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.

"I sew'd his sheet, making my moan; I watch'd the corpse, myself alone."

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.