Woe and woe and lamentation!
What a piteous cry was there!
Widows, maidens, mothers, children,
Shrieking, sobbing in despair!
Through the streets the death-word rushes,
Spreading terror, sweeping on.
"Jesu Christ! our King has fallen--
O Great God, King James is gone!
Holy mother Mary, shield us,
Thou who erst did lose thy Son!
O the blackest day for Scotland
That she ever knew before!
O our King--the good, the noble,
Shall we see him never more?
Woe to us, and woe to Scotland!
O our sons, our sons and men!
Surely some have 'scaped the Southron,
Surely some will come again!"
Randolph Murray describes how the monarch lies dead on the field with
his nobles round him.
"All so thick they lay together,
When the stars lit up the sky,
That I knew not who were stricken,
Or who yet remained to die."
A hollow knell is rung and the miserere is sung, and all is terror and
disorder until the Provost rouses them.
"If our King be taken from us,
We are left to guard his son.
* * * * *
Up! and haste ye through the city,
Stir the burghers stout and true!
Gather all our scattered people,
Fling the banner out once more--
Randolph Murray! do thou bear it,
As it erst was borne before:
Never Scottish heart will leave it,
When they see their monarch's gore!"
*Chapter XXI*
*Graeme and Bewick*
Good Lord Graeme and Sir Robert Bewick were friends. They met one day
in Carlisle, and went arm in arm to the wine, and, as was too oft the
custom of these days, they stayed and drank till they were both merry.
Good Lord Graeme took up the cup. "Sir Robert, and here's to thee!" he
said, "and here's to our two sons at home, for they like us best in our
own country."
"O were your son a lad like mine," answered Bewick, boastfully, "and
learnt some books that he could read, they might be two brothers in
arms, and lord it over the Borderside.
'But your son's a lad, and he's but bad,
And billie[#] to my son he cannot be.'
[#] Comrade, or brother-in-arms.
You sent him to school, and he would not learn; you bought him books,
and he would not read!"
Lord Graeme called angrily for the reckoning. "My blessing shall he
never earn," said he, "till I see how his arm can defend his head." He
threw down a crown, and went to the stable, took his horse, and rode
home. "Welcome, my old father," said his son, Christie Graeme, "but
where were ye so long from home?" "I have been at Carlisle town, and a
shamed man I am by thee," answered his father with a black look; "I have
been at Carlisle town, where Sir Robert Bewick met me. He says you are
but a bad, wild youth, and can never be billie to his boy. I sent you
to the school, and you would not learn. I bought you books, and you
would not read; therefore you shall never have my blessing till I see
you save your head in fight with young Bewick." "Now God forbid, my old
father, that ever such a thing should be! Billie Bewick was my master,
and I his scholar, in spite of the pains he wasted in teaching me." "O
hold thy tongue, thou foolish lad! If thou dost not soon end this
quarrel, there's my glove, I'll fight with thee myself."
Then Christie Graeme stooped low. "Father, put on your glove again, the
wind has blown it from your hand."
"What's that, thou sayst, thou limmer loon?
How darest thou stand to speak to me?
If thou do not end this quarrel soon,
There's my right hand, thou'lt fight with me!"
Then went Christie to his chamber, to consider what should happen.
Should he fight with his own father, or with his brother-in-arms,
Bewick?
"If I should kill my billie dear,
God's blessing I shall never win;
But if I strike at my auld father,
I think 'twould be a mortal sin.
But if I kill my billie dear
It is God's will, so let it be;
But I make a vow, ere I go from home,
That I shall be the next man's die."
He put a good old jack or quilted doublet on his back, and on his head
he put a cap of steel, and well did he become them with his sword and
buckler by his side!
Now young Bewick had taken his father's sword under his arm, and walked
about his father's close. He looked between himself and the sun, to see
some approaching object, and was aware of a man in bright armour, riding
that way most hastily.
"O who is yon, that comes this way,
So hastily that hither came?
I think it be my brother dear,
I think it be young Christie Graeme.
Your welcome here, my billie dear,
And thrice you're welcome unto me."
Christie explained that he was come to fight, that his father had been
to Carlisle, and had met with the elder Bewick. He retailed what had
passed, "and so I'll never earn my father's blessing, till he sees how
my arm can guard my head in fight against thee."
"O God forbid, my billie dear,
That ever such a thing should be!
We'll take three men on either side,
And see if we can our fathers agree."
Christie shook his head. He knew that it was useless. "O hold thy
tongue, billie Bewick. If thou'rt a man, as I'm sure thou art, come
over the dyke and fight with me."
"But I have no harness, billie, as I see you have."
"As little harness as is on your back shall be on mine."
With that Christie threw off his coat of mail and cap of steel, stuck
his spear into the ground, and tied his horse up to a tree. Bewick
threw off his cloak, and cast aside his psalter book. He laid his hand
upon the dyke, and vaulted over. The two fought for two long hours.
The sweat dropped fast from them both, but not a drop of blood could be
seen to satisfy the requirements of honour. At last Graeme hit Bewick
under the left breast, and he fell to the ground wounded mortally.
"Rise up, rise up, now, billie dear,
Arise and speak three words to me!
Whether thou's gotten thy deadly wound,
Or if God and good leeching[#] may succour thee?"
[#] Doctoring.
Bewick groaned. "Get to horse, billie Graeme, and get thee hence
speedily. Get thee out of this country--that none may know who has done
this." "O have I slain thee, billie Bewick? But I made a vow, ere I
came from home, that I would be the next man to die!" Thereupon he
pitched his sword hilt downwards into a mole-hill, took a run of some
three and twenty feet, and on his own sword's point he fell to the
ground dead.
Then up came Sir Robert Bewick. "Rise up, my son," he said, "for I
think you have got the victory."
"O hold your tongue, my father dear. Let me be spared your prideful
talking. You might have drunken your wine in peace, and let me and my
billie be! Go dig a grave, both wide and deep, and a grave to hold us
both; but lay Christie Graeme on the sunny side, for full sure I know
that the victory was to him."
"Alas," cried old Bewick, "I've lost the liveliest lad that ever was
born unto my name." "Alas," quoth good Lord Graeme, "my loss is the
greater.
'I've lost my hopes, I've lost my joy,
I've lost the key, but and the lock;
I durst have ridden the world around,
Had Christie Graeme been at my back!'"
*Chapter XXII*
*The Song of the Outlaw Murray*
"Word is gone to our noble king,
In Edinburgh where that he lay,
That there was an Outlaw in Ettrick Forest
Counted him nought, nor all his Court so gay."
The King mentioned in the ballad is supposed to have been either James
IV. or James V. This places the date somewhere in the early part of the
sixteenth century.
The Outlaw Murray and his lady kept royal state in Ettrick Forest. Here
he lived with five hundred men, all gaily clad in livery of Lincoln
green. His castle, built of lime and stone, stood fair and pleasantly
in the midst of the Forest, surrounded by pine trees under which
wandered many a hart and hind, many a doe and roe and other wild
creatures. In the forefront of the castle stood two unicorns, with the
picture of a knight and lady with green holly above their brows.
The King in Edinburgh heard of all this royal state and that the Outlaw
in Ettrick Forest cared nought for the King of Scotland and his court.
"I make a vow," said the King, "that either I shall be King of Ettrick
Forest, or the Outlaw shall be King of Scotland."
Then up spoke Lord Hamilton to the noble King, "my sovereign prince,
take counsel of your nobles and of me. I counsel ye to send to the fine
Outlaw and see if he will come and be your man and hold the Forest in
fee from you. If he refuse, we will conquer both him and his lands,
throw his castle down, and make a widow of his gay lady."
Then the King called to him James Boyd, son of the Earl of Arran, and
when Boyd came and knelt before him, "Welcome, James Boyd," said the
noble King; "you must go for me to Ettrick Forest where bides yonder
Outlaw, ask him of whom he holds his lands, and who is his master, and
desire him to come and be my man, and hold the Forest free from me. I
will give him safe warrant to and from Edinburgh, and if he refuse we
will conquer him and his lands, and throw down his castle, and make a
widow of his gay lady; and hang his merry men pair by pair wherever we
see them."
James Boyd took leave of the King and went blithely on his way, until he
came to the fair Ettrick Forest, the first view of which he got coming
down Birkendale Brae. He saw the doe and roe, the hart and hind and wild
beasts in plenty, and heard blows ringing boldly, and arrows whizzing
near by him.
He saw, too, the fair castle, the like of which he had never seen
before, with the two gay unicorns on the forefront, and the picture of
the knight and lady with the green holly above their brow.
Then he spied the five hundred men, all clad in livery of Lincoln green,
and shooting with their bows on Newark Lee. In the midst of them was a
knight armed from head to foot, mounted on a milk-white steed, with
bended bow, all fine to look upon; whom Boyd knew at once to be the
Outlaw himself.
"God save thee, brave Outlaw Murray, thy lady, and all thy chivalry!"
"Marry, thou art welcome, gentleman; thou seemst to be a King's
messenger."
"The King of Scotland sent me here, good Outlaw, to know of whom you
hold your lands, and who is your master."
"These lands are _mine_. I know no King in Christendom. I won this
Forest from the English when neither the King nor his knights were there
to see."
"The King desires that you come to Edinburgh, and hold the Forest then
of him. If you refuse, he will conquer your lands and you, and he has
vowed to throw down your castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and hang
your knights pair by pair wherever he finds them."
"Ay, by my troth! I should indeed be far behind. Before the King should
get my fair native land, many of his nobles would be cold, and their
ladies right weary."
Then spoke the lady of the Outlaw, fair of face. "That an Outlaw should
come before the King without my consent makes me fear much that there is
treason. Bid him be good to his lords at home, for my lord shall ne'er
see Edinburgh."
James Boyd took leave of the bold Outlaw and went back to Edinburgh, and
when he came to the King, knelt lowly on his knee.
"Welcome, James Boyd," said the noble King, "of whom is Ettrick Forest
held?"
"Ettrick Forest is the fairest forest that ever man saw. There are doe
and roe and hart and hind and wild beasts in plenty; there's a fine
castle of lime and stone standing there pleasantly, and in the forefront
of the castle two unicorns all fine to see, with a picture of a knight
and a lady, and the green holly above their brows. There the Outlaw
keeps a royal company--five hundred merry men, all gaily clad in Lincoln
green, and the Outlaw and his lady in purple. Surely they live right
royally. He says that the forest is his own, that he won it from the
English, and that as he won it, so will he keep it against all the Kings
in Christendom."
"Go warn me Perthshire and Angus," cried the King, "go warn Fife up and
down and the three Lothians, and harness my own horse, for I will myself
to Ettrick Forest."
When the Outlaw heard that the King was coming to his country to conquer
him and his lands:
"I make a vow," said he. "I make a vow, and that truly, that the King's
coming shall be a dear one."
Then he called messengers and sent them in haste hither and thither.
"One of you go to Halliday, Laird of Corehead, my sister's son. Tell
him to come quickly to my aid, for that the King comes to Ettrick
Forest, and we shall all be landless."
"What news? What news, man, from thy master?" said Halliday.
"No news thou carest to hear; I come seeking your aid; the King is his
mortal enemy."
"By my troth, I am sorry for that; if Murray lose fair Ettrick Forest,
the King will take Moffatdale from me. I'll meet him with five hundred
men, and more if need be, and before he gets to Ettrick Forest, we will
all die on Newark Lee."
Another messenger went from the Outlaw to Andrew Murray of Cockpool, his
dear cousin, to desire him to come and help him with all the power he
could get together.
"It is hard," said Andrew Murray, "very hard to go against a crowned
King and put my lands in jeopardy; but if I come not by day I shall be
there at night."
A messenger went also to Sir James Murray of Traquair.
"What news? What news, man, from your master to me?" said James Murray.
"What need I tell? Well ye know that the King is his mortal enemy and
that he is coming to Ettrick Forest to make ye all landless men."
"By my troth," said James Murray, "with yonder Outlaw will I live and
die; the King has long ago given away my lands, so matters can be no
worse for me."
So the King came on with five thousand men through Caddon Ford. They
saw the dark forest before them and thought it awesome to look upon, and
Lord Hamilton begged that the King should take counsel of his nobles and
should desire the Outlaw to meet him at Permanscore with four of his
company and that the King should go there also accompanied by five
Earls. "If he refuse to do that, we'll conquer both him and his lands;
there shall never a Murray after him hold lands free in Ettrick Forest."
The Laird of Buckscleuth, a man stalwart and stern, thought it beneath
the state and dignity of a King to go and meet an Outlaw. "The man that
lives in yonder forest, lives by robbery and felony! wherefore, ride on,
my liege; we will follow thee with fire and sword; or if your courtier
lords fall back, our Borderers will make the onset."
But the King spoke forth, casting a wily glance around. "Thou mayest
hold _thy_ tongue, Sir Walter Scott, nor speak more of robbery and
felony, for if every honest man had his own cattle thy clan would be a
poor one."
The King then called to him a gentleman, a royal banner-bearer, James
Hoppringle of Torsonse by name, who came and knelt before him.
"Welcome, James Pringle of Torsonse, ye must take a message for me; go
to yonder Outlaw Murray, where he bideth so boldly; bid him meet me at
Permanscore with four of his company, I myself will come to him with
five Earls. If he refuse, bid him look for no favour from me. There
shall never a Murray after him have free land in Ettrick Forest."
So James Pringle came before the Outlaw. "Welcome James Pringle of
Torsonse! What message bringst thou from the King to me?"
"He bids ye meet him at Permanscore, with four of your company, and he
will go there himself with no more than five Earls. If you refuse, he
will cast down your bonny castle, make a widow of your gay lady, and
loose on you the bloodhound Borderers to harry you with fire and sword.
Never shall a Murray after you hold free land in Ettrick Forest."
"It goes hard with me," said the Outlaw; "judge if it go not very hard.
I mind not the losing of myself, but when I think of my offspring after
me, my merry men's lives, my widow's tears, that is the pang that
pinches me. Yonder castle will be right dreary when I am laid in bloody
earth. Auld Halliday, young Halliday, ye two shall go with me, with
Andrew and James Murray."
When they came before the King they fell on their knees. "Mercy, mercy,
noble King, for His sake who died on the Cross."
"Such mercy shall ye have; ye shall be hanged on the gallows."
"May God forbid, and may your mercy be better than that, else, when ye
come to the port of Edinburgh, ye shall be thinly guarded. These lands
of fair Ettrick Forest I won from the Southrons, and as I won them so
will I keep them, against all the Kings in Christendom."
The nobles round the King thought it a pity that he should die.
"Grant me mercy, sovereign prince, and extend me favour. If thou wilt
make me Sheriff of Ettrick Forest, and my offspring after me, I will
give thee the keys of my castle, and the blessing of my gay lady."
"If thou wilt give me thy castle keys and the blessing of thy gay lady,
I'll make thee Sheriff of Ettrick Forest as long as the trees grow
upward, and never shalt thou forfeit it, if thou be not a traitor to the
King."
"But Prince, what shall become of my men? When I go back they will call
me traitor. I had rather lose both life and land than be rebuked by my
merry-men."
"I will pardon them all if they amend their lives. Name thy lands where
they lie, and I will render them back to thee."
"Philiphaugh and Lewinhope are mine by right, Newark, Foulshiells and
Tinnies I won by my bow and arrow. I have farms at Newark Lee and
Hangingshaw which are mine by birth, and I have many farms in the Forest
whose names I do not know." Thereupon he gave the King the key of his
castle, with the blessing of his fair lady, and the King made him
Sheriff of Ettrick Forest for as long as the trees should grow upward,
never to be forfeited while he and his descendants remained faithful to
the King. Much of this land belongs to Murray's heirs, even to this
day.
"Wha ever heard in, in ony times,
Sicken an outlaw in his degre,
Sic favour got befor a King,
As did the Outlaw Murray of the Foreste free?"
*Chapter XXIII*
*Johnie Armstrong*
"When Johnie came before the King,
With all his men so brave to see,
The King he moved his bonnet to him;
He knew he was a King as well as he."
In 1529 James V. visited the Border country to execute justice on the
wild freebooters. Of these the chief was Johnie Armstrong of Gilnockie,
who levied blackmail for many miles round his residence at the Hollows,
and spread the terror of his name as far as Newcastle. Acting on the
evil counsel of false friends, Johnie presented himself before the King
in all the pomp of Border chivalry.
According to the old ballad the King wrote with his own hand a loving
letter to Johnie Armstrong, Laird of Gilnockie, bidding him come and
speak with him speedily. Whereupon the Elliots and Armstrongs convened a
meeting, to which they came in gallant company, and decided to ride out
to meet the King and bring him to Gilnockie.
"Make ready rabbits and capon and venison in plenty," said Johnie, "and
we'll welcome home our royal King to dine at Gilnockie."
So they ran out their horses on Langholm Down, and broke their spears,
and the ladies, looking from their high windows, cried "God send our men
safe home again."
When Johnie came before the King with all his brave fellows, the King
took off his bonnet to him as to an equal.
"My name is Johnie Armstrong," said the freebooter, "your subject, my
liege; let me find grace for my loyal men and me."
But the King cried, "Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight!
Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"
"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie
gift--four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, newly foaled--I'll give thee
four-and-twenty milk-white steeds that prance and neigh at a spear, and
as much English gold as four of their broad backs are able to bear."
"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a
traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"
"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie
gift--four-and-twenty mills that are working all the year round for
me--four-and-twenty mills that shall go for thee all the year round, and
as much good red wheat as all their happers are able to bear."
"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a
traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"
"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a great
gift--four-and-twenty sisters' sons shall fight for thee though all
should flee."
"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a
traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"
"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a brave gift. All
between here and Newcastle town shall pay thee yearly rent."
"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a
traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"
"Ye lie, calling me traitor; ye lie now, King, although ye be King and
Prince. Well dare I say it, that all my life I have loved naught but
honesty, a fleet horse, a fair woman, and two bonny dogs to kill a deer;
yet had I lived for another hundred years, England should have still
found me meal and malt and plenty of beef and mutton. Never would a
Scot's wife have been able to say that I robbed her of aught. But
surely it is great folly to seek for hot water beneath cold ice. I have
asked grace of a graceless King, but there is none for me and my men.
But had I known before I came how unkind thou wouldst prove to me, I
would have kept the Borderside in spite of thee and thy nobles. How
glad would be England's King if he but knew that I was taken, for once I
slew his sister's son and broke a tree over his breastbone."
Now Johnie had a girdle round his waist embroidered and spangled with
burning gold, very beautiful to look upon, and from his hat hung down
nine tassels, each worth three hundred pounds. "What wants that knave
that a King should have, but the sword of honour and the crown?" cried
the King.
"Where did ye get those tassels, Johnie, that shine so bravely above
your brow?"
"I got them fighting in the field where thou darest not be," replied
Johnie. "And had I now my horse and good harness, and were I riding as
I am used to do, this meeting between us should have been told these
hundred years. God be with thee, my brother Christy, long shalt thou
live Laird of Mangertown on the Border-side ere thou see thy brother
ride by again. God be with _thee_, my son Christy, where thou sitst on
thy nurse's knee; thou'lt ne'er be a better man than thy father, though
thou live a hundred years. Farewell, bonnie Hall of Gilnockie, standing
strong on Eskside; if I had lived but seven more years, I would have
gilded thee round about."
Then Johnie Armstrong was slain by the King's orders at Carlinrigg with
all his gallant company, and Scotland's heart was sad to see the death
of so many brave men, who had saved their country from the Englishmen.
None were so brave as they, and while Johnie lived on the Border-side no
Englishman durst come near his stronghold.
*Chapter XXIV*
*The Lament of the Border Widow*
How King James V. of Scotland, in 1529, set forth to strike terror into
the Border freebooters, has been already told in the account of Johnie
Armstrong. A less celebrated moss-trooper, Cockburne of Henderland, was
hanged by the pitiless King over the gate of his own tower. The wife of
Cockburne loved him most dearly, and when she found the King would show
no mercy, fled away to the rocks behind the castle whilst the cruel
sentence was carried out. She sat by a roaring torrent of the
Henderland burn, the noise of which in her ears drowned the savage
shouts of the King's soldiers. The beautiful song which describes the
grief of this loving woman is one of the gems of ancient poetry, and is
here printed entire.
*THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW*
My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a' wi' lilye flower,
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see,
Than my true love he built for me.
There came a man by middle day,
He spied his sport, and went away;
And brought the King that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.
He slew my knight to me sae dear;
He slew my knight, and took his gear;
My servants all for life did flee,
And left me in extremitie.
I sew'd his sheet, making my moan;
I watch'd the corpse, myself alone;
I watch'd his body, night and day;
No living creature came that way.
I took his body on my back,
And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat;
I digg'd a grave, and laid him in,
And happ'd him with the sod sae green.
But think na ye my heart was sair,
When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair;
O think na ye my heart was wae,
When I turn'd about, away to gae?
Nae living man I'll love again,
Since that my lovely knight was slain,
Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair,
I'll chain my heart for evermair.
[Illustration: "_I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the
corpse, myself alone._"]
*Chapter XXV*
*The Raid of the Kers*
The spirited ballad that describes this raid is quite modern, since it
was written by Hogg, "the Ettrick Shepherd," in 1830. But the rash raid
it describes took place in 1549. The Kers were an important Border
family, the leaders of whom afterwards became Earls of Roxburgh. Sir
Andrew Ker was warden of the Border at the time of the raid, but he
proved that it took place without his consent. The Kers were all
left-handed men, and puzzled their enemies by their left-handed
swordsmanship. Even to-day in some parts of the borders a left-handed
man is called "Ker-handed."
On a fine September evening Tam Ker rode out, with fifty in his company.
They were armed for a fight and their swords were keen; they rode by the
Maiden Crags and down the Osway burn, going carefully till the daylight
closed, for they were soon in Northumberland. Their bold plan was to get
down the valley of the Coquet even as far as Rothbury where Withrington,
the English warden, kept a magnificent herd of cattle. They had one
castle to pass, that of Biddleston, which had been held by the Selby
family since the reign of Henry III., and still belongs to them to this
day. Biddleston Castle guarded the Allanton or Alwinton ford, where the
Alwin stream enters the Coquet. So they sent the reckless Mark Ker
first, to scout along by the ford, and told him to set up marks on the
cairns to show his progress. Having nothing else to mark with, he tore
the shirt off his back, and left strips of it on the cairns. At the
ford a sentry challenged him, and he answered that he had a message for
Withrington. The sentry demanded his sealed warrant, and the Scot drew
his sword. They fought bravely and long before the Englishman was
killed, and the Scot marvelled that a common soldier should so withstand
him, for he was the best swordsman of his race. On he galloped, on and
on, till he met a comely maiden, and addressing her he tried to imitate
the Northumberland speech, saying that he had lost his way. She told
him at once that she knew he was a Scot, but so also was she. She had
been taken captive, but word had came by an English spy that the Kers
were out upon a raid, and while the English had set a hundred soldiers
to guard their cattle she had slipped away to warn the Scots and to
return with them. Being a gallant after the manner of that day, he
sprang from his horse, kissed her, and invited her to mount his saddle
even if he had to run beside till he could capture another steed. But
an English soldier came up and warned him roughly off the road. Mark
Ker had been brought up to answer rough words with rougher blows; out
leapt his sword, and he cut the rude words short by slashing the man's
head off. Then he disguised the maid in the dead man's clothes, and they
retraced their steps that he might warn his companions. They very soon
came upon them, and all together hid in the lowest dell of the Larbottle
burn while they made their plans. Tam Ker, with twenty of the men, was
to draw off the English, while Mark with thirty others slipped round and
drove off the cattle unperceived. This was done, and till after
midnight, Tam, aided by the darkness and by the difficulties of the wild
locality, held the English at bay.
Then he heard the bugle signal, and knew that Mark was well on the road
with the beasts, and that he must follow quickly. But Withrington also
guessed what the signal meant, and pursued with all the speed he knew.
Mark had not long crossed the ford at Biddleston before the English were
on him. First Mark and Withrington fought in single combat, hand to
hand, all their men watching eagerly; it was still very dark, but the
clash of sword against sword lit the air with sparks. Withrington was
badly wounded, but Mark was killed. With desperate shouts the Scots fell
upon the English; then up came Tam and his men from behind to help the
Scots, but the Captain of Biddleston had also been awakened, and
galloped down with his men to aid the English. Tam smote his head off
with his sword, but the horse galloped on with his headless body right
into the ranks of the Scots. They thought it must be a demon and began
to scatter in full flight to the Border. Tam was slain, trying to
follow them, and his men, seeing that they had work enough to gallop for
their lives, slew the cattle they could no longer hope to steal. On and
on the hard-pressed remnant spurred their weary horses. It was daylight
now, and the English along the road shot arrows at them as they galloped
past. Out of fifty-one hardy, healthy Kers who had started forth in the
raid, only seventeen, weary and wounded, saw their homes again.
And back in the south country, the comely Scottish maiden lay dead
across the breast of the gallant Mark, their hearts' blood mingling in a
common stream. Small wonder that a Scot should make a ballad of the
story and that Borderers should sing it even to this day.
*Chapter XXVI*
*Merrie Carlisle*
The city of Carlisle stands in the midst of a beautiful and fertile
district with pleasant but not too steep hills around. In the old days
an easy water-supply was a first essential, and at Carlisle three rivers
meet, the Caldew and the Petterill running here into the broad stream of
the Eden. These three rivers almost enclose the ground upon which the
city is built, so that it is most probable that there was an ancient
British settlement upon so advantageous a site, before the Roman
invasion. Our earliest record, however, goes back no further than Roman
days, and it is certain there was then a Roman city here called
_Luguvallium_ (the trench of the legion). Even to-day, when new
gas-pipes are being laid in the ground, it is by no means rare to dig up
Roman relics. The long Roman name became gradually corrupted into
"Luel," or "Liel," and the Britons added their word "Caer," which means
a city, hence "Caer-luel"--an earlier form of the modern Carlisle. The
Roman city stood, as might be expected, by the great Roman wall,
guarding the spot where the wall crossed the river Eden. And visitors
may see to-day that the centre of Carlisle consists of a market-place
with two main streets leading therefrom, the usual plan in cities of
Roman origin.
Carlisle was destined to have a stormy history. Draw a line from the
Solway eastward, straight through Carlisle, and it will be seen that
here the mainland of Britain is about at its narrowest, hardly so much
as seventy miles wide, as the crow flies. Note, too, that the wild
hills of the Pennines and the Cheviots fill in most of this narrow
district, and that the mainland of Scotland strikes sharply off to the
west. It is plain from these facts that Carlisle commands the main road
between Scotland and England, and they provide the reason why at the
present day seven different railways, most of them important ones, run
their trains into Carlisle station. The very same reason was responsible
for the fact that in the good old times no English town was more often
burnt down by enemies than "Merrie Carlisle."
Even in Roman days, during the reign of Nero, Carlisle was burnt down at
least once by the wild Picts, who were brave enough to venture against
the well-armed troops of Rome. After the Romans left Britain this town
was one of the strongholds of King Arthur; to be sure, nothing very
definite is known about this romantic king, but the old ballads tell us
that he was victorious over Gauls, Dacians, Spaniards, and Romans. This
sounds very unlikely to those who do not realise that when Rome called
home her best men for her own defence she may have left behind many
rough soldiers, of various nations, to guard the wall. Although we know
nothing about King Arthur save what is vague and legendary, we do know
that the Roman legions were recruited from all the provinces of the
empire. Cumberland had many connexions with King Arthur; within twenty
miles of Carlisle, near Penrith, is a big round hill called "King
Arthur's Table"; while nearer still, on the Penrith and Carlisle road,
is shown the spot where stood Tearne-Wadling Lake and Castle, where King
Arthur was bewitched and taken prisoner by the "foul, discourteous
knight," only to be released provided one of his men would consent to
marry the hideous lady with hair like serpents! When at last Sir
Gawaine married this hag for his King's sake, she, of course, changed at
once into a beautiful young woman! This does not sound very convincing,
it is true, but in the old days many tales just as unlikely were told of
famous men. At any rate the ballad begins with the lilting line:--
"King Arthur lives in merrie Carleile,"
and all that concerns us at the moment is that perhaps he really did
live there, and did do some very real fighting along the debateable line
of the wall.
We next learn of Carlisle that King Egfrid of Northumbria rebuilt the
city about the year 675, wherefore we can only suppose that it had
suffered its somewhat usual fate, perhaps at the hands of that savage
Saxon warrior called The Burner. But in any case, Carlisle never
belonged to the Northumbrians for any considerable space of time, but
was the capital of the Celtic or Welsh kingdom of Cumbria, from which
the present name of Cumberland is derived.
In 875 the Danes had a turn at pillaging and harrying Carlisle, which
was again in sorry plight. Both Cumbria and Northumbria were faring
very badly in the struggle between the various kingdoms which then
divided up Britain, and for a while it looked as if the energetic kings
of the Scots would annex both these northern dominions. But the coming
of the strong-handed Normans altered all this; and by far the most
noteworthy event in the history of Carlisle was the fact that during
1092 and 1093 William Rufus seized Cumberland, and for the first time
added it definitely to England.
Recognising at once the strength and value of Carlisle, Rufus caused a
strong Norman castle to be built where the old Roman fort used to stand.
To-day, despite the many rough adventures which have befallen this
northern city, there yet remain portions of William Rufus's castle, side
by side with fragments of the old Roman walls. Many of the modern
buildings put up in King George's day are crumbling, but the old Norman
and Roman remains are firm as a rock!
The castle was strengthened by King Henry I., but this did not prevent
its seizure in 1135 by King David of Scotland, who added to it in turn.
The Scots held the keep till 1157, when it was retaken by Henry II., but
a few years later, in 1173, William the Lion, King of Scotland, besieged
it, and for the next fifty years it changed hands several times,
according to the fortunes of war. It is significant that a main street
in the northern part of Carlisle is called "Scotch Street," while
another in the southern part is called "English Street!"
Edward I. held a parliament here after defeating Wallace at Falkirk; and
it was from Carlisle that this English King conducted his later
operations against Scotland. It is a pathetic picture, that of this
stern warrior in his old age, on his last march, trying to carry out his
pet scheme of uniting the entire island under one rule. He was so ill
that he had to be carried in a litter as far as Carlisle. Finding
himself again so near the border, he felt the old fire glow within him,
and sprang upon his horse--but at Burgh-on-Sands, on the shore of the
Solway, whence he could view the goal of his ambition, the brave King
died.
During the next thirty years Carlisle was frequently attacked by the
Scots, but they were usually defeated. In 1337, however, they partly,
and in 1345 almost entirely burnt it down. Again in 1380 they burnt
part of what had been rebuilt! Had there been fire insurance in these
wild days, the premiums in Carlisle would have been heavy!
After the Wars of the Roses, the city seemed to settle down somewhat,
and was chiefly known on the Border as the place where Scottish
freebooters were hanged if caught. In one of the Border villages there
is a famous churchyard where of old only the graves of women and
children were to be seen. The explanation was given to a passing
traveller by an old woman, who said that the men were all buried "in
merrie Carlisle," meaning, that is, that they had all been hanged there!
In 1537 there was a rising in England known as the "Pilgrimage of
Grace," in opposition to the savage policy of Henry's minister, Thomas
Cromwell, and no less than eighty thousand insurgents are said to have
attacked Carlisle; but after much fighting the rebels were defeated and
seventy-four of their leaders were executed on the city walls.
When Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in Carlisle in 1568 it was
vainly besieged by a force that sought to rescue her; but less than
thirty years afterwards, in 1596, by a bold stroke of daring, Lord Scott
of Buccleuch succeeded in surprising the castle and in liberating the
well-known freebooter, "Kinmont Willie."
When King James united England and Scotland, the troubles of Carlisle
might have been thought to be over. But in the civil war between King
and Parliament it was again a storm centre, and was held alternately by
each of the parties.
The last warlike operations against this much-besieged city were
undertaken in 1745, when it was first taken by Prince Charlie, who made
a triumphal entry without any serious fighting, and afterwards retaken
almost as easily by the cruel Duke of Cumberland, whose entry into the
place was followed, as usual, by a series of executions.
Among those who suffered was Sir A. Primrose, a gallant ancestor of the
present Lord Rosebery. The victims were executed, with the cruelties of
the old law against treason, on the celebrated Gallows Hill, at Harraby,
and were buried in nameless graves in the Kirkyard of St Cuthbert's.
Passing down the Botchergate (the London Road), past the site of the old
Roman cemetery, the wayfarer may see Gallows Hill rise where a deep cut
has been made to avoid a steep rise in the road. It was just outside the
boundary of old Carlisle, and executions were witnessed from the walls,
by men and women alike. Climb the hill--it is worth while. The little
river Petteril sparkles at our feet; the view, fresh and green,
stretches away nobly to the Pennines and the Border Hills. Keep a warm
thought in your heart for all the gallant fellows who met death bravely
in this place.
No history of Carlisle could omit to mention the Cathedral. English
cathedrals are shaped like a cross lying on the ground; the long stem of
the cross is the _nave_ of the cathedral; the two arms are the
_transepts_; and the upper end that continues the main stem is the
_choir_. Where choir, nave and transepts meet, the _tower_ rises. But
unlike every other English cathedral, that of Carlisle has height and
width, but is too short in length, two-thirds of the nave having been
hurled down by the Scots!
Every cathedral has its history written in its stones, for those who
know how to read it. That of Carlisle shows a stormy history, stormier
than any other. It is not a peaceful building carried out very much in
one style and undisturbed. It is a building full of signs of
disturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in their plans by
war and frequently had their building seriously damaged by their
enemies. It is a mixture of styles, a mass of re-buildings and
afterthoughts, but for that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the
much-harassed city. With all its signs of storm and stress it has much
beauty, and possesses the finest window in all England, one of the
finest in the world. Just outside the Cathedral is a noble stretch of
the old West Wall of the city, which gives a vivid idea of its strength
in the old days.
The bishops of Carlisle live at Rose Castle, five miles south of the
Cathedral. This has been their residence for over six hundred years.
No doubt they thought it advisable not to live in the "merrie city"!
In this castle King Edward I. stayed. It was once partly burnt by
Bruce, and again partly by the Puritans, but this is a comparatively
clean record for such a district! In 1745 Captain Macdonald and his
Scots came down to besiege it, but hearing that the bishop's baby
daughter was about to be christened, the gallant captain would not let
warfare spoil so peaceful a ceremony, and not only withdrew his men, but
also left a white cockade behind him as a sign that the place was not to
be molested. In all this he showed that true courtesy that always marks
the real Highland gentleman.
Standing to-day in this bustling, breezy, pleasant little city, it is
not easy to realise the wild scenes it has witnessed. The charming
rivers that hem it in show no traces of the bloodshed of the past. Yet
here have contended painted Pict and war-trained Roman; here the most
skilful leaders of the Celts, Saxons, and Danes have led their brave and
sturdy men to battle; here Norman knight has fought with hardy Scot, and
fierce Border factions have wrangled and sought speedy justice; Puritan
has fought Cavalier, and Jacobite has faced Hanoverian; kings, generals,
and warriors of many centuries have found a fitting meeting-place before
or behind the walls of Carlisle.
An open, airy, quaint city. There is not very much that is old in it,
for the old was not allowed to stand long enough! But on the top of its
principal hill the tall truncated Cathedral presents a picturesque
figure, and if we stand there or by the castle the eye commands fine,
ancient walls and very delightful distances. It is a place of lingering
memories, and if these are chiefly of strife and bloodshed we do not
forget that to the Border folk the city was "Merrie Carlisle."
*Chapter XXVII*
*Kinmont Willie*
"O have ye not heard of the false Sakelde,
O have ye not heard of the keen Lord Scroope,
How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie
On Haribee to hang him oop?"
The story of this famous freebooter, William Armstrong of Kinmonth,
belongs to the time of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord Scroope was Warden of
the Western Marches, and Mr Sakelde of Corby Castle was his Deputy.
Kinmont Willie was a descendant of the famous Johnie Armstrong of
Gilnockie, and his capture was a violation of the existing truce between
Scroope and Buccleuch, the Keeper of Liddesdale. Elizabeth was
indignant at Buccleuch's action in rescuing Willie, and as the Scots at
that time were very anxious not to offend her, Buccleuch was sent to
England and came before the Queen, who asked him how he dared to
undertake such an adventure. "What is it," answered he, "that a man
dare not do?"
"With ten thousand such men," said Elizabeth, turning to a
lord-in-waiting, "our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne
of Europe."
The ballad tells of the capture of Kinmont Willie, and how the false
Sakelde and his men treacherously seized him.
They bound his legs beneath his horse, and tied his hands behind his
back, and with five men on each side to guard him, brought him over
Liddel ford and through Carlisle sands to Carlisle castle.
When he arrived there, Willie addressed his captor in these words:
"My hands are tied, but my tongue is free. Who will avow this deed or
answer for it to bold Buccleuch?"
"Hold thy tongue, thou rank robber! Never a Scot shall set thee free.
Ye shall take farewell of me before ye cross my castle gate," said
Scroope.
"Fear ye not that, my lord," answers Willie, "for by the faith of my
body, never did I yet lodge in a hostelry but that I paid my reckoning
before I went."
Word was sent to Branksome Hall to the Keeper of Liddesdale that Lord
Scroope had captured Kinmont Willie, whereupon the Keeper smote the
table with his hand till the red wine sprang on high, "A curse on my
head," he cried, "if I be not avenged of Lord Scroope. Is my helmet a
widow's cap, or my lance a twig from a willow-tree, or my fist a lady's
lily hand, that an English lord should appraise me so lightly? Have
they taken Kinmont Willie in spite of the truce, and forgotten that the
bold Buccleuch is Keeper on the Scottish side? Have they taken Kinmont
Willie so fearlessly, and forgotten that the bold Buccleuch can back a
steed and wield a weapon? Were there but war between the lands, then
would I slight Carlisle Castle though it were built of marble; I would
set it on fire and drench it with English blood. But since there is
peace and not war, I'll set the Kinmont free yet never harm English lad
or lass!"
So Buccleuch called forty bold Marchmen, all of his own name and kin
except one, Sir Gilbert Elliot, Laird of Stobs. They came spur on heel
and armour on shoulder, with gloves of green and feathers of blue. Five
and five came first with hunting-horns and bugles; five and five more
came with Buccleuch like Warden's men arrayed for battle; five and five
came like a gang of masons, carrying long high ladders; and five and
five came like broken men, and so they reached Woodhouselee.
When they had crossed to the English side, the first man they met was
the false Sakelde.
"Where are ye going, ye keen hunters?" quoth Sakelde.
"We go to hunt an English stag that has trespassed on Scottish ground."
"Where are ye going, ye martial men?"
"We go to catch a rank robber that has broken faith with the bold
Buccleuch."
"Where are ye going, ye mason lads, with all these long high ladders?"
"We go to harry a corbie's nest not far from here."
"Where are ye going, ye broken men?" said false Sakelde.
But Dickie of Dryhope, leader of the broken men, had never a word of
learning, and answered nothing.
"Why trespass ye on the English side? Stand! ye raw-footed outlaws!"
Never a word yet said Dickie, but for answer ran his lance clean through
the body of the false Sakelde.
On then they went to Carlisle town, crossing the Eden at Staneshaw-bank,
nor lost they either horse or man, though the water was high in flood.
When they reached Staneshaw-bank the wind was rising, and the Laird
ordered them to leave there their horses for fear they should stamp and
neigh. The wind blew loudly enough then, but when they came beneath the
castle wall there was wind and rain and flying sleet. On they crept on
their knees and held their breath till they placed the ladders against
the wall. Buccleuch himself mounted first, took the watchman by the
throat and flung him down upon the leads. "Thou hadst gone on the other
side," said he, "had there not been peace between our lands."
[Illustration: _The Escape of Kinmont Willie_]
"Sound out the trumpets!" quoth he; "let's wake up Lord Scroope!" Then
loud blew the Warden's trumpet to the tune of "O wha dare meddle wi'
me?"
To work they went speedily, and cut a hole through the lead, gaining
thus the castle hall.
Those inside thought the castle had been taken by King James and all his
men, yet it was only twenty Scots and ten that had put a thousand in
such a stir. They hammered and banged at the bars until they came to
the inner prison, where lay Kinmont Willie.
"Do ye sleep or wake, Kinmont Willie, on the morn when ye shall die?"
"O I sleep lightly and wake often; it's long since sleep was frightened
from me. Give my service to my wife and bairns and all good fellows
that enquire after me."
Red Rowan, the strongest man in Teviotdale, lifted him up. "Stay now,
Red Rowan, till I take farewell of Lord Scroope. Farewell, farewell, my
good Lord Scroope," he cried. "I will pay ye for my lodging when first
we meet on the Border."
With shout and cry Red Rowan bore him on his shoulders down the long
ladder, the irons clanking at every stride.
"Many a time," said Kinmont Willie, "have I ridden a horse both wild and
unruly, but never have my legs bestrode a rougher beast than Red Rowan.
Many a time have I pricked a horse over the furrows, but never since I
backed a steed have I worn such cumbrous spurs."
Scarcely had they won the Staneshaw-bank when all the bells in Carlisle
were ringing and Lord Scroope was after them with a thousand men on
horse and on foot. But--
"Buccleuch has turn'd to Eden water
Even where it flowed frae bank to brim,
And he has plunged in wi' a' his band,
And safely swam them through the stream.
He turn'd him on the other side,
And at Lord Scroope his glove flung he--
'If ye like na my visit to merry England,
In fair Scotland come visit me!'
All sore astonished stood Lord Scroope,
He stood as still as rock of stane;
He scarcely dared to trew[#] his eyes,
When through the water they had gane.
[#] Trust
'He is either himsell a devil frae hell,
Or else his mother a witch maun be;
I wadna have ridden that wan water,
For a' the gowd[#] in Christentie.'"
[#] Gold
*Chapter XXVIII*
*Dick o' the Cow*
"Fair Johnie Armstrong to Willie did say
'Billie, a-riding we will gae.'"
The ballad of this name, a popular one in Liddesdale, relates, like that
of Kinmont Willie, to the time when Lord Scroope was Warden of the West
Marches and Governor of Carlisle. Dick o' the Cow seems to have been his
fool or jester. Dickie, some years after the events described in the
ballad, fell a victim to the vengeance of the Armstrongs.
There had been no raids from Liddesdale for a considerable time, and no
riding, and the horses had all grown so fat that they dare scarcely stir
out of the stall. Then fair Johnie Armstrong said to his brother Willie,
"Brother, we will go a-riding. We have long been at feud with England,
and perhaps we shall find some spoil."
So they rode to Hulton Hall and round about it, but the laird, a wise
man, had left neither goods nor cattle outside to steal, except six
sheep in a meadow. Said Johnie, "I'd rather die in England than take
those six sheep to Liddesdale."
"But who was that man we last met as we came over the hill?"
"Oh, he is an innocent fool, and men call him Dick o' the Cow."
"That fool has three good cows of his own, as good as there are in
Cumberland. Betide me life or death, they shall go to Liddesdale with
me!"
So they came to the house of the poor fool, broke down his thick wall,
loosed his three cows, and took also three coverlets from his wife's
bed.
In the morning at daylight when the loss was discovered, there were loud
lamentations. "Hold thy tongue, wife," said Dickie, "and stop thy
crying. I'll bring thee back three cows for each one that thou hast
lost."
So Dickie went to Lord Scroope. "Hold thy tongue, fool," said Scroope.
"I have no time for jesting."
"A shame on your jesting, my lord!" said Dickie, "jesting agrees not
with me. Liddesdale was in my house last night and has taken my three
cows. I can no longer dwell in Cumberland as your poor faithful fool,
unless you give me leave to steal in Liddesdale."
"I give thee leave, fool!" said Scroope; "but thou speakest against me
and my honour unless thou give me thy hand and pledge that thou wilt
steal from none but those who stole from thee."
"There is my right hand and pledge! May my head hang on Haribee, and
may I never again cross Carlisle sands if I steal from any man who stole
not from me.",
Dickie joyfully took leave of his lord and master, and went and bought a
bridle and a pair of new spurs which he packed up in the thigh of his
breeches, then he came on as fast as he could to Pudding-burn house,
where were thirty-three Armstrongs.
"O what has come to me now?" said Dickie, "what great trouble is this?
For here is but one innocent fool against thirty-three Armstrongs?" Yet
he went courteously up to the Hall board.
"Well may ye be, my good Laird's Jock, but the devil bless all your
company. I'm come to complain of your man, Johnie Armstrong, and of his
brother Willie, that they came to my house last night and took away my
three cows."