CHAPTER XXI Graeme and Buick Good Lord Graeme and Sir Robert Buick 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. Oh, your son, a lad like mine, answered Buick boastfully, and learnt some books that he could read. They might be two brothers in arms, and lord it over the border side. But your son's a lad, and he's but bad, and Billy to my son he cannot be. 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, Christy Graeme. But where were you so long from home? I've 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 Buick met me. He says you are but a bad, wild youth, and can never be Billy 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 Buick. How God forbid, my old father, that ever such a thing should be! Billy Buick was my master, and I his scholar, in spite of the pains he wasted in teaching me. Lo, 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 Christy Graeme stooped low. Father, put on your glove again. The wind has blown it from your hand. What's that thou sayest thou limalune? How dares 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 Christy to his chamber, to consider what should happen. Should he fight with his own father, or with his brother-in-arms Buick? If I should kill my Billy dear, God's blessing I shall never win. But if I strike at my old father, I think would be a mortal sin. But if I kill my Billy 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 jacket 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 butler by his side. Now young Buick had taken his father's sword under his arm, and walked about his father's clothes. He looked between himself and the son, to see some approaching object, and was aware of a man in bright armour riding that way most hastily. Oh, who is Yon that comes this way so hastily that hither came? I think it be my brother, dear. I think it be young Christy Graham. You're welcome here, my Billy dear, and Thrice, you're welcome unto me. Christy explained that he was come to fight, that his father had been to Carlisle, and had met with the elder Buick. 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.  We'll take three men on either side, and see if we can our fathers agree. Christy shook his head. He knew that it was useless. Oh, hold thy tongue, Billy Buick, if thou art a man as I'm sure thou art, come over the dyke and fight with me. But I have no harness, Billy, as I see you have. As little harness as is on your back shall be on mine. With that Christy threw off his coat of mail and cap of steel, stuck his spear into the ground, and tied his horse up to a tree. Buick threw off his cloak, and cast aside his solter-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 Graham hit Buick under the left breast, and he fell to the ground, wounded mortally. Rise up, rise up now, Billy dear, rise and speak three words to me, whether thou's got and thy deadly wound, or if God and good leeching may succour thee. Buick groaned. Get to horse Billy Graham, and get thee hence speedily. Get thee out of this country, that none may know who has done this. Oh, have I slain thee, Billy Buick. But I made avow 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 Buick. Rise up, my son, he said, for I think you have got the victory.  You might have drunken your wine in peace, and let me and my Billy be. Go dig a grave both wide and deep, and a grave to hold as both. But lay Christy Graham on the sunny side, for full sure I know that the victory was to him. Alas, cried old Buick, I've lost the liveliest lad that ever was born unto my name. Alas, quoth good Lord Graham, 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 dares to have ridden the world around, had Christy Graham been at my back. End of Section 24 Section 25 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 22 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 16th 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 heart and hind, many a doe and row, 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 of 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.  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, there 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 Burkendale Bray. He saw the doe and row, the heart and hind, and wild beasts in plenty, and heard blows ringing boldly, and arrows whizzing near by him. He saw to 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. Murray, thou art welcome, gentlemen, thou seems 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.  I, 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 Etric Forrest held? Etric Forrest is the fairest forest that ever man saw. There are doe and row and heart 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 merrymen, 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.  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.  Tell him to come quickly to my aid, for that the king comes to Etric Forrest, and we shall all be landless. What news? What newsman 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'm sorry for that. If Murray lose fair Etric Forrest, the king will take Moffat Dale from me. I'll meet him with five hundred men and more if need be, and before he gets to Etric Forrest, 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 Traquire. What news? What newsman 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 Etric Forrest to make he all landless men.  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 Cadenford. 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 Perman's score with four of his company, and that the king should go there also, accompanied by five earls. If he refused to do that, will conquer both him and his lands. There shall never a Murray after him hold lands free in Etric Forrest. The lad of Buck's Clue, a man's 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 Forrest, lives by robbery and felony. Wherefore, right on my lage, 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 mayst 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 Hopperingle, of Torsons, by name, who came and knelt before him. Welcome, James Pringle of Torsons! He must take a message for me. Go to Yonder Outlaw, Murray, where he biders so boldly. Bid him meet me at Perman's Gore 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 Forrest. So James Pringle came before the Outlaw. Welcome, James Pringle of Torsons! What message brings thou from the king to me? He bids you meet him at Perman's Gore with four of your company, and he will go there himself with no more than five earls.  Never shall a Murray after you hold free land in Ettrick Forrest. 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.  Old holiday, young holiday, ye too 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 Forrest I won from the Southrons, and as I won them, so will I keep them against all the kings in Christendom.  Grant me mercy, sovereign prince, and extend me favour. If thou wilt make me sheriff of Ettrick Forrest, 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 Forrest, 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?  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 me. Philip Hall and Lewin Hope are mine by right. Newark, foul shields and tinnies I won by my bow and arrow. I have farms at Newark Lee and Hanging Shore 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 Forrest, 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.  End of Section 25. Section 26 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 23 Johnny Armstrong When Johnny 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 free booters. Of these the chief was Johnny Armstrong of Gilnocky, 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 council of false friends, Johnny 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 Johnny Armstrong, lair of Gilnocky, bidding him come and speak with him speedily. Whereupon the Elliott's and Armstrong's convened a meeting to which they came in gallant company, and decided to ride out to meet the king, and bring him to Gilnocky. Make ready rabbits and capon and venison in clenties, said Johnny, and we'll welcome home our royal king to dine at Gilnocky. So they ran out their horses on Langham Down, and broke their spears, and the ladies looking from their high windows cried, God send our men safe home again. When Johnny came before the king, with all his brave fellows, the king took off his bonnet to him, as to an equal. My name is Johnny Armstrong, said the Free Booter, 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.  I'll give thee four and twenty milk-white steeds, that prance and nay, 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.  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 sister's 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.  Yet had I lived for another hundred years, England should still have found me, meal and malt, and plenty of beef and mutton. Never would a Scott'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 would prove to me, I would have kept the border side 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 Johnny had a girdle around 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 nave that a king should have, but the sword of honour and the crown, cried the king? Where did you get those tassels, Johnny, that shine so bravely above your brow? I got them fighting in the field where thou darest not be, replied Johnny, and had I now my horse and good harness, and were I riding, as I am used to do, this meeting between should have been told these hundred years. God be with thee, my brother Christie, long shalt thou live, lad of Mangertown on the border side, ere thou see thy brother ride by again.  Farewell, Bonnie, Hall of Gilnocky, standing strong on Eskside. If I had lived but seven more years, I would have gilded the roundabout. Then Johnny Armstrong was slain by the king's orders at Carlin Rigg, 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 Johnny lived on the border side, no Englishmen dust come near his stronghold. A less celebrated moss trooper, Coburn of Henderland, was hanged by the pittiless king over the gate of his own tower. The wife of Coburn loved him most dearly, and when she found the king would show no mercy, fled away to the rocks behind the castle, while 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 all with lily flower. A brauer 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 break my bower, and slew my night. He slew my night to me, say dear, he slew my night, and took his gear. My servants all for life did flee, and left me in extremity. I sewed his sheet, making my moan. I watched the corpse myself alone. I watched his body night and day. No living creature came that way. I took his body on my back, and whilst I gave, and whilst I sat, I digged a grave, and laid him in, and happed him with the sod-sigreen. But think, naive, my heart was sore, when I laid the mould on his yellow hair.  Nay, living man I'll love again, since that my lovely night was slain. We are lock of his yellow hair, I'll chain my heart for evermore. End of Section 27 Section 28 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 25 The Raid of the Curse 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 Curse were an important border family, the leaders of whom afterwards became earls of Roxburgh. Sir Andrew Kerr was warden of the border at the time of the raid, but he proved that it took place without his consent. The Curse were all left-handed men, and puzzled their enemies by their left-handed swordsmanship. Even today, in some parts of the borders, a left-handed man is called Kerr Handed. On a fine September evening, Tam Kerr 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 Cocket, even as far as Rothbury, where witherington 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 Allenton or Alwynton Ford, where the Alwynton stream enters the Cocket. So they sent the reckless Mark Kerr 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 Witherington. 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 marveled 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 come by an English spy that the Kerrs 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.  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 altogether hid in the lowest dell of the Larbottle Burn, while they made their plans.  This was done, until 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 Witherington 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 Witherington 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. Witherington 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 worked enough to gallop for their lives, slew the cattle they could no longer hope to steal. On and on the hard-pressed remnants 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 curses who had started forth in the raid, only seventeen weary and wounded saw their homes again.  Small wonder that a Scots should make a ballad of the story, and that borderers should sing it even to this day. End of section twenty-eight. Section twenty-nine of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter twenty-six Mary 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 the first essential, and at Carlisle three rivers meet, the coldew and the peteral 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 Lugo Valium, the trench of the legion. Even today, 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 Luell, or Lille, and the Britons added their word, Caer, which means a city, hence Caer Luell, 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 today that the centre of Carlisle consists of a marketplace 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 Mary 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 connections 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 Turn Waddling Lake and Castle, where King Arthur was bewitched, and taken prisoner by the foul, discourteous night, only to be released, provided one of his men would consent to marry the hideous lady with hair-like serpents. When at last Sir Gawain married this hag for his king's sake, she of course changed at once into a beautiful young woman. This doesn't 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 Merry Carlisle, 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 debatable line of the wall. We next learn of Carlisle that King Egford of Northumbria rebuilt the city about the year 675, wherefor 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 Norman 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. Today, 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 50 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 Burg 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 Mary Carlisle, meaning that is, that they had all been hanged there. In 1537 there was a rising in England, 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 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 Bucleau 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 war-like 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 Rosebury. The victims were executed with the cruelties of the Old Law against Treason on the celebrated gallows hill at Harrowby, and were buried in nameless graves in the Kirkyard of St Cuthbert's. Passing down the botchagate, 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 worthwhile. The little river Peteryl sparkles at our feet. The view, fresh and green, stretches away nobly to the penines 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 transects, and the upper end that continues the main stem is the choir, where choir, nave and transects 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 and disturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in their plans by war, and frequently had their buildings seriously damaged by their enemies. It is a mixture of styles, a mass of rebuildings and afterthoughts, but for that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the much-harvest 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 merry 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 today 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 picked and war-trained Roman. Here the most skillful leaders of the Celts, Sexons and Danes have led their brave and sturdy men to battle. Here Norman Knight has fought with Hardy Scott, 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 Mary Carlisle. End of Section 29 Section 30 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mistress William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain Chapter 27 Kinmont Willie Or have you not heard of the false Sackeld? Or have you not heard of the keen Lord's group? How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie on Harry B to Hankey Moot. The story of this famous free-booter William Armstrong of Kinmont belongs to the time of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord's group was warden of the western marchers, and Mr. Sackeld of Corby Castle was his deputy. Kinmont Willie was a descendant of the famous Johnny Armstrong of Gilnocky. And his capture was a violation of the existing truce between Scroop and Beclew, the keeper of Lydsdale. Elizabeth was indignant at Beclew's action in rescuing Willie, and as the Scots at that time were very anxious not to offend her, Beclew 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 Sackeld 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 Little Ford and through Carl Isle Sands to Carl Isle Castle. When he arrived there Willie addressed his capture in these words, My hands are tied, but my tongue is free. Who will avow this deed or answer for it to bold Beclew? 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 Scroop. 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 Brankson Hall to the Keeper of Lidsdale that Lord Scroop 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 Scroop.  Have they taken Kinmont Willie in spite of the truce, and forgotten that the bold Beclew is Keeper on the Scottish side? Have they taken Kinmont Willie so fearlessly, and forgotten that the bold Beclew 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 Beclew called forty bold marchmen, all of his own name and kin, except one Sir Gilbert Elliott, 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 Beclew, 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 Woodhouse Lee. When they had crossed to the English side, the first man they met was the false Sackeld. Where are you going ye keen hunters, quoth Sackeld? We go to hunt an English stag that has trespassed on Scottish ground. Where are ye going ye marshal men? We go to catch a rank robber that has broken faith with the bold Beclew. Where are ye going ye mason lads with all those long high ladders? We go to harry a corby's nest, not far from here. Where are ye going ye broken men? said false Sackeld. But Dickie of dry hope, 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 Sackeld. On then they went to Carlisle Town, crossing the Eden at Stainshaw Bank, nor lost they either horse or man, though the water was high in flood. When they reached Stainshaw Bank the wind was rising, and the Laird ordered them to leave 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 sleep. On they crept on their knees, and held their breath, till they placed the ladders against the wall. Beclew himself mounted first, took the watchman by the throat, and flung him down upon the lads. Thou hadst gone on the other side, said he, had there not been peace between our lands. Sound out the trumpets, quoth he. Let's wake up, Lord Scroop. Then loud blew the warden's trumpet, to the tune of O'Wah, damn meddle we 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, its long since sleep was frightened from me. Give my service to my wife and bans, and all good fellows that inquire after me. Red Rowan, the strongest man in Teviotdale, lifted him up. Stay now, Red Rowan, till I take farewell of Lord Scroop. Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scroop, 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 back to Steed have I worn such cumbersome spurs. Scarcely had they won the Stainshaw bank, when all the bells in Carlisle were ringing, and Lord Scroop was after them with a thousand men on horse and foot. But the clue has turned to Eden-water, even where it flowed for a bank to brim, and he has plunged in we all his band, and safely swam them through the stream. He turned him on the other side, and at Lord Scroop his glove flung he. And if ye like, now my visit to Merry England, in fair Scotland, come visit me. All sore astonished stood Lord Scroop, he stood as still as Rocker-Stain. He scarcely dared to true his eyes, when through the water they had game.  I would know her ridden that one water, for all the gold in christen-ty. End of Section 30 Section 31 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.  The ballad of this name, a popular one in Lydsdale, relates like that of Kinmont Willie, to the time when Lord Scroop was warden of the West Marchers, and Governor of Carlisle. Dick of 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 Lydsdale for a considerable time, and no riding, and the horses had all grown so fat, that their dares scarcely stir out of their store. Then Fair Johnny 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 lad, a wise man, had left neither goods nor cattle outside to steal, except six sheep in a meadow. Said Johnny, I'd rather die in England than take those six sheep to Lydsdale. But who was that man we last met as we came over the hill?  That fool has three good cows of his own, and as good as there are in Cumberland. Betide me life or death, they shall go to Lydsdale 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 thou hast lost. So Dickie went to Lord Scroop. Hold thy tongue, fool, said Scroop, I have no time for jesting.  Jesting agrees not with me. Lydsdale 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 Lydsdale. I give thee leave, fool, said Scroop, 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 my pledge. May my head hang on Harry B., and may I never again cross Carlisle Sons if I steal from any man who stole not from me. Dickie joyfully took leave of his lord and master, and went and brought a bridle and a pair of new spurs, which he packed up in the thigh of his britches. Then he came on as fast as he could to Puddingburn House, where there were thirty-three Armstrongs. Oh, 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 curtisly up to the hall-board. Well, may ye be my good lads jock, but the devil bless all your company. I'm come to complain of your man, Johnny Armstrong, and of his brother Willie, that they came to my house last night, and took away my three cows. Quoth fair, Johnny Armstrong, we'll hang him. Nay, said Willie, we'll slay him. But up spoke another young Armstrong. We'll give him a thrashing and let him go. Then up spoke the good lads jock, the best fellow in all the company. Sit down a while, Dickie, and we'll give thee a bit of thine own cow's thigh. Dickie's heart was so sore that he couldn't eat a bit. But he went and lay down in an old peat-house, where he thought to sleep the night, and all the prayers the poorful prayed were. I wish I had amends for my three good cows. Now it was the custom of Puddingburn House, and of the House of Manderton, whose laird was chief of the Armstrong clan, that any who came not to the table at the first summons got no more meat till the next meal. So some of the lads, hungry and weary, had thrown the key of the stable above the door-head. Dickie took good notice of that to turn it to his own account. Went into the stable, where stood thirty-three horses, and tied thirty of them with St. Mary's knot, tight to their stalls. Of the remaining three, Dickie took two, which belonged to Johnny and Willie Armstrong, and the one belonging to the laird's jock he left loose in the stable. Leaping on one, he took the other along with him, and rode off as fast as he could. When day came, there were great shouts and cries. Who has done this? quoth the good laird's jock. See that ye tell me the truth. It is Dickie that has been in the stable last night, and has taken the horses. You never would listen to me, said the good laird's jock, though I told ye true tales. He would never stay out of England, but would steal everything, till ye were crooked and blind. Len me thy bay, said fair Johnny. He's the only horse loose in the stable, and I'll either fetch back Dickie or the cow, or he shall die. Len thee my bay, said jock. He's worth gold and good money. Dick of the cow has taken two horses. I would not ye make them three. Johnny, however, took the laird's steel jacket on his back, and a two-handed sword by his side, and a steel cap on his head, and galloped after Dickie, who was barely three miles from the town when Johnny overtook him on Canobie Lee, on the borders of Liddestale. Abide, abide thou traitor thief, cried Armstrong. The day has come that thou shalt die. Dickie looked over his left shoulder and said, Johnny, has there no more in thy company? There is a preacher in our chapel who teaches all the live long day, and when day is gone and night has come, there are only three words I remember, the first and second are faith and conscience. The third is, ne'er let a traitor free. What faith and conscience was thine, Johnny, when thou tookst away my three cows? And when thou hadst taken them away, thou was not satisfied? Thou sentest thy brother Willie and took away three coverlets off my wife's bed. Then Johnny let his spear fall low by his side, and thought he would have killed Dickie, but the powers above were stronger than he, and he only succeeded in running through the fool's jerkin.   Farewell, Johnny, said he, I'll tell my master I met thee. When Johnny wakened out of his swoon, he was a sad man. Out thou gone, Dickie, he said, then the shame and woe are left with me.  Dickie came home to the good Lord's group as fast as he could. Now, Dickie, I'll neither eat nor drink till thou art hanged on high. Shame speed the liars, my Lord, said Dickie. This is not the promise he made me, for I would never have gone to Liddard'sdale to steal, if I had not got leave from thee. But why did he steal the Laird's jock's horse? He might have lived long in Cumberland before the Laird's jock had stolen from thee. Indeed, I knew he lied, my Lord, I won the horse from Fare Johnny Armstrong hand to hand on Canobilly. There is the jacket that was on his back, and the two-handed sword that hung by his side, and the steel cap that was on his head. I brought all these tokens to show thee. If that be true, that thou tellest me, and I think there does not lie, I'll give thee fifteen pounds for the horse all told out in the lap of thy cloak. I'll give thee one of my best milk-cows to maintain thy wife and three children, and they will be as good as any two of thine would be. Shame speed the liars, my Lord, said Dickie. Do you think I to make the fool of me? I'll either have twenty pounds for the horse, or else I'll take him to Morton Fair. So Scroop gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all in gold and good money, and one of his best milk-cows to maintain his wife and three children. Then Dickie rode as fast as he could through Carlisle Town, and the first man he met was my Lord's brother, Ralph Scroop, bailiff of Glouzenbury. Well be you met, Ralph Scroop, said Dickie. Welcome, my brother's fool, said Ralph. Where did you get Johnny Armstrong's horse? Where did I get him? I stole him, said Dickie. Will thou sell me the bonny horse? Aye, if thou count out the money in the lap of my cloak, for never a penny will I trust thee. I'll give thee ten pounds for the horse, and count it into the lap of thy cloak, and one of my best milk-cows to maintain thy wife and three children. Shame, speed, the liars, my Lord! Do you think I to make a fool of me? I'll either have twenty pounds for the horse, or I'll take him to Morton Fair. So Ralph gave him twenty pounds for the horse, all in gold and good money, and one of his milk-cows to maintain his wife and three children. Then Dickie leaped and laughed and cried, May the neck of the third horse be broken if either of the two were better than he. So he came home to his wife, and ye may judge how the poor fool had succeeded. For her three stolen covelets he gave her two score English pounds, and two cows as good as her own three. And here, said he, is a white-footed nag that I reckon will carry as both. But if I stay longer in Cumberland the Armstrong's will hang me. So Dickie took leave of his Lord, and went to live at Berg, understand Muir. End of Section 31 Section 32 Of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 29 The Loch Mayburn Harper The castle of Loch Mayburn is said to have been the residence of Robert Bruce while Lord of Allendale. Hence, as a royal fortress, the keeping of it was always granted to some powerful Lord. There is extant a grant giving to one of these, Robert Lorda, the office of captain and keeper of Loch Mayburn Castle for seven years. And among his perquisites were lands stolen from the king. The inhabitants of four small villages near the castle have each still to this day a right to a small piece of ground. These people are descendants of Robert Bruce's retainers, to whom he assigned these portions of land in reward for faithful service. And there are still to be found some families, for example, the Richardsons of Loch Mayburn, who hold their lands direct from the times of Bruce, without a break. For heard ye now of the silly blind Harper, how long he lived in Loch Mayburn town, and how he would gang to Fair England to steal the Lord Warden's wanton brown. But first he gave to his good wife, we all the haste that he could dole. This work, quoth he, will ne'er gay well without a mare that has a foal. Quoth his wife, thou hast a good grey mare that can jump both high and low, so set thee on her back and leave the foal at home with me. Away went the Harper to England as fast as he might, and when he came to Carlisle Gate, who should be there but the Warden himself. Come into my hall, thou silly blind Harper, and of thy harping let me hear. O, by my sooth, quoth the silly blind Harper, I would rather her stabling for my mare. The Warden looked over his left shoulder, and said unto his stable groom, Gay, take the silly blind Harper's mare, and tie her beside my wanton brown. So the Harper harped and sang, the Lord Ling's danced, and so sweet was the music, that the groom forgot all about the stable door. Still the Harper harped on, till all the nobles were fast asleep. When he quickly took off his shoes, crept softly down the stair, and hide with light tread to the stable door, which he opened and entered. He found there three and thirty steeds. He took a colt's halter, which he had hidden in his hose, slipped it over wanton brown, tied it to the grey mare's tail, and turned them both loose at the castle gate. Away they went over Moor and Moss and Dale, and the mare never let wanton rest a moment, but kept him galloping home to her foal. So swift a foot was she, and knew her way so well, that she reached Lock Mayburn a good three hours before daybreak. When she came to the Harper's door, she naved and snorted.  The lass rose up, put on her clothes, and looked through the lockhole. By my sooth, cried she, our mare has got a fine brown foal.  The light is dazzling thine eyes. I'll wager all I have against a groat, that it's bigger than ever our foal will be. Alas! alas! cried the cunning old Harper. Alas! that I came here. In Scotland I have lost a brown colt foal, and in England they have stolen my good grey mare.  We'll pay thee well for the loss of thy colt foal, and thou shalt have a far better mare. So the Harper harped and sang, and so sweet were his harpings, that he was paid for the foal he never had lost, and three times over for the grey mare. End of section 32 Section 33 Of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 30 The Rook Hope Ride This Durham border song is supposed to be spoken by a weird aleman, who begins by denouncing the inhabitants of the Tine Valley, and all their companies thereabout, as false thieves, minded to do mischief, and at their stealing stands not out. It must be confessed that the Tinedale men had an unenviable reputation. They were such lawless desperados, so addicted to rapine, that during more than two centuries the merchants of Newcastle regularly refused to make an apprentice born in that district. The date is December 1572. The rebel Earl of Northumberland, who had taken up arms for Mary Queen of Scots and for the old religion, had been betrayed by the Scots and beheaded at York. Owing to this rebellion there was great confusion in the northern counties, hence the time was well chosen by the lima thieves of Tinedale to make a predatory raid on their neighbours. They gathered together the stoutest men of arms and the best in gear, a hundred or more in number, and in the forenoon, about eleven o'clock, they came into a by fell and stopped for a meal, the last which some of them would eat. When they had eaten, they chose their captains, Harry Corbill, Simon Fell, and Martin Ridley. Then they rode on over the moss, with many a brank and view, saying to one another that they were men enough, for weird ale men have a journey tane. They are so far out, o'er Yon Fell, that some of thems with the two earls, and others fast in Bernard Castle. There shall we get gear enough, for there is name, but women attain, the sorrowful fend that they can make, is loudly cries as they were slain. They came in at Rook Hope Head, which is the top of a rocky valley, about five miles long at the end of which Rook Hope Burn empties itself into the river Weir. This valley is as wild and open to day as it was then. In some four hours they gathered together about six hundred sheep, and they were engaged in shifting the horses, when the hue and cry was raised by one Rowley, whose horse they tried to take. He was the first man to see them. The cry spread rapidly down Rook Hope Burn, and through Weirdale, and word came to the bailiff's house at the east gate. He was out, but his wife had his horse saddled, and sent it to him together with his sword, spear, and jacket quilted with iron plates, the sort of harness worn by the moss troopers and other light horsemen of the time. The bailiff had already heard the bad news, and was sorely troubled thereby. His own brother had been attacked three days before by marauders, and lay sick with nineteen wounds. Yet the bailiff shrank not at all, but hide fast after the sheep's dealers, with as many of the neighbours as he could gather to bear him company. The pursuers overtook the thieves in nuked and cloth, and gave them all the fighting they wanted, not one of them ever thought to see his wife again. They bore three banners against the Weirdale men, as if the world had been all their own. The fray lasted only an hour, but many a tall man lay weaponless and sore-wounded before that hour was done, and four of the Northumbrian prickers were slain, including Harry Corbill, whom they had chosen to be their captain. Eleven of them were taken prisoners. Only one of the Weirdale men fell, but these Weirdale men, they have good hearts. They are as stiff as any tree, for if they'd every one been slain, never a foot back man would flee. And such a storm amongst them fell, as I think you never heard the like, for he that bears his head on high, he off times falls into the dyke. And now I do entreat you all, as many as are present here, to pray for the singer of this song, for he sings to make, blithe your cheer. CHAPTER 31 BARTHROMS DERGE The story of how this ballad came to be preserved, to us, is a very interesting one. A Mr. Sertes, who was very interested in the old ballads, used to give work to a poor old Scotswoman, to weed in his garden. Finding that she had learnt ballads in her young days, he encouraged her to talk about them. And this was amongst those which she recited to him. She told him that it referred to a young man, named Bertram or Bathrum, who made love to a young lady against the wish of her brothers. The cruel brothers slew him, but the lady had him buried at the very spot, where he was wont to come to visit her in the days of their love. So Walter Scott thinks that perhaps Bathrum was an Englishman, and the lady was Scottish, and that the anger of the lady's brothers against him was partly on that account. It must be remembered that in those stormy days, when border rivalry was keen, and all the border chiefs on both sides were men of warlike mould, intermarriage between the two races was punishable by border law. Each side felt equally that such mixed marriages would sooner or later produce a race that was neither loyal English, nor loyal Scotsch. A spirit of aloofness and rivalry was deliberately encouraged right up to the time of the union of the two countries under one king. Bathrum's dirge.  They made a beer of the broken bow, the sauch and the aspen grey, and they bore him to the lady chapel, and waked him there all day. A lady came to that lonely bower, and through her robes aside, she tore her long yellow hair and knelt at Bathrum's side. She bathed him in the lady well, his wounds so deep and sore, and she plaited a garland for his breast, and a garland for his hair. They rode him in a lily sheet and bare him to his earth, and the greyfriars sung the dead man's mass, as they passed the chapel garth. They buried him at the murk midnight, when the dew fell cold and still, when the aspen grey forgot to play, and the mist clung to the hill. They dug his grave but a barefoot deep by the edge of the nine-stone burn, and they covered him o'er with the heather flower, the moss and the lady fern. The greyfriars stayed upon the grave, and sang till the morning tide, and a friar shall sing for Bathrum's soul, while the headless cross shall bide. Mr. Sertes observes on this passage that in the return made by the commissioners on the dissolution of Newminster Abbey, there is an item of a chauntry, for one priest to sing daily, ad cruceum lapidaeum. Probably many of these crosses had the like expiritory's solemnities for persons slain there. They certainly did bury in former days near the nine-stone burn, for Sir Walter Scott found there lying among the heather, a small monumental cross, with initials, which he reverently placed upright. End of section 34 Section 35 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 32 Queen Mary and the Borders The brief reign of Mary, Queen of Scots, was so crowded with incident that she was left with little time to visit the disturbed borderland of her kingdom. Nonetheless, her few visits to this district were fraught with important consequences. In 1565, when she married her cousin, Lord Darnley, the head of the Douglas faction and a Roman Catholic, the Protestant nobles took up arms. In her very honeymoon, she headed her soldiers, pursued the rebels to Dumfries, entered the town with a pistol in each hand, and laughed heartily at the fun of making her enemies skip like rabbits over the border. She was only 22 years old, a fearless, dashing, attractive woman, with a clever head, a strong will, and a wild and lawless disposition. In the next year, she again visited the border, but on a very different errand. Mary had developed an extreme fancy for that bold border lord, the Earl of Bothwell, whose castle of Hermitage commanded the picturesque and important valley of the Liddle. The Queen had given him authority to control the fierce borderers, and when the Earl was riding out, he met the most lawless of them, Jock Elliott, of whom the couplet, My name is little Jock Elliott, and who dare meddle with me? Bothwell fired straight at Elliott with his pistol, wounding him in the leg.  Mary was holding solemn court at Jedborough when she heard of her favourites danger. She straightway took horse and rode to Hermitage, a hard cross-country ride of twenty miles, through a district infested with reckless men. When she galloped back to Jedborough, she was in high fever, and nearly died. Later on, in the misery of her long imprisonment, she often said, Would I had died at Jedborough? Years later, a broken piece of a silver spur was found at Queensmyre, on this difficult and dangerous road, just where Queen Mary's horse was said to have come to grief. Yet another time Queen Mary came to the border, this time to cross it, after her imprisonment at Loch Leven, her escape, and the disastrous rout of her followers at Langside. Daring and resourceful as ever, she fled across the Solway in an open boat. Scotland had failed her. She sought the protection of England. She landed at Cockermouth, and was led to Carlisle by Sir Louther, and kept there, in reality, a prisoner, while Elizabeth was musing of the dangers of the position. The earls of Northumberland and Westmoreland took up Mary's cause, an attempt to rescue her. But the warden of Carlisle, Lord Scroop, defended the town successfully against the two earls, and they were soon in flight eastward for their very lives. After this attempt at rescue, Mary was, for greater safety, sent down to Bolton Castle in Yorkshire. Leonard Daker, a member of the powerful Cumberland family of the Dakers, seems to have played a treacherous part, first promising the earls his help, and then betraying them to Elizabeth. He seized Narwith Castle, which properly belonged to his young niece, and collected together three thousand men, to the old border war cry, a red bull, a red bull, probably the nickname of some fierce red-haired Celtic champion. The defeated earls came to Narwith for shelter, and Daker refused to harbour them. But by this time Elizabeth was convinced of Daker's treason, and ordered Lord Hudson, the governor of Berwick, to arrest him. Hudson appears to have marched by rather a roundabout way, for Daker met him at Gelt Bridge on the west of Narwith. A bridge is always a good point of vantage for meeting an enemy, especially when the river runs, as the Gelt does, through a deep and wooded gorge. The enemy has only a narrow way by which to approach, and no doubt Daker posted his arches behind the trees and among the great rocks. The fight was a desperate one, but Hudson's men prevailed and pursued their foes far up the hill of Gelt, scuffling fiercely among the forest trees, and dying a deeper hue the red sandstone cliffs and quarries. All the rebels who could escape fled across the border to Scotland, where the borderers, who were till then their enemies, received them with that open and fair hospitality, which was one of their many great qualities. Elizabeth demanded that the leading nobleman should be given up to her, but although the Scottish regent Murray made a pretence of trying to secure the Earl of Westmoreland, the Scots had too much sense of honour to allow him to proceed. The Earl of Northumberland was, however, betrayed to the Scottish regent by Hector Armstrong of hair law. But this the gallant borderers held to be shameful, and Armstrong was a ruined man from that day forth. Two years later this Earl was actually sold to Elizabeth and beheaded at York. Thus ended this small rebellion, called in history the Rising of the North, but which is known locally in Cumberland as Daker's Raid. There is a little stream which rushes down a deep and beautiful glade to join the River Gelt above Geltbridge. This stream is known as Hellbeck, and villagers tell us that the reason for this name is that it was stained with blood for two whole days after some battle that took place there. The battle is probably the one spoken of here. A wicked gate by Geltbridge leads us to the path through Gelt woods. The noble gorge is deeply cleft through the grand red sandstone rocks. Below roars and dashes the impetuous river. The path winds sometimes high, sometimes low, through wonderful weeds, carpeted with beautiful mosses, gemmed with delightful flowers. On one of the rocks is an inscription carved by a Roman soldier over 1500 years ago. Follow the river up, up, till the little Hellbeck is seen trickling down from the east. Cross the little bridge and follow the streamlet on its opposite bank, along a path so little trod as to be scarcely visible. Wander among ferns along one of the loneliest glens in the whole of Britain, passing the Great Railway Bridge, under if the stream below, or over if it be high, till you join the main road again. There is no spot more beautiful or more peaceful. Yet this is the Hellbeck, where men fought and hacked and slashed and slew among these woods up and down these steep hillsides. These old trees, when young, have felt warm blood at their roots, and all because of a young, wild, willful queen, who fascinated men's hearts then, and the memory of whom fascinates them still. End of Section 35. Section 36 of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. Mrs. William Platt. This Librivoctr recording is in the public domain. Chapter 33 The Raid of the Reedswire To deal with proud men is but pain, for either must ye fight or flee, or else no answer make again, but play the beast, and let them be. Reedswire, the name of a place about ten miles from Jedbra, means the red swire. Swire is an old northern term for the descent of a hill, and the epithet red may refer to the color of the heath. The affair about which we are to tell took place on the 7th of July, 1575, at a meeting held on a day of truce by the wardens of the marchers for addressing wrongs and adjusting difficulties which could not be prevented from arising upon the border. The Scottish warden was Sir John Carmichael, and among his followers were the Armstrongs and Elliotts, Douglas of Cavers, a descendant of the Douglas who fell at Otterburn, Cranston, whose ferocious motto was, ye shall want ere I want, Gladstain, good at need, and the ancient head of the Rutherfordts, called in tradition the cock of Hunt Hill, with his nine sons him about. The English warden was the haughty Sir John Forster, and he had full fifteen hundred men with him, chiefly Northumbrians, Tyendale, and Reedstale men, who looked with scorn upon the much smaller array of their hereditary foes. The meeting, however, began, meekly enough, with merriment and jests. Such border meetings of truce, though they might wind up in blood, as was to happen now, always began as occasions of marketing and revelry. Both parties came fully armed to such a trist, yet intermixed in mutual sports and familiar intercourse. Some gade to drink, and some stood still, and some to cards and dice them sped. The Scots planted their pavilions, or tents, and feared no ill, even when they saw five hundred Fenyx, a powerful Northumbrian clan, marching in a flock. The clerk began to call the rolls, and to deal with one complaint after another for the loss of cows, or ewes, or other property. In the course of the proceedings an accusation was raised against an English freebooter named Farnstein, at the insistence of a scotch complainant. A true bill was found against the man, which means that he ought to be handed over to justice, but the English warden alleged that he had fled and could not be found. Carmichael, considering this as a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bared the Northumbrians speak out plainly, and cloak no cause for ill nor good. Upon this a John Forster, a proud and insolent man, began to reckon kin and blood, by which picturesque phrase the ballad probably means that he swiftly added up his forces. Then he drew himself up, backed by his dalesmen, all fingering their bows, and with insulting expressions against Carmichael's kin, he bade him match with his equals. The men of Tyndale, who only wanted a pretext for a quarrel, drew their bows, and let off a flight of arrows among the Scots. The more moderate men on both sides at first tried to quell the tumult, but in vain, the fight was bound to come. Then there was nought, but bow and spear, and every man pulled out a brand. The English showed their usual dexterity with the bow. The Scots, for some reason, never took to this weapon. They had firearms, pistolets, and the like. The terrible cloth-yard arrows from Tackle's flew, and the old proverb bad fare to justify itself that every English archer carried twenty-four Scots under his belt, an allusion to his bundle of shafts. Success seemed certain for the English side. Some of the foremost men among the Scots fell, and even Carmichael was thrown to the ground, and was within an ace of being made a prisoner. The air resounded with the rallying cries of the English, the names of their captains. A shaft-o, a shaft-o, a fennec, a fennec. The Scots had little harness among them. Only a few had the jack which served them as a defence for the body. Nevertheless, they laid about them sturdily, with dints full dower, and there was many a cracked crown. Then suddenly a shout was heard. Jedbrough's here! A body of Jedbrough burgesses appeared to have arrived just in the nick of time, to add to the outnumbered force of Scots. They probably wore armour and what were called white hats, that is steel caps. Meanwhile the English, too confident of easy victory, instead of slaying more Scots and turning the repulse into a rout, thought only to plunder the unhappy merchants, who, trusting to the truths which had been proclaimed, had attached themselves to the meeting. Had it not been for the English greed, the Scots would have been defeated. As it was, the Tyndale men, throwing themselves on the merchant's packs, fell into disorder. Their adversaries recovered from their surprise, and the timely arrival of the Jedbrough men turned the tables. A short, sharp bout ended in the triumph of the Scots, and the Northumbrians fled, down over the bray, like clogged bees. The Scots took many prisoners, amongst whom were the English warden and his son-in-law Sir Francis Russell, but the most gallant soldier taken that day was that courteous knight, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, to whose family admiral Collingwood belonged. Several of those phoenix fierce, who had turned up five hundred strong at the commencement of the fray, had the mortification of being carried off in triumph by their enemies. All these prisoners were sent to the Earl of Morton, Regent of Scotland, who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, until the bitter feeling natural after such an affair had died down, at any rate in part, and by this prudent precaution, the Regent is thought to have probably averted a war between the two kingdoms. He ultimately permitted them to return to their own country, parting from them with great expressions of regard. The interest taken in the matter by Queen Elizabeth, and the representations of her ambassador at Edinburgh no doubt had something to do with this happy issue. It will probably occur to the careful reader of this book as somewhat strange to find the ruling powers of England and Scotland both set upon peace. But it must be remembered that at this period in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, the heir apparent to the English throne was the young James VI, King of Scotland, who would naturally not wish for any quarrel with the country, which he hoped later on to rule. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had Mary Queen of Scots as her prisoner and did not wish in any further way to strain the already delicate relations between the two countries. Carmichael mentioned in this ballad, known in full as Sir John Carmichael of Edrum, Scottish Warden of the Middle Marches, was afterwards murdered by one of the wild Armstrongs, who is said to have composed the night before his execution the following manly and pathetic good night. The third and fourth lines show clearly the dispute into which this once honoured clown was falling. The seventh and eighth lines could only have been written by one who, despite his faults, had the true gallant instincts deep in his blood. Armstrong's good night. This night is my departing night, for here no longer must I stay. There's neither friend nor foe am I, but wishes me away. What I have done through lack of wit I never, never can recall. I hope you're all my friends as yet. Good night and joy be with you all. End of section thirty-six Section thirty-seven of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter thirty-four. Jocker the side. He is well-kenned, John of the side. A greater thief did never ride. The subject of this ballad bears some resemblance to Kinmont Willie, and such adventures were not uncommon in those turbulent times. The events we are to relate originated in a raid ridden by the famous Lidsdale Spearman, the hardiest of the Scotch Moss troopers, upon English ground. They had better have stayed at home, for the outcome was that one of their best men, Michael of Winfield, was killed, and Jocker the side, nephew to the lair of Mangutton, was taken prisoner and promptly lodged in Newcastle jail. When the news reached Jock's mother, she kiltered her coats up to her knee, and ran down the water with the tears falling in torrents from her eyes. She ran to Mangutton house, on the banks of the Liddle, and told her brother, the good old lord, the bad news. Michael is killed, and they have taken my son, John. Never fear, sister, Gwoth Mangutton, I have eighty-three yokes of oxen, my barns, my buyers, my folds are all filled.  Then he thought out his plan. Three men I'll send to set him free, all harnessed in the best steel. The English loons shall feel the weight of their broad swords. The lair's jock shall be won. The lair's what, too, and hobby noble, thou must be the third. Thy coat is blue, and since England banished thee, thou hast been true to me. Now this hobby was an Englishman, born in Buchasseldale, the wildest district in Cumberland. Like numerous other English outlaws, he had made his own country too hot to hold him. His misdeeds had banished him to Liddarsdale, and he was now in high favour with the laird of Mangutton. The laird gave the dauntless three orders to reverse the shoes of their horses, so that any one crossing their trail might think they were proceeding in a contrary direction. He also warned them not to seem gentleman, but to look like corn carriers, not to show their good armour, nor appear like men of war, but to be arrayed as country lads, with halter and cart-collar on each mare.  When they reached the tine they lighted down at a ford, and by the moonlight they cut a tree, with fifteen nogs on each side, to serve them as a scaling ladder, to climb Newcastle Wall with. However, when they came to Newcastle Town and alighted at the wall, their tree proved three Ls too short, and there was nothing for it but to force the gates. At the gate a proud porter attempted to withstand them. The armstrong's rung his neck, took his life, and his keys at once, and cast his body behind the wall. Soon they reached the jail and called to the prisoner. Sleeps thou, wakes thou, jocker the side, or art thou weary of thy thrall? Jock answered dolefully. Often I wake, nay sleep seldom comes to me, but who's this knows my name so well? Then out and spoke the lads jock his cousin and namesake. Now fear ye not, my billy, quoth he, for here are the lads jock, the lads wot, and hobby noble, the Englishman, come to set you free. Jocker the side did not think it possible that they could affect his release. Now hold thy tongue, my good cousin, said he, this cannot be, for if all Lydlisdale were here the night, the mourns the day that I must die. They have laid full fifteen stone of Spanish iron on me. I am fast bound with locks and keys in this dark and deary dungeon, but the lads jock replied, fear not that faint heart, never one fair lady, work thou within, we'll work without, and I'll be sworn we'll set thee free. They loose the first strong door without a key, the next chain door they split to Flinders. The lads jock got the prisoner on his back, irons and all, and brought him down the stairs with no small speed and joy. Hobby noble offered to bear some of his weight, but the lads jock said that he was lighter than a flea. When they had all gone out at the gates, the prisoner was set on horseback, and they all joked wantonly, oh jock they cried, you ride like a winsome lady, with your feet all on one side. The night was wet, but they did not mind, they hide them on full merrily, until they came to the ford at Choleford above Hexham. There the water was running mountains high. They asked an old man, honest man tell us in haste, will the water ride? I've lived here thirty years and three, replied he, and I never saw the tines so big, nor running so like a sea. The lads what, counsel them to halt, we need not try it, the day is come and we all must die.  I'll guide you safely through, lift the prisoner behind me. With that they took to the water and managed to swim through. Here we are all safe, said the lads jock triumphantly. Poor faint what, what think ye now? They now saw twenty men pursuing them, sent from Newcastle, all English lads, stout and true. But when their leader saw the water he shook his head. It won't ride my lads, said he. Then he cried to the party of Scots. Take the prisoner, but leave me my fetters. But the lads jock was not a scot for nothing. I what we'll know he shouted back, I'll keep them. They'll make horseshoes for my mare, for I am sure she bought them right dear from thee. Then they went on their way to Liddesdale, as fast as they could, and did not rest until they had brought the rescued prisoner to his own fireside, and made him free of his irons. End of Section Thirty-Seven Section Thirty-Eight of Stories of the Scottish Border by Mr. and Mrs. William Platt This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter Thirty-Five Hobby Noble Keep ye will, Fray the Traitor-Mains, for gold and gear he'll sell y'all. In the Ballad of Jock of the Side we have seen Hobby Noble act a distinguished part in the deliverance from captivity of Jock, cousin of the Laird of Mangerton, chief of the Armstrong Clan. Now, in the following ballad, we shall learn how ungrateful the Armstrongs were for his faithful services. The Armstrongs were one of those outlawed or broken clans whose hand was against every man, and living as they did in what was called the debatable land on the frontier between Liddesdale and England, these stark cattle-lifters and aren't thieves, levy tribute from English and Scotch alike. Halbert, or Hobby Noble, was an Englishman, a Cumbrian born and bred, but his misdeeds were so great they banished him never to return, and he established himself among the Armstrongs. From their territory he continued his depredations upon the English in resentment of which they at length offered a bribe to the Armstrongs to decoy him into England under pretence of inviting him to join them in a foray. At Curse Hope Foot the Trist was set, Curse Hope of the Lily-Lee, and the name of the chief traitor and leader of the gang was Sim of the Maines. Hobby harnessed himself, both with the iron and with the steel, buckled spur on his heel and belted brand to his side, leapt upon his fringed grey and rode down the banks of the Liddle. As soon as he saw the others, well be he met, my comrades five, he cried. Now what is your will with me? They all answered with one consent, Thou art welcome here, brave noble, wilt thou ride with us into England, and we will be thy safe warrant.  But Hobby said that he dared not ride into England by day, as he had a feud with the land sergeant, an officer under the warden, to whom was entrusted the arrest of delinquents. But will ye stay till the day get down, until the night come o'er the ground, and I'll be a guide worth any two that may in Liddardsdale be found? Though the night be black as pitch and tar, I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high, and bring ye all in safety back, if ye'll be true and follow me. They let him guide them over moss and moor, over hill and hope, and over many a down, until they came to the full bog shield. But meanwhile word was gone to the land sergeant in Ascoton, about seventy miles from Carlisle. The deer that you have hunted so long is in bucastle waste this day. The sergeant understood at once, quoth he, hobby noble is that deer, he carries the style full high, he has often driven our bloodhounds back. Now go warn the bows of Hartleyburn, see they sharpen their arrows on the wall. Warn Williver and Spear Edum, take word to them that they meet me on the Roderick Haw at break of day. We will on to conscourt out green, for there I think we'll get our quarry. In the meantime hobby had alighted and was sleeping in the full bog shield. He dreamed that his horse was shot beneath him, and he himself was hard put to it to get away. The cocks crowed, the day dawned, and if hobby had not wakened, he would have been taken or slain in his sleep. Awake, awake, my comrades five, I trow here makes a full ill day, yet the worst cloak of this company I hope shall cross the waste this day. Thus cried he to his companions, thinking the gates were clear, but alas it was not so. They were beset by the land sergeant's men, cruel and keen, and while the Englishmen came before, the traitor Simer the mains came behind. Had Noble been as masterful a champion as Wallace himself, he could not have won under such untoward circumstances. He had but a laddie's sword, but he did more than a laddie's deeds, for that sword would have cleared Konsecourt Art Green had it not broken a one of the English heads. So his treacherous companions delivered hobby up to the offices of justice. They bound him with his own bowstring, but what made his heart feel soarest of all was that it was his own five who bound him. They took him on to Carl Isle. They asked him mockingly if he knew the way. He thought much but said little, though he knew it as well as they did. As they took him up the Carl Isle's streets, the old wives cast their windows wide. Every woman whispering to another. That's the man loose jokered aside. The poor fellow cried out, Fie on ye women, why call ye me man? It's no like a man that I'm used but like a beaten hound that's been fighting in the gutter. They had him up through Carl Isle town and set him by a chimney fire, where they gave him a wheaten loaf to eat and a can of beer. Confess my lord's horse hobby, they said.  How can I confess them, says the poor man, when I never saw them? And he swore a great oath by the day that he was born, that he had never had anything of my lord's. He had but short shrift, and they hung him the next morning. According to the ballad, his last words were of manly pride. Yet would I rather be called hobby noble, in Carl Isle where he suffers for his fault, than I'd be called the traitor mains, that eats and drinks a meal and malt. Thus died the daughty noble. It is proper to add, however, that the Armstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton, with whom hobby had been a favourite, took a severe revenge on the traitors who betrayed him. The contriver of the scheme, Sim of the Maines, fled into England to escape the resentment of his chief, and was there caught by the English, and himself executed at Carl Isle, two months after hobby's death, in the same place. Such is, at least, the tradition of Liddastale. End of section 38