Chapter I: The Character of the Borders (4)

And hazel was his eagle eye,
And auburn of the darkest dye,
His short curl'd beard and hair.
Light was his footstep in the dance,
And firm his stirrup in the lists;
And oh! he had that merry glance,
That seldom lady's heart resists."

Yet no fair lady was as dear to James as his own Queen Margaret, who sat alone in the tower of Linlithgow weeping for the war against her native country, and for the danger of her lord.

On the morrow, James marched south, crossed the Tweed, and encamped on the banks of the Till, near Twisel Bridge. The Scottish army moved down the side of the Tweed to Flodden Hill taking Norham Castle, and the Border towns of Etal, Wark, and Ford. Much time was wasted in these petty enterprises, time which should have been spent in marching to Newcastle before the English were prepared to offer resistance. When the castle of Ford was stormed, Lady Heron, wife of Sir William Heron, then a prisoner in Scotland, was taken, and this beautiful and artful woman induced James to idle away his time until all chance was lost of defeating the enemy.

The army suffered severely from want of provisions, and many of the Highlanders and Isles-men returned home, many who had come only for booty, deserted, and the numbers were reduced to about thirty thousand.

Meanwhile, the Earl of Surrey had raised twenty-six thousand men, and received other enforcements as he came north from Durham. He therefore challenged James to fight, and charged him with violating the treaty of peace between the two kingdoms.

The Scottish nobles were unwilling to fight, and said it was impossible to remain in a country so plundered; also, if fight the king must, he would fight to much greater advantage in his own country, to whose welfare the loss of this battle would be fatal; while he had sufficiently indicated his honour by crossing the Border.

James would not listen to the counsel of his nobles, though even the aged Earl of Angus expostulated with him. To this old warrior he angrily said, "Angus, if you are afraid, you may go home," at which insult the aged Earl burst into tears.

The English army crossed the Till by Twisel Bridge and pressed on while the Scottish army stood idly by, the Scottish nobles in vain entreating the king to attack the English while they were crossing.

When the English army had drawn up in order of battle on the left bank of the river, the Scots, setting fire to their temporary huts, came down the ridge of Flodden. The clouds of smoke from the burning huts were driven into the face of the English, so that the Scots had got to within a quarter of a mile of them before they perceived them.

"No martial shout, nor minstrel tone,
Announced their march; their tread alone,
At times one warning trumpet blown,
At times a stifled hum,
Told England, from his mountain-throne,
King James did rushing come:
Scarce could they hear or see their foes
Until at weapon-point they close."

With clanging blows and arrows that fell like rain, with yelling and clamour and sword-sway and lance-thrust, the battle continued until the evening, and when even fell, the Scots still fought in an unbroken ring round their king. But when darkness came, and Surrey withdrew his men, the flower of Scotland's chivalry had fallen, and the king lay dead on the field.

"Afar, the royal standard flies,
And round it toils and bleeds and dies.
Our Caledonian pride!"
* * * * *
But yet, though thick the shafts as now,
Though charging knights like whirlwinds go,
Though billmen ply the ghastly bow,
Unbroken was the ring.
The stubborn spearmen still made good
Their dark impenetrable wood,
Each stepping where his comrade stood
The instant that he fell.
No thought was there of dastard flight:
Link'd in the serried phalanx tight,
Groom fought like noble, squire like knight,
As fearlessly and well;
Till utter darkness closed her wing
O'er their thin host and wounded King.
Then skilful Surrey's sage commands
Led back from strife his shattered bands;
And from the charge they drew,
As mountain-waves, from wasted lands,
Sweep back to ocean blue.
Then did their loss his foemen know;
Their King, their lords, their mightiest low,
They melted from the field as snow,
When streams are swoln and south winds blow
Dissolves in silent dew.
* * * * *
Still from the sire the son shall hear
Of the stern fight and carnage drear
Of Flodden's fatal field,
Where shiver'd was fair Scotland's spear,
And broken was her shield!
* * * * *
And well in death his trusty brand,
Firm clench'd within his manly hand
Beseem'd the Monarch slain."

*Chapter XX*

*After Flodden*

So deeply did the tragic result of Flodden touch the hearts of the Scottish people that no Scot could for many a long day hear it mentioned without a heart-thrill.

Many are the songs written about it, the most famous perhaps, being the "Flowers of the Forest," written two centuries later, though partly founded upon an older and almost forgotten song.

*THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST*

I've heard them lilting, at our ewe-milking,
Lasses a' lilting, before dawn o' day;
But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning[#]
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

[#] a broad grassy lane used as milking-ground.

At bughts, in the morning, nae blythe lads are scorning;[#]
The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae;
Wae daffing,[#] nae gabbing,[#] but sighing and sabbing;
Ilk ane lifts her leglin,[#] and hies her away.

[#] rallying. [#] joking. [#] chatting. [#] milking-pail.

In hair'st, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering,
The bandsters[#] are runkled,[#] and lyart[#] or gray;
At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching;[#]
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

[#] sheaf-binders. [#] wrinkled. [#] inclining to grey. [#] coaxing.

At e'en, in the gloaming, nae younkers are roaming
'Bout stacks with the lasses at bogle to play;
But ilk maid sits dreary, lamenting her deary--
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.

Dool and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border!
The English, for ance, by guile wan the day:
The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae:
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning--
The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away.
JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805).

The following poem also gives eloquent and touching expression to the deep gloom which descended upon the Border after the fatal battle, and tells of the despair felt in almost every Ettrick home:--

*SELKIRK AFTER FLODDEN*

(A WIDOW'S DIRGE, OCTOBER 1513)

It's but a month the morn
Sin' a' was peace and plenty;
Oor hairst was halflins shorn,
Eident men and lasses denty.
But noo it's a' distress--
Never mair a merry meetin ';
For half the bairns are faitherless,
And a' the women greetin'.
O Flodden Field!

Miles and miles round Selkirk toun,
Where forest flow'rs are fairest,
Ilka lassie's stricken doun,
Wi' the fate that fa's the sairest.
A' the lads they used to meet
By Ettrick braes or Yarrow
Lyin' thrammelt head and feet
In Brankstone's deadly barrow!
O Flodden Field!

Frae every cleuch and clan
The best o' the braid Border
Rose like a single man
To meet the royal order.
Oor Burgh toun itsel'
Sent its seventy doun the glen;
Ask Fletcher[#] how they fell,
Bravely fechtin', ane to ten!
O Flodden Field!

[#] This was the man who brought an English flag back to Selkirk from Flodden. Four brothers of that name are said to have perished in the battle.

Round about their gallant king,
For country and for croun,
Stude the dauntless Border ring,
Till the last was hackit doun.
I blame na what has been--
They maun fa' that canna flee--
But oh, to see what I hae seen,
To see what now I see!
O Flodden Field!

The souters a' fu' croose,
O'er their leather and their lingle,
Wi' their shoon in ilka hoose,
Sat contentit round the ingle.
Noo there's naething left but dool,--
Never mair their work will cheer them;
In Flodden's bluidy pool
They'll neither wait nor wear them!
O Flodden Field!

Whar the weavers used to meet,
In ilka bieldy corner,
Noo there's nane in a' the street,
Savin' here and there a mourner,
Walkin' lonely as a wraith,
Or if she meet anither,
Just a word below their braith
O' some slauchtered son or brither!
O Flodden Field!

There stands the gudeman's loom
That used tae gang sae cheerie,
Untentit noo, and toom,
Makin' a' the hoose sae eerie,
Till the sicht I canna dree;
For the shuttles lyin' dumb
Speak the loudlier to me
O' him that wunna come.
O Flodden Field!

Sae at nicht I cover't o'er,
Just to haud it frae my een,
But I haena yet the pow'r
To forget what it has been;
And I listen through the hoose
For the chappin o' the lay,
Till the scrapin' o' a moose
Tak's my very braith away.
O Flodden Field!

Then I turn to sister Jean,
And my airms aboot her twine,
And I kiss her sleepless een,
For her heart's as sair as mine,--
A heart ance fu' o' fun,
And hands that ne'er were idle,
Wi' a' her cleedin' spun
Against her Jamie's bridal.
O Flodden Field!

Noo we've naether hands nor hairt--
In oor grief the wark's forgotten,
Though it's wantit every airt,
And the craps are lyin' rotten.
War's awsome blast's gane bye,
And left a land forlorn;
In daith's dool hairst they lie,
The shearers and the shorn.
O Flodden Field.

Wi' winter creepin' near us,
When the nichts are drear and lang,
Nane to help us, nane to hear us,
On the weary gate we gang!
Lord o' the quick an' deed,
Sin' oor ain we canna see,
In mercy mak gude speed,
And bring us whar they be,
Far, far, frae Flodden Field!
"J. B. Selkirk" (JAMES B. BROWN).
_By permission of W. Cuthbertson, Esq._

Another lyric, relating to the fatal battle of Flodden, refers to the gallantry of the Souters, or shoemakers of Selkirk, who, to the number of eighty, and headed by their town-clerk, joined the army as it entered England. They distinguished themselves greatly, and few returned. The "yellow and green" are the liveries of the house of Home, taxed by some with being the cause of the defeat.

*THE SOUTERS OF SELKIRK*

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
And doun wi' the Earl of Home;
And up wi' a' the braw lads
That sew the single-soled shoon.

Fye upon yellow and yellow,
And fye upon yellow and green,
But up wi' the true blue and scarlet,
And up wi' the single-soled sheen.

Up wi' the Souters of Selkirk,
For they are baith trusty and leal;
And up wi' the men o' the Forest,
And doun wi' the Merse to the deil.

In Aytoun's "Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers," the following well-known poem tells how the news of the disaster at Flodden Field was received in Edinburgh:--

*EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN*