There were three ravens sat on a tre,
They were as black as they might be:
The one of them said to his mate,
"Where shall we our breakfast take?"--
"Downe in yonder greene field,
There lies a knight slain under his shield;
"His hounds they lie downe at his feete,
So well they their master keepe;
"His hawkes they flie so eagerlie,
There's no fowle dare come him nie.
"Down there comes a fallow doe,
As great with yong as she might goe.
"She lift up his bloudy hed,
And kist his wounds that were so red.
"She got him up upon her backe,
And carried him to earthen lake.
"She buried him before the prime,
She was dead her selfe ere even song time.
"God send every gentleman,
Such hawkes, such houndes, and such a leman."
*Chapter XI*
*Otterbourne and Chevy Chase*
"It fell about the Lammas-tide,
When moor-men win their hay,
The doughty Douglas bound him to ride
Into England, to drive a prey."
The ballads of _Otterbourne_ and _Chevy Chase_ record the Scottish and
English versions of a most stubborn Border battle. Whichever of the two
contains the greater amount of truth, it is clear that the day was a
bloody one, and that, moreover, it was fought on both sides with a
chivalrous admiration for the powers of the other which is
characteristic of those strife-loving days. Sir Philip Sidney wrote of
it: "I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas, that I found not
my heart moved more than with a trumpet."
The ballad of _Chevy Chase_ is of later date than its rival, and it
contains certainly one misstatement of historical fact, since Hotspur
outlived the fight at Chevy Chase (1388) and was slain some fifteen
years later at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403).
The Scottish version of the battle of Otterbourne tells us that it was
about the Lammas-tide or haymaking time of the year 1388 when the brave
Earl of Douglas, with his brother, the Earl of Murray, made a foray into
England, with a gay band of Gordons, Graemes, and Lindsays. He burned
Tynedale and half of Bamborough and Otterdale, and marching up to
Newcastle, rode round about the castle, crying, "Who is lord of this
castle, and who is its lady?"
Then up spake proud Lord Percy, known as _Hotspur_, and said, "I am the
lord of this castle, and my wife is the gay lady of it."
"That pleases me well," answered Douglas, "yet, ere I cross the Border
hills, one of us shall die."
Then Percy took his long spear, shod with metal, and rode right
furiously at the Douglas; but his lady, looking from the castle wall,
grew pale as she saw her proud lord go down before the Scottish spear.
"Had we two been alone, with never an eye to see, I would have slain
thee, but thy lance I will carry with me," said Douglas, and, to
complete the disgrace, this lance bore attached to it the Percy pennon.
"Go then to Otterbourne," said Percy, "and wait there for me, and if I
come not before the end of three days, call me a false knight."
"Otterbourne is a pleasant and a bonny place," answered Douglas; "but
though the deer run wild among the hills and dales, and the birds fly
wild from tree to tree, yet is there neither bread nor kale nor aught
else to feed me and my men. Yet will I wait thee at Otterbourne to give
thee welcome, and if thou come not in three days' time, false lord, will
I call thee!"
"By the might of Our Lady, I will come," cried the proud Percy. "And
I," answered Douglas, "plight thee my troth that I will meet thee
there."
So Douglas and his men encamped at Otterbourne, and sent out their
horses to pasture.
But before the peep of dawn, up spake a little page: "Waken ye, waken
ye, my good lord; the Percy is upon us!" "Ye lie, ye lie," shouted
Douglas; "yesterday, Percy had not men enough to fight us. But if thou
lie not, the finest bower in Otterbourne shall be thy reward, and if
what thou sayest prove false, thou shalt be hanged on the highest tree
in Otterbourne. Yet I have dreamed a dreary dream; I dreamed that a
dead man won a battle and that I was that dead man."
So Douglas belted on his good broadsword, and ran to the field, but
forgot his helmet, and Percy and the Douglas fought with their swords
together till the blood ran down like rain, and the Douglas fell,
wounded on the brow.
Then he called to him his little foot-page and told him to run quickly
and bring to him his sister's son, Sir Hugh Montgomery.
"My good nephew," said Douglas, "the death of one matters not; last
night I dreamed a dreary dream, but yet I know the day is thine. My
wound is deep; take thou the vanguard; bury me in the bracken high that
grows on yonder lea, and let no man living know that a Scot lies there.
And know that I am glad to die in battle, like my good forefathers, and
not on a bed of sickness."
Montgomery lifted up his noble lord, while his eyes wept salt tears, and
hid him in the bracken bush that his followers might not see, and before
daylight the Scots slew many a gallant Englishman. The good Gordons
steeped hose and shoes in the blood of the English; the Lindsays flew
about like fire till the battle was ended, and Percy and Montgomery
fought till the blood ran down between them.
"Now, yield thee, yield thee, Percy," cried Sir Hugh, "or I vow I will
lay thee low!"
"Since it must be so," quoth Earl Percy, "to whom shall I yield?"
"Thou shalt not yield to me or to any lord, but to the bracken bush that
grows on yonder lea!"
"I will not yield to briar or bracken bush, but I would yield to Lord
Douglas or to Sir Hugh Montgomery, if he were here."
Then Montgomery made himself known, and as soon as Percy knew that it
was Montgomery, he struck the point of his sword into the ground, and
Montgomery, who was a courteous knight, took him up by the hand.
This deed was done at Otterbourne at daybreak, where Earl Douglas was
buried by the bracken bush, and Percy led captive into Scotland, and it
is said that Hotspur, for his ransom, built for Montgomery the castle of
Penoon, in Ayrshire.
But the English version of these stirring events can also claim to be
heard; the ballad upon it is called _Chevy Chase_, which means the Chase
on the Cheviots; and so popular was this ballad that its name was given
to a boys' game, which is so called even to this day. It tells how the
Percy, from his castle in Northumberland, vowed that within three days
he would hunt on the mountains of Cheviot in spite of the doughty
Douglas and his men, and that he would kill and carry away the fattest
deer in Cheviot.
"By my faith," said Douglas, when he heard of the boast, "but I will
hinder his hunting."
Percy left Bamborough Castle with a mighty company, no less than fifteen
hundred bold archers chosen out of three shires.
The foray began on a Monday morning in the high Cheviot Hills, and many
a child yet unborn was to rue the day.
The drivers went through the woods and raised the deer, and the bowmen
shot them with their broad arrows. Then the wild deer rushed through
the woods, only to be met and killed by the greyhounds, and before
noontide a hundred fat deer lay dead. The bugles sounded, "A mort!" and
on all sides Percy and his men assembled to see the cutting up of the
venison.
Said Percy: "The Douglas promised to meet me here this day, yet right
well did I know that he would fail." But a Northumberland squire saw
the doughty Douglas coming with a mighty company, with spear and
batter-axe and sword. Never were men hardier of heart and hand seen in
Christendom--two thousand spearmen born along the banks of the Tweed and
Teviotdale. Then said Lord Percy: "Now leave off the cutting of the
deer, and take good heed to your bows, for never had ye more need of
them since ye were born."
Earl Douglas rode before his men, his armour glittering like a burning
coal, and never was such a bold baron. "Tell me whose men ye are," said
he, "and who gave ye leave to hunt in Cheviot without word asked of me?"
Then answered Lord Percy, "We will not tell thee whose men we are, and
we will hunt here in spite of thee. We have killed the fattest harts in
Cheviot and will carry them away."
"By my troth," said Douglas, "one of us shall die this day. Yet it were
great pity to kill all these guiltless men. Thou, Percy, art a lord of
land, and I am called an earl in my country; let our men stand by, and
we will fight together."
"Now a curse on his crown, who says nay to that," cried Lord Percy. "By
my troth, Douglas, thou shalt never see the day either in England,
Scotland, or France, when I fear to meet one, man to man."
Then spoke Richard Witherington, a squire of Northumberland. "Never
shall this be told in England, to the shame of good King Harry the
Fourth. I wot ye be two great lords, and I but a poor squire, yet would
I never stand and look on while my captain fought. While I can wield a
weapon, I will not fail, both heart and hand."
So the English with good heart bent their bows, and slew seven score
spearmen with the first arrows they shot.
Earl Douglas stayed on the field, but that he was a good captain was
truly seen, for he wrought great woe and mischief. He parted his host
in three like a proud chieftain, and they came in on every side with
their mighty spears, wounding the English archers and slaying many a
brave man.
Then the English pulled out their brands, and it was a heavy sight to
see the bright swords light on the helmets, striking through the rich
mail, and the cloth of many folds under it, and laying many low.
At last the Douglas and the Percy met and fought with swords of Milan
steel till the blood spurted like rain and hail from their helmets.
"Hold thee, Percy," said Douglas, "and I will bring thee to James, our
Scottish king, where thou shalt have an earl's wages and free ransom,
for thou art the manfullest man that ever yet I conquered fighting in
the field."
"Nay, then," said Lord Percy. "I told thee before that never would I
yield to any man of woman born."
With that there came an arrow hastily from a mighty man, and struck Earl
Douglas through the breast bone, and never more did he speak a word but
only this: "Fight, my merry men, while ye may--my life's days are done."
Then Percy leaned on his hand, and when he saw the Douglas die, he said,
"Woe is me. I would have parted with my land for three years to have
saved thy life, for a better man of heart and hand was not in all the
north country."
But Sir Hugh Montgomery, a Scottish knight, when he saw the Douglas done
to death, grasped a spear and rode through a hundred archers, never
slackening his pace till he came to Lord Percy, whom he set upon,
sending his mighty spear clean through his body, so that a man might see
a long cloth-yard and more at the other side. There were no two better
captains in Christendom than were that day slain.
When one of the Northumberland archers saw this, he drew an arrow to his
bow and set upon Montgomery, until the swan feathers of his arrows were
wet with his heart's blood.
Not one man gave way, but still they stood hewing at each other, while
they were able.
This battle began in Cheviot, an hour before noon, nor was it half done
at evensong, but they fought on by moonlight though many had scarce the
strength to stand. Of fifteen hundred English archers only fifty-three
remained, and of two thousand Scottish spearmen only fifty-five
remained, all the rest being slain in Cheviot.
With Lord Percy were slain, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the gentle
Hartly, Sir William the bold Heron, Sir George the worthy Lovel, a
renowned knight, and Sir Ralph the rich Rugby. Woe was it that
Witherington was slain, for when both his legs were hewn in two he
kneeled and fought on his knees.
With the brave Douglas were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, and worthy Sir
Davy Liddle, that was his sister's son; Sir Charles, a Murray who
refused to flee, and Sir Hugh Maxwell. On the morrow they made biers of
birch and grey hazel, and many widows bore weeping from the field the
bodies of their dead husbands. Well may Teviotdale and Northumberland
wail and moan for two such great captains.
Word came to James the Scottish king at Edinburgh, that the brave
Douglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot, and he wept
and wrung his hands, and said, "Alas! Woe is me; there will never be
such another captain in Scotland."
Word came also to London, to Harry the Fourth, that Lord Percy,
Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot. "God have mercy on his
soul," said King Harry; "I have a hundred captains in England as good as
he, yet I wager my life that his death shall be well avenged"; and this
vow he kept, at the Battle of Homildon Hill, where he beat down six and
thirty Scottish knights on one day.
But so real to the Borderers was their grief over their dead that the
ballad ends with a quaint but heartfelt appeal to the Prince of Peace:--
"Jesus Christ our ills abate,
And to His bliss us bring!
Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot;
God send us all good ending!"
*Chapter XII*
*The Douglas Clan*
The Douglas clan was at one time the strongest of all the great Scotch
families on the Border; they were wild and proud and recklessly brave,
and no account of the Borders would be complete without the broad
details of their tragic history.
The first to raise the fame of the family to the highest place in honour
was the brave Sir James Douglas, the friend of Bruce, and, after Bruce
himself, the greatest hero among the Scots of that stormy period. He
was a powerful, black-haired man with a dark complexion, and was called
by the English "The Black Douglas." So great was the terror of his name
that English mothers on the Border, when their children were naughty,
would tell them that the Black Douglas would get them, or if they were
fretful they would comfort them with the assurance--
"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,
Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,
The Black Douglas shall not get ye."
Sir Walter Scott relates how, when the garrison of Roxburgh Castle were
making merry at Shrovetide, the castle was surprised by the Douglas, who
mounted to the ramparts where a woman was crooning the refrain to her
babe. "You are not so sure of that," he said, laying his hand upon her
shoulder. It is pleasant to read that on this occasion the Black
Douglas did not turn out so black as he was painted, and beyond her
fright the woman came to no harm at the hands of Sir James and his
followers.
At one time the English had seized the Douglas castle in Lanarkshire,
and Sir James and his men disguised themselves and came to church on
Palm Sunday, when the English soldiers were worshipping there. Suddenly
in the midst of the service Douglas dropped his cloak and drew his sword
and shouted: "A Douglas! a Douglas!"
The English soldiers were taken by surprise, and were killed before they
could recover themselves. This deed brought Douglas great fame, but
after all it was hardly a fair fight.
In 1327, when Edward III. was only fifteen years old, Douglas led a raid
into Northumberland and Durham which did the English much damage.
Edward came after them with an English army, and the Scots, being
outnumbered, were compelled to dodge up and down in order to avoid a
pitched battle. But in one bold night attack, Douglas and five hundred
of the Scots penetrated to the king's tent, and almost succeeded in
taking him prisoner. Failing in this, they returned unharmed to their
own country, and shortly afterwards, at the Treaty of Northampton in
1328, King Edward III. agreed to acknowledge Robert Bruce as King of
Scotland, and the long war between Scotland and England ended.
A year later Bruce died, but after a romantic custom of that day he
bequeathed his heart to his gallant friend, Sir James Douglas. Douglas
had this heart enclosed in a silver casket and carried it hung about his
neck. The war with England being over, this restless knight sought
adventures in Spain, fighting against the Saracen followers of Mahomet.
In one fierce battle, he and his men were surrounded by their enemies.
Douglas, probably realising that this was his last fight, took the
casket and flung it into the midst of his foes, crying: "Go first in
fight, as thou wert used to do; Douglas will follow thee or die!" He
then rushed desperately after it, fighting his way on till at last his
dead body fell on this dearly prized relic, which he guarded to the end.
The casket lies buried in the Abbey of Melrose, but Douglas's body was
laid in his own church.
Of the bold Earl Douglas who fought and died at Otterbourne the tale is
told in our last chapter. We may pass on to another famous Douglas,
this time a heroine, who lived in the reign of James I. of Scotland
(quite a different king from James I. of England). When James was only
twelve years old, he was taken prisoner by Henry IV. of England, and
kept captive till he was thirty. But he was given an education fit for
a king, and in England he met the lady he devotedly loved, Lady Joan
Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset. He addressed a beautiful
poem to her and married her, and these two always most dearly loved one
another. When at last his long captivity came to an end, he got back to
Scotland to find the kingdom in disorder, and the nobles defying the law
and acting as they pleased. James, a strong and able king, set his
strength against their strength, and gradually got his whole kingdom
into order and ruled with wisdom and justice.
But in these days it was impossible to be firm without sternness, and
James made enemies. When he was staying at Perth one Christmas-time,
these enemies, led by a bold villain called Sir Robert Graham, secretly
encircled the house where he was staying. The unarmed king only heard
of their presence when they were advancing, fully armed, to his room.
He tore up a plank in the floor, seeking thus to find a hiding-place.
The enemies were almost at the door, and it was necessary to delay their
entrance, for one minute might save his life. All the bars of the door
had been removed beforehand, but a brave heroine, Kate Douglas, thrust
her arm through the staples. The villains were angered to find the door
barred against them, and hurled their weight upon it.
The Douglas heroine stood there, her pale face set hard, without a cry,
as the crash broke the bone of her brave strong arm, and the would-be
murderers staggered in. But alas! the sacrifice of Kate Douglas availed
nothing except to place her name upon the immortal roll of the heroes of
the ages, for after a brief search the murderers found the king and slew
him.
The queen, who had loved James with the utmost devotion, found her love
give added fierceness to her hate against his murderers. They were all
tracked down, and she caused them to die with terrible tortures, the
cruellest of which she reserved for Graham. Thus did great King James's
"milk-white dove" revenge the slaying of the husband she loved dearer
than life itself.
Till this time it had seemed as if the Douglases were devoted to the
good of Scotland. But in those wild, reckless times qualities that were
strong for good could also be strong for evil.
When James I. of Scotland was murdered, his young son was only six years
old. This meant that for many years there would be no strong king able
to cope with the lawless spirit of the nobles, strongest among whom were
the proud, bold Douglases.
The lawlessness of the times is well shown by an act of foul treachery
committed by Sir William Crichton, Governor of Edinburgh, and an enemy
of the Douglas family. He invited one of the earls to dinner at the
castle, and while there had him seized and beheaded. It is said that a
bull's head was placed on the dish in front of Douglas, this being a
sign that he was to be killed. The people called this "Douglas's black
dinner," and sang of the wicked deed in sorrowful verse:--
"Edinburgh Castle, town and tower
God grant thou sink for sin!
And even for that black dinner
Earl Douglas got therein."
But the new King James found, before he was twenty years old, that the
Douglases themselves could act with equal cruelty and lawlessness.
The king was fond of a brave young soldier named Maclellan, who, having
some quarrel with Earl Douglas, was thrown by him into a dungeon in his
castle. So the king wrote a letter to Douglas, saying he must set
Maclellan free, and sent this letter by Maclellan's uncle, Sir Patrick
Gray. When Douglas saw Gray riding up to his castle, he at once guessed
the errand. So he came out as though he were delighted to see him, and
insisted on his sitting down and having dinner with him, before the
king's letter was opened and discussed. But the treacherous earl had
given secret orders that Maclellan should be beheaded while they were
dining, so that after dinner was over, and the letter was read, he could
say that this had been done before he had seen the king's message.
Gray dared not show his anger, for fear he too should be killed. He
mounted his swift horse and rode away, but the moment he was outside the
castle walls he shook his mailed fist at Douglas and cried out--
"Treacherous earl, disgrace to knighthood, some day you shall pay for
this black, base deed!"
Douglas mounted his men, and they pursued Gray almost to the gates of
Edinburgh; but he rode for his life, and faster than they.
When Douglas and the king next met there was a stormy scene. The earl
was so proud and wilful that he would not bend to any of the king's
wishes or heed the king's anger in the least. So King James, mad with
rage, stabbed the reckless earl with his dagger, and Sir Patrick Gray,
seeing this, struck him a death-blow with his axe.
The king was in Stirling Castle, a powerful fortress at the top of a
steep hill, when the new earl, the younger brother of the murdered man,
rode up with six hundred followers, and burnt and plundered the town
before the king's very eyes, and added to the insult by publicly
declaring that King James II. was a law-breaker.
For three years the quarrel went on between the king and the Douglases,
but it was then evident that there could be no peace between them. So
at last the king's army attacked the collected forces of the strong
Douglas family at a place on the Borders then called Arkinholm, where
the picturesque little town of Langholm now stands. Here the beautiful
river Esk receives the water of two smaller streams, and so it was a
good place to make a stand for a fight. The battle was long and
desperate; three brothers of the bold black Douglases were there, and
they withstood the king's men till the rivers ran red; but their cause
was hopeless. One was slain in battle; one was taken and executed; one
escaped into England; and the power of the Black Douglases was gone.
Thus it was that the strongest and most famous family of the Borders was
broken up, because its proud leaders dared to dictate to the king
himself.
*Chapter XIII*
*Alnwick Castle and the Percies*
The castle of Alnwick stands on a hill on the south bank of the river
Alne; being protected on one side by the river and on another by a deep
gorge, it stands in a strong natural position. There are traces of
earthworks that seem to show that the spot was fortified in the old
British days, but the earliest fact which we know certainly is that
there was a Saxon fortress here, held by a Gilbert Tyson, when William
the Conqueror claimed England. Tyson hastened south to fight on
Harold's side, and was killed at the battle of Hastings.
The fortress seems to have got into the hands of a Norman knight, Ivo de
Vesci, who married the grand-daughter of Gilbert Tyson. King Malcolm of
Scotland was killed in front of it, in 1093, with three thousand of his
men. De Vesci's son-in-law was probably the knight who rebuilt the
castle in the Norman style, some portions of which still remain.
In 1174, William the Lion, King of Scotland, who had claimed
Northumberland as his own, attacked the castles of Wark and of Alnwick.
Wark was defended by a gallant knight named Roger de Stuteville.
William's brave men tried in vain to force their way through the
portcullis, but were beaten back. Then William ordered up his
_periere_, a machine made for hurling stones. "This," said the king,
"will soon smash down the gate for us!" With great expectations the
machine was set in motion, but it acted so badly that it threw the
stones on to William's own men, and nearly killed one of his best
knights! William raved in his fury, and swore he would rather have been
captured in fair fight than be made to look so foolish in the eyes of
his enemies. He gave word to burn the castle, but the wind was in the
wrong quarter and blew back the flames. So he had to give up the siege.
Stuteville, like a gallant enemy, told his men not to shout taunts and
jeers at the departing Scots. But instead they blew trumpets and horns,
and sang songs, and called out a very loud and hearty "Good-bye."
Shortly afterwards, William came before Alnwick, and it was then De
Vesci's turn. It was Saturday morning on a hot July day, and the
Scottish king's knights flatteringly told him that the English were
bound to give way to him, and Northumberland would be his. The king was
dining in front of the castle, with no helmet on, when suddenly a part
of the English army made a surprise attack. The bold king leapt on to
his grey charger, and unhorsed the first knight he met. So quick and
brave were the Scots that they had almost defeated the English when an
English foot-soldier stabbed the king's horse with his lance, and it
fell, bringing William down to the ground and pinning him there. This
turned the course of battle; the Scots were beaten back, and William
taken prisoner.
In was in 1309 that the great Percy family first obtained possession of
Alnwick and its domain. Henry Percy purchased it from Anthony Bek,
Bishop of Durham, who had somehow obtained power over it, and the brave
De Vesci family disappear. About this date Northumberland was in a
miserable condition; it was the reign of the feeble Edward II., and
Bruce had invaded the four northernmost counties of England, and was
exacting tribute from them. The English were safe only within their
fortresses.
However, the brave Sir Thomas Gray, who held Norham Castle, did much to
uphold the falling honour of England, and Henry Percy almost rebuilt the
castle of Alnwick, which in his son's time successfully withstood a
siege. But at last peace was restored by the Treaty of Northampton in
1328, by the terms of which the English king renounced all claim to
Scotland.
The Percy family were of Norman origin, deriving their name from a
Norman village. William de Percy crossed to England just after the
battle of Hastings, and received grants of land in Yorkshire. Agnes de
Percy married Jocelin, Count of Louvain, and their son Henry took his
mother's surname. From that year onward, the the Christian name of
Henry was always given to the eldest son; there were fourteen Henry
Percies!
Even in these wild times the Percies were distinguished by the boldness
of their spirits. One of the Counts of Louvain, grandfather of the
first Henry Percy, shocked the men of his day by hanging some of his
enemies with the church bell-ropes. It was not the hanging that was
objected to--hanging was common enough; but the use of church-ropes for
the purpose was thought very wicked!
After they had rebuilt Alnwick Castle and settled down there, the
Percies soon established their power in the North. At the coronation of
Richard II., in 1377, a Henry Percy was Marshal of England, and he was
then made Earl of Northumberland. His son, "Hotspur," was the most
famous of all the Percies. In their time, the battles of Otterbourne
and Homildon Hill were fought. But they rebelled against Henry IV. and
Hotspur was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403), while his father
was slain a few years later at Bramham Moor, his head set up on London
Bridge, and quarters of his body on the gates of Berwick, Newcastle,
Lincoln, and London, to discourage others from following in his
footsteps!
Henry, son of "Hotspur," was the second earl. He repaired and added to
the castle and was present at the battle of Agincourt. It was not the
habit of the Percies to die in their beds, and this one was killed in
the Wars of the Roses, at the first battle of St Albans, in 1455.
The fact of their having taken the losing Lancastrian side in these wars
kept the family under a cloud for a number of years. One of them
deserted Richard III. on Bosworth field in 1485; one of them was
beheaded at York in 1572, for taking part in the "Rising of the North";
one of them was found shot in his bed in 1585, and another died in the
Tower in 1632. So that the family could hardly be said to be quieting
down.
They sided with Parliament during the Civil War, but later on they
favoured the Restoration. At last there came a time when there were no
male heirs left in this great line, but only a daughter, Elizabeth. She
married the Duke of Somerset, and had thirteen children, the eldest
surviving of whom was created Earl of Northumberland in 1748. But he
died the year after, leaving only a daughter, who had married a very
able baronet, to whom was given the title of Duke of Northumberland in
1766. He very wisely took the surname of Percy, and again restored the
castle of Alnwick, putting the family estates and affairs in good order.
So that the Percies of Alnwick Castle are Dukes of Northumberland to
this day.
*Chapter XIV*
*Hexham and Queen Margaret*
The town of Hexham stands on the south bank of the Tyne, rising
gradually up the hill and presenting a most picturesque appearance.
About two miles above Hexham the North and the South Tyne meet, and the
combined river is broad and noble, and the hills around Hexham give
strength and beauty to the scene. The commanding appearance and central
position of the priory church adds its note of dignity, and the total
effect of the town is very pleasing to the eye.
There is no doubt that from very early times there was a town in this
fine natural position. The burial-grounds of primitive races have been
discovered here, with stone and bronze implements. The Romans had a
town here of some importance, although it was four miles south of their
great wall. A Roman tombstone was discovered here, nine feet by three
and a half feet, showing a Roman officer on horseback, overthrowing in
fierce fight a savage and scowling foe. This fine relic is set up in
the church, and is not the only thing to see there. The original church
upon this spot was built in 674, in the reign of King Egfrid of
Northumbria. Wilfrid, the very able and influential Bishop of York, was
the man who presided at the building of it, and there were bishops at
Hexham for a couple of centuries. In 875 the Danes ruthlessly burnt the
town; and nearly one thousand years later, in 1832, there was found
buried in the ground a bronze vessel containing about nine thousand
Saxon coins of the eighth and ninth century, evidently buried to protect
this treasure from the invaders. Those who buried them were probably
slain before they had time to dig them up again. There was a legend of
another treasure hidden between Hexham and Corbridge, and King John came
to Hexham in 1201 to search for it. He returned in 1208 and in 1212,
but found nothing. Time passed, and this tale of hidden treasure ceased
even to be local gossip, but in 1735 by accident it was found.
The present handsome priory church must have been built about the time
of King John's visits to Hexham. It is a noble building, well worth a
visit. In 1725, when some work was being done in the church, a
wonderful discovery was made. It was found that there was an old Saxon
crypt, a narrow vault with several passages, underneath the church!
This was so carefully hidden that it was evidently intended as a place
of refuge in danger. It was built of Roman stones, several of which
have Roman inscriptions.
The Scots several times attacked Hexham. Once Sir William Wallace came
there with his army, but he would not let his Scots damage the church,
so that Hexham, on the whole, had a less stormy life than many of the
Border towns, although in 1537, when Henry VIII. caused the monastery to
be suppressed, the prior and five of the leading monks were hanged
before the gates as a gentle reminder that they were to live there no
longer.
But by far the most stirring event in Hexham's history was the battle
which raged there in 1464. The Wars of the Roses do not form a pleasing
episode in English history. They were pitiless, and treachery was
mingled with bloodshed; desertions and executions were the accompaniment
of every battle. Edward IV. was coldly cruel and unscrupulous, one of
the blackest figures of a black time. But romance centres round Queen
Margaret, the dauntless and resourceful wife of the feeble King Henry
VI., with whom Edward disputed the throne. She it was who, making up for
her husband's weakness, urged ever bravely and hopefully the cause of
her son. Thus she pressed on to the very end, till that son, worthy of
his heroic mother, proudly answered the taunts of his base enemies, even
though in their power, preferring speedy death to any lessening of his
tragic dignity, and dying before the eyes of the successful and exultant
Edward.
In this fierce drama, Hexham was but an episode. The Lancastrians had
scattered after their heavy defeat at Towton. Margaret in person had
begged a little help of the King of Scotland, a little more of the King
of France. The Borderland was favourable to her, and she gathered her
forces together there, King Henry VI. staying in Alnwick Castle.
Lord Montague, brother to the powerful but crafty Earl of Warwick, was
warden of the East Marches for Edward, and he hastily collected the
Yorkist forces. He was swift, able, and unscrupulous. He attacked a
small body of Lancastrians on Hedgeley Moor, only ten miles from
Alnwick, and defeated them, killing their leader, Sir Ralph Percy, son
of Hotspur. As this gallant man died he consoled himself by saying, "I
have saved the bird in my bosom," by which poetical phrase he meant that
he had saved his honour by being true to his queen. In May the greater
battle of Hexham was fought. King Henry was there in person, with the
dauntless Queen Margaret and her son, and their brave general, the Duke
of Somerset. They marched out of Hexham to attack Lord Montague; the
battle began by the village of Linnels, on the south side of the Devil's
Water, a stream that runs into the Tyne. The fight was desperate, for
both sides knew that no quarter would be given. It is said by some that
the Scots, having no interest in the war, deserted Margaret; anyway, bit
by bit the Lancastrians were forced back, to the very streets of Hexham
itself, two miles away. In these narrow streets, in the quarter that is
still called Battle Hill, the last desperate fighters on the side of the
Red Rose made their final and unavailing stand.
At last the remnant fled, and no doubt many a Hexham maid and dame, at
the risk of her own life or limb, hid that day some devoted follower of
Margaret.
The gallant Duke of Somerset was taken prisoner, and there and then was
brought to the block in the market-place and beheaded. The cruel
Montague had not the true soldier's respect for a brave enemy, whose
blood thus mingled with that of his men. Other nobles were taken as
prisoners to Newcastle, but Edward also was devoid of mercy, and all
perished.
[Illustration: _The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham_]
Till the last moment the queen hoped on. She was not daunted by scenes
of strife and bloodshed. When defeat was an accomplished fact, she and
her young son fled to the Dipton Woods, where they fell into the hands
of rough men, some say a party of Yorkist stragglers. Whilst these men
were eagerly dividing and quarrelling over the queen's jewels, she and
the prince slipped away. Deeper into the dangerous woods they had to go,
for worse than robbers were hunting for them around Hexham. Suddenly an
outlaw stood in their path with drawn sword. Even after that day of
stir and terror Margaret's courage did not fail her. She boldly
declared to the man that she was the Queen of England, and with her was
her only son. Now, if he chose to betray them he could do so; but if he
had that natural nobility that hailed gladly great chances to do great
deeds, now was his time to prove himself a man, and to save the
ill-fated prince and his queen.
The robber bowed before her as though she were on her throne, and as if
the trees were her army around her. He swore to die a hundred deaths
rather than betray his rightful sovereign and her prince. He honourably
kept his word; and through his safe guidance and steady devotion, both
queen and prince were able to join King Henry in Scotland, to which
place he had safely escaped.
Thus the bandit of Hexham proved himself to be a truer man than either
Lord Montague, or Warwick, the King-maker, or King Edward IV. of
England.
*Chapter XV*
*Fair Helen of Kirkconnell*
Very simple, very touching, is the story of fair Helen of Kirkconnell.
This beautiful maiden had two lovers, one rich, one poor. Her friends
favoured the rich one, she loved the poor one. She and her chosen lover
used to meet secretly in the romantic churchyard of Kirkconnell, by the
side of the river Kirtle. Learning this, the rejected lover crept up
one evening, with his carbine, to shoot his luckier rival; Helen saw him
at the moment of firing, and threw herself forward to receive the shot
in her bosom, and so save her lover's life at the cost of her own.
The ballad describing the grief of her lover is one of the most
beautiful and touching pieces of poetry in existence, and must be given
here entire.
*FAIR HELEN*
I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!
Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that shot the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succour me.
O think ye not my heart was sair,
When my love dropt and spak nae mair!
There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee.
As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!
I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.
O Helen fair beyond compare,
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.
O that I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"
O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee.
O that my grave were growing green,
A winding sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms were lying,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!
I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries,
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.
*Chapter XVI*
*Johnie of Breadislee*
Johnie of Breadislee, outlaw and deer-stealer, was one of the "broken
men," as they were called, the Ishmaels of the Border. Johnie rose up
one May morning, and called for water to wash his hands. He ordered to
be unleashed his good grey dogs, that were bound with iron chains. When
his mother heard that he had called for the dogs, she wrung her hands.
"O Johnie!" she cried, "for my blessing, do not go to the greenwood
to-day. Ye have enough of good wheat bread, enough blood-red wine,
therefore, Johnie, I pray, stir not from home for any venison." But
despite his mother's tears, Johnie busked up his good bent bow, and his
arrows, and went off to Durrisdeer to hunt down the dun deer. As he
came by Merriemass he espied a deer lying beneath a bush of furze.
Johnie let fly an arrow, and the deer leapt as the pitiless shaft found
its mark, and between the water and the brae his good hounds "laid her
pride." So Johnie cut up the venison, giving the liver and lungs to his
faithful hounds, as if they had been earl's sons. With such zest did
they eat and drink that Johnie and the dogs fell asleep, as if they had
been dead. Then as they lay, there came by a silly old man, and, as
soon as he saw the poachers, he ran away to Hislinton, where the Seven
Foresters were. "What news?" they asked. "What news bring ye, ye
grey-headed carle?" "I bring no news," said the grey-headed carle,
"save what my eyes did see. As I came down by Merrimass among the
stunted trees, the bonniest child I ever saw lay asleep among his dogs.
The shirt upon his back was of fine Holland, his doubtlet, over that,
was of Lincoln twine, his buttons were of the good gold, the mouths of
his good grey hounds were dyed with blood."
Now Johnie, like many another free-hearted outlaw, was a well-liked man.
So the chief forester said, "If this be Johnie of Breadislee we will
draw no nearer." But this was not the spirit of his men. Quoth the
sixth Forester, "If it indeed be he, rather let us slay him."
Cautiously they went through the thicket, and when they saw their man,
asleep and helpless, they shot a flight of arrows. Johnie sprang up,
sore wounded on the knee. The seventh forester cried out, "The next
flight will kill him," but little chance did the outlaw give them for
such an easy victory. He set his back against an oak and propped his
wounded leg upon a stone; with bow or with sword he was a better man by
far than any of his foes.
In the short, sharp fight that followed, he killed six of the foresters,
some with arrow, and some with steel; and when the seventh turned to
flee, Johnie seized him from behind and threw him on to the ground with
a force that broke three of his ribs. Then he laid him on his steed,
and bade him carry the tidings home.
[Illustration: _Johnie of Breadislee_]
But Johnie himself was hurt to death. "Is there no bonnie singing
bird," he cried, "that can fly to my mother's bower and tell her to
fetch Johnie away?" A starling flew to his mother's window sill, and
sang and whistled, and the burden of its tune was ever the same. "Johnie
tarries long." So the men made a litter from rods of the hazel bush and
of the thorn and fetched Johnie away. Then his old mother's tears
flowed fast, and she said, "Ye would not be warned, my son Johnie, to
bide away from the hunting. Oft have I brought to Breadislee the less
or greater gear, but never what grieved my heart so sorely. But woe
betide that silly old grey-headed carle! An ill death shall he die!
The highest tree in Merriemass shall be his reward."
"Now Johnie's gude bent bow is brake,
And his gude grey dogs are slain,
And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,
And his hunting it is done."
*Chapter XVII*
*Katharine Janfarie*
This ballad is evidently the original of Sir Walter Scott's "Lochinvar,"
though Sir Walter reversed the names of the two leading male characters.
In "Katharine Janfarie" Lochinvar plays the part of the craven
bridegroom.
There was a may,[#] and a weel-far'd may,
Lived high up in yon glen;
Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
She was courted by mony men.
[#] maiden.
Up there came Lord Lauderdale,
Up frae the Lowland Border,
And he has come to court this may,
A' mounted in good order.
He told na her father, he told na her mother,
And he told na ane o' her kin,
But he whispered the bonnie lassie hersell,
And has her favour won.
But out there cam Lord Lochinvar,
Out frae the English Border,
All for to court this bonny may,
Weel mounted, and in order.
He told her father, he told her mother,
And a' the lave[#] o' her kin;
But he told na the bonny may hersell,
Till on her wedding e'en.
[#] rest.
She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale,
Gin[#] he wad come and see,
And he has sent back word again,
Weel answered he suld[#] be.
[#] if.
[#] should.
And he has sent a messenger
Right quickly through the land,
And raised mony an armed man
To be at his command.
The bride looked out at a high window,
Beneath baith dale and down,
And she was aware of her first true love,
With riders mony a one.
She scoffed him, and scorned him,
Upon her wedding-day;
And said, "It was the Fairy Court,
To see him in array!
"O come ye here to fight, young lord,
Or come ye here to play?
Or come ye here to drink good wine,
Upon the wedding-day?"
"I come na here to fight," he said,
"I come na here to play,
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
And mount, and go my way."
It is a glass of the blood-red wine
Was filled up them between,
And aye she drank to Lauderdale,
Wha[#] her true love had been.
[#] who.
He's taen[#] her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's mounted her hie behind himsell,
At her kinsmen speired[#] na leave.
[#] taken.
[#] asked.
"Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar!
Now take her if ye may!
But if you take your bride again,
We'll call it but foul play."
There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,
A' clad in the Johnstone grey;
They said they would take the bride again,
By the strong hand, if they may.
Some o' them were right willing men,
But they were na willing a';
And four-and-twenty Leader lads
Bid them mount and ride awa'.
Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,
And swords flew frae the shea's,[#]
And red and rosy was the blood
Ran down the lily braes.
[#] sheathes.
The blood ran down by Caddon bank,
And down by Caddon brae,
And, sighing, said the bonnie bride--
"O wae's me for foul play."
My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!
Wae to your wilfu' will!
There's mony a gallant gentleman
Whae's bluid ye have garred[#] to spill.
[#] caused.
Now a' the lords of fair England,
And that dwell by the English Border,
Come never here to seek a wife,
For fear of sic[#] disorder.
[#] such.
They'll track ye up, and settle ye bye,
Till on your wedding-day;
Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,
And play ye foul foul play.
*LOCHINVAR*
In Sir Walter Scott's poem, Lochinvar is the hero, and the story has a
happier ending. The song was supposed to have been sung to James IV. by
Lady Heron at Holyrood shortly before the fatal battle of Flodden.
O young Lochinvar has come out of the west,
Through all the wide border his steel was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.
He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all,
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
So stately her form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her brother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridgroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we have gone over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
*Chapter XVIII*
*By Lauder Bridge*
The Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint little border town with
hardly more than one street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on the
high road between Edinburgh and Kelso. It stands very picturesquely,
among the bold hills and fine woods of Berwickshire, and the valley is
called Lauderdale, extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just
below Melrose. Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and yet it was once
the scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.
It was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland, who offended his
subjects in two particulars.
First, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead with his
silver money, and put it into circulation as pure silver; next, he chose
favourites from the common people, and set these above the proud
noblemen of Scotland.
This latter would not have been so bad a fault if the king had always
chosen wisely; but, as often in such cases, he was led by flatterers
rather than by worthy men.
In 1482 the king declared war against England, and, as in these warlike
days the nobles were the leaders of the army, this brought the
discontented lords together.
When the Scottish army reached Lauder in their southward march, the
proud nobles met in Lauder church; all were angry with the king, yet
each was afraid to make the first move. So Lord Gray told them a
mocking fable.
"Do you remember," said he, "how all the mice got together and agreed
that it would be a splendid thing if a bell were hung round the cat's
neck, so that wherever she went she could be heard; the only difficulty
was to find a mouse to bell the cat!"
These warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of as if they were mice,
and it roused them to deeper rage.
Then out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the head of the younger
branch of the Douglas family. "Trust me, I'll bell the cat!"
There was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect, whom the nobles
said had been a mason, but was now the king's chief favourite, entered,
dressed in black velvet, with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a
horn of gold tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the
costliest. Angus caught the chain in his hands and said, "A rope would
suit that neck better!"
Then the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's low-born favourites
and hanged them by the bridge of Lauder, in front of the king's very
eyes! Cochrane was proud and brave to the last. He said that as the
king had made him an earl he should be hanged with a rope made of silk;
little did the nobles care for his protests, the halter of a horse was
in their opinion good enough for him.
From this time onward the headstrong Earl of Angus was known by the
nick-name of "Bell-the-Cat." It may be taken for granted that neither
he nor the nobles who supported him would have dared to act so
arrogantly and violently unless they felt quite sure that the king had
not the power to punish them. He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more
the captive of the nobles than their master.
A parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general of the
kingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour, for he was suspected of too
great a friendship for Edward IV., King of England, and fled for safety
to France, giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for
himself.
This weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not destined to have much
peace. Before very long, another quarrel with his nobles led to their
taking up arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on the
throne. The king and his nobles met in battle near Stirling, but, at
the very beginning of the fight, James was thrown from his horse and
stabbed by a soldier, whose name remained unknown. Thus died this weak
but amiable and unfortunate king.
*Chapter XIX*
*The Battle of Flodden Field*
One of the most tragic episodes in the History of the Borders was the
battle of Flodden Field, when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell
around their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against the English
under Surrey.
The causes of the war were many. Henry of England refused to give up
the jewels which had been promised as the dowry of his sister Margaret
on her marriage with James IV.
The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund Howard, had attacked and
taken two Scottish ships, and slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton.
James, who was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry insolently
replied that kings should not quarrel about pirates.
But the immediate cause was the friendship between France and Scotland.
Henry was preparing for war with France, and James stood by his ally,
declaring that if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army into
England. The Queen of France sent James a turquoise ring, asking him to
carry out his threat to serve her interests.
James had been warned that his action would have terrible consequences.
A man appeared to him at Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare
head, and carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his dead
mother had sent him to warn him not to go to war against England, he
disappeared as suddenly as he had come.
Also at the dead of night a voice had been heard proclaiming aloud at
the market Cross in Edinburgh the names of those who, within forty days,
would be no more. It was thought at the time that these happenings were
instigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still persisted in his
policy, and led his army across the Border, in spite of the warnings of
his counsellors and his queen.
A fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter Scott, when Lord
Marmion watches the scene from Blackford Hill.
"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,
Spread all the Borough-moor below,
Upland, and dale, and down:--
A thousand, did I say? I ween,
Thousands and thousands, there were seen,
That chequer'd all the heath between
The streamlet and the town;
In crossing ranks extending far,
Forming a camp irregular;
Oft giving way, where still there stood
Some relics of the old oak wood,
That darkly huge did intervene,
And tamed the glaring white with green,
In these extended lines there lay,
A martial kingdom's vast array.
For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire edge,
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,
From west to east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth,
Marmion might hear the mingled hum,
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;
And see the shifting lines advance
Whilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,
The sun's reflected ray.
* * * * *
They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car.
By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;
* * * * *
Nor mark'd they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair,
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.
Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."
[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed them.
Marmion wondered that with such a glorious army at his back anyone
should try to dissuade James from battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the
Mount answered him,
"'twere good
That Kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,
'Tis better to sit still at rest,
Than rise, perchance to fall."
Men-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour, with battle-axe and
spear, and mounted on Flemish steeds. Young knights and squires
practised their chargers on the plain. Hardy burghers marched on foot,
armed with long pikes and two-handed swords and bright bucklers.
The yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack quilted well with
iron, and bearing at his back, provisions for forty days. He seemed sad
of cheer, and loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would till
the land during his absence.