It was the judge's habit to take horseback exercise on the sands of
Leith without any attendant. One morning, whilst so riding, a
well-dressed and gentlemanly stranger, on a good horse, happened to
overtake him; a courteous greeting led to a friendly conversation, in
which the stranger proved himself so affable and entertaining that the
judge rode on by his side without suspicion. Suddenly, when they had
come to a lonely spot, Lord Durie found himself seized by this muscular
gentleman, smothered up in a big cloak, whisked off his horse and on to
the stranger's, who galloped off, mischief knows where! It was
Christie's Will, carrying out his promise.
The judge's horse galloped home, riderless. Search was made, but the
judge could not be found. It could only be supposed that he had been
thrown off into the sea. His successor was appointed, and Lord
Traquair's case was heard and won!
Lord Durie had languished for several months in a dreary underground
vault. I wonder if he thought of the many poor wretches he had
sentenced to a similar fate? Suddenly at midnight he was roughly
awakened, muffled up as before, and carried away again by his captor on
horseback. Next morning, by the light of the newly-risen sun, he found
himself on the very spot by the sands of Leith from which he had been
kidnapped! We will hope that every one, including his successor, was
glad when he thus came to life again.
When the Civil War began, the Earl of Traquair was faithful to King
Charles I. Having some papers of importance that he wished to have
given into the King's own hands, he entrusted these to the bold
freebooter. Christie's Will did his errand, and received an equally
important answer. But spies at Court had given Cromwell word of the
matter, and the command was sent up to Carlisle that Will Armstrong must
be intercepted there. Not knowing his danger, Will halted in the town
to refresh his horse, then pushed forward to the bridge which crossed
the Eden on the Northern boundary of the city. Cromwell's soldiers were
waiting for him; the bridge was high and narrow, the broad Eden waters
were swirling in high flood.
Christie's Will, without one second's hesitation, spurred his horse over
the parapet. He sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up ... he
sank ... he came up, this time at the very bank. He cut his heavy,
dripping cloak from his shoulders; relieved of the weight, his horse
struggled to the land. Away went Will, away went the troopers after
him. It was a hard race to the river Esk, and this also Will had to
swim. But now he was in Scotland, and his friends were at hand; gaily
Will turned to his pursuers, who dared not cross the water; "Good
friends," cried he, "come over and drink with me!" But they showed him
their backs, and their horses's tails, and he saw no more of them.
Such were the exploits of Christie's Will; he was the last of the
free-booters, but he certainly knew how to live up to their boldest
traditions.
*Chapter XLIV*
*Northumberland at the time of the Civil War*
During the stormy days of King Charles I., the Borders, and especially
Northumberland, saw many stirring scenes. It must be remembered that
shortly before the Long Parliament was elected, King Charles almost came
to war with the Scottish Presbyterians, because they would not obey the
harsh rule of Archbishop Laud. The Scots raised an army under the lead
of shrewd general Alexander Leslie, the "old, little, crooked soldier,"
of great experience, trained by the great Gustavus of Sweden. In 1639
Charles sent ships up to the Forth, in reply to which Leslie marched his
army to threaten the border. The old quarrel between the two countries
began to blaze up again. King Charles led an army to the border and was
received with splendid applause at Newcastle. Many joined his army, and
shouted with joy at the thought of meeting the Scots in battle. But
they were an untrained disorderly crew, who fired their guns off at
random and kept no military order whatever. Gallant Leslie marched his
men down to Duns Law, in South Berwickshire, and was ready to fight.
But King Charles would not trust his army that length; he made terms
with his opponents, promising them the reforms they set their hearts
upon, and the two armies melted away like school-boys at the end of the
term.
Things were soon as bad as before. Lord Conway was sent by the King to
put Newcastle into a strong defensive state. His greatest difficulty
was to get money for the purpose, for the King's quarrel with his
various Parliaments had deprived him of supplies. The badly paid troops
mutinied, and the ring-leader was shot. Very soon the Scottish army came
across the Tweed, the Highlanders armed with bows and arrows.
They pitched their camp on Heddon Law, and soon proved to the country
folk that they had not come for plunder, but would pay for all they
wanted to eat. This re-assured the country people, who had no real
quarrel with the Scots, and even became most friendly to them.
With Lord Conway it was otherwise; he was the King's officer, and was
bound to offer resistance. His opinion was that if once the Scots
crossed the Tyne, and attacked Newcastle from the south or Gateshead
side, they were sure of victory. Accordingly, leaving a strong garrison
to protect the town, he marched out with two thousand or more foot and
fully one thousand horse to command the important ford across the Tyne
at Newburn, a place five or six miles due west of Newcastle. It is
interesting to remember that here also the Romans had had
fortifications, along the line of the wall, and the very spot where the
Scots and English fought may well have been the scene of contests
between the Roman Legions and the wild Picts.
The English arrived first, on the south bank of the river, and threw up
earth-works hastily. Very soon they saw the Scots march into Newburn
village, on the north bank, where they employed themselves by hauling
their cannon up to the church tower. Remarkable cannon they were, made
out of bar-iron hooped together with cord and wet, raw hides! But they
were not required to carry any distance, the foe was only on the other
side of the Tyne. All the morning the enemies looked at one another
across the river, each hesitating to fire the first shot of the war. At
last an English officer shot a Scotch officer, and the fight began. The
Scots were on the higher ground, and their cannon, rough as they were,
sent heavy shot on to the English. Then when the river tide went down,
the Scots rushed across the ford, and the battle was soon won, the royal
standard being taken. English runaways rushed through the woods and
into Newcastle, crying, "Fly for your lives, naked devils have destroyed
us!" Whether they referred to kilted Highlanders is uncertain. Anyway,
Leslie and his Scots entered Newcastle in triumph, but were afterwards
bought off with a payment of L60,000 and recrossed the Tweed into
Scotland.
This was in 1641, a year in which King Charles was quarrelling bitterly
with his Long Parliament, though the actual civil war in England did not
begin till 1642. Early in 1642 it was decided that so important a town
as Newcastle ought to be put in a stronger state of defence.
William Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle, was made governor of the town, but
he was much hindered in his plans by lack of money. King Charles,
however, promoted him from Earl to Marquis of Newcastle, and the lack of
funds he made up as best he was able. However, the Governor of Holy
Island, off the Northumberland shore, found himself left for sixteen
months without any pay! He wrote to the King's treasury a protest in
verse, beginning:--
"_The great commander o' the Cormorants,_
_The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,_
_Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,_
_These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands._"
The allusion in the first two lines is to the fact that Holy Island and
the Farne Islands were then, and are still to-day, so thinly peopled
that sea-birds gather there in large numbers, adding greatly to the wild
beauties of these islets and rocks.
In January 1644 a serious struggle began. Leslie and his soldiers
crossed the Tweed at Berwick bridge and again entered Northumberland.
General Bayly marched his men from Kelso across the frozen river and
joined Leslie at Alnwick. Warkworth Castle, though it contained cannon
and provisions, surrendered at once. The Scottish general gravely told
Bemerton, the governor, that if he had learnt to fight as well as he had
learnt to dance his castle could never have been taken! The country
districts of Northumberland had no quarrel with the Scots, and it was
soon evident that the real fight would be at Newcastle, bravely held by
the Marquis and by the Mayor, Sir John Marley.
The Scottish "murthering pieces," as the cannon were called, were
brought down by sea, and the obstinate conflict began. Despite the
terrible weather of a very rough February, frequent skirmishes took
place, while the Scots closed nearer and nearer round the gallantly
defended town. Leslie soon found that the defences had been put into
good order; the ditch round the town was dug deep, and close to the
walls; the walls themselves were strongly underpinned. The battlements
were strengthened by stone and lime, but the top stones were loosened so
as to slip if the enemy attempted to mount them. Every cannon was
placed carefully, to the best advantage.
[Illustration: _The Storming of Newcastle_]
But the Marquis of Newcastle was called southward by the needs of his
King. With him were his thousand brave "White coats," so called because
they wore white coats which they promised to dye in the blood of the
enemy. But they met the terrible Ironsides at Marston Moor, and in a
conflict of furious bravery on both sides, all of the gallant thousand
except thirty were slain on the field of battle.
This was in July of 1644, but it did not affect the siege of Newcastle,
which still dragged obstinately on, under the skilful guidance of the
dauntless Mayor. By October, Sir John Marley was so buoyed up by his
success that he sent a letter to General Leslie to ask if he was still
alive! This the Scots took to be an insult, and a grand assault was
begun. The Scots were furious, and the defence was desperate. The roar
of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry were succeeded, as the
assault got nearer and nearer to its aim, by the clashing of swords and
the clanging of pikes. At last, the regiments of Loudoun and Buccleugh
succeeded in forcing their way into the town. In vain the defenders
made their last gallant charge; their cause was now hopeless, and soon
the market-place was filled with fugitives, who flung down their arms
and cried aloud for quarter at the hands of the triumphant Scots.
In these days the defender was often made to feel the anger of the
victors, who in the flush and cruelty of victory avenged their dead,
only too terribly, upon the losing side. Not so at Newcastle.
Prominent in its day, it stands out because of the mercy of the Scottish
conquerors as much as for the heroism of its defence. In this, the last
great struggle on English ground between Scots and English, it is
pleasing indeed to recall facts that redound to the high honour of both
parties.
*Chapter XLV*
*Montrose and Lesly*
James Graham, the great Marquis of Montrose who at first sided with the
Scottish Covenanters against Charles I., was so out of sympathy with the
extreme turn which affairs took later against that unhappy monarch that
he went over to the King's side. Gathering the Highland Clans under his
standard, he marched Southward and defeated the Covenanters in a series
of brilliantly fought battles. He occupied Edinburgh, and laid great
plans to complete the conquest of Scotland by subduing the Borderland.
If the Borders had remained in their old fighting state no doubt many a
Border chief would have joined Montrose's army and aided his bold plans.
But, unfortunately for King Charles, the Borders had been tamed and
disarmed since the union of England and Scotland under James I. Only a
few adventurous spirits like Christie's Will remained as examples of the
old wild days.
The remnant of the army of the Covenanters was commanded by the stern
General David Lesly (not the Alexander Leslie who figures in the
preceding chapter), and was somewhere in the Border district. Gay
Gallant Montrose did not bother as to exactly where this army was; he
despised it too heartily. He himself was at Selkirk, while his army was
encamped on the neighbouring plain of Philiphaugh.
Montrose was busy writing a cheering message to King Charles to the
effect that he had now no enemy left in Scotland who could offer an
effective resistance to his arms. Little did he think that General
Lesly was gradually creeping nearer, nearer, and was now actually within
four miles of his army. With the advantage of a thick Scotch mist,
Lesly's men actually burst upon Montrose's infantry without a single
scout having seen them to give warning of their approach! In such
confusion, Montrose's men had no chance whatever.
The Marquis galloped up, only to find his soldiers hopelessly defeated
and great numbers slain. There was nothing left but for those to escape
who could. The Marquis succeeded in cutting his way through, and
gathered his troops to fight again later on; but his efforts were doomed
to failure.
A popular ditty of these days, sung to a stirring tune, was called
"Lesly's March." Sir Walter Scott seems to regard this as wholly
serious, and ranks it as a Covenanter song. It appears to me, however,
that many of the lines have a very sarcastic flavour; no doubt the
Covenanters did really think that
"There's none in the right but we,
Of the old Scottish nation";
but they would probably have phrased it a little less baldly. To me it
appears as if this song were the work of an onlooker and not a partisan;
one ready to see the faults of both sides, and very much inclined to
hold back his final opinion till he saw which was going to win. But let
the March speak for itself.
*LESLY'S MARCH*
March! march:
Why the de'il do ye na march?
Stand to your arms, my lads,
Fight in good order;
Front about, ye musketeers all,
Till ye come to the English Border;
Stand till 't, and fight like men,
True gospel to maintain.
The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!
When to the kirk we come,
We'll purge it ilka room,
Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,
That a' the world may see,
There's nane in the right but we,
Of the auld Scottish nation.
A truly partisan ballad of the day describes the battle of Philiphaugh
and exults in the defeat of Montrose, "our cruel enemy," it calls him.
As a ballad it has no great poetic merit; the very sober Covenanters
probably regarded ballad-making as a frivolity. But it describes rather
graphically how an "aged father," from the country-side, led Lesly's
army very cautiously and wisely to the very tents of the foe. These
details are no doubt accurate; though the ballad-writer (whoever he was)
displays his ignorance of other matters by making the old soldier say
that he was at the battle of Solway Moss (which took place one hundred
years before) and at that of Dunbar, which was not fought till five
years later!
The following are the opening verses of the ballad, giving an idea of
its plain, straightforward style:--
On Philiphaugh a fray began,
At Hairhead-wood it ended;
The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,
Sae merrily they bended;
Sir David frae the Border came,
Wi' heart an' hand came he;
Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,
To bear him company.
Wi' him three thousand valiant men,
A noble sight to see!
A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,
As close as e'er might be.
When they came to the Shaw burn,
Said he, "Sae weel we frame.
I think it is convenient
That we should sing a psalm."
It is not necessary to quote more of it, but it may be remarked that in
place of the last line as given here, the _unregenerate_ substituted,
"That we should take a dram."
In point of actual fact, _both_ versions are probably true!
*Chapter XLVI*
*The Death of Montrose*
During the imprisonment of King Charles I., at a time when active war on
his behalf might do the unhappy monarch more harm than good, the gallant
Montrose had retired to France. His bright military fame, his courteous
manners, and manly bearing made him friends everywhere, and when he
visited Germany the Emperor conferred on him the rank of Marshal.
Hearing of the execution of Charles I., Montrose at once placed himself
at the disposal of Charles II., now a fugitive in Holland. This prince
named him Captain General of Scotland, and the daring hero set out for
the Orkney Islands with about five hundred paid soldiers, mostly
adventurous Germans and Dutchmen. Only a reckless spirit like Montrose
would have undertaken so wild a commission.
Scotland was heartily sick of war, and learnt with consternation of the
arrival of this firebrand. Lesly was sent forward with four thousand
men to attack Montrose's five hundred! Colonel Strachan led the
advanced guard, which fell unexpectedly upon the invading army, and,
after a brief, fierce struggle, totally defeated it.
Montrose, disguised as a peasant, entrusted his life to one he believed
to be his friend, M'Leod, Laird of Assaint. But this unworthy man
betrayed him to his bitterest enemy, General Lesly. Thus, at last, this
brilliant commander was in the hands of the bitter Covenanters, into
whose hearts his brilliant victories had once spread such terror. Their
treatment of him is a black stain upon their memory. For days he was
led about in the peasant's disguise, which he had put on; he was carted
through the streets of Edinburgh, accompanied by such insults that the
populace cried shame upon his captors.
When tried before the Scottish Parliament for treason, he made a most
eloquent defence, one of the most notable of his assertions being that
he had never stained his victories by slaughtering his foes in cold
blood after the battle. In this he was far above his enemies, who had
disgraced their victory of Philiphaugh by many an execution, and who
were now bent upon taking the life of Montrose himself. The sentence
against him was probably decided before his defence had been heard; it
ran thus:--
"That James Graham should next day be carried to Edinburgh cross and
there hanged on a gibbet 30 feet high for the space of three hours; then
to be taken down, his head to be struck off on a scaffold and affixed to
the prison; his arms and legs to be stuck up on the four chief towns of
the Kingdom, his body to be buried in the place set aside for common
criminals."
To this sentence the great Marquis haughtily replied that he would
rather have his head so placed than his picture in the King's
bedchamber, and that he wished he had limbs enough to be dispersed into
all the cities of Christendom, to prove his dying attachment to his
king. And in the one evening of life that still remained to him, this
accomplished and fearless nobleman employed his time in turning these
loyal sentiments into verse.
Despite the fact that he triumphed undaunted over all the mean
inventions of their malice, his enemies persisted to the end.
The executioner tied mockingly round his neck the book that had been
published describing his victories; Montrose thanked him, saying that he
wore it with more pride than he had ever worn the garter of honour. He
uttered a short prayer; then asking them what more indignities they had
prepared for him, he patiently and with unbroken spirit yielded his life
to the hangman, at the too early age of thirty-eight.
Whatever opinions we may have as to the rights and wrongs of the
quarrel, this brutal killing of a gallant soldier and accomplished
gentleman can only rank as a hideous blot upon all concerned in it.
Every insult hurled at Montrose has returned in the verdict of time with
redoubled force against the malice of those who stooped to such
vindictiveness. The execution of a soldier who has violated no rule of
war is at any time a thing that revolts the human conscience, and a
sentence hoarse with the vile taunts of its utterers has so far lost all
semblance of justice that it is needless to argue upon it.
In the verdict of history, the great Marquis of Montrose, whether right
or wrong in his political views, lived and died like a man of honour.
The ballad of the "Gallant Grahams," written about this time, reflects
very sincerely and touchingly the devotion and affection surrounding the
great Marquis, accompanied by the very Scottish feeling that in addition
to his own personal power and genius, he was also the head of the great
Border family of Grahams.
*THE GALLANT GRAHAMS*
Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]
Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;
For I maun away, and I may not stay,
To some uncouth land which I never knew.
[#] A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal and most ancient
possessions of the Montrose family lie along the water of Endrick, in
Dumbartonshire.
To wear the blue I think it best,
Of all the colours that I see;
And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,
That are banished from their countrie.
I have no gold, I have no land,
I have no pearl nor precious stane;
But I wald sell my silken snood,
To see the gallant Grahams come hame.
In Wallace days, when they began,
Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the gree
Through all the lands of Scotland wide:
He was lord of the south countrie.
[#] The faithful friend and adherent of the immortal Wallace slain at
the battle of Falkirk.
And so was seen full many a time;
For the summer flowers did never spring,
But every Graham, in armour bright,
Would then appear before the king.
They were all drest in armour sheen,
Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;
Before a king they might be seen,
These gallant Grahams in their array.
At the Goukhead our camp we set,
Our leaguer down there for to lay;
And, in the bonny summer light,
We rode our white horse and our gray.
Our false commander sold our king,
Unto his deadly enemie,
Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;
So I care not what they do with me.
They have betray'd our noble prince,
And banished him from his royal crown;'
But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand
For to command those traitors down.
In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,
March'd to Glenshie by night and day.
And took the town of Aberdeen,
And met the Campbells in their array.
[#] Glen-Prosen is in Angusshire, usually called Forfarshire. The
Glenshee road, over the Grampians, is the highest road in Great Britain.
Five thousand men, in armour strong,
Did meet the gallant Grahams that day
At Inverlochie, where war began,
And scarce two thousand men were they.
Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,
Courageous in the best degree,
Did for the king fight well that day;--
The Lord preserve his majestie!
Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!
And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!
For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,
Who aye were true to majestie.
And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,
And had him into Edinburgh town;
And frae his body taken the head,
And quarter'd him upon a trone,
And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,
And our noble king is also gone;
He suffer'd death for our nation,
Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.
[#] The Marquis of Huntly, one of the few Scottish nobles who never
wavered in his devotion to King Charles I., was beheaded by the sentence
of the Parliament of Scotland.
But our brave young king is now come home,
King Charles the Second in degree;
The Lord send peace into his time,
And God preserve his majestie!
The ballad-writer's reference to the "coming home" of Charles II.
probably means his signing of the Covenant and placing himself entirely
at the mercy of the violent bigots who had killed his most faithful
servant, Montrose. To this was Charles reduced by the desperate nature
of his fortunes. But this course of action entirely severed the
Scottish Covenanters from the English Puritans, and admirers of the
gallant Montrose can take a grim pleasure in the fact that his
arch-enemy, General Lesly, was most disastrously defeated by Cromwell at
the battle of Dunbar.
*Chapter XLVII*
*The Borderers and the Jacobites*
During the Jacobite Rising, many of the Border chiefs took up arms in
the Stuart cause. Two of these, Lord Derwentwater and Viscount Kenmure,
were beheaded on Tower Hill for their part in the unsuccessful rising of
1715, and another, Lord Nithsdale, was only saved from the same fate by
the courage of his wife.
This brave woman travelled in the depth of winter from Scotland, but
when she reached York the snow was so deep that the stage coach could go
no further. She continued her journey alone, though the snow was above
the horse's knees, and by good luck she reached London and the Tower in
safety, where, by bribing the guards, she managed to see her husband.
She then resolved to petition the King for his life, and she herself
tells in a letter to her sister how she waited in the ante-room to see
the King (George I.), and how she threw herself at his feet to present
the petition. The King tried to get away from her, but she seized hold
of his coat, and was dragged on her knees along the floor. This scene
produced no result, and as other efforts to procure Nithsdale's release
also failed, the Countess determined to save him by a stratagem. She
again bribed the guards to let her in, telling them she had joyful news
for her husband about the petition. She dressed him in woman's clothes,
which she had smuggled in for the occasion, and painted his face, and
brought him out, speaking to him as to the woman friend who had
accompanied her, but who had already left the prison, calling him "Mrs
Betty," and asking him for the love of God to go as quickly as he could
to her lodging and fetch her maid, as she wished to go and present her
final petition for the release.
All went well, and Nithsdale escaped to France; but the King was highly
incensed and declared that the Countess cost him more trouble than any
woman in Europe.
Her adventures were not yet over, however. In spite of the fact that
the King had wished for her arrest, she travelled to Scotland to fetch
her son, and the valuable papers which she had taken the precaution to
bury underground on her departure for London.
She was successful in this second journey, and, after concealing herself
and her son, until no further search was made for them, this noble and
enterprising woman escaped to France and joined her husband. They
afterwards went to Rome, where they lived happily for many years.
In an old ballad called "Lord Nithsdale's Dream," he is described as
dreaming in the Tower the night before his execution, after having said
farewell to his beloved wife.
"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,
Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."
He listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches the last
glimpse of her robe at the door, and then all joy and gladness depart
out of his life, and he prays alone in his dungeon, thinking of the
dreadful dawn that awaits him.
He falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy again, playing
amongst the bracken on the braes of the Nith, bathing in its waters and
treading joyfully the green heather. Or again he is riding to the hunt
on his gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star on his
breast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain roe.
The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to
Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes
rise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice
replying.
Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band.
"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,
And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.
For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,
They raised the loud slogan--they rushed to the strife;
Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,
For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."
And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side,
saying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells
tolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and
the victim is led bare-headed from his cell.
Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light
of a taper, the form of his wife.
"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,
"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,
There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,
I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"
[Illustration: "_'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!_"]
Then she puts woman's garb upon him, and together they pass the
unsuspecting guards and weary sentinels.
* * * * *
When the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of their Lord's escape
their joy was unbounded.