"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,
In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,
Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,
That eats and drinks o' meal and malt."
Thus died the doughty Noble. It is proper to add, however, that the
Armstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton, with whom Hobbie had been a
favourite, took a severe revenge on the traitors who betrayed him. The
contriver of the scheme, Sim o' the Mains, fled into England to escape
the resentment of his chief, and was there caught by the English, and
himself executed at Carlisle, two months after Hobbie's death in the
same place! Such is, at least, the tradition of Liddesdale.
*Chapter XXXVI*
*The Laird o' Logie*
In 1592, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stuart, failed in an attempt
against King James VI., whom he tried to surprise in the palace of
Falkland. Amongst his adherents, whom he sought about the King's person,
was the hero of this ballad, the Laird of Logie, who was taken prisoner
and laid in Edinburgh chapel in the keeping of Sir John Carmichael, the
hero of the ballad called the "Raid of Reidswire." Carmichael was at
this time captain of the King's Guard, and had the keeping of State
criminals.
I will sing, if ye will hearken,
If ye will hearken unto me;
The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,
The wanton laird o' young Logie.
Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,
Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;
And may Margaret's lamenting sair,
A' for the love of young Logie.
"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,
And of your weeping let me be;
For ye maun to the King himsell,
To seek the life of young Logie."
May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]
And she has curl'd back her yellow hair--
"If I canna get young Logie's life,
Farewell to Scotland for evermair."
[#] Clothing.
When she came before the King,
She kneelit lowly on her knee--
"O what's the matter, may Margaret?
And what needs a' this courtesie?"
"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,
A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!
And the first boon that I come to crave,
Is to grant me the life of young Logie."
[Illustration: "_A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg
o' thee!_"]
"O na, O na, may Margaret,
Forsooth, and so it mauna be;
For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland
Shall not save the life of young Logie."
But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]
Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,
And sent the tokens to Carmichael,
To cause young Logie get his life.
[#] Stolen.
[#] Dressing comb.
She sent him a purse of the red gowd,
Another o' the white monie;
She sent him a pistol for each hand,
And bade him shoot when he gat free.
When he came to the Tolbooth stair,
There he let his volley flee;
It made the King in his chamber start,
E'en in the bed where he might be.
"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',
And bid Carmichael come speak to me;
For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,
That yon's the shot o' young Logie."
When Carmichael came before the King,
He fell low down upon his knee;
The very first word that the King spake,
Was--"Where's the laird of young Logie?"
Carmichael turn'd him round about
(I wot the tear blinded his ee),
"There came a token frae your grace,
Has ta'en away the laird frae me."
"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?
And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;
"The morn the justice-court's to stand,
And Logie's place ye maun supplie."
Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,
Even as fast as he may dree--
"O if young Logie be within,
Tell him to come and speak with me!"
May Margaret turn'd her round about
(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),
"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,
Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."
*Chapter XXXVII*
*Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead*
"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,
And a harried man I think I be!
There's nothing left at the fair Dodhead
But a woeful wife and bairnies three!"
About Martinmas time, when Border steeds get corn and hay, the Captain
of Bewcastle rode over to Tividale to forage. And first he met a guide
high up in Hardhaughswire, and next he met a guide low down in Borthwick
water.
"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?" "No tidings have I--yet
if ye go to the fair Dodhead, I'll let ye see many a cow's calf." Right
hastily they came to the fair Dodhead, loosed the cows and ransacked the
house.
Jamie Telfer's[#] heart was sore when he saw this, and the tears ran
down his cheeks, and he pleaded with the Captain to give him back his
gear, or else he would have revenge upon him. But the Captain only
laughed and said, "Man, there's nothing in thy house but an old sword
without a sheath that could scarcely kill a mouse."
[#] The Telfers, though they had become Scotch at the time of this
ballad, were originally a Norman family, descended from the knight
"Taille-fer" (cut-iron), who came over with William the Conqueror.
The sun was not up though the moon had gone down, and there was a
sprinkling of new-fallen snow upon the ground when Jamie Telfer ran ten
miles a-foot between the Dodhead and Stob's Hall. When he came to the
tower gate he shouted aloud, and old Gibby Elliot came out and asked the
meaning of such disturbance.
"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for
nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a sad wife and three bairnies."
"Go and seek help at Branksome Hall, for ye shall get none from me--seek
help where ye paid blackmail, for, man, never did ye pay _me_ any."
James turned him about, his eyes blinded with tears. "Never shall I pay
blackmail again to Elliot. My hounds may all run masterless, my hawks
may fly as they will from tree to tree, and my lord may seize the lands
of his vassal, for never shall I see again the fair Dodhead."
He turned him to Tiviotside and made as fast as he could for Coultart
cleugh, and there he shouted aloud until out came old Jock Grieve, and
asked who it was that made such a noise.
"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for
nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies,
and six poor calves stand in the stall crying aloud for their mothers."
"Alack!" quoth Jock Grieve, "alack, my heart is sore for thee! for I
married the eldest of three sisters, and you married the youngest."
So he took out his bonny black horse, right well fed with corn and hay,
and set Jamie Telfer on his back, to take his troubles to Catslockhill.
When he came to Catslockhill he shouted aloud until out came William's
Wat to ask what was the matter.
"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I.
The Captain of Bewcastle has driven away my gear; for God's sake rise
and help me."
"Alas and alack," quoth William's Wat, "my heart is sore for thee.
Never did I yet come to the fair Dodhead and found thy basket bare."
He set his two sons on coal-black steeds, and he himself mounted a
freckled grey, and with Jamie they rode to Branksome Hall, where they
shouted so loud and high that old Buccleuch came out to ask what was the
matter.
"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I;
there is nought left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three
bairnies."
"Alack," quoth the good old lord, "my heart is sorry for thee; go call
Willie, my son, to come speedily. Go call up hastily the men that live
by the waterside. They who will not ride for Telfer's cattle, let them
never again look me in the face. Call up Wat o'Harden and his sons,
call up Borthwick Water, Gaudilands and Allanhaugh, call Gilmanscleugh
and Commonside; ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire and call the
Currors of the Lee, and call brave Willie of Gorrinberry as ye come down
the Hermitage slack."
So the Scotts rode and ran bravely and steadily, shouting "Ride for
Branksome," and when Willie looked ahead he saw the cattle being driven
fast up the Frostylee brook, and to the plain.
"Who drives yon cattle?" cried Willie Scott, "to make us a laughing
stock?" "'Tis I, the Captain of Bewcastle; I will not hide my name from
thee."
"Let Telfer's cattle go back, or by the faith of my body," said Willie,
"I'll ware my dame's calf-skin on thee."
"I will not let the cattle go back neither for thy love nor fear; I will
drive Jamie Telfer's cattle in spite of all your company of Scotts."
"Set on them, lads!" cried Willie; "set on them cruelly; there will be
many an empty saddle before they come to Ritterford."
So they set to with heart and hand, and blows fell like hail until many
were slain and many a horse ran masterless. But Willie was struck by a
sword through the headpiece and fell to the ground, and auld Wat of
Harden wept for rage when he saw that his son was slain. He took off
his steel cap and waved it thrice, and the snow on the Dinlay mountain
was never whiter than the locks of his hair.
"Revenge! revenge!" he cried; "lay on them, lads. Willie's death shall
be revenged or we will never see Teviotside again."
The lances flew into splinters, and many another brave rider fell, and
before the Kershope ford was reached, the Scots had got the victory.
John of Brigham was slain, and John of Barlow, and thirty more of the
Captain's men lay bleeding on the ground. The Captain himself was run
through the right thigh and the bone broken, and never would woman love
him again, if he should live a hundred years.
"Take back the kye!" said he; "they are dear kye to some of us; never
will a fair lady smile on me if I should live to be a hundred."
Word came to the Captain's bride in her bower, that her lord had been
taken prisoner. "I would rather have had a winding-sheet," said she,
"and helped to put it over his head than that he should have been
disgraced by the Border Scot when he led his men over Liddel."
There was a wild gallant there named Watty Wudspurs (Madspurs) who
cried, "Let us on to his house in Stanegirthside, if any man will ride
with us!"
So they came to Stanegirthside, pulled down the trees, burst open the
door, and drove out all the Captain's kye before them.
An old woman of the Captain's kin cried, "Who dare loose the Captain's
kye, or answer to him and his men?"
"It is I, Watty Wudspurs, that loose the kye; I will not hide my name
from thee; and I will loose them in spite of him and his men."
When they came to the fair Dodhead they were a welcome sight, for
instead of his own ten milk kye Jamie Telfer had now got thirty-three.
He paid the rescue shot in gold and silver, and at Willie Scott's
burial, there were many weeping eyes.
*Chapter XXXVIII*
*Muckle-mou'd Meg*
The Scott family was very powerful on the Border in the days of Queen
Elizabeth, the bravest and strongest of them being the bold Lord of
Buccleuch. His name is often mentioned in Border history, and so is
that of another Scott, "auld Wat Scott of Harden." He was a fit man for
these wild times, being both brave and canny. He married a beautiful
Border lass, "the Flower of Yarrow," and it is surprising how many able
men have descended from this marriage. Not only did Sir Walter Scott
and Robert Louis Stevenson claim descent from this fine old freebooter;
his daughter Maggie married Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, nicknamed "Gibbie
wi' the Golden Garters," and from them were descended George Augustus
Elliot (Lord Heathfield), famous for his splendid defence of Gibraltar,
worthy of the best Border traditions, and also the Elliots of Minto, who
have twice been Viceroys of India, once late in the eighteenth and once
early in the twentieth century.
But on one occasion one of the sons of Scott of Harden came perilously
near to finding out how far his neck was capable of carrying the weight
of his body. It was late in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and King James VI.
of Scotland was extra anxious to live at peace with England, for he
expected now very soon to be King over both countries. So he told his
Warden, the bold Buccleuch, to restrain the wild Scotch freebooters; and
you may imagine that the order was little to their liking. Young Willie
Scott, Scott of Harden's son, quickly determined that cattle he must
steal anyhow; he was his father's son, and did not his father once say,
as he gazed longingly at a fine English haystack, "if only ye'd got four
legs, haystack, ye would not be standing there!" So as Willie Scott was
forbidden to steal English cattle, he decided to steal Scotch.
Sir Gideon Murray, of Elibank Castle, was an old enemy of the Scott
family, having once been told off to punish them for some audacious act
of theirs. And Sir Gideon had some cattle that would make any
Borderer's mouth water and his arm itch to drive them home. So Willie
and a few boon companions started off one night for Elibank. But a
warning voice had reached Sir Gideon, and Willie received a warm
reception, and was taken prisoner. He lay in the castle dungeon all
night, reflecting on the folly of being caught, and fully expecting to
be hanged very early next morning, perhaps without even his breakfast to
comfort him!
But early on the fatal morning, Lady Murray startled her husband by
asking him if he really meant to hang Willie Scott. He looked at her as
if she were mad; of course, what else was there to do? Then she
unfolded her scheme. She had a very plain-looking daughter known as
"Muckle mou'd Meg," or Margaret with the extremely large mouth. Young
Scott was handsome and of good family, and poor Meg would never again
have such a chance of getting a good husband. Why not release Willie
Scott, if only he would marry Mucklemou'd Meg?
They were men of action in those days, and the priest was instantly sent
for. Then, all being ready, the prisoner was brought forth. He was
shown on the one hand the priest and the girl, and on the other hand the
tree and the noose, and was asked to take his choice. His first proud
feeling was that he would be mocked at if he married such a girl on such
terms, and he walked bravely towards the rope. But the nearer he got to
it the uglier it looked. He had to confess to himself that it was not
at all a comfortable looking rope; he had a nasty feeling round his neck
from merely looking at it, and thought it would probably feel worse when
it got round his throat. Then he looked at the girl; she certainly was
not as beautiful as his mother, the lovely Flower of Yarrow; and a
Borderer loved a beautiful wife. But if he hanged he would have no wife
at all! Then he suggested that he should have three days to think it
over, but Murray said no, neither priest nor noose was prepared to wait,
he must decide at once. Then he looked again at Meg and saw a kind
glance in her eye; she felt sorry for the handsome young fellow. Then
he knew she had a good heart, and that decided the matter; he went up
and kissed her with a good grace, and the priest married them straight
away.
Afterwards he became Sir William Scott, and an important man on the
Border. And, best of all, Meg proved to be a real good wife to him, and
he never regretted the day when he elected to suffer the knot to be tied
by the priest instead of by the hangman.
*Chapter XXXIX*
*The Dowie Dens of Yarrow*
This is one of the most famous and widely known of all the Border
ballads, and has proved a source of inspiration to several poets,
including Wordsworth, who wrote three poems upon the subject. The bard
does not relate the full particulars, but gives only the barest outlines
of facts, which were well known in his day, and still live in tradition.
The story tells of a duel between two brothers-in-law. The very spot
where it took place is still pointed out, a low muir on the Yarrow
banks. The slain knight was apparently Walter Scott, one of the
ancestors of Lord Napier. His murderer was his brother-in-law, John
Scott. "Dowie" means melancholy, and "den" is a word used to describe a
narrow, rocky valley, usually wildly beautiful.
Late at e'en drinking the wine,
And e'er they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.[#]
[#] Dawn.
"O stay at home my noble lord,
O stay at home my marrow.
My cruel brother will you betray,
On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow."
[#] Hillocks.
"O fare ye well, my lady gay!
O fare ye well, my Sarah!
For I must go, though I ne'er return
From the dowie banks of Yarrow."
She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,
As oft she had done before, O,
She belted him with his noble brand,
"And he's away to Yarrow."
As he gaed up the Tennies bank
I wot he gaed with sorrow,
Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
"O come ye here to part your land,
The bonnie forest thorough?
Or come ye here to wield your brand,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"
"I come not here to part my land,
And neither to beg nor borrow,
I come to wield my noble brand
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.
"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;
And that's an unequal marrow;
Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,
On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."
Four has he hurt, and five has slain,
On the bloody braes of Yarrow,
Till that stubborn knight came him behind,
And ran his body thorough.
"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,
And tell your sister Sarah,
To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;
He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."
[#] Lawful.
"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,
I fear there will be sorrow!
I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,
Wi' my true love on Yarrow.
"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
From where my love repaireth,
Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,
And tell me how he fareth!
"But in the glen strive armed men;
They've wrought me dole and sorrow;
They've slain--the comeliest knight they've slain,
He bleeding lies on Yarrow."
As she sped down yon high, high hill,
She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,
And in the den spied ten slain men,
On the dowie banks of Yarrow.
She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,
She searched his wounds all thorough,
She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,
On the dowie houms of Yarrow.
"Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,
For a' this breeds but sorrow;
I'll wed ye to a better lord,
Than him ye lost on Yarrow."
[#] Hold.
"O haud your tongue, my father dear!
Ye mind me but of sorrow;
A fairer rose did never bloom
Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."
[Illustration: "_She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched
his wounds all thorough._"]
*Chapter XL*
*Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland*
"When for the lists they sought the plain
The stately lady's silken rein
Did noble Howard hold;
Unarmed by her side he walk'd
And much, in courteous phrase they talk'd
Of feats of arms of old.
Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff
Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,
With satin slashed and lined;
Tawny his boot and gold his spur,
His cloak was all of Poland fur,
His hose with silver twined.
His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,
Hung in a broad and studded belt;
Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still
Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will."
SCOTT, _Lay of the Last Minstrel_.
One of the many picturesque figures of Border history was "Belted Will,"
or to call him by his proper name and title, Lord William Howard, a
younger son of the powerful Duke of Norfolk.
His mother had died when he was an infant, and his father, the foremost
Roman Catholic nobleman in England, took up the cause of Mary Queen of
Scots, whom he wished to marry. For this treason against Queen
Elizabeth he was beheaded in 1572, when young Lord William was only nine
years old. At the age of fourteen the young lord's guardians arranged
for him a marriage with Elizabeth Dacre, a member of a powerful Border
family, and heiress to the Baronry of Gilsland. As the bride was even
younger than her boy-husband, let us hope that they both went to school
again immediately after the marriage!
When he grew to manhood, Lord William warmly supported the Roman
Catholic cause and was imprisoned by Elizabeth; but when James became
King, he was released and restored to his estates on the Border.
Throughout the remainder of his career he was the most notable man of
his district. He knew how to make himself respected by his wild
neighbours. His fame and power were great. He founded the fortunes of
his family so surely that he it is who is usually thought of as the
ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle, though his great-grandson was the
first to hold the title.
Lord William had great energy and many interests, and was remarkable as
being an "all-round" man. He was equally a leader of men and a lover of
books; no detail in the management of his estates was too small for him
to study; he was a good husband to his wife, and a splendid father to
his fifteen children. He selected the most beautiful of his several
castles, that of Naworth, and repaired and almost rebuilt it; he took
there the fine old oak ceiling from the ancient castle of Kirkoswald,
which was ornamented with portraits of all the kings of England.
Visitors to Naworth can see to-day the "hall of Belted Will," by kind
permission of the present Earl of Carlisle.
He was something of a poet and very much of an antiquarian. His estates
were full of interesting things, and none knew them better than he.
There were miles of the Roman wall, still in excellent condition; there
were many Roman altars and inscriptions, which he copied and translated;
quite near him, at Coome Crags, was a Roman quarry, which can still be
seen to-day, with marks of Roman tools on its stones. It stands in a
beautiful wood by the side of the lovely river Irthing. And only a
little further on, standing on a fine cliff overlooking the river, is
the old Roman station of Amboglanna, a fort that covered five and a half
acres, with walls that were once five feet thick, the main foundations
of which are still standing, clear enough for anyone to trace them out.
It is quieter there to-day than it was in Roman times, or in the
stirring days of Belted Will!
It is good to think that this broad-shouldered, gallant, powerful
nobleman, who could ride, shoot, fight and keep this wild district in
order, was at the same time such a clever student and book-worm. They
tell a story that he was once sitting in his library intent on a book
when his men brought in a robber whom they had caught red-handed, and
asked Lord William to try him. Belted Will, angry at being interrupted,
cried out:--"Don't disturb me; hang him!" Half an hour later he rose
and came down to try the man, but finding that he was already hanged he
went on with his book. It is only fair to add that robbers in those
days expected no mercy when caught.
One of the many clever things that Lord William did was to have figures
carved in oak to represent soldiers; these he placed on the top of his
high towers, and deceived the Scots into thinking that he had a large
and very watchful garrison! These figures can still be seen at Naworth.
Near Naworth Castle is Lanercost Priory, where King Edward I. stayed on
his way to Scotland. There is a secret passage from Naworth tower which
is supposed to run under the river to Lanercost. No one is allowed to
go through it, as it is considered dangerous; the people of the district
say that the last man to do so was Oliver Cromwell.
Visitors to Naworth to-day should certainly go on to Gilsland itself,
the picturesque straggling little town, which was the head of the
Baronry which Elizabeth Dacre brought to her boy-husband. The Irthing
at Gilsland runs through a wonderfully beautiful gorge, rocky and
wooded, wild and romantic. Stand on the venturesome stepping stones
near the old church, with the river rushing at your very feet, and see
if this is an exaggeration of the beauties of the scene. Right in the
midst of the glen you can see the "Popping-stone" where Sir Walter Scott
walked with the lady of his choice and asked her to marry him. Readers
of "Guy Mannering" can see in Over Denton church near Gilsland the grave
of Meg Merrilees, who died here at the age of ninety-eight. The town is
also interesting for the fact that the county border is at Gilsland, and
there is an inn so built that it stands in both counties, and contains a
bed in which you can sleep with your head in Northumberland and your
feet in Cumberland!
There is a story of Belted Will that tells eloquently of the strength of
his character. When he was released from prison by King James he found
his estates so ruined by careless management that he knew that great
care was needed to put things right again; so until he got his affairs
into order, all the pocket-money that he would allow himself was twenty
shillings per month!
Bold William, Belted Will, gallant Lord Howard, as you will, died at
Naworth in 1640 aged seventy-seven, one year after the death of his
devoted wife. His descendants were, like himself, students and men of
action; the present Earl of Carlisle is directly sprung from him, and is
very proud of the fact.
*Chapter XLI*
*Gilderoy*
Gilderoy was a celebrated and most daring highwayman, who roamed far,
and was well-known all over Scotland and indeed in London. His death
inspired a very striking ballad, but this is hardly a Border Lowland
ballad, but refers chiefly to another Border district, namely, that
between the Lowlands and Highlands. Just as the Scottish Lowlanders
thought the English their legitimate quarry, so the Highlanders in turn
looked upon the Lowlanders as created to supply them with all they
lacked. There is a story on record of a Highland chief who, finding his
men had carelessly robbed another Highlander, returned the spoil with a
handsome apology, and issued stringent orders that in future nothing was
to be taken except in the Lowlands, "where all men make their prey."
Among the robber clans of the Highlands, the MacGregors stand easily in
the first rank. In a long series of Scottish Acts of Parliament, they
are habitually referred to as "the wicked clan Gregor, so long
continuing in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery." One of their most
famous exploits was the battle of Glenfruin, when they defeated their
enemies, the Colquhouns, and slew two hundred of them. The Colquhouns
appeared before the King at Stirling with the bloody shirts stripped off
their dead, and the law was put in motion against the MacGregors more
vigorously than ever. This was in 1603. The execution of Gilderoy, as
described in our poem, took place in 1638. His real name was Patrick
MacGregor, and the fact that he belonged to this Ishmaelite clan, whose
hand was directed against every man, and whose very name had been
solemnly abolished, may well serve as an excuse for his career of crime.
Gilderoy, in Gaelic, means the red-haired gillie or lad, and besides the
name there are many other points of similarity between him and Rob Roy,
who was the head of the Clan MacGregor in the following century. Both
Gilderoy and Rob Roy were professional blackmailers, that is, they could
be relied on never to plunder anyone who was prudent enough to buy them
off by paying a fixed contribution. This is what is meant in the
following lines of the ballad--
"All these did honestly possess
He never did annoy,
Who never failed to pay their cess
To my love, Gilderoy."
The "cess" is the blackmail, or insurance against robbery. The
widespread reputation of Gilderoy is attested by the many legends of him
which are printed in the old chap-books and "Lives of the Highwaymen."
According to these authorities, Gilderoy once robbed Oliver Cromwell
near Glasgow; but an even more romantic episode of his career was a
roaming trip upon the continent, in the course of which he is said to
have picked Cardinal Richelieu's pocket while he was celebrating mass in
the King's presence, at the church of St Denis in Paris. He made his
way even to Madrid, where he succeeded in carrying off the Duke of
Medina-Cell's plate. Altogether a most notorious and dashing cateran.
The ballad is supposed to be spoken by a young woman who had all her
life been attached to him.
"Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,
Had roses to his shoon;[#]
His stockings were of silken soy,
With garters hanging down.
It was, I ween, a comely sight
To see so trim a boy;
He was my jo, and heart's delight,
My handsome Gilderoy.
* * * * *
My Gilderoy and I were born
Both in one town together;
We scant were seven years before
We 'gan to love each other.
Our daddies and our mammies they
Were filled with meikle joy,
To think upon the bridal day
Of me and Gilderoy."
[#] Shoes.
But there intervened the spirit of adventure which had ever been the
birthright of all of his surname,
"Oh, that he still had been content
With me to lead his life!
But ah! his manful heart was bent
To stir in deeds of strife;
And he in many a venturous deed
His courage bold would try;
And now this gars[#] my heart to bleed
For my dear Gilderoy."
[#] Makes.
No doubt those who knew Gilderoy personally would have agreed, as was
actually said of Rob Roy, that he was a benevolent and humane man "in
his way."
"My Gilderoy, both far and near,
Was feared in every town;
And boldly bore away the gear
Of many a Lowland loun,
For man to man durst meet him none,
He was so brave a boy;
At length with numbers he was ta'en,
My winsome Gilderoy."
He was not so fortunate as Rob Roy, who ultimately died peacefully in
his bed. Gilderoy had lost the game, and he had to pay the stakes.
"Of Gilderoy so feared they were,
They bound him fast and strong;
To Edinbro' they led him there,
And on a gallows hung.
They hung him high above the rest,
He was so trim a boy;
There died the youth whom I loved best,
My handsome Gilderoy."
Thus perished one of the characteristic products of an age whose
standards were so different from ours that we can hardly judge him
fairly. He was banned before his birth, a scion of a race so
indomitably and innately ferocious that the law attempted to extirpate
them, root and branch. The very name of Gregor could be given by no
clergyman at baptism, under penalty of deprivation and banishment.
Cunning and politic neighbours were not slow to take advantage of the
stubborn disposition of the MacGregors, and gradually stripped them of
their once extensive lands in Argyle and Perthshire. Gilderoy might well
consider that he was "an honester man than stood on any of their
shanks," and we may be excused for feeling a very lively sympathy with
him, and for echoing in our inmost hearts the exquisitely feminine point
of view expressed by the lady composer of the ballad.
"If Gilderoy had done amiss,
He might have banished been;
Ah! what sore cruelty is this
To hang such handsome men!
To hang the flower of Scottish land,
So sweet and fair a boy!
No lady had so white a hand
As thee, my Gilderoy!
When he had yielded up his breath
I bare his corpse away;
With tears, that trickled for his death,
I washt his comely clay;
And sicker[#] in a grave sae deep
I laid the dear lo'ed boy;
And now for ever maun I weep,
My winsome Gilderoy."
[#] Safely.
*Chapter XLII*
*Archie Armstrong's Oath*
"And oft since then, to England's King,
The story he has told;
And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,
Charlie his sides would hold."
Archie Armstrong lived in Eskdale, where he did his best to keep up the
grand reputation of his family as being among the very boldest
sheep-stealers of the Border. His house was at Stubholm, where the
Wauchope stream runs into the river Esk, near where the picturesque town
of Langholm now stands. Living in the reign of Charles I., after the
union of crowns, the profession of freebooter was far less honourable
than of old. He could not now plead that he was a Border soldier,
fighting against his nation's enemy. The wild Border blood in him might
cry out for the old adventurous career, but he could no longer hope for
the aid of powerful Border families. When cornered, his sole protector
would be his own wits, and woe betide him if they failed!
Archie's house was about eight miles from the Border, and he could not
help strolling towards the fascinating line and tasting the sweetness of
temptation. When the chance came that seemed to him sufficiently safe,
he would go home in company though he had walked out alone; the
"company" being a good fat English sheep. One night a shepherd had
marked him lingering about, and had watched him, and raised an alarm.
Away went stout Archie at a Marathon pace; half way home he passed
Gilnockie tower, where his ancestor bold Johnie Armstrong lived so
gaily. "Alas!" thought Archie, dolefully, "he too was hanged in the
end!"
He got home well in front of his pursuers, but his wife gave him small
encouragement. With typical Scottish dourness she remarked to him, "Ye
will be ta'en this night and hanged i' the morning."
But Archie put a braw face on it, and declared that he would never hang
for one silly sheep. Quicker than any butcher he skinned and roughly
trimmed the dead animal, throwing the rejected parts into the swift
stream. Then rejoicing in the fact that his child was away with its
aunt, he put the carcase carefully in the cradle and began rocking it
and singing a lullaby to it, as if he were the most loving father in all
the British Isles.
The pursuers now rushed in, and began to accuse Archie triumphantly; but
he rebuked them for making so much noise, telling them that his child
was at death's door! As for stealing their sheep, he took a solemn oath
that if he had done such a thing he would ask to be doomed to "eat the
flesh this very cradle holds!"
Such an oath on the Borders was a very serious matter; they little knew
that the only flesh in the cradle was sheep's flesh, which Archie asked
nothing better than to devour!
Impressed but not convinced, his enemies carefully searched the whole of
Archie's house and garden; it was only with very great unwillingness
that they at last decided that they must miss the supreme pleasure of
hanging him! They went away saying that they must have been deluded by
the devil or by witches; and the shepherd resolved to hang a branch of
rowan-tree (mountain-ash) by his fold, for that was well-known to have
the power to keep witches away.
As soon as they were all on their road to England again, Archie skipped
about like a dancing fiddler. "Wife," he said, "I never knew before
that I would make such a good nurse."
After this Archie wandered down to London, and his wild jests becoming
famous, he was made Court Jester by King Charles I. And many a time he
acted the story to the King, rocking a pretended cradle, and singing a
persuasive lullaby, to the King's intense amusement.
Nevertheless, Archie lost his place by his boldness. These were the days
of Archbishop Laud (1637), who was hated by the Scots. One day, as the
archbishop was about to say grace before dinner, Archie asked the King's
permission to say grace instead. The King consented, and the jester's
double-meaning words were as follows:--
"All _praise_ to God, and little _laud_ to the devil!"
The archbishop, in many senses a little man, had Archie dismissed in
disgrace. But, such were the chances of these uncertain times, the
archbishop was executed in the end, while the sheepstealer escaped that
fate!
*Chapter XLIII*
*Christie's Will*
The resourceful Archie, whose tale we have just told, was not the only
one of the reckless Armstrongs to keep up the old freebooting habits in
the reign of Charles I. There lived at Gilnockie tower (the old
residence of the famous Johnie Armstrong) in the parish of Cannobie, a
notorious Willie Armstrong, known as Christie's Will. Like Archie, he
more than once owed his life to his ready wit. He was shut up in
Jedburgh jail when the Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, paid the
prison an official visit. When he asked Will the cause of his being
there, the freebooter answered:--
"For stealing two halters, my lord."
Traquair was surprised, but Will afterwards owned that there was a fine
colt at the end of each halter.
Traquair was amused and pleased by the boldness of the man, and had him
set free.
Some little time afterwards Traquair was involved in a law-suit which
was set down to be decided by Lord Durie, who seems to have let it be
known before-hand what his opinion was upon the case. Nothing would
save Traquair's interests except that Durie must be got out of the way
before the case began. But how was it to be done?