Chapter 10

THE GALLANT GRAHAMSNow, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;For I maun away, and I may not stay,To some uncouth land which I never knew.[#] A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal and most ancient possessions of the Montrose family lie along the water of Endrick, in Dumbartonshire.To wear the blue I think it best,Of all the colours that I see;And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,That are banished from their countrie.I have no gold, I have no land,I have no pearl nor precious stane;But I wald sell my silken snood,To see the gallant Grahams come hame.In Wallace days, when they began,Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the greeThrough all the lands of Scotland wide:He was lord of the south countrie.[#] The faithful friend and adherent of the immortal Wallace slain at the battle of Falkirk.And so was seen full many a time;For the summer flowers did never spring,But every Graham, in armour bright,Would then appear before the king.They were all drest in armour sheen,Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;Before a king they might be seen,These gallant Grahams in their array.At the Goukhead our camp we set,Our leaguer down there for to lay;And, in the bonny summer light,We rode our white horse and our gray.Our false commander sold our king,Unto his deadly enemie,Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;So I care not what they do with me.They have betray'd our noble prince,And banished him from his royal crown;'But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in handFor to command those traitors down.In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,March'd to Glenshie by night and day.And took the town of Aberdeen,And met the Campbells in their array.[#] Glen-Prosen is in Angusshire, usually called Forfarshire. The Glenshee road, over the Grampians, is the highest road in Great Britain.Five thousand men, in armour strong,Did meet the gallant Grahams that dayAt Inverlochie, where war began,And scarce two thousand men were they.Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,Courageous in the best degree,Did for the king fight well that day;—The Lord preserve his majestie!Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,Who aye were true to majestie.And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,And had him into Edinburgh town;And frae his body taken the head,And quarter'd him upon a trone,And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,And our noble king is also gone;He suffer'd death for our nation,Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.[#] The Marquis of Huntly, one of the few Scottish nobles who never wavered in his devotion to King Charles I., was beheaded by the sentence of the Parliament of Scotland.But our brave young king is now come home,King Charles the Second in degree;The Lord send peace into his time,And God preserve his majestie!The ballad-writer's reference to the "coming home" of Charles II. probably means his signing of the Covenant and placing himself entirely at the mercy of the violent bigots who had killed his most faithful servant, Montrose. To this was Charles reduced by the desperate nature of his fortunes. But this course of action entirely severed the Scottish Covenanters from the English Puritans, and admirers of the gallant Montrose can take a grim pleasure in the fact that his arch-enemy, General Lesly, was most disastrously defeated by Cromwell at the battle of Dunbar.Chapter XLVIIThe Borderers and the JacobitesDuring the Jacobite Rising, many of the Border chiefs took up arms in the Stuart cause. Two of these, Lord Derwentwater and Viscount Kenmure, were beheaded on Tower Hill for their part in the unsuccessful rising of 1715, and another, Lord Nithsdale, was only saved from the same fate by the courage of his wife.This brave woman travelled in the depth of winter from Scotland, but when she reached York the snow was so deep that the stage coach could go no further. She continued her journey alone, though the snow was above the horse's knees, and by good luck she reached London and the Tower in safety, where, by bribing the guards, she managed to see her husband.She then resolved to petition the King for his life, and she herself tells in a letter to her sister how she waited in the ante-room to see the King (George I.), and how she threw herself at his feet to present the petition. The King tried to get away from her, but she seized hold of his coat, and was dragged on her knees along the floor. This scene produced no result, and as other efforts to procure Nithsdale's release also failed, the Countess determined to save him by a stratagem. She again bribed the guards to let her in, telling them she had joyful news for her husband about the petition. She dressed him in woman's clothes, which she had smuggled in for the occasion, and painted his face, and brought him out, speaking to him as to the woman friend who had accompanied her, but who had already left the prison, calling him "Mrs Betty," and asking him for the love of God to go as quickly as he could to her lodging and fetch her maid, as she wished to go and present her final petition for the release.All went well, and Nithsdale escaped to France; but the King was highly incensed and declared that the Countess cost him more trouble than any woman in Europe.Her adventures were not yet over, however. In spite of the fact that the King had wished for her arrest, she travelled to Scotland to fetch her son, and the valuable papers which she had taken the precaution to bury underground on her departure for London.She was successful in this second journey, and, after concealing herself and her son, until no further search was made for them, this noble and enterprising woman escaped to France and joined her husband. They afterwards went to Rome, where they lived happily for many years.In an old ballad called "Lord Nithsdale's Dream," he is described as dreaming in the Tower the night before his execution, after having said farewell to his beloved wife."Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."He listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches the last glimpse of her robe at the door, and then all joy and gladness depart out of his life, and he prays alone in his dungeon, thinking of the dreadful dawn that awaits him.He falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy again, playing amongst the bracken on the braes of the Nith, bathing in its waters and treading joyfully the green heather. Or again he is riding to the hunt on his gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star on his breast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain roe.The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes rise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice replying.Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band."For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife;Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side, saying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells tolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and the victim is led bare-headed from his cell.Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light of a taper, the form of his wife."'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"[image]"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!"Then she puts woman's garb upon him, and together they pass the unsuspecting guards and weary sentinels.* * * * *When the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of their Lord's escape their joy was unbounded.One of the songs published and sung everywhere at the time, begins:—"What news to me, carlin'?What news to me?""What news!" quo' the carlin',The best that God can gie."The speaker asks if the true king has come to his own, and the carlin' answers."Our ain Lord NithsdaleWill soon be 'mang us here.Then the speaker says:—"Brush me my coat, carlin',Brush me my shoon;I'll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale,When he comes to our town.""Alack-a-day," says the carlin'. "He has escaped to France, with scarce a penny.""Then," says the first speaker, "we'll sell our corn and everything we have and send the money to our lord, and we'll make the pipers blow and lads and maidens dance, and we'll all be glad and joyful and play 'The Stuarts back again,' and make the Whigs go mad."* * * * *Lord Derwentwater's fate was not so happy as that of Lord Nithsdale, though Lady Derwentwater made a desperate effort to save him.It was she indeed who had urged him to throw in his lot with the Stuarts, saying that it was not good that he should hide his head when other gentlemen were mustering for the cause.The peasantry still think that Lady Derwentwater sits on her ruined tower lamenting the evil counsel she gave her husband, and they hasten by in fear when they see her lamp-light flickering.Derwentwater is described in the old ballads, as "a bonny lord," with hair of gold, and kind love dwelling in his hawk-like eyes.He passionately loved his beautiful home in Tynedale, the foundations of which may still be seen. The wooded glen below the castle, with the little burn running through it, spanned by a grey bridge is romantically beautiful.His "Farewell" to all this beauty is pathetic."Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,My father's ancient seat;A stranger now must call thee his,Which gars[#] my heart to greet.[#]Farewell each kindly well-known face,My heart has held so dear:My tenants now must leave their lands,Or hold their lives in fear.[#] makes.[#] weep.No more along the banks of Tyne,I'll rove in autumn grey;No more I'll hear, at early dawn,The lav'rocks[#] wake the day:Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,And Forster ever true.Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,Receive my last adieu.[#] larks.And fare thee well, George Collingwood,Since fate has put us down,If thou and I have lost our lives,Our King has lost his crown.Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,Ill, ill thou counsell'dst me:I never more may see thy babeThat smiles upon thy knee.And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,That carried me aye so free;I wish I had been asleep in my bed,The last time I mounted thee.The warning bell now bids me cease;My troubles nearly o'er;Yon sun that rises from the sea,Shall rise on me no more.Albeit that here in London townIt is my fate to die,O carry me to Northumberland,In my father's grave to lie:There chant my solemn requiemIn Hexham's holy towers,And let six maids of fair TynedaleScatter my grave with flowers.And when the head that wears the crown,Shall be laid low like mine,Some honest hearts may then lamentFor Radcliff's fallen line.Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,My father's ancient seat;A stranger now must call thee his,Which gars my heart to greet."Before his death, Earl Derwentwater signed a paper acknowledging "King James the Third" as his sovereign, and saying that he hoped his death would contribute to the service of his King.He is said to have looked closely at the block, and to have asked the executioner to chip off a rough place that might hurt his neck. Then, pulling off his coat and waistcoat, he tried if the block would fit his head, and told the executioner that when he had repeated "Lord Jesus receive my soul" for the third time, he was to do his office, which the executioner accordingly did at one blow.History tells that Derwentwater was brave and open-hearted and generous, and that his fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great misfortune to his country. He was kind to the people on his estates, to the poor, the widow and the orphan.His request to be buried with his ancestors was refused, and he was interred at St Giles, Holborn, but his corpse was afterwards removed and carried secretly to Northumberland, where it was deposited in Dilston Chapel. The aurora borealis, which appeared remarkably vivid on the night of his execution, was long called in that part of the country "Lord Derwentwater's Lights."Immediately after Derwentwater's execution, Lord Kenmure also suffered death. After his execution, a letter was found in his pocket addressed to the Pretender, by the title of King James, saying that he died in his faithful service, and asking him to provide for his wife and children.The following ballad describes his rising in the Stuart cause—"O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie,O Kenmure's on and awa';And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lordThat ever Galloway saw.Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!Success to Kenmure's band!There's no a heart that fears a Whig,That rides by Kenmure's hand.His lady's cheek was red, Willie,His lady's cheek was red,When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,Which smell'd o' deadly feud.Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,Here's Kenmure's health in wine;There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,Nor yet o' Gordon's line.[#] armour.There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,There's a rose in Kenmure's cap,He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blade,Afore the battle drap.Here's him that's far awa', Willie,Here's him that's far awa',And here's the flower that I lo'e best,The rose that's like the snaw.O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,O Kenmure's lads are men,Their hearts and swords are metal true,And that their foes shall ken.They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,They'll live, or die wi' fame,And soon wi' sound o' victorieMay Kenmure's lord come hame."Chapter XLVIIIThe Nine Nicks o' ThirlwallIf you stand upon Rose Hill, which rises from the banks of the river Irthing just where Northumberland meets Cumberland, you have lying around you one of the finest wild prospects in the United Kingdom. Hills to the north, stretching away into Scotland; hills to the east, broken into picturesque valleys, especially the great gap through which rushes the young Tyne; hills to the south, dominated by the powerful head of Cross Fell, a great sprawling mountain, not a peaked one, the highest stretch of which is nearly three thousand feet above sea level.But while drinking in the glories of the distances, the eye will note with curiosity a strange-looking but picturesque hill only a couple of miles to the South-east, with a long rocky ridge at its top deeply cut into or "nicked" in nine different places, this giving it a very wild appearance. It is one of these hills which tempts the keen observer to go on and explore it. If we cut direct to it, over the fields, it is rough going, but the view is good all the way. And there are four special objects of interest, all close together; the rushing Tipalt river, Thirlwall Castle, the Roman wall, and the Nine Nicks.Thirlwall Castle rises tall, square, and stern, with a dark fir-wood behind it at the foot of the hill, where a bend in the river makes a natural moat. Approaching it from Rose Hill, it looks as if the building were still nearly complete, but the south side has almost entirely fallen away and all the floors and the roof are out. Edward I. slept in this Castle when it was newly built, in 1306; but now it is grass-grown and moss-grown, and its three bare walls rise gaunt and grim to the sky. It is entirely built out of stones with Roman chisel marks, taken from the great Roman wall, which unfortunately was once regarded as a handy stone-quarry for anyone to take from.The name "Thirlwall" means "Drill-wall," and marks the spot as that at which the wild Northern tribes first "drilled" or broke through the wall. The name was, of course, given to the place long before this castle was built.To mount from Thirlwall Castle to the top of the Nine Nicks is an easy enough task for any vigorous person. It is just a fine healthy scramble. When at the top, it becomes evident that some sort of fortification once existed there. In point of fact this was the important Roman station called "Magna" which stood at about the middle of the Roman Wall. The wall ran from sea to sea, that is to say, from the mouth of the Tyne to the Solway. Thus it was nearly eighty miles long, and a very elaborate structure indeed.It consisted of three distinct portions:—1. The main stone wall, with a ditch to the north of it.2. An earth-work to the south of this, consisting of either two or three ramparts about seventy feet apart, with a ditch between.8. Stations, Castles and Watch-towers. Sometimes these were to the north of the wall, sometimes in the middle, sometimes south, according to the nature of the country.The height of the main wall was from sixteen to twenty feet, including battlements. It was six to nine feet thick. Fancy a powerful military wall of about eighteen feet high stretching nearly eighty miles right across England! It hardly seems possible that the Romans could undertake such a work. The square strong stones were carefully selected and often brought from quarries at a distance. These stones flanked the outsides of the wall, and in between was strong concrete which was poured in while in liquid.The second wall was of earth and stones, and, of course, lower than the first. Then there was a castle every mile, some of which can still be clearly traced, and a "station," about every four miles, of which several interesting ruins remain. There was a road eighteen feet wide between the two walls.Those who have the energy to toil on for a full dozen miles of rough walking, along the wall, eastward from Thirlwall, will be rewarded by some of the most romantic scenes in Britain. They will see the wall at its best. They will pass Whinshields, the highest point in the wall, 1230 feet above sea level. The wild Northumbrian lakes will lie at their feet; if the day is fine, the Solway will be seen glistening, thirty miles to the west; and on the east the eye follows the Tyne almost to the sea. The Pennine Ridge bars the view twenty miles to the south, while on the North the High Cheviot is clear and strong, thirty miles away.Passing Whinshields, it is not far to Borcovicus (often called Housteads) where lie the remains of a large Roman Station, wonderful remains, showing the whole outline with startling clearness. This station covered five acres, and here was quartered a cohort of the Tungrian infantry, consisting of a thousand brave soldiers, servants of Imperial Rome.But, after all, nothing is so impressive as the remains of the wall itself. Stand at the top either of Whinshields or of the Nine Nicks, and try to imagine what it looked like in Roman days. Eastward along the Tyne valley and westward along the Irthing valley ran this wonderful work, this powerful girdle of stone. The very spot was chosen with great judgment, for these valleys gave the Romans a district protected by the bleak hills, where they could live and where they could keep cattle and grow grain. But the hilly nature of the ground must have added to the difficulty of the builders. The wall had to run up steep hill sides and cling to the edge of cliffs, and precipices; it had to be carried by bridges over roaring torrents, and when it reached low-lying ground it had to avoid the treacherous swamps and morasses. And yet, despite every obstacle, the great wall ran on its direct way, as strong and persistent as the great people who built it.It withstood the shock of war, it was not flung down by soldiers marching against it. But to the people who wanted to build castles or houses or farms, or even to mend roads, the wall offered a mass of material ready to hand, and it suffered not from man's energy so much as from his laziness. Century after century it was robbed of its stones; to-day a series of long grass-grown mounds, a few feet high, running across the meadows, are nearly all that remain of one of the most wonderful pieces of building that was ever erected in Great Britain. Even today, in its decay, it is one of the most romantic features of a highly romantic district.Chapter XLIXIn Wild Northumberland To-dayThese tales of the Borders would hardly be complete without a few concluding words about the great romantic charm which still invests the Borderline. Let us, for example, make a brief survey of some of the haunting spots in wild Northumberland. We will pass over such towns as Warkworth, Alnwick, Alnmouth; beautiful as they are, they have moved with the times and are too modern to be more than mentioned here. But in a place like Holy Island we feel the call of the old days, and the charm that was theirs. This Island was the scene of the first efforts of Christianity to curb the wild and warlike Northumbrians; St Aidan, and St Cuthbert, both men of remarkable genius and great influence, taught there lessons of peace and justice without which every warlike state would descend into mere savagery. The island is about two miles square, and at low tide it is easy to walk across the sands to or from the mainland of Northumberland. The distance is two and a half miles, and it is necessary to take off shoes and stockings, for the water on the sands will often be six inches deep. A row of posts marks the way, and some of them have ladders, reaching up to a barrel on the top, so that any caught by the tide can find a safe harbour wherein they will suffer nothing more serious than a long wait! The island is inhabited by fishing folk, living simple healthy lives. There are fine rocks and splendid sands; beautiful flowers and lovely shells. The seabirds are wonderful. The ruins of the old Cathedral and castle are very interesting, it is a delightful old-world place, out of the rush and hurry of modern life.Retracing our steps to the mainland, and proceeding westward for a dozen or so miles as the crow flies, we reach the River Till, and the field of Flodden. Here we are near to the big wild wall of the Cheviot hills, and to keep on the English side of the border we need to turn due south. It is then about thirty miles of rough walking through these grandly rugged hills before we come to the field of Otterburn.But we realise in that walk how it was that the district produced and still produces a hardy race of hunters and sheep-farmers, and why it is that the towns and farms nestle in the valleys, so that the Borderers, when they meant to say, "Rouse the neighbourhood," used the phrase, "Raise thewater" (meaning, of course, the houses along the waterside). Further south, still going among splendid shaggy hills, we reach the North Tyne River, and soon afterwards some highly interesting Roman remains, including the arches of a fine bridge over the river at the Roman Station of Cilurnum, near Chollerford. This is on the Roman Wall, which has already been described under the heading of Thirlwall. A few miles to the west would bring us to the picturesque but little-known Northumberland Lakes, where the wild swans nest. If we continue south and south-west we can follow the beautiful valleys of the Allan or the South Tyne. This is a district of hills, roads, and castles; the domain of the fated Lord Derwentwater was near here. For beauty the whole of this neighbourhood would be hard to beat; yet it is too little known.If we still go south, the scenery grows wilder and wilder as we approach the huge mountain of Cross Fell. We may cross into south-east Cumberland and visit the quaint old town of Alston, one of the highest towns in England. Here were once the royal silver mines, when English coins were made from Alston silver. Lead is chiefly mined there now, and the mines are worth a visit. Near Cross Fell also is a rough road called the "Maiden Way," and an old legend says it was made by women, who carried the stones in their aprons! The western slope of the Fell is famous for a specially violent wind called the "Helm wind," which rages there at certain seasons. It is just as if it were rushing fiercely down the hill, with a roaring noise and strength enough to overturn a horse and cart, and to beat the grass and grain till it is black! But though it does a deal of damage it is very exhilarating, making people feel merry in spite of themselves. And on Cross Fell slopes can be seen the beautiful River Tees, which can be followed to its grand waterfalls of the the Cauldron and the High Force. In the first the water dashes on to huge rocks, and is thrown back on itself, roaring, foaming, and fighting; in the second, it tumbles sheer down a dark and noble cliff. And everywhere on the heights there are splendid views.In making any such excursions as the ones here outlined, into the out-of-the-way parts of Northumberland and the Borders, we find an added pleasure in the character of the people. The Borderers are still a grand race; big men, vigorous, honest, courteous, hospitable, free from all that is mean and small. In some districts you can hear "thou" and "thee" still used, and meet old men who have never seen a railway. One dear old farmer, a real picture of a simple honest man, hearing I had come from London, asked me if the London men had got their hay-crop in yet! One typical Northumbrian, of great natural intelligence, bearing a name famous on the Borders, is station-master at a local station that stands in a wood, and between trains, studies bird and wild-flower till he has made himself a most interesting naturalist. A stranger who has lost his way will find these courteous folk ready to walk a mile or two with him, out of their own way, just to set him right; and he who is tired and hungry will be invited to step in and eat, and perhaps find himself introduced to all the family and treated like an honoured guest; then, not a penny of payment taken, they will set him on his way with a bunch of the best flowers from the garden! For hearts on the Border are very human and warm. So that in due time he who knows the Borderers will delight to hear the unmistakeable Northumbrian or the pronounced Border accent. And he will say to himself: Splendid is the Border scenery, and stirring are the Border ballads, but best of all are the Border men.* * * * * * * *TOLD THROUGH THE AGESLegends of Greece and RomeFavourite Greek MythsStories of Robin Hood and his Merry OutlawsStories of King Arthur and his KnightsStories from HerodotusStories from WagnerBritain Long AgoStories from Scottish HistoryStories from Greek TragedyStories from DickensStories from the Earthly ParadiseStories from the ÆneidThe Book of RustemStories from ChaucerStories from the Old TestamentStories from the OdysseyStories from the IliadTold by the NorthmenStories from Don QuixoteThe Story of RolandStories from ThucydidesThe Story of HerewardStories from the Faerie QueeneCuchulain: The Hound of UlsterStories from XenophonOld Greek Nature StoriesStories from ShakespeareStories from DanteFamous Voyages of the Great DiscoverersThe Story of NapoleonStories of Pendennis and the CharterhouseSir Guy of WarwickHeroes of the Middle AgesThe Story of the CrusadesThe Story of NelsonStories from George EliotFroissart's ChroniclesShakespeare's Stories of the English KingsHeroes of Modern EuropeThe Story of King Robert the BruceStories of the Scottish BorderThe Story of the French RevolutionThe Story of Lord KitchenerStories of the SaintsThe Story of St Elizabeth of HungaryIn Feudal TimesThe High Deeds of FinnEarly English Travel and DiscoveryLegends of Ancient EgyptThe Story of the RenaissanceBoyhood Stories of Famous MenStories from French HistoryStories from English HistoryFamous English Books and their StoriesWomen of the ClassicsIn the Days of the GuildsScience through the AgesOther volumes in active preparation*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSTORIES OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER***

THE GALLANT GRAHAMS

Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;For I maun away, and I may not stay,To some uncouth land which I never knew.

Now, fare thee well, sweet Ennerdale![#]

Baith kith and countrie I bid adieu;

For I maun away, and I may not stay,

To some uncouth land which I never knew.

[#] A corruption of Endrickdale. The principal and most ancient possessions of the Montrose family lie along the water of Endrick, in Dumbartonshire.

To wear the blue I think it best,Of all the colours that I see;And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,That are banished from their countrie.I have no gold, I have no land,I have no pearl nor precious stane;But I wald sell my silken snood,To see the gallant Grahams come hame.In Wallace days, when they began,Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the greeThrough all the lands of Scotland wide:He was lord of the south countrie.

To wear the blue I think it best,Of all the colours that I see;And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,That are banished from their countrie.

To wear the blue I think it best,

Of all the colours that I see;

And I'll wear it for the gallant Grahams,

That are banished from their countrie.

I have no gold, I have no land,I have no pearl nor precious stane;But I wald sell my silken snood,To see the gallant Grahams come hame.

I have no gold, I have no land,

I have no pearl nor precious stane;

But I wald sell my silken snood,

To see the gallant Grahams come hame.

In Wallace days, when they began,Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the greeThrough all the lands of Scotland wide:He was lord of the south countrie.

In Wallace days, when they began,

Sir John the Graham[#] did bear the gree

Through all the lands of Scotland wide:

He was lord of the south countrie.

[#] The faithful friend and adherent of the immortal Wallace slain at the battle of Falkirk.

And so was seen full many a time;For the summer flowers did never spring,But every Graham, in armour bright,Would then appear before the king.They were all drest in armour sheen,Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;Before a king they might be seen,These gallant Grahams in their array.At the Goukhead our camp we set,Our leaguer down there for to lay;And, in the bonny summer light,We rode our white horse and our gray.Our false commander sold our king,Unto his deadly enemie,Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;So I care not what they do with me.They have betray'd our noble prince,And banished him from his royal crown;'But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in handFor to command those traitors down.In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,March'd to Glenshie by night and day.And took the town of Aberdeen,And met the Campbells in their array.

And so was seen full many a time;For the summer flowers did never spring,But every Graham, in armour bright,Would then appear before the king.

And so was seen full many a time;

For the summer flowers did never spring,

But every Graham, in armour bright,

Would then appear before the king.

They were all drest in armour sheen,Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;Before a king they might be seen,These gallant Grahams in their array.

They were all drest in armour sheen,

Upon the pleasant banks of Tay;

Before a king they might be seen,

These gallant Grahams in their array.

At the Goukhead our camp we set,Our leaguer down there for to lay;And, in the bonny summer light,We rode our white horse and our gray.

At the Goukhead our camp we set,

Our leaguer down there for to lay;

And, in the bonny summer light,

We rode our white horse and our gray.

Our false commander sold our king,Unto his deadly enemie,Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;So I care not what they do with me.

Our false commander sold our king,

Unto his deadly enemie,

Who was the traitor, Cromwell, then;

So I care not what they do with me.

They have betray'd our noble prince,And banished him from his royal crown;'But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in handFor to command those traitors down.

They have betray'd our noble prince,

And banished him from his royal crown;'

But the gallant Grahams have ta'en in hand

For to command those traitors down.

In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,March'd to Glenshie by night and day.And took the town of Aberdeen,And met the Campbells in their array.

In Glen-Prosen[#] we rendezvous'd,

March'd to Glenshie by night and day.

And took the town of Aberdeen,

And met the Campbells in their array.

[#] Glen-Prosen is in Angusshire, usually called Forfarshire. The Glenshee road, over the Grampians, is the highest road in Great Britain.

Five thousand men, in armour strong,Did meet the gallant Grahams that dayAt Inverlochie, where war began,And scarce two thousand men were they.Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,Courageous in the best degree,Did for the king fight well that day;—The Lord preserve his majestie!Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,Who aye were true to majestie.And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,And had him into Edinburgh town;And frae his body taken the head,And quarter'd him upon a trone,And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,And our noble king is also gone;He suffer'd death for our nation,Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.

Five thousand men, in armour strong,Did meet the gallant Grahams that dayAt Inverlochie, where war began,And scarce two thousand men were they.

Five thousand men, in armour strong,

Did meet the gallant Grahams that day

At Inverlochie, where war began,

And scarce two thousand men were they.

Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,Courageous in the best degree,Did for the king fight well that day;—The Lord preserve his majestie!

Gallant Montrose, that chieftan bold,

Courageous in the best degree,

Did for the king fight well that day;—

The Lord preserve his majestie!

Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,Who aye were true to majestie.

Then woe to Strachan, and Ilacket baith!

And, Lesly, ill death may thou die!

For ye have betray'd the gallant Grahams,

Who aye were true to majestie.

And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,And had him into Edinburgh town;And frae his body taken the head,And quarter'd him upon a trone,

And the Laird of Assaint has seized Montrose,

And had him into Edinburgh town;

And frae his body taken the head,

And quarter'd him upon a trone,

And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,And our noble king is also gone;He suffer'd death for our nation,Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.

And Huntly's[#] gone the self-same way,

And our noble king is also gone;

He suffer'd death for our nation,

Our mourning tears can ne'er be done.

[#] The Marquis of Huntly, one of the few Scottish nobles who never wavered in his devotion to King Charles I., was beheaded by the sentence of the Parliament of Scotland.

But our brave young king is now come home,King Charles the Second in degree;The Lord send peace into his time,And God preserve his majestie!

But our brave young king is now come home,

King Charles the Second in degree;

The Lord send peace into his time,

And God preserve his majestie!

The ballad-writer's reference to the "coming home" of Charles II. probably means his signing of the Covenant and placing himself entirely at the mercy of the violent bigots who had killed his most faithful servant, Montrose. To this was Charles reduced by the desperate nature of his fortunes. But this course of action entirely severed the Scottish Covenanters from the English Puritans, and admirers of the gallant Montrose can take a grim pleasure in the fact that his arch-enemy, General Lesly, was most disastrously defeated by Cromwell at the battle of Dunbar.

Chapter XLVII

The Borderers and the Jacobites

During the Jacobite Rising, many of the Border chiefs took up arms in the Stuart cause. Two of these, Lord Derwentwater and Viscount Kenmure, were beheaded on Tower Hill for their part in the unsuccessful rising of 1715, and another, Lord Nithsdale, was only saved from the same fate by the courage of his wife.

This brave woman travelled in the depth of winter from Scotland, but when she reached York the snow was so deep that the stage coach could go no further. She continued her journey alone, though the snow was above the horse's knees, and by good luck she reached London and the Tower in safety, where, by bribing the guards, she managed to see her husband.

She then resolved to petition the King for his life, and she herself tells in a letter to her sister how she waited in the ante-room to see the King (George I.), and how she threw herself at his feet to present the petition. The King tried to get away from her, but she seized hold of his coat, and was dragged on her knees along the floor. This scene produced no result, and as other efforts to procure Nithsdale's release also failed, the Countess determined to save him by a stratagem. She again bribed the guards to let her in, telling them she had joyful news for her husband about the petition. She dressed him in woman's clothes, which she had smuggled in for the occasion, and painted his face, and brought him out, speaking to him as to the woman friend who had accompanied her, but who had already left the prison, calling him "Mrs Betty," and asking him for the love of God to go as quickly as he could to her lodging and fetch her maid, as she wished to go and present her final petition for the release.

All went well, and Nithsdale escaped to France; but the King was highly incensed and declared that the Countess cost him more trouble than any woman in Europe.

Her adventures were not yet over, however. In spite of the fact that the King had wished for her arrest, she travelled to Scotland to fetch her son, and the valuable papers which she had taken the precaution to bury underground on her departure for London.

She was successful in this second journey, and, after concealing herself and her son, until no further search was made for them, this noble and enterprising woman escaped to France and joined her husband. They afterwards went to Rome, where they lived happily for many years.

In an old ballad called "Lord Nithsdale's Dream," he is described as dreaming in the Tower the night before his execution, after having said farewell to his beloved wife.

"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."

"Farewell to thee, Winifred, pride of thy kind,

Sole ray in my darkness, sole joy in my pain."

He listens for the last sound of her footfall, and catches the last glimpse of her robe at the door, and then all joy and gladness depart out of his life, and he prays alone in his dungeon, thinking of the dreadful dawn that awaits him.

He falls asleep and dreams that he is a frolicsome boy again, playing amongst the bracken on the braes of the Nith, bathing in its waters and treading joyfully the green heather. Or again he is riding to the hunt on his gallant grey steed, with a plume in his bonnet and a star on his breast, chasing the red deer and the wild mountain roe.

The vision changes, and he dreams that he is telling his love to Winifred, and swearing to be faithful to her, watching the red blushes rise on her cheeks at his words of love, and hearing her sweet voice replying.

Again he is riding at the head of his gallant band.

"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife;Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."

"For the pibroch was heard on the hills far away,

And the clans were all gathered from mountain and glen.

For the darling of Scotland, their exile adored,

They raised the loud slogan—they rushed to the strife;

Unfurl'd was the banner, unsheathed was the sword,

For the cause of their heart, that was dearer than life."

And now the darksome morn has come, the priest is standing by his side, saying the prayers for the dead. He hears the muffled drum and the bells tolling his death knell; the block is prepared, the headsman comes; and the victim is led bare-headed from his cell.

Waking, he turns on his straw pallet, and sees, by the pale, misty light of a taper, the form of his wife.

"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"

"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!" softly she said,

"Arouse thee and follow, be bold, never fear,

There was danger ahead, but my errand has sped,

I promised to save thee, and lo! I am here!"

[image]"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!"

[image]

"'Tis I, 'tis thy Winifred!"

Then she puts woman's garb upon him, and together they pass the unsuspecting guards and weary sentinels.

* * * * *

When the peasantry on the Nithsdale estates heard of their Lord's escape their joy was unbounded.

One of the songs published and sung everywhere at the time, begins:—

"What news to me, carlin'?What news to me?""What news!" quo' the carlin',The best that God can gie."

"What news to me, carlin'?

What news to me?"

"What news!" quo' the carlin',

The best that God can gie."

The speaker asks if the true king has come to his own, and the carlin' answers.

"Our ain Lord NithsdaleWill soon be 'mang us here.

"Our ain Lord Nithsdale

Will soon be 'mang us here.

Then the speaker says:—

"Brush me my coat, carlin',Brush me my shoon;I'll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale,When he comes to our town."

"Brush me my coat, carlin',

Brush me my shoon;

I'll awa and meet Lord Nithsdale,

When he comes to our town."

"Alack-a-day," says the carlin'. "He has escaped to France, with scarce a penny."

"Then," says the first speaker, "we'll sell our corn and everything we have and send the money to our lord, and we'll make the pipers blow and lads and maidens dance, and we'll all be glad and joyful and play 'The Stuarts back again,' and make the Whigs go mad."

* * * * *

Lord Derwentwater's fate was not so happy as that of Lord Nithsdale, though Lady Derwentwater made a desperate effort to save him.

It was she indeed who had urged him to throw in his lot with the Stuarts, saying that it was not good that he should hide his head when other gentlemen were mustering for the cause.

The peasantry still think that Lady Derwentwater sits on her ruined tower lamenting the evil counsel she gave her husband, and they hasten by in fear when they see her lamp-light flickering.

Derwentwater is described in the old ballads, as "a bonny lord," with hair of gold, and kind love dwelling in his hawk-like eyes.

He passionately loved his beautiful home in Tynedale, the foundations of which may still be seen. The wooded glen below the castle, with the little burn running through it, spanned by a grey bridge is romantically beautiful.

His "Farewell" to all this beauty is pathetic.

"Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,My father's ancient seat;A stranger now must call thee his,Which gars[#] my heart to greet.[#]Farewell each kindly well-known face,My heart has held so dear:My tenants now must leave their lands,Or hold their lives in fear.

"Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,

My father's ancient seat;

A stranger now must call thee his,

Which gars[#] my heart to greet.[#]

Farewell each kindly well-known face,

My heart has held so dear:

My tenants now must leave their lands,

Or hold their lives in fear.

[#] makes.[#] weep.

No more along the banks of Tyne,I'll rove in autumn grey;No more I'll hear, at early dawn,The lav'rocks[#] wake the day:Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,And Forster ever true.Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,Receive my last adieu.

No more along the banks of Tyne,

I'll rove in autumn grey;

No more I'll hear, at early dawn,

The lav'rocks[#] wake the day:

Then fare thee well, brave Witherington,

And Forster ever true.

Dear Shaftsbury and Errington,

Receive my last adieu.

[#] larks.

And fare thee well, George Collingwood,Since fate has put us down,If thou and I have lost our lives,Our King has lost his crown.Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,Ill, ill thou counsell'dst me:I never more may see thy babeThat smiles upon thy knee.And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,That carried me aye so free;I wish I had been asleep in my bed,The last time I mounted thee.The warning bell now bids me cease;My troubles nearly o'er;Yon sun that rises from the sea,Shall rise on me no more.Albeit that here in London townIt is my fate to die,O carry me to Northumberland,In my father's grave to lie:There chant my solemn requiemIn Hexham's holy towers,And let six maids of fair TynedaleScatter my grave with flowers.And when the head that wears the crown,Shall be laid low like mine,Some honest hearts may then lamentFor Radcliff's fallen line.Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,My father's ancient seat;A stranger now must call thee his,Which gars my heart to greet."

And fare thee well, George Collingwood,

Since fate has put us down,

If thou and I have lost our lives,

Our King has lost his crown.

Farewell, farewell, my lady dear,

Ill, ill thou counsell'dst me:

I never more may see thy babe

That smiles upon thy knee.

And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,That carried me aye so free;I wish I had been asleep in my bed,The last time I mounted thee.The warning bell now bids me cease;My troubles nearly o'er;Yon sun that rises from the sea,Shall rise on me no more.

And fare thee well, my bonny grey steed,

That carried me aye so free;

I wish I had been asleep in my bed,

The last time I mounted thee.

The warning bell now bids me cease;

My troubles nearly o'er;

Yon sun that rises from the sea,

Shall rise on me no more.

Albeit that here in London townIt is my fate to die,O carry me to Northumberland,In my father's grave to lie:There chant my solemn requiemIn Hexham's holy towers,And let six maids of fair TynedaleScatter my grave with flowers.

Albeit that here in London town

It is my fate to die,

O carry me to Northumberland,

In my father's grave to lie:

There chant my solemn requiem

In Hexham's holy towers,

And let six maids of fair Tynedale

Scatter my grave with flowers.

And when the head that wears the crown,Shall be laid low like mine,Some honest hearts may then lamentFor Radcliff's fallen line.Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,My father's ancient seat;A stranger now must call thee his,Which gars my heart to greet."

And when the head that wears the crown,

Shall be laid low like mine,

Some honest hearts may then lament

For Radcliff's fallen line.

Farewell to pleasant Ditson Hall,

My father's ancient seat;

A stranger now must call thee his,

Which gars my heart to greet."

Before his death, Earl Derwentwater signed a paper acknowledging "King James the Third" as his sovereign, and saying that he hoped his death would contribute to the service of his King.

He is said to have looked closely at the block, and to have asked the executioner to chip off a rough place that might hurt his neck. Then, pulling off his coat and waistcoat, he tried if the block would fit his head, and told the executioner that when he had repeated "Lord Jesus receive my soul" for the third time, he was to do his office, which the executioner accordingly did at one blow.

History tells that Derwentwater was brave and open-hearted and generous, and that his fate drew tears from the spectators, and was a great misfortune to his country. He was kind to the people on his estates, to the poor, the widow and the orphan.

His request to be buried with his ancestors was refused, and he was interred at St Giles, Holborn, but his corpse was afterwards removed and carried secretly to Northumberland, where it was deposited in Dilston Chapel. The aurora borealis, which appeared remarkably vivid on the night of his execution, was long called in that part of the country "Lord Derwentwater's Lights."

Immediately after Derwentwater's execution, Lord Kenmure also suffered death. After his execution, a letter was found in his pocket addressed to the Pretender, by the title of King James, saying that he died in his faithful service, and asking him to provide for his wife and children.

The following ballad describes his rising in the Stuart cause—

"O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie,O Kenmure's on and awa';And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lordThat ever Galloway saw.Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!Success to Kenmure's band!There's no a heart that fears a Whig,That rides by Kenmure's hand.His lady's cheek was red, Willie,His lady's cheek was red,When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,Which smell'd o' deadly feud.Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,Here's Kenmure's health in wine;There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

"O Kenmure's on and awa', Willie,

O Kenmure's on and awa';

And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord

That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!

Success to Kenmure's band!

There's no a heart that fears a Whig,

That rides by Kenmure's hand.

His lady's cheek was red, Willie,His lady's cheek was red,When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,Which smell'd o' deadly feud.Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,Here's Kenmure's health in wine;There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

His lady's cheek was red, Willie,

His lady's cheek was red,

When she saw his steely jupes[#] put on,

Which smell'd o' deadly feud.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie,

Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,

Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

[#] armour.

There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,There's a rose in Kenmure's cap,He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blade,Afore the battle drap.Here's him that's far awa', Willie,Here's him that's far awa',And here's the flower that I lo'e best,The rose that's like the snaw.O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,O Kenmure's lads are men,Their hearts and swords are metal true,And that their foes shall ken.They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,They'll live, or die wi' fame,And soon wi' sound o' victorieMay Kenmure's lord come hame."

There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,

There's a rose in Kenmure's cap,

He'll steep it red in ruddie heart's blade,

Afore the battle drap.

Here's him that's far awa', Willie,

Here's him that's far awa',

And here's the flower that I lo'e best,

The rose that's like the snaw.

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,O Kenmure's lads are men,Their hearts and swords are metal true,And that their foes shall ken.They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,They'll live, or die wi' fame,And soon wi' sound o' victorieMay Kenmure's lord come hame."

O Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,

O Kenmure's lads are men,

Their hearts and swords are metal true,

And that their foes shall ken.

They'll live, or die wi' fame, Willie,

They'll live, or die wi' fame,

And soon wi' sound o' victorie

May Kenmure's lord come hame."

Chapter XLVIII

The Nine Nicks o' Thirlwall

If you stand upon Rose Hill, which rises from the banks of the river Irthing just where Northumberland meets Cumberland, you have lying around you one of the finest wild prospects in the United Kingdom. Hills to the north, stretching away into Scotland; hills to the east, broken into picturesque valleys, especially the great gap through which rushes the young Tyne; hills to the south, dominated by the powerful head of Cross Fell, a great sprawling mountain, not a peaked one, the highest stretch of which is nearly three thousand feet above sea level.

But while drinking in the glories of the distances, the eye will note with curiosity a strange-looking but picturesque hill only a couple of miles to the South-east, with a long rocky ridge at its top deeply cut into or "nicked" in nine different places, this giving it a very wild appearance. It is one of these hills which tempts the keen observer to go on and explore it. If we cut direct to it, over the fields, it is rough going, but the view is good all the way. And there are four special objects of interest, all close together; the rushing Tipalt river, Thirlwall Castle, the Roman wall, and the Nine Nicks.

Thirlwall Castle rises tall, square, and stern, with a dark fir-wood behind it at the foot of the hill, where a bend in the river makes a natural moat. Approaching it from Rose Hill, it looks as if the building were still nearly complete, but the south side has almost entirely fallen away and all the floors and the roof are out. Edward I. slept in this Castle when it was newly built, in 1306; but now it is grass-grown and moss-grown, and its three bare walls rise gaunt and grim to the sky. It is entirely built out of stones with Roman chisel marks, taken from the great Roman wall, which unfortunately was once regarded as a handy stone-quarry for anyone to take from.

The name "Thirlwall" means "Drill-wall," and marks the spot as that at which the wild Northern tribes first "drilled" or broke through the wall. The name was, of course, given to the place long before this castle was built.

To mount from Thirlwall Castle to the top of the Nine Nicks is an easy enough task for any vigorous person. It is just a fine healthy scramble. When at the top, it becomes evident that some sort of fortification once existed there. In point of fact this was the important Roman station called "Magna" which stood at about the middle of the Roman Wall. The wall ran from sea to sea, that is to say, from the mouth of the Tyne to the Solway. Thus it was nearly eighty miles long, and a very elaborate structure indeed.

It consisted of three distinct portions:—

1. The main stone wall, with a ditch to the north of it.

2. An earth-work to the south of this, consisting of either two or three ramparts about seventy feet apart, with a ditch between.

8. Stations, Castles and Watch-towers. Sometimes these were to the north of the wall, sometimes in the middle, sometimes south, according to the nature of the country.

The height of the main wall was from sixteen to twenty feet, including battlements. It was six to nine feet thick. Fancy a powerful military wall of about eighteen feet high stretching nearly eighty miles right across England! It hardly seems possible that the Romans could undertake such a work. The square strong stones were carefully selected and often brought from quarries at a distance. These stones flanked the outsides of the wall, and in between was strong concrete which was poured in while in liquid.

The second wall was of earth and stones, and, of course, lower than the first. Then there was a castle every mile, some of which can still be clearly traced, and a "station," about every four miles, of which several interesting ruins remain. There was a road eighteen feet wide between the two walls.

Those who have the energy to toil on for a full dozen miles of rough walking, along the wall, eastward from Thirlwall, will be rewarded by some of the most romantic scenes in Britain. They will see the wall at its best. They will pass Whinshields, the highest point in the wall, 1230 feet above sea level. The wild Northumbrian lakes will lie at their feet; if the day is fine, the Solway will be seen glistening, thirty miles to the west; and on the east the eye follows the Tyne almost to the sea. The Pennine Ridge bars the view twenty miles to the south, while on the North the High Cheviot is clear and strong, thirty miles away.

Passing Whinshields, it is not far to Borcovicus (often called Housteads) where lie the remains of a large Roman Station, wonderful remains, showing the whole outline with startling clearness. This station covered five acres, and here was quartered a cohort of the Tungrian infantry, consisting of a thousand brave soldiers, servants of Imperial Rome.

But, after all, nothing is so impressive as the remains of the wall itself. Stand at the top either of Whinshields or of the Nine Nicks, and try to imagine what it looked like in Roman days. Eastward along the Tyne valley and westward along the Irthing valley ran this wonderful work, this powerful girdle of stone. The very spot was chosen with great judgment, for these valleys gave the Romans a district protected by the bleak hills, where they could live and where they could keep cattle and grow grain. But the hilly nature of the ground must have added to the difficulty of the builders. The wall had to run up steep hill sides and cling to the edge of cliffs, and precipices; it had to be carried by bridges over roaring torrents, and when it reached low-lying ground it had to avoid the treacherous swamps and morasses. And yet, despite every obstacle, the great wall ran on its direct way, as strong and persistent as the great people who built it.

It withstood the shock of war, it was not flung down by soldiers marching against it. But to the people who wanted to build castles or houses or farms, or even to mend roads, the wall offered a mass of material ready to hand, and it suffered not from man's energy so much as from his laziness. Century after century it was robbed of its stones; to-day a series of long grass-grown mounds, a few feet high, running across the meadows, are nearly all that remain of one of the most wonderful pieces of building that was ever erected in Great Britain. Even today, in its decay, it is one of the most romantic features of a highly romantic district.

Chapter XLIX

In Wild Northumberland To-day

These tales of the Borders would hardly be complete without a few concluding words about the great romantic charm which still invests the Borderline. Let us, for example, make a brief survey of some of the haunting spots in wild Northumberland. We will pass over such towns as Warkworth, Alnwick, Alnmouth; beautiful as they are, they have moved with the times and are too modern to be more than mentioned here. But in a place like Holy Island we feel the call of the old days, and the charm that was theirs. This Island was the scene of the first efforts of Christianity to curb the wild and warlike Northumbrians; St Aidan, and St Cuthbert, both men of remarkable genius and great influence, taught there lessons of peace and justice without which every warlike state would descend into mere savagery. The island is about two miles square, and at low tide it is easy to walk across the sands to or from the mainland of Northumberland. The distance is two and a half miles, and it is necessary to take off shoes and stockings, for the water on the sands will often be six inches deep. A row of posts marks the way, and some of them have ladders, reaching up to a barrel on the top, so that any caught by the tide can find a safe harbour wherein they will suffer nothing more serious than a long wait! The island is inhabited by fishing folk, living simple healthy lives. There are fine rocks and splendid sands; beautiful flowers and lovely shells. The seabirds are wonderful. The ruins of the old Cathedral and castle are very interesting, it is a delightful old-world place, out of the rush and hurry of modern life.

Retracing our steps to the mainland, and proceeding westward for a dozen or so miles as the crow flies, we reach the River Till, and the field of Flodden. Here we are near to the big wild wall of the Cheviot hills, and to keep on the English side of the border we need to turn due south. It is then about thirty miles of rough walking through these grandly rugged hills before we come to the field of Otterburn.

But we realise in that walk how it was that the district produced and still produces a hardy race of hunters and sheep-farmers, and why it is that the towns and farms nestle in the valleys, so that the Borderers, when they meant to say, "Rouse the neighbourhood," used the phrase, "Raise thewater" (meaning, of course, the houses along the waterside). Further south, still going among splendid shaggy hills, we reach the North Tyne River, and soon afterwards some highly interesting Roman remains, including the arches of a fine bridge over the river at the Roman Station of Cilurnum, near Chollerford. This is on the Roman Wall, which has already been described under the heading of Thirlwall. A few miles to the west would bring us to the picturesque but little-known Northumberland Lakes, where the wild swans nest. If we continue south and south-west we can follow the beautiful valleys of the Allan or the South Tyne. This is a district of hills, roads, and castles; the domain of the fated Lord Derwentwater was near here. For beauty the whole of this neighbourhood would be hard to beat; yet it is too little known.

If we still go south, the scenery grows wilder and wilder as we approach the huge mountain of Cross Fell. We may cross into south-east Cumberland and visit the quaint old town of Alston, one of the highest towns in England. Here were once the royal silver mines, when English coins were made from Alston silver. Lead is chiefly mined there now, and the mines are worth a visit. Near Cross Fell also is a rough road called the "Maiden Way," and an old legend says it was made by women, who carried the stones in their aprons! The western slope of the Fell is famous for a specially violent wind called the "Helm wind," which rages there at certain seasons. It is just as if it were rushing fiercely down the hill, with a roaring noise and strength enough to overturn a horse and cart, and to beat the grass and grain till it is black! But though it does a deal of damage it is very exhilarating, making people feel merry in spite of themselves. And on Cross Fell slopes can be seen the beautiful River Tees, which can be followed to its grand waterfalls of the the Cauldron and the High Force. In the first the water dashes on to huge rocks, and is thrown back on itself, roaring, foaming, and fighting; in the second, it tumbles sheer down a dark and noble cliff. And everywhere on the heights there are splendid views.

In making any such excursions as the ones here outlined, into the out-of-the-way parts of Northumberland and the Borders, we find an added pleasure in the character of the people. The Borderers are still a grand race; big men, vigorous, honest, courteous, hospitable, free from all that is mean and small. In some districts you can hear "thou" and "thee" still used, and meet old men who have never seen a railway. One dear old farmer, a real picture of a simple honest man, hearing I had come from London, asked me if the London men had got their hay-crop in yet! One typical Northumbrian, of great natural intelligence, bearing a name famous on the Borders, is station-master at a local station that stands in a wood, and between trains, studies bird and wild-flower till he has made himself a most interesting naturalist. A stranger who has lost his way will find these courteous folk ready to walk a mile or two with him, out of their own way, just to set him right; and he who is tired and hungry will be invited to step in and eat, and perhaps find himself introduced to all the family and treated like an honoured guest; then, not a penny of payment taken, they will set him on his way with a bunch of the best flowers from the garden! For hearts on the Border are very human and warm. So that in due time he who knows the Borderers will delight to hear the unmistakeable Northumbrian or the pronounced Border accent. And he will say to himself: Splendid is the Border scenery, and stirring are the Border ballads, but best of all are the Border men.

* * * * * * * *

TOLD THROUGH THE AGES

Legends of Greece and RomeFavourite Greek MythsStories of Robin Hood and his Merry OutlawsStories of King Arthur and his KnightsStories from HerodotusStories from WagnerBritain Long AgoStories from Scottish HistoryStories from Greek TragedyStories from DickensStories from the Earthly ParadiseStories from the ÆneidThe Book of RustemStories from ChaucerStories from the Old TestamentStories from the OdysseyStories from the IliadTold by the NorthmenStories from Don QuixoteThe Story of RolandStories from ThucydidesThe Story of HerewardStories from the Faerie QueeneCuchulain: The Hound of UlsterStories from XenophonOld Greek Nature StoriesStories from ShakespeareStories from DanteFamous Voyages of the Great DiscoverersThe Story of NapoleonStories of Pendennis and the CharterhouseSir Guy of WarwickHeroes of the Middle AgesThe Story of the CrusadesThe Story of NelsonStories from George EliotFroissart's ChroniclesShakespeare's Stories of the English KingsHeroes of Modern EuropeThe Story of King Robert the BruceStories of the Scottish BorderThe Story of the French RevolutionThe Story of Lord KitchenerStories of the SaintsThe Story of St Elizabeth of HungaryIn Feudal TimesThe High Deeds of FinnEarly English Travel and DiscoveryLegends of Ancient EgyptThe Story of the RenaissanceBoyhood Stories of Famous MenStories from French HistoryStories from English HistoryFamous English Books and their StoriesWomen of the ClassicsIn the Days of the GuildsScience through the Ages

Other volumes in active preparation

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOKSTORIES OF THE SCOTTISH BORDER***

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