Chapter I: The Character of the Borders (1)

II. A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER
III. WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US

CHAP.

I. Bamburgh and its Coast
II. Athelstan at Vinheath
III. Monks and Minstrels
IV. Sir Patrick Spens
V. Auld Maitland
VI. The Mystery of the Eildons
VII. Black Agnes of Dunbar
VIII. The Young Tamlane
IX. The Gay Goss-Hawk
X. The Corbies
XI. Otterbourne and Chevy Chase
XII. The Douglas Clan
XIII. Alnwick Castle and the Percies
XIV. Hexham and Queen Margaret
XV. Fair Helen of Kirkconnell
XVI. Johnie of Breadislee
XVII. Katharine Janfarie
XVIII. By Lauder Bridge
XIX. The Battle of Flodden Field
XX. After Flodden
XXI. Graeme and Bewick
XXII. The Song of the Outlaw Murray
XXIII. Johnie Armstrong
XXIV. The Lament of the Border Widow
XXV. The Raid of the Kers
XXVI. Merrie Carlisle
XXVII. Kinmont Willie
XXVIII. Dick o' the Cow
XXIX. The Lochmaben Harper
XXX. The Rookhope Ride
XXXI. Barthram's Dirge
XXXII. Queen Mary and the Borders
XXXIII. The Raid of the Reidswire
XXXIV. Jock o' the Side
XXXV. Hobbie Noble
XXXVI. The Laird o' Logie
XXXVII. Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead
XXXVIII. Muckle-Mou'd Meg
XXXIX. The Dowie Dens of Yarrow
XL. Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland
XLI. Gilderoy
XLII. Archie Armstrong's Oath
XLIII. Christie's Will
XLIV. Northumberland at the Time of the Civil War
XLV. Montrose and Lesly
XLVI. The Death of Montrose
XLVII. The Borderers and the Jacobites
XLVIII. The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall
XLIX. In Wild Northumberland To-Day

*Illustrations*

The Rookhope Ride. . . . . . . Frontispiece

Egil at Vinheath

The Siege of Maitland Castle

Black Agnes

The Twa Corbies

The Final Battle in the Streets of Hexham

Johnie of Breadislee.

Flodden Field

"Tell Us All--Oh, Tell Us True!"

The Border Widow

The Escape of Kinmont Willie

Queen Mary crossing the Solway

"A Boon, a Boon, my Noble Liege!"

"She Kissed his Cheek, She Kaim'd his Hair"

The Storming of Newcastle

"'Tis I, 'Tis thy Winifred!"

_In liquid murmurs Yarrow sings_
_Her reminiscent tune_
_Of bygone Autumn, bygone Springs,_
_And many a leafy June._

_No more the morning beacons gleam_
_Upon the silent hills;_
_The far back years are years of dream--_
_Now peace the valley fills._

_No more the reivers down the vale_
_On raid and foray ride;_
_No more is heard the widow's wail_
_O'er those who fighting died._

_When morning damns with all its joys_
_Then from the meadows rise_
_A hundred throbbing hearts to voice_
_Their anthems to the skies._

_When noontide sleeps where brackens wave,_
_Ere shadows yet grow long,_
_No sound awakes the echoes save_
_The Yarrow's pensive song._

_And when the eve, with calm delight,_
_Betokens night is nigh,_
_Beneath the first star's tender light_
_Is heard the owlet's cry._

_While Yarrow's liquid cadence swells_
_By meadow, moor, and hill,_
_At morn or noon or eve there dwells_
_A mournful memory still._

W. CUTHBERTSON.

*Stories of The Scottish Border*

*Introduction*

*I.--THE CHARACTER OF THE BORDERS*

The district called the Border is one of the most interesting in Great Britain. It consists of that part of England that is nearest Scotland, and that part of Scotland that is nearest England, mainly the counties of Northumberland, Cumberland, Berwickshire, Roxburghshire, and Dumfriesshire.

The country is very picturesque and highly romantic. It abounds in great rolling, breezy hills, with swift streamlets or "burns" running down their sides to swell the rushing rivers. No part of our island has more beautiful valleys than those of the Border.

This bold, rough district, well adapted to defence, and situated also just where the island of Great Britain is almost at its narrowest, became, after many a struggle, the boundary between England and Scotland. The character of the country was suited to the rearing of hardy Moorland sheep and cattle; its inhabitants therefore were a tough, open-air race of men, strong, strapping fellows, fearless riders, always ready for an adventure, especially if it meant a fight.

In those days of Border strife there was hardly such a thing as international justice, that is to say, the people of one nation were not very particular as to what they did to people of another nation; therefore these bold, hardy Border men, Englishmen and Scot alike, were fond of creeping across the boundary to steal the cattle of their neighbours. Men devoted to such raids were called "Freebooters" or "Mosstroopers," the name "Moss" being given in the North Country to boggy tracts that lie about the hill-sides.

So it happened that the Border was in a perpetual state of petty warfare, conducted, it is true, with a certain amount of good-will and a rough approach to chivalry, and with the concurrence of the powerful Border nobles of both nations, who often played an important part therein. At times these raids developed into important warlike expeditions, when a fierce noble, or even a king, had some reckless game to play. Hence, among the ballads which give us so vivid an account of Border strife, we find descriptions not only of the minor doings of picturesque sheep-stealers, but also of pitched battles such as Chevy Chase and Homildon Hill.

The union of England and Scotland in 1603 naturally put an end to all the former excuses for raiding, and therefore terminated the true Freebooter period. After this, despite one or two belated attempts, such as Elliot's big raid in 1611, sheep-stealing ceased to be looked upon as an honourable calling, and became mere thieving. The men who would have raided one another's farms in 1602 became friendly neighbours after the Border Commission of 1605. There had been little malice in their former freebooting. Both sides were of one race; and they had the pleasure of finding that their lands went up greatly in value in consequence of the Border peace.

To-day, the Border presents scenes of peaceful cattle-farming. But Romance is still in the air, hangs about the fine, breezy moorlands and beautiful dales, and is seen clearly in the faces of the healthy Border-folk. A holiday at any Border farm would prove a most enjoyable one. There are wonderful Roman remains, for here it was that the Romans built their wall; there are castles of the Border barons; the views are wide and grand; the river-valleys are unmatched for beauty, and delightful wild flowers are plentiful, chief among which are fox-gloves, the giant wild Canterbury Bells, the handsome North Country wild geranium, several interesting kinds of wild orchids, and a variety of others too numerous to mention. Last, but not least, it is often possible in the evenings to see the farmers' sons engaged in friendly wrestling in the meadows, when we can realise that these great manly fellows are of the same vigorous race that kept the Borders lively a few centuries ago.

II.--A BRIEF HISTORY OF THE BORDER

Before dealing in detail with the stirring stories of Border history and legend, to retell which is the purpose of this book, we will first inquire--What is it that settles exactly the position of the border-line between two countries? To find the answer we must think what happens when a country is invaded.

If the invaders are stronger than the people whom they attack, they go on thrusting back their foes till these reach some strong position where, by the aid of mountain, river, or marsh, they are able, at any rate for a time, to hold their own. Thus, a border-line is always determined by some natural feature of the country which gives the defenders an advantage.

The attackers will not always operate from the same locality, and the defenders will not always fall back in the same direction; the two sides, also, will vary in power from time to time. For these reasons a border-line, especially in the old fighting days, was often altered.

When the Romans invaded Britain they gradually conquered the southern part of it, but they could not subdue the wilder north; one of their boundary lines was drawn from the Solway to the Tyne; then they fought their way further north and their next definite boundary was a line running from the Forth to the Clyde. Along each of these boundaries they built a great wall, and to this day parts of these Roman walls remain. But it is worth noting that neither of these wall border-lines stands upon the present border, one being all in England and the other all in Scotland.

When the Romans left Britain, called back to defend their own native land from invasion, there followed a brief period for which we have no definite record of events in this island. This is the period of King Arthur, and none can say how much is true in the Arthurian legends.

But history begins to become clear again about the time that the Angles came in their ships across the North Sea, bent on conquest. They landed on all the natural harbours of the east coast, driving the Britons back and taking the land for themselves. The fact that they landed on the East and drove the Britons westward, leads us to think that sooner or later a boundary would have been formed dividing the island into the east side (for the Angles) and the west side (for the Britons).

Now that is exactly what did happen. The border-lines were nowhere like the present ones. The northern kingdom of the Angles reached to the Forth, where these people founded Edinburgh (Edwin's burgh). On the west the Britons had sway in Cornwall (Corn-Walles), Wales, Cumbria (which stretched from the Mersey to the Solway), and Strathclyde (from the Solway to the Clyde). North of the Forth was the country of the Picts; while the Scots were a race recently come from Ireland, and they only owned what we now call Argyleshire, and the islands lying near to it. Not one inch of the present Border was at that day in the border-line!

Of the various races that lay round about where the Border now is, the Northumbrians seemed at first to be the strongest. The capital of their kingdom was Bamburgh, a place still famous for its castle, though to-day it is not important enough to have a railway station! But it still looks very picturesque on the wild coast, with the Farne Islands, the first seat of Northumbrian Christianity, in the near distance.

Ambition had much to do with the downfall of Northumbria. The famous King Eadbert would not rest content till he had scaled Dumbarton, the capital of Strathclyde. This was to his career what the march to Moscow was to Napoleon's, for, though Eadbert got safely to Dumbarton (756) his army was cut to pieces in getting back again. The Northumbrians seem to have lost some of their northern lands, for they moved their capital further south, to the old Roman city of Corbridge which stood on the Tyne just where the delightful country town of that name stands to-day.

In 844 a king of the Scots, named Kenneth MacAlpin, became (we don't quite know how) king of the Picts also, joining two strong races under one ruler, and thus was powerful enough to give great trouble to the weakened kingdom of Northumbria. He several times led his army through Lothian, the district belonging to the Angles between the Forth and the Tweed, but was never quite able to conquer it. It is important to remember that up to that date Lothian had never belonged to Scotland. The appearance of the Danes added to the confusion of those restless days. For some few years it was doubtful whether Scot, Dane, or Angle would get the best of it in Northumbria. But at last the genius of Athelstan of Wessex revived the power of the Angles over the whole of that large part of the island which they had settled, right up to the Forth itself. Edinburgh was still English in 957, and the border-line was still very far from the present one. But there was no longer a king of Northumbria; only an earl, who was subject to the will of the West-Saxon kings.

This fact of the dominance of the West Saxons, whose capital was far to the south at Winchester, must have added to the weakness of the Northumbrian border. By the year 963 the Scots had conquered Edinburgh, and it was now never again to return to English rule. Before very long the whole of Lothian had passed under Scottish control; but it was not yet held to be part of Scotland. Nor must it be thought that this conquest of Lothian fixed the border-line in its present position, for the king of the Scots was at that time ruler over Cumberland, which had never yet been English and was all that was left of the old British kingdom of Cumbria.

Frontier wars with varying successes between Scot, Angle, and Dane mark the stormy history of this time. The power of Cnut held back the Scotch attempts upon Nothumberland; but during a lull in the wars the grand-son of the Scottish king married the sister of Earl Siward, and received as her dowry twelve towns in the valley of the Tyne, an astonishingly imprudent arrangement.

At the time of the battle of Hastings, the earldom of Northumberland was so far distant from Winchester as to be somewhat out of the control of the King of England; the power of the Scottish kings threatened it; they held twelve towns in Tynedale, and Cumberland was a part of Scotland. The Northumbrians refused to accept William the Conqueror as their king; and had they been able to make good their refusal, they must sooner or later have been conquered by the Scots, and the border-line between England and Scotland would then most probably have been formed by the Tees, the mountain boundary of Westmoreland, and Morecambe Bay.

But William was not a king to be played with. He reduced Northumberland to subjection and carried his army into Scotland as far as the river Tay, where he forced the King of Scotland to admit that he, William, was his overlord.

Notwithstanding this humiliation, when King William returned to Winchester, the Scots several times went back to their favourite amusement of raiding unhappy Northumberland.

One of these invasions took place in the reign of William Rufus (1093), who went north in person. He doubtless recognised the fact that owing to the Scots possessing Cumberland they were in the strong position of being able to attack Northumberland on two sides. He took Cumberland by force of arms, and thus for the first time it became a part of England (the word "Cumberland" means the land of the Cumbrians or Welsh, a Saxon form of the Welsh word Cymry).

Rufus rebuilt the strong fortress of Carlisle to defend his new border at its weakest corner. For the most part this border is excellently protected by the natural rampart of the wild Cheviot Hills, and is in every way as good a border as could be devised. It runs in a fairly straight line from south-west to north-east, across a narrow part of the island.

But although this border-line proved to be a permanent one, it must not be thought that it remained undisputed. The times were rough, and hardy fighting folk lived on the Border. They had many grounds for quarrel, and took advantage of them all. For one thing, the exact boundary of North Cumberland was never quite defined till 1552; up to which year there was a tract of land between the rivers Esk and Sark, which was claimed by both countries, and therefore called the "Debateable Land." Then the Scots maintained that they were overlords of Northumberland, while the English kings cherished the notion that they were overlords of the whole island of Britain, and the wild spirits on both sides were always ready to fight.

Out of this fighting spirit sprung the stirring history of the Border, which forms the theme of the deathless Ballads, the stories of which it is now our purpose to retell.

III.--WHAT THE BORDER NAMES TELL US

Many a name holds a meaning wrapt up within itself like a nut in its shell. For instance, "Edinburgh" is a Saxon name--Edwin's burgh--and the word tells us that this noble city, though now the capital of Scotland, was originally founded by and belonged to a Saxon king of Northumbria. The Highlanders, in their own Gaelic language, called it Dunedin. This has the same signification as Edinburgh, but, like most Gaelic names, it is arranged in the reverse order to that in which an English name is generally put together. "Dun" means burgh, "Edin" is Edwin. This is the same Dun that we have in "Dundee," which means the burgh on the Tay, and might be translated as "Tayburgh." "Dumbarton" means the burgh of the Britons, and teaches us another notable lesson, namely, how far north in the old times the British influence extended. For "British" in this case means "Welsh." Nowadays we associate the Welsh with Wales only. Formerly there must have been a numerous colony of Welsh in Scotland, as the name "Dumbarton" testifies, as also many Scottish family names. The great name of Wallace itself, for instance, suggests such an origin, for "Wallace" is merely a corrupt form of the word "Welsh," and proves that the great national hero was of Welsh extraction. Then "Cumberland"--Cymry land--means the land of the Welsh, or Cymry, as they call themselves. The county of Cumberland did not really belong to the English till the time of William Rufus. The first syllable of "Carlisle" denotes a Celtic fortified town, and must be compared with the first syllable of "Carnarvon."

The presence of the Roman wall is shown in many names in Northumberland, such as "Wallsend," "Walltown," "Wallridge," "Heddon-on-the-Wall," "Wallhouses," and "Thirlwall."

For a very interesting instance of what a name tells us we may leave the Border for a moment and consider why the northernmost part of Scotland is called "Sutherland." It must have been so named by people living in the Orkney and Shetland isles, of a different race from the Scotch--that is, Norse settlers in those islands.

With regard to surnames, how many stop to think that "Oliphant" is merely a form of "elephant," and was originally an allusion to a big, burly ancestor? "Grant," which is the same as "grand," must also have been once applied to one who was a giant in size. The Frazers somehow got their name from the French word for a strawberry, fraise. The odd-looking "Scrymgeour" means simply a scrimmager or skirmisher. "Turnbull" recalls one who turned the bull at a bull-baiting. The well-known "Gladstains" or "Gladstone" has nothing to do with "glad," but is from "glede," an old word for the kite, and commemorates some stone where these birds frequented. "Buccleuch" is from the killing of a buck in a cleugh or ravine.

The Christian names of the Borderers are full of life and local colour, and differ much from those of Southern England. "Barthram" is the northern form of "Bertram," "Nigel" of "Neil," "Jellon" of "Julian," "Ringan" of "Ninian." It was the general custom to abbreviate Christian names or use them in the diminutive form, as is constantly the practice in these Border ballads. "Hobbie" stands for "Halbert," a fine old name which must not be confused with "Albert." "Dandie" or "Dandrie" is "Andrew," "Eckie" is "Hector," "Lammie" is "Lambert," "Lennie" is "Leonard." "Adam" becomes, in the familiar form, "Aicky," "Christian" becomes "Christy," "Gilbert" becomes "Gibby."

Another peculiarity of the ballads is the regular recurrence of such phrases as "the Laird's Jock," "the Laird's Wat," "Ringan's Wat," etc. These expressions mean, "John the son of the Laird," "Walter the son of the Laird," "Walter the son of Ringan or Ninian."

*Chapter I*

*Bamburgh and its Coast*

The little town of Bamburgh has two striking features--the great castle upon its stern rock, and the wild coast-line at its feet where dash the storms of the North Sea.

To-day it is not important enough to have a railway station of its own; yet once it was the capital of the great Saxon kingdom of Northumbria. Its original name was Bebbanburgh, so called after Queen Bebba; of its Saxon fortress hardly a trace remains, the present building being partly the old Norman castle, with repairs and additions of a later date. The ancient pile has a strength, dignity, and grandeur which accords well with its truly noble situation.

The North Saxons in choosing such a spot for their capital showed a very evident desire to keep in touch with the sea. Over the sea they had come; and over the sea would come both friends and enemies. Many a meeting of both friend and foe has taken place at Bamburgh!

Perhaps the fiercest of the enemies was Ragnar of the hairy-breeches, a famous viking who plundered, ravaged, and burnt without mercy. These vikings, powerful men and fearless sea-rovers, were a standing terror to Northumbria. Men with frames and muscles strong as iron; at home both on the sea and on the battle-field; fair-haired, blue-eyed men, guarded by helmet, breast-plate, and shield, armed with heavy weapons, because at that date the art of the smith was not equal to making them sharp, light, and strong at once. So these mighty warriors hewed their way through the field of battle with great strokes, and when their foes fled in terror, the vikings took back to their ships all the treasure they could find, and away they went across the sea again. But with all their fierceness they loved poetry (wild war-poetry, most of it) and they loved their strong, brave women.

Ragnar was a thorough viking. He loved fighting, and his handsome wife, and the battle songs he made. But the Saxons had no cause to love him, and when his ship ran aground near Jarrow, they bound him and cast him into a pit of snakes, and watched him slowly die. The viking had no fear of death. He sang as he lay there, of his life and his deeds--of the great banquets he had given to the wolves and the vultures and the fierce battles he had won, spreading the terrors of his name from the Orkneys to the Mediterranean; of his beautiful wife and strong sons, and of how they would avenge him; and of how Woden, the lord of all warriors, was calling him to his Hall.

Many a battle has been fought on that wild coast since Ragnar died; much history has been made thereabouts, and many legends have attached themselves to Bamburgh. Like most famous places, it had its own special dragon, the "Laidly Worm" or loathsome serpent of the ancient ballad.

"For seven miles east, and seven miles west,
And seven miles north and south,
No blade of grass or corn would grow,
So venomous was her mouth!"

And yet, when the gallant knight gave her "kisses three," she changed at once into a beautiful lady!

But despite its castle, its battles, and its legends, Bamburgh slowly declined in importance. As the capital of Northumbria it had been one of the chief towns in England. But the gallant Northumbria of the Saxons was more open to enemies than any other part of the country; Cumbrians were on the west and Scots on the north, and this was of all Saxon kingdoms the most exposed to the ravages of the Danes. From the capital of a kingdom it became the capital of a county (Bamburghshire), returning two members to Parliament in the reign of Edward I.; but it grew of less and still less importance, till at last it was known only to the student of history. It shared this fate with Lindisfarne, called Holy Island, once the Canterbury of the North, on whose rocky shores still stand the ruins of the fine Norman cathedral which took the place of the old Saxon one. Lindisfarne and Bamburgh--neighbours, divided only by a narrow belt of sea--two names that conjure up vivid pictures of romantic history. Yet suddenly, early in the nineteenth century, the great deed of a splendid heroine lent new glory to the wild, sea-girt town.

Grace Darling was born at Bamburgh in 1817, in a cottage on the south side of the village street, which can still be seen to-day. Her father became keeper of the lighthouse on the Langstone, a rocky islet five miles from the coast, guarding ships from the dangerous Farne Islands, a group of iron-bound rocks where seabirds dwell. In the early morning of September 7, 1838, during the raging of a most terrible storm, she heard the crash of a ship dashed upon the rocks, and anguished cries; as soon as dawn enabled them to see, the girl and her father made out the dark outline of the wreck, and the miserable forms of the mariners crouching on rocks from which the rising tide would sweep them inevitably to death. With superb heroism Grace and her father pushed their small boat into the furious waters, and after strenuous and dauntless efforts, always at the peril of their own lives, they saved the whole ship's company, nine souls in all. So fierce was the storm that it was three days before a boat dared take them from the Langstone to the mainland.

The roar of approbation which greeted her from the whole country found her as modest as she was brave. But for all her courage, this noble girl was not strong. She died four years later, and lies buried at Bamburgh, within sound of the sea. And the Langstone is known to-day as "Grace Darling's Island," and the tomb of the brave girl rouses sweeter memories than the frowning fortress of Bamburgh.

*Chapter II*

*Athelstan at Vinheath*

Famous among the old Norse sea-rovers was Egil, son of Skallagrim. In the course of his many voyages, he visited all the lands between the White Sea and the Bay of Biscay, and when at last he settled down in his Iceland home, where he lived on till well past the age of eighty, he loved to gather his children and grandchildren around him by the fireside during the long Icelandic winter, and to tell the story of his adventures. He was a true Norseman, fond of the sea and the fight, fond of his wife and children, fond of song, at which he was highly skilled. His songs and his stories of adventure were listened to with eagerness, and they were repeated after him, and were at last written down, probably between one hundred and fifty and two hundred years after his death. Books were scarce in those days, and stories were treasured and faithfully re-told. So this story of Egil was probably written out very much in the simple, vigorous style in which the old warrior would have told it to his grandchildren, as they listened to him with wide-open, wondering eyes. And as the old man had taken part in an early battle between Saxon-English and Scots, upon the Border, we have here a fine picture of how fights were fought in the reign of King Athelstan.

Egil was speaking to Icelandic children who knew little about England, so he began by telling how in the days when Harold Fairhair was king of Norway, Alfred the Great was the first supreme king over all England. When Alfred died he was succeeded by his son Edward, who was followed by Athelstan the Victorious. In Egil's day Athelstan was young and had but just been made king, and many chieftains, who had kept quiet before, now thought that the time had come when they could do as they pleased again. But Athelstan meant to show them that he too could rule England strongly and wisely.

These were the days of brute force, and the king had first to get an army together. Besides his own English folk, many roving Norsemen came to take his pay, and among the number were Egil and his elder brother Thorolf, with their men. They saw the king himself, who received them well. Athelstan was a good Christian, known as the Faithful, and he desired that Thorolf and Egil should submit to be marked with the Cross, that they might take their place by his Christian soldiers without quarrel. This they agreed to, and the king gave them command over three hundred men. Now Olaf the Red was king in Scotland. His father was a Scot, but his mother was a Dane of the family of Ragnar with-the-hairy-breeches, that savage old viking. Northumberland, which in those days extended to the Humber, and included York as its chief city, was half-full of Danes, and King Olaf wished to claim it for his own, and add it to Scotland.

Athelstan had set Earl Alfgeir and Earl Gudrek to rule Northumberland and defend it from the Scots. But Olaf of Scotland came south with his mighty host; there was a fierce battle; Earl Gudrek was slain and Earl Alfgeir fled. When Athelstan heard of the triumph of Olaf, he began at once to march northward with all the men he could get together; but he was yet young, and some of the treacherous earls, hearing that Olaf had so far been victor, deserted King Athelstan. Chief among these traitors were Earl Hring and Earl Adils, who should have been in the very front of the English army, but who basely went over to the Scots. Thus Olaf's host became exceeding great, greater by far than the English army.

Then Athelstan called together his captains and his counsellors; Egil was there, and heard all the grave talk as to what should be done. At last a plan was made that all thought good, and this is what followed.

First, messengers were sent to King Olaf, saying that King Athelstan would meet him in fair fight at Vinheath by Vinwood, in Northumberland, where he would mark out the field of battle with rods of hazel. He who won the battle should be king over all England. The armies should meet a week hence, and whichever was first on the ground should wait a week for the other. King Olaf should bide quiet, and not harry the land till the battle was ended. North of the heath was a town; there King Olaf stayed, for there he could best get provisions for his army. But some of his men he sent to the heath, to view it.

The hazel-poles were already set up on the large level plain. A river was on one side, and a wood was on the other. And where river and wood were nearest to one another, there King Athelstan's tents were pitched.

Many tents there were, but the front line of tents stood high, so that the Scots could not see how many were behind. Every third tent was empty, but many men were sleeping on the grass in the open, so that the Scots might think that the English had a large army there. Every day more English troops came in, and when the time was come that was fixed for the battle, English envoys went to the King of the Scots asking if there need be the great fight and bloodshed that threatened; if Olaf would go peaceably home, Athelstan would give him a shilling of silver for every plough that ploughed in England. The Scots took counsel together and said they must have more than this. Then the messengers begged a three days' truce to consider this. On the third day they came again, saying that King Athelstan would give what he offered before and also to the Scottish army a silver shilling for every freeman soldier, a silver mark for every lesser officer, a gold mark for every captain, and five gold marks for every earl. But the Scots asked not only for this, but also for Northumberland to be yielded to them. Then the English messengers answered that Scottish messengers must ride back with them, to take the answer from Athelstan himself.

Now the truth is this: that the Scottish king had taken Athelstan by such surprise that he needed time to get his men together; all these messages were but a trick to gain time till the king should come up himself with all the men he could gather. When, therefore, the messengers rode up to King Athelstan, he had but just arrived on the scene of battle. And when he heard the message he said: "Tell King Olaf this, that I will give him leave to return to Scotland safely if only he give back all he has unjustly taken from this land, and if he own himself my under-king, holding Scotland for me and at my behest."

This proud answer made the Scottish messengers at once see what had been going on. So they hastened back to their king to tell him how they had been received and what the meaning of it was.

When the Scots found that the English had thus outwitted them, they took counsel together in some anger. Earl Adils, he who had deserted the English, said that he and his brother, Earl Hring, would that very night make a surprise attack; if it succeeded, well and good; if not, then they could easily withdraw, and the main battle could begin in the morning. This the King of Scots held to be good advice.

So the two traitor earls and their men moved southward under cover of the darkness. But Thorolf the Norseman was used to the ways of war, and his sentries were alert and blew a great war-blast on their horns. And thus the fight began.

Thorolf was armed with a massy halberd that stood taller than a man; broad was its blade and thick its socket, and it ended in a four-edged spike. He had a strong sword by his side and a big, heavy shield on his left arm; he had a helmet but no shirt of mail. His brother Egil was armed in much the same way. The Norsemen's standard was borne by Thorfid the strong.

Next to the Norsemen, in the first rank also, was the division led by Earl Alfgeir, he who had once before fled from the Scots. King Athelstan gave him this chance to redeem himself. Now when the first onslaught of the Scots took place, Earl Adils came against Earl Alfgeir, while Earl Hring came against the Norsemen.

And now the battle began. The two traitor earls urged on their men, who charged with spirit. The fight was fierce, and soon Alfgeir gave ground; this made the foe press on the fiercer, and before long Alfgeir was in full flight. He avoided the town where Athelstan was, and fled night and day to the coast, where he took ship out of the country he had served so ill.

Adils did not dare to pursue him far, for fear of being himself cut off from his friends. So he returned to help his brother Hring against the Norsemen. Thorolf, like a true general, saw the danger of this, and at once told Egil to turn aside with half their force to prevent Adils from joining his brother. The Norsemen fought a grand fight, but were badly outnumbered, and the battle seemed to be going against them. Then Thorolf became furious. Disdainful of life, he cast his shield behind his back, grasped his great halberd with both hands, and sprang forward, hacking down all who opposed him. Straight for Hring's standard he went, nothing could stop him. He slew the standard-bearer, cut through the standard-pole, and with a mighty stroke thrust his halberd right through the body of Hring, the traitor earl, and lifted him up in the air that all might see that he was slain. Then Adils and the rest of the men fled to the wood, and thus ended the first part of the fight. More was to come on the morrow.

At dawn next day King Athelstan came forward with his main army. He had heard of the great deeds of the brothers Thorolf and Egil; most courteously he thanked them, and said that he would always reckon them as his friends. Then with his captains he made his plans for the battle. Egil he put in command of the front ranks of his men, and Thorolf he set aside to face those of the Scots who might charge the English in loose array.

"For this is the way of the Scots," he said; "they dash to and fro, rush forward and hither and thither, and are dangerous except to a commander who is both wary and bold."

Egil said, "I would rather that Thorolf and I were near together"; but Thorolf answered, "As the king commands, so will we do."

The battle began, and soon waged furiously. Thorolf and his men pressed forward along the woodside, hoping to take the enemy on the flank. Now, unknown to him, Adils and his followers were hiding among the trees, and of a sudden Adils sprang out and smote him down. Thorfid, too, the brave standard-bearer, was pressed back, but rallied the men, who fought desperately.

The Scots had raised a great shout at the fall of Thorolf, and this was heard by Egil, who, when he saw the standard forced back, feared that his brother was dead, for Thorolf had never drawn back from any foe. So with a fierce cry Egil hacked his way through to that part of the field, and when he learnt the truth from his men, he never rested till he had slain Adils with his own hand.

The followers of Adils then fled, and Egil and the Norsemen hewed their way through the flank of the Scottish force towards the place where King Olaf's standard was. Noting this, King Athelstan, that wary general, caused his own standard to be set forward and all his army to attack at once. Fierce and furious was the fight, and great was the slaughter. King Olaf was slain, with great numbers of his men, and the rest fled in confusion. The English victory was complete.

As soon as Athelstan saw that victory was his, he left the pursuit to his captains and hastened to the town to make his arrangements. Egil pursued far and fiercely, and when at last he came back to the battlefield his first thought was for his dead brother. Worn out though he was, he would take no rest until he had buried the warrior with full honours, with his arms and his raiment; and before the sad farewell was said Egil clasped a gold bracelet on both of Thorolf's wrists to show his deep love. Then they buried the hero deep and put a high cairn of stones over him.

Then one last tribute Egil paid to his brother, the greatest of them all. Among these old Norse warriors there existed a great love of song; the great fighters strove also to be great song-makers, and Egil was famous above most for this power. The Norsemen's poems had not rhymes like ours; they had short vigorous lines, and in each pair of lines three of the important words had to begin with the same letter. Wild strong chants they were. This is the song that Egil sang at the burial of his brother, Thorolf Skallagrimsson:--

"The halberd of the hero
Hewed down the foe before him;
Then in the brunt of battle
Was spilt brave Thorolf's blood.
The grass is green on Vinheath
Where sleeps my great-souled brother;
But death, in doubled sorrow,
Our doleful hearts must bear."

When Egil got to the town he found the king and his army making merry over their victory at a huge feast. The courteous king saw Egil and bade him come and sit near to him. The king watched the burly Norseman, who was tall, with broad shoulders, a powerful head and mighty strength; but now his head was bent forward, and he kept his sword across his knees, and now and again half drew it and then clashed it back into its scabbard like a man who fights with heavy thoughts. He ate little and drank less. Then King Athelstan, watchful and courteous, took a gold ring from his arm, and placing it on his sword-point, handed it thus to where Egil sat. At this mark of honour the Norseman's face grew brighter. Then the king sent round his own horn for Egil to drink; so he drank to the king and sang a verse of wild poetry in his praise, made on the spur of the moment; and with this the king was much pleased.

Then the king sent also for two chests full of silver, and said to Egil:--

"These chests carry to thy father; it is fitting that King Athelstan make him some gift for the loss of his son. And do thou stay with me long, and I will give thee honour and dignity."

Thus the great king in kindness and courtesy did what he could to soothe the grief of the warrior; and Egil stayed the winter with Athelstan, but when the summer came he wished to go back to his own people. But he had much respect for King Athelstan, and ere he bade him farewell he made a long poem to his glory.

_From the Song of Egil Skallagrimsson, to the Glory of King Athelstan._

"See how the kingly warrior,
Land-warder, battle-wakener,
Smites even to the earth
The earls who rise against him!
Glad is now Northumberland,
This the king she needed,
Wise and bold of race and blood,
Dauntless in the battle-field!"

Many were the verses of this stirring song; and after each came the refrain:--

"Scottish hills where reindeer roam
Own the rule of Athelstan!"

The king gave Egil two heavy gold rings and a handsome cloak that he himself had worn; then the Norseman sailed away, for always near to his heart was the welfare of his dead brother's wife and child. Yea, for the rest of his long life he loved this child even as he loved his own.

*Chapter III*

*Monks and Minstrels*

The wild Borderland was the scene of the labours of many ol the first great Christian leaders. Where the arts of war were so much practised, it was needful that the arts of peace should flourish also. Great was the influence, even in the wildest times, of these able, serious, devoted leaders of early religious thought, men like Ninian and Kentigern.

Christianity first came into Britain in Roman times, and some of the Britons were converted. After the Romans quitted the country, King Arthur was the leader of the Christian Britons, and he is said to have fought with the pagan Britons, the pagan Picts, the pagan Saxons, who had begun their invasions, and the disorderly soldiers of various races, probably pagans whom the Romans left behind along the wall.

In due time the fight developed into a struggle between Christian Britons and pagan Saxons, and then the Saxons themselves began to accept the new religion. Oswald, a Northumbrian prince, had in a time of peril hidden in the island of Iona, to where the great Irishman Columba had come from Ireland as a missionary. When Oswald returned to power he summoned to his kingdom Aidan, a high-minded Christian teacher, whom he made first bishop of Lindisfarne (Holy Island). Aidan being a Celt, had to do his work through interpreters, but he did it well, and laid the foundations of Christianity and learning in Northumbria. Cuthbert was another famous missionary. Rising from shepherd-boy to bishop, he impressed both king and peasant by the dignified simplicity and sincerity of his life. His place of meditation was a sea-girt rock by Lindisfarne, lonely and picturesque, and still called after his name. A curious fossil, with the mark of a cross, is plentiful there, and goes by the name of St Cuthbert's beads. Other famous teachers were Wilfrid of York, who founded the churches of Hexham and Ripon; Boisil, who founded Melrose, and Biscop, who founded Jarrow.

But perhaps the most celebrated of all was Bede, the "Venerable Bede," who lived at Jarrow and wrote forty-five learned books on all subjects, including music, astronomy, and medicine. All the scholars in England flocked to hear his teachings, and he was justly called "the father of English learning." He it was who first introduced into England the art of making glass.

His last work was to translate the Gospel of St John into Northumbrian English. This was in the year 735. Being too ill to hold a pen, he dictated to his favourite pupil. "Write quickly," he said, for he felt that he was dying. "It is finished," answered the lad, and the old man's heart was satisfied. In a faint, brave voice he chanted the _Gloria_, and so died singing.

In those days there was, of course, no such thing as printing. Every manuscript was written and rewritten, carefully, by hand, and treasured as a sacred possession in the seats of learning. So proud were they of their manuscripts that they beautified them with illustrations in colour. Many of these manuscripts have, of course, been destroyed; for instance, the Danes in 875 burnt the priceless library of Bishop Acca at Hexham, destroying in one day the treasured collection of a lifetime; but many remain to show the love of learning which existed even then. Bishop Edfrid, who lived in the little rocky island of Lindisfarne, made a copy of the Gospels, which is looked upon with wonder even to-day. Strings of beautiful birds and quaint animals are drawn upon his pages; evangelists with mantles of purple and tunics of blue, pink, or green. With the writing clear and beautiful, the decorations showing the greatest care and devotion, this manuscript of one thousand two hundred years ago has been the delight of thousands, and comes down to us to witness to the loving care of the scholars of old in the days before printing was known.

Great as was their love of beautiful manuscripts, they had an equally noble passion for grand buildings. A superb monument of simple dignity and religious grandeur is the Norman Cathedral at Durham, commenced by Bishop Carilef in 1093, and finished by Bishop Flambard in 1128. Occupying a wonderful position at the top of a wooded hill, around which flows the beautiful river Wear, Durham Cathedral is in itself one of the noblest buildings in the world. While the Church in those troublous times kept thus a storehouse of learning for serious scholars, other methods kept the people informed of the more stirring events of their day.

In the old days, when no newspapers existed to tell people the news, when books were scarce and history was not taught to every lad as a part of his training, the ballad-writer and the wandering minstrel played a very important part. Ballads, sometimes really fine pieces of poetry, sometimes a mere halting troop of lame lines, were made upon every occasion of local or general interest. They were sung to simple and often beautiful tunes or chants. The best of the minstrels were welcome to the halls of the nobles, and even to the king himself; the poorest of them sang on the village green. The ballads were learnt and repeated by the folk of the country-side; some were in later times printed on loose sheets, but at first they were handed on from mouth to mouth. Alterations and errors often crept in; mistakes due to a sameness of sound. For instance, in the old ballad of _Mary Ambree_, a soldier is referred to as "Sir John Major," probably meaning Sergeant-major. In one of the versions of the battle of Chevy Chase, Henry Percy was said to have been killed there, whereas he really lived on to be slain at Shrewsbury. But, despite such occasional blunders, the ballads on the whole throw a vivid light on the manners and customs of the old days, as well as being usually stirring and sometimes strikingly noble and pathetic pieces of poetry. They deal as a rule rather with the side currents than with the main stream of history; but they express themselves with such homely force and directness that they bring home to us with wonderful clearness the character of the vigorous manly men with whose doings they are chiefly concerned.

During the last one hundred and fifty years many able men have laboured to collect old ballads, writing them down from the mouths of the country-folk and printing them in books with notes of explanation. One of the earliest thus to collect ballads seriously was Bishop Percy; the best known is Sir Walter Scott, of whose interest in the subject Lockhart, his biographer, writes very pleasantly.

Prefaced to many of the stirring tales in this present book are lines from the old Border ballads from which they are taken. It is to be hoped that readers will be tempted sooner or later to read the rest of these fine ballads for themselves.

*Chapter IV*

*Sir Patrick Spens*

"The king sits in Dunfermline town
Drinking the blood-red wine;
'O where shall I get a well-skilled skipper
To sail this new ship of mine?'"

Almost every collection of Scottish songs contains this picturesque old ballad, which refers to a very remote time in Scottish history, probably the end of the thirteenth century. King Alexander III. of Scotland died in 1285; he had the bitter grief of seeing all his children die before him. His daughter Margaret had been married to Eric, King of Norway, and she left a daughter also called Margaret, and known as the "Maid of Norway." This maid was now heiress to the Scottish throne, and it is natural to suppose that the lonely king should wish her to return to Scotland, and should send a richly appointed ship to fetch her back. And although there is no strictly historical record of such an expedition, the truth of the ballad is made more probable by the fact that it opens in the fine old town of Dunfermline.

Dunfermline was a favourite residence of Alexander, who was killed in its neighbourhood by a fall from his horse, and was buried in the abbey there, the ruins of which beautiful structure still remain.

In this ballad the king is feasting at Dunfermline town, and calls for a skilful mariner to sail his new ship. An old knight at the king's right hand answers that the best sailor who ever sailed the sea is Sir Patrick Spens. So the king writes a letter, sealing it with his own hand, and sends it to Sir Patrick, commanding him to sail away to Norway over the white sea-foam and bring home the maid.

Now every good sailor dreaded the rough Northern seas in winter, so though the brave Sir Patrick laughed aloud when he began to read, he wept blinding tears before he had ended. "Who has done this deed?" he cried; "who has told the king of me and urged him to send us out at this time of the year to sail on the stormy sea? Yet, wind, wet, hail, or sleet, we must set out, for 'tis we who must fetch home the maid."

So they set sail on a Monday morning, and reached Norway on a Wednesday. History tells us that Eric of Norway was very unwilling to part with his daughter. This probably accounts for the fact that the old ballad tells us that the Scotsmen had only been there a fortnight when the lords of Norway began to say that Sir Patrick and his men were spending the gold of their king and queen. "Ye lie," cried Sir Patrick, "loudly I hear ye lie, for I brought with me over the sea enough red gold and white money to supply the wants of my men. Make ready, make ready, my merry men; we will sail at daybreak." "Alack," quoth the men, "a deadly storm is brewing. Yesterday evening the new moon was seen carrying the old moon in her arms; we shall certainly come to harm if we go to sea."

Barely had they sailed three leagues when the sky darkened, the wind blew loudly, and the sea grew boisterous. Soon they were in the midst of a terrible storm. The anger of the sea was far more dreadful than the anger of the lords of Norway. The anchors broke away, the topmasts snapped, and the waves came over the broken ship, tearing her sides asunder. "O where shall I get a good sailor to take the helm while I climb the tall topmast to see if I can espy land?" "That I fear ye never will," cried a sailor as he took the helm, and scarcely had Sir Patrick gone a step when a plank started in the ship's side and the water came pouring in.

"Fetch a web of silken cloth, and fetch a web of twine," cried Sir Patrick, "and cast them down to our ship's side!" For it was the custom in those days, when a leak could not be reached from inside the vessel, to cast down some closely woven stuff in the hope that the suction of the water would drag it across the leak and stop thus the fatal inrush of water. Alas! all their efforts failed. Then the ballad-writer says somewhat grimly of the dandies among the Scottish lords that whereas at first they grumbled to see the water spoil their fine cork-heeled shoes, when the storm had done its fatal work the sea was "above their hats"!