stands the picturesque old stronghold of Fernihirst. The original castle
was erected by Sir Thomas Ker probably about the year 1476, and the
present building dates only from 1598. Its predecessor "stode marvelous
strongly within a grete woode," as Daere and Surrey found to their
cost in 1523; yet they took it, after "long skirmyshing and moche
difficultie," as Surrey reported. Brief and stormy was the existence of
this original Fernihirst, stirring, and in some instances horrible, the
deeds done within and around its walls. In 1548 the English held it,
Shrewsbury, when he returned to the south in that year, having left
there a garrison of something like eighty or ninety men. At this period
Scotland, still dazed and stricken under the stunning blow of Pinkie in
1547, was in a deplorable, and apparently a very helpless, condition.
Most of her strongholds were in English hands; her chief men for the
greater part had come in and made submission to Somerset; the poorer
sort in most parts of the Border were at the mercy of the hated invader.
Here, at Fernihirst, the English garrison was under the command of one
whose oppression and cruel lust were devilish, and whose treatment
of unprotected country-folk was such as would justify almost any
conceivable form of revenge {131}on the part of the men of Jedforest.
M. de Beaugué, a French officer who was then in Scotland, and who in
his "_Histoire de la Guerre d'Ecosse_" chronicles the campaigns of
1548, 1549, says that during all the time this savage licentious
devil remained near Jedburgh "he never came across a young girl but
he outraged her, never an old woman but he put her to death with cruel
torture."
[Illustration: 0151]
And, as the proverb has it: "Like master, like man"; where their captain
forgot his manhood, and disgraced the name of Englishman, how were the
men under his command likely to conduct themselves? The people of the
Forest of Jedworth thus had ghastly wrongs to wipe out; and when their
chance came, they seized on it with avidity.
The cruelties inflicted on each other by both nations at this period
were detestable and revolting. "Put men, women, and children to fire and
sword without exception, when any {132}resistance shall be made against
you," wrote Henry VIII. to Lord Hertford in 1544, instructions which
were most faithfully carried out. Here at Femihirst our countrymen went,
if possible, "one better," and their treatment of prisoners was of the
most inhuman and savage nature. Yet if their wrongs were such as are
depicted by de Beaugué, can one wonder that, like wild beasts, they tore
and mangled?
Early in 1549 there came to Jedburgh a large body of French troops under
the Sieur d'Essé, sent to recapture that town, which at the moment was
held for the English by a force chiefly composed of Spanish mercenaries.
The Spaniards made no great stand, and for the moment the Sieur and his
little army were left with time on their hands. To the Sieur went Sir
John Ker, then laird of Fernihirst, suggesting that the French general
should aid him in recapturing the castle. French and Scots--a small body
of the latter, the personal following of Sir John Ker--accordingly
made a combined attack and quickly carried the outwork, the garrison
retreating to the keep. Here, whilst a party laboured hard to effect a
breach in the wall, French arquebusiers were so planted that no man of
the garrison could show his face with impunity, or dared to attempt to
interfere with the working party, who already in little over one hour
had made a practicable breach, large enough at least to admit a man's
body. About this time the main French force had come up, and the English
garrison could not but see that their position was now desperate.
Accordingly they showed a flag of truce, and the English commander, on
receiving assurance that he would be allowed to return, came out through
the hole in the wall and offered to give up the castle, provided that
the lives of the garrison were spared. The Sieur d'Essé, however, would
listen to no conditions; the surrender, he said, must be unconditional,
and the Englishman therefore returned to his men.
Meantime, news of the attack on Fernihirst had flown abroad over the
countryside, and men of Jedforest came {133}hurrying to the scene,
breathless with the lust of slaughter, panting with unquenchable thirst
for a bloody vengeance. Letting their horses go, and, regardless of
everything, rushing in, they burst open and swarmed through the doors of
the lower court. And now the bowels of the English leader turned indeed
to water, for well he knew what fate would be his were he once to fall
into the hands of those frenzied men. Therefore once more hurriedly
pressing through the breach, he surrendered himself to two French
officers, MM. Dussac and de la Mothe-Rouge. Scarcely, however, had he
done so, and even as they led him away, a prisoner, there rushed up a
Scot, a dweller in the neighbouring forest of Jed, one who had only too
terrible a reason to remember the face of this fiend who had outraged
his wife and his young daughter. He said no word, but with a roar as of
a wounded beast that charges, he smote with all his strength. And the
head of a man went trundling and bumping loosely over the trampled
grass, as the knees doubled under a headless trunk that sank almost
leisurely to the ground. Then those Scots who most had foul reason to
execrate the memory of this treacherous brute, joyfully plunged their
hands into his blood as it gushed, and with shouts of exultation seizing
his head, they placed it on a long pole and stuck it up by a stone cross
that stood by the parting of three ways, that all might see and rejoice
over their vengeance.
That was but the beginning of a scene long drawn and terrible in its
ferocity. Prisoners were ruthlessly butchered, and when the Scots had
murdered all whom they themselves had taken, their lust for blood was so
far from slaked that they brought others from the Frenchmen--bartering
even some of their arms in exchange--and slew these also with extreme
barbarity. "I myself," writes M. de Beaugué, "sold them a prisoner for a
small horse. They tied his hands and feet and head together, and placed
him thus trussed in the middle of an open space, and ran upon him with
their lances, armed as they were and on horseback.... until he was dead
and his {134}body hacked in a thousand pieces, which they divided among
them and carried away on the iron points of their spears."
"I cannot," naively adds the chronicler, "greatly praise the Scots for
this practice, but the truth is the English tyrannised over the Borders
in a most barbarous manner, and I think it was but fair to repay them,
as the saying goes, in their own coin."
So Sir John Ker got back his strong castle. But it did not long remain
undisturbed in the family possession. In 1570 there came into Scotland
that English expedition under the Earl of Sussex and Lord Hunsdon which
played such havoc in the Border, and once more the Merse and Teviotdale
were burned and laid waste. "Apon Monday last," writes Lord Hunsdon from
Berwick to Sir W. Cecil, under date 23rd April, 1570, "beyng the 17th of
thys ynstant, we went owt of thys towne by 6 a cloke at nyght and rode
to Warke, where we remayned tyll three or four yn the mornyng; and
then sett forward the hole army that was with us att that present,
ynto Tyvydale bernyng on bothe hands at the lest two myle; levyng
neythercastell, towne, nortowerunburnt tyllwecametojedworth. Many of the
townes beyng Bukklews, and a proper tower of hys, called the Mose Howse,
wythe three or four caves, wheryn the cuntrey folk had put such stufe as
they had: and was very valyantly kept by serten of the cuntrey for two
or three owars, but at last taken.... The next day we marchyd to Hawyke;
wher by the way we began with Farnhurst and Hunthylle, whose howsys we
burnt, and all the howsys about them. We could nott blow up Farnhurst,
but have so torne ytt with laborars, as ytt wer as goode ley flatt."
The building must have been of remark able solidity, for in spite of its
being burnt, and left roofless and dismantled, "torne with laborars," in
1570, there can belittle doubt that in less than two years it was again
at least tenable, for in 1572 Lord Ruthven, after dispersing at Hawick
the forces of Buccleuch and Fernihirst, (who supported the cause of the
abdicated Queen,) on his return march to Jedburgh "tuik the {135}housses
of Pherniherst, and put men in them," and the place was held for some
time after this by the King's troops. Possibly it was more thoroughly
knocked about in 1593 than it had been at any other period of its
existence. Sir Andrew Ker, then head of the house, when summoned to
appear before James and his Privy Council at Jedburgh to answer for his
part in aiding the schemes of the Earl of Both well, and for other acts,
had failed to put in an appearance, and had consequently been outlawed
and declared a rebel. It was also proposed to render him homeless, for
on 16th October of that year Carey reports to Burghley that "the King
has proclaimed to remain at Jedworth fifteen days, and summoned the
barons, gentlemen and freeholders to attend him, minding this day or
tomorrow to pull down the lairds of Fernhirst and Hunthill's houses,
and all others who have succoured Bothwell." Probably the threat was
carried into execution, to a greater or less extent. In any case, 1598
saw a renovated Fernihirst, much as it stands at the present day, when,
according to "Castellated and Domestic Architecture of Scotland," it
presents "a charming example of a Scottish mansion of the period." Built
into the wall above the main doorway of the mansion, (as may be seen in
Mr. Hugh Thomson's sketch,) are two panels, that to the left showing the
armorial bearings of the Kers, and above, on a scroll, the words:
S. SOLIDEO
"forward in y" name of god"; at the foot, a.k. 1.5.9.8 On the panel to
the right is the word "forward"; in the centre of the panel the arms of
Sir Andrew's wife, Dame Ann
D. SOLIDEO
Stewart, and beneath, a.s. 1.5.9.8.
As late as 1767 the house seems to have been occasionally used by
the Lord Lothian of that day, but it was even then showing signs of
dilapidation. It was, however, occupied by farming tenants down to a
recent date, as late, I believe, as 1889. About that year extensive
repairs were carried out; {136}the ivy which--however picturesque it may
have been--was slowly throttling the old walls, was removed, the panels
were refaced, the roof made wind and weather proof, and the interior to
a great extent restored.
At Smailcleuchfoot, a little higher up the river, and nearly opposite to
Fernilhirst Mill, almost, as one might say, within a stone's cast of the
castle, stood once the house of a man greatly famed in Jedforest,--Auld
Ringan Oliver. No vestige of the house now remains, but the memory of
Ringan and the story of the siege he stood within his cottage here still
live in Border lore, and were sung of in James Telfer's "Border Ballads"
close on a century ago.
"The crystal Jed by Smailcleuchfoot
Flows on with murmuring din;
It seems to sing a dowie dirge
For him that dwelt therein."
Ringan's forebears, men of mark all of them in their day, dwelt here at
Smailcleuchfoot for many a generation. They were there, no doubt, when
the Sieur d'Essé recaptured Ferni-hirst for Sir John Ker; there when
Dacre stormed it in 1523; there perhaps, helping Douglas, when Father
Ellis and his Englishmen were caught feasting on the good fare at
Lintalee in 1317. With ancestors such as these, whose whole lives were
passed in the midst of endless strife, men ever ready, and glorying in
their readiness, to turn out against invading Southern bands, or to
slip over Carterfell into Redesdale to plunder those same Southrons, how
could Ringan fail to be, what he was, a born fighter! With his enormous
frame, immense personal strength, and dauntless courage, there was none
in the Border so famed as he. Endless were the tales told of him,--how
he could take "a ten half-fou boll of barley in the wield of his arm and
fling it across a horse's back with the utmost ease"; how in his youth
he raided Newcastle Jail, and rescued two of his friends, who had been,
as he thought, unjustly imprisoned therein. The stories of him are
endless. {137}Ringan lived in the stirring times of the Covenant, and
with a disposition such as his, dourly religious, it is almost needless
to say that he was prominent among the more militant section of the
Covenanters of the seventeenth century. He was probably present at
Drumclog, and he was certainly present at Both well Brig, in 1679,
fighting as few fought that bloody day. His home was in caves and among
rocks, beneath dripping peat-hags, and in holes in the ground, for many
a day after this, but in 1680 he joined the outlawed Hall of Haughhead,
and was in the tussle when that Champion of the Covenant was taken
at Queensferry what time "those two bloody hounds the Curates of
Borrowstonness and Carriden smelled out Mr. Cargill and his companion."
Hall was killed, or at least died of his wounds before he could be
brought to Edinburgh; but Ringan Oliver and "worthy Mr. Cargill"
escaped the net of the fowler. Then, in 1689, he was with Mackay
at Killicrankie; and the following day though exhausted with the
precipitate flight from the battlefield, he fought at Dunkeld his famous
duel with the Highland champion, Rory Dhu Mhor, whom he slew after a
most desperate and bloody fight. Bleeding from half a score of wounds,
Ringan had been beaten to his knees, and the affair seemed a certain
victory for the Highlander. But the latter was over-confident; he
thought he had a beaten man at his mercy, and one instant's carelessness
gave Ringan his chance. Before his adversary could recover, the point
of the Borderer's sword was out between the Highlander's shoulders, and
with a roar of astonishment and wrath he fell dead.
But perhaps it was for the siege he stood at Smailcleuchfoot when he was
now an old man, that Ringan is best remembered. After a stormy youth and
middle age, he had at length settled down in his ancestral home, where
he was leading the quiet life of a farmer. As the story is told, it
seems that Ringan's strict integrity and high sense of honour had
gained for him the respect and friendship of his powerful neighbour
at Fernibirst--probably either the first or the second Marquess of
{138}Lothian. Perhaps, too, there may have been something in the mutual
belief and manner of thought of the two men that drew them together.
(There was a Ker of about that date, or a little earlier, who was a
zealous Covenanter.) In any case, the friendship was of such a nature
that when Lord Lothian found himself, towards the close of his life,
compelled to undertake what was then the long and trying journey to
London, he left Ringan in charge of his private papers, and entrusted
him with the key of a locked room in which valuable documents were
kept, and into which he desired that no one should be permitted to enter
whilst he himself was absent in the south. As it chanced, after Lord
Lothian had started on his journey, his heir, considering, as a matter
of course perhaps, that the old lord's prohibition did not apply to him,
sent to Ringan demanding the key of the room, into which he had, or
said he had, occasion to go. Ringan naturally, but perhaps not very
deferentially or even politely, refused to give it up. Thereupon arose
hot words, and bitter enmity on the part at least of the younger man,
who, with that rather irrational form of vanity not uncommon in youth,
imagined himself to be slighted.
And hence came serious consequences to the old Covenanter. For the
Marquess died, and the man whom Ringan had offended succeeded to the
title and estates. He had always--so the story goes--nursed his wrath to
keep it warm, and he might be depended on to pay off, with interest, all
old scores against him whom he talked of as that "dour old Cameronian
devil." So it happened one day, towards the time of harvest, when corn
lay waiting for the sickle in the smiling haughs of Jed, the young lord
and his friends, attended by servants in charge of several dogs, came
on horseback across the river and began to ride up and down through
Ringan's crop, ostensibly looking for hares. The old man remonstrated in
vain; no heed was paid to him, and at length, goaded to fury as he saw
the havoc being played among his good oates and bere, he snatched up
an old musket (that perhaps had seen service at Bothwell Brig) {139}and
shot one of the dogs dead. That was enough; the old man had put himself
now in the wrong. For the Marquess could plead that, after all, he had
only been riding on his own land; and he and his friends could assert
that the harm they had done, if any, had been infinitesimal. So the
young lord rode off to Jedburgh, and had a summons issued by the Sheriff
against Ringan.
It was one thing, however, to issue the summons, quite another to serve
it, or afterwards to get Ringan to obey the call. If he persisted in
ignoring the summons, there were not many to be found bold enough to go
to Smailcleuehfoot for the purpose of haling him before the Court; old
as he now was, Ringan's reputation for strength and courage, and for
reckless daring, was still great enough to keep the wolves of the law
at bay. "But," said the Sheriff, "the law cannot thus be flouted; if
he does not come willingly, then he must be _made_ to come." Which of
course was quite the right thing to say, especially if he had at hand
the force necessary to carry out his threat. But that was where the
difficulty came in. Finally, the Sheriff had to go himself to arrest old
Ringan, impressing on his way everybody whom he could find capable of
helping, including the Marquess himself.
Ringan was warned of their coming, and advised to fly. "No!" said the
old man. "I've dune no wrong. Let them touch me wha daur!" But he set
about barricading his house, and when the Sheriff and his parry came on
the scene they found a building with doors fast and windows shuttered,
and no one visible. At their knock, Ringan appeared at a small upper
window, but entirely declined to be taken, or to open the door.
Then commenced a vigorous assault by the Sheriff and his party. They
attempted to break in the door and to rush the building. Ringan opened
fire on them with his old musket, and drove them back.
And then for a time there occurred nothing more than a fruitless
exchange of shots, as one or other of the Sheriff's {140}men left cover
or Ringan showed himself at one of the windows. It appears, however,
that there was in the house with the old man a young girl, either his
adopted daughter or a domestic who looked after household affairs. This
girl had been told to keep out of harm's way, to shelter in a "press"
or cupboard well out of any possible range of bullet; but in the heat of
battle the old man did not notice that curiosity had drawn her from the
safety of this hiding place, and had brought her right behind him at the
moment that he fired a shot through the window. It was a good shot,
for it clipped away a curl from the Sheriff's wig, and perhaps in his
satisfaction at going so near to his mark the old man may have showed
himself a little too openly. Anyhow, at that moment two or three muskets
replied, the heavy bullets coming with sullen "phut" into the woodwork
of the little window-frame. But one flew straighter than the others;
Ringan heard behind him a sound, half gasp, half sob, and turned just in
time to see the lass sink on the floor, blood pouring from her throat.
The old man tried to stanch the wound, but it needed hardly more than a
glance to tell that it was far beyond his simple skill, and that she was
past hope.
Then the lust of battle seized him, blind fury filled his breast, and
he thought only of revenge. He forgot his age, forgot that his fighting
days should have been long over, forgot everything but the mad desire
to clutch the throats of his foes and to choke the life out of them. So,
tearing down the barricades of his door, he rushed out on his enemies
like a wild bull charging. But alas for Ringan! part of the discarded
barricade caught his foot as he burst over the threshold, and down he
came with a crash. Before he could struggle even to his knees, the enemy
was on him, and he was down again on his face, half a dozen men swarming
over him. Even yet, however, old and hopelessly outnumbered as he was,
the fight for a time was not so very unequal, and he might in the end
have cast off the crowd that strove to hold and bind him. {141}An
ill day it would have been for some of them had he succeeded. But
a treacherous pedlar, who had joined the fray for the sake of hire,
watching his chance, came behind, and with a blow from a hammer smashed
Ringan's jaw and brought him to the ground, stunned. The old man was
taken then, bound hand and foot, and carted off to Edinburgh. There,
in the foul air of the Tolbooth he lay for eight weary years, suffering
tortures great part of the time, not only from the broken jaw, but from
old wounds which had broken out afresh, and which from the insanitary
condition of the prison now refused to heal. It was a broken, frail old
man who came out from that long imprisonment. And he never got back to
his beloved Jed. Ringan Oliver died in Edinburgh in 1736; his huge frame
sleeps in Greyfriars Churchyard.
As one travels up Jed by the old coach road--whose windings do not
invariably desert even the abruptest elbow of the stream--road and river
finally part company at the bridge below Camptown. Here the latter's
course swings gradually to the right, through leafy banks and under
spreading trees, whilst the former, following a straighter route, enters
on a long, steady bit of collar-work up the side of a pine-clad brae
where, on one hand, lies the old camp from which the adjacent little
settlement derives its name, and, on the other, Edgerston, sleeping in
its woods. Here once stood Edgerston Castle, which Hertford's men took
"by pollicie" in 1544;--someone sold the Rutherfurd of that day. Castle
and lands then belonged to the Rutherfurds, one of the most ancient
families in Scotland, and still the lands are theirs.
A little way past Edgerston the road begins its long two mile climb to
an elevation of close on 1500 feet near the summit of Catcleuch Shin.
There, immediately after passing the Carter Bar, it crosses the Border
line, and drops steadily down into Redesdale, past the new Catcleuch
Reservoir that supplies Newcastle with water, a work which has wiped
out of existence one of the pleasantest bits of fishing in the kingdom,
where trout were many and game, and of enviable size. Perhaps the trout
are there still--for those who may take them--but the capture of a dozen
fish in still water cannot match the joy experienced in fighting one
good Rede trout in the strong rushing stream where he has passed all his
days.
[Illustration: 0162]
Beyond the Catcleuch Reservoir, a road of easy gradients sweeps down the
delightful Rede valley, past innumerable old camps, British and Roman;
past Rowchester, into whose little school house, that stands solitary in
the angle of two ways, are built numerous stones (carved and otherwise)
handily quarried from the adjacent old Roman station of Bremenium; and
high up, on the roof of the building, from the same source are various
large round stone balls that may have formed part of the ammunition for
a Roman ballista. It was this route that the Roman legions followed
over the Cheviots in their northward march from the mighty wall they
had stretched across England from sea to sea. A few miles east from
Catcleuch Shin, their military road bursts suddenly into view of that
glorious sweep of country where the triple-peaked Eildons dominate the
scene, a landmark that no doubt led them first to the site of their
famous Newstead camp. {143}In early nineteenth century days, when His
Majesty's mail coaches between Newcastle and Edinburgh came jangling
over the crest of this bleak, unprotected bit of road at Catcleueh
Shin, taking at a gallant trot the long, stiff gradient that faced them
whether they were heading to the south or to the north, the trials of
outside passengers in winter time must not seldom have been of a nature
truly unenviable. Bitter sleet, driving before a westerly gale, lashed
their faces and stole chill wet fingers inside their wraps and upturned
collars; drifting, blinding snow, swirling on the wings of a wild
north-easter, blurred the guiding line of snow-posts, and even at times
hid his leaders from the coachman's sight, so that his first warning
of being off the road and on the moor, was a heavy lurch as the coach
buried its side in some blind hollow; frost, and a thermometer in the
neighbourhood of zero, nipped from ears and nose and toes every vestige
of feeling, and chilled to the very bone those whom duty or business
forced to travel. It was truly a large assortment of evils that our
ancestors had to choose from, in the winter, on that road over into
England by the Carter Bar.
But if winter was bad, surely in the better time of year there were
pleasures that atoned for all they had suffered. In the long twilight of
a summer's evening, when moorland scents fill all the air and the crow
of grouse echoes from the heathery knolls, what pleasure more satisfying
could there be in life than to sit behind a free-going team of bays,
listening lazily to the rhythm of the chiming hoofs, to the ring of
steel bitts and the merry jingle of the splinter-bars? And as the coach
breasted the summit, and began to make up time on the down gradient,
the glorious view that broke on the eye of the north bound passenger of
itself would make amends for halt the ills of life. Away to the west,
stretched ever more dim in the fading sunset glow, the long-flung line
of Cheviots--Carterfell, the Carlin's Tooth (where springs the infant
Jed), Peel Fell, Hartshorn Pyke, all blending, far down, into the round
green {144}hills of Liddesdale; then, more to the north-westward, set in
the wide expanse, the Windburgh Hill and Cauldcleuch Head; farther off,
away over the high land of upper Teviotdale,
"The far grey riot of the Ettrick hills,"
and the dim shapes of the mighty "Laws" of Peeblesshire--Broad Law,
Dollar Law, Black Law. Then far below this vantage point on Catcleuch
Shin, in middle foreground Edgerston's darkening woods; beyond,
Ruberslaw, Minto Crags,--"where falcons hang their giddy nest,"--and the
Dunion; then, to the right, Eildon's cloven peak, and, near-by, the Blac
k Hill at Earlston, with the Lammermuirs in dimmest background; to the
right again, Smailholme Tower, erect and watchful; east of that, the
green Merse, wide-spread like a map, stretched almost to the sea, and on
the extreme right, far off, Cheviot himself, blocking the view. What a
truly magnificent sweep of country it is! A sense of space, and room to
breathe, such as one finds seldom in this country.
Three hundred and thirty-eight years ago, however, there were Scots and
English assembled on that Catcleuch ridge one summer's day, who had no
eyes for the view;
"The seventh of July, the suith to say,
At the Reidswire the tryst was set;
Our Wardens they affixed the day,
And, as they promised, so they met.
Alas! that day I'll ne'er forget!"
As was customary, the English and Scottish Wardens of the Marches had
met for the discussion and settlement of Border claims and disputes, and
for the redressing of wrongs. Sir John Carmichael in this instance acted
for Scotland, Sir John Forster for England. The former was accompanied
by the young Scott of Buccleuch,--according to Sir Walter the same who,
twenty-one years later, was famous for the rescue of Kinmont Willie
from Carlisle Castle,--by sundry Armstrongs, {145}Elliots, Douglases,
Turnbulls of Rule Water, and other wild Borderers.
"Of other clans I cannot tell
Because our warning was not wide."
But it was a turbulent band, one would think, and not easy of control.
Forster had at his back Fenwicks--"five hundred Fenwicks in a flock,"
says the ballad,--Shaftoes, Collingwoods, and other of the great English
Border families, the men from Hexham and thereabout, and many of the
fiercest fighters of Redesdale and Tynedale, the two latter said to
be then the most lawless people of the North of England. Indeed, their
reputation was so evil that the merchants of Newcastle passed a by-law
in the year 1564 that no apprentices should be taken "proceeding from
such leude and wicked progenitors."; Thus it may be seen that both
nations were strongly represented, and that on both sides there was
superabundance of most inflammable material waiting but for a spark
to set it ablaze. In most promising and peaceful fashion, however, the
proceedings opened:
"Yett was our meeting meek eneugh;
Begun wi' merriment and mowes.
Some gaed to drink, and some stude still,
And some to cards and dice them sped."
And all went smoothly and well, till the case of one Robson, a notorious
Redesdale horse and cattle-thief, came up for discussion. The Scottish
warden, following the usual Border custom in such cases, demanded that
the culprit, having been guilty of theft on the northern side of
the March, should be given into Scottish custody till such time as
reparation be made to the parties robbed by the Redesdale man. Sir John
Forster demurred, giving as his reason for evading the usual practice
in such cases, that Robson had fled and could not be captured. "Oh!
Play fair!" cried Carmichael contemptuously. Whereupon Forster not
unnaturally lost his temper, and made a fierce and insulting reply. Hot
words leapt from angry lips, and {146}swords, which in those days were
never long idle, began to flash in the warm sunshine as they left the
scabbards. And then the Tynedale men--"Fy, Tyndale, to it!"--eager to
take time by the forelock, and determined not to stand out of what fray
might be going, loosed off a flight of arrows among the Scots. And all
the fat was in the fire. Like fiercest wolves, the two sides flew at
each other's throats, trampling over the heathery ground, cursing,
slashing, stabbing.
The Scots at first were getting rather the worst of the affray;
Carmichael was down, and a prisoner; others were disabled. The English
had the slope of the hill slightly in their favour and made the most of
their advantage, gradually forcing their foes to fall back in tardy
and sullen retreat. Then came to the hot headed Tynedale men the
irresistible temptation to plunder. It was customary at those Wardens'
Meetings for pedlars or small tradesmen to erect on the ground selected
for the meeting, tents, or, as we say in Scotland, "crames," sort
of temporary shop-counters sheltered by canvas, in or on which they
displayed the wares they had for sale. So it had been at this Reidswire
Meeting. And as the Scots were forced back past those "crames," the
desire for loot proved too strong for some of the English combatants. By
ones and twos, as opportunity offered, they edged away from the fight,
and, like marauding wasps to crop of ripe plums, made for this booty
that might be had for the taking. Fighting and plunder were equally
congenial to the men of Tynedale.
At that very moment, however, in which a large number had so withdrawn
themselves, unfortunately for them reinforcements arrived for the Scots.
"Jethart's here!" rang out over the roar and stress of the fight, and
into the "tulzie" plunged the men of Jedburgh, hot off their ten mile
march.
"Bauld Rutherfurd, he was fou stout,
Wi' a' his nine sons him about;
He led the toun o' Jedburgh out,
All bravely fought that day."
{147}The tables were badly turned on the English; now they in turn began
to give way, and to be forced back up the hill down which till now they
had been successfully pressing the Scots. Too late the Tynedale men
tried to retrieve their error; the Scots got them on the run and gave
no breathing space; speedily the run became a rout. Over the crest into
Redesdale fled the discomfited English, dropping here a man, there a
man, as they fled. "Sir George Hearoune of Schipsydehouse," (Sir George
Heron Miles of Chipchase Castle,) fell early in the fight, and four
and twenty dead bowmen kept him company. The wounded on both sides
were many; and among the prisoners taken by the Scots were the English
Warden, Sir James Ogle, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, Sir Francis Russell
(son of the Earl of Bedford), several Fenwicks, and other leading men
from the English side of the Border. Carmichael took his prisoners to
Edinburgh--not greatly to the comfort of the Scottish Regent, the Earl
of Morton; for England and Scotland were then, for once in a way, at
peace, and such an incident as this Raid of the Reidswire was but too
likely to result in further war between the nations. Therefore, after
a day or two's detention, or rather, perhaps, after a day or two's
entertainment, Morton, with every expression of regret and of regard,
sent all the prisoners back to England, apparently not ill pleased with
their treatment. No international complications followed the affair.
Carmichael was sent to York to explain matters, and he seems to have
been able to show satisfactorily that the Scots were within their rights
throughout; that, in fact, as the ballad says:
" . . . . pride, and breaking out of feuid
Garr'd Tindaill lads begin the quarrel."
Some years ago, a very handsome silver mounted sword, and a fine
specimen of a dagger, were unearthed by a man employed in cutting drains
on the hillside where the battle was fought that July day of 1575.
The sword was a beautiful {148}weapon, of fine temper, and it probably
belonged to one of the English leaders. Unfortunately it has been lost.
Both it and the dagger have, as I understand, mysteriously disappeared
from the house in which they were kept. Somebody too greatly admired
them, one may suppose, and followed the example set by the men of
Tynedale in the heat of battle that day.
[Illustration: 0168]
The scene of the fight is that fairly level bit of moorland to the left
of the road just after you quit the Carter Bar, going south.
Harking back now for a moment to Jed,--five or six miles above the
bridge at Camptown where we quitted the line of river to follow the old
coach road over Carter Fell, we come to Southdean. Here are the ruins of
an ancient church, (the foundations, at least, and part of the walls and
tower,) which have lately been dug out from the great green mound with
its big ash trees atop, which lay these two hundred years and more
between hillside and river, down by the little grey {149}bridge. This is
the "churche in a fayre launde called Zedon," wherein, says Froissart,
Douglas and the other Scottish leaders met on the eve of that expedition
into England which ended with the glorious fight of Otterbourne. "I
never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas," wrote Sir Philip Sidney,
"that I found not my heart more moved than with a trumpet;" and who
is there to-day, in spite of lapse of centuries, whose blood does not
quicken at the very sound of the word "Otterbourne."
It used to be said that the "Zedon" of Froissart was more applicable to
Yetholm than to Southdean. Some, indeed, still maintain that, as far
at least as _sound_ is concerned, "Zedon" (the "Z", as was formerly not
uncommon, being treated as a "Y") bears a much greater resemblance
to "Yethoim" than to "Southdean." One may readily admit that as it is
spelled, "South-dean" is not in the least like "Zedon." But it is
an entirely different affair when we come to a matter of local
pronunciation. In this case the pronunciation is, as near as may be,
"Seuden." If we very slightly soften the sound of the letter "Z," and
allow for the fact that the "e" of Zedon would naturally be used by
Froissart with the same value that it bears in his own language, we
arrive absolutely at the local pronunciation of the name--"Seuden."
In any case, it seems most unlikely that the point of assembly could
have been Yetholm, if only for the reason that when marching from there
into England,--presumably by way of the Bowmont valley, and so past
Wooler and through Northumberland,--Douglas would have exposed himself
to be struck in rear and on his left flank from the adjacent vantage
points of Roxburgh and Wark, both of which formidable strongholds were
then in English hands, and, (seeing that the intention of the Scots to
make an invasion had long been known in Northumberland,) probably held
in force. And certainly, if the column came by way of Ottercops and
Rothely Crags, as it is said to have done, its starting point was not
{150}Yetholm. Obviously, too, a Scottish army concentrated at Southdean
was in a much better strategical position than any that it could have
occupied in the neighbourhood of Yetholm. From Southdean it could strike
either way at will, either over the easy, and necessarily well known,
pass by Catcleuch Shin, or across the hills by the old Roman way, the
Whele Causeway, into Liddesdale, and thence on to Carlisle.
This Scottish plan, to assemble an army here at Southdean, was the
outcome of a meeting held some time previously at Aberdeen, a city "on
the fronter of the Wylde Scottes," and, so far as was possible, the
business had been kept secret; even to the King himself no hint was
given of what the Nobles designed, "for," said they among themselves,
"the King is no manne of warre." But "the Scottes coude nat do their
maters so secretly, but the lords of Englande knewe howe men rose in
Scotland, and how they shulde mete agayne at Gedeours." Spies brought
word to Northumberland of what was afoot, and the English took all
necessary steps to upset the Scottish plan of campaign. If the Scots
decided to come by way of Carlisle, then the English resolved that
they, on their part, would burst into Scotland by way of Berwick, or by
Dunbar. Thus, said they, "we shall do them more dommage than they can
do us, for their countrey is all open; we maye go where we lyst, and our
countre is strong, and the townes and castelles well closed."
Now the Scots had gathered at Southdean this August of 1388 so vast an
army that "in threscore yere before there was nat assembled toguyder in
Scotlande suche a nombre of good men; there were xii hundred speares
and xl thousande men besvde with their archers; but in tyme of nede
the Scottes can lytell skyll with their bowes; they rather beare axes,
wherwith they gyve great strokes." And this army, "whan they were thus
mette togyder in the marchesse of Gedours.... were mery, and sayd, they
wolde never entre againe into their owne houses tyll they had ben in
Englande, and done suche dedes there that it shulde be spoken of xx yere
after." {151}To this gathering at Southdean came an English spy, one who
"knewe right well the marchesse of Scotlande, and specially the forest
of Gedeours." Without arousing suspicion, this man made his way into the
church, and overheard the Scottish leaders discuss their plans. And when
he had picked up information enough for his purpose, he withdrew quietly
from the building and went to get his horse, which he had left in a
convenient spot, tied to a tree. But never a trace of horse nor of harness
was there now, "for a Scotte, who be great theves, had stollen hym
awaye." It was a very tight corner for the spy. He durst make no great
outcry, lest he betray himself; so, in default, he started "forthe
afote, boted and spurred," thinking maybe to slip out of the camp
unobserved and make over the Cheviots into Rede valley. In any other
place but the Border, perhaps he might have got clear away. But the
Borderers have ever been horse lovers, and now the unwonted sight of a
man, booted and spurred, footing it, at once drew eyes to him that might
have taken little heed had he been mounted. "A filthie thing," says
Bishop Leslie, writing of the Borderers in the sixteenth century, "a
filthie thing thay estcime it, and a verie abjecte man thay halde him
that gangis upon his fete, ony voyage. Quhairthrough cumis that al are
horsmen." So the spy had not gone many furlongs ere he was stopped by
two mounted men.
"Felowe," said one of the two to the other, "I have sene a marveyle;
beholde yonder a man goeth alone, and as I thynke, he hath lost his
horse, for he came by and spake no worde; I wene he be none of
our company; lette us ryde after him to prove my saying." So, says
Froissart, they went after him. And "whane he sawe them commynge, he
wolde gladly have ben thens." The spy's answers to questions not being
satisfactory, "they brought hym againe to the church of Zedon and
presented him to the Erle Duglas and to other lordes." And there "they
handled hym in suche wise that he was fayne to shewe all the mater."
Their methods were not gentle in {152}those days; one wonders what they
did. Anyhow, "they knew by hym that the lordes of Northumberland had
sent hym thyder, to know the estate of their enterprise, and whiche waye
they wolde drawe. Hereof the Scottes were right joyous, and wolde nat
for a great good but that they had spoken with this squyer."
Scottish arguments proved too strong for the unhappy Englishman: "Sirs,"
said he at last, "sithe it behoveth me to saye the truthe, I shall."
So he gave information of the whereabouts of the English army, and
disclosed the whole of the English plans, telling how, the force at the
disposal of the Northumbrian lords not being strong enough to stand up
against the Scottish host, the intention of the English leaders was that
if the Scots should "take the waye into Gales [Cumberland] they wyll
go by Berwike, and so to Dunbare, to Edinborowe, or els to Alquest
[Dalkeith]; and if ye take nat that waye, then they wyll go by Carlyle,
and into the mountayns of the countrey. Whan the lordes herde that, eche
of them regarded other." As indeed they had excellent cause, for this
information put into their hands a card that could most effectually
trump their adversary's strongest suit. They were "ryght joyfull," says
Froissart, and "demannded counsayle what way was best for them to take."
Accordingly, the main army was despatched over the hills, probably, and
most naturally, up Jed and the Raven Burn, and across into Liddesdale
by the old Roman road that leaves Carlin Tooth and Wheelrig Head on its
left, and follows down Peel Burn to Liddel Water; thence down the Liddel
Valley the marching would be easy to Longtown and on to Carlisle; whilst
Douglas, with a flying column consisting of "thre hundred speares of
chosen men, and of two thousande other men and archers," went up the
Carter Burn and over the easy pass at Catcleuch Shin into Redesdale,
with intent to "drawe towardes Newcastell upon Tyne, and passe the
ryver and entre into the bysshoprike of Durham, and burne and exyle the
country." {153}"Thus these two hoostes departed eche from other, echo
of them prayenge other, that if the Englysshmen folowed any of their
armyes, nat to fyght with them tyll bothe their armyes were joyned
toguyder. Thus in a mornyng they departed fro Gedeours, and toke the
feldes."
Down the Rede valley--all fairly easy going in the dry August weather,
even at that day, one may suppose; Froissart says the weather was
"fayre and temperate,"--and across Tyne, Douglas pushed rapidly, pausing
neither to burn nor to slay, until he came into Durham, "where they
founde a good countrey. Than they beganne to make warre, to slee people,
and to brinne vyllages, and to do many sore displeasures." Everyone
knows what happened after this; how at length, having skirmished right
up to the walls of Durham, and beyond, Douglas and his men turned again
northward and halted two days before Newcastle, where lay Percy, and
English knights so many that "they wyst not where to lodge"; how, wjilst
the Scots remained here, Douglas and Percy fought, and Douglas overthrew
Percy and took from him a trophy which the latter swore to redeem before
it could be carried from Northumberland; and how Percy, coming up with
the Scots at Otterburne, strove to regain that which he had lost at
Newcastle, and was defeated and made prisoner; how the fight raged
throughout the moon lit night far into the morning, and the trampled
heath lay red with more than the bloom of heather; and how Earl Douglas
was slain. It is all told in the ballad, and how valiantly each fought
where cowards had no place.
It fell about the Lammas tide,
When the muir-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England to drive a prey.
He chose the Gordons and the Graemes,
With them the Lindsays, licht and gay,
But the Jardines wald not with him ride,
And they rue it to this day. {154}
And he has harried the dales o' Tyne
And half o' Bambroughshire;
And three good towers on Reidswire fells,
He left them a' on fire.
And he march'd up to New Castel,
And rade it round about:
"O, wha is the lord o' this castel,
Or wha is the ladie o't?"
But up spak proud Lord Percy then,
And O but he spak hie!
"It's I am the lord o' this castel,
My wife's the ladie gay."
"If thou art the lord o' this castel,
Sae weel it pleases me!
For ere I cross the Border fells,
The ane o' us shall dee."
He took a lang spear in his hand,
Shod with the metal free;
And forth to meet the Douglas there,
He rade right furiouslie.
But O, how pale his ladie look'd
Frae aff the castel wall,
When down before the Scottish spear
She saw proud Percy fa'!
"Had we twa been upon the green,
And never an eye to see,
I wad hae had you, flesh and fell,
But your sword shall gae wi' me."
"But gae ye up tae Otterbourne,
And bide there dayis three;
And gin I come not ere they end,
A fause knight ca' ye me."
"The Otterboume's a bonny burn,
'Tis pleasant there to be;
But there is nought at Otterbourne
To feed my men and me. {155}
"The deer rins wild on hill and dale,
The birds fly wild frae tree to tree;
But there is neither bread nor kail
To fend my men and me.
"Yet I will stay at Otterbourne,
Where you shall welcome be;
And, if you come not at three dayis end,
A fause knight I'll ca' thee."
"Thither will I come," proud Percy said,
"By the micht of Our Ladye!"
"There will I bide thee," said the Douglas,
"My troth I plight to thee."
They lichted high on Otterbourne,
Upon the brent sae brown;
They lichted high on Otterbourne,
And threw their pallions down.
And he that had a bonnie boy,
Sent out his horse to grass;
And he that had not a bonnie boy,
His ain servant he was.
Then up and spak a little page,
Before the peep of dawn:
"O waken ye, waken ye, my good lord,
For Percy's hard at hand."
"Ye lie, ye lie, ye liar loud!
Sae loud I hear ye lie;
For Percy had not men yestreen
To fight my men and me.
"But I hae dreamed a dreary dream,
Beyond the Isle of Skye:
I saw a dead man win a fight,
And I think that man was I."
He belted on his gude braid sword,
And to the field he ran;
But he forgot the helmet good
That shou'd have kept his brain. {156}
When Percy with the Douglas met,
I wat he was fu' fain!
They swakkit swords till sair they swat,
And the blood ran down like rain.
But Percy, wi' his good braid sword,
That could sae sharply wound,
Has wounded Douglas on the brow,
Till he fell till the ground.
Then he call'd on his little foot-page,
And said--"Run speedilie,
And fetch my ain dear sister's son,
Sir Hugh Montgomerie."
"My nephew good," the Douglas said.
"What recks the death o' ane!
Last nicht I dream'd a dreary dream,
And I ken the day's thy ain.
"My wound is deep; I fain would sleep;
Take thou the vanguard of the three,
And hide me by the bracken bush
That grows on yonder lily lee.
"O, bury me by the bracken bush,
Beneath the blooming brier;
Let never living mortal ken
That a kindly Scot lies here."
He lifted up that noble lord,
With the saut tear in his ee;
He hid him in the bracken bush,
That his merrie men might not see.
The moon was clear, the day drew near,
The spears in flinders flew
But mony a gallant Englishman
Ere day the Scotsmen slew.
The Gordon's gude, in English bluid
They steep'd their hose and shoon;
The Lindsays flew like fire about,
Till a' the fray was dune. {157}
The Percy and Montgomerie met,
That either of other was fain;
They swakkit swords, and they twa swat,
And aye the bluid ran down between.
"Now yield thee, yield thee, Percy," he said,
"Or else I vow I'll lay thee low!"
"To whom must I yield," quoth Earl Percy,
"Sin' I see that it maun be so?"
"Thou shall not yield to lord or loun,
Nor yet shalt thou yield to me;
But yield ye to the brarken bush
That grows upon yon lilye lee!"
"I will not yield to a bracken bush,
Nor yet will I yield to a brier;
But I would yield to Earl Douglas,
Or Sir Hugh Montgomerie if he were here."
As soon as he knew it was Montgomerie,
He stuck his sword's point in the gronde;
Montgomerie was a courteous knight,
And quickly took him by the hond.
This deed was done at Otterbourne,
About the breaking o' the day;
Earl Douglas was buried by the bracken bush,
And the Percy led captive away. Froissart says he was told by
two English squires who took part in the fight, "how this batayle was
as sore a batayle fought as lyghtly hath been harde of before of such
a nombre, and I believe it well. For Englysshmen on the one partye and
Scottes on the other party are good men of warre: for whan they mete
there is a hard fight without sparvnge; there is no hoo bytwene them as
long as speares, swordes, axes, or dagers wyll endure, but lay on eche
upon other, and whan they be well beaten, and that the one parte hath
optaygned the victory, they than glorifye so in their dedes of armes
and are so joyfull, that suche as be taken they shall be raunsomed
or {158}they go out of the felde, so that shortly eche of them is so
contente with other that at their departynge curtoysly they wyll saye,
God thanke you. But in fyghtynge one with another there is no playe
nor sparynge; and this is trewe, and that shall well apere by this sayd
rencounter, for it was as valyauntly foughten as coulde be devysed."
With hand to hand fighting so close and so fierce as here befell at
Otterburne, the slaughter could not fail to be very great. According to
Godscroft, the English alone lost one thousand eight hundred and forty
killed, and over a thousand wounded. The total Scottish loss in killed,
wounded and missing appears to have been less than half that of the
enemy in killed alone. The English lost also over a thousand men who
were captured by the Scots; indeed, the latter had so many prisoners
that they were greatly put to it to know what to do with them at the
moment when the Bishop of Durham with his ten thousand fresh troops
came on the scene and seemed likely to renew the battle. Many of the
prisoners were men of distinction. Percy himself was taken by the
Earl of Montgomery; his brother, Ralph Percy, by Sir John Maxwell; Sir
Matthew Reedman, governor of Berwick, by Sir James Lindsay. And many
another Scottish knight or squire held his brother of England to ransom.
Froissart describes more than one picturesque incident of the fight, and
none, surely, is more vivid and alive than that in which he tells how
Sir Matthew Reedman, Governor of Berwick, fled From the field, pursued
by Sir James Lindsay. When all was done that man could do, and all was
done in vain, Sit Matthew turned to save himself. Lindsay chanced to
be near at hand, and saw him gallop out from the stress of battle. "And
this Sir James to wyn honour, followed in chase.... and came so nere hym
that he myght have stryken him with his speare if he had lyst. Than he
said, 'Ah, sir knyght, tourne, it is a shame thus to flye: I am James of
Lindsay: if ye wyll nat tourne I shall stryke you on the backe {159}with
my speare.' Sir Matthew spake no worde, but strake his horse with the
spurrs sorer than he dyde before. In this manner he chased hym more than
thre myles, and at lasts sir Mathue Reedman's horse foundred and fell
under hym. Than he stept forth on the erthe, and drewe oute hys swerde,
and toke corage to defende hymselfe; and the Scotte thought to have
stryken hym on the brest, but sir Mathewe Reedman swerved fro the
stroke, and the speare poynt entered into the erthe: than sir Mathue
strake asonder the speare with his swerde. And whan sir James Lynsay
sawe howe he had loste his speare, he caste awaye the trounchon and
lyghted afote, and toke a lytell batayle axe that he caryed at his
backe, and handeled it with his one hande, quiekely and delyverly,
in the whiche feate Scottes be well experte. And than he sette at sir
Mathue, and he defended hymselfe properly. Thus they tourneyed toguyder,
one with an axe, and the other with a swerde, a longe season, and no man
to lette them. Fynally, sir James Lynsay gave the knyght suche strokes,
and helde hym so shorte, that he was putte out of brethe, in such wyse
that he yelded hymselfe, and sayde: 'Sir James Lynsay, I yelde me to
you.' 'Well,' quod he, 'and I receyve you, rescue or no rescue.' 'I am
content,' quod Reedman, 'so ye deale with me lyke a good campanyon.'
'I shall not fayle that,' quod Lynsay, and so put up his swerde. 'Well,
sir,' quod Reedman, 'what wyll you nowe that I shall do? I am your
prisoner, ye have conquered me; I wolde gladly go agayn to Newcastell,
and within fyftene dayes I shall come to you into Scotlande, where as
ye shall assigne me.' 'I am content,' quod Lynsay: 'ye shall promyse by
your faythe to present yourselfe within this iii wekes at Edenborowe,
and wheresoever ye go, to repute yourself my prisoner.' All this sir
Mathue sware and promysed to fulfyll. Than eche of them toke their
horses and toke leave eche of other."
They were to meet again, however, in less than the stipulated time. Sir
James turned his horse towards Otterburne, {160}intent on rejoining
his friends. But a mist came down over the hills and blotted out the
moorland; he could only feel his way in the direction he desired to go.
And when at length through the haar and thickness there came to his ears
the muffled sound of voices, the ring of bridles and snort of horses, in
full assurance that the sounds came from a body of his own men returning
from pursuit of the broken English, he rode confidently forward, it was
to find himself face to face with five hundred horse under the Bishop
of Durham. And said the Bishop to Lindsay: "'Ye shall go with me to
Newcastell.' 'I may nat chose,' quod Lynsay, 'sithe ye wyll have it so;
I have taken, and I am taken, suche is the adventures of armes.'
"'Whom have ye taken': quod the bysshop. 'Sir,' quod he, 'I toke in the
chase sir Malhue Redman.' 'And where is he?' quod the bysshop. 'By my
faythe, sir, he is returned to Newcastell; he desyred me to trust hym
on his faythe for thre wekes, and so have I done.' 'Well,' quod the
bysshop, 'lette us go to New castell, and there ye shall speke wyth
hym.' Thus they rode to Newcastell toguyder, and sir James Lynsay was
prisoner to the Bysshop of Durham." So the twain met again, and "'By my
faythe, sir Mathewe,' said Lindsay, 'I beleve ye shall nat nede to come
to Edenborowe to me to make your fynaunce: I thynke rather we shall
make an exchaunge one for another, if the bysshoppe be so contente.'"
Whereupon, Reedman---as has ever been the wont of Englishmen--proposed
that they should mark the occasion by a dinner; and, says Froissart,
"thus these two knyghts dyned toguyder in Newcastell."
He was not a valiant person, apparently, this Bishop of Durham. Had he
been a very militant Prince of the Church, it had surely gone hard now
with the Scots, for, outnumbered as they had been throughout the fight,
they were sore spent ere ever the Bishop hove in sight with his ten
thousand fresh troops, and it could scarcely have taken very much to
drive them from the field in headlong rout. But the English leader was
not a very intrepid man; and when he found the Scots {161}drawn together
in a position so defended by swamp and morass that entry could be forced
only by the one way, the Bishop hesitated. Then the Scottish leaders
ordered their "mynstrels to blowe up all at ones, and make the greatest
revell of the worlde"; for, as Froissart says, "whan they blowe all at
ones, they make suche a noyse that it may be herde nighe iiii myles of;
thus they do to abasshe their enemyes, and to rejoyse themselfes."
The instruments used were horns, we are told. Had they been bagpipes,
one might perhaps have understood the consternation of the English. Says
Froissart: "Whan the bysshoppe of Durham, with his baner, and XM men
with hym, were aproched within a leage, than the Scottes blew their
homes in suche wise that it seemed that all the devyls in hell had been
amonge them, so that such as herde them, and knewe nat of their usage,
were sore abasshed." Nevertheless, the Bishop, with his host in order
of battle, advanced to within about two bow-shot of the Scots, and
there came to a halt in order to reconnoitre their position. The more
he looked at it, the less he liked it; losses were certain to be heavy,
victory by no means assured. So the English drew off; and the Scots, we
are told, "wente to their lodgynges and made mery."
Then, the next day, having burned their camp, they marched unmolested
back up the Rede valley into Scotland; and with them they bore the
honoured bodies of Douglas and of others who had fallen in the fight.
Percy went with them, a captive, and many another distinguished
Englishman against his will sadly followed the victors. But those
prisoners who were too badly hurt to endure the march into Scotland were
sent under parole back to Newcastle, among them Sir Ralph Percy, who was
returned in a horse litter. Huge sums are mentioned as having been
paid in ransom by the English prisoners, the estimate of some writers
reaching the extravagant figure of £600,000, a sum that in those days
would have enriched the entire Scottish nation beyond the dreams of
avarice. Even that number of pounds {162}Scots (equal to £50,000) seems
beyond reason. Froissart's 200,000 francs (£8,000 in our money) is
probably about what was paid--in that day a most handsome sum.
[Illustration: 0182]
A cheerful little village is the Otterburne of the present day,--even
though there are not wanting evidences that some part of it, down by the
inn, for example,-has planted itself in too close proximity to a river
and a burn which still, as in those early eighteenth century days of
"Mad" Jack Hall, are capable of sudden and vindictive flood. As
regards the battlefield, however, there is not a great deal to see. The
so-called Percy's Cross, which stands in a thin clump of trees to the
east of the road three-quarters of a mile on the Scottish side of
the village, is a comparatively modern erection. The true site ot the
original "Battle Stone," according to maps of date 1769, was about a
couple of hundred yards more to the east, and there it stood, or
rather, lay, till 1777, when the then proprietor of the land, a {163}Mr.
Ellison, put up the cross now standing, within view of the new turnpike
road which was then being made up the valley of the Rede. Mr. Ellison
used the ancient socket of the original cross, but the rough pedestal on
which the socket stands has nothing to do with the old memorial.
[Illustration: 0183]
Nor has the present shaft, which, says Mr. Robert White in his "History
of the Battle of Otterburne" (1857), was nothing but "an old
architrave which had been removed from the kitchen fireplace at
Otterburne Hall. This stone, the cross-section of which is fifteen and
a half by eight inches, still shows a bevelled corner throughout its
length; besides, two small pieces of iron project from one of its sides,
which, in its former period of usefulness, were probably connected with
some culinary apparatus. On its top is another stone, tapering to a
point, which completes the erection. The entire length of the
shaft above the base is nine and a half feet. The socket is a worn,
weather-beaten {164}sandstone, about two feet square, without any
tool-marks upon it, and appears to have been in use much longer than any
of the stones connected with it."
A still more modern memorial of the battle is a large semicircular
seat cut in freestone, bearing on darker coloured panels various
inscriptions, which stands by the road-side a little farther to the
north. This was erected in 1888 by Mr. W. H. James, then M.P. for
Gateshead. It may be noted that one of the panels gives the date of the
battle as _tenth_ August, 1388, which is almost certainly a mistake.
Douglas, of course, had satisfactory reasons for camping that night
where he did,--reasons not unconnected probably with the question of
shelter from English arrows. A wood protected him, it is said. Had he
gone four or five miles farther on up the valley, he might have occupied
the old Roman camp of Bremenium, a strong position, not sheltered from
arrow-flight by trees, it is true, but protected on two sides by what
in old days must have been swamps, and surrounded by a heavy wall
which, even in its present condition, would be, to a defending force,
a considerable protection in hand to hand fighting. Five hundred years
ago, before the day of agricultural improvement and the custom of using
ancient monuments as a quarry, such a defence must have made the camp
a place of very considerable strength. Portions only now remain of the
formidable wall which originally protected Bremenium, but enough stands
to show what its strength must have been in the days when the Roman
Legions manned it. The face is composed of great blocks of hewn
freestone, accurately fitted; in height it must have been about fourteen
feet, in thickness something like seventeen,--the inner portion, of
course, being rubble work; outside there were two or more fosses. One of
the gateways is still intact to a very considerable height, but the camp
as a whole has to a most pitiable extent been used as a quarry, perhaps
for hundreds of years. Even yet, one doubts if it is held quite
sacred from vandal raids. As late as 1881, when {165}members of the
Berwickshire Naturalists' Club visited the camp they found masons
deliberately quarrying stones from one corner of the wall, in order to
build a hideous modern cottage, and I daresay some of the houses in the
immediate neighbourhood may be composed entirely of stones taken from
the old walls. The writer has not seen the Roman tombs which exist about
half a mile to the east of the camp. The largest of these is said to
have still two courses of stones standing, besides the flat stones of
the foundation. This tomb has in front a small carving, regarding which
Dr. Collingwood Bruce, in "The Roman Wall," suggests that it may have
been intended to represent "the head of a boar--the emblem of the
twentieth legion." The writer is given to understand that the carving
bears no resemblance whatever to the head of a boar. A coin of the
Emperor Alexander Severus was found in this tomb, together with a jar
containing calcined bones, and a coin of the Emperor Trajan was found in
the camp.
How many of Douglas's wounded, one wonders, were carried from the field
of battle over to Southdean, and, succumbing there to their wounds, were
buried at the church? Two or three years ago, when the ash-trees were
cut down and the grassy mound carted away that had so long concealed the
ruins of the old building, quantities of human bones were dug up within
and about the walls, some of the skulls showing unmistakably that
the owners had died no peaceful death. No doubt the main body of the
Scottish army would follow the dead Douglas to his tomb in Melrose
Abbey, and would therefore never come so far west as Southdean, but the
severely wounded would naturally be left wherever they could be attended
to. It is certain that the Southdean district was in old days much less
sparsely populated than is now the case; two important yearly fairs, for
instance, used formerly to be held at Lethem, (three miles nearer the
Border than Southdean,)--where also, on a knoll still called the Chapel
Knowe, was a chapel, subsidiary to the church of Southdean. These fairs
were for the sale of {166}"horse, nolt, sheep, fish, flesh, malt, meal,"
and all sorts of merchandise, and in the permit to hold the Fairs
Lethem is described as being "by reason of its situation, lying near the
Border, a very convenient and fit place for traffic and trade."
[Illustration: 0186]
The church of Southdean, therefore, as its ruins indicate, was probably
of considerable importance, surrounded by a settlement of some size,
where wounded men might well be left to take their chance of recovery.
Whether the Scots returned from Otterburne up Rede valley and over the
pass by way of Catcleuch Shin, or (as is more probable) followed the
Roman Road which passes Bremeirum Camp and runs over the Cheviots some
miles to the east of Carter-fell, and thence crossing Kale, Oxnam,
Jed, and Teviot, goes in more or less direct line towards Newstead and
Melrose, it would be easy and natural for them to detach a party with
the wounded, and perhaps with the bodies of some of the more notable
dead, to {167}Southdean. And those of them who died there would of
course be buried in or close to the church.
During the excavations, it is of interest to note that numbers of skulls
were found all together at one spot, pointing to the probability of many
bodies having been, from some common cause, buried in a common grave.
The inference seems not illegitimate that this cause was the fight at
Otterburne. The English appear to have carried away from the field many
of their dead, as well as their wounded:
"Then on the morne they mayde them beerys
Of birch and haysell graye;
Many a wydowe, with wepynge teyrs
Ther makes they fette awaye."
It is not unlikely that the Scots also brought away some, at least, of
their dead, and, as Southdean was the nearest spot in their own country
where they could find consecrated ground, the probability is that these
bodies, as well as those of the wounded who died later, would find rest
there.
In his "History and Poetry of the Scottish Border," Professor Veitch
mentions that "a recent discovery made at Elsdon Church, about three
miles from the scene of conflict, may be regarded as throwing some light
on the slaughter. There skulls to the amount of a thousand have been
disinterred, all lying together. They are of lads in their teens, and
of middle-aged men; but there are no skulls of old men, or of women. Not
improbably these are the dead of Otterburne."
The length of the old building at Southdean, including tower and
chancel, was ninety-seven feet, and the nave was about twenty-three
feet in width. Many notable things were unearthed during the work of
excavation, those of most interest possibly being a massive octagonal
font, cut from one block of stone, and a small stone super-altar incised
with the usual five crosses.
At Southdean, as elsewhere, the old church has for generations been used
as a quarry. The retaining wall of the adjacent {168}Newcastle road is
full of dressed stones taken from the building, and others, some of them
carved, have been built into the walls of an adjoining barn. Certainly
our ancestors in this instance had more excuse than usual to offer for
their depredations, for the building was a hopeless ruin. The roof
of the church fell in one Sunday in the year 1689, and the walls--not
unhelped by human hands--speedily followed suit. Stones from the
principal doorway seem to have been used in 1690 in the building of a
new church at Chesters. That too is now in ruins.
{169}