The Raiders From The Border-Side

There was once a time when it was considered the height of fashionable
conduct for the Scotch who lived upon the border, to dash into the
Northern Counties of England, put the men they met with to the sword,
burn their homesteads and stores, and carry off the women and cattle.
It is quite true that the English, on their part, considered it fit
and proper to cross the Scottish border, to raid the lands, and carry
off women and cattle from the lower shires of "Bonnie Scotland;" and
so on the score of fairness neither side had any cause for complaint.
But then, both parties never thought of that; the nature of their own
conduct was never questioned, it was always the other side that was in
the wrong. Their opponents were "thieves and marauders," their own
forays were characterized by the high sounding title of "military
expeditions." For such is the way of the world.

There is no record to say whether the men of Longdendale ever rode
north to join in expeditions across the Scottish border; but it is
chronicled that "bold moss-troopers from the border-side" occasionally
raided as far south as the rich country of the Longdendale valley.
These Scotchmen usually came in strong and well-armed bands,
consisting of picked fighting-men, and, oftener than not, led by some
distinguished lord or knight who wished to reap fresh honour by
reddening his blade in English blood. Sometimes the lord or knight
looked upon it as a fair (and certainly the easiest and cheapest) way
of securing a wife, or mayhap a mistress, together with a good fat
dowry in the shape of plunder. None can blame him for holding such
views, for it all came in the manner of living in the olden time.

But it did not always happen that the raiders were successful.
Sometimes the "raided" were on the look out, and the surprise party
themselves met with a surprise.

It was a bright morning in the summer, and the valley of Longdendale
had never looked more beautiful than it did that morning when Jock,
the steward's son, kissed his sweetheart at the end of the lane ere he
entered the woods to join his father's men, who had some work to do in
the forest. A fine lad was Jock, merry and free as becomes one whose
life is mostly spent in the greenwood: his limbs were finely made, he
was straight and strong, and there were none in all the country-side
who could run, fence, or box like he, or who could shoot straighter or
further with the bow. A right proper lad, such as an English maiden
loves. His father was steward to the Lord of Mottram, and to that
position young Jock looked one day to succeed. In the meantime he
discharged such tasks as were set him with diligence, and drank his
fill of happiness with that bonny yeoman's daughter, Bess Andrew. Bess
knew his habits and his times of departure and homecoming right well,
and thus the two found many a chance to bill and coo throughout the
day.

It was with a light heart that Jock sped through the lanes when he had
taken leave of Bess; and with a heart as buoyant, sweet Bess returned
to the homestead when the parting was over. The maid sang a snatch of
a country song as she entered the farmyard and set about her tasks,
wondering whether her mother had missed her during the few moments she
had been absent in the lane.

But Goody Andrew, the farmer's wife, was busy in the kitchen, and the
farmer himself was away in the fields. His lands were broad, and on
this merry morn he was busy at a distance. So Bess had the farmyard to
herself save for the presence of the children, her brothers and
sisters, all younger than herself.

Bess busied herself with the milking-cans for some time, dreaming, as
sweet maids will, of love and hope and the life that is to be.
Suddenly she started, then bent her head to listen. On the wind came
the sound of horses' tread, and the jingling of harness; the sound
increased in volume, and it came from the lane which led to the farm.
Bess left her work, and moved to the gate. Then she screamed and
turned to fly to the steading. For, all gay and boldly, armed to the
teeth, came galloping into the farmyard a band of fierce
moss-troopers, having at their head a tall big-limbed laird, from the
Lowlands over the border.

"The raiders," screamed Bess, as she hurried towards the house. "God
'a mercy on us."

But she never reached the door, for the leader of the band rode to her
side, and with a laugh leaned down, seized her in a strong grip, and
swung her to the saddle before him.

"The raiders," echoed he; "and of a truth we have won a prize worth
raiding. Come, kiss me, my beauty. Thou shalt be my share of the
plunder."

He forced his face to hers, but the maid fought fiercely, and struck
him in the face, whereat the trooper laughed again.

"What a spitfire of a wench" said he. "But we will tame thee ere thou
art much older. Bring hither a rope my men, and tie her up. Also gag
her until she has found her senses, and knows where and how to use her
tongue. Now get to work and lose no time, for I have no wish to bring
a hornet's nest about my ears. Ho! who comes here. Settle them off in
the good old fashion."

The last words were uttered as a couple of farm-hands came from an
out-building to see what was astir. The poor knaves were instantly
seized before they had chance to cry aloud, and in another moment were
hanging by the neck from a neighbouring bough. That preliminary
accomplished, the troopers proceeded to plunder the farm of all its
valuables, and to get together the cattle that lay about. Poor Goody
Andrew begged hard for mercy, but her plea only met with a coarse
laugh from the robbers.

"Thou art a well-favoured vixen," quoth the chief. "And had'st thou
only been a score years younger, then I had not left thee to the
embraces of the southerners. But thy daughter is fair enough, and I
doubt not she will like her Scottish lover when her good humour
returns. Now, my lads, set the stead ablaze, and then to horse."

The men obeyed to the letter, and in a little while the farm was
blazing fiercely, the troopers, loaded with plunder, were galloping
towards the hills, on the saddle of the chief was the lovely form of
the maiden Bess, bound and gagged; and in the farmyard sat the good
dame with her younger children, wringing her arms, and weeping
bitterly.

* * * * *

In the distant meadows, Yeoman Andrew paused at his work to wipe the
sweat from his brow, and then looked up. In the direction of his home
a column of smoke arose, which had not been there when last he looked.

"Hallo!" quoth he, "there is surely something amiss. What ho! ye
knaves, leave your work awhile, and hurry with me to the farm, for I
fear the worst."

Then, in company with his men, he ran to the steading, to find his
weeping wife, and the ruin of what had been his home.

The farmer was a practical man, so he just swore a good round English
oath, and then he got to business.

"Ho, there! Will Leatherbarrow, do thou slip for my good grey mare
down to John the smith's, get aback, and ride for thy life on their
trail. Send word by any messengers thou canst catch from time to time,
how they fare. And thou, Hob, cross the fields, and set the great bell
at Mottram Church a-ringing, and the rest of you scatter and bring out
the archers and the men who can fight. Cease thy chatter, good dame,
and see if thou canst scrape me a good meal together '))fore I set about
paying my debt to the Scottish laird."

In a little while the great bell at Mottram Church was clanging out
its wild alarm, and from the woods and fields about, and the distant
farms, the stout yeomen were hurrying into the town, bringing with
them their bows and bills, their swords and axes, and their horses all
ready for the chase. For they had ridden on the track of the raiders
before.

As the men mustered round the cross near the church, a horseman
galloped into the throng, the flanks of his steed white with foam. It
was the first messenger from Will Leatherbarrow, who hung like a
sleuthhound on the trail.

"They have e'en ta'en the Kings' high road," he shouted, "and they
ride for the hills."

"They will turn off at the bend before they reach Glossop town," said
Jock, the steward's son, who now sat his horse at the farmer's side.
"I know a short cut, and we may head them off. Do you, Farmer Andrew,
ride on the trail, and I will lead a band to get before them. Then not
a man of them shall escape."

"To horse!" cried the yeoman, curtly assenting. And in another moment
the spurs were driven deep, and the men of Longdendale were hard on
the track of the foe.

Grim men were they when the scent of war was in the air. Men who had
learned the use of the bow from their cradle. For did not the men of
Longdendale help to scatter the French at Cressy and Agincourt, and
did they not in later days join in the annihilation of the Scotch at
the fight of Flodden Field? On they rode, and as they went, their
number was swollen by fresh recruits, and so they galloped till near
the sundown.

"The pace tells on the beasts," said one man at length.

"It will tell more on the Scotch," said another, "since they are
hampered with plunder."

And the cavalcade still galloped along.

The road wound up the hills, and at the top there was a level stretch
of several miles. As the band of pursuers reached the top of the rise,
they beheld a cloud of dust at some distance ahead, and a shout of
triumph burst from their lips.

"They are yonder!" said one. "Ride faster, my men. We shall catch them
at the gorge."

"They will never get beyond the gorge," said Farmer Andrew quietly.
"Jock will ambush them there. The thieves are fairly caught."

Then silence reigned again, save for the sound of the galloping horses
and the rush of the wind about the horsemen.

The pursuers clearly gained upon the foe, but the latter reached the
next dip of the road well ahead, and disappeared from sight. A few
minutes later, when the Longdendale band reached the top of the
descent, a glad sight met their eyes. Across the narrow path, just
where the road bent, Jock had drawn up his men, and already the
archers were at work. Already several of the Scotch lay dead upon the
road, and the rest were in confusion. Ere they could rally, with a
wild shout the pursuing yeomen burst on them at the charge, and then
there was a fray well worth the telling. It only lasted a few minutes,
and Jock backed out of it the moment he found the sweet maid Bess
safely in his arms. But the rest of the Longdendale lads laid lustily
about them until the work was done. A palatable work it was to them--a
clashing of blades, a crashing of axes, and then the great Scottish
raid was over. Yeoman Andrew was avenged, and he had more in plunder
from the Scots than made up the total of the damages he had sustained.

It is said that many a "guid wife" in bonnie Scotland looked
southwards with eager eyes for the homecoming of her "man" from the
foray in Longdendale, but always looked in vain. For the ravens had a
rich feast spread on the hills above the Derbyshire and Cheshire
border, and those Longdendale moors were dotted white with the
bleaching bones of Scottish men.