And a vow to God mayd he,
That he wolde hunte in the mountayns
Off Cheviot within dayes thre,
In the mauger of doughty Douglas,
And all that ever with him be.
Douglas took a summary mode of redress where a later and tamer owner had lodged his bill. In a common case of theft, if the offender were not present (the jury would seem to have tried cases in absence), the Warden must produce him at the next Day of Truce. Indeed, whilst the jury was deliberating, the officials were going over the bills “filed” on the last Day, and handing over each culprit to the opposite Warden; or sureties were given for him; or the Warden delivered his servant as pledge. If the pledge died, the body was carried to the next Warden Court.
The guilty party, being delivered up, must make restitution within forty days or suffer death, whilst aggravated cases of “lifting” were declared capital. In practice a man taken in fight or otherwise was rarely put to death. Captive and captor amicably discussed the question of ransom. That fixed, the captive was allowed to raise it; if he failed he honourably surrendered. The amount of restitution was the “Double and Salffye,” to wit, three times the value of the original goods, two parts being recompense, and the third costs or expenses. Need I say that this triple return was too much for Border honesty? Sham claims were made, and these, for that they obliged the Wardens “to speire and search for the thing that never was done,” were rightly deemed a great nuisance. As the bills were sworn to, each false charge involved perjury; and in 1553 it was provided that the rascal claimants should be delivered over to the tender mercies of the opposite Warden. Moreover, a genuine bill might be grossly exaggerated (are claims against insurance and railway companies always urged with accuracy of detail?). If it were disputed, the value was determined by a mixed jury of Borderers.
I have had occasion to refer to Border faith. In 1569 the Earl of Northumberland was implicated in a rising against Elizabeth. Fleeing north, he took refuge with an Armstrong, Hector of Harelaw, who sold him to the Regent Murray. Harelaw’s name became a byword and a reproach. He died despised and neglected; and “to take Hector’s cloak” was an imputation of treachery years after the original story had faded. Thus, in Marchland the deadliest insult against a man was to say that he had broken faith. The insult was given in a very formal and deliberate manner, called a Baugle. The aggrieved party procured the glove or picture of the traitor, and whenever there was a meeting (a Day of Trace was too favourable an opportunity to be neglected) he gave notice of the breach of faith to friend and foe, with blast of the horn and loud cries. The man insulted must give him the lie in his throat, and a deadly combat ensued. The Laws of the Marches attempted to substitute the remedy by bill, that the matter might not “goe to the extremyte of a baughle,” or where that was impossible, to fix rules for the thing itself. Or, the Wardens were advised to attend, with less than a hundred of retinue, to prevent “Brawling, buklinge, quarrelinge, and bloodshed.” Such things were a fruitful source of what a Scots Act termed “the heathenish and barbarous custom of Deadly Feud.” When one slew his fellow under unfair conditions, the game of revenge went see-sawing on for generations. The Border legislators had many ingenious devices to quench such strife. A Warden might order a man complained of to sign in solemn form a renunciation of his feud; and if he refused, he was delivered to the opposite Warden till he consented. In pre-Reformation days the church did something by enjoining prayer and pilgrimage. A sum of money (Assythement) now and again settled old scores; or there might be a treaty of peace cemented by marriage. Sometimes, again, there was a fight by permission of the Sovereign. (Cf. the parallel case of the clan-duel in the Fair Maid of Perth.) Still, prearranged single combats, duels in fact, were frequent on the Border. Turner, or Turnie Holme, at the junction of the Kirshope and Liddel, was a favourite spot for them.
And now business and pleasure alike are ended, and the day (fraught with anxiety to official minds) is waning fast. Proclamation is made that the multitude may know the matters transacted. Then it is declared that the Lord Wardens of England and Scotland, and Scotland and England (what tender care for each other’s susceptibilities!) appoint the next Day of Truce, which ought not to be more than forty days hence, at such and such a place. Then, with solemn salutations and ponderous interchange of courtesy, each party turns homeward. As noted, the Truce lasted till the next sunrise. As the nations were at peace (else had there been no meeting), this recognised the fact that the Borders were always, more or less, in a state of trouble. Also it prevented people from violently righting themselves forthwith. A curious case in 1596, where this condition was broken, gave rise to a Border foray of the most exciting kind, commemorated in the famous ballad of Kinmont Willie. A Day of Truce had been held on the Kershope Burn, and at its conclusion Willie Armstrong of Kinmont, a noted Scots freebooter, rode slowly off, with a few companions. Some taunt, or maybe the mere sight of one who had done them so much wrong, was too much for the English party, and Kinmont was speedily laid by the heels in Carlisle Castle. Buccleuch was Keeper of Liddisdale. He had not been present at the Day of Truce; but when they told him that Kinmont had been seized “between the hours of night and day,” he expressed his anger in no uncertain terms:
He has ta’en the table wi’ his hand,