The original is still in the charter-room of the present Mr. Scott of Harden. By the Flower of Yarrow the laird of Harden had six sons; five of whom survived him, and founded the families of Harden (now extinct), Highchesters (now representing Harden), Reaburn, Wool, and Synton. The sixth son was slain at a fray, in a hunting-match, by the Scotts of Gilmanscleugh. His brothers flew to arms; but the old laird secured them in the dungeon of his tower, hurried to Edinburgh, stated the crime, and obtained a gift of the lands of the offenders from the crown. He returned to Harden with equal speed, released his sons, and shewed them the charter. "To horse, lads!" cried the savage warrior, "and let us take possession! the lands of Gilmanscleuch are well worth a dead son." The property, thus obtained, continued in the family till the beginning of last century, when it was sold, by John Scott of Harden, to Anne, d.u.c.h.ess of Buccleuch.

_John o' Brigham there was slane_.--P. 147. v. 3.

Perhaps one of the ancient family of Brougham, in c.u.mberland. The editor has used some freedom with the original in the subsequent verse. The account of the captain's disaster _(tests laeva vulnerata_) is rather too _naive_ for literal publication.

_Cried--"On for his house in Stanegirthside_.--P. 148. v. 3.

A house belonging to the Foresters, situated on the English side of the Liddel.

An article in the list of attempts upon England, fouled by the commissioners ar Berwick, in the year 1587, may relate to the subject of the foregoing ballad.

October, 1582.

Thomas Musgrave, deputy {Walter Scott, laird } 200 kine and of Bewcastle, and {of Buckluth, and his} oxen,300 gait the tenants, against {complices; for } and sheep.

_Introduction, to History of Westmoreland and c.u.mberland_, p. 31.

THE RAID OF THE REIDSWIRE.

This poem is published from a copy in the Bannatyne MS. in the hand-writing of the Hon. Mr. Carmichael, advocate. It first appeared in _Allan Ramsay's Evergreen_, but some liberties have been taken by him in transcribing it; and, what is altogether unpardonable, the MS., which is itself rather inaccurate, has been interpolated to favour his readings; of which there remain obvious marks.

The skirmish of the Reidswire happened upon the 7th of June, 1575, at one of the meetings, held by the wardens of the marches, for arrangements necessary upon the border. Sir John Carmichael, ancestor of the present Earl of Hyndford, was the Scottish warden, and Sir John Forster held that office on the English middle march.--In the course of the day, which was employed, as usual, in redressing wrongs, a bill, or indictment, at the instance of a Scottish complainer, was fouled (_i.e._ found a true bill) against one Farnstein, a notorious English freebooter. Forster alleged that he had fled from justice: Carmichael considering this as a pretext to avoid making compensation for the felony, bade him "play fair!" to which the haughty English warden retorted, by some injurious expressions respecting Carmichael's family, and gave other open signs of resentment. His retinue, chiefly men of Reesdale and Tynedale, the most ferocious of the English borderers, glad of any pretext for a quarrel, discharged a flight of arrows among the Scots. A warm conflict ensued, in which, Carmichael being beat down and made prisoner, success seemed at first to incline to the English side; till the Tynedale men, throwing themselves too greedily upon the plunder, fell into disorder; and a body of Jedburgh citizens arriving at that instant, the skirmish terminated in a complete victory on the part of the Scots, who took prisoners, the English warden, James Ogle, Cuthbert Collingwood, Francis Russel, son to the Earl of Bedford, and son-in-law to Forster, some of the Fenwicks, and several other border chiefs. They were sent to the Earl of Morton, then regent, who detained them at Dalkeith for some days, till the heat of their resentment was abated; which prudent precaution prevented a war betwixt the two kingdoms. He then dismissed them with great expressions of regard; and, to satisfy Queen Elizabeth,[142]

sent up Carmichael to York, whence he was soon after honourably dismissed. The field of battle, called the Reidswire, is a part of the Carter Mountain, about ten miles from Jedburgh.--See, for these particulars, _G.o.dscroft, Spottiswoode_, and _Johnstone's History_.

[Footnote 142: Her amba.s.sador at Edinburgh refused to lie in a bed of state which had been provided for him, till this "_oudious fact_" had been enquired into.--_Murden's State Papers_, Vol. II, p. 282.]

The editor has adopted the modern spelling of the word Reidswire, to prevent the mistake in p.r.o.nunciation which might be occasioned by the use of the Scottish _qu_ for _w_. The MS. reads _Reidsquair. Swair_, or _Swire_, signifies the descent of a hill; and the epithet _Red_ is derived from the colour of the heath, or, perhaps, from the Reid-water, which rises at no great distance.

THE RAID OF THE REIDSWIRE.

The seventh of July, the suith to say, At the Reidswire the tryst was set; Our wardens they affixed the day, And, as they promised, so they met.

Alas! that day I'll ne'er forgett!

Was sure sae feard, and then sae faine-- They came theare justice for to gett, Will never green[143] to come again.

Carmichael was our Warden then, He caused the country to conveen; And the Laird's Wat, that worthie man, Brought in that sirname weil beseen[144]:

The Armestranges, that aye hae been A hardie house, but not a hail, The Elliot's honours to maintaine, Brought down the lave[145] o' Liddesdale.

Then Tividale came to wi' speid; The sheriffe brought the Douglas down, Wi' Cranstane, Gladstain, good at need, Baith Rewle water, and Hawick town.

Beanjeddart bauldly made him boun, Wi' a' the Trumbills, stronge and stout; The Rutherfoords, with grit renown, Convoyed the town of Jedbrugh out.

Of other clans I cannot tell, Because our warning was not wide.-- Be this our folks hae taen the fell, And planted down palliones[146] there to bide.

We looked down the other side, And saw come breasting ower the brae, Wi' Sir John Forster for their guyde, Full fifteen hundred men and mae.

It grieved him sair, that day, I trow, Wi' Sir George Hearoune of Schipsydehouse; Because we were not men enow, They counted us not worth a louse.

Sir George was gentle, meek, and douse, But _he_ was hail and het as fire; And yet, for all his cracking crouse[147], He rewd the raid o' the Reidswire.

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

It was na wonder he was hie, Had Tindaill, Reedsdaill, at his hand, Wi' Cukdaill, Gladsdaill on the lee, And Hebsrime, and Northumberland.

Yett was our meeting meek enough, Begun wi' merriement and mowes, And at the brae, aboon the heugh, The clark sate down to call the rowes.[148]

And some for kyne, and some for ewes, Called in of Dandrie, Hob, and Jock-- We saw, come marching ower the knows, Five hundred Fennicks in a flock.

With jack and speir, and bows all bent, And warlike weapons at their will: Although we were na weel content, Yet, be my trouth, we feard no ill.

Some gaed to drink, and some stude still, And some to cairds and dice them sped; Till on ane Farnstein they fyled a bill, And he was fugitive and fled.

Carmichael bade them speik out plainlie, And cloke no cause for ill nor good; The other, answering him as vainlie, Began to reckon kin and blood: He raise, and raxed[149] him where he stood, And bade him match him with his marrows, Then Tindaill heard them reasun rude, And they loot off a flight of arrows.

Then was there nought but bow and speir, And every man pulled out a brand; "A Schaftan and a Fenwick" thare: Gude Symington was slain frae hand.

The Scotsmen cried on other to stand, Frae time they saw John Robson slain-- What should they cry? the king's command Could cause no cowards turn again.

Up rose the laird to red the c.u.mber,[150]

Which would not be for all his boast;-- What could we doe with sic a number?

Fyve thousand men into a host.

Then Henry Purdie proved his cost,[151]

And very narrowlie had mischiefed him, And there we had our warden lost, Wert not the grit G.o.d he relieved him.

Another throw the breiks him bair, Whill flatlies to the ground he fell: Than thought I weel we had lost him there, Into my stomach it struck a knell!

Yet up he raise, the treuth to tell ye, And laid about him dints full dour; His hors.e.m.e.n they raid st.u.r.dilie, And stude about him in the stoure.

Then raise[152] the slogan with ane shout-- "Fy Tindaill, to it! Jedbrugh's here!"

I trow he was not half sae stout, But[153] anis his stomach was asteir.

With gun and genzie,[154] bow and speir, Men might see monie a cracked crown!

But up amang the merchant geir, They were as busie as we were down.

The swallow taill frae tackles flew, Five hundreth flain[155] into a flight, But we had pestelets enow, And shot amang them as we might.

With help of G.o.d the game gaed right, Frae time the foremost of them fell; Then ower the know without goodnight, They ran, with mony a shout and yell.

But after they had turned backs, Yet Tindaill men they turned again; And had not been the merchant packs, There had been mae of Scotland slain.

But, Jesu! if the folks were fain To put the bussing on their thies; And so they fled, wi' a' their main, Down ower the brae, like clogged bees.

Sir Francis Russel ta'en was there, And hurt, as we hear men rehea.r.s.e; Proud Wallinton was wounded sair, Albeit he be a Fennick fierce.

But if ye wald a souldier search, Among them a' were ta'en that night, Was nane sae wordie to put in verse, As Collingwood, that courteous knight.

Young Henry Schafton, he is hurt; A souldier shot him with a bow: Scotland has cause to mak great sturt, For laiming of the laird of Mow.

The Laird's Wat did weel, indeed; His friends stood stoutlie by himsel', With little Gladstain, gude in need, For Gretein kend na gude be ill.