on the morrow.\n\nAt dawn next day King Athelstan came forward with his main army.  He had\nheard of the great deeds of the brothers Thorolf and Egil; most\ncourteously he thanked them, and said that he would always reckon them\nas his friends.  Then with his captains he made his plans for the\nbattle.  Egil he put in command of the front ranks of his men, and\nThorolf he set aside to face those of the Scots who might charge the\nEnglish in loose array.\n\n[Illustration: Egil at Vinheath]\n\n\"For this is the way of the Scots,\" he said; \"they dash to and fro, rush\nforward and hither and thither, and are dangerous except to a commander\nwho is both wary and bold.\"\n\nEgil said, \"I would rather that Thorolf and I were near together\"; but\nThorolf answered, \"As the king commands, so will we do.\"\n\nThe battle began, and soon waged furiously.  Thorolf and his men pressed\nforward along the woodside, hoping to take the enemy on the flank.  Now,\nunknown to him, Adils and his followers were hiding among the trees, and\nof a sudden Adils sprang out and smote him down. Thorfid, too, the brave\nstandard-bearer, was pressed back, but rallied the men, who fought\ndesperately.\n\nThe Scots had raised a great shout at the fall of Thorolf, and this was\nheard by Egil, who, when he saw the standard forced back, feared that\nhis brother was dead, for Thorolf had never drawn back from any foe. So\nwith a fierce cry Egil hacked his way through to that part of the field,\nand when he learnt the truth from his men, he never rested till he had\nslain Adils with his own hand.\n\nThe followers of Adils then fled, and Egil and the Norsemen hewed their\nway through the flank of the Scottish force towards the place where King\nOlaf's standard was.  Noting this, King Athelstan, that wary general,\ncaused his own standard to be set forward and all his army to attack at\nonce.  Fierce and furious was the fight, and great was the slaughter.\nKing Olaf was slain, with great numbers of his men, and the rest fled in\nconfusion.  The English victory was complete.\n\nAs soon as Athelstan saw that victory was his, he left the pursuit to\nhis captains and hastened to the town to make his arrangements.  Egil\npursued far and fiercely, and when at last he came back to the\nbattlefield his first thought was for his dead brother.  Worn out though\nhe was, he would take no rest until he had buried the warrior with full\nhonours, with his arms and his raiment; and before the sad farewell was\nsaid Egil clasped a gold bracelet on both of Thorolf's wrists to show\nhis deep love.  Then they buried the hero deep and put a high cairn of\nstones over him.\n\nThen one last tribute Egil paid to his brother, the greatest of them\nall.  Among these old Norse warriors there existed a great love of song;\nthe great fighters strove also to be great song-makers, and Egil was\nfamous above most for this power.  The Norsemen's poems had not rhymes\nlike ours; they had short vigorous lines, and in each pair of lines\nthree of the important words had to begin with the same letter.  Wild\nstrong chants they were. This is the song that Egil sang at the burial\nof his brother, Thorolf Skallagrimsson:--\n\n    \"The halberd of the hero\n    Hewed down the foe before him;\n    Then in the brunt of battle\n    Was spilt brave Thorolf's blood.\n    The grass is green on Vinheath\n    Where sleeps my great-souled brother;\n    But death, in doubled sorrow,\n    Our doleful hearts must bear.\"\n\n\nWhen Egil got to the town he found the king and his army making merry\nover their victory at a huge feast. The courteous king saw Egil and bade\nhim come and sit near to him.  The king watched the burly Norseman, who\nwas tall, with broad shoulders, a powerful head and mighty strength; but\nnow his head was bent forward, and he kept his sword across his knees,\nand now and again half drew it and then clashed it back into its\nscabbard like a man who fights with heavy thoughts. He ate little and\ndrank less.  Then King Athelstan, watchful and courteous, took a gold\nring from his arm, and placing it on his sword-point, handed it thus to\nwhere Egil sat.  At this mark of honour the Norseman's face grew\nbrighter.  Then the king sent round his own horn for Egil to drink; so\nhe drank to the king and sang a verse of wild poetry in his praise, made\non the spur of the moment; and with this the king was much pleased.\n\nThen the king sent also for two chests full of silver, and said to\nEgil:--\n\n\"These chests carry to thy father; it is fitting that King Athelstan\nmake him some gift for the loss of his son.  And do thou stay with me\nlong, and I will give thee honour and dignity.\"\n\nThus the great king in kindness and courtesy did what he could to soothe\nthe grief of the warrior; and Egil stayed the winter with Athelstan, but\nwhen the summer came he wished to go back to his own people.  But he had\nmuch respect for King Athelstan, and ere he bade him farewell he made a\nlong poem to his glory.\n\n_From the Song of Egil Skallagrimsson, to the Glory of King Athelstan._\n\n    \"See how the kingly warrior,\n    Land-warder, battle-wakener,\n    Smites even to the earth\n    The earls who rise against him!\n    Glad is now Northumberland,\n    This the king she needed,\n    Wise and bold of race and blood,\n    Dauntless in the battle-field!\"\n\n\nMany were the verses of this stirring song; and after each came the\nrefrain:--\n\n    \"Scottish hills where reindeer roam\n    Own the rule of Athelstan!\"\n\n\nThe king gave Egil two heavy gold rings and a handsome cloak that he\nhimself had worn; then the Norseman sailed away, for always near to his\nheart was the welfare of his dead brother's wife and child.  Yea, for\nthe rest of his long life he loved this child even as he loved his own.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter III*\n\n                         *Monks and Minstrels*\n\n\nThe wild Borderland was the scene of the labours of many ol the first\ngreat Christian leaders. Where the arts of war were so much practised,\nit was needful that the arts of peace should flourish also. Great was\nthe influence, even in the wildest times, of these able, serious,\ndevoted leaders of early religious thought, men like Ninian and\nKentigern.\n\nChristianity first came into Britain in Roman times, and some of the\nBritons were converted.  After the Romans quitted the country, King\nArthur was the leader of the Christian Britons, and he is said to have\nfought with the pagan Britons, the pagan Picts, the pagan Saxons, who\nhad begun their invasions, and the disorderly soldiers of various races,\nprobably pagans whom the Romans left behind along the wall.\n\nIn due time the fight developed into a struggle between Christian\nBritons and pagan Saxons, and then the Saxons themselves began to accept\nthe new religion.  Oswald, a Northumbrian prince, had in a time of peril\nhidden in the island of Iona, to where the great Irishman Columba had\ncome from Ireland as a missionary.  When Oswald returned to power he\nsummoned to his kingdom Aidan, a high-minded Christian teacher, whom he\nmade first bishop of Lindisfarne (Holy Island).  Aidan being a Celt, had\nto do his work through interpreters, but he did it well, and laid the\nfoundations of Christianity and learning in Northumbria.  Cuthbert was\nanother famous missionary.  Rising from shepherd-boy to bishop, he\nimpressed both king and peasant by the dignified simplicity and\nsincerity of his life.  His place of meditation was a sea-girt rock by\nLindisfarne, lonely and picturesque, and still called after his name.  A\ncurious fossil, with the mark of a cross, is plentiful there, and goes\nby the name of St Cuthbert's beads.  Other famous teachers were Wilfrid\nof York, who founded the churches of Hexham and Ripon; Boisil, who\nfounded Melrose, and Biscop, who founded Jarrow.\n\nBut perhaps the most celebrated of all was Bede, the \"Venerable Bede,\"\nwho lived at Jarrow and wrote forty-five learned books on all subjects,\nincluding music, astronomy, and medicine.  All the scholars in England\nflocked to hear his teachings, and he was justly called \"the father of\nEnglish learning.\"  He it was who first introduced into England the art\nof making glass.\n\nHis last work was to translate the Gospel of St John into Northumbrian\nEnglish.  This was in the year 735. Being too ill to hold a pen, he\ndictated to his favourite pupil.  \"Write quickly,\" he said, for he felt\nthat he was dying.  \"It is finished,\" answered the lad, and the old\nman's heart was satisfied.  In a faint, brave voice he chanted the\n_Gloria_, and so died singing.\n\nIn those days there was, of course, no such thing as printing.  Every\nmanuscript was written and rewritten, carefully, by hand, and treasured\nas a sacred possession in the seats of learning.  So proud were they of\ntheir manuscripts that they beautified them with illustrations in\ncolour.  Many of these manuscripts have, of course, been destroyed; for\ninstance, the Danes in 875 burnt the priceless library of Bishop Acca at\nHexham, destroying in one day the treasured collection of a lifetime;\nbut many remain to show the love of learning which existed even then.\nBishop Edfrid, who lived in the little rocky island of Lindisfarne, made\na copy of the Gospels, which is looked upon with wonder even to-day.\nStrings of beautiful birds and quaint animals are drawn upon his pages;\nevangelists with mantles of purple and tunics of blue, pink, or green.\nWith the writing clear and beautiful, the decorations showing the\ngreatest care and devotion, this manuscript of one thousand two hundred\nyears ago has been the delight of thousands, and comes down to us to\nwitness to the loving care of the scholars of old in the days before\nprinting was known.\n\nGreat as was their love of beautiful manuscripts, they had an equally\nnoble passion for grand buildings.  A superb monument of simple dignity\nand religious grandeur is the Norman Cathedral at Durham, commenced by\nBishop Carilef in 1093, and finished by Bishop Flambard in 1128.\nOccupying a wonderful position at the top of a wooded hill, around which\nflows the beautiful river Wear, Durham Cathedral is in itself one of the\nnoblest buildings in the world.  While the Church in those troublous\ntimes kept thus a storehouse of learning for serious scholars, other\nmethods kept the people informed of the more stirring events of their\nday.\n\nIn the old days, when no newspapers existed to tell people the news,\nwhen books were scarce and history was not taught to every lad as a part\nof his training, the ballad-writer and the wandering minstrel played a\nvery important part.  Ballads, sometimes really fine pieces of poetry,\nsometimes a mere halting troop of lame lines, were made upon every\noccasion of local or general interest.  They were sung to simple and\noften beautiful tunes or chants.  The best of the minstrels were welcome\nto the halls of the nobles, and even to the king himself; the poorest of\nthem sang on the village green.  The ballads were learnt and repeated by\nthe folk of the country-side; some were in later times printed on loose\nsheets, but at first they were handed on from mouth to mouth.\nAlterations and errors often crept in; mistakes due to a sameness of\nsound.  For instance, in the old ballad of _Mary Ambree_, a soldier is\nreferred to as \"Sir John Major,\" probably meaning Sergeant-major.  In\none of the versions of the battle of Chevy Chase, Henry Percy was said\nto have been killed there, whereas he really lived on to be slain at\nShrewsbury.  But, despite such occasional blunders, the ballads on the\nwhole throw a vivid light on the manners and customs of the old days, as\nwell as being usually stirring and sometimes strikingly noble and\npathetic pieces of poetry.  They deal as a rule rather with the side\ncurrents than with the main stream of history; but they express\nthemselves with such homely force and directness that they bring home to\nus with wonderful clearness the character of the vigorous manly men with\nwhose doings they are chiefly concerned.\n\nDuring the last one hundred and fifty years many able men have laboured\nto collect old ballads, writing them down from the mouths of the\ncountry-folk and printing them in books with notes of explanation.  One\nof the earliest thus to collect ballads seriously was Bishop Percy; the\nbest known is Sir Walter Scott, of whose interest in the subject\nLockhart, his biographer, writes very pleasantly.\n\nPrefaced to many of the stirring tales in this present book are lines\nfrom the old Border ballads from which they are taken.  It is to be\nhoped that readers will be tempted sooner or later to read the rest of\nthese fine ballads for themselves.\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter IV*\n\n                          *Sir Patrick Spens*\n\n\n    \"The king sits in Dunfermline town\n      Drinking the blood-red wine;\n    'O where shall I get a well-skilled skipper\n      To sail this new ship of mine?'\"\n\n\nAlmost every collection of Scottish songs contains this picturesque old\nballad, which refers to a very remote time in Scottish history, probably\nthe end of the thirteenth century.  King Alexander III. of Scotland died\nin 1285; he had the bitter grief of seeing all his children die before\nhim.  His daughter Margaret had been married to Eric, King of Norway,\nand she left a daughter also called Margaret, and known as the \"Maid of\nNorway.\"  This maid was now heiress to the Scottish throne, and it is\nnatural to suppose that the lonely king should wish her to return to\nScotland, and should send a richly appointed ship to fetch her back.\nAnd although there is no strictly historical record of such an\nexpedition, the truth of the ballad is made more probable by the fact\nthat it opens in the fine old town of Dunfermline.\n\nDunfermline was a favourite residence of Alexander, who was killed in\nits neighbourhood by a fall from his horse, and was buried in the abbey\nthere, the ruins of which beautiful structure still remain.\n\nIn this ballad the king is feasting at Dunfermline town, and calls for a\nskilful mariner to sail his new ship. An old knight at the king's right\nhand answers that the best sailor who ever sailed the sea is Sir Patrick\nSpens. So the king writes a letter, sealing it with his own hand, and\nsends it to Sir Patrick, commanding him to sail away to Norway over the\nwhite sea-foam and bring home the maid.\n\nNow every good sailor dreaded the rough Northern seas in winter, so\nthough the brave Sir Patrick laughed aloud when he began to read, he\nwept blinding tears before he had ended.  \"Who has done this deed?\" he\ncried; \"who has told the king of me and urged him to send us out at this\ntime of the year to sail on the stormy sea?  Yet, wind, wet, hail, or\nsleet, we must set out, for 'tis we who must fetch home the maid.\"\n\nSo they set sail on a Monday morning, and reached Norway on a Wednesday.\nHistory tells us that Eric of Norway was very unwilling to part with his\ndaughter. This probably accounts for the fact that the old ballad tells\nus that the Scotsmen had only been there a fortnight when the lords of\nNorway began to say that Sir Patrick and his men were spending the gold\nof their king and queen.  \"Ye lie,\" cried Sir Patrick, \"loudly I hear ye\nlie, for I brought with me over the sea enough red gold and white money\nto supply the wants of my men.  Make ready, make ready, my merry men; we\nwill sail at daybreak.\"  \"Alack,\" quoth the men, \"a deadly storm is\nbrewing.  Yesterday evening the new moon was seen carrying the old moon\nin her arms; we shall certainly come to harm if we go to sea.\"\n\nBarely had they sailed three leagues when the sky darkened, the wind\nblew loudly, and the sea grew boisterous.  Soon they were in the midst\nof a terrible storm.  The anger of the sea was far more dreadful than\nthe anger of the lords of Norway.  The anchors broke away, the topmasts\nsnapped, and the waves came over the broken ship, tearing her sides\nasunder.  \"O where shall I get a good sailor to take the helm while I\nclimb the tall topmast to see if I can espy land?\"  \"That I fear ye\nnever will,\" cried a sailor as he took the helm, and scarcely had Sir\nPatrick gone a step when a plank started in the ship's side and the\nwater came pouring in.\n\n\"Fetch a web of silken cloth, and fetch a web of twine,\" cried Sir\nPatrick, \"and cast them down to our ship's side!\" For it was the custom\nin those days, when a leak could not be reached from inside the vessel,\nto cast down some closely woven stuff in the hope that the suction of\nthe water would drag it across the leak and stop thus the fatal inrush\nof water.  Alas! all their efforts failed.  Then the ballad-writer says\nsomewhat grimly of the dandies among the Scottish lords that whereas at\nfirst they grumbled to see the water spoil their fine cork-heeled shoes,\nwhen the storm had done its fatal work the sea was \"above their hats\"!\n\n    \"And many was the feather bed\n      That fluttered on the foam;\n    And many was the gude lord's son\n      That never mair came home!\n\n    The ladyes wrang their fingers white;\n      The maidens tore their hair,\n    A' for the sake of their true loves;\n      For them they'll see nae mair.\n\n    O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,\n      Wi' their fans into their hand,\n    Before they see Sir Patrick Spens\n      Come sailing to the strand!\n\n    And lang, lang may the maidens sit,\n      With their goud kaims[#] in their hair,\n    A' waiting for their ain dear loves!\n      For them they'll see nae mair.\n\n[#] Golden combs.\n\n    O forty miles off Aberdeen,\n      'Tis fifty fathoms deep,\n    And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,\n      Wi' the Scots lords at his feet.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter V*\n\n                            *Auld Maitland*\n\n\n    \"'Wha holds this house?' young Edward cried,\n      'Or wha gives it o'er to me?'\n    ''Tis I will keep my good old house,\n      While my house will keep me!'\"\n\n\nThe story of Auld Maitland is said to be taken from a very old ballad,\nand known chiefly to the people who lived in the neighbourhood of\nEttrick Forest.  The old folks there would while away the long winter\nevenings by singing of the deeds of their ancestors, and the ballad of\n_Auld Maitland_, as thus chanted, was written down by the mother of\nJames Hogg, the \"Ettrick Shepherd.\"\n\nThe castle of Thirlestane stood on the river Leader, and still, in its\nrestored form, deserves its name of \"the darksome house.\"  It may have\noften withstood the English during the Baliol wars, and hatred of the\nEnglish and of Edward I. is expressed with extreme virulence throughout\nthe poem.  Here is the story:--\n\nThere lived in the south country a king named Edward, who wore the crown\nunworthily for fifty years. This king had a nephew, strong in blood and\nbone, who bore the same hateful name.  One day the young man came before\nthe king, and kneeling low, he said, \"A boon, a boon I crave of thee, my\ngood uncle.  Oft have I wished to take part in our long wars in fair\nScotland.  Grant me fifteen hundred chosen strong men to ride there with\nme.\"\n\n\"Certainly thou shalt have them, and more, and I myself, though old and\ngrey, will see thy host arrayed for battle.\"\n\nKing Edward sent hither and thither, and assembled fifteen hundred men\non Tyne side, and three times as many at North Berwick, all bound for\nbattle.  They marched up the banks of Tweed, burning the Merse and\nTeviotdale, and up and down the Lammermoor Hills, until they came to the\ndarksome house called, by some, \"Leader-Town.\"\n\n\"Who holds this house?\" cried young Edward, \"or who gives it over to\nme?\"  He was answered, as proudly, by a grey-haired knight: \"I hold my\nhouse of Scotland's king, who pays me in meat and fee, and I will hold\nit as long as it will stand together.\"\n\nThereupon the English brought up their sows[#] to the wall with many a\nheavy sound, but the soldiers on the wall cast down blazing pitch and\ntar barrels, to consume the formidable machine.  They also threw down\nstones and beams and darts from their springalds,[#] and slew many of\nthe English.\n\n[#] A military engine framed of wood, covered with hides and mounted on\nwheels, so that, being rolled forward to the foot of the wall, it served\nas a shed to defend the miners underneath it and their battering-rams\nfrom the stones and arrows of the soldiers above.\n\n[#] Large crossbows worked by machinery.\n\nFifteen days they besieged the castle of Auld Maitland, but left him at\nthe end of that time unhurt within his stone stronghold.\n\n[Illustration: _The Siege of Maitland Castle_]\n\nThey loaded fifteen ships with as much spoil as they could carry away\nfrom the district around, and claimed that now they had conquered\nScotland with buckler, bow, and brand.  So they sailed away to France to\nmeet the old King Edward, who was burning every castle, tower, and town\nthat he met with.  They came at last to the town of Billop-Grace, where\nAuld Maitland's three sons were at school.\n\nEdward had quartered the arms of Scotland with his own.  \"See'st thou\nwhat I see?\" said the eldest son to the youngest; \"if that be true that\nyonder standard says, then are we all three fatherless, and Scotland\nconquered up and down.  Never will we bow to the conquerer.  Let us go,\nmy two brothers, and try our chance in an adventure?\"  Thereupon they\nsaddled two black horses and a grey, and rode before day-dawn to King\nEdward's army.  Arrived there, they hovered round, and Maitland begged\nto be allowed to carry the king's standard, the Golden Dragon.\n\n\"Where wast thou born and bred, and in what country?\" demanded the\nknight who bore the banner. \"I was born in the north of England,\"\nanswered Maitland; \"my father was a knight and my mother a lady, and I\nmyself am a squire of high renown, and may well carry the banner of a\nking.\"  \"Never had the son of an Englishmen such an eye or brow,\"\nanswered the knight; \"thou art more like Auld Maitland than any man I\nhave ever seen; yet God grant that such a gloomy brow I never see again;\nhe slew and wounded many of our men.\"\n\nAt the mention of his father's name Maitland's anger burst out, and\nlifting up a gilded dagger that hung low by his knee, he struck fiercely\nat the standard-bearer, and, catching hold of the corner of the\nstandard, rode swiftly away with it, crying to his brothers, \"Is it not\ntime to flee?\"  \"Ay, by my sooth,\" they both shouted, \"we will bear you\ncompany.\"  So they rode off at hot speed, the pursuers following.  The\nyoungest Maitland, turning round in the path, drew his brand and killed\nfifteen of the foremost, and the rest fell back.  Then he dug his spurs\ninto the sides of his faithful grey, until both the sides ran blood.\n\"Thou must carry me away, or my life lies in pledge,\" he cried.\n\nAbout daybreak the brothers arrived at their uncle's castle, who, seeing\nthe three Scottish lads with pursuers riding hard at their heels,\nordered the portcullis to be drawn up and the drawbridge let down, for\nthat they should lodge with him that night in spite of all England.\n\nWhen the three came inside the gate, they leapt down from their horses,\nand taking three long spears in their hands, they fought till it was\nfull daylight, killing and wounding many of the Englishmen round the\ndrawbridge. Some of the dead were carted away in waggons, and stones\nwere heaped upon the rest as they lay in the gutter.\n\nKing Edward proclaimed at his pavilion door that three lads of France,\ndisguised, and with false words, had come and stolen away the standard,\nand had slain his men in their lawful attempt to regain it.\n\n\"It ill befits a crowned king to lie,\" said the youngest Maitland, \"and\nhe shall be reproved for it before I taste meat or drink.\"\n\nStraightway he went before King Edward, and, kneeling low, begged leave\nto speak a word with him. \"Man, thou shalt have leave to speak, even\nthough thou shouldst speak all day,\" answered the king.\n\n\"Ye said,\" spoke the youngest Maitland, \"that three young lads of France\nhad stolen away the standard with a false tale, and slain many men.  But\nwe are not lads of France, and never have pretended to be; we are three\nlads of fair Scotland, and the sons of Auld Maitland, nor are there men\nin all your host dare fight us three to three.\"\n\n\"Now, by my sooth,\" said the young Edward, who stood by, \"Ye shall be\nwell fitted, for Percy shall fight with the eldest, and Egbert Lunn with\nthee, and William of Lancaster with the other, and the surviving brother\nshall fight with me.  Remember, Percy, how oft the Scot has cowered\nbefore thee; I will give thee a rig of land for every drop of Maitland\nblood.\"\n\nSo they set to, and the eldest Maitland clanked Percy over the head and\nwounded him so deeply that the best blood of his body ran down his hair.\n\"I have slain one,\" shouted Maitland to his brothers; \"slay ye the other\ntwo, and that will be good company, and if the two shall slay ye both,\nye shall get no help from me.\"[#]\n\n[#] According to the laws of chivalry, having slain his own man, he\ncould, if he pleased, come to the assistance of the others.\n\nBut Egbert Lunn was like a baited bear and had seen many battles, and\nwhen Maitland saw that his youngest brother was having the worst of it,\nhe could not restrain himself longer, and shouting, \"I am no king; my\nword shall not stand,\" he struck Egbert over the head and slew him.\n\"Now I have slain two; slay ye one for good company,\" he cried; \"neither\nshall ye get any help from me even if the one shall slay ye both.\"  So\nthe two brothers slew the third, and hung him over the drawbridge for\nall the host to see.\n\nThen they rode and ran, but still got not away, but hovered round,\nboasting: \"We be three lads of fair Scotland that fain would see some\nfighting.\"\n\nWhen young Edward heard this, he cried wrathfully, \"I'll take yon lad\nand bind him, and bring him bound to thee.\"\n\n\"Now God forbid that ever thou shouldst try that,\" said the king; \"we\nhave lost three worthy leaders; wouldst thou be the fourth?  Never again\nwould I be happy if thou wert to hang on yonder drawbridge.\"\n\nBut Edward struck fiercely at Maitland, cleaving his stout helmet and\nbiting right near his brain.  When Maitland saw his own blood flowing he\nthrew away his weapon, and springing angrily at young Edward's throat,\nhe swung him thrice about and flung him on the ground, holding him there\nthough he was of great strength.\n\n\"Now let him up,\" cried King Edward, \"let him come to me, and for thy\ndeed thou shalt have three earldoms.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Maitland, \"never shall it be said in France or in\nScotland that Edward once lay under me and got up again,\" and with that\nhe pierced him through the heart and hung him over the drawbridge with\nthe other three.\n\n\"Now take from me my bed of feathers,\" said the king, \"make me a bed of\nstraw.  Would that I had not lived to see the day that makes my heart so\nsad.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter VI*\n\n                      *The Mystery of the Eildons*\n\n\n    \"Before their eyes the Wizard lay\n    As if he had not been dead a day.\n    His hoary beard in silver roll'd,\n    He seemed some seventy winters old.\n    High and majestic was his look,\n    At which the fellest friends had shook,\n    And all unruffled was his face;\n    They trusted his soul had gotten grace.\"\n      SCOTT: _Lay of the Last Minstrel._\n\n\nJust above Melrose, the ruined abbey of which is one of the beauties of\nScotland, there rises a striking mass of three hills known as \"the\ntriple Eildons.\"  They rise very high above the surrounding land, and\nare steep enough to need a very hard scramble to mount to the very\nsummit; but once at the top the view is wonderful indeed.  On a fine day\nthe Tweed can be seen winding in and out most picturesquely, till it\nloses itself in the low distant haze of the North Sea, thirty miles\naway.  But even grander is the view of the entire line of the Cheviots,\nlike a huge wall, fifty miles long, seen to immense advantage from\nEildon, which towers over the rich valleys of Tweed and Teviot that lie\nbetween.  One of the legends of the triple Eildons is that King Arthur\nlies sleeping beneath them, some day to awaken.  Tradition says that he\nfought a great battle near here, by Gala Water, in the Vale of Woe.\n\nHowever that may be, it is certain that at the foot of Eildon lie many\nfamous dead.  In Melrose Abbey lies the heart of Robert Bruce, and also\nthe body of the strong King Alexander II., he who first subdued and made\nobedient the wild tribes of Argyle.  Here, too, is buried the brave\nDouglas who died so gallantly on the field of Otterbourne; and also of\nanother brave Douglas who got his death wound at Poictiers.\n\nSir Walter Scott, who did more than any other man to spread all over the\nworld the knowledge of Scotland, Scottish history, Scottish romance, and\nScottish character, lies buried on the southern side of Eildon, in the\nrival abbey of Dryburgh.  But Melrose can claim a man who in his day was\nan object of the deepest wonder and terror--Michael Scott, the famous\nwizard of the thirteenth century, he who brought the learning of\nAristotle to expound to Western Europe, he whom Dante described as\nlearned in every deep spell of the magic arts.  Perhaps he was only a\nscientist, born before his time; yet even to-day old folk in the country\nremember that it was he who is said to have cleft the head of Eildon\nHill into three!\n\nOne of the many strange tales told of Michael Scott is this:--\n\nThey say that the lord of Morpeth, in Northumberland, promised the great\nwizard a rich reward if he would only make the sea roll up the valley of\nthe pretty river Wansbeck till it reached Morpeth, so that vessels could\nsail up to the town.  The distance is seven miles, and the wizard,\ndeclaring the matter a most simple one, prepared his magic spell.  He\nthen said that if a certain man would run from the sea to the town, and\non no account look back, whatever he heard, the desire of the lord would\nbe satisfied.  The man no sooner started to run than he heard the waters\nfollowing him.  Faster and faster he went, and faster and faster came\nthe ocean, dashing and roaring, never overtaking him, but always so near\nhis heels as to fill him with ever greater and greater terror.\n\nBefore he had finished the third mile he was in such a state of alarm\nthat he could not resist the impulse to see what was happening.  He\nturned round, and the spell was broken; the waters had followed him thus\nfar, but would come no further.  Even the best of wizards will fail when\nhis instructions are not obeyed.\n\nSo says the story.  People are free to believe it or not, as they\nplease.  It is certain that the sea runs nearly three miles up the\nWansbeck valley, and there stops; but many people think that that is\nexplained by the natural rise of the land!\n\nThe story of how Michael Scott came to divide the Eildon Hill into three\nruns as follows:--\n\nThe wizard had one very active little demon, who was always bothering\nhis master to give him something to do.  First Michael commanded him to\nput a barrier across the Tweed at Kelso, thinking to keep him quiet for\nat least a week; it was done in a single night, and again the demon\ndemanded work.  Then Michael set him to divide Eildon into three; this\nalso was done in a night, and again the demon came clamouring for\nemployment.  So in despair the wizard ordered him to make ropes out of\nsea-sand!  This, of course, is impossible, as the sand will not hold\ntogether.  But if you go down to the shore on the south-east coast of\nScotland on a dark and stormy night, you can still hear what sounds like\nthe demon moaning and groaning over his impossible task; and there is\ncertainly a barrier across the Tweed at Kelso, and the Eildon Hill is\ncertainly divided into three!  So you may believe as much as you please\nof this story.\n\nAnother tale that is told of the magic powers of this famous man relates\nthat he was once chosen to go as ambassador from the King of Scotland to\nthe King of France on urgent business.  Instead of going, as is usual in\nsuch cases, with a number of followers, he conjured up a demon shaped\nlike a huge black horse, and rode away over the sea.  When half-way\nacross the North Sea the horse said to his rider:--\n\n\"What do the old women of Scotland say at bed-time?\"  Had the magician\nfallen into the trap and named a prayer, the demon would have\ndisappeared and the wizard would have been drowned!  But Michael Scott\nmerely commanded his steed to go on quickly and not to talk.  Very soon\nhe came to Paris, tied his horse to the gate of the French king's\npalace, and boldly entered and stated his business.  The French king\nsneered at an ambassador who was not followed by a train of knights, and\nbegan at once to refuse all he asked.  \"Wait a moment, your Majesty,\"\nsaid Michael, \"till you have seen my horse stamp three times.\"\n\nAt the first stamp the ground so shook that every steeple in Paris\nrocked, making all the bells ring loudly; at the second stamp the king\nheard behind him a loud crash that made him leap three feet in the air;\nlooking round, he saw that three of the towers of his palace had fallen;\nthe horse raised his foot to stamp a third time, but the king was so\nterrified that he shouted hastily that he would grant all that Michael\nasked if only he would keep his horse from stamping!\n\nWhether this tale is true or not, Michael Scott was certainly one of the\nambassadors sent to bring back the Maid of Norway to Scotland on the\ndeath of King Alexander III.  He wrote many learned books, and possessed\nmany others; and they say that when he was buried at Melrose many of\nthese same magic books were buried with him.\n\nTo this romantic district of the Eildons belonged True Thomas, Thomas\nthe Rhymer, or Thomas of Ercildoune, as he was variously called, who was\nheld in awe by Border-folks as a prophet.  The ruins of his tower are\nstill shown by the pretty river Leader, just about two miles above the\nspot where it joins the Tweed.  The Rhymer seems to have died a few\nyears before 1300; but despite the passing of six centuries he is still\nremembered.  The story of how he gained his prophetic powers is quite\nworth hearing, whether we believe it or not.\n\nThe tale goes that Thomas was on Huntlie bank, near the Eildon Hills,\nwhen he saw a wonderful lady approaching him.  She was dressed in\ngrass-green silk, with a mantle of fine velvet, and the noble horse on\nwhich she rode had silver bells in its mane.  Thomas was so surprised at\nthis remarkable sight that when the lady came near he dropped on his\nknee and pulled off his cap, and cried out, reverently, that she must be\nthe Queen of Heaven.  But she answered that she was Queen of fair\nElfland, and dared him, with a witching glance, to kiss her lips.  The\nbold and gallant Thomas did not need a second invitation, and promptly\nkissed the fairy, when she seized upon him and fled away with him\nswifter than the wind.\n\nSoon all living land was left behind, and they came to a wild place\nwhere three roads met.  One was a narrow path, beset with thorns and\nbriers; and this the fairy said was the road of righteousness, which\nvery few people ever troubled to find.  Another was a broad and\nattractive road, which was the way of sinners; whilst the third, a\npretty winding road, led to Elfland, and thither they went together.\n\nSoon there was neither sun nor moon to lighten the way, and Thomas and\nhis companion waded through rivers above the knee.  The sea moaned and\nroared in the dread darkness, and Thomas somehow found that they waded\noft through streams of red blood--blood that had been shed on earth.\nThen they came to a beautiful garden, and the Elfland queen gave Thomas\nan apple to eat, saying:--\n\n\"Take this for thy wages, true Thomas; it will give thee the tongue that\ncan never lie.\"  Poor Thomas turned pale at the thought of such a gift.\n\"Let my tongue be my own!\" he pleaded; \"how shall I buy or sell in any\nmarket, flatter a prince, or compliment a lady, if you give me such a\ntongue!\"\n\nBut the Elfland queen would take no denial, and Thomas had to do her\nbehest, wherefore for the rest of his life Thomas carried with him this\ngift of truthfulness.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter VII*\n\n                        *Black Agnes of Dunbar*\n\n\nThe fortress of Dunbar was always a very important one to the Scots.  It\ncommanded the coast road from England across the Border to Edinburgh,\nnot only one of the best routes in itself, but one which had the\nadditional advantage to the English that by following it they could keep\nin touch with their ships.  So it is not surprising that many stirring\nevents in history took place at this historic town.\n\nKing Edward I. of England won a very important victory at Dunbar during\nhis first invasion of Scotland, and to the place which had witnessed the\ntriumph of the father, his son, Edward II., fled for safety after his\ndefeat at Bannockburn, taking ship thence back to England.  In the time\nof Mary Queen of Scots the fortress was held by Earl Bothwell; from here\nhe consented to the surrender of poor Mary, and here he rested in safety\nbefore his final flight to Scandinavia. Oliver Cromwell fought and won\nat Dunbar his desperate battle with the Scottish Presbyterians, the fate\nof which for some time hung in the balance.  Cromwell considered the\nplace so valuable that he had new harbour works made there, and a\nportion of his work, forming part of the east pier of the present much\nlarger harbour, is still to be seen.\n\nThe last time that Dunbar resounded to the march of an army bent on\nimmediate fight was in 1745, when the boastful English general, Sir John\nCope, landed here to engage the Highland followers of Prince Charles\nEdward (called the \"Young Pretender\").  Prince Charlie was at Edinburgh,\nand Dunbar Castle commanded the road into England.  Cope asserted that\nthe Highlanders would run away at the mere sight of his army.  He\nmarched westward, but was surprised in the early morning by his enemies\nwhen near Prestonpans. In less than ten minutes it was the unprepared\nEnglish who were flying in disorder, utterly routed.\n\nThe foregoing is but a brief outline of the stormy history of those grey\nand ruined battlements overlooking the bleak North Sea at the\nsouthernmost point of entrance to the noble Firth of Forth.  The mention\nof these stirring incidents, however, will serve to show what a very\nimportant place Dunbar was, and that it was necessary to Scottish safety\nthat a strong hand should have charge of its fortress.  We are now to\nsee how at one of the most critical hours a woman was to hold command,\nand to hold it worthily.\n\nEarly in the reign of King Edward III. of England Scottish affairs were\nin some confusion.  King Robert Bruce had lately died, leaving a son,\nKing David II., then only five years old.  That great leader and friend\nof Bruce, Randolph, Earl of Moray, was appointed Guardian of Scotland,\nbut he too soon died.  Edward III., anxious to interfere in Scottish\naffairs, agreed to help Edward Balliol to make himself king of the\nScots.  So an English army was again in Scotland, and one of the places\nthey were keenest to take was the fortress of Dunbar.\n\n[Illustration: _Black Agnes_]\n\nThe castle was a very strong one.  It was built on a chain of great\nrocks that stretched out to sea, and could only be reached from land by\none road, which was, of course, strictly guarded.  The lord of the\ncastle was the Earl of March (the word March in those days meant a\nborder-land), but he was away with the Scottish army, and his wife was\nin charge of the castle.  She was the daughter of that brave Earl of\nMoray, Guardian of Scotland, who has just been mentioned.  The English\narmy was led by an experienced general, the Earl of Salisbury, and he\nprobably thought that he would not have much trouble in overcoming\n\"Black Agnes,\" as the dark-haired countess was called.\n\nHe soon discovered that she was of heroic mould, however, for though he\nhimself led the storming-parties, she on her side, urging on her men in\nperson, hurled back his every attack.  The Lady Agnes was quite\nfearless, and treated the siege as if it were a pastime to be enjoyed.\nWhen the English, with machines made for the purpose, hurled heavy\nstones against the walls, Black Agnes would call one of her maidens with\na napkin to wipe off the dust that they made!  The biggest of all the\nEnglish war-machines was called a sow, and when it was brought to the\nwalls the countess cried out in rough jest that it was surrounded by\nlittle pigs.  At the same moment a mass of rock, which she had caused to\nbe loosened, was hurled by her men on to the English, crushing their sow\nand many soldiers with it.\n\nAt last there seemed a chance for the English.  Near midnight a Scot\ncame into their camp, saying that he was ready to betray the castle for\na reward.  The Earl of Salisbury and some chosen knights rode carefully\nforward, and found the gate open and the portcullis raised, as the man\nhad promised.  But for all that, they doubted if Black Agnes could so\nfar relax her vigilance; wherefore instead of the earl entering first,\nhe sent forward a retainer.  His caution was soon justified, for no\nsooner had this man passed the gate than the portcullis fell.  It was a\ntrick to capture the earl, but the Scots were disappointed this time.\n\nThe gallant English lord was loud in admiration of the brave Scottish\nlady who was thus defying him. Once when examining the defences with a\nlieutenant, an arrow struck his companion dead.  \"The countess's\nlove-arrows pierce to the heart,\" said Salisbury, on his return to the\ncamp.  Despite the courtly manner in which the well-bred baron referred\nto the lady, however, he did not relax his efforts to overcome her.\n\nSalisbury's land forces had now surrounded the castle on the land side,\nwhile his ships at sea completed the blockade.  The garrison was\nthreatened with starvation.  Greater and greater became the privations\nof the heroic defenders.  The countess, no less brave than ever, hoped\non, though ground for hope grew less and less.  She could not bring\nherself to think of defeat, and her brave, bright face still gave\ncourage and inspiration to all.\n\nMeantime the story of the struggle and difficulties of the defenders was\nraising up helpers, and Sir Alexander Ramsay of Dalhousie got ready a\nlight vessel filled with provisions and manned by forty brave Scots, who\nonly waited for a dark night to make the attempt to steal past the\nEnglish fleet.  They lay hidden by the Bass Rock, a lofty islet at the\nmouth of the Firth of Forth, some seven or eight miles from Dunbar,\nuntil one starless night they stole very cautiously down the wild\ncoast-line of Haddingtonshire, sometimes all but bumping into an English\nvessel in the dark.  Fortune favours the brave, and despite dangers and\ndifficulties they got safely at last to the castle, whose distant light\nhad been their guide.  Be sure Black Agnes welcomed them! This proved to\nbe the turning-point of the long siege. With fresh hope, the garrison\nmade a sudden sally on the English, driving back their advance guard,\nand after five months of fierce but fruitless attempts, Salisbury was\ncompelled to withdraw his forces and admit defeat. Nevertheless, the\nEnglish were gallant enough to sing their praises of this Scottish\nheroine; their minstrels made songs in her honour, in one of which\nSalisbury is made to say:--\n\n    \"Came I early, came I late,\n    I found Black Agnes at the gate.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter VIII*\n\n                          *The Young Tamlane*\n\n\n    \"He's ta'en her by the milk-white hand,\n      Among the leaves so green.\"\n\n\nThis tale belongs to the romantic side of the Border minstrelsy, and\nillustrates some of the common superstitions of olden times concerning\nelves and fairies.  The scene is laid in the Selkirk or Ettrick Forest,\na mountainous tract covered with the remains of the old Caledonian\nForest.  About a mile above Selkirk is a plain called Carterhaugh, and\nhere may still be seen those fairy rings of which it was believed that\nanyone sleeping upon one will wake in a fairy city.  And here was, and\nperhaps still is, an ancient well.  The ballad opens by telling how all\nyoung maids were forbidden to come or go by way of Carterhaugh, \"for\nyoung Tamlane (or Thomalin) is there,\" and every one going by\nCarterhaugh is obliged to leave him something in pledge.  But the Lady\nJanet, the fairest of the Selkirk lasses, was obstinate, and declared\nthat she would come or go to Carterhaugh, as she pleased, \"and ask no\nleave of him,\" since the land there belonged to her by hereditary right.\nShe kilted her green mantle above her knee, and braided her yellow hair\nabove her brow, and off she went to Carterhaugh.  When she got to the\nwell, she found the steed of the elfin knight Tamlane standing there,\nbut he himself was away.\n\n    \"She hadna pu'd a red, red rose,\n      A rose but barely three;\n    Till up and starts a wee, wee man\n      At Lady Janet's knee.\n\n    Says--'Why pu' ye the rose, Janet?\n      What gars (makes) ye break the tree?\n    Or why come ye to Carterhaugh,\n      Withouten leave of me?'\n\n    Says--'Carterhaugh it is mine ain;\n      My daddy gave it me:\n    I'll come and gang to Carterhaugh,\n      And ask nae leave o' thee.'\"\n\n\nBut Tamlane took her by the hand and worked upon her his spells, which\nno maiden might resist, however proud she might be.\n\nWhen she came back to her father's hall, she looked pale and wan; and it\nseemed that she had some sore sickness.  She ceased to take any pleasure\nin combing her yellow hair, and everything she ate seemed like to be her\ndeath.  When her ladies played at ball, she, once the strongest player,\nwas now the faintest.  One day her father spoke out, and said he, \"Full\nwell I know that you must have some lover.\"  She said:--\n\n    \"'If my love were an earthly knight,\n      As he's an elfin grey,\n    I wouldna give my own true love\n      For no lord that ye hae.'\"\n\n\nThen she prinked herself, and preened herself, all by the light of the\nmoon alone, and went away to Carterhaugh, to speak with Tamlane.  When\nshe got to the well, she found the steed standing, but Tamlane was away.\nShe had barely pulled a double rose, when up started the elf.\n\n\"Why pull ye the rose, Janet?\" says he; \"why pull ye the rose within\nthis garden green?\"  \"The truth ye'll tell me, Tamlane; were ye ever in\nholy chapel, or received into the Christian Church?\"  \"The truth I'll\ntell thee, Janet; a knight was my father, and a lady was my mother, like\nyour own parents.  Randolph, Earl Moray, was my sire; Dunbar, Earl\nMarch, is thine. We loved when we were children, which yet you may\nremember.  When I was a boy just turned nine, my uncle sent for me to\nhunt, and hawk, and ride with him, and keep him company.  There came a\nwind out of the north, a deep sleep came over me, and I fell from my\nhorse.  The queen of the fairies took me off to yon green hill, and now\nI'm a fairy, lithe and limber.  In Fairyland we know neither sickness\nnor pain.  We quit our body, or repair unto them, when we please. We can\ninhabit, earth, or air, as we will.  Our shapes and size we can convert\nto either large or small.  We sleep in rose-buds, revel in the stream,\nwanton lightly on the wind, or glide on a sunbeam.  I would never tire,\nJanet, to dwell in Elfland, were it not that every seven years a tithe\nis paid to hell, and I am so fair of flesh, I fear 'twill be myself.  If\nyou dare to win your true love, you have no time to lose.  To-night is\nHallowe'en, and the fairy folk ride.  If you would win your true love,\nbide at Miles Cross.\"  Miles Cross is about half a mile from\nCarterhaugh, and Janet asked how she should know Tamlane among so many\nunearthly knights.  \"The first company that passes by, let them go.  The\nnext company that passes by, let them go.  The third company that passes\nby, I'll be one of those.  First let pass the black steed, Janet, then\nlet pass the brown; but grip the milk-white steed, and pull down the\nrider--\n\n    \"For I ride on the milk-white steed,\n      And aye nearest the town;\n    Because I was a christened knight,\n      They gave me that renown.\"\n\n\nTamlane went on to explain that his fairy comrades would make every\neffort to disgust her with her captive. They would turn him in her very\narms into an adder; they would change him into a burning faggot, into a\nred-hot iron goad, but she must hold him fast.  In order to remove the\nenchantment, she must dip him in a churn of milk, and then in a barrel\nof water.  She must still persevere, for they would shape him in her\narms into a badger, eel, dove, swan, and, last of all, into a naked man,\nbut\n\n    \"Cast your green mantle over me,\n      I'll be myself again.\"\n\n\nSo fair Janet in her green mantle went that gloomy night to Miles Cross.\nThe heavens were black, the place was inexpressibly dreary, a north wind\nraged; but there she stood, eagerly wishing to embrace her lover.\nBetween the hours of twelve and one she heard strange eldrich sounds and\nthe ringing of elfin bridles, which gladdened her heart.  The oaten\npipes of the faires grew shrill, the hemlock blew clear.  The fairies\ncannot bear solemn sounds or sober thoughts; they sing like skylarks,\ninspired by love and joy.  Fair Janet stood upon the dreary heath, and\nthe sounds waxed louder as the fairy train came riding on.  Will o' the\nWisp shone out as a twinkling light before them, and soon she saw the\nfairy bands passing.  She let the black steed go by, and then the brown.\nBut she gripped fast the milk-white steed, and pulled down the rider.\nThen up rose an eldrich cry, \"He's won among us all!\"  As Janet grasped\nhim in her arms the fairies changed him into a newt, an adder, and many\nother fantastic and terrifying shapes.  She held him fast in every\nshape.  They turned him at last into a naked man in her arms, but she\nwrapped him in her green mantle. At last her stedfast courage was\nrewarded, she redeemed the fairies' captive, and by so doing won his\ntrue love! Then up spoke the Queen of Fairies, \"She that has borrowed\nyoung Tamlane has got a stately groom! She's taken the bonniest knight\nin all my company! But had I known, Tamlane,\" said the fairy queen, \"had\nI known that a lady would borrow thee, I would have taken out thy two\ngrey eyes, and put in wooden eyes.  I would have taken out thy heart of\nflesh, Tamlane, and put in a heart of stone.  I would have paid my tithe\nseven times to hell ere I would have let her win you away.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter IX*\n\n                          *The Gay Goss-Hawk*\n\n\nIn the opening lines of this old ballad Lord William is talking to the\ngoss-hawk, who tells his master that he is looking pale and thin, and\nseeks to know che cause.\n\n    \"O waly, waly, my gay goss-hawk,\n      Gin your feathering be sheen!\"\n    \"And waly, waly, my master dear,\n      Gin ye look pale and lean!\n\n    O have ye tint[#] at tournament\n      Your sword, or yet your spear?\n    Or mourn ye for the Southern lass,\n      Whom ye may not win near?\"\n\n[#] lost\n\n    \"I have not tint at tournament\n      My sword, nor yet my spear;\n    But sair[#] I mourn for my true love,\n      Wi' mony a bitter tear.\n\n[#] sore\n\n    But weel's me on ye, my gay goss-hawk,\n      Ye can baith speak and flee;\n    Ye sall carry a letter to my love,\n      Bring an answer back to me.\"\n\n    \"But how sall I your true love find,\n      Or how suld I her know?\n    I bear a tongue ne'er wi' her spake,\n      An eye that ne'er her saw.\"\n\n    \"O weel sall ye my true love ken,\n      Sae sune[#] as ye her see;\n    For, of a' the flowers of fair England,\n      The fairest flower is she.\n\n[#] soon.\n\n    The red that's on my true love's cheek\n      Is like blood-drops on the snaw;\n    The white that is on her breast bare,\n      Like the down o' the white sea-maw.\n\n    And even at my love's bour-door\n      There grows a flowering birk;[#]\n    And ye maun sit and sing thereon\n      As she gangs to the kirk.\n\n[#] birch.\n\n    And four-and-twenty fair ladyes\n      Will to the Mass repair;\n    But weel may ye my ladye ken,\n      The fairest ladye there.\"\n\n    Lord William has written a love-letter,\n      Put it under his pinion grey;\n    An' he is awa' to Southern land\n      As fast as wings can gae.\n\n    And even at the ladye's bour[#]\n      There grew a flowering birk;\n    And he sat down and sung thereon\n      As she gaed to the kirk.\n\n[#] bower.\n\n    And weel he kent that ladye fair\n      Amang her maidens free,\n    For the flower that springs in May morning\n      Was not sae sweet as she.\n\n    He lighted at the ladye's yate[#]\n      And sat him on a pin,[#]\n    And sang fu' sweet the notes o' love,\n      Till a' was cosh[#] within.\n\n[#] gate.\n[#] pine.\n[#] quiet.\n\n    And first he sang a low low note,\n      And syne[#] he sang a clear;\n    And aye the o'erword[#] o' the sang\n      Was--\"Your love can no win here.\"\n\n[#] then.\n[#] refrain.\n\n    \"Feast on, feast on, my maidens a',\n      The wine flows you amang,\n    While I gang to my shot-window\n      And hear yon bonnie bird's sang.\n\n    Sing on, sing on, my bonny bird,\n      The sang ye sung yestreen,\n    For weel I ken, by your sweet singing\n      Ye are frae my true love sen.\"[#]\n\n[#] sent.\n\n    O first he sang a merry song,\n      And syne he sang a grave;\n    And syne he picked his feathers grey,\n      To her the letter gave.\n\n    \"Have there a letter from Lord William;\n      He says he's sent ye three;\n    He canna wait your love langer,\n      But for your sake he'll die.\"\n\n    \"Gae bid him bake his bridal bread,\n      And brew his bridal ale;\n    And I shall meet him in Mary's Kirk,\n      Lang, lang ere it be stale.\"\n\n    The lady's gane to her chamber,\n      And a moanfu' woman was she;\n    As gin[#] she had taken a sudden brash[#]\n      And were about to die.\n\n[#] if\n[#] illness.\n\n    \"A boon, a boon, my father dear,\n      A boon I beg of thee!\"\n    \"Ask not that haughty Scottish lord,\n      For him ye ne'er shall see.\n\n    But for your honest asking else,\n      Weel granted it shall be.\"\n    \"Then, gin I die in Southern land,\n      In Scotland gar[#] bury me.\n\n[#] cause\n\n    And the first kirk that ye come to,\n      Ye's gar the mass be sung;\n    And the next kirk that ye come to\n      Ye's gar the bells be rung.\n\n    And when ye come to St Mary's Kirk,\n      Ye's tarry there till night.\"\n    And so her father pledged his word,\n      And so his promise plight.\n\n    She has ta'en her to her bigly bower\n      As fast as she could fare;\n    And she has drank a sleepy draught,\n      That she had mixed wi' care.\n\n    And pale, pale grew her rosy cheek,\n      That was sae bright of blee,[#]\n    And she seemed to be as surely dead\n      As any one could be.\n\n[#] bloom.\n\n    Then spake her cruel step-minnie,[#]\n      \"Tak ye the burning lead,\n    And drap a drap on her bosome,\n      To try if she be dead.\"\n\n[#] mother.\n\n    They took a drap o' boiling lead,\n      They drapped it on her breast;\n    \"Alas! alas!\" her father cried,\n      \"She's dead without the priest.\"\n\n    She neither chattered with her teeth,\n      Nor shivered with her chin;\n    \"Alas! alas!\" her father cried,\n      \"There is nae breath within.\"\n\n    Then up arose her seven brethren,\n      And hewed to her a bier;\n    They hewed it frae the solid aik,[#]\n      Laid it o'er wi' silver clear.\n\n[#] oak.\n\n    Then up and gat her seven sisters,\n      And sewed to her a kell,[#]\n    And every steek[#] that they put in\n      Sewed to a siller bell.\n\n[#] shroud.\n[#] stitch.\n\n    The first Scots kirk that they cam to,\n      They garred the bells be rung;\n    The next Scots kirk that they cam to,\n      They garred fhe mass be sung.\n\n    But when they cam to St Mary's Kirk,\n      There stude spearmen all on a row;\n    And up and started Lord William,\n      The chieftaine amang them a'.\n\n    \"Set down, set down the bier,\" he said,\n      \"Let me look her upon;\"\n    But as soon as Lord William touched her hand,\n      Her colour began to come.\n\n    She brightened like the lily flower,\n      Till her pale colour was gone;\n    With rosy cheek, and ruby lip,\n      She smiled her love upon.\n\n    \"A morsel of your bread, my lord,\n      And one glass of your wine;\n    For I have fasted these three lang days,\n      All for your sake and mine.\n\n    Gae hame, gae hame, my seven bauld brothers,\n      Gae hame and blaw your horn!\n    I trow[#] ye wad hae gi'en me the skaith,[#]\n      But I've gi'en you the scorn.\n\n[#] reckon.\n[#] harm.\n\n    Commend me to my grey father,\n      That wished my soul gude rest;\n    But wae be to my cruel step-dame,\n      Garred burn me on the breast.\"\n\n    \"Ah! woe to you, you light woman!\n      And ill death may ye die!\n    For we left father and sisters at hame,\n      Breaking their hearts for thee.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter X*\n\n                             *The Corbies*\n\n\nTwo ancient songs have come down to us in which the principal speakers\nare supposed to be Corbies, carrion-crows or ravens, birds which feed on\nthe flesh of the dead.  In both songs the birds discuss a dead knight\nupon whose rich body they wish to feed.  But deep interest lies in the\nfact that the two song-writers present entirely different views of the\ncase. One appeals to our feelings with a beautiful and touching picture\nof devotion, the knight's companions proving true to him in death.  The\nother is far more grim, and causes us to shudder at the utter loneliness\nof the dead man, deserted by all those who in life were beholden to his\nfriendship.  Both are powerful and striking examples of ancient vigour\nand directness.\n\n                            THE TWA CORBIES\n\n    As I was walking all alane,\n    I heard twa corbies making a mane;[#]\n    The tane unto the t'other say,\n    \"Where sall we gang and dine to-day?\"--\n\n[#] moan.\n\n    \"In behint yon auld fail dyke,\n    I wot there lies a new-slain knight;\n    And naebody kens that he lies there,\n    But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.\n\n    His hound is to the hunting gane,\n    His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,\n    His lady's ta'en another mate,\n    Sa we may mak our dinner sweet.\n\n    Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane,[#]\n    And I'll pick out his bonny blue een:\n    Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair,\n    We'll theek[#] our nest when it grows bare.[#]\n\n[#] neck.\n[#] thatch.\n[#] Variant reading--\"We'll theek our nest--it's a' blawn hare.\"\n\n    Mony a one for him makes mane,\n    But nane sall ken where he is gane;\n    O'er his white banes, when they are bare,\n    The wind sall blaw for evermair.\"\n\n[Illustration: The Twa Corbies]\n\n\n\n                            THE THREE RAVENS\n\n    There were three ravens sat on a tre,\n    They were as black as they might be:\n\n    The one of them said to his mate,\n    \"Where shall we our breakfast take?\"--\n\n    \"Downe in yonder greene field,\n    There lies a knight slain under his shield;\n\n    \"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,\n    So well they their master keepe;\n\n    \"His hawkes they flie so eagerlie,\n    There's no fowle dare come him nie.\n\n    \"Down there comes a fallow doe,\n    As great with yong as she might goe.\n\n    \"She lift up his bloudy hed,\n    And kist his wounds that were so red.\n\n    \"She got him up upon her backe,\n    And carried him to earthen lake.\n\n    \"She buried him before the prime,\n    She was dead her selfe ere even song time.\n\n    \"God send every gentleman,\n    Such hawkes, such houndes, and such a leman.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter XI*\n\n                     *Otterbourne and Chevy Chase*\n\n\n    \"It fell about the Lammas-tide,\n    When moor-men win their hay,\n    The doughty Douglas bound him to ride\n    Into England, to drive a prey.\"\n\n\nThe ballads of _Otterbourne_ and _Chevy Chase_ record the Scottish and\nEnglish versions of a most stubborn Border battle.  Whichever of the two\ncontains the greater amount of truth, it is clear that the day was a\nbloody one, and that, moreover, it was fought on both sides with a\nchivalrous admiration for the powers of the other which is\ncharacteristic of those strife-loving days.  Sir Philip Sidney wrote of\nit: \"I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not\nmy heart moved more than with a trumpet.\"\n\nThe ballad of _Chevy Chase_ is of later date than its rival, and it\ncontains certainly one misstatement of historical fact, since Hotspur\noutlived the fight at Chevy Chase (1388) and was slain some fifteen\nyears later at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403).\n\nThe Scottish version of the battle of Otterbourne tells us that it was\nabout the Lammas-tide or haymaking time of the year 1388 when the brave\nEarl of Douglas, with his brother, the Earl of Murray, made a foray into\nEngland, with a gay band of Gordons, Graemes, and Lindsays.  He burned\nTynedale and half of Bamborough and Otterdale, and marching up to\nNewcastle, rode round about the castle, crying, \"Who is lord of this\ncastle, and who is its lady?\"\n\nThen up spake proud Lord Percy, known as _Hotspur_, and said, \"I am the\nlord of this castle, and my wife is the gay lady of it.\"\n\n\"That pleases me well,\" answered Douglas, \"yet, ere I cross the Border\nhills, one of us shall die.\"\n\nThen Percy took his long spear, shod with metal, and rode right\nfuriously at the Douglas; but his lady, looking from the castle wall,\ngrew pale as she saw her proud lord go down before the Scottish spear.\n\n\"Had we two been alone, with never an eye to see, I would have slain\nthee, but thy lance I will carry with me,\" said Douglas, and, to\ncomplete the disgrace, this lance bore attached to it the Percy pennon.\n\n\"Go then to Otterbourne,\" said Percy, \"and wait there for me, and if I\ncome not before the end of three days, call me a false knight.\"\n\n\"Otterbourne is a pleasant and a bonny place,\" answered Douglas; \"but\nthough the deer run wild among the hills and dales, and the birds fly\nwild from tree to tree, yet is there neither bread nor kale nor aught\nelse to feed me and my men.  Yet will I wait thee at Otterbourne to give\nthee welcome, and if thou come not in three days' time, false lord, will\nI call thee!\"\n\n\"By the might of Our Lady, I will come,\" cried the proud Percy.  \"And\nI,\" answered Douglas, \"plight thee my troth that I will meet thee\nthere.\"\n\nSo Douglas and his men encamped at Otterbourne, and sent out their\nhorses to pasture.\n\nBut before the peep of dawn, up spake a little page: \"Waken ye, waken\nye, my good lord; the Percy is upon us!\"  \"Ye lie, ye lie,\" shouted\nDouglas; \"yesterday, Percy had not men enough to fight us.  But if thou\nlie not, the finest bower in Otterbourne shall be thy reward, and if\nwhat thou sayest prove false, thou shalt be hanged on the highest tree\nin Otterbourne.  Yet I have dreamed a dreary dream; I dreamed that a\ndead man won a battle and that I was that dead man.\"\n\nSo Douglas belted on his good broadsword, and ran to the field, but\nforgot his helmet, and Percy and the Douglas fought with their swords\ntogether till the blood ran down like rain, and the Douglas fell,\nwounded on the brow.\n\nThen he called to him his little foot-page and told him to run quickly\nand bring to him his sister's son, Sir Hugh Montgomery.\n\n\"My good nephew,\" said Douglas, \"the death of one matters not; last\nnight I dreamed a dreary dream, but yet I know the day is thine.  My\nwound is deep; take thou the vanguard; bury me in the bracken high that\ngrows on yonder lea, and let no man living know that a Scot lies there.\nAnd know that I am glad to die in battle, like my good forefathers, and\nnot on a bed of sickness.\"\n\nMontgomery lifted up his noble lord, while his eyes wept salt tears, and\nhid him in the bracken bush that his followers might not see, and before\ndaylight the Scots slew many a gallant Englishman.  The good Gordons\nsteeped hose and shoes in the blood of the English; the Lindsays flew\nabout like fire till the battle was ended, and Percy and Montgomery\nfought till the blood ran down between them.\n\n\"Now, yield thee, yield thee, Percy,\" cried Sir Hugh, \"or I vow I will\nlay thee low!\"\n\n\"Since it must be so,\" quoth Earl Percy, \"to whom shall I yield?\"\n\n\"Thou shalt not yield to me or to any lord, but to the bracken bush that\ngrows on yonder lea!\"\n\n\"I will not yield to briar or bracken bush, but I would yield to Lord\nDouglas or to Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he were here.\"\n\nThen Montgomery made himself known, and as soon as Percy knew that it\nwas Montgomery, he struck the point of his sword into the ground, and\nMontgomery, who was a courteous knight, took him up by the hand.\n\nThis deed was done at Otterbourne at daybreak, where Earl Douglas was\nburied by the bracken bush, and Percy led captive into Scotland, and it\nis said that Hotspur, for his ransom, built for Montgomery the castle of\nPenoon, in Ayrshire.\n\nBut the English version of these stirring events can also claim to be\nheard; the ballad upon it is called _Chevy Chase_, which means the Chase\non the Cheviots; and so popular was this ballad that its name was given\nto a boys' game, which is so called even to this day.  It tells how the\nPercy, from his castle in Northumberland, vowed that within three days\nhe would hunt on the mountains of Cheviot in spite of the doughty\nDouglas and his men, and that he would kill and carry away the fattest\ndeer in Cheviot.\n\n\"By my faith,\" said Douglas, when he heard of the boast, \"but I will\nhinder his hunting.\"\n\nPercy left Bamborough Castle with a mighty company, no less than fifteen\nhundred bold archers chosen out of three shires.\n\nThe foray began on a Monday morning in the high Cheviot Hills, and many\na child yet unborn was to rue the day.\n\nThe drivers went through the woods and raised the deer, and the bowmen\nshot them with their broad arrows.  Then the wild deer rushed through\nthe woods, only to be met and killed by the greyhounds, and before\nnoontide a hundred fat deer lay dead.  The bugles sounded, \"A mort!\" and\non all sides Percy and his men assembled to see the cutting up of the\nvenison.\n\nSaid Percy: \"The Douglas promised to meet me here this day, yet right\nwell did I know that he would fail.\"  But a Northumberland squire saw\nthe doughty Douglas coming with a mighty company, with spear and\nbatter-axe and sword.  Never were men hardier of heart and hand seen in\nChristendom--two thousand spearmen born along the banks of the Tweed and\nTeviotdale. Then said Lord Percy: \"Now leave off the cutting of the\ndeer, and take good heed to your bows, for never had ye more need of\nthem since ye were born.\"\n\nEarl Douglas rode before his men, his armour glittering like a burning\ncoal, and never was such a bold baron. \"Tell me whose men ye are,\" said\nhe, \"and who gave ye leave to hunt in Cheviot without word asked of me?\"\n\nThen answered Lord Percy, \"We will not tell thee whose men we are, and\nwe will hunt here in spite of thee. We have killed the fattest harts in\nCheviot and will carry them away.\"\n\n\"By my troth,\" said Douglas, \"one of us shall die this day.  Yet it were\ngreat pity to kill all these guiltless men.  Thou, Percy, art a lord of\nland, and I am called an earl in my country; let our men stand by, and\nwe will fight together.\"\n\n\"Now a curse on his crown, who says nay to that,\" cried Lord Percy.  \"By\nmy troth, Douglas, thou shalt never see the day either in England,\nScotland, or France, when I fear to meet one, man to man.\"\n\nThen spoke Richard Witherington, a squire of Northumberland. \"Never\nshall this be told in England, to the shame of good King Harry the\nFourth.  I wot ye be two great lords, and I but a poor squire, yet would\nI never stand and look on while my captain fought.  While I can wield a\nweapon, I will not fail, both heart and hand.\"\n\nSo the English with good heart bent their bows, and slew seven score\nspearmen with the first arrows they shot.\n\nEarl Douglas stayed on the field, but that he was a good captain was\ntruly seen, for he wrought great woe and mischief.  He parted his host\nin three like a proud chieftain, and they came in on every side with\ntheir mighty spears, wounding the English archers and slaying many a\nbrave man.\n\nThen the English pulled out their brands, and it was a heavy sight to\nsee the bright swords light on the helmets, striking through the rich\nmail, and the cloth of many folds under it, and laying many low.\n\nAt last the Douglas and the Percy met and fought with swords of Milan\nsteel till the blood spurted like rain and hail from their helmets.\n\n\"Hold thee, Percy,\" said Douglas, \"and I will bring thee to James, our\nScottish king, where thou shalt have an earl's wages and free ransom,\nfor thou art the manfullest man that ever yet I conquered fighting in\nthe field.\"\n\n\"Nay, then,\" said Lord Percy.  \"I told thee before that never would I\nyield to any man of woman born.\"\n\nWith that there came an arrow hastily from a mighty man, and struck Earl\nDouglas through the breast bone, and never more did he speak a word but\nonly this: \"Fight, my merry men, while ye may--my life's days are done.\"\n\nThen Percy leaned on his hand, and when he saw the Douglas die, he said,\n\"Woe is me.  I would have parted with my land for three years to have\nsaved thy life, for a better man of heart and hand was not in all the\nnorth country.\"\n\nBut Sir Hugh Montgomery, a Scottish knight, when he saw the Douglas done\nto death, grasped a spear and rode through a hundred archers, never\nslackening his pace till he came to Lord Percy, whom he set upon,\nsending his mighty spear clean through his body, so that a man might see\na long cloth-yard and more at the other side.  There were no two better\ncaptains in Christendom than were that day slain.\n\nWhen one of the Northumberland archers saw this, he drew an arrow to his\nbow and set upon Montgomery, until the swan feathers of his arrows were\nwet with his heart's blood.\n\nNot one man gave way, but still they stood hewing at each other, while\nthey were able.\n\nThis battle began in Cheviot, an hour before noon, nor was it half done\nat evensong, but they fought on by moonlight though many had scarce the\nstrength to stand. Of fifteen hundred English archers only fifty-three\nremained, and of two thousand Scottish spearmen only fifty-five\nremained, all the rest being slain in Cheviot.\n\nWith Lord Percy were slain, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the gentle\nHartly, Sir William the bold Heron, Sir George the worthy Lovel, a\nrenowned knight, and Sir Ralph the rich Rugby.  Woe was it that\nWitherington was slain, for when both his legs were hewn in two he\nkneeled and fought on his knees.\n\nWith the brave Douglas were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, and worthy Sir\nDavy Liddle, that was his sister's son; Sir Charles, a Murray who\nrefused to flee, and Sir Hugh Maxwell.  On the morrow they made biers of\nbirch and grey hazel, and many widows bore weeping from the field the\nbodies of their dead husbands.  Well may Teviotdale and Northumberland\nwail and moan for two such great captains.\n\nWord came to James the Scottish king at Edinburgh, that the brave\nDouglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot, and he wept\nand wrung his hands, and said, \"Alas!  Woe is me; there will never be\nsuch another captain in Scotland.\"\n\nWord came also to London, to Harry the Fourth, that Lord Percy,\nLieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot.  \"God have mercy on his\nsoul,\" said King Harry; \"I have a hundred captains in England as good as\nhe, yet I wager my life that his death shall be well avenged\"; and this\nvow he kept, at the Battle of Homildon Hill, where he beat down six and\nthirty Scottish knights on one day.\n\nBut so real to the Borderers was their grief over their dead that the\nballad ends with a quaint but heartfelt appeal to the Prince of Peace:--\n\n    \"Jesus Christ our ills abate,\n    And to His bliss us bring!\n    Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot;\n    God send us all good ending!\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XII*\n\n                           *The Douglas Clan*\n\n\nThe Douglas clan was at one time the strongest of all the great Scotch\nfamilies on the Border; they were wild and proud and recklessly brave,\nand no account of the Borders would be complete without the broad\ndetails of their tragic history.\n\nThe first to raise the fame of the family to the highest place in honour\nwas the brave Sir James Douglas, the friend of Bruce, and, after Bruce\nhimself, the greatest hero among the Scots of that stormy period.  He\nwas a powerful, black-haired man with a dark complexion, and was called\nby the English \"The Black Douglas.\"  So great was the terror of his name\nthat English mothers on the Border, when their children were naughty,\nwould tell them that the Black Douglas would get them, or if they were\nfretful they would comfort them with the assurance--\n\n    \"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,\n    Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,\n    The Black Douglas shall not get ye.\"\n\n\nSir Walter Scott relates how, when the garrison of Roxburgh Castle were\nmaking merry at Shrovetide, the castle was surprised by the Douglas, who\nmounted to the ramparts where a woman was crooning the refrain to her\nbabe.  \"You are not so sure of that,\" he said, laying his hand upon her\nshoulder.  It is pleasant to read that on this occasion the Black\nDouglas did not turn out so black as he was painted, and beyond her\nfright the woman came to no harm at the hands of Sir James and his\nfollowers.\n\nAt one time the English had seized the Douglas castle in Lanarkshire,\nand Sir James and his men disguised themselves and came to church on\nPalm Sunday, when the English soldiers were worshipping there. Suddenly\nin the midst of the service Douglas dropped his cloak and drew his sword\nand shouted: \"A Douglas! a Douglas!\"\n\nThe English soldiers were taken by surprise, and were killed before they\ncould recover themselves.  This deed brought Douglas great fame, but\nafter all it was hardly a fair fight.\n\nIn 1327, when Edward III. was only fifteen years old, Douglas led a raid\ninto Northumberland and Durham which did the English much damage.\nEdward came after them with an English army, and the Scots, being\noutnumbered, were compelled to dodge up and down in order to avoid a\npitched battle.  But in one bold night attack, Douglas and five hundred\nof the Scots penetrated to the king's tent, and almost succeeded in\ntaking him prisoner.  Failing in this, they returned unharmed to their\nown country, and shortly afterwards, at the Treaty of Northampton in\n1328, King Edward III. agreed to acknowledge Robert Bruce as King of\nScotland, and the long war between Scotland and England ended.\n\nA year later Bruce died, but after a romantic custom of that day he\nbequeathed his heart to his gallant friend, Sir James Douglas.  Douglas\nhad this heart enclosed in a silver casket and carried it hung about his\nneck.  The war with England being over, this restless knight sought\nadventures in Spain, fighting against the Saracen followers of Mahomet.\nIn one fierce battle, he and his men were surrounded by their enemies.\nDouglas, probably realising that this was his last fight, took the\ncasket and flung it into the midst of his foes, crying: \"Go first in\nfight, as thou wert used to do; Douglas will follow thee or die!\"  He\nthen rushed desperately after it, fighting his way on till at last his\ndead body fell on this dearly prized relic, which he guarded to the end.\nThe casket lies buried in the Abbey of Melrose, but Douglas's body was\nlaid in his own church.\n\nOf the bold Earl Douglas who fought and died at Otterbourne the tale is\ntold in our last chapter.  We may pass on to another famous Douglas,\nthis time a heroine, who lived in the reign of James I. of Scotland\n(quite a different king from James I. of England). When James was only\ntwelve years old, he was taken prisoner by Henry IV. of England, and\nkept captive till he was thirty.  But he was given an education fit for\na king, and in England he met the lady he devotedly loved, Lady Joan\nBeaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset.  He addressed a beautiful\npoem to her and married her, and these two always most dearly loved one\nanother.  When at last his long captivity came to an end, he got back to\nScotland to find the kingdom in disorder, and the nobles defying the law\nand acting as they pleased.  James, a strong and able king, set his\nstrength against their strength, and gradually got his whole kingdom\ninto order and ruled with wisdom and justice.\n\nBut in these days it was impossible to be firm without sternness, and\nJames made enemies.  When he was staying at Perth one Christmas-time,\nthese enemies, led by a bold villain called Sir Robert Graham, secretly\nencircled the house where he was staying.  The unarmed king only heard\nof their presence when they were advancing, fully armed, to his room.\nHe tore up a plank in the floor, seeking thus to find a hiding-place.\nThe enemies were almost at the door, and it was necessary to delay their\nentrance, for one minute might save his life.  All the bars of the door\nhad been removed beforehand, but a brave heroine, Kate Douglas, thrust\nher arm through the staples.  The villains were angered to find the door\nbarred against them, and hurled their weight upon it.\n\nThe Douglas heroine stood there, her pale face set hard, without a cry,\nas the crash broke the bone of her brave strong arm, and the would-be\nmurderers staggered in.  But alas! the sacrifice of Kate Douglas availed\nnothing except to place her name upon the immortal roll of the heroes of\nthe ages, for after a brief search the murderers found the king and slew\nhim.\n\nThe queen, who had loved James with the utmost devotion, found her love\ngive added fierceness to her hate against his murderers.  They were all\ntracked down, and she caused them to die with terrible tortures, the\ncruellest of which she reserved for Graham.  Thus did great King James's\n\"milk-white dove\" revenge the slaying of the husband she loved dearer\nthan life itself.\n\nTill this time it had seemed as if the Douglases were devoted to the\ngood of Scotland.  But in those wild, reckless times qualities that were\nstrong for good could also be strong for evil.\n\nWhen James I. of Scotland was murdered, his young son was only six years\nold.  This meant that for many years there would be no strong king able\nto cope with the lawless spirit of the nobles, strongest among whom were\nthe proud, bold Douglases.\n\nThe lawlessness of the times is well shown by an act of foul treachery\ncommitted by Sir William Crichton, Governor of Edinburgh, and an enemy\nof the Douglas family.  He invited one of the earls to dinner at the\ncastle, and while there had him seized and beheaded. It is said that a\nbull's head was placed on the dish in front of Douglas, this being a\nsign that he was to be killed.  The people called this \"Douglas's black\ndinner,\" and sang of the wicked deed in sorrowful verse:--\n\n    \"Edinburgh Castle, town and tower\n    God grant thou sink for sin!\n    And even for that black dinner\n    Earl Douglas got therein.\"\n\n\nBut the new King James found, before he was twenty years old, that the\nDouglases themselves could act with equal cruelty and lawlessness.\n\nThe king was fond of a brave young soldier named Maclellan, who, having\nsome quarrel with Earl Douglas, was thrown by him into a dungeon in his\ncastle.  So the king wrote a letter to Douglas, saying he must set\nMaclellan free, and sent this letter by Maclellan's uncle, Sir Patrick\nGray.  When Douglas saw Gray riding up to his castle, he at once guessed\nthe errand.  So he came out as though he were delighted to see him, and\ninsisted on his sitting down and having dinner with him, before the\nking's letter was opened and discussed.  But the treacherous earl had\ngiven secret orders that Maclellan should be beheaded while they were\ndining, so that after dinner was over, and the letter was read, he could\nsay that this had been done before he had seen the king's message.\n\nGray dared not show his anger, for fear he too should be killed.  He\nmounted his swift horse and rode away, but the moment he was outside the\ncastle walls he shook his mailed fist at Douglas and cried out--\n\n\"Treacherous earl, disgrace to knighthood, some day you shall pay for\nthis black, base deed!\"\n\nDouglas mounted his men, and they pursued Gray almost to the gates of\nEdinburgh; but he rode for his life, and faster than they.\n\nWhen Douglas and the king next met there was a stormy scene.  The earl\nwas so proud and wilful that he would not bend to any of the king's\nwishes or heed the king's anger in the least.  So King James, mad with\nrage, stabbed the reckless earl with his dagger, and Sir Patrick Gray,\nseeing this, struck him a death-blow with his axe.\n\nThe king was in Stirling Castle, a powerful fortress at the top of a\nsteep hill, when the new earl, the younger brother of the murdered man,\nrode up with six hundred followers, and burnt and plundered the town\nbefore the king's very eyes, and added to the insult by publicly\ndeclaring that King James II. was a law-breaker.\n\nFor three years the quarrel went on between the king and the Douglases,\nbut it was then evident that there could be no peace between them.  So\nat last the king's army attacked the collected forces of the strong\nDouglas family at a place on the Borders then called Arkinholm, where\nthe picturesque little town of Langholm now stands. Here the beautiful\nriver Esk receives the water of two smaller streams, and so it was a\ngood place to make a stand for a fight.  The battle was long and\ndesperate; three brothers of the bold black Douglases were there, and\nthey withstood the king's men till the rivers ran red; but their cause\nwas hopeless.  One was slain in battle; one was taken and executed; one\nescaped into England; and the power of the Black Douglases was gone.\n\nThus it was that the strongest and most famous family of the Borders was\nbroken up, because its proud leaders dared to dictate to the king\nhimself.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XIII*\n\n                    *Alnwick Castle and the Percies*\n\n\nThe castle of Alnwick stands on a hill on the south bank of the river\nAlne; being protected on one side by the river and on another by a deep\ngorge, it stands in a strong natural position.  There are traces of\nearthworks that seem to show that the spot was fortified in the old\nBritish days, but the earliest fact which we know certainly is that\nthere was a Saxon fortress here, held by a Gilbert Tyson, when William\nthe Conqueror claimed England.  Tyson hastened south to fight on\nHarold's side, and was killed at the battle of Hastings.\n\nThe fortress seems to have got into the hands of a Norman knight, Ivo de\nVesci, who married the grand-daughter of Gilbert Tyson.  King Malcolm of\nScotland was killed in front of it, in 1093, with three thousand of his\nmen.  De Vesci's son-in-law was probably the knight who rebuilt the\ncastle in the Norman style, some portions of which still remain.\n\nIn 1174, William the Lion, King of Scotland, who had claimed\nNorthumberland as his own, attacked the castles of Wark and of Alnwick.\nWark was defended by a gallant knight named Roger de Stuteville.\nWilliam's brave men tried in vain to force their way through the\nportcullis, but were beaten back.  Then William ordered up his\n_periere_, a machine made for hurling stones.  \"This,\" said the king,\n\"will soon smash down the gate for us!\"  With great expectations the\nmachine was set in motion, but it acted so badly that it threw the\nstones on to William's own men, and nearly killed one of his best\nknights!  William raved in his fury, and swore he would rather have been\ncaptured in fair fight than be made to look so foolish in the eyes of\nhis enemies.  He gave word to burn the castle, but the wind was in the\nwrong quarter and blew back the flames. So he had to give up the siege.\nStuteville, like a gallant enemy, told his men not to shout taunts and\njeers at the departing Scots.  But instead they blew trumpets and horns,\nand sang songs, and called out a very loud and hearty \"Good-bye.\"\n\nShortly afterwards, William came before Alnwick, and it was then De\nVesci's turn.  It was Saturday morning on a hot July day, and the\nScottish king's knights flatteringly told him that the English were\nbound to give way to him, and Northumberland would be his.  The king was\ndining in front of the castle, with no helmet on, when suddenly a part\nof the English army made a surprise attack.  The bold king leapt on to\nhis grey charger, and unhorsed the first knight he met.  So quick and\nbrave were the Scots that they had almost defeated the English when an\nEnglish foot-soldier stabbed the king's horse with his lance, and it\nfell, bringing William down to the ground and pinning him there.  This\nturned the course of battle; the Scots were beaten back, and William\ntaken prisoner.\n\nIn was in 1309 that the great Percy family first obtained possession of\nAlnwick and its domain.  Henry Percy purchased it from Anthony Bek,\nBishop of Durham, who had somehow obtained power over it, and the brave\nDe Vesci family disappear.  About this date Northumberland was in a\nmiserable condition; it was the reign of the feeble Edward II., and\nBruce had invaded the four northernmost counties of England, and was\nexacting tribute from them.  The English were safe only within their\nfortresses.\n\nHowever, the brave Sir Thomas Gray, who held Norham Castle, did much to\nuphold the falling honour of England, and Henry Percy almost rebuilt the\ncastle of Alnwick, which in his son's time successfully withstood a\nsiege.  But at last peace was restored by the Treaty of Northampton in\n1328, by the terms of which the English king renounced all claim to\nScotland.\n\nThe Percy family were of Norman origin, deriving their name from a\nNorman village.  William de Percy crossed to England just after the\nbattle of Hastings, and received grants of land in Yorkshire.  Agnes de\nPercy married Jocelin, Count of Louvain, and their son Henry took his\nmother's surname.  From that year onward, the the Christian name of\nHenry was always given to the eldest son; there were fourteen Henry\nPercies!\n\nEven in these wild times the Percies were distinguished by the boldness\nof their spirits.  One of the Counts of Louvain, grandfather of the\nfirst Henry Percy, shocked the men of his day by hanging some of his\nenemies with the church bell-ropes.  It was not the hanging that was\nobjected to--hanging was common enough; but the use of church-ropes for\nthe purpose was thought very wicked!\n\nAfter they had rebuilt Alnwick Castle and settled down there, the\nPercies soon established their power in the North.  At the coronation of\nRichard II., in 1377, a Henry Percy was Marshal of England, and he was\nthen made Earl of Northumberland.  His son, \"Hotspur,\" was the most\nfamous of all the Percies.  In their time, the battles of Otterbourne\nand Homildon Hill were fought. But they rebelled against Henry IV. and\nHotspur was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403), while his father\nwas slain a few years later at Bramham Moor, his head set up on London\nBridge, and quarters of his body on the gates of Berwick, Newcastle,\nLincoln, and London, to discourage others from following in his\nfootsteps!\n\nHenry, son of \"Hotspur,\" was the second earl.  He repaired and added to\nthe castle and was present at the battle of Agincourt.  It was not the\nhabit of the Percies to die in their beds, and this one was killed in\nthe Wars of the Roses, at the first battle of St Albans, in 1455.\n\nThe fact of their having taken the losing Lancastrian side in these wars\nkept the family under a cloud for a number of years.  One of them\ndeserted Richard III. on Bosworth field in 1485; one of them was\nbeheaded at York in 1572, for taking part in the \"Rising of the North\";\none of them was found shot in his bed in 1585, and another died in the\nTower in 1632.  So that the family could hardly be said to be quieting\ndown.\n\nThey sided with Parliament during the Civil War, but later on they\nfavoured the Restoration.  At last there came a time when there were no\nmale heirs left in this great line, but only a daughter, Elizabeth.  She\nmarried the Duke of Somerset, and had thirteen children, the eldest\nsurviving of whom was created Earl of Northumberland in 1748.  But he\ndied the year after, leaving only a daughter, who had married a very\nable baronet, to whom was given the title of Duke of Northumberland in\n1766.  He very wisely took the surname of Percy, and again restored the\ncastle of Alnwick, putting the family estates and affairs in good order.\nSo that the Percies of Alnwick Castle are Dukes of Northumberland to\nthis day.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XIV*\n\n                      *Hexham and Queen Margaret*\n\n\nThe town of Hexham stands on the south bank of the Tyne, rising\ngradually up the hill and presenting a most picturesque appearance.\nAbout two miles above Hexham the North and the South Tyne meet, and the\ncombined river is broad and noble, and the hills around Hexham give\nstrength and beauty to the scene.  The commanding appearance and central\nposition of the priory church adds its note of dignity, and the total\neffect of the town is very pleasing to the eye.\n\nThere is no doubt that from very early times there was a town in this\nfine natural position.  The burial-grounds of primitive races have been\ndiscovered here, with stone and bronze implements.  The Romans had a\ntown here of some importance, although it was four miles south of their\ngreat wall.  A Roman tombstone was discovered here, nine feet by three\nand a half feet, showing a Roman officer on horseback, overthrowing in\nfierce fight a savage and scowling foe.  This fine relic is set up in\nthe church, and is not the only thing to see there.  The original church\nupon this spot was built in 674, in the reign of King Egfrid of\nNorthumbria.  Wilfrid, the very able and influential Bishop of York, was\nthe man who presided at the building of it, and there were bishops at\nHexham for a couple of centuries.  In 875 the Danes ruthlessly burnt the\ntown; and nearly one thousand years later, in 1832, there was found\nburied in the ground a bronze vessel containing about nine thousand\nSaxon coins of the eighth and ninth century, evidently buried to protect\nthis treasure from the invaders.  Those who buried them were probably\nslain before they had time to dig them up again.  There was a legend of\nanother treasure hidden between Hexham and Corbridge, and King John came\nto Hexham in 1201 to search for it.  He returned in 1208 and in 1212,\nbut found nothing.  Time passed, and this tale of hidden treasure ceased\neven to be local gossip, but in 1735 by accident it was found.\n\nThe present handsome priory church must have been built about the time\nof King John's visits to Hexham. It is a noble building, well worth a\nvisit.  In 1725, when some work was being done in the church, a\nwonderful discovery was made.  It was found that there was an old Saxon\ncrypt, a narrow vault with several passages, underneath the church!\nThis was so carefully hidden that it was evidently intended as a place\nof refuge in danger.  It was built of Roman stones, several of which\nhave Roman inscriptions.\n\nThe Scots several times attacked Hexham.  Once Sir William Wallace came\nthere with his army, but he would not let his Scots damage the church,\nso that Hexham, on the whole, had a less stormy life than many of the\nBorder towns, although in 1537, when Henry VIII. caused the monastery to\nbe suppressed, the prior and five of the leading monks were hanged\nbefore the gates as a gentle reminder that they were to live there no\nlonger.\n\nBut by far the most stirring event in Hexham's history was the battle\nwhich raged there in 1464.  The Wars of the Roses do not form a pleasing\nepisode in English history.  They were pitiless, and treachery was\nmingled with bloodshed; desertions and executions were the accompaniment\nof every battle.  Edward IV. was coldly cruel and unscrupulous, one of\nthe blackest figures of a black time.  But romance centres round Queen\nMargaret, the dauntless and resourceful wife of the feeble King Henry\nVI., with whom Edward disputed the throne. She it was who, making up for\nher husband's weakness, urged ever bravely and hopefully the cause of\nher son. Thus she pressed on to the very end, till that son, worthy of\nhis heroic mother, proudly answered the taunts of his base enemies, even\nthough in their power, preferring speedy death to any lessening of his\ntragic dignity, and dying before the eyes of the successful and exultant\nEdward.\n\nIn this fierce drama, Hexham was but an episode. The Lancastrians had\nscattered after their heavy defeat at Towton.  Margaret in person had\nbegged a little help of the King of Scotland, a little more of the King\nof France.  The Borderland was favourable to her, and she gathered her\nforces together there, King Henry VI. staying in Alnwick Castle.\n\nLord Montague, brother to the powerful but crafty Earl of Warwick, was\nwarden of the East Marches for Edward, and he hastily collected the\nYorkist forces.  He was swift, able, and unscrupulous.  He attacked a\nsmall body of Lancastrians on Hedgeley Moor, only ten miles from\nAlnwick, and defeated them, killing their leader, Sir Ralph Percy, son\nof Hotspur.  As this gallant man died he consoled himself by saying, \"I\nhave saved the bird in my bosom,\" by which poetical phrase he meant that\nhe had saved his honour by being true to his queen. In May the greater\nbattle of Hexham was fought.  King Henry was there in person, with the\ndauntless Queen Margaret and her son, and their brave general, the Duke\nof Somerset.  They marched out of Hexham to attack Lord Montague; the\nbattle began by the village of Linnels, on the south side of the Devil's\nWater, a stream that runs into the Tyne.  The fight was desperate, for\nboth sides knew that no quarter would be given.  It is said by some that\nthe Scots, having no interest in the war, deserted Margaret; anyway, bit\nby bit the Lancastrians were forced back, to the very streets of Hexham\nitself, two miles away.  In these narrow streets, in the quarter that is\nstill called Battle Hill, the last desperate fighters on the side of the\nRed Rose made their final and unavailing stand.\n\nAt last the remnant fled, and no doubt many a Hexham maid and dame, at\nthe risk of her own life or limb, hid that day some devoted follower of\nMargaret.\n\nThe gallant Duke of Somerset was taken prisoner, and there and then was\nbrought to the block in the market-place and beheaded.  The cruel\nMontague had not the true soldier's respect for a brave enemy, whose\nblood thus mingled with that of his men.  Other nobles were taken as\nprisoners to Newcastle, but Edward also was devoid of mercy, and all\nperished.\n\n[Illustration: _The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham_]\n\nTill the last moment the queen hoped on.  She was not daunted by scenes\nof strife and bloodshed.  When defeat was an accomplished fact, she and\nher young son fled to the Dipton Woods, where they fell into the hands\nof rough men, some say a party of Yorkist stragglers. Whilst these men\nwere eagerly dividing and quarrelling over the queen's jewels, she and\nthe prince slipped away. Deeper into the dangerous woods they had to go,\nfor worse than robbers were hunting for them around Hexham.  Suddenly an\noutlaw stood in their path with drawn sword.  Even after that day of\nstir and terror Margaret's courage did not fail her.  She boldly\ndeclared to the man that she was the Queen of England, and with her was\nher only son.  Now, if he chose to betray them he could do so; but if he\nhad that natural nobility that hailed gladly great chances to do great\ndeeds, now was his time to prove himself a man, and to save the\nill-fated prince and his queen.\n\nThe robber bowed before her as though she were on her throne, and as if\nthe trees were her army around her. He swore to die a hundred deaths\nrather than betray his rightful sovereign and her prince.  He honourably\nkept his word; and through his safe guidance and steady devotion, both\nqueen and prince were able to join King Henry in Scotland, to which\nplace he had safely escaped.\n\nThus the bandit of Hexham proved himself to be a truer man than either\nLord Montague, or Warwick, the King-maker, or King Edward IV. of\nEngland.\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter XV*\n\n                      *Fair Helen of Kirkconnell*\n\n\nVery simple, very touching, is the story of fair Helen of Kirkconnell.\nThis beautiful maiden had two lovers, one rich, one poor.  Her friends\nfavoured the rich one, she loved the poor one.  She and her chosen lover\nused to meet secretly in the romantic churchyard of Kirkconnell, by the\nside of the river Kirtle.  Learning this, the rejected lover crept up\none evening, with his carbine, to shoot his luckier rival; Helen saw him\nat the moment of firing, and threw herself forward to receive the shot\nin her bosom, and so save her lover's life at the cost of her own.\n\nThe ballad describing the grief of her lover is one of the most\nbeautiful and touching pieces of poetry in existence, and must be given\nhere entire.\n\n\n                              *FAIR HELEN*\n\n    I wish I were where Helen lies;\n    Night and day on me she cries;\n    O that I were where Helen lies,\n      On fair Kirkconnell Lee!\n\n    Curst be the heart that thought the thought,\n    And curst the hand that shot the shot,\n    When in my arms burd Helen dropt,\n      And died to succour me.\n\n    O think ye not my heart was sair,\n    When my love dropt and spak nae mair!\n    There did she swoon wi' meikle care,\n      On fair Kirkconnell Lee.\n\n    As I went down the water-side,\n    None but my foe to be my guide,\n    None but my foe to be my guide,\n      On fair Kirkconnell Lee!\n\n    I lighted down my sword to draw,\n    I hacked him in pieces sma',\n    I hacked him in pieces sma',\n      For her sake that died for me.\n\n    O Helen fair beyond compare,\n    I'll make a garland of thy hair,\n    Shall bind my heart for evermair,\n      Until the day I die.\n\n    O that I were where Helen lies,\n    Night and day on me she cries;\n    Out of my bed she bids me rise,\n      Says, \"Haste and come to me!\"\n\n    O Helen fair!  O Helen chaste!\n    If I were with thee, I were blest,\n    Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,\n      On fair Kirkconnell Lee.\n\n    O that my grave were growing green,\n    A winding sheet drawn ower my een,\n    And I in Helen's arms were lying,\n      On fair Kirkconnell Lee!\n\n    I wish I were where Helen lies!\n    Night and day on me she cries,\n    And I am weary of the skies,\n      For her sake that died for me.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XVI*\n\n                         *Johnie of Breadislee*\n\n\nJohnie of Breadislee, outlaw and deer-stealer, was one of the \"broken\nmen,\" as they were called, the Ishmaels of the Border.  Johnie rose up\none May morning, and called for water to wash his hands.  He ordered to\nbe unleashed his good grey dogs, that were bound with iron chains.  When\nhis mother heard that he had called for the dogs, she wrung her hands.\n\"O Johnie!\" she cried, \"for my blessing, do not go to the greenwood\nto-day.  Ye have enough of good wheat bread, enough blood-red wine,\ntherefore, Johnie, I pray, stir not from home for any venison.\"  But\ndespite his mother's tears, Johnie busked up his good bent bow, and his\narrows, and went off to Durrisdeer to hunt down the dun deer.  As he\ncame by Merriemass he espied a deer lying beneath a bush of furze.\nJohnie let fly an arrow, and the deer leapt as the pitiless shaft found\nits mark, and between the water and the brae his good hounds \"laid her\npride.\"  So Johnie cut up the venison, giving the liver and lungs to his\nfaithful hounds, as if they had been earl's sons.  With such zest did\nthey eat and drink that Johnie and the dogs fell asleep, as if they had\nbeen dead.  Then as they lay, there came by a silly old man, and, as\nsoon as he saw the poachers, he ran away to Hislinton, where the Seven\nForesters were.  \"What news?\" they asked.  \"What news bring ye, ye\ngrey-headed carle?\"  \"I bring no news,\" said the grey-headed carle,\n\"save what my eyes did see.  As I came down by Merrimass among the\nstunted trees, the bonniest child I ever saw lay asleep among his dogs.\nThe shirt upon his back was of fine Holland, his doubtlet, over that,\nwas of Lincoln twine, his buttons were of the good gold, the mouths of\nhis good grey hounds were dyed with blood.\"\n\nNow Johnie, like many another free-hearted outlaw, was a well-liked man.\nSo the chief forester said, \"If this be Johnie of Breadislee we will\ndraw no nearer.\"  But this was not the spirit of his men.  Quoth the\nsixth Forester, \"If it indeed be he, rather let us slay him.\"\nCautiously they went through the thicket, and when they saw their man,\nasleep and helpless, they shot a flight of arrows.  Johnie sprang up,\nsore wounded on the knee. The seventh forester cried out, \"The next\nflight will kill him,\" but little chance did the outlaw give them for\nsuch an easy victory.  He set his back against an oak and propped his\nwounded leg upon a stone; with bow or with sword he was a better man by\nfar than any of his foes.\n\nIn the short, sharp fight that followed, he killed six of the foresters,\nsome with arrow, and some with steel; and when the seventh turned to\nflee, Johnie seized him from behind and threw him on to the ground with\na force that broke three of his ribs.  Then he laid him on his steed,\nand bade him carry the tidings home.\n\n[Illustration: _Johnie of Breadislee_]\n\nBut Johnie himself was hurt to death.  \"Is there no bonnie singing\nbird,\" he cried, \"that can fly to my mother's bower and tell her to\nfetch Johnie away?\"  A starling flew to his mother's window sill, and\nsang and whistled, and the burden of its tune was ever the same. \"Johnie\ntarries long.\"  So the men made a litter from rods of the hazel bush and\nof the thorn and fetched Johnie away.  Then his old mother's tears\nflowed fast, and she said, \"Ye would not be warned, my son Johnie, to\nbide away from the hunting.  Oft have I brought to Breadislee the less\nor greater gear, but never what grieved my heart so sorely.  But woe\nbetide that silly old grey-headed carle!  An ill death shall he die!\nThe highest tree in Merriemass shall be his reward.\"\n\n    \"Now Johnie's gude bent bow is brake,\n    And his gude grey dogs are slain,\n    And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,\n    And his hunting it is done.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XVII*\n\n                          *Katharine Janfarie*\n\n\nThis ballad is evidently the original of Sir Walter Scott's \"Lochinvar,\"\nthough Sir Walter reversed the names of the two leading male characters.\nIn \"Katharine Janfarie\" Lochinvar plays the part of the craven\nbridegroom.\n\n    There was a may,[#] and a weel-far'd may,\n      Lived high up in yon glen;\n    Her name was Katharine Janfarie,\n      She was courted by mony men.\n\n[#] maiden.\n\n    Up there came Lord Lauderdale,\n      Up frae the Lowland Border,\n    And he has come to court this may,\n      A' mounted in good order.\n\n    He told na her father, he told na her mother,\n      And he told na ane o' her kin,\n    But he whispered the bonnie lassie hersell,\n      And has her favour won.\n\n    But out there cam Lord Lochinvar,\n      Out frae the English Border,\n    All for to court this bonny may,\n      Weel mounted, and in order.\n\n    He told her father, he told her mother,\n      And a' the lave[#] o' her kin;\n    But he told na the bonny may hersell,\n      Till on her wedding e'en.\n\n[#] rest.\n\n    She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale,\n      Gin[#] he wad come and see,\n    And he has sent back word again,\n      Weel answered he suld[#] be.\n\n[#] if.\n[#] should.\n\n    And he has sent a messenger\n      Right quickly through the land,\n    And raised mony an armed man\n      To be at his command.\n\n    The bride looked out at a high window,\n      Beneath baith dale and down,\n    And she was aware of her first true love,\n      With riders mony a one.\n\n    She scoffed him, and scorned him,\n      Upon her wedding-day;\n    And said, \"It was the Fairy Court,\n        To see him in array!\n\n    \"O come ye here to fight, young lord,\n      Or come ye here to play?\n    Or come ye here to drink good wine,\n        Upon the wedding-day?\"\n\n    \"I come na here to fight,\" he said,\n      \"I come na here to play,\n    I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,\n      And mount, and go my way.\"\n\n    It is a glass of the blood-red wine\n      Was filled up them between,\n    And aye she drank to Lauderdale,\n      Wha[#] her true love had been.\n\n[#] who.\n\n    He's taen[#] her by the milk-white hand,\n      And by the grass-green sleeve;\n    He's mounted her hie behind himsell,\n      At her kinsmen speired[#] na leave.\n\n[#] taken.\n[#] asked.\n\n    \"Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar!\n      Now take her if ye may!\n    But if you take your bride again,\n      We'll call it but foul play.\"\n\n    There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,\n      A' clad in the Johnstone grey;\n    They said they would take the bride again,\n      By the strong hand, if they may.\n\n    Some o' them were right willing men,\n      But they were na willing a';\n    And four-and-twenty Leader lads\n      Bid them mount and ride awa'.\n\n    Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,\n      And swords flew frae the shea's,[#]\n    And red and rosy was the blood\n      Ran down the lily braes.\n\n[#] sheathes.\n\n    The blood ran down by Caddon bank,\n      And down by Caddon brae,\n    And, sighing, said the bonnie bride--\n      \"O wae's me for foul play.\"\n\n    My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!\n      Wae to your wilfu' will!\n    There's mony a gallant gentleman\n      Whae's bluid ye have garred[#] to spill.\n\n[#] caused.\n\n    Now a' the lords of fair England,\n      And that dwell by the English Border,\n    Come never here to seek a wife,\n      For fear of sic[#] disorder.\n\n[#] such.\n\n    They'll track ye up, and settle ye bye,\n      Till on your wedding-day;\n    Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,\n      And play ye foul foul play.\n\n\n\n                              *LOCHINVAR*\n\nIn Sir Walter Scott's poem, Lochinvar is the hero, and the story has a\nhappier ending.  The song was supposed to have been sung to James IV. by\nLady Heron at Holyrood shortly before the fatal battle of Flodden.\n\n    O young Lochinvar has come out of the west,\n    Through all the wide border his steel was the best;\n    And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,\n    He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,\n    So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,\n    There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.\n\n    He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,\n    He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,\n    But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,\n    The bride had consented, the gallant came late;\n    For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,\n    Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.\n\n    So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,\n    Among bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all,\n    Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword\n    (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),\n    \"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,\n    Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?\"\n\n    \"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;\n    Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,\n    And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,\n    To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,\n    There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,\n    That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.\"\n\n    The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,\n    He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.\n    She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,\n    With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.\n    He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,\n    \"Now tread we a measure!\" said young Lochinvar.\n\n    So stately her form, and so lovely her face,\n    That never a hall such a galliard did grace;\n    While her brother did fret, and her father did fume,\n    And the bridgroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,\n    And the bride-maidens whispered, \"'Twere better by far,\n    To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.\"\n\n    One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,\n    When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;\n    So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,\n    So light to the saddle before her he sprung!\n    \"She is won! we have gone over bank, bush, and scaur;\n    They'll have fleet steeds that follow,\" quoth young Lochinvar.\n\n    There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;\n    Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,\n    There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,\n    But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.\n    So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,\n    Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XVIII*\n\n                           *By Lauder Bridge*\n\n\nThe Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint little border town with\nhardly more than one street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on the\nhigh road between Edinburgh and Kelso.  It stands very picturesquely,\namong the bold hills and fine woods of Berwickshire, and the valley is\ncalled Lauderdale, extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just\nbelow Melrose.  Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and yet it was once\nthe scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.\n\nIt was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland, who offended his\nsubjects in two particulars.\n\nFirst, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead with his\nsilver money, and put it into circulation as pure silver; next, he chose\nfavourites from the common people, and set these above the proud\nnoblemen of Scotland.\n\nThis latter would not have been so bad a fault if the king had always\nchosen wisely; but, as often in such cases, he was led by flatterers\nrather than by worthy men.\n\nIn 1482 the king declared war against England, and, as in these warlike\ndays the nobles were the leaders of the army, this brought the\ndiscontented lords together.\n\nWhen the Scottish army reached Lauder in their southward march, the\nproud nobles met in Lauder church; all were angry with the king, yet\neach was afraid to make the first move.  So Lord Gray told them a\nmocking fable.\n\n\"Do you remember,\" said he, \"how all the mice got together and agreed\nthat it would be a splendid thing if a bell were hung round the cat's\nneck, so that wherever she went she could be heard; the only difficulty\nwas to find a mouse to bell the cat!\"\n\nThese warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of as if they were mice,\nand it roused them to deeper rage.\n\nThen out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the head of the younger\nbranch of the Douglas family. \"Trust me, I'll bell the cat!\"\n\nThere was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect, whom the nobles\nsaid had been a mason, but was now the king's chief favourite, entered,\ndressed in black velvet, with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a\nhorn of gold tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the\ncostliest.  Angus caught the chain in his hands and said, \"A rope would\nsuit that neck better!\"\n\nThen the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's low-born favourites\nand hanged them by the bridge of Lauder, in front of the king's very\neyes!  Cochrane was proud and brave to the last.  He said that as the\nking had made him an earl he should be hanged with a rope made of silk;\nlittle did the nobles care for his protests, the halter of a horse was\nin their opinion good enough for him.\n\nFrom this time onward the headstrong Earl of Angus was known by the\nnick-name of \"Bell-the-Cat.\"  It may be taken for granted that neither\nhe nor the nobles who supported him would have dared to act so\narrogantly and violently unless they felt quite sure that the king had\nnot the power to punish them. He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more\nthe captive of the nobles than their master.\n\nA parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general of the\nkingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour, for he was suspected of too\ngreat a friendship for Edward IV., King of England, and fled for safety\nto France, giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for\nhimself.\n\nThis weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not destined to have much\npeace.  Before very long, another quarrel with his nobles led to their\ntaking up arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on the\nthrone.  The king and his nobles met in battle near Stirling, but, at\nthe very beginning of the fight, James was thrown from his horse and\nstabbed by a soldier, whose name remained unknown.  Thus died this weak\nbut amiable and unfortunate king.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XIX*\n\n                     *The Battle of Flodden Field*\n\n\nOne of the most tragic episodes in the History of the Borders was the\nbattle of Flodden Field, when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell\naround their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against the English\nunder Surrey.\n\nThe causes of the war were many.  Henry of England refused to give up\nthe jewels which had been promised as the dowry of his sister Margaret\non her marriage with James IV.\n\nThe Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund Howard, had attacked and\ntaken two Scottish ships, and slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton.\nJames, who was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry insolently\nreplied that kings should not quarrel about pirates.\n\nBut the immediate cause was the friendship between France and Scotland.\nHenry was preparing for war with France, and James stood by his ally,\ndeclaring that if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army into\nEngland.  The Queen of France sent James a turquoise ring, asking him to\ncarry out his threat to serve her interests.\n\nJames had been warned that his action would have terrible consequences.\nA man appeared to him at Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare\nhead, and carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his dead\nmother had sent him to warn him not to go to war against England, he\ndisappeared as suddenly as he had come.\n\nAlso at the dead of night a voice had been heard proclaiming aloud at\nthe market Cross in Edinburgh the names of those who, within forty days,\nwould be no more. It was thought at the time that these happenings were\ninstigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still persisted in his\npolicy, and led his army across the Border, in spite of the warnings of\nhis counsellors and his queen.\n\nA fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter Scott, when Lord\nMarmion watches the scene from Blackford Hill.\n\n    \"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,\n    Spread all the Borough-moor below,\n    Upland, and dale, and down:--\n    A thousand, did I say?  I ween,\n    Thousands and thousands, there were seen,\n    That chequer'd all the heath between\n    The streamlet and the town;\n    In crossing ranks extending far,\n    Forming a camp irregular;\n    Oft giving way, where still there stood\n    Some relics of the old oak wood,\n    That darkly huge did intervene,\n    And tamed the glaring white with green,\n    In these extended lines there lay,\n    A martial kingdom's vast array.\n\n    For from Hebudes, dark with rain,\n    To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,\n    And from the southern Redswire edge,\n    To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,\n    From west to east, from south to north,\n    Scotland sent all her warriors forth,\n    Marmion might hear the mingled hum,\n    Of myriads up the mountain come;\n    The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,\n    Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,\n        And charger's shrilling neigh;\n    And see the shifting lines advance\n    Whilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,\n        The sun's reflected ray.\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    They saw, slow rolling on the plain,\n    Full many a baggage-cart and wain,\n    And dire artillery's clumsy car.\n    By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    Nor mark'd they less, where in the air\n    A thousand streamers flaunted fair,\n        Various in shape, device, and hue,\n        Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,\n    Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,\n    Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] there\n        O'er the pavilions flew.\n    Highest and midmost, was descried\n    The royal banner floating wide;\n    The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,\n    Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,\n    Which still in memory is shown,\n    Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.\n    Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,\n    With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,\n    And gave to view the dazzling field,\n    Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,\n    The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold.\"\n\n[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed them.\n\n\nMarmion wondered that with such a glorious army at his back anyone\nshould try to dissuade James from battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the\nMount answered him,\n\n      \"'twere good\n    That Kings would think withal,\n    When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,\n    'Tis better to sit still at rest,\n    Than rise, perchance to fall.\"\n\n\nMen-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour, with battle-axe and\nspear, and mounted on Flemish steeds.  Young knights and squires\npractised their chargers on the plain.  Hardy burghers marched on foot,\narmed with long pikes and two-handed swords and bright bucklers.\n\nThe yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack quilted well with\niron, and bearing at his back, provisions for forty days.  He seemed sad\nof cheer, and loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would till\nthe land during his absence.\n\nThere, too, was the Borderer:--\n\n          \"bred to war,\n    He knew the battle's din afar,\n      And joy'd to hear it swell.\n    His peaceful day was slothful ease,\n    Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please\n        Like the loud slogan yell.\"\n\nfor\n\n    \"War's the Borderer's game,\n    Their gain, their glory, their delight,\n    To sleep the day, maraud the night,\n    O'er mountain, moss, and moor.\"\n\n[Illustration: _Flodden Field_]\n\nThere, too, were the Celts, with savage eyes looking out wildly through\nred and sable hair, with sinewy frames and legs bare above the knees,\ntheir chiefs known by the eagle's plumage.  They wore the skin of the\nred deer, a graceful bonnet, and a plaid hung from the shoulders, and\ncarried as weapons a broadsword, a dagger, and quivers, bows, and\nshafts.\n\nThe Isles-men, too, were there, carrying the ancient Danish battle-axe.\nWhile the army was mustering together, James feasted the chiefs in\nHolyrood Palace, for at dawn they were to march southward.\n\n    \"Well loved that splendid monarch aye\n      The banquet and the song,\n    By day the tourney, and by night\n    The merry dance, traced fast and light,\n    The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,\n      The revel loud and long.\n    This feast outshone his banquets past;\n    It was his blithest and his last.\"\n\n    And hazel was his eagle eye,\n    And auburn of the darkest dye,\n    His short curl'd beard and hair.\n    Light was his footstep in the dance,\n      And firm his stirrup in the lists;\n    And oh! he had that merry glance,\n      That seldom lady's heart resists.\"\n\n\nYet no fair lady was as dear to James as his own Queen Margaret, who sat\nalone in the tower of Linlithgow weeping for the war against her native\ncountry, and for the danger of her lord.\n\nOn the morrow, James marched south, crossed the Tweed, and encamped on\nthe banks of the Till, near Twisel Bridge.  The Scottish army moved down\nthe side of the Tweed to Flodden Hill taking Norham Castle, and the\nBorder towns of Etal, Wark, and Ford.  Much time was wasted in these\npetty enterprises, time which should have been spent in marching to\nNewcastle before the English were prepared to offer resistance.  When\nthe castle of Ford was stormed, Lady Heron, wife of Sir William Heron,\nthen a prisoner in Scotland, was taken, and this beautiful and artful\nwoman induced James to idle away his time until all chance was lost of\ndefeating the enemy.\n\nThe army suffered severely from want of provisions, and many of the\nHighlanders and Isles-men returned home, many who had come only for\nbooty, deserted, and the numbers were reduced to about thirty thousand.\n\nMeanwhile, the Earl of Surrey had raised twenty-six thousand men, and\nreceived other enforcements as he came north from Durham.  He therefore\nchallenged James to fight, and charged him with violating the treaty of\npeace between the two kingdoms.\n\nThe Scottish nobles were unwilling to fight, and said it was impossible\nto remain in a country so plundered; also, if fight the king must, he\nwould fight to much greater advantage in his own country, to whose\nwelfare the loss of this battle would be fatal; while he had\nsufficiently indicated his honour by crossing the Border.\n\nJames would not listen to the counsel of his nobles, though even the\naged Earl of Angus expostulated with him.  To this old warrior he\nangrily said, \"Angus, if you are afraid, you may go home,\" at which\ninsult the aged Earl burst into tears.\n\nThe English army crossed the Till by Twisel Bridge and pressed on while\nthe Scottish army stood idly by, the Scottish nobles in vain entreating\nthe king to attack the English while they were crossing.\n\nWhen the English army had drawn up in order of battle on the left bank\nof the river, the Scots, setting fire to their temporary huts, came down\nthe ridge of Flodden. The clouds of smoke from the burning huts were\ndriven into the face of the English, so that the Scots had got to within\na quarter of a mile of them before they perceived them.\n\n    \"No martial shout, nor minstrel tone,\n    Announced their march; their tread alone,\n    At times one warning trumpet blown,\n      At times a stifled hum,\n    Told England, from his mountain-throne,\n    King James did rushing come:\n    Scarce could they hear or see their foes\n    Until at weapon-point they close.\"\n\n\nWith clanging blows and arrows that fell like rain, with yelling and\nclamour and sword-sway and lance-thrust, the battle continued until the\nevening, and when even fell, the Scots still fought in an unbroken ring\nround their king.  But when darkness came, and Surrey withdrew his men,\nthe flower of Scotland's chivalry had fallen, and the king lay dead on\nthe field.\n\n    \"Afar, the royal standard flies,\n    And round it toils and bleeds and dies.\n    Our Caledonian pride!\"\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    But yet, though thick the shafts as now,\n    Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,\n    Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,\n    Unbroken was the ring.\n    The stubborn spearmen still made good\n    Their dark impenetrable wood,\n    Each stepping where his comrade stood\n        The instant that he fell.\n    No thought was there of dastard flight:\n    Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,\n    Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,\n        As fearlessly and well;\n    Till utter darkness closed her wing\n    O'er their thin host and wounded King.\n    Then skilful Surrey's sage commands\n    Led back from strife his shattered bands;\n        And from the charge they drew,\n    As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,\n        Sweep back to ocean blue.\n    Then did their loss his foemen know;\n    Their King, their lords, their mightiest low,\n    They melted from the field as snow,\n    When streams are swoln and south winds blow\n        Dissolves in silent dew.\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    Still from the sire the son shall hear\n    Of the stern fight and carnage drear\n        Of Flodden's fatal field,\n    Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,\n        And broken was her shield!\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    And well in death his trusty brand,\n    Firm clench'd within his manly hand\n        Beseem'd the Monarch slain.\"\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter XX*\n\n                            *After Flodden*\n\n\nSo deeply did the tragic result of Flodden touch the hearts of the\nScottish people that no Scot could for many a long day hear it mentioned\nwithout a heart-thrill.\n\nMany are the songs written about it, the most famous perhaps, being the\n\"Flowers of the Forest,\" written two centuries later, though partly\nfounded upon an older and almost forgotten song.\n\n\n                      *THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST*\n\n    I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,\n      Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;\n    But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]\n      The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.\n\n[#] a broad grassy lane used as milking-ground.\n\n    At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]\n      The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;\n    Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;\n      Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.\n\n[#] rallying.\n[#] joking.\n[#] chatting.\n[#] milking-pail.\n\n    In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,\n      The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;\n    At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]\n      The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.\n\n[#] sheaf-binders.\n[#] wrinkled.\n[#] inclining to grey.\n[#] coaxing.\n\n    At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming\n      'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;\n    But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary--\n      The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.\n\n    Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!\n      The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:\n    The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,\n      The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.\n\n    We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;\n      Women and bairns are heartless and wae:\n    Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning--\n      The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.\n        JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).\n\n\nThe following poem also gives eloquent and touching expression to the\ndeep gloom which descended upon the Border after the fatal battle, and\ntells of the despair felt in almost every Ettrick home:--\n\n\n                        *SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN*\n\n                    (A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)\n\n    It's but a month the morn\n      Sin' a' was peace and plenty;\n    Oor hairst was halflins shorn,\n      Eident men and lasses denty.\n    But noo it's a' distress--\n      Never mair a merry meetin ';\n    For half the bairns are faitherless,\n      And a' the women greetin'.\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,\n      Where forest flow'rs are fairest,\n    Ilka lassie's stricken doun,\n      Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.\n    A' the lads they used to meet\n      By Ettrick braes or Yarrow\n    Lyin' thrammelt head and feet\n      In Brankstone's deadly barrow!\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Frae every cleuch and clan\n      The best o' the braid Border\n    Rose like a single man\n      To meet the royal order.\n    Oor Burgh toun itsel'\n      Sent its seventy doun the glen;\n    Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,\n      Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n[#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk from\nFlodden.  Four brothers of that name are said to have perished in the\nbattle.\n\n    Round about their gallant king,\n      For country and for croun,\n    Stude the dauntless Border ring,\n      Till the last was hackit doun.\n    I blame na what has been--\n      They maun fa' that canna flee--\n    But oh, to see what I hae seen,\n      To see what now I see!\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    The souters a' fu' croose,\n      O'er their leather and their lingle,\n    Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,\n      Sat contentit round the ingle.\n    Noo there's naething left but dool,--\n      Never mair their work will cheer them;\n    In Flodden's bluidy pool\n      They'll neither wait nor wear them!\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Whar the weavers used to meet,\n      In ilka bieldy corner,\n    Noo there's nane in a' the street,\n      Savin' here and there a mourner,\n    Walkin' lonely as a wraith,\n      Or if she meet anither,\n    Just a word below their braith\n      O' some slauchtered son or brither!\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    There stands the gudeman's loom\n      That used tae gang sae cheerie,\n    Untentit noo, and toom,\n      Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,\n    Till the sicht I canna dree;\n      For the shuttles lyin' dumb\n    Speak the loudlier to me\n      O' him that wunna come.\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,\n      Just to haud it frae my een,\n    But I haena yet the pow'r\n      To forget what it has been;\n    And I listen through the hoose\n      For the chappin o' the lay,\n    Till the scrapin' o' a moose\n      Tak's my very braith away.\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Then I turn to sister Jean,\n      And my airms aboot her twine,\n    And I kiss her sleepless een,\n      For her heart's as sair as mine,--\n    A heart ance fu' o' fun,\n      And hands that ne'er were idle,\n    Wi' a' her cleedin' spun\n      Against her Jamie's bridal.\n        O Flodden Field!\n\n    Noo we've naether hands nor hairt--\n      In oor grief the wark's forgotten,\n    Though it's wantit every airt,\n      And the craps are lyin' rotten.\n    War's awsome blast's gane bye,\n      And left a land forlorn;\n    In daith's dool hairst they lie,\n      The shearers and the shorn.\n        O Flodden Field.\n\n    Wi' winter creepin' near us,\n      When the nichts are drear and lang,\n    Nane to help us, nane to hear us,\n      On the weary gate we gang!\n    Lord o' the quick an' deed,\n      Sin' oor ain we canna see,\n    In mercy mak gude speed,\n      And bring us whar they be,\n          Far, far, frae Flodden Field!\n        \"J. B. Selkirk\" (JAMES B. BROWN).\n        _By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq._\n\n\nAnother lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden, refers to the\ngallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of Selkirk, who, to the number\nof eighty, and headed by their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered\nEngland. They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned. The\n\"yellow and green\" are the liveries of the house of Home, taxed by some\nwith being the cause of the defeat.\n\n\n                        *THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK*\n\n    Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,\n      And doun wi' the Earl of Home;\n    And up wi' a' the braw lads\n      That sew the single-soled shoon.\n\n    Fye upon yellow and yellow,\n      And fye upon yellow and green,\n    But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,\n      And up wi' the single-soled sheen.\n\n    Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,\n      For they are baith trusty and leal;\n    And up wi' the men o' the Forest,\n      And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.\n\n\nIn Aytoun's \"Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers,\" the following well-known\npoem tells how the news of the disaster at Flodden Field was received in\nEdinburgh:--\n\n\n                       *EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN*\n\n                                   I\n\n    News of battle! news of battle!\n    Hark! 'tis ringing down the street:\n    And the archways and the pavement\n    Bear the clang of hurrying feet.\n    News of battle!  Who hath brought it?\n    News of triumph!  Who should bring\n    Tidings from our noble army,\n    Greetings from our gallant King?\n    All last night we watched the beacons\n    Blazing on the hills afar,\n    Each one bearing, as it kindled,\n    Message of the opened war.\n    All night long the northern streamers\n    Shot across the trembling sky:\n    Fearful lights that never beckon\n    Save when kings or heroes die.\n\n\n                                   II\n\n    News of battle!  Who hath brought it?\n    All are thronging to the gate;\n    \"Warder--warder! open quickly!\n    Man--is this a time to wait?\"\n    And the heavy gates are opened;\n    Then a murmur long and loud,\n    And a cry of fear and wonder\n    Bursts from out the bending crowd.\n    For they see in battered harness\n    Only one hard-stricken man;\n    And his weary steed is wounded,\n    And his cheek is pale and wan.\n    Spearless hangs a bloody banner\n    In his weak and drooping hand--\n    God! can that be Randolph Murray,\n    Captain of the city band?\n\n\n                                  III\n\n    Round him crush the people, crying,\n    \"Tell us all--oh, tell us true!\n    Where are they who went to battle,\n    Randolph Murray, sworn to you?\n    Where are they, our brothers--children?\n    Have they met the English foe?\n    Why art thou alone, unfollowed?\n    Is it weal, or is it woe?\"\n    Like a corpse the grisly warrior\n    Looks from out his helm of steel;\n    But no word he speaks in answer--\n    Only with his armed heel\n    Chides his weary steed, and onward\n    Up the city streets they ride;\n    Fathers, sisters, mothers, children,\n    Shrieking, praying by his side.\n    \"By the God that made thee, Randolph!\n    Tell us what mischance hath come.\"\n    Then he lifts his riven banner,\n    And the asker's voice is dumb.\n\n[Illustration: \"_Tell us all--oh, tell us true!_\"]\n\n\n                                   IV\n\n    The elders of the city\n    Have met within their hall--\n    The men whom good King James had charged\n    To watch the tower and wall.\n    \"Your hands are weak with age,\" he said,\n    \"Your hearts are stout and true;\n    So bide ye in the maiden town,\n    While others fight for you.\n    My trumpet from the Border-side\n    Shall send a blast so clear,\n    That all who wait within the gate\n    That stirring sound may hear.\n    Or, if it be the will of Heaven\n    That back I never come,\n    And if, instead of Scottish shout,\n    Ye hear the English drum,\n    Then let the warning bells ring out,\n    Then gird you to the fray,\n    Then man the walls like burghers stout,\n    And fight while fight you may.\n    'Twere better that in fiery flame\n    The roofs should thunder down,\n    Than that the foot of foreign foe\n    Should trample in the town!\"\n\n\n                                   V\n\n    Then in came Randolph Murray,\n    His step was slow and weak,\n    And, as he doffed his dinted helm,\n    The tears ran down his cheek:\n    They fell upon his corslet\n    And on his mailed hand,\n    As he gazed around him wistfully,\n    Leaning sorely on his brand.\n    And none who then beheld him\n    But straight were smote with fear,\n    For a bolder and a sterner man\n    Had never couched a spear.\n    They knew so sad a messenger\n    Some ghastly news must bring;\n    And all of them were fathers,\n    And their sons were with the King.\n\n\n                                   VI\n\n    And up then rose the Provost--\n    A brave old man was he,\n    Of ancient name, and knightly fame,\n    And chivalrous degree.\n    He ruled our city like a Lord\n    Who brooked no equal here,\n    And ever for the townsmen's rights\n    Stood up 'gainst prince and peer.\n    And he had seen the Scottish host\n    March from the Borough muir,\n    With music-storm and clamorous shout,\n    And all the din that thunders out\n    When youth's of victory sure.\n    But yet a dearer thought had he;--\n    For, with a father's pride,\n    He saw his last remaining son\n    Go forth by Randolph's side,\n    With casque on head and spur on heel,\n    All keen to do and dare;\n    And proudly did that gallant boy\n    Dunedin's banner bear.\n    Oh! woeful now was the old man's look,\n    And he spake right heavily--\n    \"Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings,\n    However sharp they be!\n    Woe is written on thy visage,\n    Death is looking from thy face;\n    Speak! though it be of overthrow--\n    It cannot be disgrace!\"\n\n\n                                  VII\n\n    Right bitter was the agony\n    That wrung that soldier proud;\n    Thrice did he strive to answer,\n    And thrice he groaned aloud.\n    Then he gave the riven banner\n    To the old man's shaking hand,\n    Saying--\"That is all I bring ye\n    From the bravest of the land!\n    Ay! ye may look upon it--\n    It was guarded well and long,\n    By your brothers and your children,\n    By the valiant and the strong.\n    One by one they fell around it,\n    As the archers laid them low,\n    Grimly dying, still unconquered,\n    With their faces to the foe.\n    Ay! ye may well look upon it--\n    There is more than honour there,\n    Else, be sure, I had not brought it\n    From the field of dark despair.\n    Never yet was royal banner\n    Steeped in such a costly dye;\n    It hath lain upon a bosom\n    Where no other shroud shall lie.\n    Sirs!  I charge you, keep it holy;\n    Keep it as a sacred thing,\n    For the stain ye see upon it\n    Was the life-blood of your King!\"\n\n\n                                  VIII\n\n    Woe and woe and lamentation!\n    What a piteous cry was there!\n    Widows, maidens, mothers, children,\n    Shrieking, sobbing in despair!\n    Through the streets the death-word rushes,\n    Spreading terror, sweeping on.\n    \"Jesu Christ! our King has fallen--\n    O Great God, King James is gone!\n    Holy mother Mary, shield us,\n    Thou who erst did lose thy Son!\n    O the blackest day for Scotland\n    That she ever knew before!\n    O our King--the good, the noble,\n    Shall we see him never more?\n    Woe to us, and woe to Scotland!\n    O our sons, our sons and men!\n    Surely some have 'scaped the Southron,\n    Surely some will come again!\"\n\n\nRandolph Murray describes how the monarch lies dead on the field with\nhis nobles round him.\n\n    \"All so thick they lay together,\n    When the stars lit up the sky,\n    That I knew not who were stricken,\n    Or who yet remained to die.\"\n\n\nA hollow knell is rung and the miserere is sung, and all is terror and\ndisorder until the Provost rouses them.\n\n    \"If our King be taken from us,\n    We are left to guard his son.\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    Up! and haste ye through the city,\n    Stir the burghers stout and true!\n    Gather all our scattered people,\n    Fling the banner out once more--\n    Randolph Murray! do thou bear it,\n    As it erst was borne before:\n    Never Scottish heart will leave it,\n    When they see their monarch's gore!\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXI*\n\n                          *Graeme and Bewick*\n\n\nGood Lord Graeme and Sir Robert Bewick were friends.  They met one day\nin Carlisle, and went arm in arm to the wine, and, as was too oft the\ncustom of these days, they stayed and drank till they were both merry.\nGood Lord Graeme took up the cup.  \"Sir Robert, and here's to thee!\" he\nsaid, \"and here's to our two sons at home, for they like us best in our\nown country.\"\n\n\"O were your son a lad like mine,\" answered Bewick, boastfully, \"and\nlearnt some books that he could read, they might be two brothers in\narms, and lord it over the Borderside.\n\n    'But your son's a lad, and he's but bad,\n    And billie[#] to my son he cannot be.'\n\n[#] Comrade, or brother-in-arms.\n\nYou sent him to school, and he would not learn; you bought him books,\nand he would not read!\"\n\nLord Graeme called angrily for the reckoning.  \"My blessing shall he\nnever earn,\" said he, \"till I see how his arm can defend his head.\"  He\nthrew down a crown, and went to the stable, took his horse, and rode\nhome. \"Welcome, my old father,\" said his son, Christie Graeme, \"but\nwhere were ye so long from home?\"  \"I have been at Carlisle town, and a\nshamed man I am by thee,\" answered his father with a black look; \"I have\nbeen at Carlisle town, where Sir Robert Bewick met me.  He says you are\nbut a bad, wild youth, and can never be billie to his boy.  I sent you\nto the school, and you would not learn.  I bought you books, and you\nwould not read; therefore you shall never have my blessing till I see\nyou save your head in fight with young Bewick.\"  \"Now God forbid, my old\nfather, that ever such a thing should be!  Billie Bewick was my master,\nand I his scholar, in spite of the pains he wasted in teaching me.\"  \"O\nhold thy tongue, thou foolish lad!  If thou dost not soon end this\nquarrel, there's my glove, I'll fight with thee myself.\"\n\nThen Christie Graeme stooped low.  \"Father, put on your glove again, the\nwind has blown it from your hand.\"\n\n    \"What's that, thou sayst, thou limmer loon?\n    How darest thou stand to speak to me?\n    If thou do not end this quarrel soon,\n    There's my right hand, thou'lt fight with me!\"\n\n\nThen went Christie to his chamber, to consider what should happen.\nShould he fight with his own father, or with his brother-in-arms,\nBewick?\n\n    \"If I should kill my billie dear,\n    God's blessing I shall never win;\n    But if I strike at my auld father,\n    I think 'twould be a mortal sin.\n    But if I kill my billie dear\n    It is God's will, so let it be;\n    But I make a vow, ere I go from home,\n    That I shall be the next man's die.\"\n\nHe put a good old jack or quilted doublet on his back, and on his head\nhe put a cap of steel, and well did he become them with his sword and\nbuckler by his side!\n\nNow young Bewick had taken his father's sword under his arm, and walked\nabout his father's close.  He looked between himself and the sun, to see\nsome approaching object, and was aware of a man in bright armour, riding\nthat way most hastily.\n\n    \"O who is yon, that comes this way,\n    So hastily that hither came?\n    I think it be my brother dear,\n    I think it be young Christie Graeme.\n    Your welcome here, my billie dear,\n    And thrice you're welcome unto me.\"\n\n\nChristie explained that he was come to fight, that his father had been\nto Carlisle, and had met with the elder Bewick.  He retailed what had\npassed, \"and so I'll never earn my father's blessing, till he sees how\nmy arm can guard my head in fight against thee.\"\n\n    \"O God forbid, my billie dear,\n    That ever such a thing should be!\n    We'll take three men on either side,\n    And see if we can our fathers agree.\"\n\n\nChristie shook his head.  He knew that it was useless. \"O hold thy\ntongue, billie Bewick.  If thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art, come\nover the dyke and fight with me.\"\n\n\"But I have no harness, billie, as I see you have.\"\n\n\"As little harness as is on your back shall be on mine.\"\n\nWith that Christie threw off his coat of mail and cap of steel, stuck\nhis spear into the ground, and tied his horse up to a tree.  Bewick\nthrew off his cloak, and cast aside his psalter book.  He laid his hand\nupon the dyke, and vaulted over.  The two fought for two long hours.\nThe sweat dropped fast from them both, but not a drop of blood could be\nseen to satisfy the requirements of honour. At last Graeme hit Bewick\nunder the left breast, and he fell to the ground wounded mortally.\n\n    \"Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,\n    Arise and speak three words to me!\n    Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,\n    Or if God and good leeching[#] may succour thee?\"\n\n[#] Doctoring.\n\nBewick groaned.  \"Get to horse, billie Graeme, and get thee hence\nspeedily.  Get thee out of this country--that none may know who has done\nthis.\"  \"O have I slain thee, billie Bewick?  But I made a vow, ere I\ncame from home, that I would be the next man to die!\"  Thereupon he\npitched his sword hilt downwards into a mole-hill, took a run of some\nthree and twenty feet, and on his own sword's point he fell to the\nground dead.\n\nThen up came Sir Robert Bewick.  \"Rise up, my son,\" he said, \"for I\nthink you have got the victory.\"\n\n\"O hold your tongue, my father dear.  Let me be spared your prideful\ntalking.  You might have drunken your wine in peace, and let me and my\nbillie be!  Go dig a grave, both wide and deep, and a grave to hold us\nboth; but lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side, for full sure I know\nthat the victory was to him.\"\n\n\"Alas,\" cried old Bewick, \"I've lost the liveliest lad that ever was\nborn unto my name.\"  \"Alas,\" quoth good Lord Graeme, \"my loss is the\ngreater.\n\n    'I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,\n    I've lost the key, but and the lock;\n    I durst have ridden the world around,\n    Had Christie Graeme been at my back!'\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXII*\n\n                    *The Song of the Outlaw Murray*\n\n\n    \"Word is gone to our noble king,\n    In Edinburgh where that he lay,\n    That there was an Outlaw in Ettrick Forest\n    Counted him nought, nor all his Court so gay.\"\n\n\nThe King mentioned in the ballad is supposed to have been either James\nIV. or James V. This places the date somewhere in the early part of the\nsixteenth century.\n\nThe Outlaw Murray and his lady kept royal state in Ettrick Forest.  Here\nhe lived with five hundred men, all gaily clad in livery of Lincoln\ngreen.  His castle, built of lime and stone, stood fair and pleasantly\nin the midst of the Forest, surrounded by pine trees under which\nwandered many a hart and hind, many a doe and roe and other wild\ncreatures.  In the forefront of the castle stood two unicorns, with the\npicture of a knight and lady with green holly above their brows.\n\nThe King in Edinburgh heard of all this royal state and that the Outlaw\nin Ettrick Forest cared nought for the King of Scotland and his court.\n\n\"I make a vow,\" said the King, \"that either I shall be King of Ettrick\nForest, or the Outlaw shall be King of Scotland.\"\n\nThen up spoke Lord Hamilton to the noble King, \"my sovereign prince,\ntake counsel of your nobles and of me. I counsel ye to send to the fine\nOutlaw and see if he will come and be your man and hold the Forest in\nfee from you.  If he refuse, we will conquer both him and his lands,\nthrow his castle down, and make a widow of his gay lady.\"\n\nThen the King called to him James Boyd, son of the Earl of Arran, and\nwhen Boyd came and knelt before him, \"Welcome, James Boyd,\" said the\nnoble King; \"you must go for me to Ettrick Forest where bides yonder\nOutlaw, ask him of whom he holds his lands, and who is his master, and\ndesire him to come and be my man, and hold the Forest free from me.  I\nwill give him safe warrant to and from Edinburgh, and if he refuse we\nwill conquer him and his lands, and throw down his castle, and make a\nwidow of his gay lady; and hang his merry men pair by pair wherever we\nsee them.\"\n\nJames Boyd took leave of the King and went blithely on his way, until he\ncame to the fair Ettrick Forest, the first view of which he got coming\ndown Birkendale Brae. He saw the doe and roe, the hart and hind and wild\nbeasts in plenty, and heard blows ringing boldly, and arrows whizzing\nnear by him.\n\nHe saw, too, the fair castle, the like of which he had never seen\nbefore, with the two gay unicorns on the forefront, and the picture of\nthe knight and lady with the green holly above their brow.\n\nThen he spied the five hundred men, all clad in livery of Lincoln green,\nand shooting with their bows on Newark Lee.  In the midst of them was a\nknight armed from head to foot, mounted on a milk-white steed, with\nbended bow, all fine to look upon; whom Boyd knew at once to be the\nOutlaw himself.\n\n\"God save thee, brave Outlaw Murray, thy lady, and all thy chivalry!\"\n\n\"Marry, thou art welcome, gentleman; thou seemst to be a King's\nmessenger.\"\n\n\"The King of Scotland sent me here, good Outlaw, to know of whom you\nhold your lands, and who is your master.\"\n\n\"These lands are _mine_.  I know no King in Christendom.  I won this\nForest from the English when neither the King nor his knights were there\nto see.\"\n\n\"The King desires that you come to Edinburgh, and hold the Forest then\nof him.  If you refuse, he will conquer your lands and you, and he has\nvowed to throw down your castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and hang\nyour knights pair by pair wherever he finds them.\"\n\n\"Ay, by my troth!  I should indeed be far behind. Before the King should\nget my fair native land, many of his nobles would be cold, and their\nladies right weary.\"\n\nThen spoke the lady of the Outlaw, fair of face. \"That an Outlaw should\ncome before the King without my consent makes me fear much that there is\ntreason. Bid him be good to his lords at home, for my lord shall ne'er\nsee Edinburgh.\"\n\nJames Boyd took leave of the bold Outlaw and went back to Edinburgh, and\nwhen he came to the King, knelt lowly on his knee.\n\n\"Welcome, James Boyd,\" said the noble King, \"of whom is Ettrick Forest\nheld?\"\n\n\"Ettrick Forest is the fairest forest that ever man saw.  There are doe\nand roe and hart and hind and wild beasts in plenty; there's a fine\ncastle of lime and stone standing there pleasantly, and in the forefront\nof the castle two unicorns all fine to see, with a picture of a knight\nand a lady, and the green holly above their brows.  There the Outlaw\nkeeps a royal company--five hundred merry men, all gaily clad in Lincoln\ngreen, and the Outlaw and his lady in purple.  Surely they live right\nroyally.  He says that the forest is his own, that he won it from the\nEnglish, and that as he won it, so will he keep it against all the Kings\nin Christendom.\"\n\n\"Go warn me Perthshire and Angus,\" cried the King, \"go warn Fife up and\ndown and the three Lothians, and harness my own horse, for I will myself\nto Ettrick Forest.\"\n\nWhen the Outlaw heard that the King was coming to his country to conquer\nhim and his lands:\n\n\"I make a vow,\" said he.  \"I make a vow, and that truly, that the King's\ncoming shall be a dear one.\"\n\nThen he called messengers and sent them in haste hither and thither.\n\n\"One of you go to Halliday, Laird of Corehead, my sister's son.  Tell\nhim to come quickly to my aid, for that the King comes to Ettrick\nForest, and we shall all be landless.\"\n\n\"What news?  What news, man, from thy master?\" said Halliday.\n\n\"No news thou carest to hear; I come seeking your aid; the King is his\nmortal enemy.\"\n\n\"By my troth, I am sorry for that; if Murray lose fair Ettrick Forest,\nthe King will take Moffatdale from me.  I'll meet him with five hundred\nmen, and more if need be, and before he gets to Ettrick Forest, we will\nall die on Newark Lee.\"\n\nAnother messenger went from the Outlaw to Andrew Murray of Cockpool, his\ndear cousin, to desire him to come and help him with all the power he\ncould get together.\n\n\"It is hard,\" said Andrew Murray, \"very hard to go against a crowned\nKing and put my lands in jeopardy; but if I come not by day I shall be\nthere at night.\"\n\nA messenger went also to Sir James Murray of Traquair.\n\n\"What news?  What news, man, from your master to me?\" said James Murray.\n\n\"What need I tell?  Well ye know that the King is his mortal enemy and\nthat he is coming to Ettrick Forest to make ye all landless men.\"\n\n\"By my troth,\" said James Murray, \"with yonder Outlaw will I live and\ndie; the King has long ago given away my lands, so matters can be no\nworse for me.\"\n\nSo the King came on with five thousand men through Caddon Ford.  They\nsaw the dark forest before them and thought it awesome to look upon, and\nLord Hamilton begged that the King should take counsel of his nobles and\nshould desire the Outlaw to meet him at Permanscore with four of his\ncompany and that the King should go there also accompanied by five\nEarls.  \"If he refuse to do that, we'll conquer both him and his lands;\nthere shall never a Murray after him hold lands free in Ettrick Forest.\"\n\nThe Laird of Buckscleuth, a man stalwart and stern, thought it beneath\nthe state and dignity of a King to go and meet an Outlaw.  \"The man that\nlives in yonder forest, lives by robbery and felony! wherefore, ride on,\nmy liege; we will follow thee with fire and sword; or if your courtier\nlords fall back, our Borderers will make the onset.\"\n\nBut the King spoke forth, casting a wily glance around.  \"Thou mayest\nhold _thy_ tongue, Sir Walter Scott, nor speak more of robbery and\nfelony, for if every honest man had his own cattle thy clan would be a\npoor one.\"\n\nThe King then called to him a gentleman, a royal banner-bearer, James\nHoppringle of Torsonse by name, who came and knelt before him.\n\"Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse, ye must take a message for me; go\nto yonder Outlaw Murray, where he bideth so boldly; bid him meet me at\nPermanscore with four of his company, I myself will come to him with\nfive Earls.  If he refuse, bid him look for no favour from me.  There\nshall never a Murray after him have free land in Ettrick Forest.\"\n\nSo James Pringle came before the Outlaw.  \"Welcome James Pringle of\nTorsonse!  What message bringst thou from the King to me?\"\n\n\"He bids ye meet him at Permanscore, with four of your company, and he\nwill go there himself with no more than five Earls.  If you refuse, he\nwill cast down your bonny castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and\nloose on you the bloodhound Borderers to harry you with fire and sword.\nNever shall a Murray after you hold free land in Ettrick Forest.\"\n\n\"It goes hard with me,\" said the Outlaw; \"judge if it go not very hard.\nI mind not the losing of myself, but when I think of my offspring after\nme, my merry men's lives, my widow's tears, that is the pang that\npinches me.  Yonder castle will be right dreary when I am laid in bloody\nearth.  Auld Halliday, young Halliday, ye two shall go with me, with\nAndrew and James Murray.\"\n\nWhen they came before the King they fell on their knees.  \"Mercy, mercy,\nnoble King, for His sake who died on the Cross.\"\n\n\"Such mercy shall ye have; ye shall be hanged on the gallows.\"\n\n\"May God forbid, and may your mercy be better than that, else, when ye\ncome to the port of Edinburgh, ye shall be thinly guarded.  These lands\nof fair Ettrick Forest I won from the Southrons, and as I won them so\nwill I keep them, against all the Kings in Christendom.\"\n\nThe nobles round the King thought it a pity that he should die.\n\n\"Grant me mercy, sovereign prince, and extend me favour.  If thou wilt\nmake me Sheriff of Ettrick Forest, and my offspring after me, I will\ngive thee the keys of my castle, and the blessing of my gay lady.\"\n\n\"If thou wilt give me thy castle keys and the blessing of thy gay lady,\nI'll make thee Sheriff of Ettrick Forest as long as the trees grow\nupward, and never shalt thou forfeit it, if thou be not a traitor to the\nKing.\"\n\n\"But Prince, what shall become of my men?  When I go back they will call\nme traitor.  I had rather lose both life and land than be rebuked by my\nmerry-men.\"\n\n\"I will pardon them all if they amend their lives. Name thy lands where\nthey lie, and I will render them back to thee.\"\n\n\"Philiphaugh and Lewinhope are mine by right, Newark, Foulshiells and\nTinnies I won by my bow and arrow.  I have farms at Newark Lee and\nHangingshaw which are mine by birth, and I have many farms in the Forest\nwhose names I do not know.\"  Thereupon he gave the King the key of his\ncastle, with the blessing of his fair lady, and the King made him\nSheriff of Ettrick Forest for as long as the trees should grow upward,\nnever to be forfeited while he and his descendants remained faithful to\nthe King.  Much of this land belongs to Murray's heirs, even to this\nday.\n\n    \"Wha ever heard in, in ony times,\n    Sicken an outlaw in his degre,\n    Sic favour got befor a King,\n    As did the Outlaw Murray of the Foreste free?\"\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXIII*\n\n                           *Johnie Armstrong*\n\n\n    \"When Johnie came before the King,\n    With all his men so brave to see,\n    The King he moved his bonnet to him;\n    He knew he was a King as well as he.\"\n\n\nIn 1529 James V. visited the Border country to execute justice on the\nwild freebooters. Of these the chief was Johnie Armstrong of Gilnockie,\nwho levied blackmail for many miles round his residence at the Hollows,\nand spread the terror of his name as far as Newcastle.  Acting on the\nevil counsel of false friends, Johnie presented himself before the King\nin all the pomp of Border chivalry.\n\nAccording to the old ballad the King wrote with his own hand a loving\nletter to Johnie Armstrong, Laird of Gilnockie, bidding him come and\nspeak with him speedily. Whereupon the Elliots and Armstrongs convened a\nmeeting, to which they came in gallant company, and decided to ride out\nto meet the King and bring him to Gilnockie.\n\n\"Make ready rabbits and capon and venison in plenty,\" said Johnie, \"and\nwe'll welcome home our royal King to dine at Gilnockie.\"\n\nSo they ran out their horses on Langholm Down, and broke their spears,\nand the ladies, looking from their high windows, cried \"God send our men\nsafe home again.\"\n\nWhen Johnie came before the King with all his brave fellows, the King\ntook off his bonnet to him as to an equal.\n\n\"My name is Johnie Armstrong,\" said the freebooter, \"your subject, my\nliege; let me find grace for my loyal men and me.\"\n\nBut the King cried, \"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!\nNever have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!\"\n\n\"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie\ngift--four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, newly foaled--I'll give thee\nfour-and-twenty milk-white steeds that prance and neigh at a spear, and\nas much English gold as four of their broad backs are able to bear.\"\n\n\"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a\ntraitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!\"\n\n\"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie\ngift--four-and-twenty mills that are working all the year round for\nme--four-and-twenty mills that shall go for thee all the year round, and\nas much good red wheat as all their happers are able to bear.\"\n\n\"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a\ntraitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!\"\n\n\"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a great\ngift--four-and-twenty sisters' sons shall fight for thee though all\nshould flee.\"\n\n\"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a\ntraitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!\"\n\n\"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a brave gift.  All\nbetween here and Newcastle town shall pay thee yearly rent.\"\n\n\"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a\ntraitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!\"\n\n\"Ye lie, calling me traitor; ye lie now, King, although ye be King and\nPrince.  Well dare I say it, that all my life I have loved naught but\nhonesty, a fleet horse, a fair woman, and two bonny dogs to kill a deer;\nyet had I lived for another hundred years, England should have still\nfound me meal and malt and plenty of beef and mutton.  Never would a\nScot's wife have been able to say that I robbed her of aught.  But\nsurely it is great folly to seek for hot water beneath cold ice.  I have\nasked grace of a graceless King, but there is none for me and my men.\nBut had I known before I came how unkind thou wouldst prove to me, I\nwould have kept the Borderside in spite of thee and thy nobles.  How\nglad would be England's King if he but knew that I was taken, for once I\nslew his sister's son and broke a tree over his breastbone.\"\n\nNow Johnie had a girdle round his waist embroidered and spangled with\nburning gold, very beautiful to look upon, and from his hat hung down\nnine tassels, each worth three hundred pounds.  \"What wants that knave\nthat a King should have, but the sword of honour and the crown?\" cried\nthe King.\n\n\"Where did ye get those tassels, Johnie, that shine so bravely above\nyour brow?\"\n\n\"I got them fighting in the field where thou darest not be,\" replied\nJohnie.  \"And had I now my horse and good harness, and were I riding as\nI am used to do, this meeting between us should have been told these\nhundred years.  God be with thee, my brother Christy, long shalt thou\nlive Laird of Mangertown on the Border-side ere thou see thy brother\nride by again.  God be with _thee_, my son Christy, where thou sitst on\nthy nurse's knee; thou'lt ne'er be a better man than thy father, though\nthou live a hundred years.  Farewell, bonnie Hall of Gilnockie, standing\nstrong on Eskside; if I had lived but seven more years, I would have\ngilded thee round about.\"\n\nThen Johnie Armstrong was slain by the King's orders at Carlinrigg with\nall his gallant company, and Scotland's heart was sad to see the death\nof so many brave men, who had saved their country from the Englishmen.\nNone were so brave as they, and while Johnie lived on the Border-side no\nEnglishman durst come near his stronghold.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXIV*\n\n                    *The Lament of the Border Widow*\n\n\nHow King James V. of Scotland, in 1529, set forth to strike terror into\nthe Border freebooters, has been already told in the account of Johnie\nArmstrong.  A less celebrated moss-trooper, Cockburne of Henderland, was\nhanged by the pitiless King over the gate of his own tower. The wife of\nCockburne loved him most dearly, and when she found the King would show\nno mercy, fled away to the rocks behind the castle whilst the cruel\nsentence was carried out.  She sat by a roaring torrent of the\nHenderland burn, the noise of which in her ears drowned the savage\nshouts of the King's soldiers.  The beautiful song which describes the\ngrief of this loving woman is one of the gems of ancient poetry, and is\nhere printed entire.\n\n\n                    *THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW*\n\n    My love he built me a bonny bower,\n    And clad it a' wi' lilye flower,\n    A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,\n    Than my true love he built for me.\n\n    There came a man by middle day,\n    He spied his sport, and went away;\n    And brought the King that very night,\n    Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.\n\n    He slew my knight to me sae dear;\n    He slew my knight, and took his gear;\n    My servants all for life did flee,\n    And left me in extremitie.\n\n    I sew'd his sheet, making my moan;\n    I watch'd the corpse, myself alone;\n    I watch'd his body, night and day;\n    No living creature came that way.\n\n    I took his body on my back,\n    And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;\n    I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,\n    And happ'd him with the sod sae green.\n\n    But think na ye my heart was sair,\n    When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;\n    O think na ye my heart was wae,\n    When I turn'd about, away to gae?\n\n    Nae living man I'll love again,\n    Since that my lovely knight was slain,\n    Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair,\n    I'll chain my heart for evermair.\n\n[Illustration: \"_I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the\ncorpse, myself alone._\"]\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXV*\n\n                         *The Raid of the Kers*\n\n\nThe spirited ballad that describes this raid is quite modern, since it\nwas written by Hogg, \"the Ettrick Shepherd,\" in 1830.  But the rash raid\nit describes took place in 1549.  The Kers were an important Border\nfamily, the leaders of whom afterwards became Earls of Roxburgh.  Sir\nAndrew Ker was warden of the Border at the time of the raid, but he\nproved that it took place without his consent.  The Kers were all\nleft-handed men, and puzzled their enemies by their left-handed\nswordsmanship.  Even to-day in some parts of the borders a left-handed\nman is called \"Ker-handed.\"\n\nOn a fine September evening Tam Ker rode out, with fifty in his company.\nThey were armed for a fight and their swords were keen; they rode by the\nMaiden Crags and down the Osway burn, going carefully till the daylight\nclosed, for they were soon in Northumberland. Their bold plan was to get\ndown the valley of the Coquet even as far as Rothbury where Withrington,\nthe English warden, kept a magnificent herd of cattle. They had one\ncastle to pass, that of Biddleston, which had been held by the Selby\nfamily since the reign of Henry III., and still belongs to them to this\nday. Biddleston Castle guarded the Allanton or Alwinton ford, where the\nAlwin stream enters the Coquet.  So they sent the reckless Mark Ker\nfirst, to scout along by the ford, and told him to set up marks on the\ncairns to show his progress.  Having nothing else to mark with, he tore\nthe shirt off his back, and left strips of it on the cairns.  At the\nford a sentry challenged him, and he answered that he had a message for\nWithrington. The sentry demanded his sealed warrant, and the Scot drew\nhis sword.  They fought bravely and long before the Englishman was\nkilled, and the Scot marvelled that a common soldier should so withstand\nhim, for he was the best swordsman of his race.  On he galloped, on and\non, till he met a comely maiden, and addressing her he tried to imitate\nthe Northumberland speech, saying that he had lost his way.  She told\nhim at once that she knew he was a Scot, but so also was she.  She had\nbeen taken captive, but word had came by an English spy that the Kers\nwere out upon a raid, and while the English had set a hundred soldiers\nto guard their cattle she had slipped away to warn the Scots and to\nreturn with them.  Being a gallant after the manner of that day, he\nsprang from his horse, kissed her, and invited her to mount his saddle\neven if he had to run beside till he could capture another steed.  But\nan English soldier came up and warned him roughly off the road.  Mark\nKer had been brought up to answer rough words with rougher blows; out\nleapt his sword, and he cut the rude words short by slashing the man's\nhead off. Then he disguised the maid in the dead man's clothes, and they\nretraced their steps that he might warn his companions.  They very soon\ncame upon them, and all together hid in the lowest dell of the Larbottle\nburn while they made their plans.  Tam Ker, with twenty of the men, was\nto draw off the English, while Mark with thirty others slipped round and\ndrove off the cattle unperceived.  This was done, and till after\nmidnight, Tam, aided by the darkness and by the difficulties of the wild\nlocality, held the English at bay.\n\nThen he heard the bugle signal, and knew that Mark was well on the road\nwith the beasts, and that he must follow quickly.  But Withrington also\nguessed what the signal meant, and pursued with all the speed he knew.\nMark had not long crossed the ford at Biddleston before the English were\non him.  First Mark and Withrington fought in single combat, hand to\nhand, all their men watching eagerly; it was still very dark, but the\nclash of sword against sword lit the air with sparks. Withrington was\nbadly wounded, but Mark was killed. With desperate shouts the Scots fell\nupon the English; then up came Tam and his men from behind to help the\nScots, but the Captain of Biddleston had also been awakened, and\ngalloped down with his men to aid the English.  Tam smote his head off\nwith his sword, but the horse galloped on with his headless body right\ninto the ranks of the Scots.  They thought it must be a demon and began\nto scatter in full flight to the Border.  Tam was slain, trying to\nfollow them, and his men, seeing that they had work enough to gallop for\ntheir lives, slew the cattle they could no longer hope to steal.  On and\non the hard-pressed remnant spurred their weary horses. It was daylight\nnow, and the English along the road shot arrows at them as they galloped\npast.  Out of fifty-one hardy, healthy Kers who had started forth in the\nraid, only seventeen, weary and wounded, saw their homes again.\n\nAnd back in the south country, the comely Scottish maiden lay dead\nacross the breast of the gallant Mark, their hearts' blood mingling in a\ncommon stream.  Small wonder that a Scot should make a ballad of the\nstory and that Borderers should sing it even to this day.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXVI*\n\n                           *Merrie Carlisle*\n\n\nThe city of Carlisle stands in the midst of a beautiful and fertile\ndistrict with pleasant but not too steep hills around.  In the old days\nan easy water-supply was a first essential, and at Carlisle three rivers\nmeet, the Caldew and the Petterill running here into the broad stream of\nthe Eden.  These three rivers almost enclose the ground upon which the\ncity is built, so that it is most probable that there was an ancient\nBritish settlement upon so advantageous a site, before the Roman\ninvasion.  Our earliest record, however, goes back no further than Roman\ndays, and it is certain there was then a Roman city here called\n_Luguvallium_ (the trench of the legion). Even to-day, when new\ngas-pipes are being laid in the ground, it is by no means rare to dig up\nRoman relics. The long Roman name became gradually corrupted into\n\"Luel,\" or \"Liel,\" and the Britons added their word \"Caer,\" which means\na city, hence \"Caer-luel\"--an earlier form of the modern Carlisle.  The\nRoman city stood, as might be expected, by the great Roman wall,\nguarding the spot where the wall crossed the river Eden. And visitors\nmay see to-day that the centre of Carlisle consists of a market-place\nwith two main streets leading therefrom, the usual plan in cities of\nRoman origin.\n\nCarlisle was destined to have a stormy history.  Draw a line from the\nSolway eastward, straight through Carlisle, and it will be seen that\nhere the mainland of Britain is about at its narrowest, hardly so much\nas seventy miles wide, as the crow flies.  Note, too, that the wild\nhills of the Pennines and the Cheviots fill in most of this narrow\ndistrict, and that the mainland of Scotland strikes sharply off to the\nwest.  It is plain from these facts that Carlisle commands the main road\nbetween Scotland and England, and they provide the reason why at the\npresent day seven different railways, most of them important ones, run\ntheir trains into Carlisle station. The very same reason was responsible\nfor the fact that in the good old times no English town was more often\nburnt down by enemies than \"Merrie Carlisle.\"\n\nEven in Roman days, during the reign of Nero, Carlisle was burnt down at\nleast once by the wild Picts, who were brave enough to venture against\nthe well-armed troops of Rome.  After the Romans left Britain this town\nwas one of the strongholds of King Arthur; to be sure, nothing very\ndefinite is known about this romantic king, but the old ballads tell us\nthat he was victorious over Gauls, Dacians, Spaniards, and Romans. This\nsounds very unlikely to those who do not realise that when Rome called\nhome her best men for her own defence she may have left behind many\nrough soldiers, of various nations, to guard the wall.  Although we know\nnothing about King Arthur save what is vague and legendary, we do know\nthat the Roman legions were recruited from all the provinces of the\nempire. Cumberland had many connexions with King Arthur; within twenty\nmiles of Carlisle, near Penrith, is a big round hill called \"King\nArthur's Table\"; while nearer still, on the Penrith and Carlisle road,\nis shown the spot where stood Tearne-Wadling Lake and Castle, where King\nArthur was bewitched and taken prisoner by the \"foul, discourteous\nknight,\" only to be released provided one of his men would consent to\nmarry the hideous lady with hair like serpents!  When at last Sir\nGawaine married this hag for his King's sake, she, of course, changed at\nonce into a beautiful young woman!  This does not sound very convincing,\nit is true, but in the old days many tales just as unlikely were told of\nfamous men. At any rate the ballad begins with the lilting line:--\n\n    \"King Arthur lives in merrie Carleile,\"\n\nand all that concerns us at the moment is that perhaps he really did\nlive there, and did do some very real fighting along the debateable line\nof the wall.\n\nWe next learn of Carlisle that King Egfrid of Northumbria rebuilt the\ncity about the year 675, wherefore we can only suppose that it had\nsuffered its somewhat usual fate, perhaps at the hands of that savage\nSaxon warrior called The Burner.  But in any case, Carlisle never\nbelonged to the Northumbrians for any considerable space of time, but\nwas the capital of the Celtic or Welsh kingdom of Cumbria, from which\nthe present name of Cumberland is derived.\n\nIn 875 the Danes had a turn at pillaging and harrying Carlisle, which\nwas again in sorry plight.  Both Cumbria and Northumbria were faring\nvery badly in the struggle between the various kingdoms which then\ndivided up Britain, and for a while it looked as if the energetic kings\nof the Scots would annex both these northern dominions.  But the coming\nof the strong-handed Normans altered all this; and by far the most\nnoteworthy event in the history of Carlisle was the fact that during\n1092 and 1093 William Rufus seized Cumberland, and for the first time\nadded it definitely to England.\n\nRecognising at once the strength and value of Carlisle, Rufus caused a\nstrong Norman castle to be built where the old Roman fort used to stand.\nTo-day, despite the many rough adventures which have befallen this\nnorthern city, there yet remain portions of William Rufus's castle, side\nby side with fragments of the old Roman walls. Many of the modern\nbuildings put up in King George's day are crumbling, but the old Norman\nand Roman remains are firm as a rock!\n\nThe castle was strengthened by King Henry I., but this did not prevent\nits seizure in 1135 by King David of Scotland, who added to it in turn.\nThe Scots held the keep till 1157, when it was retaken by Henry II., but\na few years later, in 1173, William the Lion, King of Scotland, besieged\nit, and for the next fifty years it changed hands several times,\naccording to the fortunes of war.  It is significant that a main street\nin the northern part of Carlisle is called \"Scotch Street,\" while\nanother in the southern part is called \"English Street!\"\n\nEdward I. held a parliament here after defeating Wallace at Falkirk; and\nit was from Carlisle that this English King conducted his later\noperations against Scotland.  It is a pathetic picture, that of this\nstern warrior in his old age, on his last march, trying to carry out his\npet scheme of uniting the entire island under one rule.  He was so ill\nthat he had to be carried in a litter as far as Carlisle.  Finding\nhimself again so near the border, he felt the old fire glow within him,\nand sprang upon his horse--but at Burgh-on-Sands, on the shore of the\nSolway, whence he could view the goal of his ambition, the brave King\ndied.\n\nDuring the next thirty years Carlisle was frequently attacked by the\nScots, but they were usually defeated. In 1337, however, they partly,\nand in 1345 almost entirely burnt it down.  Again in 1380 they burnt\npart of what had been rebuilt!  Had there been fire insurance in these\nwild days, the premiums in Carlisle would have been heavy!\n\nAfter the Wars of the Roses, the city seemed to settle down somewhat,\nand was chiefly known on the Border as the place where Scottish\nfreebooters were hanged if caught.  In one of the Border villages there\nis a famous churchyard where of old only the graves of women and\nchildren were to be seen.  The explanation was given to a passing\ntraveller by an old woman, who said that the men were all buried \"in\nmerrie Carlisle,\" meaning, that is, that they had all been hanged there!\n\nIn 1537 there was a rising in England known as the \"Pilgrimage of\nGrace,\" in opposition to the savage policy of Henry's minister, Thomas\nCromwell, and no less than eighty thousand insurgents are said to have\nattacked Carlisle; but after much fighting the rebels were defeated and\nseventy-four of their leaders were executed on the city walls.\n\nWhen Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in Carlisle in 1568 it was\nvainly besieged by a force that sought to rescue her; but less than\nthirty years afterwards, in 1596, by a bold stroke of daring, Lord Scott\nof Buccleuch succeeded in surprising the castle and in liberating the\nwell-known freebooter, \"Kinmont Willie.\"\n\nWhen King James united England and Scotland, the troubles of Carlisle\nmight have been thought to be over. But in the civil war between King\nand Parliament it was again a storm centre, and was held alternately by\neach of the parties.\n\nThe last warlike operations against this much-besieged city were\nundertaken in 1745, when it was first taken by Prince Charlie, who made\na triumphal entry without any serious fighting, and afterwards retaken\nalmost as easily by the cruel Duke of Cumberland, whose entry into the\nplace was followed, as usual, by a series of executions.\n\nAmong those who suffered was Sir A. Primrose, a gallant ancestor of the\npresent Lord Rosebery.  The victims were executed, with the cruelties of\nthe old law against treason, on the celebrated Gallows Hill, at Harraby,\nand were buried in nameless graves in the Kirkyard of St Cuthbert's.\nPassing down the Botchergate (the London Road), past the site of the old\nRoman cemetery, the wayfarer may see Gallows Hill rise where a deep cut\nhas been made to avoid a steep rise in the road. It was just outside the\nboundary of old Carlisle, and executions were witnessed from the walls,\nby men and women alike.  Climb the hill--it is worth while.  The little\nriver Petteril sparkles at our feet; the view, fresh and green,\nstretches away nobly to the Pennines and the Border Hills.  Keep a warm\nthought in your heart for all the gallant fellows who met death bravely\nin this place.\n\nNo history of Carlisle could omit to mention the Cathedral.  English\ncathedrals are shaped like a cross lying on the ground; the long stem of\nthe cross is the _nave_ of the cathedral; the two arms are the\n_transepts_; and the upper end that continues the main stem is the\n_choir_.  Where choir, nave and transepts meet, the _tower_ rises.  But\nunlike every other English cathedral, that of Carlisle has height and\nwidth, but is too short in length, two-thirds of the nave having been\nhurled down by the Scots!\n\nEvery cathedral has its history written in its stones, for those who\nknow how to read it.  That of Carlisle shows a stormy history, stormier\nthan any other.  It is not a peaceful building carried out very much in\none style and undisturbed.  It is a building full of signs of\ndisturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in their plans by\nwar and frequently had their building seriously damaged by their\nenemies.  It is a mixture of styles, a mass of re-buildings and\nafterthoughts, but for that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the\nmuch-harassed city.  With all its signs of storm and stress it has much\nbeauty, and possesses the finest window in all England, one of the\nfinest in the world.  Just outside the Cathedral is a noble stretch of\nthe old West Wall of the city, which gives a vivid idea of its strength\nin the old days.\n\nThe bishops of Carlisle live at Rose Castle, five miles south of the\nCathedral.  This has been their residence for over six hundred years.\nNo doubt they thought it advisable not to live in the \"merrie city\"!\n\nIn this castle King Edward I. stayed.  It was once partly burnt by\nBruce, and again partly by the Puritans, but this is a comparatively\nclean record for such a district! In 1745 Captain Macdonald and his\nScots came down to besiege it, but hearing that the bishop's baby\ndaughter was about to be christened, the gallant captain would not let\nwarfare spoil so peaceful a ceremony, and not only withdrew his men, but\nalso left a white cockade behind him as a sign that the place was not to\nbe molested.  In all this he showed that true courtesy that always marks\nthe real Highland gentleman.\n\nStanding to-day in this bustling, breezy, pleasant little city, it is\nnot easy to realise the wild scenes it has witnessed.  The charming\nrivers that hem it in show no traces of the bloodshed of the past.  Yet\nhere have contended painted Pict and war-trained Roman; here the most\nskilful leaders of the Celts, Saxons, and Danes have led their brave and\nsturdy men to battle; here Norman knight has fought with hardy Scot, and\nfierce Border factions have wrangled and sought speedy justice; Puritan\nhas fought Cavalier, and Jacobite has faced Hanoverian; kings, generals,\nand warriors of many centuries have found a fitting meeting-place before\nor behind the walls of Carlisle.\n\nAn open, airy, quaint city.  There is not very much that is old in it,\nfor the old was not allowed to stand long enough!  But on the top of its\nprincipal hill the tall truncated Cathedral presents a picturesque\nfigure, and if we stand there or by the castle the eye commands fine,\nancient walls and very delightful distances.  It is a place of lingering\nmemories, and if these are chiefly of strife and bloodshed we do not\nforget that to the Border folk the city was \"Merrie Carlisle.\"\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXVII*\n\n                            *Kinmont Willie*\n\n\n    \"O have ye not heard of the false Sakelde,\n    O have ye not heard of the keen Lord Scroope,\n    How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie\n    On Haribee to hang him oop?\"\n\n\nThe story of this famous freebooter, William Armstrong of Kinmonth,\nbelongs to the time of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord Scroope was Warden of\nthe Western Marches, and Mr Sakelde of Corby Castle was his Deputy.\n\nKinmont Willie was a descendant of the famous Johnie Armstrong of\nGilnockie, and his capture was a violation of the existing truce between\nScroope and Buccleuch, the Keeper of Liddesdale.  Elizabeth was\nindignant at Buccleuch's action in rescuing Willie, and as the Scots at\nthat time were very anxious not to offend her, Buccleuch was sent to\nEngland and came before the Queen, who asked him how he dared to\nundertake such an adventure.  \"What is it,\" answered he, \"that a man\ndare not do?\"\n\n\"With ten thousand such men,\" said Elizabeth, turning to a\nlord-in-waiting, \"our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne\nof Europe.\"\n\nThe ballad tells of the capture of Kinmont Willie, and how the false\nSakelde and his men treacherously seized him.\n\nThey bound his legs beneath his horse, and tied his hands behind his\nback, and with five men on each side to guard him, brought him over\nLiddel ford and through Carlisle sands to Carlisle castle.\n\nWhen he arrived there, Willie addressed his captor in these words:\n\n\"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free.  Who will avow this deed or\nanswer for it to bold Buccleuch?\"\n\n\"Hold thy tongue, thou rank robber!  Never a Scot shall set thee free.\nYe shall take farewell of me before ye cross my castle gate,\" said\nScroope.\n\n\"Fear ye not that, my lord,\" answers Willie, \"for by the faith of my\nbody, never did I yet lodge in a hostelry but that I paid my reckoning\nbefore I went.\"\n\nWord was sent to Branksome Hall to the Keeper of Liddesdale that Lord\nScroope had captured Kinmont Willie, whereupon the Keeper smote the\ntable with his hand till the red wine sprang on high, \"A curse on my\nhead,\" he cried, \"if I be not avenged of Lord Scroope.  Is my helmet a\nwidow's cap, or my lance a twig from a willow-tree, or my fist a lady's\nlily hand, that an English lord should appraise me so lightly?  Have\nthey taken Kinmont Willie in spite of the truce, and forgotten that the\nbold Buccleuch is Keeper on the Scottish side? Have they taken Kinmont\nWillie so fearlessly, and forgotten that the bold Buccleuch can back a\nsteed and wield a weapon?  Were there but war between the lands, then\nwould I slight Carlisle Castle though it were built of marble; I would\nset it on fire and drench it with English blood.  But since there is\npeace and not war, I'll set the Kinmont free yet never harm English lad\nor lass!\"\n\nSo Buccleuch called forty bold Marchmen, all of his own name and kin\nexcept one, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Laird of Stobs.  They came spur on heel\nand armour on shoulder, with gloves of green and feathers of blue.  Five\nand five came first with hunting-horns and bugles; five and five more\ncame with Buccleuch like Warden's men arrayed for battle; five and five\ncame like a gang of masons, carrying long high ladders; and five and\nfive came like broken men, and so they reached Woodhouselee.\n\nWhen they had crossed to the English side, the first man they met was\nthe false Sakelde.\n\n\"Where are ye going, ye keen hunters?\" quoth Sakelde.\n\n\"We go to hunt an English stag that has trespassed on Scottish ground.\"\n\n\"Where are ye going, ye martial men?\"\n\n\"We go to catch a rank robber that has broken faith with the bold\nBuccleuch.\"\n\n\"Where are ye going, ye mason lads, with all these long high ladders?\"\n\n\"We go to harry a corbie's nest not far from here.\"\n\n\"Where are ye going, ye broken men?\" said false Sakelde.\n\nBut Dickie of Dryhope, leader of the broken men, had never a word of\nlearning, and answered nothing.\n\n\"Why trespass ye on the English side?  Stand! ye raw-footed outlaws!\"\n\nNever a word yet said Dickie, but for answer ran his lance clean through\nthe body of the false Sakelde.\n\nOn then they went to Carlisle town, crossing the Eden at Staneshaw-bank,\nnor lost they either horse or man, though the water was high in flood.\n\nWhen they reached Staneshaw-bank the wind was rising, and the Laird\nordered them to leave there their horses for fear they should stamp and\nneigh.  The wind blew loudly enough then, but when they came beneath the\ncastle wall there was wind and rain and flying sleet.  On they crept on\ntheir knees and held their breath till they placed the ladders against\nthe wall.  Buccleuch himself mounted first, took the watchman by the\nthroat and flung him down upon the leads.  \"Thou hadst gone on the other\nside,\" said he, \"had there not been peace between our lands.\"\n\n[Illustration: _The Escape of Kinmont Willie_]\n\n\"Sound out the trumpets!\" quoth he; \"let's wake up Lord Scroope!\"  Then\nloud blew the Warden's trumpet to the tune of \"O wha dare meddle wi'\nme?\"\n\nTo work they went speedily, and cut a hole through the lead, gaining\nthus the castle hall.\n\nThose inside thought the castle had been taken by King James and all his\nmen, yet it was only twenty Scots and ten that had put a thousand in\nsuch a stir.  They hammered and banged at the bars until they came to\nthe inner prison, where lay Kinmont Willie.\n\n\"Do ye sleep or wake, Kinmont Willie, on the morn when ye shall die?\"\n\n\"O I sleep lightly and wake often; it's long since sleep was frightened\nfrom me.  Give my service to my wife and bairns and all good fellows\nthat enquire after me.\"\n\nRed Rowan, the strongest man in Teviotdale, lifted him up.  \"Stay now,\nRed Rowan, till I take farewell of Lord Scroope.  Farewell, farewell, my\ngood Lord Scroope,\" he cried.  \"I will pay ye for my lodging when first\nwe meet on the Border.\"\n\nWith shout and cry Red Rowan bore him on his shoulders down the long\nladder, the irons clanking at every stride.\n\n\"Many a time,\" said Kinmont Willie, \"have I ridden a horse both wild and\nunruly, but never have my legs bestrode a rougher beast than Red Rowan.\nMany a time have I pricked a horse over the furrows, but never since I\nbacked a steed have I worn such cumbrous spurs.\"\n\nScarcely had they won the Staneshaw-bank when all the bells in Carlisle\nwere ringing and Lord Scroope was after them with a thousand men on\nhorse and on foot. But--\n\n    \"Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden water\n      Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,\n    And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,\n      And safely swam them through the stream.\n\n    He turn'd him on the other side,\n      And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he--\n    'If ye like na my visit to merry England,\n      In fair Scotland come visit me!'\n\n    All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,\n      He stood as still as rock of stane;\n    He scarcely dared to trew[#] his eyes,\n      When through the water they had gane.\n\n[#] Trust\n\n    'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,\n      Or else his mother a witch maun be;\n    I wadna have ridden that wan water,\n      For a' the gowd[#] in Christentie.'\"\n\n[#] Gold\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXVIII*\n\n                           *Dick o' the Cow*\n\n\n    \"Fair Johnie Armstrong to Willie did say\n      'Billie, a-riding we will gae.'\"\n\n\nThe ballad of this name, a popular one in Liddesdale, relates, like that\nof Kinmont Willie, to the time when Lord Scroope was Warden of the West\nMarches and Governor of Carlisle. Dick o' the Cow seems to have been his\nfool or jester. Dickie, some years after the events described in the\nballad, fell a victim to the vengeance of the Armstrongs.\n\n\nThere had been no raids from Liddesdale for a considerable time, and no\nriding, and the horses had all grown so fat that they dare scarcely stir\nout of the stall. Then fair Johnie Armstrong said to his brother Willie,\n\"Brother, we will go a-riding.  We have long been at feud with England,\nand perhaps we shall find some spoil.\"\n\nSo they rode to Hulton Hall and round about it, but the laird, a wise\nman, had left neither goods nor cattle outside to steal, except six\nsheep in a meadow.  Said Johnie, \"I'd rather die in England than take\nthose six sheep to Liddesdale.\"\n\n\"But who was that man we last met as we came over the hill?\"\n\n\"Oh, he is an innocent fool, and men call him Dick o' the Cow.\"\n\n\"That fool has three good cows of his own, as good as there are in\nCumberland.  Betide me life or death, they shall go to Liddesdale with\nme!\"\n\nSo they came to the house of the poor fool, broke down his thick wall,\nloosed his three cows, and took also three coverlets from his wife's\nbed.\n\nIn the morning at daylight when the loss was discovered, there were loud\nlamentations.  \"Hold thy tongue, wife,\" said Dickie, \"and stop thy\ncrying.  I'll bring thee back three cows for each one that thou hast\nlost.\"\n\nSo Dickie went to Lord Scroope.  \"Hold thy tongue, fool,\" said Scroope.\n\"I have no time for jesting.\"\n\n\"A shame on your jesting, my lord!\" said Dickie, \"jesting agrees not\nwith me.  Liddesdale was in my house last night and has taken my three\ncows.  I can no longer dwell in Cumberland as your poor faithful fool,\nunless you give me leave to steal in Liddesdale.\"\n\n\"I give thee leave, fool!\" said Scroope; \"but thou speakest against me\nand my honour unless thou give me thy hand and pledge that thou wilt\nsteal from none but those who stole from thee.\"\n\n\"There is my right hand and pledge!  May my head hang on Haribee, and\nmay I never again cross Carlisle sands if I steal from any man who stole\nnot from me.\",\n\nDickie joyfully took leave of his lord and master, and went and bought a\nbridle and a pair of new spurs which he packed up in the thigh of his\nbreeches, then he came on as fast as he could to Pudding-burn house,\nwhere were thirty-three Armstrongs.\n\n\"O what has come to me now?\" said Dickie, \"what great trouble is this?\nFor here is but one innocent fool against thirty-three Armstrongs?\"  Yet\nhe went courteously up to the Hall board.\n\n\"Well may ye be, my good Laird's Jock, but the devil bless all your\ncompany.  I'm come to complain of your man, Johnie Armstrong, and of his\nbrother Willie, that they came to my house last night and took away my\nthree cows.\"\n\nQuoth fair Johnie Armstrong, \"We'll hang him.\"\n\n\"Nay,\" said Willie, \"we'll slay him.\"\n\nBut up spoke another young Armstrong, \"We'll give him a thrashing and\nlet him go.\"\n\nThen up spoke the good Laird's Jock, the best fellow in all the company,\n\"Sit down a while, Dickie, and we'll give thee a bit of thine own cow's\nthigh.\"\n\nDickie's heart was so sore that he could not eat a bit, but he went and\nlay down in an old peat-house where he thought to sleep the night, and\nall the prayers the poor fool prayed were, \"I wish I had amends for my\nthree good cows.\"\n\nNow it was the custom of Pudding-burn house and of the house of\nMangerton, whose laird was chief of the Armstrong clan, that any who\ncame not to the table at the first summons got no more meat till the\nnext meal, so some of the lads, hungry and weary, had thrown the key of\nthe stable above the door-head.  Dickie took good notice of that to turn\nit to his own account, went into the stable where stood thirty-three\nhorses and tied thirty of them with St Mary's knot, tight to their\nstalls.\n\nOf the remaining three, Dickie took two, which belonged to Johnie and\nWillie Armstrong, and the one belonging to the Laird's Jock he left\nloose in the stable. Leaping on one, he took the other along with him,\nand rode off as fast as he could.\n\nWhen day came, there were great shouts and cries.\n\n\"Who has done this,\" quoth the good Laird's Jock; \"see that ye tell me\nthe truth.\"\n\n\"It is Dickie that has been in the stable last night, and has taken the\nhorses.\"\n\n\"Ye never would listen to me,\" said the good Laird's Jock, \"though I\ntold ye true tales.  Ye would never stay out of England but would steal\neverything, till ye were crooked and blind.\"\n\n\"Lend me thy bay,\" said fair Johnie; \"he is the only horse loose in the\nstable, and I'll either fetch back Dick o' the Cow, or he shall die.\"\n\n\"Lend thee my bay!\" said Jock; \"he is worth gold and good money.  Dick\no' the Cow has taken two horses; I would not ye make them three.\"\n\nJohnie, however, took the Laird's steel jacket on his back, and a\ntwo-handed sword by his side, and a steel cap on his head, and galloped\nafter Dickie, who was barely three miles from the town when Johnie\novertook him on Cannobie Lee, on the borders of Liddesdale.\n\n\"Abide, abide, thou traitor thief!\" cried Armstrong; \"the day is come\nthat thou shalt die!\"\n\nDickie looked over his left shoulder and said, \"Johnie, hast thou no\nmore in thy company?  There is a preacher in our chapel who teaches all\nthe livelong day, and when day is gone and night has come, there are\nonly three words I remember--the first and second are Faith and\nConscience--the third is 'Ne'er let a traitor free.'  What faith and\nconscience was thine, Johnie, when thou tookest away my three cows?  And\nwhen thou hadst taken them away, thou wast not satisfied.  Thou sentest\nthy brother Willie, and took away three coverlets off my wife's bed!\"\n\nThen Johnie let his spear fall low by his side, and thought he would\nhave killed Dickie, but the powers above were stronger than he, and he\nonly succeeded in running through the fool's jerkin.  Dickie out with\nhis sword and ran after him, and when he could not get at him with the\nblade, he felled him with the butt-end over the eye, felled Johnie\nArmstrong, the finest man in the south country.  \"Gramercy,\" said\nDickie, \"I had but two horses, thou hast made them three!\"--and he took\nJohnie's steel jacket off his back and his two-handed sword, and his\nsteel cap.  \"Farewell, Johnie,\" said he, \"I'll tell my master I met\nthee.\"\n\nWhen Johnie wakened out of his swoon, he was a sad man.  \"Art thou gone,\nDickie?\" he said.  \"Then the shame and woe are left with me.  Art thou\ngone?  Then, Dickie, the devil go in thy company, for if I live to be a\nhundred, I'll never again fight with a fool.\"\n\nDickie came home to the good Lord Scroope as fast as he could.  \"Now,\nDickie, I'll neither eat nor drink till thou art hanged on high.\"\n\"Shame speed the liars, my lord,\" said Dickie, \"this was not the promise\nye made me, for I would never have gone to Liddesdale to steal if I had\nnot got leave from thee.\"  \"But why did ye steal the Laird's Jock's\nhorse?  Ye might have lived long in Cumberland before the Laird's Jock\nhad stolen from thee.\"\n\n\"Indeed, I knew ye lied, my lord.  I won the horse from fair Johnie\nArmstrong hand to hand on Cannobie Lee. There is the jacket that was on\nhis back, and the two-handed sword that hung by his side, and the steel\ncap that was on his head.  I brought all these tokens to show thee.\"\n\n\"If that be true that thou tellest me (and I think thou durst not lie)\nI'll give thee fifteen pounds for the horse, all told out in the lap of\nthy cloak; I'll give thee one of my best milk cows to maintain thy wife\nand three children, and they will be as good as any two of thine would\nbe.\"\n\n\"Shame speed the liars, my lord!\" said Dickie. \"Do ye think aye to make\na fool of me?  I'll either have twenty pounds for the horse or else I'll\ntake him to Mortan fair.\"\n\nSo Scroope gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all in gold and good\nmoney, and one of his best milk cows to maintain his wife and three\nchildren.\n\nThen Dickie rode as fast as he could through Carlisle town, and the\nfirst man he met was my lord's brother, Ralph Scroope, Bailiff of\nGlozenburrie.\n\n\"Well be ye met, Ralph Scroope!\" said Dickie.\n\n\"Welcome, my brother's fool!\" said Ralph.  \"Where did ye get Johnie\nArmstrong's horse?\"\n\n\"Where did I get him?  I stole him,\" said Dickie.\n\n\"Wilt thou sell me the bonny horse?\"\n\n\"Ay, if thou count out the money in the lap of my cloak, for never a\npenny will I trust thee.\"\n\n\"I'll give thee ten pounds for the horse and count it into the lap of\nthy cloak, and one of my best milk cows to maintain thy wife and three\nchildren.\"\n\n\"Shame speed the liars, my lord!  Do ye think aye to make a fool of me?\nI'll either have twenty pounds for the horse, or I'll take him to Mortan\nfair.\"\n\nSo Ralph gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all in gold and good\nmoney, and one of his milk cows to maintain his wife and three children.\n\nThen Dickie leaped and laughed, and cried, \"May the neck of the third\nhorse be broken if either of the two were better than he!\"\n\nSo he came home to his wife and ye may judge how the poor fool had\nsucceeded.  For her three stolen coverlets he gave her two score English\npounds, and two cows as good as her own three.  \"And here,\" said he, \"is\na white-footed nag that I reckon will carry us both.  But if I stay\nlonger in Cumberland the Armstrongs will hang me.\"  So Dickie took leave\nof his lord and went to live at Burgh under Stanmuir.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXIX*\n\n                         *The Lochmaben Harper*\n\n\nThe castle of Lochmaben is said to have been the residence of Robert\nBruce while Lord of Allandale.  Hence, as a royal fortress, the keeping\nof it was always granted to some powerful lord. There is extant a grant\ngiving to one of these, Robert Lauder, the office of Captain and Keeper\nof Lochmaben Castle for seven years, and among his perquisites were\n\"lands stolen from the King\"!\n\nThe inhabitants of four small villages near the castle have each still\nto this day a right to a small piece of ground.  These people are\ndescendants of Robert Bruce's retainers, to whom he assigned these\nportions of land in reward for faithful service, and there are still to\nbe found some families (_e.g._ the Richardsons of Lochmaben) who hold\ntheir lands direct from the times of Bruce without a break.\n\n    \"O heard ye na o' the silly blind Harper,\n      How long he lived in Lochmaben town?\n    And how he wad gang to fair England,\n      To steal the Lord Warden's Wanton Brown?\n\n    But first he gaed to his gude wyfe,\n      Wi' a' the haste that he could thole[#]\n    'This wark,' quo' he, 'will ne'er gae well\n      Without a mare that has a foal.'\n\n[#] Suffer.\n\n\nQuoth his wife, \"Thou hast a good grey mare that can jump both high and\nlow; so set thee on her back and leave the foal at home with me.\"  Away\nwent the Harper to England as fast as he might, and when he came to\nCarlisle gate, who should be there but the Warden himself?\n\n    \"'Come into my hall, thou silly blind Harper,\n      And of thy harping let me hear!'\n    'O, by my sooth,' quo' the silly blind Harper,\n      'I wad rather hae stabling for my mare.\"\n\n    The Warden looked o'er his left shoulder,\n      And said unto his stable groom--\n    'Gae take the silly blind Harper's mare,\n      And tie her beside my Wanton Brown.'\"\n\n\nSo the Harper harped and sang, the lordlings danced, and so sweet was\nthe music that the groom forgot all about the stable door.  Still the\nHarper harped on till all the nobles were fast asleep, when he quickly\ntook off his shoes, crept softly down the stair, and hied with light\ntread to the stable door, which he opened and entered.  He found there\nthree-and-thirty steeds.  He took a colt's halter which he had hidden in\nhis hose, slipped it over Wanton Brown, tied it to the grey mare's tail,\nand turned them both loose at the castle gate.\n\nAway they went over moor and moss and dale, and the mare never let\nWanton rest a moment, but kept him galloping home to her foal.  So swift\nof foot was she, and knew her way so well, that she reached Lochmaben a\ngood three hours before daybreak.\n\nWhen she came to the Harper's door, she neighed and snorted.  \"Rise up,\"\nshouted the Harper's wife, \"thou lazy lass, and let in thy master and\nhis mare.\"  The lass rose up, put on her clothes and looked through the\nlock-hole.  \"By my sooth,\" cried she, \"our mare has got a fine brown\nfoal!\"\n\n\"Hold thy tongue, thou foolish wench, the light is dazzling thine eyes.\nI'll wager all I have against a groat that it's bigger than ever our\nfoal will be.\"\n\nStill in merry Carlisle the Harper harped to high and low, and nought\ncould they do but listen to him until day-dawn.  But when it was\ndaylight they discovered that Wanton Brown was gone and also the poor\nblind Harper's mare.\n\n\"Alas! alas!\" cried the cunning old Harper, \"alas that I came here; in\nScotland I have lost a brown colt foal and in England they have stolen\nmy good grey mare.\"\n\n\"Cease thy lamenting, thou silly blind Harper, and go on harping; we'll\npay thee well for the loss of thy colt foal and thou shalt have a far\nbetter mare.\"  So the harper harped and sang, and so sweet were his\nharpings that he was paid for the foal he never had lost and three times\nover for the gray mare.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXX*\n\n                          *The Rookhope Ride*\n\n\nThis Durham border song is supposed to be spoken by a Weardale man, who\nbegins by denouncing the inhabitants of the Tyne valley, \"and all their\ncompanies there about\" as false thieves,\n\n      \"minded to do mischief\n    And at their stealing stands not out.\"\n\n\nIt must be confessed that the Tynedale men had an unenviable reputation.\nThey were such lawless desperadoes, so addicted to rapine, that during\nmore than two centuries the merchants of Newcastle regularly refused to\ntake an apprentice born in that district.  The date is December 1572.\nThe rebel Earl of Northumberland, who had taken up arms for Mary Queen\nof Scots, and for the old religion, had been betrayed by the Scots and\nbeheaded at York.  Owing to this rebellion there was great confusion in\nthe northern counties, hence the time was well chosen by the \"limmer\nthieves\" of Tynedale to make a predatory raid on their neighbours. They\ngathered together the stoutest men of arms and the best in gear, a\nhundred or more in number, and in the forenoon, about eleven o'clock,\nthey came into a \"bye-fell\" and stopped for a meal--the last which some\nof them would eat.  When they had eaten, they chose their captains,\nHarry Corbyl, Simon Fell, and Martin Ridley. Then they rode on over the\nmoss, \"with many a brank and whew,\" saying to one another that they were\nmen enough,\n\n    \"For Weardale-men have a journey ta'en,\n      They are so far out o'er yon fell,\n    That some of them's with the two earls,\n      And others fast in Bernard castell.\n\n    There we shall get gear enough,\n      For there is nane but women at hame;\n    The sorrowful fend that they can make.\n      Is loudly cries as they were slain.\"\n\n\nThey came in at Rookhope Head, which is the top of a rocky valley, about\nfive miles long, at the end of which Rookhope Burn empties itself into\nthe river Wear.  This valley is as wild and open to-day as it was then.\nIn some four hours they gathered together about six hundred sheep and\nthey were engaged in \"shifting\" the horses, when the hue and cry was\nraised by one Rowley, whose horse they tried to take.  He was the first\nman to see them.  The cry spread rapidly down Rookhope burn and through\nWeardale, and word came to the bailiff's house at the East-gate.  He was\nout, but his wife had his horse saddled and sent it to him, together\nwith his sword, spear, and jacket quilted with iron plates, the sort of\nharness worn by the moss-troopers and other light horsemen of the time.\nThe bailiff had already heard the bad news, and was sorely troubled\nthereby. His own brother had been attacked three days before by\nmarauders, and lay sick with nineteen wounds.  Yet the bailiff shrank\nnot at all, but hied fast after the sheep-stealers, with as many of the\nneighbours as he could gather to bear him company.\n\nThe pursuers overtook the thieves in Nuketon Cleugh, and gave them all\nthe fighting they wanted.  Not one of them ever thought to see his wife\nagain.  They bore three banners against the Weardale men, \"as if the\nworld had been all their own.\"  The fray lasted only an hour, but many a\ntall man lay weaponless and sore wounded before that hour was done, and\nfour of the Northumbrian prickers were slain, including Harry Corbyl\nwhom they had chosen to be their captain.  Eleven of them were taken\nprisoners.  Only one of the Weardale men fell but--\n\n    \"These Weardale-men, they have good hearts,\n      They are as stiff as any tree;\n    For, if they'd everyone been slain,\n      Never a foot back man would flee.\n\n    And such a storm amongst them fell,\n      As I think you never heard the like;\n    For he that bears his head on high,\n      He oft-tymes falls into the dyke.\n\n    And now I do entreat you all,\n      As many as are present here,\n    To pray for the singer of this song,\n      For he sings to make blythe your cheer.\"\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXXI*\n\n                           *Barthram's Dirge*\n\n\nThe story of how this ballad came to be preserved to us is a very\ninteresting one.  A Mr Surtees, who was very interested in the old\nballads, used to give work to a poor old Scotswoman to weed in his\ngarden.  Finding that she had learnt ballads in her young days, he\nencouraged her to talk about them, and this was amongst those which she\nrecited to him.  She told him that it referred to a young man named\nBertram or Barthrum, who made love to a young lady against the wish of\nher brothers.  The cruel brothers slew him, but the lady had him buried\nat the very spot where he was wont to come to visit her in the days of\ntheir love.  Sir Walter Scott thinks that perhaps Barthram was an\nEnglishman and the lady was Scottish, and that the anger of the lady's\nbrothers against him was partly on that account.\n\nIt must be remembered that in those stormy days, when Border rivalry was\nkeen, and all the Border chiefs, on both sides, were men of war-like\nmould, intermarriage between the two races was punishable by Border law.\nEach side felt equally that such mixed marriages would sooner or later\nproduce a race that was neither loyal English nor loyal Scotch.  A\nspirit of aloofness and rivalry was deliberately encouraged, right up to\nthe time of the union of the two countries under one king.\n\n\n                           *BARTHRAM'S DIRGE*\n\n    They shot him dead at the Nine-Stone Rig,\n        Beside the Headless Cross,\n    And they left him lying in his blood,\n        Upon the moor and moss.\n\n      *      *      *      *      *\n\n    They made a bier of the broken bough,\n        The sauch and the aspin gray,\n    And they bore him to the Lady Chapel,\n        And waked him there all day.\n\n    A lady came to that lonely bower,\n      And threw her robes aside,\n    She tore her long yellow hair,\n      And knelt at Barthram's side.\n\n    She bathed him in the Lady-Well,\n      His wounds so deep and sair,\n    And she plaited a garland for his breast,\n      And a garland for his hair.\n\n    They rowed him in a lily-sheet,\n      And bare him to his earth,\n    And the Gray Friars sung the dead man's mass,\n      As they pass'd the Chapel Garth.\n\n    They buried him at the mirk midnight,\n      When the dew fell cold and still,\n    When the aspin gray forgot to play,\n      And the mist clung to the hill.\n\n    They dug his grave but a bare foot deep,\n      By the edge of the Ninestone Burn,\n    And they covered him o'er with the heather-flower,\n      The moss and the Lady fern.\n\n    A Gray Friar staid upon the grave,\n      And sang till the morning tide,\n    And a friar shall sing for Barthram's soul,\n      While the Headless Cross shall bide.[#]\n\n[#] Mr Surtees observes, on this passage, that in the return made by the\ncommissioners, on the dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an item\nof a Chauntery, for one priest to sing daily _ad crucem lapideam_.\nProbably many of these crosses had the like expiatory solemnities for\npersons slain there.  They certainly did bury, in former days, near the\nNinestone Burn, for Sir Walter Scott found there, lying among the\nheather, a small monumental cross, with initials, which he reverently\nplaced upright.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXII*\n\n                      *Queen Mary and the Borders*\n\n\nThe brief reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, was so crowded with incident\nthat she was left with little time to visit the disturbed borderland of\nher kingdom.  None-the-less her few visits to this district were fraught\nwith important consequences.  In 1565, when she married her cousin Lord\nDarnley, the head of the Douglas faction and a Roman Catholic, the\nProtestant nobles took up arms.  In her very honeymoon she headed her\nsoldiers, pursued the rebels to Dumfries, entered the town with a pistol\nin each hand, and laughed heartily at the fun of making her enemies\n\"skip like rabbits\" over the Border.  She was only twenty-two years\nold--a fearless, dashing, attractive woman, with a clever head, a strong\nwill, and a wild and lawless disposition.\n\nIn the next year she again visited the Border, but on a very different\nerrand.  Mary had developed an extreme fancy for that bold Border Lord,\nthe Earl of Bothwell, whose Castle of Hermitage commanded the\npicturesque and important valley of the Liddel.  The Queen had given him\nauthority to control the fierce Borderers; and when the earl was riding\nout he met the most lawless of them, Jock Elliot, of whom the couplet--\n\n    \"My name is little Jock Elliot\n    And who dare meddle wi' me?\"\n\nBothwell fired straight at Elliot with his pistol, wounding him in the\nleg.  Elliot aimed a mighty blow at Bothwell with his two-handed sword,\ngiving the earl so sore a wound that he was glad enough to gallop home\nwhile there was yet time to save his life.\n\nMary was holding solemn court at Jedburgh when she heard of her\nfavourite's danger.  She straightway took horse and rode to Hermitage, a\nhard cross-country ride of twenty miles, through a district infested\nwith reckless men.  When she galloped back to Jedburgh, she was in high\nfever and nearly died.  Later on, in the misery of her long\nimprisonment, she often said, \"Would I had died at Jedburgh!\"  Years\nlater, a broken piece of a silver spur was found at Queensmire, on this\ndifficult and dangerous road, just where Queen Mary's horse was said to\nhave come to grief.\n\nYet another time Queen Mary came to the Border, this time to cross\nit--after her imprisonment at Lochleven, her escape, and the disastrous\nrout of her followers at Langside.  Daring and resourceful as ever, she\nfled across the Solway in an open boat; Scotland had failed her, she\nsought the protection of England.  She landed at Cockermouth, and was\nled to Carlisle by Sir R. Lowther, and kept there, in reality a\nprisoner, while Elizabeth was musing of the dangers of the position. The\nEarls of Northumberland and Westmoreland took up Mary's cause and\nattempted to rescue her, but the Warden of Carlisle, Lord Scroope,\ndefended the town successfully against the two earls, and they were soon\nin flight, eastward for their very lives.  After this attempt at rescue\nMary was, for greater safety, sent down to Bolton Castle in Yorkshire.\n\n[Illustration: Queen Mary crossing the Solway]\n\nLeonard Dacre, a member of the powerful Cumberland family of the Dacres,\nseems to have played a treacherous part, first promising the earls his\nhelp, and then betraying them to Elizabeth.  He seized Nawarth Castle,\nwhich properly belonged to his young niece, and collected together three\nthousand men to the old Border war-cry, \"A Red Bull, a Red Bull!\"\n(probably the nickname of some fierce red-haired Celtic champion).  The\ndefeated earls came to Nawarth for shelter, and Dacre refused to harbour\nthem.  But by this time Elizabeth was convinced of Dacre's treason, and\nordered Lord Hudson, the Governor of Berwick, to arrest him.\n\nHudson appears to have marched by rather a round-about way, for Dacre\nmet him at Geltbridge, on the west of Nawarth.  A bridge is always a\ngood point of vantage for meeting an enemy, especially when the river\nruns, as the Gelt does, through a deep and wooded gorge. The enemy has\nonly a narrow way by which to approach, and no doubt Dacre posted his\narchers behind the trees and among the great rocks.  The fight was a\ndesperate one, but Hudson's men prevailed and pursued their foes far up\nthe hill of Gelt, scuffling fiercely among the forest trees and dyeing a\ndeeper hue the red sandstone cliffs and quarries.\n\nAll the rebels who could escape fled across the Border to Scotland,\nwhere the Borderers, who were till then their enemies, received them\nwith that open and fair hospitality which was one of their many great\nqualities. Elizabeth demanded that the leading noblemen should be given\nup to her; but although the Scottish Regent, Murray, made a pretence of\ntrying to secure the Earl of Westmoreland, the Scots had too much sense\nof honour to allow him to proceed.\n\nThe Earl of Northumberland, was however betrayed to the Scottish Regent\nby Hector Armstrong of Harelaw; but this the gallant Borderers held to\nbe shameful, and Armstrong was a ruined man from that day forth.\n\nTwo years later, this Earl was actually sold to Elizabeth and beheaded\nat York.  Thus ended this small rebellion, called in history the Rising\nof the North, but which is known locally in Cumberland as Dacre's Raid.\n\nThere is a little stream which rushes down a deep and beautiful glade to\njoin the river Gelt above Geltbridge; this stream is known as\n\"Hellbeck,\" and villagers tell us that the reason for this name is that\nit was stained with blood for two whole days after some battle that took\nplace there.  This battle is probably the one spoken of here.\n\nA wicket gate by Geltbridge leads us to the path through Gelt woods.\nThe noble gorge is deeply cleft through the grand red sandstone rocks.\nBelow roars and dashes the impetuous river; the path winds, sometimes\nhigh, sometimes low, through wonderful weeds, carpeted with beautiful\nmosses, gemmed with delightful flowers. On one of the rocks is an\ninscription carved by a Roman soldier, over fifteen hundred years ago.\nFollow the river, up, up, till the little Hellbeck is seen trickling\ndown from the east; cross the little bridge and follow the streamlet on\nits opposite bank, along a path so little trod as to be scarcely\nvisible; wander among ferns along one of the loneliest glens in the\nwhole of Britain, passing the great railway bridge (_under_ if the\nstream be low or _over_ if it be high) till you join the main road\nagain.  There is no spot more beautiful or more peaceful.  Yet this is\nthe Hellbeck where men fought and hacked, and slashed and slew, among\nthese woods, up and down these steep hillsides. These old trees, when\nyoung, have felt warm blood at their roots; and all because of a young,\nwild wilful queen, who fascinated men's hearts then, and the memory of\nwhom fascinates them still.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXIII*\n\n                      *The Raid of the Reidswire*\n\n\n    \"To deal with proud men is but pain,\n      For either must ye fight or flee,\n    Or else no answer make again,\n      But play the beast, and let them be.\"\n\n\nReidswire, the name of a place about ten miles from Jedburgh, means the\nRed Swire.  Swire is an old northern term for the descent of a hill, and\nthe epithet red may refer to the colour of the heath.\n\nThe affair about which we are to tell took place on the 7th of July\n1575, at a meeting held, on a day of truce, by the Wardens of the\nMarches, for redressing wrongs and adjusting difficulties which could\nnot be prevented from arising upon the Border.  The Scottish Warden was\nSir John Carmichael, and among his following were the Armstrongs and\nElliots, Douglas of Cavers (a descendant of the Douglas who fell at\nOtterbourne), Cranstoun, whose ferocious motto was \"Ye shall want ere I\nwant,\" Gladstain, \"good at need,\" and the ancient head of the\nRutherfoords, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, \"with his nine\nsons him about.\"  The English Warden was the haughty Sir John Forster,\nand he had full fifteen hundred men with him, chiefly Northumbrians,\nTynedale, and Reedsdale men, who looked with scorn upon the much smaller\narray of their hereditary foes.\n\nThe meeting, however, began meekly enough, with merriment and jests.\nSuch Border meetings of truce, though they might wind up in blood, as\nwas to happen now, always began as occasions of marketing and revelry.\nBoth parties came fully armed to such a tryst, yet intermixed in mutual\nsports and familiar intercourse,\n\n    \"Some gaed to drink, and some stood still,\n    And some to cards and dice them sped.\"\n\n\nThe Scots planted their pavilions or tents and feared no ill, even when\nthey saw five hundred Fenwicks (a powerful Northumbrian clan) \"marching\nin a flock.\"  The clerk began to call the rolls, and to deal with one\ncomplaint after another for the loss of cows or ewes or other property.\nIn the course of the proceedings an accusation was raised against an\nEnglish freebooter named Farnstein, at the instance of a Scotch\ncomplainant. A \"true bill\" was found against the man, which means that\nhe ought to be handed over to justice.  But the English Warden alleged\nthat he had fled, and could not be found.  Carmichael, considering this\nas a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bade the\nNorthumbrians speak out plainly, and \"cloke no cause for ill nor good.\"\nUpon this Sir John Forster, a proud and insolent man, \"began to reckon\nkin and blood,\" by which picturesque phrase the ballad probably means\nthat he swiftly added up his forces.  Then he drew himself up, backed by\nhis Dalesmen, all fingering their bows, and with insulting expressions\nagainst Carmichael's kin he bade him \"match with his equals.\"  The men\nof Tynedale, who only wanted a pretext for a quarrel, drew their bows\nand let off a flight of arrows among the Scots. The more moderate men on\nboth sides at first tried to quell the tumult, but in vain.  The fight\nwas bound to come.\n\n    \"Then there was naught but bow and spear,\n    And every man pulled out a brand.\"\n\n\nThe English showed their usual dexterity with the bow. The Scots, for\nsome reason, never took to this weapon; they had fire-arms, pistolets,\nand the like.  The terrible cloth-yard arrows \"from tackles flew,\" and\nthe old proverb bade fair to justify itself, that every English archer\ncarried twenty-four Scots under his belt--an allusion to his bundle of\nshafts.  Success seemed certain for the English side; some of the\nforemost men among the Scots fell, and even Carmichael was thrown to the\nground and was within an ace of being made a prisoner.  The air\nresounded with the rallying cries of the English, the names of their\ncaptains, \"A Shaftoe!  A Shaftoe!\"  \"A Fenwick!  A Fenwick!\"  The Scots\nhad little harness among them, only a few had the jack which served them\nas a defence for the body.  Nevertheless, they laid about them sturdily,\nwith \"dints full dour,\" and there was many a cracked crown.  Then\nsuddenly a shout was heard.  \"Jedburgh's here!\"  A body of Jedburgh\nburgesses appear to have arrived just in the nick of time to add to the\noutnumbered force of Scots.  They probably wore armour and what were\ncalled \"white hats,\" that is steel caps.  Meanwhile, the English, too\nconfident of easy victory, instead of slaying more Scots and turning the\nrepulse into a rout, thought only to plunder the unhappy merchants, who,\ntrusting to the truce which had been proclaimed, had attached themselves\nto the meeting.  Had it not been for the English greed, the Scots would\nhave been defeated.  As it was, the Tynedale men, throwing themselves on\nthe merchants' packs, fell into disorder, their adversaries recovered\nfrom their surprise, and the timely arrival of the Jedburgh men turned\nthe tables.  A short, sharp bout ended in the triumph of the Scots and\nthe Northumbrians fled, \"Down ower the brae, like clogged bees.\"  The\nScots took many prisoners, amongst whom were the English Warden, and his\nson-in-law, Sir Francis Russell; but the most gallant soldier taken that\nday was that courteous knight, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, to whose family\nAdmiral Collingwood belonged.  Several of those \"Fenwicks fierce,\" who\nhad turned up five hundred strong at the commencement of the fray, had\nthe mortification of being carried off in triumph by their enemies.  All\nthese prisoners were sent to the Earl of Morton, Regent of Scotland, who\ndetained them at Dalkeith for some days, until the bitter feeling\nnatural after such an affair had died down, at any rate in part, and by\nthis prudent precaution the Regent is thought to have probably averted a\nwar between the two kingdoms. He ultimately permitted them to return to\ntheir own country, parting from them with great expressions of regard.\nThe interest taken in the matter by Queen Elizabeth, and the\nrepresentations of her Ambassador at Edinburgh, no doubt had something\nto do with this happy issue.\n\nIt will probably occur to the careful reader of this book as somewhat\nstrange to find the ruling powers of England and Scotland both so set\nupon peace; but it must be remembered that at this period in the reign\nof Queen Elizabeth the heir-apparent to the English throne was the young\nJames VI., King of Scotland, who would naturally not wish for any\nquarrel with the country which he hoped later on to rule. Elizabeth, on\nthe other hand, had Mary Queen of Scots as her prisoner, and did not\nwish in any further way to strain the already delicate relations between\nthe two countries.\n\nThe Carmichael mentioned in this ballad, known in full as Sir John\nCarmichael of Edrom, Scottish Warden of the Middle Marches, was\nafterwards murdered by one of the wild Armstrongs, who is said to have\ncomposed, the night before his execution, the following manly and\npathetic \"Good-night.\"  The third and fourth lines show clearly the\ndisrepute into which this once honoured clan was falling; the seventh\nand eighth lines could only have been written by one who, despite his\nfaults, had the true gallant instincts deep in his blood.\n\n\n                         ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT\n\n    \"This night is my departing night,\n      For here nae langer must I stay;\n    There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,\n      But wishes me away.\n\n    What I have done thro' lack of wit,\n      I never, never can recall;\n    I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;\n      Good-night and joy be with you all!\"\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXIV*\n\n                           *Jock o' the Side*\n\n\n    \"He is well kend, John of the Syde,\n    A greater thief did never ryde.\"\n\n\nThe subject of this ballad bears some resemblance to Kinmont Willie, and\nsuch adventures were not uncommon in those turbulent times.  The events\nwe are to relate originated in a raid ridden by the famous Liddesdale\nspearmen (the hardiest of the Scotch moss-troopers) upon English ground.\n\n\"They had better hae staid at home,\" for the outcome was that one of\ntheir best men, Michael of Winfield, was killed, and Jock o' the Side,\nnephew to the Laird of Mangerton, was taken prisoner, and promptly\nlodged in Newcastle Jail.  When the news reached Jock's mother she\nkilted her coats up to her knee, and ran down the water with the tears\nfalling in torrents from her eyes. She ran to Mangerton House, on the\nbanks of the Liddel, and told her brother, the good old lord, the bad\nnews. \"Michael is killed, and they have taken my son John.\"  \"Never\nfear, sister,\" quoth Mangerton, \"I have eighty-three yokes of oxen, my\nbarns, my byres, my folds are all filled, I'll part with them all ere\nJohnie shall die.\"  Then he thought out his plan.  \"Three men I'll send\nto set him free, all harnessed in the best steel; the English loons\nshall feel the weight of their broad swords.  The Laird's Jock shall be\none, the Laird's Wat two, and Hobbie Noble, thou must be the third.  Thy\ncoat is blue, and since England banished thee thou hast been true to\nme.\"  Now this Hobbie was an Englishman, born in Bewcastledale, the\nwildest district in Cumberland.  Like numerous other English outlaws, he\nhad made his own country too hot to hold him; his misdeeds had banished\nhim to Liddesdale, and he was now in high favour with the Laird of\nMangerton.  The Laird gave the dauntless three orders to reverse the\nshoes of their horses, so that anyone crossing their trail might think\nthey were proceeding in a contrary direction.  He also warned them not\nto seem gentlemen, but to look like corn-carriers; not to show their\ngood armour, nor appear like men of war, but to be arrayed as country\nlads, with halter and cart-collar on each mare.  So Hobbie mounted his\ngrey, Jack his lively bay, and Wat his white horse, and they rode for\nTyne water.  When they reached the Tyne they lighted down at a ford, and\nby the moonlight they cut a tree, with fifteen nogs on each side, to\nserve them as a scaling ladder, to climb Newcastle wall with.  However,\nwhen they came to Newcastle town and alighted at the wall, their tree\nproved three ells too short, and there was nothing for it but to force\nthe gates.  At the gate a proud porter attempted to withstand them.  The\nArmstrongs wrung his neck, took his life and his keys at once, and cast\nhis body behind the wall.  Soon they reached the jail, and called to the\nprisoner,\n\n    \"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,\n    Or art thou weary of thy thrall?\"\n\n\nJock answered dolefully, \"Often I wake, nay, sleep seldom comes to\nme--but who's this knows my name so well?\"  Then out and spoke the\nLaird's Jock, his cousin and namesake, \"Now fear ye not, my billie!\"\nquoth he; \"for here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, and Hobbie\nNoble the Englishman come to set you free.\"  Jock o' the Side did not\nthink it possible that they could effect his release.  \"Now hold thy\ntongue, my good cousin,\" said he.  \"This cannot be--\n\n    'For if all Liddesdale were here the night,\n    The morn's the day that I must die.'\n\nThey have laid full fifteen stone of Spanish iron on me, I am fast bound\nwith locks and keys in this dark and dreary dungeon.\"  But the Laird's\nJock replied.  \"Fear not that; faint heart never won fair lady.  Work\nthou within, we'll work without, and I'll be sworn we'll set thee free.\"\nThey loosed the first strong door without a key, the next chained door\nthey split to flinders.  The Laird's Jock got the prisoner on his back,\nirons and all, and brought him down the stairs with no small speed and\njoy.  Hobbie Noble offered to bear some of his weight, but the Laird's\nJock said that he was lighter than a flea.  When they had all gone out\nat the gates, the prisoner was set on horseback, and they all joked\nwantonly.  \"O Jock,\" they cried, \"you ride like a winsome lady, with\nyour feet all on one side.\"  The night was wet, but they did not mind.\nThey hied them on full merrily until they came to the ford at\nCholerford, above Hexham.  There the water was running mountains high.\nThey asked an old man, \"Honest man, tell us in haste, will the water\nride?\"  \"I've lived here thirty years and three,\" replied he, \"and I\nnever saw the Tyne so big, nor running so like a sea.\"  The Laird's Wat\ncounselled them to halt.  \"We need not try it, the day is come we all\nmust die!\"  \"Poor faint-hearted thief!\" cried the Laird's Jock.\n\"There'll no man die but him that's fated; I'll guide you safely\nthrough; lift the prisoner behind me.\"  With that they took to the water\nand managed to swim through.  \"Here we are all safe,\" said the Laird's\nJock triumphantly.  \"Poor faint Wat, what think ye now?\"  They now saw\ntwenty men pursuing them, sent from Newcastle, all English lads, stout\nand true.  But when their leader saw the water he shook his head.  \"It\nwon't ride, my lads,\" said he. Then he cried to the party of Scots:\n\"Take the prisoner, but leave me my fetters.\"  But the Laird's Jock was\nnot a Scot for nothing.  \"I wat weel no,\" he shouted back, \"I'll keep\nthem, they'll make horse-shoes for my mare--for I am sure she's bought\nthem right dear from thee.\"  Then they went on their way to Liddesdale,\nas fast as they could, and did not rest until they had brought the\nrescued prisoner to his own fireside, and made him free of his irons.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XXXV*\n\n                             *Hobbie Noble*\n\n\n    \"Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!\n    For gold and gear he'll sell ye a'.\"\n\n\nIn the ballad of \"Jock o' the Side,\" we have seen Hobbie Noble act a\ndistinguished part in the deliverance from captivity of Jock, cousin of\nthe Laird of Mangerton, chief of the Armstrong clan.  Now in the\nfollowing ballad we shall learn how ungrateful the Armstrongs were for\nhis faithful services.  The Armstrongs were one of those outlawed or\nbroken clans, whose hand was against every man, and living as they did\nin what was called the Debateable Land, on the frontier between\nLiddesdale and England, these stark cattle-lifters and arrant thieves\nlevied tribute from English and Scotch alike.  Halbert or Hobbie Noble\nwas an Englishman, a Cumbrian born and bred, but his misdeeds were so\ngreat, they banished him never to return, and he established himself\namong the Armstrongs.  From their territory he continued his\ndepredations upon the English, in resentment of which they at length\noffered a bribe to the Armstrongs to decoy him into England under\npretence of inviting him to join them in a foray.\n\n    \"At Kershope foot the tryst was set,\n    Kershope of the lily lee,\"\n\nand the name of the chief traitor and leader of the gang was Sim o' the\nMains.  Hobbie harnessed himself \"both with the iron and with the\nsteel,\" buckled spur on his heel and belted brand to his side, leaped\nupon his \"fringed grey,\" and rode down the banks of the Liddel. As soon\nas he saw the others, \"Well be ye met, my comrades five,\" he cried.\n\"Now, what is your will with me?\"  They all answered, with one consent,\n\"Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble; wilt thou ride with us into England,\nand we will be thy safe warrant?  If we get a horse worth a hundred\npounds thou shalt soon be upon its back.\"  But Hobbie said that he dared\nnot ride into England by day, as he had a feud with the Land-Sergeant\n(an officer under the Warden, to whom was entrusted the arrest of\ndelinquents).\n\n    \"But will ye stay till the day gae down,\n    Until the night come o'er the ground,\n    And I'll be a guide worth any two\n    That may in Liddesdale be found?\n    Though the night be black as pitch and tar,\n    I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high;\n    And bring ye all in safety back,\n    If ye'll be true and follow me.\"\n\n\nThey let him guide them over moss and moor, over hill and hope, and over\nmany a down, until they came to the Foulbogshiel.  But meanwhile word\nwas gone to the Land-Sergeant, in Askerton, about seventeen miles from\nCarlisle.  \"The deer that you have hunted so long, is in Bewcastle Waste\nthis day.\"  The Sergeant understood at once.  Quoth he, \"Hobbie Noble is\nthat deer!  He carries the style full high.  He has often driven our\nbloodhounds back.  Now go, warn the bows of Hartlie Burn, see they\nsharpen their arrows on the wall!  Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, take\nword to them that they meet me on the Rodric-haugh at break of day.  We\nwill on to Conscouthart-green, for there, I think, we'll get our\nquarry.\"  In the meantime Hobbie had alighted and was sleeping in the\nFoulbogshiel.  He dreamed that his horse was shot beneath him, and he\nhimself was hard put to it to get away.  The cocks crowed, the day\ndawned, and if Hobbie had not wakened he would have been taken or slain\nin his sleep.\n\n    \"Awake, awake, my comrades five!\n    I trow here makes a full ill day;\n    Yet the worst cloak o' this company\n    I hope shall cross the Waste this day,\"\n\nThus cried he to his companions, thinking the gates were clear.  But\nalas! it was not so.  They were beset by the Land-Sergeant's men, cruel\nand keen, and while the Englishmen came before, the traitor Sim o' the\nMains came behind.  Had Noble been as masterful a champion as Wallace\nhimself, he could not have won under such untoward circumstances.  He\nhad but a laddie's sword, but he did more than a laddie's deeds, for\nthat sword would have cleared Conscouthart-green had it not broken over\none of the English heads.  So his treacherous companions delivered\nHobbie up to the officers of justice; they bound him with his own\nbowstring, but what made his heart feel sorest of all, was that it was\nhis own five who bound him.  They took him on to Carlisle.  They asked\nhim mockingly if he knew the way.  He thought much, but said little,\nthough he knew it as well as they did.  As they took him up the Carlisle\nstreets, the old wives cast their windows wide, every woman whispering\nto another, \"That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side.\"  The poor fellow\ncried out, \"Fie on ye, women! why call ye me man?  It's no like a man\nthat I'm used, but like a beaten hound that's been fighting in the\ngutter.\"  They had him up through Carlisle town, and set him by a\nchimney fire, where they gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, and a can of\nbeer.  \"Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie,\" they said, \"and to-morrow in\nCarlisle thou shalt not die.\"  \"How can I confess them,\" says the poor\nman, \"when I never saw them.\"  And he swore a great oath, by the day\nthat he was born, that he had never had anything of my lord's.  He had\nbut short shrift and they hung him the next morning.\n\nAccording to the ballad, his last words were of manly pride:--\n\n    \"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,\n    In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,\n    Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,\n    That eats and drinks o' meal and malt.\"\n\n\nThus died the doughty Noble.  It is proper to add, however, that the\nArmstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton, with whom Hobbie had been a\nfavourite, took a severe revenge on the traitors who betrayed him.  The\ncontriver of the scheme, Sim o' the Mains, fled into England to escape\nthe resentment of his chief, and was there caught by the English, and\nhimself executed at Carlisle, two months after Hobbie's death in the\nsame place!  Such is, at least, the tradition of Liddesdale.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXVI*\n\n                          *The Laird o' Logie*\n\n\nIn 1592, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stuart, failed in an attempt\nagainst King James VI., whom he tried to surprise in the palace of\nFalkland. Amongst his adherents, whom he sought about the King's person,\nwas the hero of this ballad, the Laird of Logie, who was taken prisoner\nand laid in Edinburgh chapel in the keeping of Sir John Carmichael, the\nhero of the ballad called the \"Raid of Reidswire.\"  Carmichael was at\nthis time captain of the King's Guard, and had the keeping of State\ncriminals.\n\n    I will sing, if ye will hearken,\n    If ye will hearken unto me;\n    The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,\n    The wanton laird o' young Logie.\n\n    Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,\n    Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;\n    And may Margaret's lamenting sair,\n    A' for the love of young Logie.\n\n    \"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,\n    And of your weeping let me be;\n    For ye maun to the King himsell,\n    To seek the life of young Logie.\"\n\n    May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]\n    And she has curl'd back her yellow hair--\n    \"If I canna get young Logie's life,\n    Farewell to Scotland for evermair.\"\n\n[#] Clothing.\n\n    When she came before the King,\n    She kneelit lowly on her knee--\n    \"O what's the matter, may Margaret?\n    And what needs a' this courtesie?\"\n\n    \"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,\n    A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!\n    And the first boon that I come to crave,\n    Is to grant me the life of young Logie.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"_A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg\no' thee!_\"]\n\n    \"O na, O na, may Margaret,\n    Forsooth, and so it mauna be;\n    For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland\n    Shall not save the life of young Logie.\"\n\n    But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]\n    Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,\n    And sent the tokens to Carmichael,\n    To cause young Logie get his life.\n\n[#] Stolen.\n[#] Dressing comb.\n\n    She sent him a purse of the red gowd,\n    Another o' the white monie;\n    She sent him a pistol for each hand,\n    And bade him shoot when he gat free.\n\n    When he came to the Tolbooth stair,\n    There he let his volley flee;\n    It made the King in his chamber start,\n    E'en in the bed where he might be.\n\n    \"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',\n    And bid Carmichael come speak to me;\n    For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,\n    That yon's the shot o' young Logie.\"\n\n    When Carmichael came before the King,\n    He fell low down upon his knee;\n    The very first word that the King spake,\n    Was--\"Where's the laird of young Logie?\"\n\n    Carmichael turn'd him round about\n    (I wot the tear blinded his ee),\n    \"There came a token frae your grace,\n    Has ta'en away the laird frae me.\"\n\n    \"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?\n    And hast thou play'd me that?\" quoth he;\n    \"The morn the justice-court's to stand,\n    And Logie's place ye maun supplie.\"\n\n    Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,\n    Even as fast as he may dree--\n    \"O if young Logie be within,\n    Tell him to come and speak with me!\"\n\n    May Margaret turn'd her round about\n    (I wot a loud laugh laughed she),\n    \"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,\n    Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie.\"\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXVII*\n\n                   *Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead*\n\n\n    \"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,\n    And a harried man I think I be!\n    There's nothing left at the fair Dodhead\n    But a woeful wife and bairnies three!\"\n\n\nAbout Martinmas time, when Border steeds get corn and hay, the Captain\nof Bewcastle rode over to Tividale to forage.  And first he met a guide\nhigh up in Hardhaughswire, and next he met a guide low down in Borthwick\nwater.\n\n\"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?\" \"No tidings have I--yet\nif ye go to the fair Dodhead, I'll let ye see many a cow's calf.\"  Right\nhastily they came to the fair Dodhead, loosed the cows and ransacked the\nhouse.\n\nJamie Telfer's[#] heart was sore when he saw this, and the tears ran\ndown his cheeks, and he pleaded with the Captain to give him back his\ngear, or else he would have revenge upon him.  But the Captain only\nlaughed and said, \"Man, there's nothing in thy house but an old sword\nwithout a sheath that could scarcely kill a mouse.\"\n\n[#] The Telfers, though they had become Scotch at the time of this\nballad, were originally a Norman family, descended from the knight\n\"Taille-fer\" (cut-iron), who came over with William the Conqueror.\n\nThe sun was not up though the moon had gone down, and there was a\nsprinkling of new-fallen snow upon the ground when Jamie Telfer ran ten\nmiles a-foot between the Dodhead and Stob's Hall.  When he came to the\ntower gate he shouted aloud, and old Gibby Elliot came out and asked the\nmeaning of such disturbance.\n\n\"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for\nnothing is left at fair Dodhead but a sad wife and three bairnies.\"\n\n\"Go and seek help at Branksome Hall, for ye shall get none from me--seek\nhelp where ye paid blackmail, for, man, never did ye pay _me_ any.\"\n\nJames turned him about, his eyes blinded with tears. \"Never shall I pay\nblackmail again to Elliot.  My hounds may all run masterless, my hawks\nmay fly as they will from tree to tree, and my lord may seize the lands\nof his vassal, for never shall I see again the fair Dodhead.\"\n\nHe turned him to Tiviotside and made as fast as he could for Coultart\ncleugh, and there he shouted aloud until out came old Jock Grieve, and\nasked who it was that made such a noise.\n\n\"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for\nnothing is left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies,\nand six poor calves stand in the stall crying aloud for their mothers.\"\n\n\"Alack!\" quoth Jock Grieve, \"alack, my heart is sore for thee! for I\nmarried the eldest of three sisters, and you married the youngest.\"\n\nSo he took out his bonny black horse, right well fed with corn and hay,\nand set Jamie Telfer on his back, to take his troubles to Catslockhill.\nWhen he came to Catslockhill he shouted aloud until out came William's\nWat to ask what was the matter.\n\n\"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I.\nThe Captain of Bewcastle has driven away my gear; for God's sake rise\nand help me.\"\n\n\"Alas and alack,\" quoth William's Wat, \"my heart is sore for thee.\nNever did I yet come to the fair Dodhead and found thy basket bare.\"\n\nHe set his two sons on coal-black steeds, and he himself mounted a\nfreckled grey, and with Jamie they rode to Branksome Hall, where they\nshouted so loud and high that old Buccleuch came out to ask what was the\nmatter.\n\n\"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I;\nthere is nought left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three\nbairnies.\"\n\n\"Alack,\" quoth the good old lord, \"my heart is sorry for thee; go call\nWillie, my son, to come speedily.  Go call up hastily the men that live\nby the waterside.  They who will not ride for Telfer's cattle, let them\nnever again look me in the face.  Call up Wat o'Harden and his sons,\ncall up Borthwick Water, Gaudilands and Allanhaugh, call Gilmanscleugh\nand Commonside; ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire and call the\nCurrors of the Lee, and call brave Willie of Gorrinberry as ye come down\nthe Hermitage slack.\"\n\nSo the Scotts rode and ran bravely and steadily, shouting \"Ride for\nBranksome,\" and when Willie looked ahead he saw the cattle being driven\nfast up the Frostylee brook, and to the plain.\n\n\"Who drives yon cattle?\" cried Willie Scott, \"to make us a laughing\nstock?\"  \"'Tis I, the Captain of Bewcastle; I will not hide my name from\nthee.\"\n\n\"Let Telfer's cattle go back, or by the faith of my body,\" said Willie,\n\"I'll ware my dame's calf-skin on thee.\"\n\n\"I will not let the cattle go back neither for thy love nor fear; I will\ndrive Jamie Telfer's cattle in spite of all your company of Scotts.\"\n\n\"Set on them, lads!\" cried Willie; \"set on them cruelly; there will be\nmany an empty saddle before they come to Ritterford.\"\n\nSo they set to with heart and hand, and blows fell like hail until many\nwere slain and many a horse ran masterless.  But Willie was struck by a\nsword through the headpiece and fell to the ground, and auld Wat of\nHarden wept for rage when he saw that his son was slain.  He took off\nhis steel cap and waved it thrice, and the snow on the Dinlay mountain\nwas never whiter than the locks of his hair.\n\n\"Revenge! revenge!\" he cried; \"lay on them, lads. Willie's death shall\nbe revenged or we will never see Teviotside again.\"\n\nThe lances flew into splinters, and many another brave rider fell, and\nbefore the Kershope ford was reached, the Scots had got the victory.\nJohn of Brigham was slain, and John of Barlow, and thirty more of the\nCaptain's men lay bleeding on the ground.  The Captain himself was run\nthrough the right thigh and the bone broken, and never would woman love\nhim again, if he should live a hundred years.\n\n\"Take back the kye!\" said he; \"they are dear kye to some of us; never\nwill a fair lady smile on me if I should live to be a hundred.\"\n\nWord came to the Captain's bride in her bower, that her lord had been\ntaken prisoner.  \"I would rather have had a winding-sheet,\" said she,\n\"and helped to put it over his head than that he should have been\ndisgraced by the Border Scot when he led his men over Liddel.\"\n\nThere was a wild gallant there named Watty Wudspurs (Madspurs) who\ncried, \"Let us on to his house in Stanegirthside, if any man will ride\nwith us!\"\n\nSo they came to Stanegirthside, pulled down the trees, burst open the\ndoor, and drove out all the Captain's kye before them.\n\nAn old woman of the Captain's kin cried, \"Who dare loose the Captain's\nkye, or answer to him and his men?\"\n\n\"It is I, Watty Wudspurs, that loose the kye; I will not hide my name\nfrom thee; and I will loose them in spite of him and his men.\"\n\nWhen they came to the fair Dodhead they were a welcome sight, for\ninstead of his own ten milk kye Jamie Telfer had now got thirty-three.\nHe paid the rescue shot in gold and silver, and at Willie Scott's\nburial, there were many weeping eyes.\n\n\n\n\n                           *Chapter XXXVIII*\n\n                           *Muckle-mou'd Meg*\n\n\nThe Scott family was very powerful on the Border in the days of Queen\nElizabeth, the bravest and strongest of them being the bold Lord of\nBuccleuch.  His name is often mentioned in Border history, and so is\nthat of another Scott, \"auld Wat Scott of Harden.\"  He was a fit man for\nthese wild times, being both brave and canny.  He married a beautiful\nBorder lass, \"the Flower of Yarrow,\" and it is surprising how many able\nmen have descended from this marriage.  Not only did Sir Walter Scott\nand Robert Louis Stevenson claim descent from this fine old freebooter;\nhis daughter Maggie married Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, nicknamed \"Gibbie\nwi' the Golden Garters,\" and from them were descended George Augustus\nElliot (Lord Heathfield), famous for his splendid defence of Gibraltar,\nworthy of the best Border traditions, and also the Elliots of Minto, who\nhave twice been Viceroys of India, once late in the eighteenth and once\nearly in the twentieth century.\n\nBut on one occasion one of the sons of Scott of Harden came perilously\nnear to finding out how far his neck was capable of carrying the weight\nof his body.  It was late in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and King James VI.\nof Scotland was extra anxious to live at peace with England, for he\nexpected now very soon to be King over both countries.  So he told his\nWarden, the bold Buccleuch, to restrain the wild Scotch freebooters; and\nyou may imagine that the order was little to their liking.  Young Willie\nScott, Scott of Harden's son, quickly determined that cattle he must\nsteal anyhow; he was his father's son, and did not his father once say,\nas he gazed longingly at a fine English haystack, \"if only ye'd got four\nlegs, haystack, ye would not be standing there!\"  So as Willie Scott was\nforbidden to steal English cattle, he decided to steal Scotch.\n\nSir Gideon Murray, of Elibank Castle, was an old enemy of the Scott\nfamily, having once been told off to punish them for some audacious act\nof theirs.  And Sir Gideon had some cattle that would make any\nBorderer's mouth water and his arm itch to drive them home.  So Willie\nand a few boon companions started off one night for Elibank.  But a\nwarning voice had reached Sir Gideon, and Willie received a warm\nreception, and was taken prisoner.  He lay in the castle dungeon all\nnight, reflecting on the folly of being caught, and fully expecting to\nbe hanged very early next morning, perhaps without even his breakfast to\ncomfort him!\n\nBut early on the fatal morning, Lady Murray startled her husband by\nasking him if he really meant to hang Willie Scott.  He looked at her as\nif she were mad; of course, what else was there to do?  Then she\nunfolded her scheme.  She had a very plain-looking daughter known as\n\"Muckle mou'd Meg,\" or Margaret with the extremely large mouth.  Young\nScott was handsome and of good family, and poor Meg would never again\nhave such a chance of getting a good husband.  Why not release Willie\nScott, if only he would marry Mucklemou'd Meg?\n\nThey were men of action in those days, and the priest was instantly sent\nfor.  Then, all being ready, the prisoner was brought forth.  He was\nshown on the one hand the priest and the girl, and on the other hand the\ntree and the noose, and was asked to take his choice.  His first proud\nfeeling was that he would be mocked at if he married such a girl on such\nterms, and he walked bravely towards the rope.  But the nearer he got to\nit the uglier it looked.  He had to confess to himself that it was not\nat all a comfortable looking rope; he had a nasty feeling round his neck\nfrom merely looking at it, and thought it would probably feel worse when\nit got round his throat. Then he looked at the girl; she certainly was\nnot as beautiful as his mother, the lovely Flower of Yarrow; and a\nBorderer loved a beautiful wife.  But if he hanged he would have no wife\nat all!  Then he suggested that he should have three days to think it\nover, but Murray said no, neither priest nor noose was prepared to wait,\nhe must decide at once.  Then he looked again at Meg and saw a kind\nglance in her eye; she felt sorry for the handsome young fellow.  Then\nhe knew she had a good heart, and that decided the matter; he went up\nand kissed her with a good grace, and the priest married them straight\naway.\n\nAfterwards he became Sir William Scott, and an important man on the\nBorder.  And, best of all, Meg proved to be a real good wife to him, and\nhe never regretted the day when he elected to suffer the knot to be tied\nby the priest instead of by the hangman.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XXXIX*\n\n                       *The Dowie Dens of Yarrow*\n\n\nThis is one of the most famous and widely known of all the Border\nballads, and has proved a source of inspiration to several poets,\nincluding Wordsworth, who wrote three poems upon the subject. The bard\ndoes not relate the full particulars, but gives only the barest outlines\nof facts, which were well known in his day, and still live in tradition.\nThe story tells of a duel between two brothers-in-law.  The very spot\nwhere it took place is still pointed out, a low muir on the Yarrow\nbanks.  The slain knight was apparently Walter Scott, one of the\nancestors of Lord Napier.  His murderer was his brother-in-law, John\nScott.  \"Dowie\" means melancholy, and \"den\" is a word used to describe a\nnarrow, rocky valley, usually wildly beautiful.\n\n    Late at e'en drinking the wine,\n    And e'er they paid the lawing,\n    They set a combat them between,\n    To fight it in the dawing.[#]\n\n[#] Dawn.\n\n    \"O stay at home my noble lord,\n    O stay at home my marrow.\n    My cruel brother will you betray,\n    On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow.\"\n\n[#] Hillocks.\n\n    \"O fare ye well, my lady gay!\n    O fare ye well, my Sarah!\n    For I must go, though I ne'er return\n    From the dowie banks of Yarrow.\"\n\n    She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,\n    As oft she had done before, O,\n    She belted him with his noble brand,\n    \"And he's away to Yarrow.\"\n\n    As he gaed up the Tennies bank\n    I wot he gaed with sorrow,\n    Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,\n    On the dowie houms of Yarrow.\n\n    \"O come ye here to part your land,\n    The bonnie forest thorough?\n    Or come ye here to wield your brand,\n    On the dowie houms of Yarrow?\"\n\n    \"I come not here to part my land,\n    And neither to beg nor borrow,\n    I come to wield my noble brand\n    On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.\n\n    \"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;\n    And that's an unequal marrow;\n    Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,\n    On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.\"\n\n    Four has he hurt, and five has slain,\n    On the bloody braes of Yarrow,\n    Till that stubborn knight came him behind,\n    And ran his body thorough.\n\n    \"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,\n    And tell your sister Sarah,\n    To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;\n    He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow.\"\n\n[#] Lawful.\n\n    \"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,\n    I fear there will be sorrow!\n    I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,\n    Wi' my true love on Yarrow.\n\n    \"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,\n    From where my love repaireth,\n    Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,\n    And tell me how he fareth!\n\n    \"But in the glen strive armed men;\n    They've wrought me dole and sorrow;\n    They've slain--the comeliest knight they've slain,\n    He bleeding lies on Yarrow.\"\n\n    As she sped down yon high, high hill,\n    She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,\n    And in the den spied ten slain men,\n    On the dowie banks of Yarrow.\n\n    She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,\n    She searched his wounds all thorough,\n    She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,\n    On the dowie houms of Yarrow.\n\n    \"Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,\n    For a' this breeds but sorrow;\n    I'll wed ye to a better lord,\n    Than him ye lost on Yarrow.\"\n\n[#] Hold.\n\n    \"O haud your tongue, my father dear!\n    Ye mind me but of sorrow;\n    A fairer rose did never bloom\n    Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow.\"\n\n[Illustration: \"_She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched\nhis wounds all thorough._\"]\n\n\n\n\n                              *Chapter XL*\n\n               *Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland*\n\n\n    \"When for the lists they sought the plain\n    The stately lady's silken rein\n      Did noble Howard hold;\n    Unarmed by her side he walk'd\n    And much, in courteous phrase they talk'd\n      Of feats of arms of old.\n    Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff\n    Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,\n    With satin slashed and lined;\n    Tawny his boot and gold his spur,\n    His cloak was all of Poland fur,\n    His hose with silver twined.\n    His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,\n    Hung in a broad and studded belt;\n    Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still\n    Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will.\"\n        SCOTT, _Lay of the Last Minstrel_.\n\n\nOne of the many picturesque figures of Border history was \"Belted Will,\"\nor to call him by his proper name and title, Lord William Howard, a\nyounger son of the powerful Duke of Norfolk.\n\nHis mother had died when he was an infant, and his father, the foremost\nRoman Catholic nobleman in England, took up the cause of Mary Queen of\nScots, whom he wished to marry.  For this treason against Queen\nElizabeth he was beheaded in 1572, when young Lord William was only nine\nyears old.  At the age of fourteen the young lord's guardians arranged\nfor him a marriage with Elizabeth Dacre, a member of a powerful Border\nfamily, and heiress to the Baronry of Gilsland. As the bride was even\nyounger than her boy-husband, let us hope that they both went to school\nagain immediately after the marriage!\n\nWhen he grew to manhood, Lord William warmly supported the Roman\nCatholic cause and was imprisoned by Elizabeth; but when James became\nKing, he was released and restored to his estates on the Border.\nThroughout the remainder of his career he was the most notable man of\nhis district.  He knew how to make himself respected by his wild\nneighbours.  His fame and power were great.  He founded the fortunes of\nhis family so surely that he it is who is usually thought of as the\nancestor of the Earls of Carlisle, though his great-grandson was the\nfirst to hold the title.\n\nLord William had great energy and many interests, and was remarkable as\nbeing an \"all-round\" man.  He was equally a leader of men and a lover of\nbooks; no detail in the management of his estates was too small for him\nto study; he was a good husband to his wife, and a splendid father to\nhis fifteen children.  He selected the most beautiful of his several\ncastles, that of Naworth, and repaired and almost rebuilt it; he took\nthere the fine old oak ceiling from the ancient castle of Kirkoswald,\nwhich was ornamented with portraits of all the kings of England.\nVisitors to Naworth can see to-day the \"hall of Belted Will,\" by kind\npermission of the present Earl of Carlisle.\n\nHe was something of a poet and very much of an antiquarian.  His estates\nwere full of interesting things, and none knew them better than he.\nThere were miles of the Roman wall, still in excellent condition; there\nwere many Roman altars and inscriptions, which he copied and translated;\nquite near him, at Coome Crags, was a Roman quarry, which can still be\nseen to-day, with marks of Roman tools on its stones.  It stands in a\nbeautiful wood by the side of the lovely river Irthing.  And only a\nlittle further on, standing on a fine cliff overlooking the river, is\nthe old Roman station of Amboglanna, a fort that covered five and a half\nacres, with walls that were once five feet thick, the main foundations\nof which are still standing, clear enough for anyone to trace them out.\nIt is quieter there to-day than it was in Roman times, or in the\nstirring days of Belted Will!\n\nIt is good to think that this broad-shouldered, gallant, powerful\nnobleman, who could ride, shoot, fight and keep this wild district in\norder, was at the same time such a clever student and book-worm.  They\ntell a story that he was once sitting in his library intent on a book\nwhen his men brought in a robber whom they had caught red-handed, and\nasked Lord William to try him.  Belted Will, angry at being interrupted,\ncried out:--\"Don't disturb me; hang him!\"  Half an hour later he rose\nand came down to try the man, but finding that he was already hanged he\nwent on with his book.  It is only fair to add that robbers in those\ndays expected no mercy when caught.\n\nOne of the many clever things that Lord William did was to have figures\ncarved in oak to represent soldiers; these he placed on the top of his\nhigh towers, and deceived the Scots into thinking that he had a large\nand very watchful garrison!  These figures can still be seen at Naworth.\nNear Naworth Castle is Lanercost Priory, where King Edward I. stayed on\nhis way to Scotland.  There is a secret passage from Naworth tower which\nis supposed to run under the river to Lanercost.  No one is allowed to\ngo through it, as it is considered dangerous; the people of the district\nsay that the last man to do so was Oliver Cromwell.\n\nVisitors to Naworth to-day should certainly go on to Gilsland itself,\nthe picturesque straggling little town, which was the head of the\nBaronry which Elizabeth Dacre brought to her boy-husband.  The Irthing\nat Gilsland runs through a wonderfully beautiful gorge, rocky and\nwooded, wild and romantic.  Stand on the venturesome stepping stones\nnear the old church, with the river rushing at your very feet, and see\nif this is an exaggeration of the beauties of the scene.  Right in the\nmidst of the glen you can see the \"Popping-stone\" where Sir Walter Scott\nwalked with the lady of his choice and asked her to marry him.  Readers\nof \"Guy Mannering\" can see in Over Denton church near Gilsland the grave\nof Meg Merrilees, who died here at the age of ninety-eight. The town is\nalso interesting for the fact that the county border is at Gilsland, and\nthere is an inn so built that it stands in both counties, and contains a\nbed in which you can sleep with your head in Northumberland and your\nfeet in Cumberland!\n\nThere is a story of Belted Will that tells eloquently of the strength of\nhis character.  When he was released from prison by King James he found\nhis estates so ruined by careless management that he knew that great\ncare was needed to put things right again; so until he got his affairs\ninto order, all the pocket-money that he would allow himself was twenty\nshillings per month!\n\nBold William, Belted Will, gallant Lord Howard, as you will, died at\nNaworth in 1640 aged seventy-seven, one year after the death of his\ndevoted wife.  His descendants were, like himself, students and men of\naction; the present Earl of Carlisle is directly sprung from him, and is\nvery proud of the fact.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLI*\n\n                               *Gilderoy*\n\n\nGilderoy was a celebrated and most daring highwayman, who roamed far,\nand was well-known all over Scotland and indeed in London. His death\ninspired a very striking ballad, but this is hardly a Border Lowland\nballad, but refers chiefly to another Border district, namely, that\nbetween the Lowlands and Highlands.  Just as the Scottish Lowlanders\nthought the English their legitimate quarry, so the Highlanders in turn\nlooked upon the Lowlanders as created to supply them with all they\nlacked.  There is a story on record of a Highland chief who, finding his\nmen had carelessly robbed another Highlander, returned the spoil with a\nhandsome apology, and issued stringent orders that in future nothing was\nto be taken except in the Lowlands, \"where all men make their prey.\"\n\nAmong the robber clans of the Highlands, the MacGregors stand easily in\nthe first rank.  In a long series of Scottish Acts of Parliament, they\nare habitually referred to as \"the wicked clan Gregor, so long\ncontinuing in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery.\"  One of their most\nfamous exploits was the battle of Glenfruin, when they defeated their\nenemies, the Colquhouns, and slew two hundred of them.  The Colquhouns\nappeared before the King at Stirling with the bloody shirts stripped off\ntheir dead, and the law was put in motion against the MacGregors more\nvigorously than ever.  This was in 1603.  The execution of Gilderoy, as\ndescribed in our poem, took place in 1638.  His real name was Patrick\nMacGregor, and the fact that he belonged to this Ishmaelite clan, whose\nhand was directed against every man, and whose very name had been\nsolemnly abolished, may well serve as an excuse for his career of crime.\nGilderoy, in Gaelic, means the red-haired gillie or lad, and besides the\nname there are many other points of similarity between him and Rob Roy,\nwho was the head of the Clan MacGregor in the following century.  Both\nGilderoy and Rob Roy were professional blackmailers, that is, they could\nbe relied on never to plunder anyone who was prudent enough to buy them\noff by paying a fixed contribution.  This is what is meant in the\nfollowing lines of the ballad--\n\n    \"All these did honestly possess\n    He never did annoy,\n    Who never failed to pay their cess\n    To my love, Gilderoy.\"\n\n\nThe \"cess\" is the blackmail, or insurance against robbery.  The\nwidespread reputation of Gilderoy is attested by the many legends of him\nwhich are printed in the old chap-books and \"Lives of the Highwaymen.\"\nAccording to these authorities, Gilderoy once robbed Oliver Cromwell\nnear Glasgow; but an even more romantic episode of his career was a\nroaming trip upon the continent, in the course of which he is said to\nhave picked Cardinal Richelieu's pocket while he was celebrating mass in\nthe King's presence, at the church of St Denis in Paris.  He made his\nway even to Madrid, where he succeeded in carrying off the Duke of\nMedina-Cell's plate.  Altogether a most notorious and dashing cateran.\nThe ballad is supposed to be spoken by a young woman who had all her\nlife been attached to him.\n\n    \"Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,\n    Had roses to his shoon;[#]\n    His stockings were of silken soy,\n    With garters hanging down.\n    It was, I ween, a comely sight\n    To see so trim a boy;\n    He was my jo, and heart's delight,\n    My handsome Gilderoy.\n      *      *      *      *      *\n    My Gilderoy and I were born\n    Both in one town together;\n    We scant were seven years before\n    We 'gan to love each other.\n    Our daddies and our mammies they\n    Were filled with meikle joy,\n    To think upon the bridal day\n    Of me and Gilderoy.\"\n\n[#] Shoes.\n\n\nBut there intervened the spirit of adventure which had ever been the\nbirthright of all of his surname,\n\n    \"Oh, that he still had been content\n    With me to lead his life!\n    But ah! his manful heart was bent\n    To stir in deeds of strife;\n    And he in many a venturous deed\n    His courage bold would try;\n    And now this gars[#] my heart to bleed\n    For my dear Gilderoy.\"\n\n[#] Makes.\n\n\nNo doubt those who knew Gilderoy personally would have agreed, as was\nactually said of Rob Roy, that he was a benevolent and humane man \"in\nhis way.\"\n\n    \"My Gilderoy, both far and near,\n    Was feared in every town;\n    And boldly bore away the gear\n    Of many a Lowland loun,\n    For man to man durst meet him none,\n    He was so brave a boy;\n    At length with numbers he was ta'en,\n    My winsome Gilderoy.\"\n\n\nHe was not so fortunate as Rob Roy, who ultimately died peacefully in\nhis bed.  Gilderoy had lost the game, and he had to pay the stakes.\n\n    \"Of Gilderoy so feared they were,\n    They bound him fast and strong;\n    To Edinbro' they led him there,\n    And on a gallows hung.\n    They hung him high above the rest,\n    He was so trim a boy;\n    There died the youth whom I loved best,\n    My handsome Gilderoy.\"\n\n\nThus perished one of the characteristic products of an age whose\nstandards were so different from ours that we can hardly judge him\nfairly.  He was banned before his birth, a scion of a race so\nindomitably and innately ferocious that the law attempted to extirpate\nthem, root and branch.  The very name of Gregor could be given by no\nclergyman at baptism, under penalty of deprivation and banishment.\nCunning and politic neighbours were not slow to take advantage of the\nstubborn disposition of the MacGregors, and gradually stripped them of\ntheir once extensive lands in Argyle and Perthshire. Gilderoy might well\nconsider that he was \"an honester man than stood on any of their\nshanks,\" and we may be excused for feeling a very lively sympathy with\nhim, and for echoing in our inmost hearts the exquisitely feminine point\nof view expressed by the lady composer of the ballad.\n\n    \"If Gilderoy had done amiss,\n    He might have banished been;\n    Ah! what sore cruelty is this\n    To hang such handsome men!\n    To hang the flower of Scottish land,\n    So sweet and fair a boy!\n    No lady had so white a hand\n    As thee, my Gilderoy!\n\n    When he had yielded up his breath\n    I bare his corpse away;\n    With tears, that trickled for his death,\n    I washt his comely clay;\n    And sicker[#] in a grave sae deep\n    I laid the dear lo'ed boy;\n    And now for ever maun I weep,\n    My winsome Gilderoy.\"\n\n[#] Safely.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLII*\n\n                       *Archie Armstrong's Oath*\n\n\n    \"And oft since then, to England's King,\n    The story he has told;\n    And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,\n    Charlie his sides would hold.\"\n\n\nArchie Armstrong lived in Eskdale, where he did his best to keep up the\ngrand reputation of his family as being among the very boldest\nsheep-stealers of the Border.  His house was at Stubholm, where the\nWauchope stream runs into the river Esk, near where the picturesque town\nof Langholm now stands.  Living in the reign of Charles I., after the\nunion of crowns, the profession of freebooter was far less honourable\nthan of old.  He could not now plead that he was a Border soldier,\nfighting against his nation's enemy. The wild Border blood in him might\ncry out for the old adventurous career, but he could no longer hope for\nthe aid of powerful Border families.  When cornered, his sole protector\nwould be his own wits, and woe betide him if they failed!\n\nArchie's house was about eight miles from the Border, and he could not\nhelp strolling towards the fascinating line and tasting the sweetness of\ntemptation.  When the chance came that seemed to him sufficiently safe,\nhe would go home in company though he had walked out alone; the\n\"company\" being a good fat English sheep. One night a shepherd had\nmarked him lingering about, and had watched him, and raised an alarm.\nAway went stout Archie at a Marathon pace; half way home he passed\nGilnockie tower, where his ancestor bold Johnie Armstrong lived so\ngaily.  \"Alas!\" thought Archie, dolefully, \"he too was hanged in the\nend!\"\n\nHe got home well in front of his pursuers, but his wife gave him small\nencouragement.  With typical Scottish dourness she remarked to him, \"Ye\nwill be ta'en this night and hanged i' the morning.\"\n\nBut Archie put a braw face on it, and declared that he would never hang\nfor one silly sheep.  Quicker than any butcher he skinned and roughly\ntrimmed the dead animal, throwing the rejected parts into the swift\nstream. Then rejoicing in the fact that his child was away with its\naunt, he put the carcase carefully in the cradle and began rocking it\nand singing a lullaby to it, as if he were the most loving father in all\nthe British Isles.\n\nThe pursuers now rushed in, and began to accuse Archie triumphantly; but\nhe rebuked them for making so much noise, telling them that his child\nwas at death's door!  As for stealing their sheep, he took a solemn oath\nthat if he had done such a thing he would ask to be doomed to \"eat the\nflesh this very cradle holds!\"\n\nSuch an oath on the Borders was a very serious matter; they little knew\nthat the only flesh in the cradle was sheep's flesh, which Archie asked\nnothing better than to devour!\n\nImpressed but not convinced, his enemies carefully searched the whole of\nArchie's house and garden; it was only with very great unwillingness\nthat they at last decided that they must miss the supreme pleasure of\nhanging him!  They went away saying that they must have been deluded by\nthe devil or by witches; and the shepherd resolved to hang a branch of\nrowan-tree (mountain-ash) by his fold, for that was well-known to have\nthe power to keep witches away.\n\nAs soon as they were all on their road to England again, Archie skipped\nabout like a dancing fiddler.  \"Wife,\" he said, \"I never knew before\nthat I would make such a good nurse.\"\n\nAfter this Archie wandered down to London, and his wild jests becoming\nfamous, he was made Court Jester by King Charles I.  And many a time he\nacted the story to the King, rocking a pretended cradle, and singing a\npersuasive lullaby, to the King's intense amusement.\n\nNevertheless, Archie lost his place by his boldness. These were the days\nof Archbishop Laud (1637), who was hated by the Scots.  One day, as the\narchbishop was about to say grace before dinner, Archie asked the King's\npermission to say grace instead.  The King consented, and the jester's\ndouble-meaning words were as follows:--\n\n\"All _praise_ to God, and little _laud_ to the devil!\"\n\nThe archbishop, in many senses a little man, had Archie dismissed in\ndisgrace.  But, such were the chances of these uncertain times, the\narchbishop was executed in the end, while the sheepstealer escaped that\nfate!\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XLIII*\n\n                           *Christie's Will*\n\n\nThe resourceful Archie, whose tale we have just told, was not the only\none of the reckless Armstrongs to keep up the old freebooting habits in\nthe reign of Charles I.  There lived at Gilnockie tower (the old\nresidence of the famous Johnie Armstrong) in the parish of Cannobie, a\nnotorious Willie Armstrong, known as Christie's Will.  Like Archie, he\nmore than once owed his life to his ready wit.  He was shut up in\nJedburgh jail when the Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, paid the\nprison an official visit.  When he asked Will the cause of his being\nthere, the freebooter answered:--\n\n\"For stealing two halters, my lord.\"\n\nTraquair was surprised, but Will afterwards owned that there was a fine\ncolt at the end of each halter.\n\nTraquair was amused and pleased by the boldness of the man, and had him\nset free.\n\nSome little time afterwards Traquair was involved in a law-suit which\nwas set down to be decided by Lord Durie, who seems to have let it be\nknown before-hand what his opinion was upon the case.  Nothing would\nsave Traquair's interests except that Durie must be got out of the way\nbefore the case began.  But how was it to be done?\n\nChristie's Will was appealed to, and merely said \"Leave it to me.\"\n\nIt was the judge's habit to take horseback exercise on the sands of\nLeith without any attendant.  One morning, whilst so riding, a\nwell-dressed and gentlemanly stranger, on a good horse, happened to\novertake him; a courteous greeting led to a friendly conversation, in\nwhich the stranger proved himself so affable and entertaining that the\njudge rode on by his side without suspicion. Suddenly, when they had\ncome to a lonely spot, Lord Durie found himself seized by this muscular\ngentleman, smothered up in a big cloak, whisked off his horse and on to\nthe stranger's, who galloped off, mischief knows where! It was\nChristie's Will, carrying out his promise.\n\nThe judge's horse galloped home, riderless.  Search was made, but the\njudge could not be found.  It could only be supposed that he had been\nthrown off into the sea. His successor was appointed, and Lord\nTraquair's case was heard and won!\n\nLord Durie had languished for several months in a dreary underground\nvault.  I wonder if he thought of the many poor wretches he had\nsentenced to a similar fate?  Suddenly at midnight he was roughly\nawakened, muffled up as before, and carried away again by his captor on\nhorseback.  Next morning, by the light of the newly-risen sun, he found\nhimself on the very spot by the sands of Leith from which he had been\nkidnapped! We will hope that every one, including his successor, was\nglad when he thus came to life again.\n\nWhen the Civil War began, the Earl of Traquair was faithful to King\nCharles I.  Having some papers of importance that he wished to have\ngiven into the King's own hands, he entrusted these to the bold\nfreebooter. Christie's Will did his errand, and received an equally\nimportant answer.  But spies at Court had given Cromwell word of the\nmatter, and the command was sent up to Carlisle that Will Armstrong must\nbe intercepted there.  Not knowing his danger, Will halted in the town\nto refresh his horse, then pushed forward to the bridge which crossed\nthe Eden on the Northern boundary of the city.  Cromwell's soldiers were\nwaiting for him; the bridge was high and narrow, the broad Eden waters\nwere swirling in high flood.\n\nChristie's Will, without one second's hesitation, spurred his horse over\nthe parapet.  He sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up ... he\nsank ... he came up, this time at the very bank.  He cut his heavy,\ndripping cloak from his shoulders; relieved of the weight, his horse\nstruggled to the land.  Away went Will, away went the troopers after\nhim.  It was a hard race to the river Esk, and this also Will had to\nswim. But now he was in Scotland, and his friends were at hand; gaily\nWill turned to his pursuers, who dared not cross the water; \"Good\nfriends,\" cried he, \"come over and drink with me!\"  But they showed him\ntheir backs, and their horses's tails, and he saw no more of them.\n\nSuch were the exploits of Christie's Will; he was the last of the\nfree-booters, but he certainly knew how to live up to their boldest\ntraditions.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLIV*\n\n             *Northumberland at the time of the Civil War*\n\n\nDuring the stormy days of King Charles I., the Borders, and especially\nNorthumberland, saw many stirring scenes.  It must be remembered that\nshortly before the Long Parliament was elected, King Charles almost came\nto war with the Scottish Presbyterians, because they would not obey the\nharsh rule of Archbishop Laud.  The Scots raised an army under the lead\nof shrewd general Alexander Leslie, the \"old, little, crooked soldier,\"\nof great experience, trained by the great Gustavus of Sweden.  In 1639\nCharles sent ships up to the Forth, in reply to which Leslie marched his\narmy to threaten the border.  The old quarrel between the two countries\nbegan to blaze up again.  King Charles led an army to the border and was\nreceived with splendid applause at Newcastle.  Many joined his army, and\nshouted with joy at the thought of meeting the Scots in battle.  But\nthey were an untrained disorderly crew, who fired their guns off at\nrandom and kept no military order whatever.  Gallant Leslie marched his\nmen down to Duns Law, in South Berwickshire, and was ready to fight.\nBut King Charles would not trust his army that length; he made terms\nwith his opponents, promising them the reforms they set their hearts\nupon, and the two armies melted away like school-boys at the end of the\nterm.\n\nThings were soon as bad as before.  Lord Conway was sent by the King to\nput Newcastle into a strong defensive state.  His greatest difficulty\nwas to get money for the purpose, for the King's quarrel with his\nvarious Parliaments had deprived him of supplies.  The badly paid troops\nmutinied, and the ring-leader was shot. Very soon the Scottish army came\nacross the Tweed, the Highlanders armed with bows and arrows.\n\nThey pitched their camp on Heddon Law, and soon proved to the country\nfolk that they had not come for plunder, but would pay for all they\nwanted to eat.  This re-assured the country people, who had no real\nquarrel with the Scots, and even became most friendly to them.\n\nWith Lord Conway it was otherwise; he was the King's officer, and was\nbound to offer resistance.  His opinion was that if once the Scots\ncrossed the Tyne, and attacked Newcastle from the south or Gateshead\nside, they were sure of victory.  Accordingly, leaving a strong garrison\nto protect the town, he marched out with two thousand or more foot and\nfully one thousand horse to command the important ford across the Tyne\nat Newburn, a place five or six miles due west of Newcastle.  It is\ninteresting to remember that here also the Romans had had\nfortifications, along the line of the wall, and the very spot where the\nScots and English fought may well have been the scene of contests\nbetween the Roman Legions and the wild Picts.\n\nThe English arrived first, on the south bank of the river, and threw up\nearth-works hastily.  Very soon they saw the Scots march into Newburn\nvillage, on the north bank, where they employed themselves by hauling\ntheir cannon up to the church tower.  Remarkable cannon they were, made\nout of bar-iron hooped together with cord and wet, raw hides!  But they\nwere not required to carry any distance, the foe was only on the other\nside of the Tyne.  All the morning the enemies looked at one another\nacross the river, each hesitating to fire the first shot of the war.  At\nlast an English officer shot a Scotch officer, and the fight began.  The\nScots were on the higher ground, and their cannon, rough as they were,\nsent heavy shot on to the English.  Then when the river tide went down,\nthe Scots rushed across the ford, and the battle was soon won, the royal\nstandard being taken.  English runaways rushed through the woods and\ninto Newcastle, crying, \"Fly for your lives, naked devils have destroyed\nus!\"  Whether they referred to kilted Highlanders is uncertain.  Anyway,\nLeslie and his Scots entered Newcastle in triumph, but were afterwards\nbought off with a payment of L60,000 and recrossed the Tweed into\nScotland.\n\nThis was in 1641, a year in which King Charles was quarrelling bitterly\nwith his Long Parliament, though the actual civil war in England did not\nbegin till 1642. Early in 1642 it was decided that so important a town\nas Newcastle ought to be put in a stronger state of defence.\n\nWilliam Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle, was made governor of the town, but\nhe was much hindered in his plans by lack of money.  King Charles,\nhowever, promoted him from Earl to Marquis of Newcastle, and the lack of\nfunds he made up as best he was able.  However, the Governor of Holy\nIsland, off the Northumberland shore, found himself left for sixteen\nmonths without any pay!  He wrote to the King's treasury a protest in\nverse, beginning:--\n\n    \"_The great commander o' the Cormorants,_\n    _The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,_\n    _Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,_\n    _These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands._\"\n\n\nThe allusion in the first two lines is to the fact that Holy Island and\nthe Farne Islands were then, and are still to-day, so thinly peopled\nthat sea-birds gather there in large numbers, adding greatly to the wild\nbeauties of these islets and rocks.\n\nIn January 1644 a serious struggle began.  Leslie and his soldiers\ncrossed the Tweed at Berwick bridge and again entered Northumberland.\nGeneral Bayly marched his men from Kelso across the frozen river and\njoined Leslie at Alnwick.  Warkworth Castle, though it contained cannon\nand provisions, surrendered at once.  The Scottish general gravely told\nBemerton, the governor, that if he had learnt to fight as well as he had\nlearnt to dance his castle could never have been taken!  The country\ndistricts of Northumberland had no quarrel with the Scots, and it was\nsoon evident that the real fight would be at Newcastle, bravely held by\nthe Marquis and by the Mayor, Sir John Marley.\n\nThe Scottish \"murthering pieces,\" as the cannon were called, were\nbrought down by sea, and the obstinate conflict began.  Despite the\nterrible weather of a very rough February, frequent skirmishes took\nplace, while the Scots closed nearer and nearer round the gallantly\ndefended town.  Leslie soon found that the defences had been put into\ngood order; the ditch round the town was dug deep, and close to the\nwalls; the walls themselves were strongly underpinned.  The battlements\nwere strengthened by stone and lime, but the top stones were loosened so\nas to slip if the enemy attempted to mount them.  Every cannon was\nplaced carefully, to the best advantage.\n\n[Illustration: _The Storming of Newcastle_]\n\nBut the Marquis of Newcastle was called southward by the needs of his\nKing.  With him were his thousand brave \"White coats,\" so called because\nthey wore white coats which they promised to dye in the blood of the\nenemy.  But they met the terrible Ironsides at Marston Moor, and in a\nconflict of furious bravery on both sides, all of the gallant thousand\nexcept thirty were slain on the field of battle.\n\nThis was in July of 1644, but it did not affect the siege of Newcastle,\nwhich still dragged obstinately on, under the skilful guidance of the\ndauntless Mayor.  By October, Sir John Marley was so buoyed up by his\nsuccess that he sent a letter to General Leslie to ask if he was still\nalive!  This the Scots took to be an insult, and a grand assault was\nbegun.  The Scots were furious, and the defence was desperate.  The roar\nof the cannon and the rattle of the musketry were succeeded, as the\nassault got nearer and nearer to its aim, by the clashing of swords and\nthe clanging of pikes.  At last, the regiments of Loudoun and Buccleugh\nsucceeded in forcing their way into the town.  In vain the defenders\nmade their last gallant charge; their cause was now hopeless, and soon\nthe market-place was filled with fugitives, who flung down their arms\nand cried aloud for quarter at the hands of the triumphant Scots.\n\nIn these days the defender was often made to feel the anger of the\nvictors, who in the flush and cruelty of victory avenged their dead,\nonly too terribly, upon the losing side.  Not so at Newcastle.\nProminent in its day, it stands out because of the mercy of the Scottish\nconquerors as much as for the heroism of its defence.  In this, the last\ngreat struggle on English ground between Scots and English, it is\npleasing indeed to recall facts that redound to the high honour of both\nparties.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLV*\n\n                          *Montrose and Lesly*\n\n\nJames Graham, the great Marquis of Montrose who at first sided with the\nScottish Covenanters against Charles I., was so out of sympathy with the\nextreme turn which affairs took later against that unhappy monarch that\nhe went over to the King's side. Gathering the Highland Clans under his\nstandard, he marched Southward and defeated the Covenanters in a series\nof brilliantly fought battles.  He occupied Edinburgh, and laid great\nplans to complete the conquest of Scotland by subduing the Borderland.\n\nIf the Borders had remained in their old fighting state no doubt many a\nBorder chief would have joined Montrose's army and aided his bold plans.\nBut, unfortunately for King Charles, the Borders had been tamed and\ndisarmed since the union of England and Scotland under James I.  Only a\nfew adventurous spirits like Christie's Will remained as examples of the\nold wild days.\n\nThe remnant of the army of the Covenanters was commanded by the stern\nGeneral David Lesly (not the Alexander Leslie who figures in the\npreceding chapter), and was somewhere in the Border district.  Gay\nGallant Montrose did not bother as to exactly where this army was; he\ndespised it too heartily.  He himself was at Selkirk, while his army was\nencamped on the neighbouring plain of Philiphaugh.\n\nMontrose was busy writing a cheering message to King Charles to the\neffect that he had now no enemy left in Scotland who could offer an\neffective resistance to his arms.  Little did he think that General\nLesly was gradually creeping nearer, nearer, and was now actually within\nfour miles of his army.  With the advantage of a thick Scotch mist,\nLesly's men actually burst upon Montrose's infantry without a single\nscout having seen them to give warning of their approach!  In such\nconfusion, Montrose's men had no chance whatever.\n\nThe Marquis galloped up, only to find his soldiers hopelessly defeated\nand great numbers slain.  There was nothing left but for those to escape\nwho could.  The Marquis succeeded in cutting his way through, and\ngathered his troops to fight again later on; but his efforts were doomed\nto failure.\n\nA popular ditty of these days, sung to a stirring tune, was called\n\"Lesly's March.\"  Sir Walter Scott seems to regard this as wholly\nserious, and ranks it as a Covenanter song.  It appears to me, however,\nthat many of the lines have a very sarcastic flavour; no doubt the\nCovenanters did really think that\n\n    \"There's none in the right but we,\n    Of the old Scottish nation\";\n\nbut they would probably have phrased it a little less baldly.  To me it\nappears as if this song were the work of an onlooker and not a partisan;\none ready to see the faults of both sides, and very much inclined to\nhold back his final opinion till he saw which was going to win. But let\nthe March speak for itself.\n\n\n                            *LESLY'S MARCH*\n\n    March! march:\n    Why the de'il do ye na march?\n    Stand to your arms, my lads,\n    Fight in good order;\n    Front about, ye musketeers all,\n    Till ye come to the English Border;\n      Stand till 't, and fight like men,\n      True gospel to maintain.\n    The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!\n      When to the kirk we come,\n      We'll purge it ilka room,\n    Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,\n      That a' the world may see,\n      There's nane in the right but we,\n    Of the auld Scottish nation.\n\n\nA truly partisan ballad of the day describes the battle of Philiphaugh\nand exults in the defeat of Montrose, \"our cruel enemy,\" it calls him.\nAs a ballad it has no great poetic merit; the very sober Covenanters\nprobably regarded ballad-making as a frivolity.  But it describes rather\ngraphically how an \"aged father,\" from the country-side, led Lesly's\narmy very cautiously and wisely to the very tents of the foe.  These\ndetails are no doubt accurate; though the ballad-writer (whoever he was)\ndisplays his ignorance of other matters by making the old soldier say\nthat he was at the battle of Solway Moss (which took place one hundred\nyears before) and at that of Dunbar, which was not fought till five\nyears later!\n\nThe following are the opening verses of the ballad, giving an idea of\nits plain, straightforward style:--\n\n    On Philiphaugh a fray began,\n      At Hairhead-wood it ended;\n    The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,\n      Sae merrily they bended;\n\n    Sir David frae the Border came,\n      Wi' heart an' hand came he;\n    Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,\n      To bear him company.\n\n    Wi' him three thousand valiant men,\n      A noble sight to see!\n    A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,\n      As close as e'er might be.\n\n    When they came to the Shaw burn,\n      Said he, \"Sae weel we frame.\n    I think it is convenient\n      That we should sing a psalm.\"\n\n\nIt is not necessary to quote more of it, but it may be remarked that in\nplace of the last line as given here, the _unregenerate_ substituted,\n\n    \"That we should take a dram.\"\n\nIn point of actual fact, _both_ versions are probably true!\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLVI*\n\n                        *The Death of Montrose*\n\n\nDuring the imprisonment of King Charles I., at a time when active war on\nhis behalf might do the unhappy monarch more harm than good, the gallant\nMontrose had retired to France.  His bright military fame, his courteous\nmanners, and manly bearing made him friends everywhere, and when he\nvisited Germany the Emperor conferred on him the rank of Marshal.\nHearing of the execution of Charles I., Montrose at once placed himself\nat the disposal of Charles II., now a fugitive in Holland.  This prince\nnamed him Captain General of Scotland, and the daring hero set out for\nthe Orkney Islands with about five hundred paid soldiers, mostly\nadventurous Germans and Dutchmen. Only a reckless spirit like Montrose\nwould have undertaken so wild a commission.\n\nScotland was heartily sick of war, and learnt with consternation of the\narrival of this firebrand.  Lesly was sent forward with four thousand\nmen to attack Montrose's five hundred!  Colonel Strachan led the\nadvanced guard, which fell unexpectedly upon the invading army, and,\nafter a brief, fierce struggle, totally defeated it.\n\nMontrose, disguised as a peasant, entrusted his life to one he believed\nto be his friend, M'Leod, Laird of Assaint.  But this unworthy man\nbetrayed him to his bitterest enemy, General Lesly.  Thus, at last, this\nbrilliant commander was in the hands of the bitter Covenanters, into\nwhose hearts his brilliant victories had once spread such terror.  Their\ntreatment of him is a black stain upon their memory.  For days he was\nled about in the peasant's disguise, which he had put on; he was carted\nthrough the streets of Edinburgh, accompanied by such insults that the\npopulace cried shame upon his captors.\n\nWhen tried before the Scottish Parliament for treason, he made a most\neloquent defence, one of the most notable of his assertions being that\nhe had never stained his victories by slaughtering his foes in cold\nblood after the battle.  In this he was far above his enemies, who had\ndisgraced their victory of Philiphaugh by many an execution, and who\nwere now bent upon taking the life of Montrose himself.  The sentence\nagainst him was probably decided before his defence had been heard; it\nran thus:--\n\n\"That James Graham should next day be carried to Edinburgh cross and\nthere hanged on a gibbet 30 feet high for the space of three hours; then\nto be taken down, his head to be struck off on a scaffold and affixed to\nthe prison; his arms and legs to be stuck up on the four chief towns of\nthe Kingdom, his body to be buried in the place set aside for common\ncriminals.\"\n\nTo this sentence the great Marquis haughtily replied that he would\nrather have his head so placed than his picture in the King's\nbedchamber, and that he wished he had limbs enough to be dispersed into\nall the cities of Christendom, to prove his dying attachment to his\nking. And in the one evening of life that still remained to him, this\naccomplished and fearless nobleman employed his time in turning these\nloyal sentiments into verse.\n\nDespite the fact that he triumphed undaunted over all the mean\ninventions of their malice, his enemies persisted to the end.\n\nThe executioner tied mockingly round his neck the book that had been\npublished describing his victories; Montrose thanked him, saying that he\nwore it with more pride than he had ever worn the garter of honour.  He\nuttered a short prayer; then asking them what more indignities they had\nprepared for him, he patiently and with unbroken spirit yielded his life\nto the hangman, at the too early age of thirty-eight.\n\nWhatever opinions we may have as to the rights and wrongs of the\nquarrel, this brutal killing of a gallant soldier and accomplished\ngentleman can only rank as a hideous blot upon all concerned in it.\nEvery insult hurled at Montrose has returned in the verdict of time with\nredoubled force against the malice of those who stooped to such\nvindictiveness.  The execution of a soldier who has violated no rule of\nwar is at any time a thing that revolts the human conscience, and a\nsentence hoarse with the vile taunts of its utterers has so far lost all\nsemblance of justice that it is needless to argue upon it.\n\nIn the verdict of history, the great Marquis of Montrose, whether right\nor wrong in his political views, lived and died like a man of honour.\n\nThe ballad of the \"Gallant Grahams,\" written about this time, reflects\nvery sincerely and touchingly the devotion and affection surrounding the\ngreat Marquis, accompanied by the very Scottish feeling that in addition\nto his own personal power and genius, he was also the head of the great\nBorder family of Grahams.\n\n\n                         *THE GALLANT GRAHAMS*\n\n    Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]\n      Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;\n    For I maun away, and I may not stay,\n      To some uncouth land which I never knew.\n\n[#] A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal and most ancient\npossessions of the Montrose family lie along the water of Endrick, in\nDumbartonshire.\n\n    To wear the blue I think it best,\n      Of all the colours that I see;\n    And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,\n      That are banished from their countrie.\n\n    I have no gold, I have no land,\n      I have no pearl nor precious stane;\n    But I wald sell my silken snood,\n      To see the gallant Grahams come hame.\n\n    In Wallace days, when they began,\n      Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the gree\n    Through all the lands of Scotland wide:\n      He was lord of the south countrie.\n\n[#] The faithful friend and adherent of the immortal Wallace slain at\nthe battle of Falkirk.\n\n    And so was seen full many a time;\n      For the summer flowers did never spring,\n    But every Graham, in armour bright,\n      Would then appear before the king.\n\n    They were all drest in armour sheen,\n      Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;\n    Before a king they might be seen,\n      These gallant Grahams in their array.\n\n    At the Goukhead our camp we set,\n      Our leaguer down there for to lay;\n    And, in the bonny summer light,\n      We rode our white horse and our gray.\n\n    Our false commander sold our king,\n      Unto his deadly enemie,\n    Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;\n      So I care not what they do with me.\n\n    They have betray'd our noble prince,\n      And banished him from his royal crown;'\n    But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand\n      For to command those traitors down.\n\n    In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,\n      March'd to Glenshie by night and day.\n    And took the town of Aberdeen,\n      And met the Campbells in their array.\n\n[#] Glen-Prosen is in Angusshire, usually called Forfarshire.  The\nGlenshee road, over the Grampians, is the highest road in Great Britain.\n\n    Five thousand men, in armour strong,\n      Did meet the gallant Grahams that day\n    At Inverlochie, where war began,\n      And scarce two thousand men were they.\n\n    Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,\n      Courageous in the best degree,\n    Did for the king fight well that day;--\n      The Lord preserve his majestie!\n\n    Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!\n      And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!\n    For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,\n      Who aye were true to majestie.\n\n    And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,\n      And had him into Edinburgh town;\n    And frae his body taken the head,\n      And quarter'd him upon a trone,\n\n    And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,\n      And our noble king is also gone;\n    He suffer'd death for our nation,\n      Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.\n\n[#] The Marquis of Huntly, one of the few Scottish nobles who never\nwavered in his devotion to King Charles I., was beheaded by the sentence\nof the Parliament of Scotland.\n\n    But our brave young king is now come home,\n      King Charles the Second in degree;\n    The Lord send peace into his time,\n      And God preserve his majestie!\n\n\nThe ballad-writer's reference to the \"coming home\" of Charles II.\nprobably means his signing of the Covenant and placing himself entirely\nat the mercy of the violent bigots who had killed his most faithful\nservant, Montrose. To this was Charles reduced by the desperate nature\nof his fortunes.  But this course of action entirely severed the\nScottish Covenanters from the English Puritans, and admirers of the\ngallant Montrose can take a grim pleasure in the fact that his\narch-enemy, General Lesly, was most disastrously defeated by Cromwell at\nthe battle of Dunbar.\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XLVII*\n\n                   *The Borderers and the Jacobites*\n\n\nDuring the Jacobite Rising, many of the Border chiefs took up arms in\nthe Stuart cause.  Two of these, Lord Derwentwater and Viscount Kenmure,\nwere beheaded on Tower Hill for their part in the unsuccessful rising of\n1715, and another, Lord Nithsdale, was only saved from the same fate by\nthe courage of his wife.\n\nThis brave woman travelled in the depth of winter from Scotland, but\nwhen she reached York the snow was so deep that the stage coach could go\nno further.  She continued her journey alone, though the snow was above\nthe horse's knees, and by good luck she reached London and the Tower in\nsafety, where, by bribing the guards, she managed to see her husband.\n\nShe then resolved to petition the King for his life, and she herself\ntells in a letter to her sister how she waited in the ante-room to see\nthe King (George I.), and how she threw herself at his feet to present\nthe petition.  The King tried to get away from her, but she seized hold\nof his coat, and was dragged on her knees along the floor.  This scene\nproduced no result, and as other efforts to procure Nithsdale's release\nalso failed, the Countess determined to save him by a stratagem.  She\nagain bribed the guards to let her in, telling them she had joyful news\nfor her husband about the petition.  She dressed him in woman's clothes,\nwhich she had smuggled in for the occasion, and painted his face, and\nbrought him out, speaking to him as to the woman friend who had\naccompanied her, but who had already left the prison, calling him \"Mrs\nBetty,\" and asking him for the love of God to go as quickly as he could\nto her lodging and fetch her maid, as she wished to go and present her\nfinal petition for the release.\n\nAll went well, and Nithsdale escaped to France; but the King was highly\nincensed and declared that the Countess cost him more trouble than any\nwoman in Europe.\n\nHer adventures were not yet over, however.  In spite of the fact that\nthe King had wished for her arrest, she travelled to Scotland to fetch\nher son, and the valuable papers which she had taken the precaution to\nbury underground on her departure for London.\n\nShe was successful in this second journey, and, after concealing herself\nand her son, until no further search was made for them, this noble and\nenterprising woman escaped to France and joined her husband. They\nafterwards went to Rome, where they lived happily for many years.\n\nIn an old ballad called \"Lord Nithsdale's Dream,\" he is described as\ndreaming in the Tower the night before his execution, after having said\nfarewell to his beloved wife.\n\n    \"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,\n    Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain.\"\n\nHe listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches the last\nglimpse of her robe at the door, and then all joy and gladness depart\nout of his life, and he prays alone in his dungeon, thinking of the\ndreadful dawn that awaits him.\n\nHe falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy again, playing\namongst the bracken on the braes of the Nith, bathing in its waters and\ntreading joyfully the green heather.  Or again he is riding to the hunt\non his gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star on his\nbreast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain roe.\n\nThe vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to\nWinifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes\nrise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice\nreplying.\n\nAgain he is riding at the head of his gallant band.\n\n    \"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,\n    And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.\n    For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,\n    They raised the loud slogan--they rushed to the strife;\n    Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,\n    For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life.\"\n\n\nAnd now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side,\nsaying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells\ntolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and\nthe victim is led bare-headed from his cell.\n\nWaking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light\nof a taper, the form of his wife.\n\n    \"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!\" softly she said,\n      \"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,\n    There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,\n      I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!\"\n\n[Illustration: \"_'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!_\"]\n\nThen she puts woman's garb upon him, and together they pass the\nunsuspecting guards and weary sentinels.\n\n                     *      *      *      *      *\n\nWhen the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of their Lord's escape\ntheir joy was unbounded.\n\nOne of the songs published and sung everywhere at the time, begins:--\n\n    \"What news to me, carlin'?\n    What news to me?\"\n    \"What news!\" quo' the carlin',\n    The best that God can gie.\"\n\n\nThe speaker asks if the true king has come to his own, and the carlin'\nanswers.\n\n    \"Our ain Lord Nithsdale\n    Will soon be 'mang us here.\n\n\nThen the speaker says:--\n\n    \"Brush me my coat, carlin',\n    Brush me my shoon;\n    I'll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale,\n    When he comes to our town.\"\n\n\n\"Alack-a-day,\" says the carlin'.  \"He has escaped to France, with scarce\na penny.\"\n\n\"Then,\" says the first speaker, \"we'll sell our corn and everything we\nhave and send the money to our lord, and we'll make the pipers blow and\nlads and maidens dance, and we'll all be glad and joyful and play 'The\nStuarts back again,' and make the Whigs go mad.\"\n\n                     *      *      *      *      *\n\nLord Derwentwater's fate was not so happy as that of Lord Nithsdale,\nthough Lady Derwentwater made a desperate effort to save him.\n\nIt was she indeed who had urged him to throw in his lot with the\nStuarts, saying that it was not good that he should hide his head when\nother gentlemen were mustering for the cause.\n\nThe peasantry still think that Lady Derwentwater sits on her ruined\ntower lamenting the evil counsel she gave her husband, and they hasten\nby in fear when they see her lamp-light flickering.\n\nDerwentwater is described in the old ballads, as \"a bonny lord,\" with\nhair of gold, and kind love dwelling in his hawk-like eyes.\n\nHe passionately loved his beautiful home in Tynedale, the foundations of\nwhich may still be seen.  The wooded glen below the castle, with the\nlittle burn running through it, spanned by a grey bridge is romantically\nbeautiful.\n\nHis \"Farewell\" to all this beauty is pathetic.\n\n    \"Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,\n      My father's ancient seat;\n    A stranger now must call thee his,\n      Which gars[#] my heart to greet.[#]\n    Farewell each kindly well-known face,\n      My heart has held so dear:\n    My tenants now must leave their lands,\n      Or hold their lives in fear.\n\n[#] makes.\n[#] weep.\n\n    No more along the banks of Tyne,\n      I'll rove in autumn grey;\n    No more I'll hear, at early dawn,\n      The lav'rocks[#] wake the day:\n    Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,\n      And Forster ever true.\n    Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,\n      Receive my last adieu.\n\n[#] larks.\n\n    And fare thee well, George Collingwood,\n      Since fate has put us down,\n    If thou and I have lost our lives,\n      Our King has lost his crown.\n    Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,\n      Ill, ill thou counsell'dst me:\n    I never more may see thy babe\n      That smiles upon thy knee.\n\n    And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,\n      That carried me aye so free;\n    I wish I had been asleep in my bed,\n      The last time I mounted thee.\n    The warning bell now bids me cease;\n      My troubles nearly o'er;\n    Yon sun that rises from the sea,\n      Shall rise on me no more.\n\n    Albeit that here in London town\n      It is my fate to die,\n    O carry me to Northumberland,\n      In my father's grave to lie:\n    There chant my solemn requiem\n      In Hexham's holy towers,\n    And let six maids of fair Tynedale\n      Scatter my grave with flowers.\n\n    And when the head that wears the crown,\n      Shall be laid low like mine,\n    Some honest hearts may then lament\n      For Radcliff's fallen line.\n    Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,\n      My father's ancient seat;\n    A stranger now must call thee his,\n      Which gars my heart to greet.\"\n\n\nBefore his death, Earl Derwentwater signed a paper acknowledging \"King\nJames the Third\" as his sovereign, and saying that he hoped his death\nwould contribute to the service of his King.\n\nHe is said to have looked closely at the block, and to have asked the\nexecutioner to chip off a rough place that might hurt his neck.  Then,\npulling off his coat and waistcoat, he tried if the block would fit his\nhead, and told the executioner that when he had repeated \"Lord Jesus\nreceive my soul\" for the third time, he was to do his office, which the\nexecutioner accordingly did at one blow.\n\nHistory tells that Derwentwater was brave and open-hearted and generous,\nand that his fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great\nmisfortune to his country. He was kind to the people on his estates, to\nthe poor, the widow and the orphan.\n\nHis request to be buried with his ancestors was refused, and he was\ninterred at St Giles, Holborn, but his corpse was afterwards removed and\ncarried secretly to Northumberland, where it was deposited in Dilston\nChapel.  The aurora borealis, which appeared remarkably vivid on the\nnight of his execution, was long called in that part of the country\n\"Lord Derwentwater's Lights.\"\n\nImmediately after Derwentwater's execution, Lord Kenmure also suffered\ndeath.  After his execution, a letter was found in his pocket addressed\nto the Pretender, by the title of King James, saying that he died in his\nfaithful service, and asking him to provide for his wife and children.\n\nThe following ballad describes his rising in the Stuart cause--\n\n    \"O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie,\n      O Kenmure's on and awa';\n    And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord\n      That ever Galloway saw.\n    Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!\n      Success to Kenmure's band!\n    There's no a heart that fears a Whig,\n      That rides by Kenmure's hand.\n\n    His lady's cheek was red, Willie,\n      His lady's cheek was red,\n    When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,\n      Which smell'd o' deadly feud.\n    Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,\n      Here's Kenmure's health in wine;\n    There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,\n      Nor yet o' Gordon's line.\n\n[#] armour.\n\n    There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,\n      There's a rose in Kenmure's cap,\n    He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blade,\n      Afore the battle drap.\n    Here's him that's far awa', Willie,\n      Here's him that's far awa',\n    And here's the flower that I lo'e best,\n      The rose that's like the snaw.\n\n    O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,\n      O Kenmure's lads are men,\n    Their hearts and swords are metal true,\n      And that their foes shall ken.\n    They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,\n      They'll live, or die wi' fame,\n    And soon wi' sound o' victorie\n      May Kenmure's lord come hame.\"\n\n\n\n\n                            *Chapter XLVIII*\n\n                     *The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall*\n\n\nIf you stand upon Rose Hill, which rises from the banks of the river\nIrthing just where Northumberland meets Cumberland, you have lying\naround you one of the finest wild prospects in the United Kingdom. Hills\nto the north, stretching away into Scotland; hills to the east, broken\ninto picturesque valleys, especially the great gap through which rushes\nthe young Tyne; hills to the south, dominated by the powerful head of\nCross Fell, a great sprawling mountain, not a peaked one, the highest\nstretch of which is nearly three thousand feet above sea level.\n\nBut while drinking in the glories of the distances, the eye will note\nwith curiosity a strange-looking but picturesque hill only a couple of\nmiles to the South-east, with a long rocky ridge at its top deeply cut\ninto or \"nicked\" in nine different places, this giving it a very wild\nappearance.  It is one of these hills which tempts the keen observer to\ngo on and explore it.  If we cut direct to it, over the fields, it is\nrough going, but the view is good all the way.  And there are four\nspecial objects of interest, all close together; the rushing Tipalt\nriver, Thirlwall Castle, the Roman wall, and the Nine Nicks.\n\nThirlwall Castle rises tall, square, and stern, with a dark fir-wood\nbehind it at the foot of the hill, where a bend in the river makes a\nnatural moat.  Approaching it from Rose Hill, it looks as if the\nbuilding were still nearly complete, but the south side has almost\nentirely fallen away and all the floors and the roof are out.  Edward I.\nslept in this Castle when it was newly built, in 1306; but now it is\ngrass-grown and moss-grown, and its three bare walls rise gaunt and grim\nto the sky.  It is entirely built out of stones with Roman chisel marks,\ntaken from the great Roman wall, which unfortunately was once regarded\nas a handy stone-quarry for anyone to take from.\n\nThe name \"Thirlwall\" means \"Drill-wall,\" and marks the spot as that at\nwhich the wild Northern tribes first \"drilled\" or broke through the\nwall.  The name was, of course, given to the place long before this\ncastle was built.\n\nTo mount from Thirlwall Castle to the top of the Nine Nicks is an easy\nenough task for any vigorous person. It is just a fine healthy scramble.\nWhen at the top, it becomes evident that some sort of fortification once\nexisted there.  In point of fact this was the important Roman station\ncalled \"Magna\" which stood at about the middle of the Roman Wall.  The\nwall ran from sea to sea, that is to say, from the mouth of the Tyne to\nthe Solway.  Thus it was nearly eighty miles long, and a very elaborate\nstructure indeed.\n\nIt consisted of three distinct portions:--\n\n1.  The main stone wall, with a ditch to the north of it.\n\n2.  An earth-work to the south of this, consisting of either two or\nthree ramparts about seventy feet apart, with a ditch between.\n\n8.  Stations, Castles and Watch-towers.  Sometimes these were to the\nnorth of the wall, sometimes in the middle, sometimes south, according\nto the nature of the country.\n\nThe height of the main wall was from sixteen to twenty feet, including\nbattlements.  It was six to nine feet thick.  Fancy a powerful military\nwall of about eighteen feet high stretching nearly eighty miles right\nacross England!  It hardly seems possible that the Romans could\nundertake such a work.  The square strong stones were carefully selected\nand often brought from quarries at a distance.  These stones flanked the\noutsides of the wall, and in between was strong concrete which was\npoured in while in liquid.\n\nThe second wall was of earth and stones, and, of course, lower than the\nfirst.  Then there was a castle every mile, some of which can still be\nclearly traced, and a \"station,\" about every four miles, of which\nseveral interesting ruins remain.  There was a road eighteen feet wide\nbetween the two walls.\n\nThose who have the energy to toil on for a full dozen miles of rough\nwalking, along the wall, eastward from Thirlwall, will be rewarded by\nsome of the most romantic scenes in Britain.  They will see the wall at\nits best. They will pass Whinshields, the highest point in the wall,\n1230 feet above sea level.  The wild Northumbrian lakes will lie at\ntheir feet; if the day is fine, the Solway will be seen glistening,\nthirty miles to the west; and on the east the eye follows the Tyne\nalmost to the sea.  The Pennine Ridge bars the view twenty miles to the\nsouth, while on the North the High Cheviot is clear and strong, thirty\nmiles away.\n\nPassing Whinshields, it is not far to Borcovicus (often called\nHousteads) where lie the remains of a large Roman Station, wonderful\nremains, showing the whole outline with startling clearness.  This\nstation covered five acres, and here was quartered a cohort of the\nTungrian infantry, consisting of a thousand brave soldiers, servants of\nImperial Rome.\n\nBut, after all, nothing is so impressive as the remains of the wall\nitself.  Stand at the top either of Whinshields or of the Nine Nicks,\nand try to imagine what it looked like in Roman days.  Eastward along\nthe Tyne valley and westward along the Irthing valley ran this wonderful\nwork, this powerful girdle of stone.  The very spot was chosen with\ngreat judgment, for these valleys gave the Romans a district protected\nby the bleak hills, where they could live and where they could keep\ncattle and grow grain.  But the hilly nature of the ground must have\nadded to the difficulty of the builders.  The wall had to run up steep\nhill sides and cling to the edge of cliffs, and precipices; it had to be\ncarried by bridges over roaring torrents, and when it reached low-lying\nground it had to avoid the treacherous swamps and morasses.  And yet,\ndespite every obstacle, the great wall ran on its direct way, as strong\nand persistent as the great people who built it.\n\nIt withstood the shock of war, it was not flung down by soldiers\nmarching against it.  But to the people who wanted to build castles or\nhouses or farms, or even to mend roads, the wall offered a mass of\nmaterial ready to hand, and it suffered not from man's energy so much as\nfrom his laziness.  Century after century it was robbed of its stones;\nto-day a series of long grass-grown mounds, a few feet high, running\nacross the meadows, are nearly all that remain of one of the most\nwonderful pieces of building that was ever erected in Great Britain.\nEven today, in its decay, it is one of the most romantic features of a\nhighly romantic district.\n\n\n\n\n                             *Chapter XLIX*\n\n                    *In Wild Northumberland To-day*\n\n\nThese tales of the Borders would hardly be complete without a few\nconcluding words about the great romantic charm which still invests the\nBorderline.  Let us, for example, make a brief survey of some of the\nhaunting spots in wild Northumberland. We will pass over such towns as\nWarkworth, Alnwick, Alnmouth; beautiful as they are, they have moved\nwith the times and are too modern to be more than mentioned here.  But\nin a place like Holy Island we feel the call of the old days, and the\ncharm that was theirs.  This Island was the scene of the first efforts\nof Christianity to curb the wild and warlike Northumbrians; St Aidan,\nand St Cuthbert, both men of remarkable genius and great influence,\ntaught there lessons of peace and justice without which every warlike\nstate would descend into mere savagery.  The island is about two miles\nsquare, and at low tide it is easy to walk across the sands to or from\nthe mainland of Northumberland.  The distance is two and a half miles,\nand it is necessary to take off shoes and stockings, for the water on\nthe sands will often be six inches deep.  A row of posts marks the way,\nand some of them have ladders, reaching up to a barrel on the top, so\nthat any caught by the tide can find a safe harbour wherein they will\nsuffer nothing more serious than a long wait!  The island is inhabited\nby fishing folk, living simple healthy lives.  There are fine rocks and\nsplendid sands; beautiful flowers and lovely shells.  The seabirds are\nwonderful.  The ruins of the old Cathedral and castle are very\ninteresting, it is a delightful old-world place, out of the rush and\nhurry of modern life.\n\nRetracing our steps to the mainland, and proceeding westward for a dozen\nor so miles as the crow flies, we reach the River Till, and the field of\nFlodden.  Here we are near to the big wild wall of the Cheviot hills,\nand to keep on the English side of the border we need to turn due south.\nIt is then about thirty miles of rough walking through these grandly\nrugged hills before we come to the field of Otterburn.\n\nBut we realise in that walk how it was that the district produced and\nstill produces a hardy race of hunters and sheep-farmers, and why it is\nthat the towns and farms nestle in the valleys, so that the Borderers,\nwhen they meant to say, \"Rouse the neighbourhood,\" used the phrase,\n\"Raise the _water_\" (meaning, of course, the houses along the\nwaterside).  Further south, still going among splendid shaggy hills, we\nreach the North Tyne River, and soon afterwards some highly interesting\nRoman remains, including the arches of a fine bridge over the river at\nthe Roman Station of Cilurnum, near Chollerford. This is on the Roman\nWall, which has already been described under the heading of Thirlwall.\nA few miles to the west would bring us to the picturesque but\nlittle-known Northumberland Lakes, where the wild swans nest.  If we\ncontinue south and south-west we can follow the beautiful valleys of the\nAllan or the South Tyne. This is a district of hills, roads, and\ncastles; the domain of the fated Lord Derwentwater was near here.  For\nbeauty the whole of this neighbourhood would be hard to beat; yet it is\ntoo little known.\n\nIf we still go south, the scenery grows wilder and wilder as we approach\nthe huge mountain of Cross Fell. We may cross into south-east Cumberland\nand visit the quaint old town of Alston, one of the highest towns in\nEngland.  Here were once the royal silver mines, when English coins were\nmade from Alston silver. Lead is chiefly mined there now, and the mines\nare worth a visit.  Near Cross Fell also is a rough road called the\n\"Maiden Way,\" and an old legend says it was made by women, who carried\nthe stones in their aprons!  The western slope of the Fell is famous for\na specially violent wind called the \"Helm wind,\" which rages there at\ncertain seasons.  It is just as if it were rushing fiercely down the\nhill, with a roaring noise and strength enough to overturn a horse and\ncart, and to beat the grass and grain till it is black!  But though it\ndoes a deal of damage it is very exhilarating, making people feel merry\nin spite of themselves.  And on Cross Fell slopes can be seen the\nbeautiful River Tees, which can be followed to its grand waterfalls of\nthe the Cauldron and the High Force.  In the first the water dashes on\nto huge rocks, and is thrown back on itself, roaring, foaming, and\nfighting; in the second, it tumbles sheer down a dark and noble cliff.\nAnd everywhere on the heights there are splendid views.\n\nIn making any such excursions as the ones here outlined, into the\nout-of-the-way parts of Northumberland and the Borders, we find an added\npleasure in the character of the people.  The Borderers are still a\ngrand race; big men, vigorous, honest, courteous, hospitable, free from\nall that is mean and small.  In some districts you can hear \"thou\" and\n\"thee\" still used, and meet old men who have never seen a railway.  One\ndear old farmer, a real picture of a simple honest man, hearing I had\ncome from London, asked me if the London men had got their hay-crop in\nyet!  One typical Northumbrian, of great natural intelligence, bearing a\nname famous on the Borders, is station-master at a local station that\nstands in a wood, and between trains, studies bird and wild-flower till\nhe has made himself a most interesting naturalist.  A stranger who has\nlost his way will find these courteous folk ready to walk a mile or two\nwith him, out of their own way, just to set him right; and he who is\ntired and hungry will be invited to step in and eat, and perhaps find\nhimself introduced to all the family and treated like an honoured guest;\nthen, not a penny of payment taken, they will set him on his way with a\nbunch of the best flowers from the garden!  For hearts on the Border are\nvery human and warm.  So that in due time he who knows the Borderers\nwill delight to hear the unmistakeable Northumbrian or the pronounced\nBorder accent.  And he will say to himself: Splendid is the Border\nscenery, and stirring are the Border ballads, but best of all are the\nBorder men.\n\n\n\n\n           *      *      *      *      *      *      *      *\n\n\n\n\n                         TOLD THROUGH THE AGES\n\nLegends of Greece and Rome\nFavourite Greek Myths\nStories of Robin Hood and his Merry Outlaws\nStories of King Arthur and his Knights\nStories from Herodotus\nStories from Wagner\nBritain Long Ago\nStories from Scottish History\nStories from Greek Tragedy\nStories from Dickens\nStories from the Earthly Paradise\nStories from the AEneid\nThe Book of Rustem\nStories from Chaucer\nStories from the Old Testament\nStories from the Odyssey\nStories from the Iliad\nTold by the Northmen\nStories from Don Quixote\nThe Story of Roland\nStories from Thucydides\nThe Story of Hereward\nStories from the Faerie Queene\nCuchulain: The Hound of Ulster\nStories from Xenophon\nOld Greek Nature Stories\nStories from Shakespeare\nStories from Dante\nFamous Voyages of the Great Discoverers\nThe Story of Napoleon\nStories of Pendennis and the Charterhouse\nSir Guy of Warwick\nHeroes of the Middle Ages\nThe Story of the Crusades\nThe Story of Nelson\nStories from George Eliot\nFroissart's Chronicles\nShakespeare's Stories of the English Kings\nHeroes of Modern Europe\nThe Story of King Robert the Bruce\nStories of the Scottish Border\nThe Story of the French Revolution\nThe Story of Lord Kitchener\nStories of the Saints\nThe Story of St Elizabeth of Hungary\nIn Feudal Times\nThe High Deeds of Finn\nEarly English Travel and Discovery\nLegends of Ancient Egypt\nThe Story of the Renaissance\nBoyhood Stories of Famous Men\nStories from French History\nStories from English History\nFamous English Books and their Stories\nWomen of the Classics\nIn the Days of the Guilds\nScience through the Ages\n\n_Other volumes in active preparation_","title":"Stories of the Scottish Border","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":62369}