Chapter I: The Character of the Borders (3)

Then spoke Richard Witherington, a squire of Northumberland. "Never shall this be told in England, to the shame of good King Harry the Fourth. I wot ye be two great lords, and I but a poor squire, yet would I never stand and look on while my captain fought. While I can wield a weapon, I will not fail, both heart and hand."

So the English with good heart bent their bows, and slew seven score spearmen with the first arrows they shot.

Earl Douglas stayed on the field, but that he was a good captain was truly seen, for he wrought great woe and mischief. He parted his host in three like a proud chieftain, and they came in on every side with their mighty spears, wounding the English archers and slaying many a brave man.

Then the English pulled out their brands, and it was a heavy sight to see the bright swords light on the helmets, striking through the rich mail, and the cloth of many folds under it, and laying many low.

At last the Douglas and the Percy met and fought with swords of Milan steel till the blood spurted like rain and hail from their helmets.

"Hold thee, Percy," said Douglas, "and I will bring thee to James, our Scottish king, where thou shalt have an earl's wages and free ransom, for thou art the manfullest man that ever yet I conquered fighting in the field."

"Nay, then," said Lord Percy. "I told thee before that never would I yield to any man of woman born."

With that there came an arrow hastily from a mighty man, and struck Earl Douglas through the breast bone, and never more did he speak a word but only this: "Fight, my merry men, while ye may--my life's days are done."

Then Percy leaned on his hand, and when he saw the Douglas die, he said, "Woe is me. I would have parted with my land for three years to have saved thy life, for a better man of heart and hand was not in all the north country."

But Sir Hugh Montgomery, a Scottish knight, when he saw the Douglas done to death, grasped a spear and rode through a hundred archers, never slackening his pace till he came to Lord Percy, whom he set upon, sending his mighty spear clean through his body, so that a man might see a long cloth-yard and more at the other side. There were no two better captains in Christendom than were that day slain.

When one of the Northumberland archers saw this, he drew an arrow to his bow and set upon Montgomery, until the swan feathers of his arrows were wet with his heart's blood.

Not one man gave way, but still they stood hewing at each other, while they were able.

This battle began in Cheviot, an hour before noon, nor was it half done at evensong, but they fought on by moonlight though many had scarce the strength to stand. Of fifteen hundred English archers only fifty-three remained, and of two thousand Scottish spearmen only fifty-five remained, all the rest being slain in Cheviot.

With Lord Percy were slain, Sir John of Agerstone, Sir Roger the gentle Hartly, Sir William the bold Heron, Sir George the worthy Lovel, a renowned knight, and Sir Ralph the rich Rugby. Woe was it that Witherington was slain, for when both his legs were hewn in two he kneeled and fought on his knees.

With the brave Douglas were slain Sir Hugh Montgomery, and worthy Sir Davy Liddle, that was his sister's son; Sir Charles, a Murray who refused to flee, and Sir Hugh Maxwell. On the morrow they made biers of birch and grey hazel, and many widows bore weeping from the field the bodies of their dead husbands. Well may Teviotdale and Northumberland wail and moan for two such great captains.

Word came to James the Scottish king at Edinburgh, that the brave Douglas, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot, and he wept and wrung his hands, and said, "Alas! Woe is me; there will never be such another captain in Scotland."

Word came also to London, to Harry the Fourth, that Lord Percy, Lieutenant of the Marches, lay slain in Cheviot. "God have mercy on his soul," said King Harry; "I have a hundred captains in England as good as he, yet I wager my life that his death shall be well avenged"; and this vow he kept, at the Battle of Homildon Hill, where he beat down six and thirty Scottish knights on one day.

But so real to the Borderers was their grief over their dead that the ballad ends with a quaint but heartfelt appeal to the Prince of Peace:--

"Jesus Christ our ills abate,
And to His bliss us bring!
Thus was the hunting of the Cheviot;
God send us all good ending!"

*Chapter XII*

*The Douglas Clan*

The Douglas clan was at one time the strongest of all the great Scotch families on the Border; they were wild and proud and recklessly brave, and no account of the Borders would be complete without the broad details of their tragic history.

The first to raise the fame of the family to the highest place in honour was the brave Sir James Douglas, the friend of Bruce, and, after Bruce himself, the greatest hero among the Scots of that stormy period. He was a powerful, black-haired man with a dark complexion, and was called by the English "The Black Douglas." So great was the terror of his name that English mothers on the Border, when their children were naughty, would tell them that the Black Douglas would get them, or if they were fretful they would comfort them with the assurance--

"Hush ye, hush ye, little pet ye,
Hush ye, hush ye, do not fret ye,
The Black Douglas shall not get ye."

Sir Walter Scott relates how, when the garrison of Roxburgh Castle were making merry at Shrovetide, the castle was surprised by the Douglas, who mounted to the ramparts where a woman was crooning the refrain to her babe. "You are not so sure of that," he said, laying his hand upon her shoulder. It is pleasant to read that on this occasion the Black Douglas did not turn out so black as he was painted, and beyond her fright the woman came to no harm at the hands of Sir James and his followers.

At one time the English had seized the Douglas castle in Lanarkshire, and Sir James and his men disguised themselves and came to church on Palm Sunday, when the English soldiers were worshipping there. Suddenly in the midst of the service Douglas dropped his cloak and drew his sword and shouted: "A Douglas! a Douglas!"

The English soldiers were taken by surprise, and were killed before they could recover themselves. This deed brought Douglas great fame, but after all it was hardly a fair fight.

In 1327, when Edward III. was only fifteen years old, Douglas led a raid into Northumberland and Durham which did the English much damage. Edward came after them with an English army, and the Scots, being outnumbered, were compelled to dodge up and down in order to avoid a pitched battle. But in one bold night attack, Douglas and five hundred of the Scots penetrated to the king's tent, and almost succeeded in taking him prisoner. Failing in this, they returned unharmed to their own country, and shortly afterwards, at the Treaty of Northampton in 1328, King Edward III. agreed to acknowledge Robert Bruce as King of Scotland, and the long war between Scotland and England ended.

A year later Bruce died, but after a romantic custom of that day he bequeathed his heart to his gallant friend, Sir James Douglas. Douglas had this heart enclosed in a silver casket and carried it hung about his neck. The war with England being over, this restless knight sought adventures in Spain, fighting against the Saracen followers of Mahomet. In one fierce battle, he and his men were surrounded by their enemies. Douglas, probably realising that this was his last fight, took the casket and flung it into the midst of his foes, crying: "Go first in fight, as thou wert used to do; Douglas will follow thee or die!" He then rushed desperately after it, fighting his way on till at last his dead body fell on this dearly prized relic, which he guarded to the end. The casket lies buried in the Abbey of Melrose, but Douglas's body was laid in his own church.

Of the bold Earl Douglas who fought and died at Otterbourne the tale is told in our last chapter. We may pass on to another famous Douglas, this time a heroine, who lived in the reign of James I. of Scotland (quite a different king from James I. of England). When James was only twelve years old, he was taken prisoner by Henry IV. of England, and kept captive till he was thirty. But he was given an education fit for a king, and in England he met the lady he devotedly loved, Lady Joan Beaufort, daughter of the Earl of Somerset. He addressed a beautiful poem to her and married her, and these two always most dearly loved one another. When at last his long captivity came to an end, he got back to Scotland to find the kingdom in disorder, and the nobles defying the law and acting as they pleased. James, a strong and able king, set his strength against their strength, and gradually got his whole kingdom into order and ruled with wisdom and justice.

But in these days it was impossible to be firm without sternness, and James made enemies. When he was staying at Perth one Christmas-time, these enemies, led by a bold villain called Sir Robert Graham, secretly encircled the house where he was staying. The unarmed king only heard of their presence when they were advancing, fully armed, to his room. He tore up a plank in the floor, seeking thus to find a hiding-place. The enemies were almost at the door, and it was necessary to delay their entrance, for one minute might save his life. All the bars of the door had been removed beforehand, but a brave heroine, Kate Douglas, thrust her arm through the staples. The villains were angered to find the door barred against them, and hurled their weight upon it.

The Douglas heroine stood there, her pale face set hard, without a cry, as the crash broke the bone of her brave strong arm, and the would-be murderers staggered in. But alas! the sacrifice of Kate Douglas availed nothing except to place her name upon the immortal roll of the heroes of the ages, for after a brief search the murderers found the king and slew him.

The queen, who had loved James with the utmost devotion, found her love give added fierceness to her hate against his murderers. They were all tracked down, and she caused them to die with terrible tortures, the cruellest of which she reserved for Graham. Thus did great King James's "milk-white dove" revenge the slaying of the husband she loved dearer than life itself.

Till this time it had seemed as if the Douglases were devoted to the good of Scotland. But in those wild, reckless times qualities that were strong for good could also be strong for evil.

When James I. of Scotland was murdered, his young son was only six years old. This meant that for many years there would be no strong king able to cope with the lawless spirit of the nobles, strongest among whom were the proud, bold Douglases.

The lawlessness of the times is well shown by an act of foul treachery committed by Sir William Crichton, Governor of Edinburgh, and an enemy of the Douglas family. He invited one of the earls to dinner at the castle, and while there had him seized and beheaded. It is said that a bull's head was placed on the dish in front of Douglas, this being a sign that he was to be killed. The people called this "Douglas's black dinner," and sang of the wicked deed in sorrowful verse:--

"Edinburgh Castle, town and tower
God grant thou sink for sin!
And even for that black dinner
Earl Douglas got therein."

But the new King James found, before he was twenty years old, that the Douglases themselves could act with equal cruelty and lawlessness.

The king was fond of a brave young soldier named Maclellan, who, having some quarrel with Earl Douglas, was thrown by him into a dungeon in his castle. So the king wrote a letter to Douglas, saying he must set Maclellan free, and sent this letter by Maclellan's uncle, Sir Patrick Gray. When Douglas saw Gray riding up to his castle, he at once guessed the errand. So he came out as though he were delighted to see him, and insisted on his sitting down and having dinner with him, before the king's letter was opened and discussed. But the treacherous earl had given secret orders that Maclellan should be beheaded while they were dining, so that after dinner was over, and the letter was read, he could say that this had been done before he had seen the king's message.

Gray dared not show his anger, for fear he too should be killed. He mounted his swift horse and rode away, but the moment he was outside the castle walls he shook his mailed fist at Douglas and cried out--

"Treacherous earl, disgrace to knighthood, some day you shall pay for this black, base deed!"

Douglas mounted his men, and they pursued Gray almost to the gates of Edinburgh; but he rode for his life, and faster than they.

When Douglas and the king next met there was a stormy scene. The earl was so proud and wilful that he would not bend to any of the king's wishes or heed the king's anger in the least. So King James, mad with rage, stabbed the reckless earl with his dagger, and Sir Patrick Gray, seeing this, struck him a death-blow with his axe.

The king was in Stirling Castle, a powerful fortress at the top of a steep hill, when the new earl, the younger brother of the murdered man, rode up with six hundred followers, and burnt and plundered the town before the king's very eyes, and added to the insult by publicly declaring that King James II. was a law-breaker.

For three years the quarrel went on between the king and the Douglases, but it was then evident that there could be no peace between them. So at last the king's army attacked the collected forces of the strong Douglas family at a place on the Borders then called Arkinholm, where the picturesque little town of Langholm now stands. Here the beautiful river Esk receives the water of two smaller streams, and so it was a good place to make a stand for a fight. The battle was long and desperate; three brothers of the bold black Douglases were there, and they withstood the king's men till the rivers ran red; but their cause was hopeless. One was slain in battle; one was taken and executed; one escaped into England; and the power of the Black Douglases was gone.

Thus it was that the strongest and most famous family of the Borders was broken up, because its proud leaders dared to dictate to the king himself.

*Chapter XIII*

*Alnwick Castle and the Percies*

The castle of Alnwick stands on a hill on the south bank of the river Alne; being protected on one side by the river and on another by a deep gorge, it stands in a strong natural position. There are traces of earthworks that seem to show that the spot was fortified in the old British days, but the earliest fact which we know certainly is that there was a Saxon fortress here, held by a Gilbert Tyson, when William the Conqueror claimed England. Tyson hastened south to fight on Harold's side, and was killed at the battle of Hastings.

The fortress seems to have got into the hands of a Norman knight, Ivo de Vesci, who married the grand-daughter of Gilbert Tyson. King Malcolm of Scotland was killed in front of it, in 1093, with three thousand of his men. De Vesci's son-in-law was probably the knight who rebuilt the castle in the Norman style, some portions of which still remain.

In 1174, William the Lion, King of Scotland, who had claimed Northumberland as his own, attacked the castles of Wark and of Alnwick. Wark was defended by a gallant knight named Roger de Stuteville. William's brave men tried in vain to force their way through the portcullis, but were beaten back. Then William ordered up his _periere_, a machine made for hurling stones. "This," said the king, "will soon smash down the gate for us!" With great expectations the machine was set in motion, but it acted so badly that it threw the stones on to William's own men, and nearly killed one of his best knights! William raved in his fury, and swore he would rather have been captured in fair fight than be made to look so foolish in the eyes of his enemies. He gave word to burn the castle, but the wind was in the wrong quarter and blew back the flames. So he had to give up the siege. Stuteville, like a gallant enemy, told his men not to shout taunts and jeers at the departing Scots. But instead they blew trumpets and horns, and sang songs, and called out a very loud and hearty "Good-bye."

Shortly afterwards, William came before Alnwick, and it was then De Vesci's turn. It was Saturday morning on a hot July day, and the Scottish king's knights flatteringly told him that the English were bound to give way to him, and Northumberland would be his. The king was dining in front of the castle, with no helmet on, when suddenly a part of the English army made a surprise attack. The bold king leapt on to his grey charger, and unhorsed the first knight he met. So quick and brave were the Scots that they had almost defeated the English when an English foot-soldier stabbed the king's horse with his lance, and it fell, bringing William down to the ground and pinning him there. This turned the course of battle; the Scots were beaten back, and William taken prisoner.

In was in 1309 that the great Percy family first obtained possession of Alnwick and its domain. Henry Percy purchased it from Anthony Bek, Bishop of Durham, who had somehow obtained power over it, and the brave De Vesci family disappear. About this date Northumberland was in a miserable condition; it was the reign of the feeble Edward II., and Bruce had invaded the four northernmost counties of England, and was exacting tribute from them. The English were safe only within their fortresses.

However, the brave Sir Thomas Gray, who held Norham Castle, did much to uphold the falling honour of England, and Henry Percy almost rebuilt the castle of Alnwick, which in his son's time successfully withstood a siege. But at last peace was restored by the Treaty of Northampton in 1328, by the terms of which the English king renounced all claim to Scotland.

The Percy family were of Norman origin, deriving their name from a Norman village. William de Percy crossed to England just after the battle of Hastings, and received grants of land in Yorkshire. Agnes de Percy married Jocelin, Count of Louvain, and their son Henry took his mother's surname. From that year onward, the the Christian name of Henry was always given to the eldest son; there were fourteen Henry Percies!

Even in these wild times the Percies were distinguished by the boldness of their spirits. One of the Counts of Louvain, grandfather of the first Henry Percy, shocked the men of his day by hanging some of his enemies with the church bell-ropes. It was not the hanging that was objected to--hanging was common enough; but the use of church-ropes for the purpose was thought very wicked!

After they had rebuilt Alnwick Castle and settled down there, the Percies soon established their power in the North. At the coronation of Richard II., in 1377, a Henry Percy was Marshal of England, and he was then made Earl of Northumberland. His son, "Hotspur," was the most famous of all the Percies. In their time, the battles of Otterbourne and Homildon Hill were fought. But they rebelled against Henry IV. and Hotspur was killed at the battle of Shrewsbury (1403), while his father was slain a few years later at Bramham Moor, his head set up on London Bridge, and quarters of his body on the gates of Berwick, Newcastle, Lincoln, and London, to discourage others from following in his footsteps!

Henry, son of "Hotspur," was the second earl. He repaired and added to the castle and was present at the battle of Agincourt. It was not the habit of the Percies to die in their beds, and this one was killed in the Wars of the Roses, at the first battle of St Albans, in 1455.

The fact of their having taken the losing Lancastrian side in these wars kept the family under a cloud for a number of years. One of them deserted Richard III. on Bosworth field in 1485; one of them was beheaded at York in 1572, for taking part in the "Rising of the North"; one of them was found shot in his bed in 1585, and another died in the Tower in 1632. So that the family could hardly be said to be quieting down.

They sided with Parliament during the Civil War, but later on they favoured the Restoration. At last there came a time when there were no male heirs left in this great line, but only a daughter, Elizabeth. She married the Duke of Somerset, and had thirteen children, the eldest surviving of whom was created Earl of Northumberland in 1748. But he died the year after, leaving only a daughter, who had married a very able baronet, to whom was given the title of Duke of Northumberland in 1766. He very wisely took the surname of Percy, and again restored the castle of Alnwick, putting the family estates and affairs in good order. So that the Percies of Alnwick Castle are Dukes of Northumberland to this day.

*Chapter XIV*

*Hexham and Queen Margaret*

The town of Hexham stands on the south bank of the Tyne, rising gradually up the hill and presenting a most picturesque appearance. About two miles above Hexham the North and the South Tyne meet, and the combined river is broad and noble, and the hills around Hexham give strength and beauty to the scene. The commanding appearance and central position of the priory church adds its note of dignity, and the total effect of the town is very pleasing to the eye.

There is no doubt that from very early times there was a town in this fine natural position. The burial-grounds of primitive races have been discovered here, with stone and bronze implements. The Romans had a town here of some importance, although it was four miles south of their great wall. A Roman tombstone was discovered here, nine feet by three and a half feet, showing a Roman officer on horseback, overthrowing in fierce fight a savage and scowling foe. This fine relic is set up in the church, and is not the only thing to see there. The original church upon this spot was built in 674, in the reign of King Egfrid of Northumbria. Wilfrid, the very able and influential Bishop of York, was the man who presided at the building of it, and there were bishops at Hexham for a couple of centuries. In 875 the Danes ruthlessly burnt the town; and nearly one thousand years later, in 1832, there was found buried in the ground a bronze vessel containing about nine thousand Saxon coins of the eighth and ninth century, evidently buried to protect this treasure from the invaders. Those who buried them were probably slain before they had time to dig them up again. There was a legend of another treasure hidden between Hexham and Corbridge, and King John came to Hexham in 1201 to search for it. He returned in 1208 and in 1212, but found nothing. Time passed, and this tale of hidden treasure ceased even to be local gossip, but in 1735 by accident it was found.

The present handsome priory church must have been built about the time of King John's visits to Hexham. It is a noble building, well worth a visit. In 1725, when some work was being done in the church, a wonderful discovery was made. It was found that there was an old Saxon crypt, a narrow vault with several passages, underneath the church! This was so carefully hidden that it was evidently intended as a place of refuge in danger. It was built of Roman stones, several of which have Roman inscriptions.

The Scots several times attacked Hexham. Once Sir William Wallace came there with his army, but he would not let his Scots damage the church, so that Hexham, on the whole, had a less stormy life than many of the Border towns, although in 1537, when Henry VIII. caused the monastery to be suppressed, the prior and five of the leading monks were hanged before the gates as a gentle reminder that they were to live there no longer.

But by far the most stirring event in Hexham's history was the battle which raged there in 1464. The Wars of the Roses do not form a pleasing episode in English history. They were pitiless, and treachery was mingled with bloodshed; desertions and executions were the accompaniment of every battle. Edward IV. was coldly cruel and unscrupulous, one of the blackest figures of a black time. But romance centres round Queen Margaret, the dauntless and resourceful wife of the feeble King Henry VI., with whom Edward disputed the throne. She it was who, making up for her husband's weakness, urged ever bravely and hopefully the cause of her son. Thus she pressed on to the very end, till that son, worthy of his heroic mother, proudly answered the taunts of his base enemies, even though in their power, preferring speedy death to any lessening of his tragic dignity, and dying before the eyes of the successful and exultant Edward.

In this fierce drama, Hexham was but an episode. The Lancastrians had scattered after their heavy defeat at Towton. Margaret in person had begged a little help of the King of Scotland, a little more of the King of France. The Borderland was favourable to her, and she gathered her forces together there, King Henry VI. staying in Alnwick Castle.

Lord Montague, brother to the powerful but crafty Earl of Warwick, was warden of the East Marches for Edward, and he hastily collected the Yorkist forces. He was swift, able, and unscrupulous. He attacked a small body of Lancastrians on Hedgeley Moor, only ten miles from Alnwick, and defeated them, killing their leader, Sir Ralph Percy, son of Hotspur. As this gallant man died he consoled himself by saying, "I have saved the bird in my bosom," by which poetical phrase he meant that he had saved his honour by being true to his queen. In May the greater battle of Hexham was fought. King Henry was there in person, with the dauntless Queen Margaret and her son, and their brave general, the Duke of Somerset. They marched out of Hexham to attack Lord Montague; the battle began by the village of Linnels, on the south side of the Devil's Water, a stream that runs into the Tyne. The fight was desperate, for both sides knew that no quarter would be given. It is said by some that the Scots, having no interest in the war, deserted Margaret; anyway, bit by bit the Lancastrians were forced back, to the very streets of Hexham itself, two miles away. In these narrow streets, in the quarter that is still called Battle Hill, the last desperate fighters on the side of the Red Rose made their final and unavailing stand.

At last the remnant fled, and no doubt many a Hexham maid and dame, at the risk of her own life or limb, hid that day some devoted follower of Margaret.

The gallant Duke of Somerset was taken prisoner, and there and then was brought to the block in the market-place and beheaded. The cruel Montague had not the true soldier's respect for a brave enemy, whose blood thus mingled with that of his men. Other nobles were taken as prisoners to Newcastle, but Edward also was devoid of mercy, and all perished.

Till the last moment the queen hoped on. She was not daunted by scenes of strife and bloodshed. When defeat was an accomplished fact, she and her young son fled to the Dipton Woods, where they fell into the hands of rough men, some say a party of Yorkist stragglers. Whilst these men were eagerly dividing and quarrelling over the queen's jewels, she and the prince slipped away. Deeper into the dangerous woods they had to go, for worse than robbers were hunting for them around Hexham. Suddenly an outlaw stood in their path with drawn sword. Even after that day of stir and terror Margaret's courage did not fail her. She boldly declared to the man that she was the Queen of England, and with her was her only son. Now, if he chose to betray them he could do so; but if he had that natural nobility that hailed gladly great chances to do great deeds, now was his time to prove himself a man, and to save the ill-fated prince and his queen.

The robber bowed before her as though she were on her throne, and as if the trees were her army around her. He swore to die a hundred deaths rather than betray his rightful sovereign and her prince. He honourably kept his word; and through his safe guidance and steady devotion, both queen and prince were able to join King Henry in Scotland, to which place he had safely escaped.

Thus the bandit of Hexham proved himself to be a truer man than either Lord Montague, or Warwick, the King-maker, or King Edward IV. of England.

*Chapter XV*

*Fair Helen of Kirkconnell*

Very simple, very touching, is the story of fair Helen of Kirkconnell. This beautiful maiden had two lovers, one rich, one poor. Her friends favoured the rich one, she loved the poor one. She and her chosen lover used to meet secretly in the romantic churchyard of Kirkconnell, by the side of the river Kirtle. Learning this, the rejected lover crept up one evening, with his carbine, to shoot his luckier rival; Helen saw him at the moment of firing, and threw herself forward to receive the shot in her bosom, and so save her lover's life at the cost of her own.

The ballad describing the grief of her lover is one of the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry in existence, and must be given here entire.

*FAIR HELEN*

I wish I were where Helen lies;
Night and day on me she cries;
O that I were where Helen lies,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!

Curst be the heart that thought the thought,
And curst the hand that shot the shot,
When in my arms burd Helen dropt,
And died to succour me.

O think ye not my heart was sair,
When my love dropt and spak nae mair!
There did she swoon wi' meikle care,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee.

As I went down the water-side,
None but my foe to be my guide,
None but my foe to be my guide,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!

I lighted down my sword to draw,
I hacked him in pieces sma',
I hacked him in pieces sma',
For her sake that died for me.

O Helen fair beyond compare,
I'll make a garland of thy hair,
Shall bind my heart for evermair,
Until the day I die.

O that I were where Helen lies,
Night and day on me she cries;
Out of my bed she bids me rise,
Says, "Haste and come to me!"

O Helen fair! O Helen chaste!
If I were with thee, I were blest,
Where thou lies low, and takes thy rest,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee.

O that my grave were growing green,
A winding sheet drawn ower my een,
And I in Helen's arms were lying,
On fair Kirkconnell Lee!

I wish I were where Helen lies!
Night and day on me she cries,
And I am weary of the skies,
For her sake that died for me.

*Chapter XVI*

*Johnie of Breadislee*

Johnie of Breadislee, outlaw and deer-stealer, was one of the "broken men," as they were called, the Ishmaels of the Border. Johnie rose up one May morning, and called for water to wash his hands. He ordered to be unleashed his good grey dogs, that were bound with iron chains. When his mother heard that he had called for the dogs, she wrung her hands. "O Johnie!" she cried, "for my blessing, do not go to the greenwood to-day. Ye have enough of good wheat bread, enough blood-red wine, therefore, Johnie, I pray, stir not from home for any venison." But despite his mother's tears, Johnie busked up his good bent bow, and his arrows, and went off to Durrisdeer to hunt down the dun deer. As he came by Merriemass he espied a deer lying beneath a bush of furze. Johnie let fly an arrow, and the deer leapt as the pitiless shaft found its mark, and between the water and the brae his good hounds "laid her pride." So Johnie cut up the venison, giving the liver and lungs to his faithful hounds, as if they had been earl's sons. With such zest did they eat and drink that Johnie and the dogs fell asleep, as if they had been dead. Then as they lay, there came by a silly old man, and, as soon as he saw the poachers, he ran away to Hislinton, where the Seven Foresters were. "What news?" they asked. "What news bring ye, ye grey-headed carle?" "I bring no news," said the grey-headed carle, "save what my eyes did see. As I came down by Merrimass among the stunted trees, the bonniest child I ever saw lay asleep among his dogs. The shirt upon his back was of fine Holland, his doubtlet, over that, was of Lincoln twine, his buttons were of the good gold, the mouths of his good grey hounds were dyed with blood."

Now Johnie, like many another free-hearted outlaw, was a well-liked man. So the chief forester said, "If this be Johnie of Breadislee we will draw no nearer." But this was not the spirit of his men. Quoth the sixth Forester, "If it indeed be he, rather let us slay him." Cautiously they went through the thicket, and when they saw their man, asleep and helpless, they shot a flight of arrows. Johnie sprang up, sore wounded on the knee. The seventh forester cried out, "The next flight will kill him," but little chance did the outlaw give them for such an easy victory. He set his back against an oak and propped his wounded leg upon a stone; with bow or with sword he was a better man by far than any of his foes.

In the short, sharp fight that followed, he killed six of the foresters, some with arrow, and some with steel; and when the seventh turned to flee, Johnie seized him from behind and threw him on to the ground with a force that broke three of his ribs. Then he laid him on his steed, and bade him carry the tidings home.

But Johnie himself was hurt to death. "Is there no bonnie singing bird," he cried, "that can fly to my mother's bower and tell her to fetch Johnie away?" A starling flew to his mother's window sill, and sang and whistled, and the burden of its tune was ever the same. "Johnie tarries long." So the men made a litter from rods of the hazel bush and of the thorn and fetched Johnie away. Then his old mother's tears flowed fast, and she said, "Ye would not be warned, my son Johnie, to bide away from the hunting. Oft have I brought to Breadislee the less or greater gear, but never what grieved my heart so sorely. But woe betide that silly old grey-headed carle! An ill death shall he die! The highest tree in Merriemass shall be his reward."

"Now Johnie's gude bent bow is brake,
And his gude grey dogs are slain,
And his body lies dead in Durrisdeer,
And his hunting it is done."

*Chapter XVII*

*Katharine Janfarie*

This ballad is evidently the original of Sir Walter Scott's "Lochinvar," though Sir Walter reversed the names of the two leading male characters. In "Katharine Janfarie" Lochinvar plays the part of the craven bridegroom.

There was a may,[#] and a weel-far'd may,
Lived high up in yon glen;
Her name was Katharine Janfarie,
She was courted by mony men.

[#] maiden.

Up there came Lord Lauderdale,
Up frae the Lowland Border,
And he has come to court this may,
A' mounted in good order.

He told na her father, he told na her mother,
And he told na ane o' her kin,
But he whispered the bonnie lassie hersell,
And has her favour won.

But out there cam Lord Lochinvar,
Out frae the English Border,
All for to court this bonny may,
Weel mounted, and in order.

He told her father, he told her mother,
And a' the lave[#] o' her kin;
But he told na the bonny may hersell,
Till on her wedding e'en.

[#] rest.

She sent to the Lord o' Lauderdale,
Gin[#] he wad come and see,
And he has sent back word again,
Weel answered he suld[#] be.

[#] if. [#] should.

And he has sent a messenger
Right quickly through the land,
And raised mony an armed man
To be at his command.

The bride looked out at a high window,
Beneath baith dale and down,
And she was aware of her first true love,
With riders mony a one.

She scoffed him, and scorned him,
Upon her wedding-day;
And said, "It was the Fairy Court,
To see him in array!

"O come ye here to fight, young lord,
Or come ye here to play?
Or come ye here to drink good wine,
Upon the wedding-day?"

"I come na here to fight," he said,
"I come na here to play,
I'll but lead a dance wi' the bonny bride,
And mount, and go my way."

It is a glass of the blood-red wine
Was filled up them between,
And aye she drank to Lauderdale,
Wha[#] her true love had been.

[#] who.

He's taen[#] her by the milk-white hand,
And by the grass-green sleeve;
He's mounted her hie behind himsell,
At her kinsmen speired[#] na leave.

[#] taken. [#] asked.

"Now take your bride, Lord Lochinvar!
Now take her if ye may!
But if you take your bride again,
We'll call it but foul play."

There were four-and-twenty bonnie boys,
A' clad in the Johnstone grey;
They said they would take the bride again,
By the strong hand, if they may.

Some o' them were right willing men,
But they were na willing a';
And four-and-twenty Leader lads
Bid them mount and ride awa'.

Then whingers flew frae gentles' sides,
And swords flew frae the shea's,[#]
And red and rosy was the blood
Ran down the lily braes.

[#] sheathes.

The blood ran down by Caddon bank,
And down by Caddon brae,
And, sighing, said the bonnie bride--
"O wae's me for foul play."

My blessing on your heart, sweet thing!
Wae to your wilfu' will!
There's mony a gallant gentleman
Whae's bluid ye have garred[#] to spill.

[#] caused.

Now a' the lords of fair England,
And that dwell by the English Border,
Come never here to seek a wife,
For fear of sic[#] disorder.

[#] such.

They'll track ye up, and settle ye bye,
Till on your wedding-day;
Then gie ye frogs instead of fish,
And play ye foul foul play.

*LOCHINVAR*

In Sir Walter Scott's poem, Lochinvar is the hero, and the story has a happier ending. The song was supposed to have been sung to James IV. by Lady Heron at Holyrood shortly before the fatal battle of Flodden.

O young Lochinvar has come out of the west,
Through all the wide border his steel was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone,
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bride's men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all,
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword
(For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word),
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine,
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately her form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her brother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridgroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we have gone over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran,
There was racing and chasing, on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

*Chapter XVIII*

*By Lauder Bridge*

The Ancient Royal Burgh of Lauder, a quaint little border town with hardly more than one street, is on the banks of the river Leader, on the high road between Edinburgh and Kelso. It stands very picturesquely, among the bold hills and fine woods of Berwickshire, and the valley is called Lauderdale, extending to where the Leader joins the Tweed, just below Melrose. Peacefully beautiful is the spot; and yet it was once the scene of a harsh, grim tragedy.

It was in the reign of King James III. of Scotland, who offended his subjects in two particulars.

First, to get wealth for himself, he mixed brass and lead with his silver money, and put it into circulation as pure silver; next, he chose favourites from the common people, and set these above the proud noblemen of Scotland.

This latter would not have been so bad a fault if the king had always chosen wisely; but, as often in such cases, he was led by flatterers rather than by worthy men.

In 1482 the king declared war against England, and, as in these warlike days the nobles were the leaders of the army, this brought the discontented lords together.

When the Scottish army reached Lauder in their southward march, the proud nobles met in Lauder church; all were angry with the king, yet each was afraid to make the first move. So Lord Gray told them a mocking fable.

"Do you remember," said he, "how all the mice got together and agreed that it would be a splendid thing if a bell were hung round the cat's neck, so that wherever she went she could be heard; the only difficulty was to find a mouse to bell the cat!"

These warlike nobles did not like to be spoken of as if they were mice, and it roused them to deeper rage.

Then out spoke Archibald Douglas, Earl of Angus, the head of the younger branch of the Douglas family. "Trust me, I'll bell the cat!"

There was a knock at the door; Cochrane, the architect, whom the nobles said had been a mason, but was now the king's chief favourite, entered, dressed in black velvet, with a heavy chain of gold round his neck, a horn of gold tipped with precious stones, and all his attire of the costliest. Angus caught the chain in his hands and said, "A rope would suit that neck better!"

Then the nobles laid violent hands on all the king's low-born favourites and hanged them by the bridge of Lauder, in front of the king's very eyes! Cochrane was proud and brave to the last. He said that as the king had made him an earl he should be hanged with a rope made of silk; little did the nobles care for his protests, the halter of a horse was in their opinion good enough for him.

From this time onward the headstrong Earl of Angus was known by the nick-name of "Bell-the-Cat." It may be taken for granted that neither he nor the nobles who supported him would have dared to act so arrogantly and violently unless they felt quite sure that the king had not the power to punish them. He returned sullenly to Edinburgh, more the captive of the nobles than their master.

A parliament appointed the Duke of Albany lieutenant-general of the kingdom, but he in turn soon lost favour, for he was suspected of too great a friendship for Edward IV., King of England, and fled for safety to France, giving James another chance to govern his kingdom for himself.

This weak and unhappy monarch, however, was not destined to have much peace. Before very long, another quarrel with his nobles led to their taking up arms with a view of deposing him and placing his son on the throne. The king and his nobles met in battle near Stirling, but, at the very beginning of the fight, James was thrown from his horse and stabbed by a soldier, whose name remained unknown. Thus died this weak but amiable and unfortunate king.

*Chapter XIX*

*The Battle of Flodden Field*

One of the most tragic episodes in the History of the Borders was the battle of Flodden Field, when the flower of the Scottish nobility fell around their sovereign, James IV., while fighting against the English under Surrey.

The causes of the war were many. Henry of England refused to give up the jewels which had been promised as the dowry of his sister Margaret on her marriage with James IV.

The Lord High Admiral of England, Sir Edmund Howard, had attacked and taken two Scottish ships, and slain their captain, Sir Andrew Barton. James, who was fond of Barton, demanded redress, but Henry insolently replied that kings should not quarrel about pirates.

But the immediate cause was the friendship between France and Scotland. Henry was preparing for war with France, and James stood by his ally, declaring that if Henry warred with France, he would lead an army into England. The Queen of France sent James a turquoise ring, asking him to carry out his threat to serve her interests.

James had been warned that his action would have terrible consequences. A man appeared to him at Linlithgow, clad in a long blue gown, with bare head, and carrying a pikestaff, and having told the king that his dead mother had sent him to warn him not to go to war against England, he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

Also at the dead of night a voice had been heard proclaiming aloud at the market Cross in Edinburgh the names of those who, within forty days, would be no more. It was thought at the time that these happenings were instigated by Queen Margaret, but the king still persisted in his policy, and led his army across the Border, in spite of the warnings of his counsellors and his queen.

A fine description of his army is given by Sir Walter Scott, when Lord Marmion watches the scene from Blackford Hill.

"Thousand pavilions, white as snow,
Spread all the Borough-moor below,
Upland, and dale, and down:--
A thousand, did I say? I ween,
Thousands and thousands, there were seen,
That chequer'd all the heath between
The streamlet and the town;
In crossing ranks extending far,
Forming a camp irregular;
Oft giving way, where still there stood
Some relics of the old oak wood,
That darkly huge did intervene,
And tamed the glaring white with green,
In these extended lines there lay,
A martial kingdom's vast array.

For from Hebudes, dark with rain,
To eastern Lodon's fertile plain,
And from the southern Redswire edge,
To farthest Rosse's rocky ledge,
From west to east, from south to north,
Scotland sent all her warriors forth,
Marmion might hear the mingled hum,
Of myriads up the mountain come;
The horses' tramp, and tingling clank,
Where chiefs reviewed their vassal rank,
And charger's shrilling neigh;
And see the shifting lines advance
Whilst frequent flash'd, from shield and lance,
The sun's reflected ray.
* * * * *
They saw, slow rolling on the plain,
Full many a baggage-cart and wain,
And dire artillery's clumsy car.
By sluggish oxen tugg'd to war;
* * * * *
Nor mark'd they less, where in the air
A thousand streamers flaunted fair,
Various in shape, device, and hue,
Green, sanguine, purple, red, and blue,
Broad, narrow, swallow-tailed, and square,
Scroll, pennon, pensil, bandrol,[#] there
O'er the pavilions flew.
Highest and midmost, was descried
The royal banner floating wide;
The staff, a pine-tree, strong and straight,
Pitch'd deeply in a massive stone,
Which still in memory is shown,
Yet bent beneath the standard's weight.
Whene'er the western breeze unroll'd,
With toil, the huge and cumbrous fold,
And gave to view the dazzling field,
Where, in proud Scotland's royal shield,
The ruddy lion ramp'd in gold."

[#] Each feudal ensign intimated the rank of those who displayed them.

Marmion wondered that with such a glorious army at his back anyone should try to dissuade James from battle, yet Sir David Lindesay of the Mount answered him,

"'twere good
That Kings would think withal,
When peace and wealth their land has bless'd,
'Tis better to sit still at rest,
Than rise, perchance to fall."

Men-at-arms were there, sheathed in plate armour, with battle-axe and spear, and mounted on Flemish steeds. Young knights and squires practised their chargers on the plain. Hardy burghers marched on foot, armed with long pikes and two-handed swords and bright bucklers.

The yeoman, too, was on foot, dressed in steel-jack quilted well with iron, and bearing at his back, provisions for forty days. He seemed sad of cheer, and loth to leave his humble cottage, wondering who would till the land during his absence.

There, too, was the Borderer:--

"bred to war,
He knew the battle's din afar,
And joy'd to hear it swell.
His peaceful day was slothful ease,
Nor harp nor pipe his ear could please
Like the loud slogan yell."

for

"War's the Borderer's game,
Their gain, their glory, their delight,
To sleep the day, maraud the night,
O'er mountain, moss, and moor."

There, too, were the Celts, with savage eyes looking out wildly through red and sable hair, with sinewy frames and legs bare above the knees, their chiefs known by the eagle's plumage. They wore the skin of the red deer, a graceful bonnet, and a plaid hung from the shoulders, and carried as weapons a broadsword, a dagger, and quivers, bows, and shafts.

The Isles-men, too, were there, carrying the ancient Danish battle-axe. While the army was mustering together, James feasted the chiefs in Holyrood Palace, for at dawn they were to march southward.

"Well loved that splendid monarch aye
The banquet and the song,
By day the tourney, and by night
The merry dance, traced fast and light,
The maskers quaint, the pageant bright,
The revel loud and long.
This feast outshone his banquets past;
It was his blithest and his last."