Part 6

She threw down the mantle, That bright was of blee; Fast, with a rudd redd, To her chamber can shee flee.

She curst the weaver, and the walker That clothe that had wrought; And bade a vengeance on his crowne, That hither had it broughte.

The lady of Sir Kay, another of King Arthur's knights, tries it on with no better success; and the ballad thus corroborates the old traditions reported by the earliest historians, that the court of the British King was anything but a pure one, "and that Queen Guinevere was noted for breach of faith to her husband," especially with her husband's friend, Sir Lancelot du Lake, the hero himself of many a goodly ballad; and of some passages in the Morte Arthur.

Mixing the real with the fabulous history of Carlisle, and taking both in chronological order, we must leave these ancient ballads to relate that, during the period of the British Kings, Carlisle suffered from the incursions of the Scots and Picts, by whom it was ultimately reduced to ruins; it was rebuilt by Egfrid, King of Northumberland, who surrounded and fortified it with a wall; founded a monastery and a college of secular priests. It was once more destroyed by the Danes, about the year 900, who threw down the walls, burned its houses, chiefly built of wood, and killed every person in it, man, woman, and child. It remained in ruins, it is believed, for nearly 200 years. On the return of William Rufus from Alnwick, after concluding a peace with the turbulent Scotch, he passed over the remains of this once celebrated city, and observing that it must have been a place of great strength, and could be made so again, he resolved to rebuild it for the protection of the border. He did so: and Carlisle became of more importance than it had ever been before. Its castle was built and garrisoned; and every means taken to render it a stronghold both for offensive and defensive warfare. Henry the First completed what Rufus had so well begun, erected Carlisle into an Episcopal see in the year 1132, making Athelwold, his confessor, the first bishop.

In Evans's Collection of Old Ballads is one relating to a bishop of Carlisle at this early period. It is entitled "Bishop Thurston and the King of Scots," and contains some beautiful passages which render it worthy of all the publicity that can be given to it; especially as the whole composition inculcates sentiments of abhorrence for warfare, rare at the time it was penned, but now, happily, in the ascendant. Soon after King Stephen's departure for Normandy, A.D. 1137, the King of Scotland entered England in a hostile manner. Stephen's Government was not in a position to resist an invasion at that time; and the miseries of war were averted by the interposition of the venerable Bishop Thurston, who prevailed upon the Scotch King to meet him at Roxburgh, and used such arguments as induced him to return to his own country in peace. They are said to have been arguments of Christian charity, and not the arguments of policy and the sword, which bishops as well as barons could use in those days. A few stanzas will show the excellent spirit of the ballad.

Through the fair country of Tiviotdale King David marched forth; King David and his princely son, The heroes of the North.

And holy Thurston fro' merry Carlisle, In haste his way doth wind, With many a cross-bearer before, And many a knight behind.

The arguments used by the bishop to dissuade the invader are of universal interest, and as applicable now as then:--

Out then spoke the holy Thurston, And full of woe spake he, "O Christ, thy kingdom of heavenly bliss, Alas, when shall we see!

For here on earth is nought but sin, And kings for pride do ill, And when they with each other war The poor folks blood must spill.

What hath the husbandman done wrong That he must spoil his grain? What the poor widow, and what the child, That they must all be slain?

And what is the simple maid to blame To be made of lust the prey? And what the lowly village priest That they so oft do slay?

And when the doleful day of doom Shall call ye from the grave, From the crying blood of these innocents What tyrants shall ye save?

Now think thee well, O mortal King, And thy misdeeds bemoan, And think what will save thy hapless soul, When all thy pomp is gone.

Nor fancy that alms will save thy soul, Though bounteous they be given; Nor the rearing of abbeys all rich endowed Will carry thy soul to heaven."

From the time of Henry I. the place began to prosper, though it appears from Stowe that, in 1829, a great portion of it was burned down. In the year 1300, King Edward I. summoned his barons and knights to meet him here on the feast-day of St. John the Baptist, to prepare for the invasion of Scotland; which was afterwards commenced by the siege of Carlaverock castle. The same monarch also summoned a Parliament to meet here in the year 1307, the last parliament of his reign. A complete list of the members who attended is to be found in Stowe's _Annals_, including, says the historian, "eighty-seven earls and barons, twenty bishops, sixty-one abbots, and eight priors, besides many deacons, archdeacons and other inferior clerks. The subject of their deliberations was the Scottish war, and the sore annoyance given by Robert Bruce. The King remained here from January, when the Parliament was summoned, during all the winter and summer, disposing of many things concerning Scotland at his pleasure," but vexing himself to death at his inability, from sickness and other causes, to march against Robert Bruce. He had some revenge, however, for a party of his men "capturing one Thomas, that was a knight, and one Alexander, that was a priest and dean of Glasgow," who had been sent by Robert Bruce to "allure away the English people by gentle persuasion;" he had them summarily hanged, drawn, and quartered, and placed their heads upon the gates of Carlisle--those gates where the heads of so many Scotchmen were afterwards to grin in ghastly horror until 1745.

Among the poetical and historical associations connected with Carlisle, the famous battle of Otterbourne, and the still more famous ballad which celebrates it, must not be omitted. In the twelfth year of Richard II., A.D. 1388, the Scotch made a great raid over the border, and ravaged the whole country about Carlisle, driving away large quantities of cattle, and taking no less than 300 men prisoners. Another division of them extended their ravages into the counties of Northumberland and Durham; and grew so insolent as to render a vigorous effort necessary to crush them, on the part of the English.

It fell about the Lammas tide When yoemen win their hay, The doughty Douglass 'gan to ride In England to take a prey.

The Earl of Fife withoute strife _He bound him over Solway_. The great wolde even together ride The race they may rue for aye.

The version of the ballad, as given by Percy, is the only one of the many versions extant which makes allusion to the party that ravaged Carlisle. The main interest is centred around Newcastle, and on the doings of the other division of the Scotch. There is, however, another ballad of which Carlisle is more exclusively the theme. It is somewhat less known to the English reader, not being found in Percy's _Reliques_; and describes a scene which was very common to the border for a long period. Mr. Gilbert has illustrated it by a picturesque sketch. The principal portions of this ballad, sufficient to tell the story, are here transcribed. In the year 1596, William Armstrong, of Kinmont, better known as Kinmont Willie, a noted reiver, or border trooper, and stealer of Englishmen's cattle, was taken prisoner by Lord Scrope, the Warden of the Western Marches, and safely lodged in Carlisle Castle. A truce existed at the time between Lord Scrope and the Lord of Buccleugh, who severally watched over the interests of the English and Scottish sides of the border; and the Lord of Buccleugh, incensed that the truce had been broken by the capture of Willie, demanded that he should be set at liberty. Lord Scrope refused; and the Lord of Buccleugh, with a small body of two hundred men, performed the daring feat of surprising the castle of Carlisle, and rescuing his countryman. The "fause Sakelde," alluded to in the ballad, was the then possessor of Corby castle, and sheriff of Cumberland--the chief of the powerful family of the Salkeldes; and "Hairibee" was the slang phrase for the place of execution at Carlisle.

KINMONT WILLIE.

O have ye na heard o' the fause Sakelde, O have ye na heard o' the keen Lord Scrope, How they have taken bold Kinmont Willie On Hairibee to hang him up?

Had Willie had but twenty men-- But twenty men as stout as he, Fause Sakelde had never the Kinmont ta'en Wi' eight score in his company.

They bound his legs beneath the steed, They tied his hands behind his back, They guarded him, five score on each side, And brought him over the Liddel-rack.

They led him through the Liddel-rack, And also through the Carlisle sands, They brought him to Carlisle Castell To be at my Lord Scrope's commands.

Now word is gone to the bold keeper In Branksome hall where that he lay, That Lord Scrope had taken Kinmont Willie Between the hours of night and day.

He struck the table with his hand, He made the red wine spring on hie-- "Now Christ's curse on my head," he said, "But avenged on Lord Scrope I will be.

"O is my helmet a widow's cap, Or my lance a wand of the willow tree? Or my arm a lady's lily hand, That an English Lord should lightly me?

"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie, Against the truce of Border tide? And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh Is keeper here on the Scottish side?

"And have they taken him, Kinmont Willie, Withouten either dread or fear, And forgotten that the bold Buccleugh, Can back a steed and shake a spear?

"O were there war between the lands, As well as I wot that there is none, I would slight Carlisle Castell high, Though it were builded of marble stone.

"I would set that Castell in a low, And sloken it with English blood, There's never a man in Cumberland Should tell where Carlisle Castell stood.

"But since nae war's between the lands And there is peace and peace should be; I'll neither harm English lad or lass, And yet the Kinmont shall go free."

Then on we held for Carlisle town And at Staneshaw bank the Eden we crossed, The water was great and mickle of spait But there never a man nor horse we lost.

And when we reached the Staneshaw bank, The wind was rising loud and hie, And there the laird gar'd leave our steeds For fear that they should stamp and nie.

And when we left the Staneshaw bank, The wind began full loud to blaw, But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castle wa'.

We crept on knees and held our breath, Till we placed the ladders against the wa', And ready was bold Buccleugh himself To mount the first before us a'.

He has ta'en the watchman by the throat, He flung him down upon the lead; "Had there not been peace between our land, Upon the other side thou hadst gaed."

"Now sound our trumpet," quoth Buccleugh, Let's waken Lord Scrope, right merrilie; Then loud the Warder's trumpet blew, "Wha daur meddle wi' me?"

Wi' coulters and wi' forehammers We garred the bars bang merrilie, Until we came to the inner prison, Where Kinmont Willie he did lie.

And when we came to the lower prison, Where Kinmont Willie he did lie. "O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die?"

"O, I sleep saft, and I wake aft, It's long since sleeping was fley'd frae me! Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that speir for me!"

The Red Rowan has lifted him up The starkest man in Teviotdale; "Abide, abide now, Red Rowan, Till of Lord Scrope I take farewell.

"Farewell, farewell, my good Lord Scrope, My good Lord Scrope, farewell," he cried, "I'll pay you for my lodging maill, When first we meet on the border side."

Then shoulder high, with shout and cry, We bore him down the ladder lang, At every stride Red Rowan made I wot the Kinmont's airms played clang.

"O, mony a time," quoth Kinmont Willie, "I have ridden horse both wild and woad, But a rougher beast than Red Rowan, I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode!"

We scarce had reached the Haneshaw bank, When all the Carlisle hills were rung, And a thousand men on horse and foot Came wi' the keen Lord Scrope along.

Buccleugh has turned to Eden water, Even where it flowed from bank to brim, And he has plunged in wi' a' his band And safely swam them thro' the stream.

He turned him on the other side, And at Lord Scrope his glove flung he, "If ye like na' my visit in merry England, In fair Scotland come visit me!"

This was a daring exploit, and has been gallantly sung. The words seem to come out of the mouth of one of the very moss troopers who had acted a part in the achievement, and the whole composition is rough but finely flavoured; and strongly dramatic. Queen Elizabeth, when she heard of it, was highly indignant, and "stormed not a little." Two years afterwards, the "bold Buccleugh" was in England, and Elizabeth was anxious to see so doughty a chieftain. He was presented accordingly, and Elizabeth, in a rough and peremptory manner, demanded of him how he had dared to undertake an enterprise so desperate and presumptuous!

"What is it," replied the undaunted Scot, "that a man dare not do?"

Elizabeth, struck with his boldness, turned to a lord in waiting, and said, "with ten thousand men such as this, our brother of Scotland might shake the firmest throne in Europe."

There is another ballad relating to the same Lord Scrope, and the execution of a noted reiver, named "Hughie the Græme," who had made woeful havoc in his time among the farmsteads of the Marches, and the cattle of "merry England." Hughie did not escape Hairibee. The actual offence for which he suffered was his stealing the Bishop of Carlisle's mare. The following is the ballad:--

HUGHIE THE GRÆME.

Gude Lord Scroope's to the hunting gane, He has ridden our moss and muir; And he has grippit Hughie the Græme, For stealing o' the bishop's mare.

"Now, Good Lord Scroope, this may not be! Here hangs a broadsword by my side; And if that thou canst conquer me, The matter it may soon be tryed.

"I ne'er was afraid of a traitor thief, Although my name be Hughie the Græme; I'll make thee repent thee of thy deeds, If God but grant me life and time.

"Then do your worst now, good Lord Scroope, And deal your blows as hard as you can; It shall be tried within an hour, Which of us two is the better man."

But as they were dealing their blows so free, And both so bloody at the time, Over the moss came ten yeomen so tall, All for to take brave Hughie the Græme.

Then they ha'e gribbit Hughie the Græme, And brought him up through Carlisle town; The lasses and lads stood on the walls, Crying, "Hughie the Græme, thou'se ne'er gae down!"

Then ha'e they chosen a jury of men, The best that were in Carlisle town: And twelve of them cried out at once, "Hughie the Græme, thou must gae down!"

Then up bespake him gude Lord Hume, As he sat by the judge's knee: "Twenty white owsen, my gude Lord, If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."

"O no, O no, my gude Lord Hume! Forsooth, and sae it mauna be; For were there but three Græmes of the name, They suld be hanged a' for me."

'Twas up and spake the gude Lady Hume, As she sat by the judge's knee: "A peck of white pennies, my gude lord judge, If you'll grant Hughie the Græme to me."

"O no, O no, my gude Lady Hume! Forsooth and so it mustna be; Were he but the one Græme of the name, He suld be hanged high for me."

"If I be guilty," said Hughie the Græme, "Of me my friends shall have small talk:" And he has leaped fifteen feet and three, Tho' his hands they were tied behind his back.

He looked over his left shoulder, And for to see what he might see; There was he aware of his ould father, Came tearing his hair most piteously.

"O hauld your tongue, my father," he says, "And see that ye dinna weep for me! For they may ravish me o' my life, But they canna banish me fro' heaven hie.

"Fare ye weel, fair Maggie, my wife! The last time we came ower the muir, 'Twas thou bereft me of my life, And wi' the bishop thou play'd the whore.

"Here, Johnnie Armstrong, take thou my sword, That is made o' the metal sae fine; And when thou comest to the English side, Remember the death of Hughie the Græme."

There are two or more versions of the foregoing: one in Ritson's Collection; and one communicated by Burns to Johnson's Museum. The ballad of Hobbie Noble relates to a hero of the same stamp, who suffered about the same period, at the same place, for a similar love for English oxen and sheep. Hobbie was an Englishman; who, finding less difference in the laws of "mine and thine" on the Scotch side of the border, and more sympathy with such loose notions of property as he possessed, established himself among the Scotch, and helped them to ravage the country to Carlisle southward, whenever opportunity offered. The Scotch, however, proved false to him. The Armstrongs, amongst whom he was residing, were bribed by the English to decoy him over the border upon pretence of a raid or foray; where he was delivered up to a party from Carlisle castle, that had long been on the look-out for him. By these he was taken to Carlisle, and hanged on Hairibee in less than twenty-four hours afterwards.

HOBBIE NOBLE.

Foul fa' the breast first treason bred in! That Liddesdale may safely say: For in it there was baith meat and drink, And corn unto our geldings gay.

And we were a' stout-hearted men, As England she might often say; But now we may turn our backs and flee, Since brave Noble is sold away.

Now Hobbie was an Englishman, And born in Bewcastle dale; But his misdeeds they were so great, They banished him to Liddesdale.

At Kershope foot the tryst was set, Kershope of the lilye lee; And there was traitor Sim o' the Mains, And with him a private companie.

Then Hobbie has graithed his body fair, Baith wi' the iron and wi' the steil; And he has ta'en out his fringed gray, And there brave Hobbie he rade him weel.

Then Hobbie is down the water gane, E'en as fast as he could hie! Tho' a' should ha'e bursten and broken their hearts, Frae that riding tryst he wad na be.

"Weel be ye met, my feres five! And now, what is your will wi' me?" Then they cried a' wi' ae consent, Thou'rt welcome here, brave Noble, to me.

"Wilt thou with us into England ride, And thy safe warrand we will be? If we get a horse worth a hundred pound, Upon his back thou sune sall be."

"I dare not by day into England ride, The land-serjeant has me at feid; And I know not what evil may betide, For Peter of Whitfield, his brother is dead.

"And Anton Shiel he loves not me, For I gat twa drifts o' his sheep; The great Earl of Whitfield loves me not, For nae gear frae me he e'er could keep.

"But will ye stay till the day gae down, Until the night come o'er the grund, And I'll be a guide worth ony twa That may in Liddesdale be found?

"Though the night be black as pick and tar I'll guide ye o'er yon hill sae hie, And bring ye a' in safety back, If ye'll be true and follow me."

He has guided them o'er moss and muir, O'er hill and hope, and mony a down; Until they came to the Foulbogshiel, And there, brave Noble, he lighted down.

But word is gane to the land serjeant, In Askerton where that he lay-- "The deer that ye ha'e hunted sae lang, Is seen into the Waste this day."

"Then Hobbie Noble is that deer! I wot he carries the style fu' hie; Aft has he driven our bluidhounds back, And set ourselves at little lee.

"Gar warn the bows of Hartlie burn; See they sharp their arrows on the wa'; Warn Willeva and Speir Edom, And see the morn they meet me a'.

"Gar meet me on the Rodric-haugh, And see it be by break o' day: And we will on to Conscouthart-green, For there, I think, we'll get our prey."

Then Hobbie Noble has dreimit a dreim, In the Foulbogsheil, where that he lay; He dreimit his horse was aneith him shot, And he himself got hard away.

The cocks could craw, the day could daw, And I wot sae even fell down the rain; Had Hobbie na awakened at that time, In the Foulbogshiel he had been ta'en or slain.

"Awake, awake, my feres five! I trow here make a fu' ill day; Yet the worst cloak o' this company, I hope shall cross the Waste this day."

Now Hobbie thought the gates were clear, But even, alas! it was na sae; They were beset by cruel men and keen That away brave Hobbie might na gae.

"Yet follow me, my feres five, And see ye keip of me guid ray; And the worst cloak o' this company, Even yet may cross the Waste this day."

But the land-serjeant's men came Hobbie before, The traitor Sim came Hobbie behin', So had Noble been wight as Wallace was, Away, alas! he might na win.

Then Hobbie had but a laddie's sword, But he did mair than a laddie's deed; For that sword had cleared Conscouthart-green, Had it not broke o'er Jerswigham's head.

Then they ha'e ta'en brave Hobbie Noble, Wi's ain bowstring the band him sae; But his gentle heart was ne'er sae sair, As when his ain five bound him on the brae.

They ha'e ta'en him on for west Carlisle; They asked him if he ken'd the way? Though much he thought, yet little he said; He knew the gate as weel as they.

They ha'e ta'en him up the Ricker-gate; The wives they cast their windows wide; And every wife to another can say; "That's the man loosed Jock o' the Side!"

"Fy on ye, woman, why ca' ye me man? For it's nae man that I'm used like; Am but like a forfoughen hound, Has been fighting in a dirty syke."

They ha'e had him up through Carlisle town, And set him by the chimney fire; They gave brave Noble a loaf to eat, And that was little his desire,

They gave him a wheaten loaf to eat, And after that a can of beer; And they a' cried with one consent, "Eat, brave Noble, and make gude cheir!

"Confess my lord's horse, Hobbie," they said, "And to-morrow in Carlisle thou's na die." "How can I confess them," Hobbie says, "When I never saw them with my e'e?"

The Hobbie has sworn a fu' great aith, By the day that he was gotten and born, He never had onything o' my lord's, That either eat him grass or corn.

"Now fare thee weel, sweet Mangerton! For I think again I'll ne'er thee see: I wad ha'e betrayed nae lad nor alive, For a' the gowd o' Christentie.