Chapter 9

[image]"She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough."Chapter XLBelted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland"When for the lists they sought the plainThe stately lady's silken reinDid noble Howard hold;Unarmed by her side he walk'dAnd much, in courteous phrase they talk'dOf feats of arms of old.Costly his garb; his Flemish ruffFell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,With satin slashed and lined;Tawny his boot and gold his spur,His cloak was all of Poland fur,His hose with silver twined.His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,Hung in a broad and studded belt;Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers stillCall'd noble Howard, Belted Will."SCOTT,Lay of the Last Minstrel.One of the many picturesque figures of Border history was "Belted Will," or to call him by his proper name and title, Lord William Howard, a younger son of the powerful Duke of Norfolk.His mother had died when he was an infant, and his father, the foremost Roman Catholic nobleman in England, took up the cause of Mary Queen of Scots, whom he wished to marry. For this treason against Queen Elizabeth he was beheaded in 1572, when young Lord William was only nine years old. At the age of fourteen the young lord's guardians arranged for him a marriage with Elizabeth Dacre, a member of a powerful Border family, and heiress to the Baronry of Gilsland. As the bride was even younger than her boy-husband, let us hope that they both went to school again immediately after the marriage!When he grew to manhood, Lord William warmly supported the Roman Catholic cause and was imprisoned by Elizabeth; but when James became King, he was released and restored to his estates on the Border. Throughout the remainder of his career he was the most notable man of his district. He knew how to make himself respected by his wild neighbours. His fame and power were great. He founded the fortunes of his family so surely that he it is who is usually thought of as the ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle, though his great-grandson was the first to hold the title.Lord William had great energy and many interests, and was remarkable as being an "all-round" man. He was equally a leader of men and a lover of books; no detail in the management of his estates was too small for him to study; he was a good husband to his wife, and a splendid father to his fifteen children. He selected the most beautiful of his several castles, that of Naworth, and repaired and almost rebuilt it; he took there the fine old oak ceiling from the ancient castle of Kirkoswald, which was ornamented with portraits of all the kings of England. Visitors to Naworth can see to-day the "hall of Belted Will," by kind permission of the present Earl of Carlisle.He was something of a poet and very much of an antiquarian. His estates were full of interesting things, and none knew them better than he. There were miles of the Roman wall, still in excellent condition; there were many Roman altars and inscriptions, which he copied and translated; quite near him, at Coome Crags, was a Roman quarry, which can still be seen to-day, with marks of Roman tools on its stones. It stands in a beautiful wood by the side of the lovely river Irthing. And only a little further on, standing on a fine cliff overlooking the river, is the old Roman station of Amboglanna, a fort that covered five and a half acres, with walls that were once five feet thick, the main foundations of which are still standing, clear enough for anyone to trace them out. It is quieter there to-day than it was in Roman times, or in the stirring days of Belted Will!It is good to think that this broad-shouldered, gallant, powerful nobleman, who could ride, shoot, fight and keep this wild district in order, was at the same time such a clever student and book-worm. They tell a story that he was once sitting in his library intent on a book when his men brought in a robber whom they had caught red-handed, and asked Lord William to try him. Belted Will, angry at being interrupted, cried out:—"Don't disturb me; hang him!" Half an hour later he rose and came down to try the man, but finding that he was already hanged he went on with his book. It is only fair to add that robbers in those days expected no mercy when caught.One of the many clever things that Lord William did was to have figures carved in oak to represent soldiers; these he placed on the top of his high towers, and deceived the Scots into thinking that he had a large and very watchful garrison! These figures can still be seen at Naworth. Near Naworth Castle is Lanercost Priory, where King Edward I. stayed on his way to Scotland. There is a secret passage from Naworth tower which is supposed to run under the river to Lanercost. No one is allowed to go through it, as it is considered dangerous; the people of the district say that the last man to do so was Oliver Cromwell.Visitors to Naworth to-day should certainly go on to Gilsland itself, the picturesque straggling little town, which was the head of the Baronry which Elizabeth Dacre brought to her boy-husband. The Irthing at Gilsland runs through a wonderfully beautiful gorge, rocky and wooded, wild and romantic. Stand on the venturesome stepping stones near the old church, with the river rushing at your very feet, and see if this is an exaggeration of the beauties of the scene. Right in the midst of the glen you can see the "Popping-stone" where Sir Walter Scott walked with the lady of his choice and asked her to marry him. Readers of "Guy Mannering" can see in Over Denton church near Gilsland the grave of Meg Merrilees, who died here at the age of ninety-eight. The town is also interesting for the fact that the county border is at Gilsland, and there is an inn so built that it stands in both counties, and contains a bed in which you can sleep with your head in Northumberland and your feet in Cumberland!There is a story of Belted Will that tells eloquently of the strength of his character. When he was released from prison by King James he found his estates so ruined by careless management that he knew that great care was needed to put things right again; so until he got his affairs into order, all the pocket-money that he would allow himself was twenty shillings per month!Bold William, Belted Will, gallant Lord Howard, as you will, died at Naworth in 1640 aged seventy-seven, one year after the death of his devoted wife. His descendants were, like himself, students and men of action; the present Earl of Carlisle is directly sprung from him, and is very proud of the fact.Chapter XLIGilderoyGilderoy was a celebrated and most daring highwayman, who roamed far, and was well-known all over Scotland and indeed in London. His death inspired a very striking ballad, but this is hardly a Border Lowland ballad, but refers chiefly to another Border district, namely, that between the Lowlands and Highlands. Just as the Scottish Lowlanders thought the English their legitimate quarry, so the Highlanders in turn looked upon the Lowlanders as created to supply them with all they lacked. There is a story on record of a Highland chief who, finding his men had carelessly robbed another Highlander, returned the spoil with a handsome apology, and issued stringent orders that in future nothing was to be taken except in the Lowlands, "where all men make their prey."Among the robber clans of the Highlands, the MacGregors stand easily in the first rank. In a long series of Scottish Acts of Parliament, they are habitually referred to as "the wicked clan Gregor, so long continuing in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery." One of their most famous exploits was the battle of Glenfruin, when they defeated their enemies, the Colquhouns, and slew two hundred of them. The Colquhouns appeared before the King at Stirling with the bloody shirts stripped off their dead, and the law was put in motion against the MacGregors more vigorously than ever. This was in 1603. The execution of Gilderoy, as described in our poem, took place in 1638. His real name was Patrick MacGregor, and the fact that he belonged to this Ishmaelite clan, whose hand was directed against every man, and whose very name had been solemnly abolished, may well serve as an excuse for his career of crime. Gilderoy, in Gaelic, means the red-haired gillie or lad, and besides the name there are many other points of similarity between him and Rob Roy, who was the head of the Clan MacGregor in the following century. Both Gilderoy and Rob Roy were professional blackmailers, that is, they could be relied on never to plunder anyone who was prudent enough to buy them off by paying a fixed contribution. This is what is meant in the following lines of the ballad—"All these did honestly possessHe never did annoy,Who never failed to pay their cessTo my love, Gilderoy."The "cess" is the blackmail, or insurance against robbery. The widespread reputation of Gilderoy is attested by the many legends of him which are printed in the old chap-books and "Lives of the Highwaymen." According to these authorities, Gilderoy once robbed Oliver Cromwell near Glasgow; but an even more romantic episode of his career was a roaming trip upon the continent, in the course of which he is said to have picked Cardinal Richelieu's pocket while he was celebrating mass in the King's presence, at the church of St Denis in Paris. He made his way even to Madrid, where he succeeded in carrying off the Duke of Medina-Cell's plate. Altogether a most notorious and dashing cateran. The ballad is supposed to be spoken by a young woman who had all her life been attached to him."Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,Had roses to his shoon;[#]His stockings were of silken soy,With garters hanging down.It was, I ween, a comely sightTo see so trim a boy;He was my jo, and heart's delight,My handsome Gilderoy.* * * * *My Gilderoy and I were bornBoth in one town together;We scant were seven years beforeWe 'gan to love each other.Our daddies and our mammies theyWere filled with meikle joy,To think upon the bridal dayOf me and Gilderoy."[#] Shoes.But there intervened the spirit of adventure which had ever been the birthright of all of his surname,"Oh, that he still had been contentWith me to lead his life!But ah! his manful heart was bentTo stir in deeds of strife;And he in many a venturous deedHis courage bold would try;And now this gars[#] my heart to bleedFor my dear Gilderoy."[#] Makes.No doubt those who knew Gilderoy personally would have agreed, as was actually said of Rob Roy, that he was a benevolent and humane man "in his way.""My Gilderoy, both far and near,Was feared in every town;And boldly bore away the gearOf many a Lowland loun,For man to man durst meet him none,He was so brave a boy;At length with numbers he was ta'en,My winsome Gilderoy."He was not so fortunate as Rob Roy, who ultimately died peacefully in his bed. Gilderoy had lost the game, and he had to pay the stakes."Of Gilderoy so feared they were,They bound him fast and strong;To Edinbro' they led him there,And on a gallows hung.They hung him high above the rest,He was so trim a boy;There died the youth whom I loved best,My handsome Gilderoy."Thus perished one of the characteristic products of an age whose standards were so different from ours that we can hardly judge him fairly. He was banned before his birth, a scion of a race so indomitably and innately ferocious that the law attempted to extirpate them, root and branch. The very name of Gregor could be given by no clergyman at baptism, under penalty of deprivation and banishment. Cunning and politic neighbours were not slow to take advantage of the stubborn disposition of the MacGregors, and gradually stripped them of their once extensive lands in Argyle and Perthshire. Gilderoy might well consider that he was "an honester man than stood on any of their shanks," and we may be excused for feeling a very lively sympathy with him, and for echoing in our inmost hearts the exquisitely feminine point of view expressed by the lady composer of the ballad."If Gilderoy had done amiss,He might have banished been;Ah! what sore cruelty is thisTo hang such handsome men!To hang the flower of Scottish land,So sweet and fair a boy!No lady had so white a handAs thee, my Gilderoy!When he had yielded up his breathI bare his corpse away;With tears, that trickled for his death,I washt his comely clay;And sicker[#] in a grave sae deepI laid the dear lo'ed boy;And now for ever maun I weep,My winsome Gilderoy."[#] Safely.Chapter XLIIArchie Armstrong's Oath"And oft since then, to England's King,The story he has told;And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,Charlie his sides would hold."Archie Armstrong lived in Eskdale, where he did his best to keep up the grand reputation of his family as being among the very boldest sheep-stealers of the Border. His house was at Stubholm, where the Wauchope stream runs into the river Esk, near where the picturesque town of Langholm now stands. Living in the reign of Charles I., after the union of crowns, the profession of freebooter was far less honourable than of old. He could not now plead that he was a Border soldier, fighting against his nation's enemy. The wild Border blood in him might cry out for the old adventurous career, but he could no longer hope for the aid of powerful Border families. When cornered, his sole protector would be his own wits, and woe betide him if they failed!Archie's house was about eight miles from the Border, and he could not help strolling towards the fascinating line and tasting the sweetness of temptation. When the chance came that seemed to him sufficiently safe, he would go home in company though he had walked out alone; the "company" being a good fat English sheep. One night a shepherd had marked him lingering about, and had watched him, and raised an alarm. Away went stout Archie at a Marathon pace; half way home he passed Gilnockie tower, where his ancestor bold Johnie Armstrong lived so gaily. "Alas!" thought Archie, dolefully, "he too was hanged in the end!"He got home well in front of his pursuers, but his wife gave him small encouragement. With typical Scottish dourness she remarked to him, "Ye will be ta'en this night and hanged i' the morning."But Archie put a braw face on it, and declared that he would never hang for one silly sheep. Quicker than any butcher he skinned and roughly trimmed the dead animal, throwing the rejected parts into the swift stream. Then rejoicing in the fact that his child was away with its aunt, he put the carcase carefully in the cradle and began rocking it and singing a lullaby to it, as if he were the most loving father in all the British Isles.The pursuers now rushed in, and began to accuse Archie triumphantly; but he rebuked them for making so much noise, telling them that his child was at death's door! As for stealing their sheep, he took a solemn oath that if he had done such a thing he would ask to be doomed to "eat the flesh this very cradle holds!"Such an oath on the Borders was a very serious matter; they little knew that the only flesh in the cradle was sheep's flesh, which Archie asked nothing better than to devour!Impressed but not convinced, his enemies carefully searched the whole of Archie's house and garden; it was only with very great unwillingness that they at last decided that they must miss the supreme pleasure of hanging him! They went away saying that they must have been deluded by the devil or by witches; and the shepherd resolved to hang a branch of rowan-tree (mountain-ash) by his fold, for that was well-known to have the power to keep witches away.As soon as they were all on their road to England again, Archie skipped about like a dancing fiddler. "Wife," he said, "I never knew before that I would make such a good nurse."After this Archie wandered down to London, and his wild jests becoming famous, he was made Court Jester by King Charles I. And many a time he acted the story to the King, rocking a pretended cradle, and singing a persuasive lullaby, to the King's intense amusement.Nevertheless, Archie lost his place by his boldness. These were the days of Archbishop Laud (1637), who was hated by the Scots. One day, as the archbishop was about to say grace before dinner, Archie asked the King's permission to say grace instead. The King consented, and the jester's double-meaning words were as follows:—"Allpraiseto God, and littlelaudto the devil!"The archbishop, in many senses a little man, had Archie dismissed in disgrace. But, such were the chances of these uncertain times, the archbishop was executed in the end, while the sheepstealer escaped that fate!Chapter XLIIIChristie's WillThe resourceful Archie, whose tale we have just told, was not the only one of the reckless Armstrongs to keep up the old freebooting habits in the reign of Charles I. There lived at Gilnockie tower (the old residence of the famous Johnie Armstrong) in the parish of Cannobie, a notorious Willie Armstrong, known as Christie's Will. Like Archie, he more than once owed his life to his ready wit. He was shut up in Jedburgh jail when the Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, paid the prison an official visit. When he asked Will the cause of his being there, the freebooter answered:—"For stealing two halters, my lord."Traquair was surprised, but Will afterwards owned that there was a fine colt at the end of each halter.Traquair was amused and pleased by the boldness of the man, and had him set free.Some little time afterwards Traquair was involved in a law-suit which was set down to be decided by Lord Durie, who seems to have let it be known before-hand what his opinion was upon the case. Nothing would save Traquair's interests except that Durie must be got out of the way before the case began. But how was it to be done?Christie's Will was appealed to, and merely said "Leave it to me."It was the judge's habit to take horseback exercise on the sands of Leith without any attendant. One morning, whilst so riding, a well-dressed and gentlemanly stranger, on a good horse, happened to overtake him; a courteous greeting led to a friendly conversation, in which the stranger proved himself so affable and entertaining that the judge rode on by his side without suspicion. Suddenly, when they had come to a lonely spot, Lord Durie found himself seized by this muscular gentleman, smothered up in a big cloak, whisked off his horse and on to the stranger's, who galloped off, mischief knows where! It was Christie's Will, carrying out his promise.The judge's horse galloped home, riderless. Search was made, but the judge could not be found. It could only be supposed that he had been thrown off into the sea. His successor was appointed, and Lord Traquair's case was heard and won!Lord Durie had languished for several months in a dreary underground vault. I wonder if he thought of the many poor wretches he had sentenced to a similar fate? Suddenly at midnight he was roughly awakened, muffled up as before, and carried away again by his captor on horseback. Next morning, by the light of the newly-risen sun, he found himself on the very spot by the sands of Leith from which he had been kidnapped! We will hope that every one, including his successor, was glad when he thus came to life again.When the Civil War began, the Earl of Traquair was faithful to King Charles I. Having some papers of importance that he wished to have given into the King's own hands, he entrusted these to the bold freebooter. Christie's Will did his errand, and received an equally important answer. But spies at Court had given Cromwell word of the matter, and the command was sent up to Carlisle that Will Armstrong must be intercepted there. Not knowing his danger, Will halted in the town to refresh his horse, then pushed forward to the bridge which crossed the Eden on the Northern boundary of the city. Cromwell's soldiers were waiting for him; the bridge was high and narrow, the broad Eden waters were swirling in high flood.Christie's Will, without one second's hesitation, spurred his horse over the parapet. He sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up, this time at the very bank. He cut his heavy, dripping cloak from his shoulders; relieved of the weight, his horse struggled to the land. Away went Will, away went the troopers after him. It was a hard race to the river Esk, and this also Will had to swim. But now he was in Scotland, and his friends were at hand; gaily Will turned to his pursuers, who dared not cross the water; "Good friends," cried he, "come over and drink with me!" But they showed him their backs, and their horses's tails, and he saw no more of them.Such were the exploits of Christie's Will; he was the last of the free-booters, but he certainly knew how to live up to their boldest traditions.Chapter XLIVNorthumberland at the time of the Civil WarDuring the stormy days of King Charles I., the Borders, and especially Northumberland, saw many stirring scenes. It must be remembered that shortly before the Long Parliament was elected, King Charles almost came to war with the Scottish Presbyterians, because they would not obey the harsh rule of Archbishop Laud. The Scots raised an army under the lead of shrewd general Alexander Leslie, the "old, little, crooked soldier," of great experience, trained by the great Gustavus of Sweden. In 1639 Charles sent ships up to the Forth, in reply to which Leslie marched his army to threaten the border. The old quarrel between the two countries began to blaze up again. King Charles led an army to the border and was received with splendid applause at Newcastle. Many joined his army, and shouted with joy at the thought of meeting the Scots in battle. But they were an untrained disorderly crew, who fired their guns off at random and kept no military order whatever. Gallant Leslie marched his men down to Duns Law, in South Berwickshire, and was ready to fight. But King Charles would not trust his army that length; he made terms with his opponents, promising them the reforms they set their hearts upon, and the two armies melted away like school-boys at the end of the term.Things were soon as bad as before. Lord Conway was sent by the King to put Newcastle into a strong defensive state. His greatest difficulty was to get money for the purpose, for the King's quarrel with his various Parliaments had deprived him of supplies. The badly paid troops mutinied, and the ring-leader was shot. Very soon the Scottish army came across the Tweed, the Highlanders armed with bows and arrows.They pitched their camp on Heddon Law, and soon proved to the country folk that they had not come for plunder, but would pay for all they wanted to eat. This re-assured the country people, who had no real quarrel with the Scots, and even became most friendly to them.With Lord Conway it was otherwise; he was the King's officer, and was bound to offer resistance. His opinion was that if once the Scots crossed the Tyne, and attacked Newcastle from the south or Gateshead side, they were sure of victory. Accordingly, leaving a strong garrison to protect the town, he marched out with two thousand or more foot and fully one thousand horse to command the important ford across the Tyne at Newburn, a place five or six miles due west of Newcastle. It is interesting to remember that here also the Romans had had fortifications, along the line of the wall, and the very spot where the Scots and English fought may well have been the scene of contests between the Roman Legions and the wild Picts.The English arrived first, on the south bank of the river, and threw up earth-works hastily. Very soon they saw the Scots march into Newburn village, on the north bank, where they employed themselves by hauling their cannon up to the church tower. Remarkable cannon they were, made out of bar-iron hooped together with cord and wet, raw hides! But they were not required to carry any distance, the foe was only on the other side of the Tyne. All the morning the enemies looked at one another across the river, each hesitating to fire the first shot of the war. At last an English officer shot a Scotch officer, and the fight began. The Scots were on the higher ground, and their cannon, rough as they were, sent heavy shot on to the English. Then when the river tide went down, the Scots rushed across the ford, and the battle was soon won, the royal standard being taken. English runaways rushed through the woods and into Newcastle, crying, "Fly for your lives, naked devils have destroyed us!" Whether they referred to kilted Highlanders is uncertain. Anyway, Leslie and his Scots entered Newcastle in triumph, but were afterwards bought off with a payment of £60,000 and recrossed the Tweed into Scotland.This was in 1641, a year in which King Charles was quarrelling bitterly with his Long Parliament, though the actual civil war in England did not begin till 1642. Early in 1642 it was decided that so important a town as Newcastle ought to be put in a stronger state of defence.William Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle, was made governor of the town, but he was much hindered in his plans by lack of money. King Charles, however, promoted him from Earl to Marquis of Newcastle, and the lack of funds he made up as best he was able. However, the Governor of Holy Island, off the Northumberland shore, found himself left for sixteen months without any pay! He wrote to the King's treasury a protest in verse, beginning:—"The great commander o' the Cormorants,The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands."The allusion in the first two lines is to the fact that Holy Island and the Farne Islands were then, and are still to-day, so thinly peopled that sea-birds gather there in large numbers, adding greatly to the wild beauties of these islets and rocks.In January 1644 a serious struggle began. Leslie and his soldiers crossed the Tweed at Berwick bridge and again entered Northumberland. General Bayly marched his men from Kelso across the frozen river and joined Leslie at Alnwick. Warkworth Castle, though it contained cannon and provisions, surrendered at once. The Scottish general gravely told Bemerton, the governor, that if he had learnt to fight as well as he had learnt to dance his castle could never have been taken! The country districts of Northumberland had no quarrel with the Scots, and it was soon evident that the real fight would be at Newcastle, bravely held by the Marquis and by the Mayor, Sir John Marley.The Scottish "murthering pieces," as the cannon were called, were brought down by sea, and the obstinate conflict began. Despite the terrible weather of a very rough February, frequent skirmishes took place, while the Scots closed nearer and nearer round the gallantly defended town. Leslie soon found that the defences had been put into good order; the ditch round the town was dug deep, and close to the walls; the walls themselves were strongly underpinned. The battlements were strengthened by stone and lime, but the top stones were loosened so as to slip if the enemy attempted to mount them. Every cannon was placed carefully, to the best advantage.[image]The Storming of NewcastleBut the Marquis of Newcastle was called southward by the needs of his King. With him were his thousand brave "White coats," so called because they wore white coats which they promised to dye in the blood of the enemy. But they met the terrible Ironsides at Marston Moor, and in a conflict of furious bravery on both sides, all of the gallant thousand except thirty were slain on the field of battle.This was in July of 1644, but it did not affect the siege of Newcastle, which still dragged obstinately on, under the skilful guidance of the dauntless Mayor. By October, Sir John Marley was so buoyed up by his success that he sent a letter to General Leslie to ask if he was still alive! This the Scots took to be an insult, and a grand assault was begun. The Scots were furious, and the defence was desperate. The roar of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry were succeeded, as the assault got nearer and nearer to its aim, by the clashing of swords and the clanging of pikes. At last, the regiments of Loudoun and Buccleugh succeeded in forcing their way into the town. In vain the defenders made their last gallant charge; their cause was now hopeless, and soon the market-place was filled with fugitives, who flung down their arms and cried aloud for quarter at the hands of the triumphant Scots.In these days the defender was often made to feel the anger of the victors, who in the flush and cruelty of victory avenged their dead, only too terribly, upon the losing side. Not so at Newcastle. Prominent in its day, it stands out because of the mercy of the Scottish conquerors as much as for the heroism of its defence. In this, the last great struggle on English ground between Scots and English, it is pleasing indeed to recall facts that redound to the high honour of both parties.Chapter XLVMontrose and LeslyJames Graham, the great Marquis of Montrose who at first sided with the Scottish Covenanters against Charles I., was so out of sympathy with the extreme turn which affairs took later against that unhappy monarch that he went over to the King's side. Gathering the Highland Clans under his standard, he marched Southward and defeated the Covenanters in a series of brilliantly fought battles. He occupied Edinburgh, and laid great plans to complete the conquest of Scotland by subduing the Borderland.If the Borders had remained in their old fighting state no doubt many a Border chief would have joined Montrose's army and aided his bold plans. But, unfortunately for King Charles, the Borders had been tamed and disarmed since the union of England and Scotland under James I. Only a few adventurous spirits like Christie's Will remained as examples of the old wild days.The remnant of the army of the Covenanters was commanded by the stern General David Lesly (not the Alexander Leslie who figures in the preceding chapter), and was somewhere in the Border district. Gay Gallant Montrose did not bother as to exactly where this army was; he despised it too heartily. He himself was at Selkirk, while his army was encamped on the neighbouring plain of Philiphaugh.Montrose was busy writing a cheering message to King Charles to the effect that he had now no enemy left in Scotland who could offer an effective resistance to his arms. Little did he think that General Lesly was gradually creeping nearer, nearer, and was now actually within four miles of his army. With the advantage of a thick Scotch mist, Lesly's men actually burst upon Montrose's infantry without a single scout having seen them to give warning of their approach! In such confusion, Montrose's men had no chance whatever.The Marquis galloped up, only to find his soldiers hopelessly defeated and great numbers slain. There was nothing left but for those to escape who could. The Marquis succeeded in cutting his way through, and gathered his troops to fight again later on; but his efforts were doomed to failure.A popular ditty of these days, sung to a stirring tune, was called "Lesly's March." Sir Walter Scott seems to regard this as wholly serious, and ranks it as a Covenanter song. It appears to me, however, that many of the lines have a very sarcastic flavour; no doubt the Covenanters did really think that"There's none in the right but we,Of the old Scottish nation";but they would probably have phrased it a little less baldly. To me it appears as if this song were the work of an onlooker and not a partisan; one ready to see the faults of both sides, and very much inclined to hold back his final opinion till he saw which was going to win. But let the March speak for itself.LESLY'S MARCHMarch! march:Why the de'il do ye na march?Stand to your arms, my lads,Fight in good order;Front about, ye musketeers all,Till ye come to the English Border;Stand till 't, and fight like men,True gospel to maintain.The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!When to the kirk we come,We'll purge it ilka room,Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,That a' the world may see,There's nane in the right but we,Of the auld Scottish nation.A truly partisan ballad of the day describes the battle of Philiphaugh and exults in the defeat of Montrose, "our cruel enemy," it calls him. As a ballad it has no great poetic merit; the very sober Covenanters probably regarded ballad-making as a frivolity. But it describes rather graphically how an "aged father," from the country-side, led Lesly's army very cautiously and wisely to the very tents of the foe. These details are no doubt accurate; though the ballad-writer (whoever he was) displays his ignorance of other matters by making the old soldier say that he was at the battle of Solway Moss (which took place one hundred years before) and at that of Dunbar, which was not fought till five years later!The following are the opening verses of the ballad, giving an idea of its plain, straightforward style:—On Philiphaugh a fray began,At Hairhead-wood it ended;The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,Sae merrily they bended;Sir David frae the Border came,Wi' heart an' hand came he;Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,To bear him company.Wi' him three thousand valiant men,A noble sight to see!A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,As close as e'er might be.When they came to the Shaw burn,Said he, "Sae weel we frame.I think it is convenientThat we should sing a psalm."It is not necessary to quote more of it, but it may be remarked that in place of the last line as given here, theunregeneratesubstituted,"That we should take a dram."In point of actual fact,bothversions are probably true!Chapter XLVIThe Death of MontroseDuring the imprisonment of King Charles I., at a time when active war on his behalf might do the unhappy monarch more harm than good, the gallant Montrose had retired to France. His bright military fame, his courteous manners, and manly bearing made him friends everywhere, and when he visited Germany the Emperor conferred on him the rank of Marshal. Hearing of the execution of Charles I., Montrose at once placed himself at the disposal of Charles II., now a fugitive in Holland. This prince named him Captain General of Scotland, and the daring hero set out for the Orkney Islands with about five hundred paid soldiers, mostly adventurous Germans and Dutchmen. Only a reckless spirit like Montrose would have undertaken so wild a commission.Scotland was heartily sick of war, and learnt with consternation of the arrival of this firebrand. Lesly was sent forward with four thousand men to attack Montrose's five hundred! Colonel Strachan led the advanced guard, which fell unexpectedly upon the invading army, and, after a brief, fierce struggle, totally defeated it.Montrose, disguised as a peasant, entrusted his life to one he believed to be his friend, M'Leod, Laird of Assaint. But this unworthy man betrayed him to his bitterest enemy, General Lesly. Thus, at last, this brilliant commander was in the hands of the bitter Covenanters, into whose hearts his brilliant victories had once spread such terror. Their treatment of him is a black stain upon their memory. For days he was led about in the peasant's disguise, which he had put on; he was carted through the streets of Edinburgh, accompanied by such insults that the populace cried shame upon his captors.When tried before the Scottish Parliament for treason, he made a most eloquent defence, one of the most notable of his assertions being that he had never stained his victories by slaughtering his foes in cold blood after the battle. In this he was far above his enemies, who had disgraced their victory of Philiphaugh by many an execution, and who were now bent upon taking the life of Montrose himself. The sentence against him was probably decided before his defence had been heard; it ran thus:—"That James Graham should next day be carried to Edinburgh cross and there hanged on a gibbet 30 feet high for the space of three hours; then to be taken down, his head to be struck off on a scaffold and affixed to the prison; his arms and legs to be stuck up on the four chief towns of the Kingdom, his body to be buried in the place set aside for common criminals."To this sentence the great Marquis haughtily replied that he would rather have his head so placed than his picture in the King's bedchamber, and that he wished he had limbs enough to be dispersed into all the cities of Christendom, to prove his dying attachment to his king. And in the one evening of life that still remained to him, this accomplished and fearless nobleman employed his time in turning these loyal sentiments into verse.Despite the fact that he triumphed undaunted over all the mean inventions of their malice, his enemies persisted to the end.The executioner tied mockingly round his neck the book that had been published describing his victories; Montrose thanked him, saying that he wore it with more pride than he had ever worn the garter of honour. He uttered a short prayer; then asking them what more indignities they had prepared for him, he patiently and with unbroken spirit yielded his life to the hangman, at the too early age of thirty-eight.Whatever opinions we may have as to the rights and wrongs of the quarrel, this brutal killing of a gallant soldier and accomplished gentleman can only rank as a hideous blot upon all concerned in it. Every insult hurled at Montrose has returned in the verdict of time with redoubled force against the malice of those who stooped to such vindictiveness. The execution of a soldier who has violated no rule of war is at any time a thing that revolts the human conscience, and a sentence hoarse with the vile taunts of its utterers has so far lost all semblance of justice that it is needless to argue upon it.In the verdict of history, the great Marquis of Montrose, whether right or wrong in his political views, lived and died like a man of honour.The ballad of the "Gallant Grahams," written about this time, reflects very sincerely and touchingly the devotion and affection surrounding the great Marquis, accompanied by the very Scottish feeling that in addition to his own personal power and genius, he was also the head of the great Border family of Grahams.

[image]"She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough."

[image]

"She kissed his cheek, she kaim'd his hair, She searched his wounds all thorough."

Chapter XL

Belted Will and the Baronry of Gilsland

"When for the lists they sought the plainThe stately lady's silken reinDid noble Howard hold;Unarmed by her side he walk'dAnd much, in courteous phrase they talk'dOf feats of arms of old.Costly his garb; his Flemish ruffFell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,With satin slashed and lined;Tawny his boot and gold his spur,His cloak was all of Poland fur,His hose with silver twined.His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,Hung in a broad and studded belt;Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers stillCall'd noble Howard, Belted Will."SCOTT,Lay of the Last Minstrel.

"When for the lists they sought the plain

The stately lady's silken rein

Did noble Howard hold;

Unarmed by her side he walk'd

And much, in courteous phrase they talk'd

Of feats of arms of old.

Costly his garb; his Flemish ruff

Fell o'er his doublet, shaped of buff,

With satin slashed and lined;

Tawny his boot and gold his spur,

His cloak was all of Poland fur,

His hose with silver twined.

His Bilboa blade, by Marchmen felt,

Hung in a broad and studded belt;

Hence, in rude phrase, the Borderers still

Call'd noble Howard, Belted Will."

SCOTT,Lay of the Last Minstrel.

One of the many picturesque figures of Border history was "Belted Will," or to call him by his proper name and title, Lord William Howard, a younger son of the powerful Duke of Norfolk.

His mother had died when he was an infant, and his father, the foremost Roman Catholic nobleman in England, took up the cause of Mary Queen of Scots, whom he wished to marry. For this treason against Queen Elizabeth he was beheaded in 1572, when young Lord William was only nine years old. At the age of fourteen the young lord's guardians arranged for him a marriage with Elizabeth Dacre, a member of a powerful Border family, and heiress to the Baronry of Gilsland. As the bride was even younger than her boy-husband, let us hope that they both went to school again immediately after the marriage!

When he grew to manhood, Lord William warmly supported the Roman Catholic cause and was imprisoned by Elizabeth; but when James became King, he was released and restored to his estates on the Border. Throughout the remainder of his career he was the most notable man of his district. He knew how to make himself respected by his wild neighbours. His fame and power were great. He founded the fortunes of his family so surely that he it is who is usually thought of as the ancestor of the Earls of Carlisle, though his great-grandson was the first to hold the title.

Lord William had great energy and many interests, and was remarkable as being an "all-round" man. He was equally a leader of men and a lover of books; no detail in the management of his estates was too small for him to study; he was a good husband to his wife, and a splendid father to his fifteen children. He selected the most beautiful of his several castles, that of Naworth, and repaired and almost rebuilt it; he took there the fine old oak ceiling from the ancient castle of Kirkoswald, which was ornamented with portraits of all the kings of England. Visitors to Naworth can see to-day the "hall of Belted Will," by kind permission of the present Earl of Carlisle.

He was something of a poet and very much of an antiquarian. His estates were full of interesting things, and none knew them better than he. There were miles of the Roman wall, still in excellent condition; there were many Roman altars and inscriptions, which he copied and translated; quite near him, at Coome Crags, was a Roman quarry, which can still be seen to-day, with marks of Roman tools on its stones. It stands in a beautiful wood by the side of the lovely river Irthing. And only a little further on, standing on a fine cliff overlooking the river, is the old Roman station of Amboglanna, a fort that covered five and a half acres, with walls that were once five feet thick, the main foundations of which are still standing, clear enough for anyone to trace them out. It is quieter there to-day than it was in Roman times, or in the stirring days of Belted Will!

It is good to think that this broad-shouldered, gallant, powerful nobleman, who could ride, shoot, fight and keep this wild district in order, was at the same time such a clever student and book-worm. They tell a story that he was once sitting in his library intent on a book when his men brought in a robber whom they had caught red-handed, and asked Lord William to try him. Belted Will, angry at being interrupted, cried out:—"Don't disturb me; hang him!" Half an hour later he rose and came down to try the man, but finding that he was already hanged he went on with his book. It is only fair to add that robbers in those days expected no mercy when caught.

One of the many clever things that Lord William did was to have figures carved in oak to represent soldiers; these he placed on the top of his high towers, and deceived the Scots into thinking that he had a large and very watchful garrison! These figures can still be seen at Naworth. Near Naworth Castle is Lanercost Priory, where King Edward I. stayed on his way to Scotland. There is a secret passage from Naworth tower which is supposed to run under the river to Lanercost. No one is allowed to go through it, as it is considered dangerous; the people of the district say that the last man to do so was Oliver Cromwell.

Visitors to Naworth to-day should certainly go on to Gilsland itself, the picturesque straggling little town, which was the head of the Baronry which Elizabeth Dacre brought to her boy-husband. The Irthing at Gilsland runs through a wonderfully beautiful gorge, rocky and wooded, wild and romantic. Stand on the venturesome stepping stones near the old church, with the river rushing at your very feet, and see if this is an exaggeration of the beauties of the scene. Right in the midst of the glen you can see the "Popping-stone" where Sir Walter Scott walked with the lady of his choice and asked her to marry him. Readers of "Guy Mannering" can see in Over Denton church near Gilsland the grave of Meg Merrilees, who died here at the age of ninety-eight. The town is also interesting for the fact that the county border is at Gilsland, and there is an inn so built that it stands in both counties, and contains a bed in which you can sleep with your head in Northumberland and your feet in Cumberland!

There is a story of Belted Will that tells eloquently of the strength of his character. When he was released from prison by King James he found his estates so ruined by careless management that he knew that great care was needed to put things right again; so until he got his affairs into order, all the pocket-money that he would allow himself was twenty shillings per month!

Bold William, Belted Will, gallant Lord Howard, as you will, died at Naworth in 1640 aged seventy-seven, one year after the death of his devoted wife. His descendants were, like himself, students and men of action; the present Earl of Carlisle is directly sprung from him, and is very proud of the fact.

Chapter XLI

Gilderoy

Gilderoy was a celebrated and most daring highwayman, who roamed far, and was well-known all over Scotland and indeed in London. His death inspired a very striking ballad, but this is hardly a Border Lowland ballad, but refers chiefly to another Border district, namely, that between the Lowlands and Highlands. Just as the Scottish Lowlanders thought the English their legitimate quarry, so the Highlanders in turn looked upon the Lowlanders as created to supply them with all they lacked. There is a story on record of a Highland chief who, finding his men had carelessly robbed another Highlander, returned the spoil with a handsome apology, and issued stringent orders that in future nothing was to be taken except in the Lowlands, "where all men make their prey."

Among the robber clans of the Highlands, the MacGregors stand easily in the first rank. In a long series of Scottish Acts of Parliament, they are habitually referred to as "the wicked clan Gregor, so long continuing in blood, slaughter, theft, and robbery." One of their most famous exploits was the battle of Glenfruin, when they defeated their enemies, the Colquhouns, and slew two hundred of them. The Colquhouns appeared before the King at Stirling with the bloody shirts stripped off their dead, and the law was put in motion against the MacGregors more vigorously than ever. This was in 1603. The execution of Gilderoy, as described in our poem, took place in 1638. His real name was Patrick MacGregor, and the fact that he belonged to this Ishmaelite clan, whose hand was directed against every man, and whose very name had been solemnly abolished, may well serve as an excuse for his career of crime. Gilderoy, in Gaelic, means the red-haired gillie or lad, and besides the name there are many other points of similarity between him and Rob Roy, who was the head of the Clan MacGregor in the following century. Both Gilderoy and Rob Roy were professional blackmailers, that is, they could be relied on never to plunder anyone who was prudent enough to buy them off by paying a fixed contribution. This is what is meant in the following lines of the ballad—

"All these did honestly possessHe never did annoy,Who never failed to pay their cessTo my love, Gilderoy."

"All these did honestly possess

He never did annoy,

Who never failed to pay their cess

To my love, Gilderoy."

The "cess" is the blackmail, or insurance against robbery. The widespread reputation of Gilderoy is attested by the many legends of him which are printed in the old chap-books and "Lives of the Highwaymen." According to these authorities, Gilderoy once robbed Oliver Cromwell near Glasgow; but an even more romantic episode of his career was a roaming trip upon the continent, in the course of which he is said to have picked Cardinal Richelieu's pocket while he was celebrating mass in the King's presence, at the church of St Denis in Paris. He made his way even to Madrid, where he succeeded in carrying off the Duke of Medina-Cell's plate. Altogether a most notorious and dashing cateran. The ballad is supposed to be spoken by a young woman who had all her life been attached to him.

"Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,Had roses to his shoon;[#]His stockings were of silken soy,With garters hanging down.It was, I ween, a comely sightTo see so trim a boy;He was my jo, and heart's delight,My handsome Gilderoy.* * * * *My Gilderoy and I were bornBoth in one town together;We scant were seven years beforeWe 'gan to love each other.Our daddies and our mammies theyWere filled with meikle joy,To think upon the bridal dayOf me and Gilderoy."

"Gilderoy was a bonnie boy,

Had roses to his shoon;[#]

His stockings were of silken soy,

With garters hanging down.

It was, I ween, a comely sight

To see so trim a boy;

He was my jo, and heart's delight,

My handsome Gilderoy.

* * * * *

My Gilderoy and I were born

Both in one town together;

We scant were seven years before

We 'gan to love each other.

Our daddies and our mammies they

Were filled with meikle joy,

To think upon the bridal day

Of me and Gilderoy."

[#] Shoes.

But there intervened the spirit of adventure which had ever been the birthright of all of his surname,

"Oh, that he still had been contentWith me to lead his life!But ah! his manful heart was bentTo stir in deeds of strife;And he in many a venturous deedHis courage bold would try;And now this gars[#] my heart to bleedFor my dear Gilderoy."

"Oh, that he still had been content

With me to lead his life!

But ah! his manful heart was bent

To stir in deeds of strife;

And he in many a venturous deed

His courage bold would try;

And now this gars[#] my heart to bleed

For my dear Gilderoy."

[#] Makes.

No doubt those who knew Gilderoy personally would have agreed, as was actually said of Rob Roy, that he was a benevolent and humane man "in his way."

"My Gilderoy, both far and near,Was feared in every town;And boldly bore away the gearOf many a Lowland loun,For man to man durst meet him none,He was so brave a boy;At length with numbers he was ta'en,My winsome Gilderoy."

"My Gilderoy, both far and near,

Was feared in every town;

And boldly bore away the gear

Of many a Lowland loun,

For man to man durst meet him none,

He was so brave a boy;

At length with numbers he was ta'en,

My winsome Gilderoy."

He was not so fortunate as Rob Roy, who ultimately died peacefully in his bed. Gilderoy had lost the game, and he had to pay the stakes.

"Of Gilderoy so feared they were,They bound him fast and strong;To Edinbro' they led him there,And on a gallows hung.They hung him high above the rest,He was so trim a boy;There died the youth whom I loved best,My handsome Gilderoy."

"Of Gilderoy so feared they were,

They bound him fast and strong;

To Edinbro' they led him there,

And on a gallows hung.

They hung him high above the rest,

He was so trim a boy;

There died the youth whom I loved best,

My handsome Gilderoy."

Thus perished one of the characteristic products of an age whose standards were so different from ours that we can hardly judge him fairly. He was banned before his birth, a scion of a race so indomitably and innately ferocious that the law attempted to extirpate them, root and branch. The very name of Gregor could be given by no clergyman at baptism, under penalty of deprivation and banishment. Cunning and politic neighbours were not slow to take advantage of the stubborn disposition of the MacGregors, and gradually stripped them of their once extensive lands in Argyle and Perthshire. Gilderoy might well consider that he was "an honester man than stood on any of their shanks," and we may be excused for feeling a very lively sympathy with him, and for echoing in our inmost hearts the exquisitely feminine point of view expressed by the lady composer of the ballad.

"If Gilderoy had done amiss,He might have banished been;Ah! what sore cruelty is thisTo hang such handsome men!To hang the flower of Scottish land,So sweet and fair a boy!No lady had so white a handAs thee, my Gilderoy!When he had yielded up his breathI bare his corpse away;With tears, that trickled for his death,I washt his comely clay;And sicker[#] in a grave sae deepI laid the dear lo'ed boy;And now for ever maun I weep,My winsome Gilderoy."

"If Gilderoy had done amiss,

He might have banished been;

Ah! what sore cruelty is this

To hang such handsome men!

To hang the flower of Scottish land,

So sweet and fair a boy!

No lady had so white a hand

As thee, my Gilderoy!

When he had yielded up his breathI bare his corpse away;With tears, that trickled for his death,I washt his comely clay;And sicker[#] in a grave sae deepI laid the dear lo'ed boy;And now for ever maun I weep,My winsome Gilderoy."

When he had yielded up his breath

I bare his corpse away;

With tears, that trickled for his death,

I washt his comely clay;

And sicker[#] in a grave sae deep

I laid the dear lo'ed boy;

And now for ever maun I weep,

My winsome Gilderoy."

[#] Safely.

Chapter XLII

Archie Armstrong's Oath

"And oft since then, to England's King,The story he has told;And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,Charlie his sides would hold."

"And oft since then, to England's King,

The story he has told;

And aye, when he 'gan rock and sing,

Charlie his sides would hold."

Archie Armstrong lived in Eskdale, where he did his best to keep up the grand reputation of his family as being among the very boldest sheep-stealers of the Border. His house was at Stubholm, where the Wauchope stream runs into the river Esk, near where the picturesque town of Langholm now stands. Living in the reign of Charles I., after the union of crowns, the profession of freebooter was far less honourable than of old. He could not now plead that he was a Border soldier, fighting against his nation's enemy. The wild Border blood in him might cry out for the old adventurous career, but he could no longer hope for the aid of powerful Border families. When cornered, his sole protector would be his own wits, and woe betide him if they failed!

Archie's house was about eight miles from the Border, and he could not help strolling towards the fascinating line and tasting the sweetness of temptation. When the chance came that seemed to him sufficiently safe, he would go home in company though he had walked out alone; the "company" being a good fat English sheep. One night a shepherd had marked him lingering about, and had watched him, and raised an alarm. Away went stout Archie at a Marathon pace; half way home he passed Gilnockie tower, where his ancestor bold Johnie Armstrong lived so gaily. "Alas!" thought Archie, dolefully, "he too was hanged in the end!"

He got home well in front of his pursuers, but his wife gave him small encouragement. With typical Scottish dourness she remarked to him, "Ye will be ta'en this night and hanged i' the morning."

But Archie put a braw face on it, and declared that he would never hang for one silly sheep. Quicker than any butcher he skinned and roughly trimmed the dead animal, throwing the rejected parts into the swift stream. Then rejoicing in the fact that his child was away with its aunt, he put the carcase carefully in the cradle and began rocking it and singing a lullaby to it, as if he were the most loving father in all the British Isles.

The pursuers now rushed in, and began to accuse Archie triumphantly; but he rebuked them for making so much noise, telling them that his child was at death's door! As for stealing their sheep, he took a solemn oath that if he had done such a thing he would ask to be doomed to "eat the flesh this very cradle holds!"

Such an oath on the Borders was a very serious matter; they little knew that the only flesh in the cradle was sheep's flesh, which Archie asked nothing better than to devour!

Impressed but not convinced, his enemies carefully searched the whole of Archie's house and garden; it was only with very great unwillingness that they at last decided that they must miss the supreme pleasure of hanging him! They went away saying that they must have been deluded by the devil or by witches; and the shepherd resolved to hang a branch of rowan-tree (mountain-ash) by his fold, for that was well-known to have the power to keep witches away.

As soon as they were all on their road to England again, Archie skipped about like a dancing fiddler. "Wife," he said, "I never knew before that I would make such a good nurse."

After this Archie wandered down to London, and his wild jests becoming famous, he was made Court Jester by King Charles I. And many a time he acted the story to the King, rocking a pretended cradle, and singing a persuasive lullaby, to the King's intense amusement.

Nevertheless, Archie lost his place by his boldness. These were the days of Archbishop Laud (1637), who was hated by the Scots. One day, as the archbishop was about to say grace before dinner, Archie asked the King's permission to say grace instead. The King consented, and the jester's double-meaning words were as follows:—

"Allpraiseto God, and littlelaudto the devil!"

The archbishop, in many senses a little man, had Archie dismissed in disgrace. But, such were the chances of these uncertain times, the archbishop was executed in the end, while the sheepstealer escaped that fate!

Chapter XLIII

Christie's Will

The resourceful Archie, whose tale we have just told, was not the only one of the reckless Armstrongs to keep up the old freebooting habits in the reign of Charles I. There lived at Gilnockie tower (the old residence of the famous Johnie Armstrong) in the parish of Cannobie, a notorious Willie Armstrong, known as Christie's Will. Like Archie, he more than once owed his life to his ready wit. He was shut up in Jedburgh jail when the Earl of Traquair, Lord High Treasurer, paid the prison an official visit. When he asked Will the cause of his being there, the freebooter answered:—

"For stealing two halters, my lord."

Traquair was surprised, but Will afterwards owned that there was a fine colt at the end of each halter.

Traquair was amused and pleased by the boldness of the man, and had him set free.

Some little time afterwards Traquair was involved in a law-suit which was set down to be decided by Lord Durie, who seems to have let it be known before-hand what his opinion was upon the case. Nothing would save Traquair's interests except that Durie must be got out of the way before the case began. But how was it to be done?

Christie's Will was appealed to, and merely said "Leave it to me."

It was the judge's habit to take horseback exercise on the sands of Leith without any attendant. One morning, whilst so riding, a well-dressed and gentlemanly stranger, on a good horse, happened to overtake him; a courteous greeting led to a friendly conversation, in which the stranger proved himself so affable and entertaining that the judge rode on by his side without suspicion. Suddenly, when they had come to a lonely spot, Lord Durie found himself seized by this muscular gentleman, smothered up in a big cloak, whisked off his horse and on to the stranger's, who galloped off, mischief knows where! It was Christie's Will, carrying out his promise.

The judge's horse galloped home, riderless. Search was made, but the judge could not be found. It could only be supposed that he had been thrown off into the sea. His successor was appointed, and Lord Traquair's case was heard and won!

Lord Durie had languished for several months in a dreary underground vault. I wonder if he thought of the many poor wretches he had sentenced to a similar fate? Suddenly at midnight he was roughly awakened, muffled up as before, and carried away again by his captor on horseback. Next morning, by the light of the newly-risen sun, he found himself on the very spot by the sands of Leith from which he had been kidnapped! We will hope that every one, including his successor, was glad when he thus came to life again.

When the Civil War began, the Earl of Traquair was faithful to King Charles I. Having some papers of importance that he wished to have given into the King's own hands, he entrusted these to the bold freebooter. Christie's Will did his errand, and received an equally important answer. But spies at Court had given Cromwell word of the matter, and the command was sent up to Carlisle that Will Armstrong must be intercepted there. Not knowing his danger, Will halted in the town to refresh his horse, then pushed forward to the bridge which crossed the Eden on the Northern boundary of the city. Cromwell's soldiers were waiting for him; the bridge was high and narrow, the broad Eden waters were swirling in high flood.

Christie's Will, without one second's hesitation, spurred his horse over the parapet. He sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up ... he sank ... he came up, this time at the very bank. He cut his heavy, dripping cloak from his shoulders; relieved of the weight, his horse struggled to the land. Away went Will, away went the troopers after him. It was a hard race to the river Esk, and this also Will had to swim. But now he was in Scotland, and his friends were at hand; gaily Will turned to his pursuers, who dared not cross the water; "Good friends," cried he, "come over and drink with me!" But they showed him their backs, and their horses's tails, and he saw no more of them.

Such were the exploits of Christie's Will; he was the last of the free-booters, but he certainly knew how to live up to their boldest traditions.

Chapter XLIV

Northumberland at the time of the Civil War

During the stormy days of King Charles I., the Borders, and especially Northumberland, saw many stirring scenes. It must be remembered that shortly before the Long Parliament was elected, King Charles almost came to war with the Scottish Presbyterians, because they would not obey the harsh rule of Archbishop Laud. The Scots raised an army under the lead of shrewd general Alexander Leslie, the "old, little, crooked soldier," of great experience, trained by the great Gustavus of Sweden. In 1639 Charles sent ships up to the Forth, in reply to which Leslie marched his army to threaten the border. The old quarrel between the two countries began to blaze up again. King Charles led an army to the border and was received with splendid applause at Newcastle. Many joined his army, and shouted with joy at the thought of meeting the Scots in battle. But they were an untrained disorderly crew, who fired their guns off at random and kept no military order whatever. Gallant Leslie marched his men down to Duns Law, in South Berwickshire, and was ready to fight. But King Charles would not trust his army that length; he made terms with his opponents, promising them the reforms they set their hearts upon, and the two armies melted away like school-boys at the end of the term.

Things were soon as bad as before. Lord Conway was sent by the King to put Newcastle into a strong defensive state. His greatest difficulty was to get money for the purpose, for the King's quarrel with his various Parliaments had deprived him of supplies. The badly paid troops mutinied, and the ring-leader was shot. Very soon the Scottish army came across the Tweed, the Highlanders armed with bows and arrows.

They pitched their camp on Heddon Law, and soon proved to the country folk that they had not come for plunder, but would pay for all they wanted to eat. This re-assured the country people, who had no real quarrel with the Scots, and even became most friendly to them.

With Lord Conway it was otherwise; he was the King's officer, and was bound to offer resistance. His opinion was that if once the Scots crossed the Tyne, and attacked Newcastle from the south or Gateshead side, they were sure of victory. Accordingly, leaving a strong garrison to protect the town, he marched out with two thousand or more foot and fully one thousand horse to command the important ford across the Tyne at Newburn, a place five or six miles due west of Newcastle. It is interesting to remember that here also the Romans had had fortifications, along the line of the wall, and the very spot where the Scots and English fought may well have been the scene of contests between the Roman Legions and the wild Picts.

The English arrived first, on the south bank of the river, and threw up earth-works hastily. Very soon they saw the Scots march into Newburn village, on the north bank, where they employed themselves by hauling their cannon up to the church tower. Remarkable cannon they were, made out of bar-iron hooped together with cord and wet, raw hides! But they were not required to carry any distance, the foe was only on the other side of the Tyne. All the morning the enemies looked at one another across the river, each hesitating to fire the first shot of the war. At last an English officer shot a Scotch officer, and the fight began. The Scots were on the higher ground, and their cannon, rough as they were, sent heavy shot on to the English. Then when the river tide went down, the Scots rushed across the ford, and the battle was soon won, the royal standard being taken. English runaways rushed through the woods and into Newcastle, crying, "Fly for your lives, naked devils have destroyed us!" Whether they referred to kilted Highlanders is uncertain. Anyway, Leslie and his Scots entered Newcastle in triumph, but were afterwards bought off with a payment of £60,000 and recrossed the Tweed into Scotland.

This was in 1641, a year in which King Charles was quarrelling bitterly with his Long Parliament, though the actual civil war in England did not begin till 1642. Early in 1642 it was decided that so important a town as Newcastle ought to be put in a stronger state of defence.

William Cavendish, Earl of Newcastle, was made governor of the town, but he was much hindered in his plans by lack of money. King Charles, however, promoted him from Earl to Marquis of Newcastle, and the lack of funds he made up as best he was able. However, the Governor of Holy Island, off the Northumberland shore, found himself left for sixteen months without any pay! He wrote to the King's treasury a protest in verse, beginning:—

"The great commander o' the Cormorants,The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands."

"The great commander o' the Cormorants,

The geese and ganders of these hallowed lands,

Where Lindisfarne and Holy Island stands,

These worthless lines sends to your worthy hands."

The allusion in the first two lines is to the fact that Holy Island and the Farne Islands were then, and are still to-day, so thinly peopled that sea-birds gather there in large numbers, adding greatly to the wild beauties of these islets and rocks.

In January 1644 a serious struggle began. Leslie and his soldiers crossed the Tweed at Berwick bridge and again entered Northumberland. General Bayly marched his men from Kelso across the frozen river and joined Leslie at Alnwick. Warkworth Castle, though it contained cannon and provisions, surrendered at once. The Scottish general gravely told Bemerton, the governor, that if he had learnt to fight as well as he had learnt to dance his castle could never have been taken! The country districts of Northumberland had no quarrel with the Scots, and it was soon evident that the real fight would be at Newcastle, bravely held by the Marquis and by the Mayor, Sir John Marley.

The Scottish "murthering pieces," as the cannon were called, were brought down by sea, and the obstinate conflict began. Despite the terrible weather of a very rough February, frequent skirmishes took place, while the Scots closed nearer and nearer round the gallantly defended town. Leslie soon found that the defences had been put into good order; the ditch round the town was dug deep, and close to the walls; the walls themselves were strongly underpinned. The battlements were strengthened by stone and lime, but the top stones were loosened so as to slip if the enemy attempted to mount them. Every cannon was placed carefully, to the best advantage.

[image]The Storming of Newcastle

[image]

The Storming of Newcastle

But the Marquis of Newcastle was called southward by the needs of his King. With him were his thousand brave "White coats," so called because they wore white coats which they promised to dye in the blood of the enemy. But they met the terrible Ironsides at Marston Moor, and in a conflict of furious bravery on both sides, all of the gallant thousand except thirty were slain on the field of battle.

This was in July of 1644, but it did not affect the siege of Newcastle, which still dragged obstinately on, under the skilful guidance of the dauntless Mayor. By October, Sir John Marley was so buoyed up by his success that he sent a letter to General Leslie to ask if he was still alive! This the Scots took to be an insult, and a grand assault was begun. The Scots were furious, and the defence was desperate. The roar of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry were succeeded, as the assault got nearer and nearer to its aim, by the clashing of swords and the clanging of pikes. At last, the regiments of Loudoun and Buccleugh succeeded in forcing their way into the town. In vain the defenders made their last gallant charge; their cause was now hopeless, and soon the market-place was filled with fugitives, who flung down their arms and cried aloud for quarter at the hands of the triumphant Scots.

In these days the defender was often made to feel the anger of the victors, who in the flush and cruelty of victory avenged their dead, only too terribly, upon the losing side. Not so at Newcastle. Prominent in its day, it stands out because of the mercy of the Scottish conquerors as much as for the heroism of its defence. In this, the last great struggle on English ground between Scots and English, it is pleasing indeed to recall facts that redound to the high honour of both parties.

Chapter XLV

Montrose and Lesly

James Graham, the great Marquis of Montrose who at first sided with the Scottish Covenanters against Charles I., was so out of sympathy with the extreme turn which affairs took later against that unhappy monarch that he went over to the King's side. Gathering the Highland Clans under his standard, he marched Southward and defeated the Covenanters in a series of brilliantly fought battles. He occupied Edinburgh, and laid great plans to complete the conquest of Scotland by subduing the Borderland.

If the Borders had remained in their old fighting state no doubt many a Border chief would have joined Montrose's army and aided his bold plans. But, unfortunately for King Charles, the Borders had been tamed and disarmed since the union of England and Scotland under James I. Only a few adventurous spirits like Christie's Will remained as examples of the old wild days.

The remnant of the army of the Covenanters was commanded by the stern General David Lesly (not the Alexander Leslie who figures in the preceding chapter), and was somewhere in the Border district. Gay Gallant Montrose did not bother as to exactly where this army was; he despised it too heartily. He himself was at Selkirk, while his army was encamped on the neighbouring plain of Philiphaugh.

Montrose was busy writing a cheering message to King Charles to the effect that he had now no enemy left in Scotland who could offer an effective resistance to his arms. Little did he think that General Lesly was gradually creeping nearer, nearer, and was now actually within four miles of his army. With the advantage of a thick Scotch mist, Lesly's men actually burst upon Montrose's infantry without a single scout having seen them to give warning of their approach! In such confusion, Montrose's men had no chance whatever.

The Marquis galloped up, only to find his soldiers hopelessly defeated and great numbers slain. There was nothing left but for those to escape who could. The Marquis succeeded in cutting his way through, and gathered his troops to fight again later on; but his efforts were doomed to failure.

A popular ditty of these days, sung to a stirring tune, was called "Lesly's March." Sir Walter Scott seems to regard this as wholly serious, and ranks it as a Covenanter song. It appears to me, however, that many of the lines have a very sarcastic flavour; no doubt the Covenanters did really think that

"There's none in the right but we,Of the old Scottish nation";

"There's none in the right but we,

Of the old Scottish nation";

but they would probably have phrased it a little less baldly. To me it appears as if this song were the work of an onlooker and not a partisan; one ready to see the faults of both sides, and very much inclined to hold back his final opinion till he saw which was going to win. But let the March speak for itself.

LESLY'S MARCH

March! march:Why the de'il do ye na march?Stand to your arms, my lads,Fight in good order;Front about, ye musketeers all,Till ye come to the English Border;Stand till 't, and fight like men,True gospel to maintain.The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!When to the kirk we come,We'll purge it ilka room,Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,That a' the world may see,There's nane in the right but we,Of the auld Scottish nation.

March! march:

Why the de'il do ye na march?

Stand to your arms, my lads,

Fight in good order;

Front about, ye musketeers all,

Till ye come to the English Border;

Stand till 't, and fight like men,True gospel to maintain.

Stand till 't, and fight like men,

True gospel to maintain.

The parliament's blythe to see us a' coming!

When to the kirk we come,We'll purge it ilka room,

When to the kirk we come,

We'll purge it ilka room,

Frae popish relics, and a' sic innovation,

That a' the world may see,There's nane in the right but we,

That a' the world may see,

There's nane in the right but we,

Of the auld Scottish nation.

A truly partisan ballad of the day describes the battle of Philiphaugh and exults in the defeat of Montrose, "our cruel enemy," it calls him. As a ballad it has no great poetic merit; the very sober Covenanters probably regarded ballad-making as a frivolity. But it describes rather graphically how an "aged father," from the country-side, led Lesly's army very cautiously and wisely to the very tents of the foe. These details are no doubt accurate; though the ballad-writer (whoever he was) displays his ignorance of other matters by making the old soldier say that he was at the battle of Solway Moss (which took place one hundred years before) and at that of Dunbar, which was not fought till five years later!

The following are the opening verses of the ballad, giving an idea of its plain, straightforward style:—

On Philiphaugh a fray began,At Hairhead-wood it ended;The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,Sae merrily they bended;Sir David frae the Border came,Wi' heart an' hand came he;Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,To bear him company.Wi' him three thousand valiant men,A noble sight to see!A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,As close as e'er might be.When they came to the Shaw burn,Said he, "Sae weel we frame.I think it is convenientThat we should sing a psalm."

On Philiphaugh a fray began,At Hairhead-wood it ended;The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,Sae merrily they bended;

On Philiphaugh a fray began,

At Hairhead-wood it ended;

The Scots out o'er the Graemes they ran,

Sae merrily they bended;

Sir David frae the Border came,Wi' heart an' hand came he;Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,To bear him company.

Sir David frae the Border came,

Wi' heart an' hand came he;

Wi' him three thousand bonny Scots,

To bear him company.

Wi' him three thousand valiant men,A noble sight to see!A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,As close as e'er might be.

Wi' him three thousand valiant men,

A noble sight to see!

A cloud o' mist them weel conceal'd,

As close as e'er might be.

When they came to the Shaw burn,Said he, "Sae weel we frame.I think it is convenientThat we should sing a psalm."

When they came to the Shaw burn,

Said he, "Sae weel we frame.

I think it is convenient

That we should sing a psalm."

It is not necessary to quote more of it, but it may be remarked that in place of the last line as given here, theunregeneratesubstituted,

"That we should take a dram."

In point of actual fact,bothversions are probably true!

Chapter XLVI

The Death of Montrose

During the imprisonment of King Charles I., at a time when active war on his behalf might do the unhappy monarch more harm than good, the gallant Montrose had retired to France. His bright military fame, his courteous manners, and manly bearing made him friends everywhere, and when he visited Germany the Emperor conferred on him the rank of Marshal. Hearing of the execution of Charles I., Montrose at once placed himself at the disposal of Charles II., now a fugitive in Holland. This prince named him Captain General of Scotland, and the daring hero set out for the Orkney Islands with about five hundred paid soldiers, mostly adventurous Germans and Dutchmen. Only a reckless spirit like Montrose would have undertaken so wild a commission.

Scotland was heartily sick of war, and learnt with consternation of the arrival of this firebrand. Lesly was sent forward with four thousand men to attack Montrose's five hundred! Colonel Strachan led the advanced guard, which fell unexpectedly upon the invading army, and, after a brief, fierce struggle, totally defeated it.

Montrose, disguised as a peasant, entrusted his life to one he believed to be his friend, M'Leod, Laird of Assaint. But this unworthy man betrayed him to his bitterest enemy, General Lesly. Thus, at last, this brilliant commander was in the hands of the bitter Covenanters, into whose hearts his brilliant victories had once spread such terror. Their treatment of him is a black stain upon their memory. For days he was led about in the peasant's disguise, which he had put on; he was carted through the streets of Edinburgh, accompanied by such insults that the populace cried shame upon his captors.

When tried before the Scottish Parliament for treason, he made a most eloquent defence, one of the most notable of his assertions being that he had never stained his victories by slaughtering his foes in cold blood after the battle. In this he was far above his enemies, who had disgraced their victory of Philiphaugh by many an execution, and who were now bent upon taking the life of Montrose himself. The sentence against him was probably decided before his defence had been heard; it ran thus:—

"That James Graham should next day be carried to Edinburgh cross and there hanged on a gibbet 30 feet high for the space of three hours; then to be taken down, his head to be struck off on a scaffold and affixed to the prison; his arms and legs to be stuck up on the four chief towns of the Kingdom, his body to be buried in the place set aside for common criminals."

To this sentence the great Marquis haughtily replied that he would rather have his head so placed than his picture in the King's bedchamber, and that he wished he had limbs enough to be dispersed into all the cities of Christendom, to prove his dying attachment to his king. And in the one evening of life that still remained to him, this accomplished and fearless nobleman employed his time in turning these loyal sentiments into verse.

Despite the fact that he triumphed undaunted over all the mean inventions of their malice, his enemies persisted to the end.

The executioner tied mockingly round his neck the book that had been published describing his victories; Montrose thanked him, saying that he wore it with more pride than he had ever worn the garter of honour. He uttered a short prayer; then asking them what more indignities they had prepared for him, he patiently and with unbroken spirit yielded his life to the hangman, at the too early age of thirty-eight.

Whatever opinions we may have as to the rights and wrongs of the quarrel, this brutal killing of a gallant soldier and accomplished gentleman can only rank as a hideous blot upon all concerned in it. Every insult hurled at Montrose has returned in the verdict of time with redoubled force against the malice of those who stooped to such vindictiveness. The execution of a soldier who has violated no rule of war is at any time a thing that revolts the human conscience, and a sentence hoarse with the vile taunts of its utterers has so far lost all semblance of justice that it is needless to argue upon it.

In the verdict of history, the great Marquis of Montrose, whether right or wrong in his political views, lived and died like a man of honour.

The ballad of the "Gallant Grahams," written about this time, reflects very sincerely and touchingly the devotion and affection surrounding the great Marquis, accompanied by the very Scottish feeling that in addition to his own personal power and genius, he was also the head of the great Border family of Grahams.

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