Chapter 8

Chapter XXXIIIThe Raid of the Reidswire"To deal with proud men is but pain,For either must ye fight or flee,Or else no answer make again,But play the beast, and let them be."Reidswire, the name of a place about ten miles from Jedburgh, means the Red Swire. Swire is an old northern term for the descent of a hill, and the epithet red may refer to the colour of the heath.The affair about which we are to tell took place on the 7th of July 1575, at a meeting held, on a day of truce, by the Wardens of the Marches, for redressing wrongs and adjusting difficulties which could not be prevented from arising upon the Border. The Scottish Warden was Sir John Carmichael, and among his following were the Armstrongs and Elliots, Douglas of Cavers (a descendant of the Douglas who fell at Otterbourne), Cranstoun, whose ferocious motto was "Ye shall want ere I want," Gladstain, "good at need," and the ancient head of the Rutherfoords, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, "with his nine sons him about." The English Warden was the haughty Sir John Forster, and he had full fifteen hundred men with him, chiefly Northumbrians, Tynedale, and Reedsdale men, who looked with scorn upon the much smaller array of their hereditary foes.The meeting, however, began meekly enough, with merriment and jests. Such Border meetings of truce, though they might wind up in blood, as was to happen now, always began as occasions of marketing and revelry. Both parties came fully armed to such a tryst, yet intermixed in mutual sports and familiar intercourse,"Some gaed to drink, and some stood still,And some to cards and dice them sped."The Scots planted their pavilions or tents and feared no ill, even when they saw five hundred Fenwicks (a powerful Northumbrian clan) "marching in a flock." The clerk began to call the rolls, and to deal with one complaint after another for the loss of cows or ewes or other property. In the course of the proceedings an accusation was raised against an English freebooter named Farnstein, at the instance of a Scotch complainant. A "true bill" was found against the man, which means that he ought to be handed over to justice. But the English Warden alleged that he had fled, and could not be found. Carmichael, considering this as a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bade the Northumbrians speak out plainly, and "cloke no cause for ill nor good." Upon this Sir John Forster, a proud and insolent man, "began to reckon kin and blood," by which picturesque phrase the ballad probably means that he swiftly added up his forces. Then he drew himself up, backed by his Dalesmen, all fingering their bows, and with insulting expressions against Carmichael's kin he bade him "match with his equals." The men of Tynedale, who only wanted a pretext for a quarrel, drew their bows and let off a flight of arrows among the Scots. The more moderate men on both sides at first tried to quell the tumult, but in vain. The fight was bound to come."Then there was naught but bow and spear,And every man pulled out a brand."The English showed their usual dexterity with the bow. The Scots, for some reason, never took to this weapon; they had fire-arms, pistolets, and the like. The terrible cloth-yard arrows "from tackles flew," and the old proverb bade fair to justify itself, that every English archer carried twenty-four Scots under his belt—an allusion to his bundle of shafts. Success seemed certain for the English side; some of the foremost men among the Scots fell, and even Carmichael was thrown to the ground and was within an ace of being made a prisoner. The air resounded with the rallying cries of the English, the names of their captains, "A Shaftoe! A Shaftoe!" "A Fenwick! A Fenwick!" The Scots had little harness among them, only a few had the jack which served them as a defence for the body. Nevertheless, they laid about them sturdily, with "dints full dour," and there was many a cracked crown. Then suddenly a shout was heard. "Jedburgh's here!" A body of Jedburgh burgesses appear to have arrived just in the nick of time to add to the outnumbered force of Scots. They probably wore armour and what were called "white hats," that is steel caps. Meanwhile, the English, too confident of easy victory, instead of slaying more Scots and turning the repulse into a rout, thought only to plunder the unhappy merchants, who, trusting to the truce which had been proclaimed, had attached themselves to the meeting. Had it not been for the English greed, the Scots would have been defeated. As it was, the Tynedale men, throwing themselves on the merchants' packs, fell into disorder, their adversaries recovered from their surprise, and the timely arrival of the Jedburgh men turned the tables. A short, sharp bout ended in the triumph of the Scots and the Northumbrians fled, "Down ower the brae, like clogged bees." The Scots took many prisoners, amongst whom were the English Warden, and his son-in-law, Sir Francis Russell; but the most gallant soldier taken that day was that courteous knight, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, to whose family Admiral Collingwood belonged. Several of those "Fenwicks fierce," who had turned up five hundred strong at the commencement of the fray, had the mortification of being carried off in triumph by their enemies. All these prisoners were sent to the Earl of Morton, Regent of Scotland, who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, until the bitter feeling natural after such an affair had died down, at any rate in part, and by this prudent precaution the Regent is thought to have probably averted a war between the two kingdoms. He ultimately permitted them to return to their own country, parting from them with great expressions of regard. The interest taken in the matter by Queen Elizabeth, and the representations of her Ambassador at Edinburgh, no doubt had something to do with this happy issue.It will probably occur to the careful reader of this book as somewhat strange to find the ruling powers of England and Scotland both so set upon peace; but it must be remembered that at this period in the reign of Queen Elizabeth the heir-apparent to the English throne was the young James VI., King of Scotland, who would naturally not wish for any quarrel with the country which he hoped later on to rule. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had Mary Queen of Scots as her prisoner, and did not wish in any further way to strain the already delicate relations between the two countries.The Carmichael mentioned in this ballad, known in full as Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, Scottish Warden of the Middle Marches, was afterwards murdered by one of the wild Armstrongs, who is said to have composed, the night before his execution, the following manly and pathetic "Good-night." The third and fourth lines show clearly the disrepute into which this once honoured clan was falling; the seventh and eighth lines could only have been written by one who, despite his faults, had the true gallant instincts deep in his blood.ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT"This night is my departing night,For here nae langer must I stay;There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,But wishes me away.What I have done thro' lack of wit,I never, never can recall;I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;Good-night and joy be with you all!"Chapter XXXIVJock o' the Side"He is well kend, John of the Syde,A greater thief did never ryde."The subject of this ballad bears some resemblance to Kinmont Willie, and such adventures were not uncommon in those turbulent times. The events we are to relate originated in a raid ridden by the famous Liddesdale spearmen (the hardiest of the Scotch moss-troopers) upon English ground."They had better hae staid at home," for the outcome was that one of their best men, Michael of Winfield, was killed, and Jock o' the Side, nephew to the Laird of Mangerton, was taken prisoner, and promptly lodged in Newcastle Jail. When the news reached Jock's mother she kilted her coats up to her knee, and ran down the water with the tears falling in torrents from her eyes. She ran to Mangerton House, on the banks of the Liddel, and told her brother, the good old lord, the bad news. "Michael is killed, and they have taken my son John." "Never fear, sister," quoth Mangerton, "I have eighty-three yokes of oxen, my barns, my byres, my folds are all filled, I'll part with them all ere Johnie shall die." Then he thought out his plan. "Three men I'll send to set him free, all harnessed in the best steel; the English loons shall feel the weight of their broad swords. The Laird's Jock shall be one, the Laird's Wat two, and Hobbie Noble, thou must be the third. Thy coat is blue, and since England banished thee thou hast been true to me." Now this Hobbie was an Englishman, born in Bewcastledale, the wildest district in Cumberland. Like numerous other English outlaws, he had made his own country too hot to hold him; his misdeeds had banished him to Liddesdale, and he was now in high favour with the Laird of Mangerton. The Laird gave the dauntless three orders to reverse the shoes of their horses, so that anyone crossing their trail might think they were proceeding in a contrary direction. He also warned them not to seem gentlemen, but to look like corn-carriers; not to show their good armour, nor appear like men of war, but to be arrayed as country lads, with halter and cart-collar on each mare. So Hobbie mounted his grey, Jack his lively bay, and Wat his white horse, and they rode for Tyne water. When they reached the Tyne they lighted down at a ford, and by the moonlight they cut a tree, with fifteen nogs on each side, to serve them as a scaling ladder, to climb Newcastle wall with. However, when they came to Newcastle town and alighted at the wall, their tree proved three ells too short, and there was nothing for it but to force the gates. At the gate a proud porter attempted to withstand them. The Armstrongs wrung his neck, took his life and his keys at once, and cast his body behind the wall. Soon they reached the jail, and called to the prisoner,"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,Or art thou weary of thy thrall?"Jock answered dolefully, "Often I wake, nay, sleep seldom comes to me—but who's this knows my name so well?" Then out and spoke the Laird's Jock, his cousin and namesake, "Now fear ye not, my billie!" quoth he; "for here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, and Hobbie Noble the Englishman come to set you free." Jock o' the Side did not think it possible that they could effect his release. "Now hold thy tongue, my good cousin," said he. "This cannot be—'For if all Liddesdale were here the night,The morn's the day that I must die.'They have laid full fifteen stone of Spanish iron on me, I am fast bound with locks and keys in this dark and dreary dungeon." But the Laird's Jock replied. "Fear not that; faint heart never won fair lady. Work thou within, we'll work without, and I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." They loosed the first strong door without a key, the next chained door they split to flinders. The Laird's Jock got the prisoner on his back, irons and all, and brought him down the stairs with no small speed and joy. Hobbie Noble offered to bear some of his weight, but the Laird's Jock said that he was lighter than a flea. When they had all gone out at the gates, the prisoner was set on horseback, and they all joked wantonly. "O Jock," they cried, "you ride like a winsome lady, with your feet all on one side." The night was wet, but they did not mind. They hied them on full merrily until they came to the ford at Cholerford, above Hexham. There the water was running mountains high. They asked an old man, "Honest man, tell us in haste, will the water ride?" "I've lived here thirty years and three," replied he, "and I never saw the Tyne so big, nor running so like a sea." The Laird's Wat counselled them to halt. "We need not try it, the day is come we all must die!" "Poor faint-hearted thief!" cried the Laird's Jock. "There'll no man die but him that's fated; I'll guide you safely through; lift the prisoner behind me." With that they took to the water and managed to swim through. "Here we are all safe," said the Laird's Jock triumphantly. "Poor faint Wat, what think ye now?" They now saw twenty men pursuing them, sent from Newcastle, all English lads, stout and true. But when their leader saw the water he shook his head. "It won't ride, my lads," said he. Then he cried to the party of Scots: "Take the prisoner, but leave me my fetters." But the Laird's Jock was not a Scot for nothing. "I wat weel no," he shouted back, "I'll keep them, they'll make horse-shoes for my mare—for I am sure she's bought them right dear from thee." Then they went on their way to Liddesdale, as fast as they could, and did not rest until they had brought the rescued prisoner to his own fireside, and made him free of his irons.Chapter XXXVHobbie Noble"Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!For gold and gear he'll sell ye a'."In the ballad of "Jock o' the Side," we have seen Hobbie Noble act a distinguished part in the deliverance from captivity of Jock, cousin of the Laird of Mangerton, chief of the Armstrong clan. Now in the following ballad we shall learn how ungrateful the Armstrongs were for his faithful services. The Armstrongs were one of those outlawed or broken clans, whose hand was against every man, and living as they did in what was called the Debateable Land, on the frontier between Liddesdale and England, these stark cattle-lifters and arrant thieves levied tribute from English and Scotch alike. Halbert or Hobbie Noble was an Englishman, a Cumbrian born and bred, but his misdeeds were so great, they banished him never to return, and he established himself among the Armstrongs. From their territory he continued his depredations upon the English, in resentment of which they at length offered a bribe to the Armstrongs to decoy him into England under pretence of inviting him to join them in a foray."At Kershope foot the tryst was set,Kershope of the lily lee,"and the name of the chief traitor and leader of the gang was Sim o' the Mains. Hobbie harnessed himself "both with the iron and with the steel," buckled spur on his heel and belted brand to his side, leaped upon his "fringed grey," and rode down the banks of the Liddel. As soon as he saw the others, "Well be ye met, my comrades five," he cried. "Now, what is your will with me?" They all answered, with one consent, "Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble; wilt thou ride with us into England, and we will be thy safe warrant? If we get a horse worth a hundred pounds thou shalt soon be upon its back." But Hobbie said that he dared not ride into England by day, as he had a feud with the Land-Sergeant (an officer under the Warden, to whom was entrusted the arrest of delinquents)."But will ye stay till the day gae down,Until the night come o'er the ground,And I'll be a guide worth any twoThat may in Liddesdale be found?Though the night be black as pitch and tar,I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high;And bring ye all in safety back,If ye'll be true and follow me."They let him guide them over moss and moor, over hill and hope, and over many a down, until they came to the Foulbogshiel. But meanwhile word was gone to the Land-Sergeant, in Askerton, about seventeen miles from Carlisle. "The deer that you have hunted so long, is in Bewcastle Waste this day." The Sergeant understood at once. Quoth he, "Hobbie Noble is that deer! He carries the style full high. He has often driven our bloodhounds back. Now go, warn the bows of Hartlie Burn, see they sharpen their arrows on the wall! Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, take word to them that they meet me on the Rodric-haugh at break of day. We will on to Conscouthart-green, for there, I think, we'll get our quarry." In the meantime Hobbie had alighted and was sleeping in the Foulbogshiel. He dreamed that his horse was shot beneath him, and he himself was hard put to it to get away. The cocks crowed, the day dawned, and if Hobbie had not wakened he would have been taken or slain in his sleep."Awake, awake, my comrades five!I trow here makes a full ill day;Yet the worst cloak o' this companyI hope shall cross the Waste this day,"Thus cried he to his companions, thinking the gates were clear. But alas! it was not so. They were beset by the Land-Sergeant's men, cruel and keen, and while the Englishmen came before, the traitor Sim o' the Mains came behind. Had Noble been as masterful a champion as Wallace himself, he could not have won under such untoward circumstances. He had but a laddie's sword, but he did more than a laddie's deeds, for that sword would have cleared Conscouthart-green had it not broken over one of the English heads. So his treacherous companions delivered Hobbie up to the officers of justice; they bound him with his own bowstring, but what made his heart feel sorest of all, was that it was his own five who bound him. They took him on to Carlisle. They asked him mockingly if he knew the way. He thought much, but said little, though he knew it as well as they did. As they took him up the Carlisle streets, the old wives cast their windows wide, every woman whispering to another, "That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side." The poor fellow cried out, "Fie on ye, women! why call ye me man? It's no like a man that I'm used, but like a beaten hound that's been fighting in the gutter." They had him up through Carlisle town, and set him by a chimney fire, where they gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, and a can of beer. "Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, "and to-morrow in Carlisle thou shalt not die." "How can I confess them," says the poor man, "when I never saw them." And he swore a great oath, by the day that he was born, that he had never had anything of my lord's. He had but short shrift and they hung him the next morning.According to the ballad, his last words were of manly pride:—"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,That eats and drinks o' meal and malt."Thus died the doughty Noble. It is proper to add, however, that the Armstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton, with whom Hobbie had been a favourite, took a severe revenge on the traitors who betrayed him. The contriver of the scheme, Sim o' the Mains, fled into England to escape the resentment of his chief, and was there caught by the English, and himself executed at Carlisle, two months after Hobbie's death in the same place! Such is, at least, the tradition of Liddesdale.Chapter XXXVIThe Laird o' LogieIn 1592, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stuart, failed in an attempt against King James VI., whom he tried to surprise in the palace of Falkland. Amongst his adherents, whom he sought about the King's person, was the hero of this ballad, the Laird of Logie, who was taken prisoner and laid in Edinburgh chapel in the keeping of Sir John Carmichael, the hero of the ballad called the "Raid of Reidswire." Carmichael was at this time captain of the King's Guard, and had the keeping of State criminals.I will sing, if ye will hearken,If ye will hearken unto me;The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,The wanton laird o' young Logie.Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;And may Margaret's lamenting sair,A' for the love of young Logie."Lament, lament na, may Margaret,And of your weeping let me be;For ye maun to the King himsell,To seek the life of young Logie."May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—"If I canna get young Logie's life,Farewell to Scotland for evermair."[#] Clothing.When she came before the King,She kneelit lowly on her knee—"O what's the matter, may Margaret?And what needs a' this courtesie?""A boon, a boon, my noble liege,A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!And the first boon that I come to crave,Is to grant me the life of young Logie."[image]"A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!""O na, O na, may Margaret,Forsooth, and so it mauna be;For a' the gowd o' fair ScotlandShall not save the life of young Logie."But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,And sent the tokens to Carmichael,To cause young Logie get his life.[#] Stolen.[#] Dressing comb.She sent him a purse of the red gowd,Another o' the white monie;She sent him a pistol for each hand,And bade him shoot when he gat free.When he came to the Tolbooth stair,There he let his volley flee;It made the King in his chamber start,E'en in the bed where he might be."Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',And bid Carmichael come speak to me;For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,That yon's the shot o' young Logie."When Carmichael came before the King,He fell low down upon his knee;The very first word that the King spake,Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"Carmichael turn'd him round about(I wot the tear blinded his ee),"There came a token frae your grace,Has ta'en away the laird frae me.""Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;"The morn the justice-court's to stand,And Logie's place ye maun supplie."Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,Even as fast as he may dree—"O if young Logie be within,Tell him to come and speak with me!"May Margaret turn'd her round about(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."Chapter XXXVIIJamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be!There's nothing left at the fair DodheadBut a woeful wife and bairnies three!"About Martinmas time, when Border steeds get corn and hay, the Captain of Bewcastle rode over to Tividale to forage. And first he met a guide high up in Hardhaughswire, and next he met a guide low down in Borthwick water."What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?" "No tidings have I—yet if ye go to the fair Dodhead, I'll let ye see many a cow's calf." Right hastily they came to the fair Dodhead, loosed the cows and ransacked the house.Jamie Telfer's[#] heart was sore when he saw this, and the tears ran down his cheeks, and he pleaded with the Captain to give him back his gear, or else he would have revenge upon him. But the Captain only laughed and said, "Man, there's nothing in thy house but an old sword without a sheath that could scarcely kill a mouse."[#] The Telfers, though they had become Scotch at the time of this ballad, were originally a Norman family, descended from the knight "Taille-fer" (cut-iron), who came over with William the Conqueror.The sun was not up though the moon had gone down, and there was a sprinkling of new-fallen snow upon the ground when Jamie Telfer ran ten miles a-foot between the Dodhead and Stob's Hall. When he came to the tower gate he shouted aloud, and old Gibby Elliot came out and asked the meaning of such disturbance."It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a sad wife and three bairnies.""Go and seek help at Branksome Hall, for ye shall get none from me—seek help where ye paid blackmail, for, man, never did ye paymeany."James turned him about, his eyes blinded with tears. "Never shall I pay blackmail again to Elliot. My hounds may all run masterless, my hawks may fly as they will from tree to tree, and my lord may seize the lands of his vassal, for never shall I see again the fair Dodhead."He turned him to Tiviotside and made as fast as he could for Coultart cleugh, and there he shouted aloud until out came old Jock Grieve, and asked who it was that made such a noise."It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies, and six poor calves stand in the stall crying aloud for their mothers.""Alack!" quoth Jock Grieve, "alack, my heart is sore for thee! for I married the eldest of three sisters, and you married the youngest."So he took out his bonny black horse, right well fed with corn and hay, and set Jamie Telfer on his back, to take his troubles to Catslockhill. When he came to Catslockhill he shouted aloud until out came William's Wat to ask what was the matter."It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I. The Captain of Bewcastle has driven away my gear; for God's sake rise and help me.""Alas and alack," quoth William's Wat, "my heart is sore for thee. Never did I yet come to the fair Dodhead and found thy basket bare."He set his two sons on coal-black steeds, and he himself mounted a freckled grey, and with Jamie they rode to Branksome Hall, where they shouted so loud and high that old Buccleuch came out to ask what was the matter."It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I; there is nought left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies.""Alack," quoth the good old lord, "my heart is sorry for thee; go call Willie, my son, to come speedily. Go call up hastily the men that live by the waterside. They who will not ride for Telfer's cattle, let them never again look me in the face. Call up Wat o'Harden and his sons, call up Borthwick Water, Gaudilands and Allanhaugh, call Gilmanscleugh and Commonside; ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire and call the Currors of the Lee, and call brave Willie of Gorrinberry as ye come down the Hermitage slack."So the Scotts rode and ran bravely and steadily, shouting "Ride for Branksome," and when Willie looked ahead he saw the cattle being driven fast up the Frostylee brook, and to the plain."Who drives yon cattle?" cried Willie Scott, "to make us a laughing stock?" "'Tis I, the Captain of Bewcastle; I will not hide my name from thee.""Let Telfer's cattle go back, or by the faith of my body," said Willie, "I'll ware my dame's calf-skin on thee.""I will not let the cattle go back neither for thy love nor fear; I will drive Jamie Telfer's cattle in spite of all your company of Scotts.""Set on them, lads!" cried Willie; "set on them cruelly; there will be many an empty saddle before they come to Ritterford."So they set to with heart and hand, and blows fell like hail until many were slain and many a horse ran masterless. But Willie was struck by a sword through the headpiece and fell to the ground, and auld Wat of Harden wept for rage when he saw that his son was slain. He took off his steel cap and waved it thrice, and the snow on the Dinlay mountain was never whiter than the locks of his hair."Revenge! revenge!" he cried; "lay on them, lads. Willie's death shall be revenged or we will never see Teviotside again."The lances flew into splinters, and many another brave rider fell, and before the Kershope ford was reached, the Scots had got the victory. John of Brigham was slain, and John of Barlow, and thirty more of the Captain's men lay bleeding on the ground. The Captain himself was run through the right thigh and the bone broken, and never would woman love him again, if he should live a hundred years."Take back the kye!" said he; "they are dear kye to some of us; never will a fair lady smile on me if I should live to be a hundred."Word came to the Captain's bride in her bower, that her lord had been taken prisoner. "I would rather have had a winding-sheet," said she, "and helped to put it over his head than that he should have been disgraced by the Border Scot when he led his men over Liddel."There was a wild gallant there named Watty Wudspurs (Madspurs) who cried, "Let us on to his house in Stanegirthside, if any man will ride with us!"So they came to Stanegirthside, pulled down the trees, burst open the door, and drove out all the Captain's kye before them.An old woman of the Captain's kin cried, "Who dare loose the Captain's kye, or answer to him and his men?""It is I, Watty Wudspurs, that loose the kye; I will not hide my name from thee; and I will loose them in spite of him and his men."When they came to the fair Dodhead they were a welcome sight, for instead of his own ten milk kye Jamie Telfer had now got thirty-three. He paid the rescue shot in gold and silver, and at Willie Scott's burial, there were many weeping eyes.Chapter XXXVIIIMuckle-mou'd MegThe Scott family was very powerful on the Border in the days of Queen Elizabeth, the bravest and strongest of them being the bold Lord of Buccleuch. His name is often mentioned in Border history, and so is that of another Scott, "auld Wat Scott of Harden." He was a fit man for these wild times, being both brave and canny. He married a beautiful Border lass, "the Flower of Yarrow," and it is surprising how many able men have descended from this marriage. Not only did Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson claim descent from this fine old freebooter; his daughter Maggie married Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, nicknamed "Gibbie wi' the Golden Garters," and from them were descended George Augustus Elliot (Lord Heathfield), famous for his splendid defence of Gibraltar, worthy of the best Border traditions, and also the Elliots of Minto, who have twice been Viceroys of India, once late in the eighteenth and once early in the twentieth century.But on one occasion one of the sons of Scott of Harden came perilously near to finding out how far his neck was capable of carrying the weight of his body. It was late in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and King James VI. of Scotland was extra anxious to live at peace with England, for he expected now very soon to be King over both countries. So he told his Warden, the bold Buccleuch, to restrain the wild Scotch freebooters; and you may imagine that the order was little to their liking. Young Willie Scott, Scott of Harden's son, quickly determined that cattle he must steal anyhow; he was his father's son, and did not his father once say, as he gazed longingly at a fine English haystack, "if only ye'd got four legs, haystack, ye would not be standing there!" So as Willie Scott was forbidden to steal English cattle, he decided to steal Scotch.Sir Gideon Murray, of Elibank Castle, was an old enemy of the Scott family, having once been told off to punish them for some audacious act of theirs. And Sir Gideon had some cattle that would make any Borderer's mouth water and his arm itch to drive them home. So Willie and a few boon companions started off one night for Elibank. But a warning voice had reached Sir Gideon, and Willie received a warm reception, and was taken prisoner. He lay in the castle dungeon all night, reflecting on the folly of being caught, and fully expecting to be hanged very early next morning, perhaps without even his breakfast to comfort him!But early on the fatal morning, Lady Murray startled her husband by asking him if he really meant to hang Willie Scott. He looked at her as if she were mad; of course, what else was there to do? Then she unfolded her scheme. She had a very plain-looking daughter known as "Muckle mou'd Meg," or Margaret with the extremely large mouth. Young Scott was handsome and of good family, and poor Meg would never again have such a chance of getting a good husband. Why not release Willie Scott, if only he would marry Mucklemou'd Meg?They were men of action in those days, and the priest was instantly sent for. Then, all being ready, the prisoner was brought forth. He was shown on the one hand the priest and the girl, and on the other hand the tree and the noose, and was asked to take his choice. His first proud feeling was that he would be mocked at if he married such a girl on such terms, and he walked bravely towards the rope. But the nearer he got to it the uglier it looked. He had to confess to himself that it was not at all a comfortable looking rope; he had a nasty feeling round his neck from merely looking at it, and thought it would probably feel worse when it got round his throat. Then he looked at the girl; she certainly was not as beautiful as his mother, the lovely Flower of Yarrow; and a Borderer loved a beautiful wife. But if he hanged he would have no wife at all! Then he suggested that he should have three days to think it over, but Murray said no, neither priest nor noose was prepared to wait, he must decide at once. Then he looked again at Meg and saw a kind glance in her eye; she felt sorry for the handsome young fellow. Then he knew she had a good heart, and that decided the matter; he went up and kissed her with a good grace, and the priest married them straight away.Afterwards he became Sir William Scott, and an important man on the Border. And, best of all, Meg proved to be a real good wife to him, and he never regretted the day when he elected to suffer the knot to be tied by the priest instead of by the hangman.Chapter XXXIXThe Dowie Dens of YarrowThis is one of the most famous and widely known of all the Border ballads, and has proved a source of inspiration to several poets, including Wordsworth, who wrote three poems upon the subject. The bard does not relate the full particulars, but gives only the barest outlines of facts, which were well known in his day, and still live in tradition. The story tells of a duel between two brothers-in-law. The very spot where it took place is still pointed out, a low muir on the Yarrow banks. The slain knight was apparently Walter Scott, one of the ancestors of Lord Napier. His murderer was his brother-in-law, John Scott. "Dowie" means melancholy, and "den" is a word used to describe a narrow, rocky valley, usually wildly beautiful.Late at e'en drinking the wine,And e'er they paid the lawing,They set a combat them between,To fight it in the dawing.[#][#] Dawn."O stay at home my noble lord,O stay at home my marrow.My cruel brother will you betray,On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow."[#] Hillocks."O fare ye well, my lady gay!O fare ye well, my Sarah!For I must go, though I ne'er returnFrom the dowie banks of Yarrow."She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,As oft she had done before, O,She belted him with his noble brand,"And he's away to Yarrow."As he gaed up the Tennies bankI wot he gaed with sorrow,Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,On the dowie houms of Yarrow."O come ye here to part your land,The bonnie forest thorough?Or come ye here to wield your brand,On the dowie houms of Yarrow?""I come not here to part my land,And neither to beg nor borrow,I come to wield my noble brandOn the bonnie banks of Yarrow."If I see all, ye're nine to ane;And that's an unequal marrow;Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."Four has he hurt, and five has slain,On the bloody braes of Yarrow,Till that stubborn knight came him behind,And ran his body thorough."Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,And tell your sister Sarah,To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."[#] Lawful."Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,I fear there will be sorrow!I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,Wi' my true love on Yarrow."O gentle wind, that bloweth south,From where my love repaireth,Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,And tell me how he fareth!"But in the glen strive armed men;They've wrought me dole and sorrow;They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain,He bleeding lies on Yarrow."As she sped down yon high, high hill,She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,And in the den spied ten slain men,On the dowie banks of Yarrow.She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,She searched his wounds all thorough,She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,On the dowie houms of Yarrow."Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,For a' this breeds but sorrow;I'll wed ye to a better lord,Than him ye lost on Yarrow."[#] Hold."O haud your tongue, my father dear!Ye mind me but of sorrow;A fairer rose did never bloomThan now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

Chapter XXXIII

The Raid of the Reidswire

"To deal with proud men is but pain,For either must ye fight or flee,Or else no answer make again,But play the beast, and let them be."

"To deal with proud men is but pain,

For either must ye fight or flee,

Or else no answer make again,

But play the beast, and let them be."

Reidswire, the name of a place about ten miles from Jedburgh, means the Red Swire. Swire is an old northern term for the descent of a hill, and the epithet red may refer to the colour of the heath.

The affair about which we are to tell took place on the 7th of July 1575, at a meeting held, on a day of truce, by the Wardens of the Marches, for redressing wrongs and adjusting difficulties which could not be prevented from arising upon the Border. The Scottish Warden was Sir John Carmichael, and among his following were the Armstrongs and Elliots, Douglas of Cavers (a descendant of the Douglas who fell at Otterbourne), Cranstoun, whose ferocious motto was "Ye shall want ere I want," Gladstain, "good at need," and the ancient head of the Rutherfoords, called in tradition the Cock of Hunthill, "with his nine sons him about." The English Warden was the haughty Sir John Forster, and he had full fifteen hundred men with him, chiefly Northumbrians, Tynedale, and Reedsdale men, who looked with scorn upon the much smaller array of their hereditary foes.

The meeting, however, began meekly enough, with merriment and jests. Such Border meetings of truce, though they might wind up in blood, as was to happen now, always began as occasions of marketing and revelry. Both parties came fully armed to such a tryst, yet intermixed in mutual sports and familiar intercourse,

"Some gaed to drink, and some stood still,And some to cards and dice them sped."

"Some gaed to drink, and some stood still,

And some to cards and dice them sped."

The Scots planted their pavilions or tents and feared no ill, even when they saw five hundred Fenwicks (a powerful Northumbrian clan) "marching in a flock." The clerk began to call the rolls, and to deal with one complaint after another for the loss of cows or ewes or other property. In the course of the proceedings an accusation was raised against an English freebooter named Farnstein, at the instance of a Scotch complainant. A "true bill" was found against the man, which means that he ought to be handed over to justice. But the English Warden alleged that he had fled, and could not be found. Carmichael, considering this as a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bade the Northumbrians speak out plainly, and "cloke no cause for ill nor good." Upon this Sir John Forster, a proud and insolent man, "began to reckon kin and blood," by which picturesque phrase the ballad probably means that he swiftly added up his forces. Then he drew himself up, backed by his Dalesmen, all fingering their bows, and with insulting expressions against Carmichael's kin he bade him "match with his equals." The men of Tynedale, who only wanted a pretext for a quarrel, drew their bows and let off a flight of arrows among the Scots. The more moderate men on both sides at first tried to quell the tumult, but in vain. The fight was bound to come.

"Then there was naught but bow and spear,And every man pulled out a brand."

"Then there was naught but bow and spear,

And every man pulled out a brand."

The English showed their usual dexterity with the bow. The Scots, for some reason, never took to this weapon; they had fire-arms, pistolets, and the like. The terrible cloth-yard arrows "from tackles flew," and the old proverb bade fair to justify itself, that every English archer carried twenty-four Scots under his belt—an allusion to his bundle of shafts. Success seemed certain for the English side; some of the foremost men among the Scots fell, and even Carmichael was thrown to the ground and was within an ace of being made a prisoner. The air resounded with the rallying cries of the English, the names of their captains, "A Shaftoe! A Shaftoe!" "A Fenwick! A Fenwick!" The Scots had little harness among them, only a few had the jack which served them as a defence for the body. Nevertheless, they laid about them sturdily, with "dints full dour," and there was many a cracked crown. Then suddenly a shout was heard. "Jedburgh's here!" A body of Jedburgh burgesses appear to have arrived just in the nick of time to add to the outnumbered force of Scots. They probably wore armour and what were called "white hats," that is steel caps. Meanwhile, the English, too confident of easy victory, instead of slaying more Scots and turning the repulse into a rout, thought only to plunder the unhappy merchants, who, trusting to the truce which had been proclaimed, had attached themselves to the meeting. Had it not been for the English greed, the Scots would have been defeated. As it was, the Tynedale men, throwing themselves on the merchants' packs, fell into disorder, their adversaries recovered from their surprise, and the timely arrival of the Jedburgh men turned the tables. A short, sharp bout ended in the triumph of the Scots and the Northumbrians fled, "Down ower the brae, like clogged bees." The Scots took many prisoners, amongst whom were the English Warden, and his son-in-law, Sir Francis Russell; but the most gallant soldier taken that day was that courteous knight, Sir Cuthbert Collingwood, to whose family Admiral Collingwood belonged. Several of those "Fenwicks fierce," who had turned up five hundred strong at the commencement of the fray, had the mortification of being carried off in triumph by their enemies. All these prisoners were sent to the Earl of Morton, Regent of Scotland, who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, until the bitter feeling natural after such an affair had died down, at any rate in part, and by this prudent precaution the Regent is thought to have probably averted a war between the two kingdoms. He ultimately permitted them to return to their own country, parting from them with great expressions of regard. The interest taken in the matter by Queen Elizabeth, and the representations of her Ambassador at Edinburgh, no doubt had something to do with this happy issue.

It will probably occur to the careful reader of this book as somewhat strange to find the ruling powers of England and Scotland both so set upon peace; but it must be remembered that at this period in the reign of Queen Elizabeth the heir-apparent to the English throne was the young James VI., King of Scotland, who would naturally not wish for any quarrel with the country which he hoped later on to rule. Elizabeth, on the other hand, had Mary Queen of Scots as her prisoner, and did not wish in any further way to strain the already delicate relations between the two countries.

The Carmichael mentioned in this ballad, known in full as Sir John Carmichael of Edrom, Scottish Warden of the Middle Marches, was afterwards murdered by one of the wild Armstrongs, who is said to have composed, the night before his execution, the following manly and pathetic "Good-night." The third and fourth lines show clearly the disrepute into which this once honoured clan was falling; the seventh and eighth lines could only have been written by one who, despite his faults, had the true gallant instincts deep in his blood.

ARMSTRONG'S GOOD-NIGHT

"This night is my departing night,For here nae langer must I stay;There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,But wishes me away.What I have done thro' lack of wit,I never, never can recall;I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;Good-night and joy be with you all!"

"This night is my departing night,For here nae langer must I stay;There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,But wishes me away.

"This night is my departing night,

For here nae langer must I stay;

There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,

But wishes me away.

What I have done thro' lack of wit,I never, never can recall;I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;Good-night and joy be with you all!"

What I have done thro' lack of wit,

I never, never can recall;

I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;

Good-night and joy be with you all!"

Chapter XXXIV

Jock o' the Side

"He is well kend, John of the Syde,A greater thief did never ryde."

"He is well kend, John of the Syde,

A greater thief did never ryde."

The subject of this ballad bears some resemblance to Kinmont Willie, and such adventures were not uncommon in those turbulent times. The events we are to relate originated in a raid ridden by the famous Liddesdale spearmen (the hardiest of the Scotch moss-troopers) upon English ground.

"They had better hae staid at home," for the outcome was that one of their best men, Michael of Winfield, was killed, and Jock o' the Side, nephew to the Laird of Mangerton, was taken prisoner, and promptly lodged in Newcastle Jail. When the news reached Jock's mother she kilted her coats up to her knee, and ran down the water with the tears falling in torrents from her eyes. She ran to Mangerton House, on the banks of the Liddel, and told her brother, the good old lord, the bad news. "Michael is killed, and they have taken my son John." "Never fear, sister," quoth Mangerton, "I have eighty-three yokes of oxen, my barns, my byres, my folds are all filled, I'll part with them all ere Johnie shall die." Then he thought out his plan. "Three men I'll send to set him free, all harnessed in the best steel; the English loons shall feel the weight of their broad swords. The Laird's Jock shall be one, the Laird's Wat two, and Hobbie Noble, thou must be the third. Thy coat is blue, and since England banished thee thou hast been true to me." Now this Hobbie was an Englishman, born in Bewcastledale, the wildest district in Cumberland. Like numerous other English outlaws, he had made his own country too hot to hold him; his misdeeds had banished him to Liddesdale, and he was now in high favour with the Laird of Mangerton. The Laird gave the dauntless three orders to reverse the shoes of their horses, so that anyone crossing their trail might think they were proceeding in a contrary direction. He also warned them not to seem gentlemen, but to look like corn-carriers; not to show their good armour, nor appear like men of war, but to be arrayed as country lads, with halter and cart-collar on each mare. So Hobbie mounted his grey, Jack his lively bay, and Wat his white horse, and they rode for Tyne water. When they reached the Tyne they lighted down at a ford, and by the moonlight they cut a tree, with fifteen nogs on each side, to serve them as a scaling ladder, to climb Newcastle wall with. However, when they came to Newcastle town and alighted at the wall, their tree proved three ells too short, and there was nothing for it but to force the gates. At the gate a proud porter attempted to withstand them. The Armstrongs wrung his neck, took his life and his keys at once, and cast his body behind the wall. Soon they reached the jail, and called to the prisoner,

"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,Or art thou weary of thy thrall?"

"Sleeps thou, wakes thou, Jock o' the Side,

Or art thou weary of thy thrall?"

Jock answered dolefully, "Often I wake, nay, sleep seldom comes to me—but who's this knows my name so well?" Then out and spoke the Laird's Jock, his cousin and namesake, "Now fear ye not, my billie!" quoth he; "for here are the Laird's Jock, the Laird's Wat, and Hobbie Noble the Englishman come to set you free." Jock o' the Side did not think it possible that they could effect his release. "Now hold thy tongue, my good cousin," said he. "This cannot be—

'For if all Liddesdale were here the night,The morn's the day that I must die.'

'For if all Liddesdale were here the night,

The morn's the day that I must die.'

They have laid full fifteen stone of Spanish iron on me, I am fast bound with locks and keys in this dark and dreary dungeon." But the Laird's Jock replied. "Fear not that; faint heart never won fair lady. Work thou within, we'll work without, and I'll be sworn we'll set thee free." They loosed the first strong door without a key, the next chained door they split to flinders. The Laird's Jock got the prisoner on his back, irons and all, and brought him down the stairs with no small speed and joy. Hobbie Noble offered to bear some of his weight, but the Laird's Jock said that he was lighter than a flea. When they had all gone out at the gates, the prisoner was set on horseback, and they all joked wantonly. "O Jock," they cried, "you ride like a winsome lady, with your feet all on one side." The night was wet, but they did not mind. They hied them on full merrily until they came to the ford at Cholerford, above Hexham. There the water was running mountains high. They asked an old man, "Honest man, tell us in haste, will the water ride?" "I've lived here thirty years and three," replied he, "and I never saw the Tyne so big, nor running so like a sea." The Laird's Wat counselled them to halt. "We need not try it, the day is come we all must die!" "Poor faint-hearted thief!" cried the Laird's Jock. "There'll no man die but him that's fated; I'll guide you safely through; lift the prisoner behind me." With that they took to the water and managed to swim through. "Here we are all safe," said the Laird's Jock triumphantly. "Poor faint Wat, what think ye now?" They now saw twenty men pursuing them, sent from Newcastle, all English lads, stout and true. But when their leader saw the water he shook his head. "It won't ride, my lads," said he. Then he cried to the party of Scots: "Take the prisoner, but leave me my fetters." But the Laird's Jock was not a Scot for nothing. "I wat weel no," he shouted back, "I'll keep them, they'll make horse-shoes for my mare—for I am sure she's bought them right dear from thee." Then they went on their way to Liddesdale, as fast as they could, and did not rest until they had brought the rescued prisoner to his own fireside, and made him free of his irons.

Chapter XXXV

Hobbie Noble

"Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!For gold and gear he'll sell ye a'."

"Keep ye weel frae the traitor Mains!

For gold and gear he'll sell ye a'."

In the ballad of "Jock o' the Side," we have seen Hobbie Noble act a distinguished part in the deliverance from captivity of Jock, cousin of the Laird of Mangerton, chief of the Armstrong clan. Now in the following ballad we shall learn how ungrateful the Armstrongs were for his faithful services. The Armstrongs were one of those outlawed or broken clans, whose hand was against every man, and living as they did in what was called the Debateable Land, on the frontier between Liddesdale and England, these stark cattle-lifters and arrant thieves levied tribute from English and Scotch alike. Halbert or Hobbie Noble was an Englishman, a Cumbrian born and bred, but his misdeeds were so great, they banished him never to return, and he established himself among the Armstrongs. From their territory he continued his depredations upon the English, in resentment of which they at length offered a bribe to the Armstrongs to decoy him into England under pretence of inviting him to join them in a foray.

"At Kershope foot the tryst was set,Kershope of the lily lee,"

"At Kershope foot the tryst was set,

Kershope of the lily lee,"

and the name of the chief traitor and leader of the gang was Sim o' the Mains. Hobbie harnessed himself "both with the iron and with the steel," buckled spur on his heel and belted brand to his side, leaped upon his "fringed grey," and rode down the banks of the Liddel. As soon as he saw the others, "Well be ye met, my comrades five," he cried. "Now, what is your will with me?" They all answered, with one consent, "Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble; wilt thou ride with us into England, and we will be thy safe warrant? If we get a horse worth a hundred pounds thou shalt soon be upon its back." But Hobbie said that he dared not ride into England by day, as he had a feud with the Land-Sergeant (an officer under the Warden, to whom was entrusted the arrest of delinquents).

"But will ye stay till the day gae down,Until the night come o'er the ground,And I'll be a guide worth any twoThat may in Liddesdale be found?Though the night be black as pitch and tar,I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high;And bring ye all in safety back,If ye'll be true and follow me."

"But will ye stay till the day gae down,

Until the night come o'er the ground,

And I'll be a guide worth any two

That may in Liddesdale be found?

Though the night be black as pitch and tar,

I'll guide ye o'er yon hill so high;

And bring ye all in safety back,

If ye'll be true and follow me."

They let him guide them over moss and moor, over hill and hope, and over many a down, until they came to the Foulbogshiel. But meanwhile word was gone to the Land-Sergeant, in Askerton, about seventeen miles from Carlisle. "The deer that you have hunted so long, is in Bewcastle Waste this day." The Sergeant understood at once. Quoth he, "Hobbie Noble is that deer! He carries the style full high. He has often driven our bloodhounds back. Now go, warn the bows of Hartlie Burn, see they sharpen their arrows on the wall! Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, take word to them that they meet me on the Rodric-haugh at break of day. We will on to Conscouthart-green, for there, I think, we'll get our quarry." In the meantime Hobbie had alighted and was sleeping in the Foulbogshiel. He dreamed that his horse was shot beneath him, and he himself was hard put to it to get away. The cocks crowed, the day dawned, and if Hobbie had not wakened he would have been taken or slain in his sleep.

"Awake, awake, my comrades five!I trow here makes a full ill day;Yet the worst cloak o' this companyI hope shall cross the Waste this day,"

"Awake, awake, my comrades five!

I trow here makes a full ill day;

Yet the worst cloak o' this company

I hope shall cross the Waste this day,"

Thus cried he to his companions, thinking the gates were clear. But alas! it was not so. They were beset by the Land-Sergeant's men, cruel and keen, and while the Englishmen came before, the traitor Sim o' the Mains came behind. Had Noble been as masterful a champion as Wallace himself, he could not have won under such untoward circumstances. He had but a laddie's sword, but he did more than a laddie's deeds, for that sword would have cleared Conscouthart-green had it not broken over one of the English heads. So his treacherous companions delivered Hobbie up to the officers of justice; they bound him with his own bowstring, but what made his heart feel sorest of all, was that it was his own five who bound him. They took him on to Carlisle. They asked him mockingly if he knew the way. He thought much, but said little, though he knew it as well as they did. As they took him up the Carlisle streets, the old wives cast their windows wide, every woman whispering to another, "That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side." The poor fellow cried out, "Fie on ye, women! why call ye me man? It's no like a man that I'm used, but like a beaten hound that's been fighting in the gutter." They had him up through Carlisle town, and set him by a chimney fire, where they gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, and a can of beer. "Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, "and to-morrow in Carlisle thou shalt not die." "How can I confess them," says the poor man, "when I never saw them." And he swore a great oath, by the day that he was born, that he had never had anything of my lord's. He had but short shrift and they hung him the next morning.

According to the ballad, his last words were of manly pride:—

"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,That eats and drinks o' meal and malt."

"Yet wad I rather be ca'd Hobbie Noble,

In Carlisle, where he suffers for his fault,

Than I'd be ca'd the traitor Mains,

That eats and drinks o' meal and malt."

Thus died the doughty Noble. It is proper to add, however, that the Armstrong's chief, Lord Mangerton, with whom Hobbie had been a favourite, took a severe revenge on the traitors who betrayed him. The contriver of the scheme, Sim o' the Mains, fled into England to escape the resentment of his chief, and was there caught by the English, and himself executed at Carlisle, two months after Hobbie's death in the same place! Such is, at least, the tradition of Liddesdale.

Chapter XXXVI

The Laird o' Logie

In 1592, the Earl of Bothwell, Francis Stuart, failed in an attempt against King James VI., whom he tried to surprise in the palace of Falkland. Amongst his adherents, whom he sought about the King's person, was the hero of this ballad, the Laird of Logie, who was taken prisoner and laid in Edinburgh chapel in the keeping of Sir John Carmichael, the hero of the ballad called the "Raid of Reidswire." Carmichael was at this time captain of the King's Guard, and had the keeping of State criminals.

I will sing, if ye will hearken,If ye will hearken unto me;The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,The wanton laird o' young Logie.Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;And may Margaret's lamenting sair,A' for the love of young Logie."Lament, lament na, may Margaret,And of your weeping let me be;For ye maun to the King himsell,To seek the life of young Logie."May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—"If I canna get young Logie's life,Farewell to Scotland for evermair."

I will sing, if ye will hearken,If ye will hearken unto me;The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,The wanton laird o' young Logie.

I will sing, if ye will hearken,

If ye will hearken unto me;

The King has ta'en a poor prisoner,

The wanton laird o' young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;And may Margaret's lamenting sair,A' for the love of young Logie.

Young Logie's laid in Edinburgh chapel,

Carmichael's the keeper o' the key;

And may Margaret's lamenting sair,

A' for the love of young Logie.

"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,And of your weeping let me be;For ye maun to the King himsell,To seek the life of young Logie."

"Lament, lament na, may Margaret,

And of your weeping let me be;

For ye maun to the King himsell,

To seek the life of young Logie."

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—"If I canna get young Logie's life,Farewell to Scotland for evermair."

May Margaret has kilted her green cleiding,[#]

And she has curl'd back her yellow hair—

"If I canna get young Logie's life,

Farewell to Scotland for evermair."

[#] Clothing.

When she came before the King,She kneelit lowly on her knee—"O what's the matter, may Margaret?And what needs a' this courtesie?""A boon, a boon, my noble liege,A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!And the first boon that I come to crave,Is to grant me the life of young Logie."

When she came before the King,She kneelit lowly on her knee—"O what's the matter, may Margaret?And what needs a' this courtesie?"

When she came before the King,

She kneelit lowly on her knee—

"O what's the matter, may Margaret?

And what needs a' this courtesie?"

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!And the first boon that I come to crave,Is to grant me the life of young Logie."

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege,

A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!

And the first boon that I come to crave,

Is to grant me the life of young Logie."

[image]"A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!"

[image]

"A boon, a boon, my noble liege, A boon, a boon, I beg o' thee!"

"O na, O na, may Margaret,Forsooth, and so it mauna be;For a' the gowd o' fair ScotlandShall not save the life of young Logie."But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,And sent the tokens to Carmichael,To cause young Logie get his life.

"O na, O na, may Margaret,Forsooth, and so it mauna be;For a' the gowd o' fair ScotlandShall not save the life of young Logie."

"O na, O na, may Margaret,

Forsooth, and so it mauna be;

For a' the gowd o' fair Scotland

Shall not save the life of young Logie."

But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,And sent the tokens to Carmichael,To cause young Logie get his life.

But she has stown[#] the King's redding kaim,[#]

Likewise the Queen her wedding knife,

And sent the tokens to Carmichael,

To cause young Logie get his life.

[#] Stolen.[#] Dressing comb.

She sent him a purse of the red gowd,Another o' the white monie;She sent him a pistol for each hand,And bade him shoot when he gat free.When he came to the Tolbooth stair,There he let his volley flee;It made the King in his chamber start,E'en in the bed where he might be."Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',And bid Carmichael come speak to me;For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,That yon's the shot o' young Logie."When Carmichael came before the King,He fell low down upon his knee;The very first word that the King spake,Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"Carmichael turn'd him round about(I wot the tear blinded his ee),"There came a token frae your grace,Has ta'en away the laird frae me.""Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;"The morn the justice-court's to stand,And Logie's place ye maun supplie."Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,Even as fast as he may dree—"O if young Logie be within,Tell him to come and speak with me!"May Margaret turn'd her round about(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."

She sent him a purse of the red gowd,Another o' the white monie;She sent him a pistol for each hand,And bade him shoot when he gat free.

She sent him a purse of the red gowd,

Another o' the white monie;

She sent him a pistol for each hand,

And bade him shoot when he gat free.

When he came to the Tolbooth stair,There he let his volley flee;It made the King in his chamber start,E'en in the bed where he might be.

When he came to the Tolbooth stair,

There he let his volley flee;

It made the King in his chamber start,

E'en in the bed where he might be.

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',And bid Carmichael come speak to me;For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

"Gae out, gae out, my merrymen a',

And bid Carmichael come speak to me;

For I'll lay my life the pledge o' that,

That yon's the shot o' young Logie."

When Carmichael came before the King,He fell low down upon his knee;The very first word that the King spake,Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

When Carmichael came before the King,

He fell low down upon his knee;

The very first word that the King spake,

Was—"Where's the laird of young Logie?"

Carmichael turn'd him round about(I wot the tear blinded his ee),"There came a token frae your grace,Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

Carmichael turn'd him round about

(I wot the tear blinded his ee),

"There came a token frae your grace,

Has ta'en away the laird frae me."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;"The morn the justice-court's to stand,And Logie's place ye maun supplie."

"Hast thou play'd me that, Carmichael?

And hast thou play'd me that?" quoth he;

"The morn the justice-court's to stand,

And Logie's place ye maun supplie."

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,Even as fast as he may dree—"O if young Logie be within,Tell him to come and speak with me!"

Carmichael's awa to Margaret's bower,

Even as fast as he may dree—

"O if young Logie be within,

Tell him to come and speak with me!"

May Margaret turn'd her round about(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."

May Margaret turn'd her round about

(I wot a loud laugh laughed she),

"The egg is chipp'd, the bird is flown,

Ye'll see nae mair of young Logie."

Chapter XXXVII

Jamie Telfer of the Fair Dodhead

"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,And a harried man I think I be!There's nothing left at the fair DodheadBut a woeful wife and bairnies three!"

"'Tis I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead,

And a harried man I think I be!

There's nothing left at the fair Dodhead

But a woeful wife and bairnies three!"

About Martinmas time, when Border steeds get corn and hay, the Captain of Bewcastle rode over to Tividale to forage. And first he met a guide high up in Hardhaughswire, and next he met a guide low down in Borthwick water.

"What tidings, what tidings, my trusty guide?" "No tidings have I—yet if ye go to the fair Dodhead, I'll let ye see many a cow's calf." Right hastily they came to the fair Dodhead, loosed the cows and ransacked the house.

Jamie Telfer's[#] heart was sore when he saw this, and the tears ran down his cheeks, and he pleaded with the Captain to give him back his gear, or else he would have revenge upon him. But the Captain only laughed and said, "Man, there's nothing in thy house but an old sword without a sheath that could scarcely kill a mouse."

[#] The Telfers, though they had become Scotch at the time of this ballad, were originally a Norman family, descended from the knight "Taille-fer" (cut-iron), who came over with William the Conqueror.

The sun was not up though the moon had gone down, and there was a sprinkling of new-fallen snow upon the ground when Jamie Telfer ran ten miles a-foot between the Dodhead and Stob's Hall. When he came to the tower gate he shouted aloud, and old Gibby Elliot came out and asked the meaning of such disturbance.

"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a sad wife and three bairnies."

"Go and seek help at Branksome Hall, for ye shall get none from me—seek help where ye paid blackmail, for, man, never did ye paymeany."

James turned him about, his eyes blinded with tears. "Never shall I pay blackmail again to Elliot. My hounds may all run masterless, my hawks may fly as they will from tree to tree, and my lord may seize the lands of his vassal, for never shall I see again the fair Dodhead."

He turned him to Tiviotside and made as fast as he could for Coultart cleugh, and there he shouted aloud until out came old Jock Grieve, and asked who it was that made such a noise.

"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I, for nothing is left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies, and six poor calves stand in the stall crying aloud for their mothers."

"Alack!" quoth Jock Grieve, "alack, my heart is sore for thee! for I married the eldest of three sisters, and you married the youngest."

So he took out his bonny black horse, right well fed with corn and hay, and set Jamie Telfer on his back, to take his troubles to Catslockhill. When he came to Catslockhill he shouted aloud until out came William's Wat to ask what was the matter.

"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I. The Captain of Bewcastle has driven away my gear; for God's sake rise and help me."

"Alas and alack," quoth William's Wat, "my heart is sore for thee. Never did I yet come to the fair Dodhead and found thy basket bare."

He set his two sons on coal-black steeds, and he himself mounted a freckled grey, and with Jamie they rode to Branksome Hall, where they shouted so loud and high that old Buccleuch came out to ask what was the matter.

"It is I, Jamie Telfer, of the fair Dodhead, and a harried man am I; there is nought left at fair Dodhead but a weeping wife and three bairnies."

"Alack," quoth the good old lord, "my heart is sorry for thee; go call Willie, my son, to come speedily. Go call up hastily the men that live by the waterside. They who will not ride for Telfer's cattle, let them never again look me in the face. Call up Wat o'Harden and his sons, call up Borthwick Water, Gaudilands and Allanhaugh, call Gilmanscleugh and Commonside; ride by the gate at Priesthaughswire and call the Currors of the Lee, and call brave Willie of Gorrinberry as ye come down the Hermitage slack."

So the Scotts rode and ran bravely and steadily, shouting "Ride for Branksome," and when Willie looked ahead he saw the cattle being driven fast up the Frostylee brook, and to the plain.

"Who drives yon cattle?" cried Willie Scott, "to make us a laughing stock?" "'Tis I, the Captain of Bewcastle; I will not hide my name from thee."

"Let Telfer's cattle go back, or by the faith of my body," said Willie, "I'll ware my dame's calf-skin on thee."

"I will not let the cattle go back neither for thy love nor fear; I will drive Jamie Telfer's cattle in spite of all your company of Scotts."

"Set on them, lads!" cried Willie; "set on them cruelly; there will be many an empty saddle before they come to Ritterford."

So they set to with heart and hand, and blows fell like hail until many were slain and many a horse ran masterless. But Willie was struck by a sword through the headpiece and fell to the ground, and auld Wat of Harden wept for rage when he saw that his son was slain. He took off his steel cap and waved it thrice, and the snow on the Dinlay mountain was never whiter than the locks of his hair.

"Revenge! revenge!" he cried; "lay on them, lads. Willie's death shall be revenged or we will never see Teviotside again."

The lances flew into splinters, and many another brave rider fell, and before the Kershope ford was reached, the Scots had got the victory. John of Brigham was slain, and John of Barlow, and thirty more of the Captain's men lay bleeding on the ground. The Captain himself was run through the right thigh and the bone broken, and never would woman love him again, if he should live a hundred years.

"Take back the kye!" said he; "they are dear kye to some of us; never will a fair lady smile on me if I should live to be a hundred."

Word came to the Captain's bride in her bower, that her lord had been taken prisoner. "I would rather have had a winding-sheet," said she, "and helped to put it over his head than that he should have been disgraced by the Border Scot when he led his men over Liddel."

There was a wild gallant there named Watty Wudspurs (Madspurs) who cried, "Let us on to his house in Stanegirthside, if any man will ride with us!"

So they came to Stanegirthside, pulled down the trees, burst open the door, and drove out all the Captain's kye before them.

An old woman of the Captain's kin cried, "Who dare loose the Captain's kye, or answer to him and his men?"

"It is I, Watty Wudspurs, that loose the kye; I will not hide my name from thee; and I will loose them in spite of him and his men."

When they came to the fair Dodhead they were a welcome sight, for instead of his own ten milk kye Jamie Telfer had now got thirty-three. He paid the rescue shot in gold and silver, and at Willie Scott's burial, there were many weeping eyes.

Chapter XXXVIII

Muckle-mou'd Meg

The Scott family was very powerful on the Border in the days of Queen Elizabeth, the bravest and strongest of them being the bold Lord of Buccleuch. His name is often mentioned in Border history, and so is that of another Scott, "auld Wat Scott of Harden." He was a fit man for these wild times, being both brave and canny. He married a beautiful Border lass, "the Flower of Yarrow," and it is surprising how many able men have descended from this marriage. Not only did Sir Walter Scott and Robert Louis Stevenson claim descent from this fine old freebooter; his daughter Maggie married Gilbert Elliot of Stobs, nicknamed "Gibbie wi' the Golden Garters," and from them were descended George Augustus Elliot (Lord Heathfield), famous for his splendid defence of Gibraltar, worthy of the best Border traditions, and also the Elliots of Minto, who have twice been Viceroys of India, once late in the eighteenth and once early in the twentieth century.

But on one occasion one of the sons of Scott of Harden came perilously near to finding out how far his neck was capable of carrying the weight of his body. It was late in Queen Elizabeth's reign, and King James VI. of Scotland was extra anxious to live at peace with England, for he expected now very soon to be King over both countries. So he told his Warden, the bold Buccleuch, to restrain the wild Scotch freebooters; and you may imagine that the order was little to their liking. Young Willie Scott, Scott of Harden's son, quickly determined that cattle he must steal anyhow; he was his father's son, and did not his father once say, as he gazed longingly at a fine English haystack, "if only ye'd got four legs, haystack, ye would not be standing there!" So as Willie Scott was forbidden to steal English cattle, he decided to steal Scotch.

Sir Gideon Murray, of Elibank Castle, was an old enemy of the Scott family, having once been told off to punish them for some audacious act of theirs. And Sir Gideon had some cattle that would make any Borderer's mouth water and his arm itch to drive them home. So Willie and a few boon companions started off one night for Elibank. But a warning voice had reached Sir Gideon, and Willie received a warm reception, and was taken prisoner. He lay in the castle dungeon all night, reflecting on the folly of being caught, and fully expecting to be hanged very early next morning, perhaps without even his breakfast to comfort him!

But early on the fatal morning, Lady Murray startled her husband by asking him if he really meant to hang Willie Scott. He looked at her as if she were mad; of course, what else was there to do? Then she unfolded her scheme. She had a very plain-looking daughter known as "Muckle mou'd Meg," or Margaret with the extremely large mouth. Young Scott was handsome and of good family, and poor Meg would never again have such a chance of getting a good husband. Why not release Willie Scott, if only he would marry Mucklemou'd Meg?

They were men of action in those days, and the priest was instantly sent for. Then, all being ready, the prisoner was brought forth. He was shown on the one hand the priest and the girl, and on the other hand the tree and the noose, and was asked to take his choice. His first proud feeling was that he would be mocked at if he married such a girl on such terms, and he walked bravely towards the rope. But the nearer he got to it the uglier it looked. He had to confess to himself that it was not at all a comfortable looking rope; he had a nasty feeling round his neck from merely looking at it, and thought it would probably feel worse when it got round his throat. Then he looked at the girl; she certainly was not as beautiful as his mother, the lovely Flower of Yarrow; and a Borderer loved a beautiful wife. But if he hanged he would have no wife at all! Then he suggested that he should have three days to think it over, but Murray said no, neither priest nor noose was prepared to wait, he must decide at once. Then he looked again at Meg and saw a kind glance in her eye; she felt sorry for the handsome young fellow. Then he knew she had a good heart, and that decided the matter; he went up and kissed her with a good grace, and the priest married them straight away.

Afterwards he became Sir William Scott, and an important man on the Border. And, best of all, Meg proved to be a real good wife to him, and he never regretted the day when he elected to suffer the knot to be tied by the priest instead of by the hangman.

Chapter XXXIX

The Dowie Dens of Yarrow

This is one of the most famous and widely known of all the Border ballads, and has proved a source of inspiration to several poets, including Wordsworth, who wrote three poems upon the subject. The bard does not relate the full particulars, but gives only the barest outlines of facts, which were well known in his day, and still live in tradition. The story tells of a duel between two brothers-in-law. The very spot where it took place is still pointed out, a low muir on the Yarrow banks. The slain knight was apparently Walter Scott, one of the ancestors of Lord Napier. His murderer was his brother-in-law, John Scott. "Dowie" means melancholy, and "den" is a word used to describe a narrow, rocky valley, usually wildly beautiful.

Late at e'en drinking the wine,And e'er they paid the lawing,They set a combat them between,To fight it in the dawing.[#]

Late at e'en drinking the wine,

And e'er they paid the lawing,

They set a combat them between,

To fight it in the dawing.[#]

[#] Dawn.

"O stay at home my noble lord,O stay at home my marrow.My cruel brother will you betray,On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow."

"O stay at home my noble lord,

O stay at home my marrow.

My cruel brother will you betray,

On the dowie houms[#] of Yarrow."

[#] Hillocks.

"O fare ye well, my lady gay!O fare ye well, my Sarah!For I must go, though I ne'er returnFrom the dowie banks of Yarrow."She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,As oft she had done before, O,She belted him with his noble brand,"And he's away to Yarrow."As he gaed up the Tennies bankI wot he gaed with sorrow,Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,On the dowie houms of Yarrow."O come ye here to part your land,The bonnie forest thorough?Or come ye here to wield your brand,On the dowie houms of Yarrow?""I come not here to part my land,And neither to beg nor borrow,I come to wield my noble brandOn the bonnie banks of Yarrow."If I see all, ye're nine to ane;And that's an unequal marrow;Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."Four has he hurt, and five has slain,On the bloody braes of Yarrow,Till that stubborn knight came him behind,And ran his body thorough."Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,And tell your sister Sarah,To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."

"O fare ye well, my lady gay!O fare ye well, my Sarah!For I must go, though I ne'er returnFrom the dowie banks of Yarrow."

"O fare ye well, my lady gay!

O fare ye well, my Sarah!

For I must go, though I ne'er return

From the dowie banks of Yarrow."

She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,As oft she had done before, O,She belted him with his noble brand,"And he's away to Yarrow."

She kissed his cheek, she combed his hair,

As oft she had done before, O,

She belted him with his noble brand,

"And he's away to Yarrow."

As he gaed up the Tennies bankI wot he gaed with sorrow,Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

As he gaed up the Tennies bank

I wot he gaed with sorrow,

Till down in a den he spied nine armed men,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"O come ye here to part your land,The bonnie forest thorough?Or come ye here to wield your brand,On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"

"O come ye here to part your land,

The bonnie forest thorough?

Or come ye here to wield your brand,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow?"

"I come not here to part my land,And neither to beg nor borrow,I come to wield my noble brandOn the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"I come not here to part my land,

And neither to beg nor borrow,

I come to wield my noble brand

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow.

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;And that's an unequal marrow;Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

"If I see all, ye're nine to ane;

And that's an unequal marrow;

Yet will I fight, while lasts my brand,

On the bonnie banks of Yarrow."

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,On the bloody braes of Yarrow,Till that stubborn knight came him behind,And ran his body thorough.

Four has he hurt, and five has slain,

On the bloody braes of Yarrow,

Till that stubborn knight came him behind,

And ran his body thorough.

"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,And tell your sister Sarah,To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."

"Gae hame, gae hame, good brother John,

And tell your sister Sarah,

To come and lift her leafu'[#] lord;

He's sleepin' sound on Yarrow."

[#] Lawful.

"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,I fear there will be sorrow!I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,Wi' my true love on Yarrow."O gentle wind, that bloweth south,From where my love repaireth,Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,And tell me how he fareth!"But in the glen strive armed men;They've wrought me dole and sorrow;They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain,He bleeding lies on Yarrow."As she sped down yon high, high hill,She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,And in the den spied ten slain men,On the dowie banks of Yarrow.She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,She searched his wounds all thorough,She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,On the dowie houms of Yarrow."Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,For a' this breeds but sorrow;I'll wed ye to a better lord,Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,I fear there will be sorrow!I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,Wi' my true love on Yarrow.

"Yestreen I dreamed a dolefu' dream,

I fear there will be sorrow!

I dreamed I pu'd the heather green,

Wi' my true love on Yarrow.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,From where my love repaireth,Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,And tell me how he fareth!

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,

From where my love repaireth,

Convey a kiss from his dear mouth,

And tell me how he fareth!

"But in the glen strive armed men;They've wrought me dole and sorrow;They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain,He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

"But in the glen strive armed men;

They've wrought me dole and sorrow;

They've slain—the comeliest knight they've slain,

He bleeding lies on Yarrow."

As she sped down yon high, high hill,She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,And in the den spied ten slain men,On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

As she sped down yon high, high hill,

She gaed wi' dole and sorrow,

And in the den spied ten slain men,

On the dowie banks of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,She searched his wounds all thorough,She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair,

She searched his wounds all thorough,

She kiss'd them till her lips grew red,

On the dowie houms of Yarrow.

"Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,For a' this breeds but sorrow;I'll wed ye to a better lord,Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

"Now haud[#] your tongue, my daughter dear,

For a' this breeds but sorrow;

I'll wed ye to a better lord,

Than him ye lost on Yarrow."

[#] Hold.

"O haud your tongue, my father dear!Ye mind me but of sorrow;A fairer rose did never bloomThan now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

"O haud your tongue, my father dear!

Ye mind me but of sorrow;

A fairer rose did never bloom

Than now lies cropp'd on Yarrow."

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