Part 14

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 L60,000 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.

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";

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.

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 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, the _unregenerate_ substituted,

"That we should take a dram."

In point of actual fact, _both_ versions 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.

*THE GALLANT GRAHAMS*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*Chapter XLVII*

*The Borderers and the Jacobites*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * * * *

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

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

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

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