Carlisle, the great mediæval fortress-town, owes its origin to Rufus. The mighty Conqueror, who subdued most other portions of this land, rested short of Westmoreland and Cumberland, which had then for one hundred and twenty years been accounted Scottish soil; but it was under his generally despised son that these broad lands were won back for England; and the Scottish King Malcolm, invading England on the east coast, in revenge, was slain in 1093, at Alnwick. Peace, however, was not to reign upon these contested lands for yet many a century; but what could be done was accomplished, and Carlisle Castle arose, a grim Norman keep, upon the highest apex of the town. It was in after years enlarged and strengthened, and the strong walls of the city connected with it; and to-day, although the factory-buildings and the smoky chimneys in a distant view of Carlisle show, readily enough, that the city is now a place of commerce, the Norman castle-keep still darkly crowns the scene, sharing its pre-eminence only with the Cathedral.
But in spite of its castle and the stout town walls, Carlisle has been, many more times than can readily be counted, the scene of warfare, and was often sacked and burnt. It was thus ever a place of arms. In all the country round about, men went armed to the plough, and the great lords held their lands from the King under the strictest obligations to military service, and were captained by the Lord Warden, whose duties included the firing of beacons and the mustering of all men between the ages of sixteen and sixty. Small tenants held their fields and farms under the name of “nag-tenements” and “foot-tenements,” and were bound, according to their degree, to fight mounted or on foot.
When the enemy crossed the Border, there was a stir in the city of Carlisle, like that which accompanies the overturning of an ant-heap. The muckle town-bell was rung, the citizens assembled under arms, and the women manned the walls (if the expression may be allowed) with kettles, boiling-water, and apronfuls of stones.
There was no worse time in this long history than the reign of Henry the Eighth. War with Scotland had brought to that country the crushing defeat of Flodden, where, in the words of the Scottish lament, “The flowers of the forest were a’ weed awa”; but the result was anarchy in the Borders, where thousands of lawless men lived, whom no man could restrain. The Warden’s office was then no light task, and a Scot on the English side, or an Englishman on the Scottish, went in momentary danger of his life. Every man was required to explain his presence, and in the streets of Carlisle none might speak, without leave, to a Scot, and none of that nationality was permitted to live in the city.
RAIDERS
Carlisle Castle remained at this period, and for long after, a strong place, but nothing is more astonishing than the ease with which raiders often surprised even the stoutest castles. Let us take, for instance, the affair of the “bold Buccleuch” and Kinmont Willie, in the times of Queen Elizabeth. The borders had long been free from war on the larger scale, but the moss-trooping, reiving forays survived in much of their early severity, in spite of the amicable appointment of English and Scottish Lords Wardens, who were supposed to restrain the lawless folk on either side of the debateable lands between the marches. The Wardens’ Courts were strictly conducted in the districts of the Solway, and those assembled at them were guaranteed from violence on either side. But in 1596, when the Court assembled at Kershopeburn to settle grievances in connection with the great raids of the Armstrongs, who had come across from Scotland to the number of three thousand and lifted all the stock for miles around, the feelings of the English were raw. A notable man among these cattle-thieves was this same “Kinmont Willie,” and the English sorely longed to take vengeance upon him. At the Court, he was protected by the rules of that assemblage, but in riding away he was reckless enough to go off alone, and what might have been expected happened. He was captured and consigned to a dungeon in Carlisle Castle.
All the Scottish side of the Border was immediately in an uproar at this violation of agreements, and Sir Walter Scott of Buccleuch, Keeper of Liddesdale, was moved to apply for the raider’s release. Buccleuch was a law-abiding person, and would probably have been glad enough to see Kinmont Willie properly hanged on his own side, but this breach of the understanding between the Wardens was an outrage not to be endured.
SIEGE OF CARLISLE
Lord Scrope, the English Warden, informed him the affair was so important that it must be referred to the Queen; and she in turn ignored it altogether. Buccleuch therefore determined, at whatever cost, to rescue the prisoner, who would otherwise soon have been hanged, and he put himself at the head of two hundred and ten desperate spirits who at night crossed the Esk and silently drew near to Carlisle, two hours before peep o’ day. They had brought with them, on horseback, scaling ladders for the castle walls, and pickaxes, and made a breach by the postern-gate. What were those sentinels doing, who were not alarmed? Sleeping, doubtless. At any rate, the garrison knew nothing until Buccleuch’s men had forced an entrance. The dungeon where the prisoner was immured was known, and he was brought forth, chains and all, and hurried away. The whole party were speedily off again, and into their own country, before pursuit was properly organised.
The last raid took place actually in 1601, when the kingdoms were united by the accession of James the First, and while he was at Berwick, journeying to London. Several hundreds of Scots then came plundering past Carlisle, and many were captured and duly hanged. James, anxious to unite the kingdoms in reality, ordered that the name of “the Border,” standing for centuries of warfare, should give place to “the midlands,” but the new style does not seem ever to have come into general use; and the coming of the Stuarts meant in after years much more trouble for Carlisle and its surroundings; for it was in 1644-5 that the city endured the longest and most severe siege in its history. It was held for the King, and beleaguered for eight months by the Scottish General, Leslie. The citizens paid dearly for their loyalty, and were reduced to eating horses, dogs, and rats. Hungry folks chased errant cats hazardously across roof-tops, in view of the besiegers, who took long shots at them; and even hemp-seed became so dear that only the wealthy could afford it. Money current in the city was coined from silver plate; but there was so little food to purchase that, as a diarist of the time wrote, “the citizens were so shrunk from starvation, they could not choose but laugh at one another, to see their clothes hang upon them as upon men on gibbets.”