Part 9

"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie gift--four-and-twenty milk-white steeds, newly foaled--I'll give thee four-and-twenty milk-white steeds that prance and neigh at a spear, and as much English gold as four of their broad backs are able to bear."

"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"

"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a bonnie gift--four-and-twenty mills that are working all the year round for me--four-and-twenty mills that shall go for thee all the year round, and as much good red wheat as all their happers are able to bear."

"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"

"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a great gift--four-and-twenty sisters' sons shall fight for thee though all should flee."

"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"

"Grant me my life, my King, and I will give thee a brave gift. All between here and Newcastle town shall pay thee yearly rent."

"Away with thee, thou traitor, out of my sight! Never have I granted a traitor's life, nor will I now begin with thee!"

"Ye lie, calling me traitor; ye lie now, King, although ye be King and Prince. Well dare I say it, that all my life I have loved naught but honesty, a fleet horse, a fair woman, and two bonny dogs to kill a deer; yet had I lived for another hundred years, England should have still found me meal and malt and plenty of beef and mutton. Never would a Scot's wife have been able to say that I robbed her of aught. But surely it is great folly to seek for hot water beneath cold ice. I have asked grace of a graceless King, but there is none for me and my men. But had I known before I came how unkind thou wouldst prove to me, I would have kept the Borderside in spite of thee and thy nobles. How glad would be England's King if he but knew that I was taken, for once I slew his sister's son and broke a tree over his breastbone."

Now Johnie had a girdle round his waist embroidered and spangled with burning gold, very beautiful to look upon, and from his hat hung down nine tassels, each worth three hundred pounds. "What wants that knave that a King should have, but the sword of honour and the crown?" cried the King.

"Where did ye get those tassels, Johnie, that shine so bravely above your brow?"

"I got them fighting in the field where thou darest not be," replied Johnie. "And had I now my horse and good harness, and were I riding as I am used to do, this meeting between us should have been told these hundred years. God be with thee, my brother Christy, long shalt thou live Laird of Mangertown on the Border-side ere thou see thy brother ride by again. God be with _thee_, my son Christy, where thou sitst on thy nurse's knee; thou'lt ne'er be a better man than thy father, though thou live a hundred years. Farewell, bonnie Hall of Gilnockie, standing strong on Eskside; if I had lived but seven more years, I would have gilded thee round about."

Then Johnie Armstrong was slain by the King's orders at Carlinrigg with all his gallant company, and Scotland's heart was sad to see the death of so many brave men, who had saved their country from the Englishmen. None were so brave as they, and while Johnie lived on the Border-side no Englishman durst come near his stronghold.

*Chapter XXIV*

*The Lament of the Border Widow*

How King James V. of Scotland, in 1529, set forth to strike terror into the Border freebooters, has been already told in the account of Johnie Armstrong. A less celebrated moss-trooper, Cockburne of Henderland, was hanged by the pitiless King over the gate of his own tower. The wife of Cockburne loved him most dearly, and when she found the King would show no mercy, fled away to the rocks behind the castle whilst the cruel sentence was carried out. She sat by a roaring torrent of the Henderland burn, the noise of which in her ears drowned the savage shouts of the King's soldiers. The beautiful song which describes the grief of this loving woman is one of the gems of ancient poetry, and is here printed entire.

*THE LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW*

My love he built me a bonny bower, And clad it a' wi' lilye flower, A brawer bower ye ne'er did see, Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man by middle day, He spied his sport, and went away; And brought the King that very night, Who brake my bower, and slew my knight.

He slew my knight to me sae dear; He slew my knight, and took his gear; My servants all for life did flee, And left me in extremitie.

I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the corpse, myself alone; I watch'd his body, night and day; No living creature came that way.

I took his body on my back, And whiles I gaed, and whiles I sat; I digg'd a grave, and laid him in, And happ'd him with the sod sae green.

But think na ye my heart was sair, When I laid the moul' on his yellow hair; O think na ye my heart was wae, When I turn'd about, away to gae?

Nae living man I'll love again, Since that my lovely knight was slain, Wi' ae lock of his yellow hair, I'll chain my heart for evermair.

*Chapter XXV*

*The Raid of the Kers*

The spirited ballad that describes this raid is quite modern, since it was written by Hogg, "the Ettrick Shepherd," in 1830. But the rash raid it describes took place in 1549. The Kers were an important Border family, the leaders of whom afterwards became Earls of Roxburgh. Sir Andrew Ker was warden of the Border at the time of the raid, but he proved that it took place without his consent. The Kers were all left-handed men, and puzzled their enemies by their left-handed swordsmanship. Even to-day in some parts of the borders a left-handed man is called "Ker-handed."

On a fine September evening Tam Ker rode out, with fifty in his company. They were armed for a fight and their swords were keen; they rode by the Maiden Crags and down the Osway burn, going carefully till the daylight closed, for they were soon in Northumberland. Their bold plan was to get down the valley of the Coquet even as far as Rothbury where Withrington, the English warden, kept a magnificent herd of cattle. They had one castle to pass, that of Biddleston, which had been held by the Selby family since the reign of Henry III., and still belongs to them to this day. Biddleston Castle guarded the Allanton or Alwinton ford, where the Alwin stream enters the Coquet. So they sent the reckless Mark Ker first, to scout along by the ford, and told him to set up marks on the cairns to show his progress. Having nothing else to mark with, he tore the shirt off his back, and left strips of it on the cairns. At the ford a sentry challenged him, and he answered that he had a message for Withrington. The sentry demanded his sealed warrant, and the Scot drew his sword. They fought bravely and long before the Englishman was killed, and the Scot marvelled that a common soldier should so withstand him, for he was the best swordsman of his race. On he galloped, on and on, till he met a comely maiden, and addressing her he tried to imitate the Northumberland speech, saying that he had lost his way. She told him at once that she knew he was a Scot, but so also was she. She had been taken captive, but word had came by an English spy that the Kers were out upon a raid, and while the English had set a hundred soldiers to guard their cattle she had slipped away to warn the Scots and to return with them. Being a gallant after the manner of that day, he sprang from his horse, kissed her, and invited her to mount his saddle even if he had to run beside till he could capture another steed. But an English soldier came up and warned him roughly off the road. Mark Ker had been brought up to answer rough words with rougher blows; out leapt his sword, and he cut the rude words short by slashing the man's head off. Then he disguised the maid in the dead man's clothes, and they retraced their steps that he might warn his companions. They very soon came upon them, and all together hid in the lowest dell of the Larbottle burn while they made their plans. Tam Ker, with twenty of the men, was to draw off the English, while Mark with thirty others slipped round and drove off the cattle unperceived. This was done, and till after midnight, Tam, aided by the darkness and by the difficulties of the wild locality, held the English at bay.

Then he heard the bugle signal, and knew that Mark was well on the road with the beasts, and that he must follow quickly. But Withrington also guessed what the signal meant, and pursued with all the speed he knew. Mark had not long crossed the ford at Biddleston before the English were on him. First Mark and Withrington fought in single combat, hand to hand, all their men watching eagerly; it was still very dark, but the clash of sword against sword lit the air with sparks. Withrington was badly wounded, but Mark was killed. With desperate shouts the Scots fell upon the English; then up came Tam and his men from behind to help the Scots, but the Captain of Biddleston had also been awakened, and galloped down with his men to aid the English. Tam smote his head off with his sword, but the horse galloped on with his headless body right into the ranks of the Scots. They thought it must be a demon and began to scatter in full flight to the Border. Tam was slain, trying to follow them, and his men, seeing that they had work enough to gallop for their lives, slew the cattle they could no longer hope to steal. On and on the hard-pressed remnant spurred their weary horses. It was daylight now, and the English along the road shot arrows at them as they galloped past. Out of fifty-one hardy, healthy Kers who had started forth in the raid, only seventeen, weary and wounded, saw their homes again.

And back in the south country, the comely Scottish maiden lay dead across the breast of the gallant Mark, their hearts' blood mingling in a common stream. Small wonder that a Scot should make a ballad of the story and that Borderers should sing it even to this day.

*Chapter XXVI*

*Merrie Carlisle*

The city of Carlisle stands in the midst of a beautiful and fertile district with pleasant but not too steep hills around. In the old days an easy water-supply was a first essential, and at Carlisle three rivers meet, the Caldew and the Petterill running here into the broad stream of the Eden. These three rivers almost enclose the ground upon which the city is built, so that it is most probable that there was an ancient British settlement upon so advantageous a site, before the Roman invasion. Our earliest record, however, goes back no further than Roman days, and it is certain there was then a Roman city here called _Luguvallium_ (the trench of the legion). Even to-day, when new gas-pipes are being laid in the ground, it is by no means rare to dig up Roman relics. The long Roman name became gradually corrupted into "Luel," or "Liel," and the Britons added their word "Caer," which means a city, hence "Caer-luel"--an earlier form of the modern Carlisle. The Roman city stood, as might be expected, by the great Roman wall, guarding the spot where the wall crossed the river Eden. And visitors may see to-day that the centre of Carlisle consists of a market-place with two main streets leading therefrom, the usual plan in cities of Roman origin.

Carlisle was destined to have a stormy history. Draw a line from the Solway eastward, straight through Carlisle, and it will be seen that here the mainland of Britain is about at its narrowest, hardly so much as seventy miles wide, as the crow flies. Note, too, that the wild hills of the Pennines and the Cheviots fill in most of this narrow district, and that the mainland of Scotland strikes sharply off to the west. It is plain from these facts that Carlisle commands the main road between Scotland and England, and they provide the reason why at the present day seven different railways, most of them important ones, run their trains into Carlisle station. The very same reason was responsible for the fact that in the good old times no English town was more often burnt down by enemies than "Merrie Carlisle."

Even in Roman days, during the reign of Nero, Carlisle was burnt down at least once by the wild Picts, who were brave enough to venture against the well-armed troops of Rome. After the Romans left Britain this town was one of the strongholds of King Arthur; to be sure, nothing very definite is known about this romantic king, but the old ballads tell us that he was victorious over Gauls, Dacians, Spaniards, and Romans. This sounds very unlikely to those who do not realise that when Rome called home her best men for her own defence she may have left behind many rough soldiers, of various nations, to guard the wall. Although we know nothing about King Arthur save what is vague and legendary, we do know that the Roman legions were recruited from all the provinces of the empire. Cumberland had many connexions with King Arthur; within twenty miles of Carlisle, near Penrith, is a big round hill called "King Arthur's Table"; while nearer still, on the Penrith and Carlisle road, is shown the spot where stood Tearne-Wadling Lake and Castle, where King Arthur was bewitched and taken prisoner by the "foul, discourteous knight," only to be released provided one of his men would consent to marry the hideous lady with hair like serpents! When at last Sir Gawaine married this hag for his King's sake, she, of course, changed at once into a beautiful young woman! This does not sound very convincing, it is true, but in the old days many tales just as unlikely were told of famous men. At any rate the ballad begins with the lilting line:--

"King Arthur lives in merrie Carleile,"

and all that concerns us at the moment is that perhaps he really did live there, and did do some very real fighting along the debateable line of the wall.

We next learn of Carlisle that King Egfrid of Northumbria rebuilt the city about the year 675, wherefore we can only suppose that it had suffered its somewhat usual fate, perhaps at the hands of that savage Saxon warrior called The Burner. But in any case, Carlisle never belonged to the Northumbrians for any considerable space of time, but was the capital of the Celtic or Welsh kingdom of Cumbria, from which the present name of Cumberland is derived.

In 875 the Danes had a turn at pillaging and harrying Carlisle, which was again in sorry plight. Both Cumbria and Northumbria were faring very badly in the struggle between the various kingdoms which then divided up Britain, and for a while it looked as if the energetic kings of the Scots would annex both these northern dominions. But the coming of the strong-handed Normans altered all this; and by far the most noteworthy event in the history of Carlisle was the fact that during 1092 and 1093 William Rufus seized Cumberland, and for the first time added it definitely to England.

Recognising at once the strength and value of Carlisle, Rufus caused a strong Norman castle to be built where the old Roman fort used to stand. To-day, despite the many rough adventures which have befallen this northern city, there yet remain portions of William Rufus's castle, side by side with fragments of the old Roman walls. Many of the modern buildings put up in King George's day are crumbling, but the old Norman and Roman remains are firm as a rock!

The castle was strengthened by King Henry I., but this did not prevent its seizure in 1135 by King David of Scotland, who added to it in turn. The Scots held the keep till 1157, when it was retaken by Henry II., but a few years later, in 1173, William the Lion, King of Scotland, besieged it, and for the next fifty years it changed hands several times, according to the fortunes of war. It is significant that a main street in the northern part of Carlisle is called "Scotch Street," while another in the southern part is called "English Street!"

Edward I. held a parliament here after defeating Wallace at Falkirk; and it was from Carlisle that this English King conducted his later operations against Scotland. It is a pathetic picture, that of this stern warrior in his old age, on his last march, trying to carry out his pet scheme of uniting the entire island under one rule. He was so ill that he had to be carried in a litter as far as Carlisle. Finding himself again so near the border, he felt the old fire glow within him, and sprang upon his horse--but at Burgh-on-Sands, on the shore of the Solway, whence he could view the goal of his ambition, the brave King died.

During the next thirty years Carlisle was frequently attacked by the Scots, but they were usually defeated. In 1337, however, they partly, and in 1345 almost entirely burnt it down. Again in 1380 they burnt part of what had been rebuilt! Had there been fire insurance in these wild days, the premiums in Carlisle would have been heavy!

After the Wars of the Roses, the city seemed to settle down somewhat, and was chiefly known on the Border as the place where Scottish freebooters were hanged if caught. In one of the Border villages there is a famous churchyard where of old only the graves of women and children were to be seen. The explanation was given to a passing traveller by an old woman, who said that the men were all buried "in merrie Carlisle," meaning, that is, that they had all been hanged there!

In 1537 there was a rising in England known as the "Pilgrimage of Grace," in opposition to the savage policy of Henry's minister, Thomas Cromwell, and no less than eighty thousand insurgents are said to have attacked Carlisle; but after much fighting the rebels were defeated and seventy-four of their leaders were executed on the city walls.

When Mary Queen of Scots was imprisoned in Carlisle in 1568 it was vainly besieged by a force that sought to rescue her; but less than thirty years afterwards, in 1596, by a bold stroke of daring, Lord Scott of Buccleuch succeeded in surprising the castle and in liberating the well-known freebooter, "Kinmont Willie."

When King James united England and Scotland, the troubles of Carlisle might have been thought to be over. But in the civil war between King and Parliament it was again a storm centre, and was held alternately by each of the parties.

The last warlike operations against this much-besieged city were undertaken in 1745, when it was first taken by Prince Charlie, who made a triumphal entry without any serious fighting, and afterwards retaken almost as easily by the cruel Duke of Cumberland, whose entry into the place was followed, as usual, by a series of executions.

Among those who suffered was Sir A. Primrose, a gallant ancestor of the present Lord Rosebery. The victims were executed, with the cruelties of the old law against treason, on the celebrated Gallows Hill, at Harraby, and were buried in nameless graves in the Kirkyard of St Cuthbert's. Passing down the Botchergate (the London Road), past the site of the old Roman cemetery, the wayfarer may see Gallows Hill rise where a deep cut has been made to avoid a steep rise in the road. It was just outside the boundary of old Carlisle, and executions were witnessed from the walls, by men and women alike. Climb the hill--it is worth while. The little river Petteril sparkles at our feet; the view, fresh and green, stretches away nobly to the Pennines and the Border Hills. Keep a warm thought in your heart for all the gallant fellows who met death bravely in this place.

No history of Carlisle could omit to mention the Cathedral. English cathedrals are shaped like a cross lying on the ground; the long stem of the cross is the _nave_ of the cathedral; the two arms are the _transepts_; and the upper end that continues the main stem is the _choir_. Where choir, nave and transepts meet, the _tower_ rises. But unlike every other English cathedral, that of Carlisle has height and width, but is too short in length, two-thirds of the nave having been hurled down by the Scots!

Every cathedral has its history written in its stones, for those who know how to read it. That of Carlisle shows a stormy history, stormier than any other. It is not a peaceful building carried out very much in one style and undisturbed. It is a building full of signs of disturbance, the builders of which were interrupted in their plans by war and frequently had their building seriously damaged by their enemies. It is a mixture of styles, a mass of re-buildings and afterthoughts, but for that very reason it is a fitting symbol of the much-harassed city. With all its signs of storm and stress it has much beauty, and possesses the finest window in all England, one of the finest in the world. Just outside the Cathedral is a noble stretch of the old West Wall of the city, which gives a vivid idea of its strength in the old days.

The bishops of Carlisle live at Rose Castle, five miles south of the Cathedral. This has been their residence for over six hundred years. No doubt they thought it advisable not to live in the "merrie city"!

In this castle King Edward I. stayed. It was once partly burnt by Bruce, and again partly by the Puritans, but this is a comparatively clean record for such a district! In 1745 Captain Macdonald and his Scots came down to besiege it, but hearing that the bishop's baby daughter was about to be christened, the gallant captain would not let warfare spoil so peaceful a ceremony, and not only withdrew his men, but also left a white cockade behind him as a sign that the place was not to be molested. In all this he showed that true courtesy that always marks the real Highland gentleman.

Standing to-day in this bustling, breezy, pleasant little city, it is not easy to realise the wild scenes it has witnessed. The charming rivers that hem it in show no traces of the bloodshed of the past. Yet here have contended painted Pict and war-trained Roman; here the most skilful leaders of the Celts, Saxons, and Danes have led their brave and sturdy men to battle; here Norman knight has fought with hardy Scot, and fierce Border factions have wrangled and sought speedy justice; Puritan has fought Cavalier, and Jacobite has faced Hanoverian; kings, generals, and warriors of many centuries have found a fitting meeting-place before or behind the walls of Carlisle.

An open, airy, quaint city. There is not very much that is old in it, for the old was not allowed to stand long enough! But on the top of its principal hill the tall truncated Cathedral presents a picturesque figure, and if we stand there or by the castle the eye commands fine, ancient walls and very delightful distances. It is a place of lingering memories, and if these are chiefly of strife and bloodshed we do not forget that to the Border folk the city was "Merrie Carlisle."

*Chapter XXVII*

*Kinmont Willie*

"O have ye not heard of the false Sakelde, O have ye not heard of the keen Lord Scroope, How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie On Haribee to hang him oop?"

The story of this famous freebooter, William Armstrong of Kinmonth, belongs to the time of Queen Elizabeth, when Lord Scroope was Warden of the Western Marches, and Mr Sakelde of Corby Castle was his Deputy.