XIII.
MINIONS OF THE MOON
“Diana’s Foresters, Gentlemen of the shade,
Minions of the Moon.” – Falstaff.
“Reparabit Cornua Phoebe.” – Motto: Harden Family.
“The siller moon now glimmers pale;
But ere we’ve crossed fair Liddesdale,
She’ll shine as brightlie as the bale
That warns the water hastilie.
“O leeze me on her bonny light!
There’s nought sae dear to Harden’s sight:
Troth, gin she shone but ilka night,
Our clan might live right royallie.”
Feast of Spurs.
The more famous reivers whose names have been handed down in the traditions, poetry, and history of the Scottish Border, are seldom regarded with any very pronounced feelings of aversion. The Armstrongs, Elliots, Græmes, Stories, Burneses, and Bells; the Scotts, Kers, Maxwells, and Johnstones – whose depredations have been recorded with much fulness of detail in the annals of the country, were no doubt quite as bad as they have been described. They cannot be acquitted of grave moral delinquencies, judged even by the standard of the age in which they lived. But at this distance of time many are disposed to regard their depredations and lawless life, if not with a kindly, at least with an indulgent eye. It must be frankly admitted that there was an element of genuine heroism in their lives, which goes far to redeem them from the contempt with which, under other conditions, we would have been compelled to regard them. What they did was, as a general rule, done openly, and evidently with a certain sub-conscious feeling that their actions, if rightly understood, were not altogether blame-worthy. Their reiving was carried on under conditions which developed some of the best as well as worst elements of their nature and manhood. The Border reiver, whatever he was, can certainly not be described as cowardly. He carried his life in his hands. He never knew when he went on a foraging expedition, whether he might return. The enemy with which he had to contend was vigilant and powerful. Before he could drive away the cattle, he had, first of all, to settle accounts with the owner. He might be worsted in the encounter, and instead of securing his booty, he might find himself a captive, with the certainty of being strung up on the nearest tree, or drowned in some convenient pool. Such incidents were of almost every day occurrence. Reiving was therefore one of the most exciting and hazardous of occupations, demanding on the part of those engaged in it, a strong arm and a dauntless spirit. The burglar who sneaks up to a house while the inmates are asleep, and plies his nefarious calling in silence and under shade of night, and is ready to start off, leaving everything behind him, the moment the alarm is raised, is a contemptible miscreant, for whom the gallows is almost too mild a form of punishment. But the Border reiver was made of different metal; was, indeed, a man of an essentially higher type. He was prepared to fight for every hoof or horn he wished to secure. It was a trial of skill, of strength, of resource, with the enemy. No doubt he had occasionally to ride during the night, aided only by the mild rays of the moon. The way was often long, the paths intricate, and the dangers manifold; but he was also prepared, under the full blaze of the noonday sun, to challenge those he had come to despoil, to protect and retain their property if they could. It was open and undisguised warfare on a miniature scale. This, of course, was not true of all the reivers on the Borders. Some of them were hardly worthy of their profession. There are black sheep in every trade – men who represent the baser qualities of their kind, and who bring discredit on their associates.
In looking back over the long list of famous reivers there are many names which, somehow or other, we are disposed to regard with a more or less kindly feeling. This may be difficult to explain, but the fact is undeniable. Perhaps the feeling is due, to a certain extent at least, to the fact that, despite the mode of life adopted by these men, they represented many really admirable qualities, both of intellect and heart. Johnie Armstrong of Gilnockie, for example, was one of the most notorious of the clan to which he belonged, and yet he was evidently regarded as a great hero, who had been most shamefully treated by the King. It is also interesting to find that he had a high opinion of himself. He prided himself on his honesty. However much injury he had inflicted on the unfortunate Englishmen, who had to bear the brunt of his onslaughts, it gives him infinite pleasure and satisfaction to affirm that “he had never skaithed a Scots wife a puir flee.” It is possible, too, that his tragic end may have something to do with the kindly feeling with which his memory is cherished, though this in itself is not sufficient to account for the place he occupies in the Valhalla of Border heroes.
In the same way a halo of romance has gathered round the name of the “Bold Buccleuch,” whose spirit of chivalry has gone far to redeem his memory from opprobrium. The penetrating eye of the English Queen was quick to discern in him qualities of a high order which only required the proper sphere for their development. He may well be regarded as a truly great man who was compelled by the circumstances in which he found himself placed, to devote his time and talents to tasks which were quite unworthy of his genius. Hence, when the opportunity occurred, he speedily proved himself not only a great leader of men, but a most potent factor in the social and moral regeneration of the district with which he was so intimately associated.
But of all the Border reivers whose names have been handed down in song and story, none is regarded with more kindly, we might almost say affectionate interest, than that of “Auld Wat of Harden.” For many years he played an important part in Border affairs, and was always to the front in harassing and despoiling the English. We have already noticed the assistance he gave his near kinsman, the “Bold Buccleuch,” in the assault on Carlisle castle, when Kinmont Willie was so gallantly rescued from imprisonment. But, four years prior to this event, in the year 1592, he took part, under the leadership of Bothwell, in the famous “Raid of Falkland,” when the King was surprised in his Palace, and would have had short shrift from the Borderers, had not timely warning been given him of his danger. This escapade entailed on the laird of Harden somewhat serious consequences. An order was issued by the King, with the consent of the Lords of his Council, to demolish the places, houses, and fortalices of Harden and Dryhoip, pertaining to the said Walter Scott. The order runs thus – “Apud Peiblis, xiij die mensis Julij, anno lxxxxij (1592) – The Kingis Majestie, with aduise of the Lordis of his Secreit Counsale, Gevis and grantis full pouer and Commission, expres bidding and charge, be thir presentis, to his weil-belouitt Williame Stewart of Tracquair, to dimoleis and cause to be dimoleist and cassin doun to the ground, the place and houssis of Tynneis, quhilkis pertenit to James Stewart sumtyme of Tynneis; as alswa, the lyke pouer and commissioun, expres bidding and charge, to Walter Scott of Gouldielandis and Mr Iedeon Murray, conjunctlie and seuerallie, to dimoleis and caus be dimoleist and cassin doun to the ground, the placeis, houssis, and fortalices of Harden and Dryhoip, pertening to Walter Scott of Harden, quha, with the said James Steuart, wes arte and parte of the lait tresonabill fact, perpetrat aganis his hienes awin persone at Falkland: And that the foirsaidis personis caus the premisses be putt in execution with all convenient expeditioun in signne and taikin of the foirsaidis uthiris personis tressounable and unnaturall defection and attemptat, committit be thame in manner foirsaid. As thay will ansuer to his hienes upon thair obedience.”102
This was a severe blow to the laird of Harden, but he doubtless bore it with that fine philosophical indifference for which he was distinguished. The motto of the Harden family, “We’ll hae moonlight again,” breathes the spirit of optimism, and indicates that the reverses of fortune were never regarded as irreparable. Hope sprang eternal in the Harden breast!
But Auld Wat was never disposed to linger unduly, even when courting the smile of the capricious Goddess. He believed in himself, and relied mainly for his good fortune on his own energy and skill. He was a man of the world – keen, subtle, far-seeing, energetic – never allowing the grass to grow under his feet. He believed in taking time by the forelock – in making hay while the sun shone. Rarely did he ever miss a favourable opportunity of increasing “his goods and gear.” And his reiving was carried on in no paltry or insignificant fashion. He was a man of large ideas, and he carried them out on a splendid scale. For example, we find that in 1596 he ran a day foray into Gilsland, and carried off “300 oxen and kye, a horse and a nag.” This was a large addition to make to his stock, and one cannot help thinking that the “dell” in front of Harden castle, where he kept his captured nowte, must have often been unduly crowded. But then it ought be remembered that the demands on his hospitality were numerous and not always easily met. He had a numerous body of retainers, as was befitting a man of his position, who had to be kept in “horse meat and man’s meat,” and having so many to provide for, his large herds often disappeared with great rapidity. The result was that he was constantly under the necessity of crossing the Border in order to replenish his stock. It is related that on one occasion he overheard the town herd calling out to some one, as he was passing, to “send out Wat o’ Harden’s coo.” “Wat o’ Harden’s coo!” the old reiver indignantly exclaimed, “My sang, I’ll soon mak ye speak of Wat o’ Harden’s kye,” and so he at once gathered his forces, marched into Northumberland, and before long he was seen on his way back driving before him a big herd of cows and a basson’d bull. On his way he passed a large sow-backed haystack. Turning round in his saddle and looking at it wistfully, he said, in a regretful tone of voice, “If ye had four feet, ye wadna stand long there!”
It is perhaps to this successful foray that Lord Eure refers in a letter addressed to Cecil under date July 15, 1596, in which he says: – “Watt Ellatt, alias Watt of Harden, with other East Tividale lairds had 300 or 400 able horsemen, laying an ambush of 300 or 400 foote, brake a day forray a myle beneathe Bellinghame, spoiled the townes men in Bellinghame, brake the crosse, toke all the cattell upp the water to the number thre or fower hundred beastes at the leaste, hath slaine three men of name and wounded one allmoste to deathe, fired noe houses. The fray rose and being brought to me at Hexhame about ixº or xº houers in the morning, I rose myself with my household servuantes, caused the beacons to be fired and sent the fray eche way rounde aboute me, and yet could not make the force of the countrie iiijxx horsemen and some six score footmen. I followed with the horsemen within twoe or three myles of Scotland, and except Mr Fenwick of Wellington, together with the Keaper of Tindale, Mr Henry Bowes, ther was not one gentleman of the Marche to accompanie me, or mett me at all; and when all our forces were togeither, we could not make twoe hundredth horsse, nor above twoe hundredth footmen… With shame and greife I speake it’ the Scottes went away unfought withall.”103
It will thus be seen that within a few months this famous freebooter had transferred from English soil some six or seven hundred head of cattle. No doubt like his neighbours, who were engaged in the same precarious line of business, he had many unsuccessful raids to recount, but he was certainly one of the most wary and successful of the reivers on the Scottish side of the Border.
Sir Walter Scott, who was a descendant of Wat of Harden, has an interesting note in his “Border Minstrelsy” regarding the family. “Of this Border laird,” he says, “commonly called Auld Wat of Harden, tradition has preserved many anecdotes. He was married to Mary Scott, celebrated in song by the title of ‘The Flower of Yarrow.’ By their marriage contract, the father-in-law, Philip Scott of Dryhope, was to find Harden in horse meat and man’s meat at his Tower of Dryhope for a year and a day; but five barons pledge themselves, that, at the expiry of that period, the son-in-law should remove without attempting to continue in possession by force! A notary-public signed for all the parties to the deed, none of whom could write their names. 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 Gilmanscleuch. 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 land of the offenders from the Crown. He returned to Harden with equal speed, released his sons, and showed 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.’”
Hogg’s description of “Auld Wat” as he set out for Edinburgh on this occasion is humourously realistic:
And he’s awa’ to Holyrood,
Amang our nobles a’,
With bonnet lyke a girdle braid,
And hayre lyke Craighope snaw.
His coat was of the forest green,
Wi’ buttons lyke the moon;
His breeks were o’ the guid buckskyne,
Wi’ a’ the hayre aboon.
His twa hand sword hang round his back,
An’ rattled at his heel;
The rowels of his silver spurs
Were of the Rippon steel;
His hose were braced wi’ chains o’ airn,
An’ round wi’ tassels hung:
At ilka tramp o’ Harden’s heel,
The royal arches rung.
······
Ane grant of all our lands sae fayre
The King to him has gien;
An’ a’ the Scotts o’ Gilmanscleuch
Were outlawed ilka ane.
But Harden’s best fortune came to him with his wife – the far-famed “Flower of Yarrow.”
This beautous flower, this rose of Yarrow,
In nature’s garden has no marrow.
So sang Allan Ramsay. And since his day the charms of “Yarrow’s Rose” have inspired many a more or less tuneful ode. But Mary Scott’s beauty was, after all, not her greatest gift. She was wise beyond most of her sex, and skilful to a degree in the management of her husband. We find, for example, that instead of remonstrating with him on his culpable negligence in allowing the larder to become depleted, she quietly set before him when he came to dinner a pair of clean spurs! The hint thus indirectly conveyed was quite sufficient. Immediately her worthy spouse was in the saddle and riding as fast as his nag could carry him towards the English fells. It is interesting to know that the spurs that were thus suggestively served up for dinner are still in the possession of the family, being carefully preserved among Lord Polwarth’s treasures at Mertoun House.
But while Wat of Harden could look after his own interests, he was never unmindful of the interests of others. When the Captain of Bewcastle came over to Ettrick “to drive a prey,” and carried off Jamie Telfer’s kye, he rendered splendid service in rescuing the herd from the hand of the spoiler. Though Telfer, with “the tear rowing in his ee,” pled with the Captain to restore his property, he was only laughed at for his pains —
“The Captain turned him round and leugh,
Said – “Man, there’s naething in thy house,
But ae auld sword without a sheath
That hardly now would fell a mouse.”
Telfer first of all applied for assistance at Stobs Ha’, evidently thinking that he had some special claim on “Gibby Elliot,” but he was unceremoniously turned from the door, and told to go to “Branksome” and “seek his succour where he paid blackmail.” When Buccleuch heard what had taken place, he cried —
“Gar warn the water, braid and wide,
Gar warn it sune and hastilie!
They that winna ride for Telfer’s kye,
Let them never look in the face o’ me!”
Auld Wat and his sons having also been informed of the Captain’s raid, lost no time in getting out their steeds and hurrying after the English reiver. Over the hills, down near the Ritterford on the Liddel, the melee began. The Captain was determined to drive Jamie Telfer’s kye into England despite the opposition of the Scotts, but he was made to pay dearly for his temerity. —
Then til’t they gaed, wi’ heart and hand,
The blows fell thick as bickering hail;
And mony a horse ran masterless,
And mony a comely cheek was pale.
Willie Scott, the son of Buccleuch, was left dead on the field. When Harden saw him stretched on the ground “he grat for very rage.” —
“But he’s ta’en aff his gude steel cap,
And thrice he’s waved it in the air —
The Dinlay snaw was ne’er mair white
Nor the lyart locks of Harden’s hair.
“Revenge! revenge!” Auld Wat ’gan cry;
“Fye, lads, lay on them cruellie!
We’ll ne’er see Teviotside again,
Or Willie’s death revenged sall be.”
The conflict was speedily ended. The Captain of Bewcastle was badly wounded, and taken prisoner; his house was ransacked, his cattle driven off, and Jamie Telfer returned to the “Fair Dodhead” with thirty-three cows instead of ten. —
“When they cam’ to the fair Dodhead,
They were a wellcum sight to see!
For instead of his ain ten milk kye,
Jamie Telfer has gotten thirty and three.
And he has paid the rescue shot,
Baith wi’ goud and white monie:
And at the burial o’ Willie Scott,
I wat was mony a weeping ee.”
The eldest son of Wat of Harden was destined to become as famous as his father, though in a different way. He had evidently, from what we learn of him, inherited all the reiving tendencies of his race. But the difficulty of crossing the Border had been considerably increased. Buccleuch, the Keeper of Liddesdale, had changed his tactics. He had now begun to use his utmost endeavour to bring about a better understanding, and a better state of feeling, between the two countries. Willie Scott no doubt realised that a raid on the English Border, though successful, might now get the whole family into serious trouble. But the kye “were rowting on the loan and the lea,” and something had to be done to augment the quickly vanishing herd. He took into his confidence a farmer, who lived on the banks of the Ettrick – William Hogg – well known as the “Wild Boar of Fauldshope.” This redoubtable reiver was a progenitor of the Ettrick Shepherd, whose family, it is said, possessed the lands of Fauldshope, under the Scotts of Harden, for a period of 400 years. He was a man of prodigious strength, courage, and ferocity, and ever ready for the fray. For some reason or other he had a strong antipathy to Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank, the picturesque ruins of whose Castle may still be seen on the banks of the Tweed, a mile or two above Ashiesteel. That young Harden could have no particular liking for him is easily understood, as he was one of the men who had been commissioned by the government to destroy Harden castle as a punishment for the part taken by his father in the Raid of Falkland. Sir Gideon had a splendid herd of cattle pasturing on the green slopes above the Tweed, and so Willie Scott resolved, with the assistance of his powerful coadjutor, to transfer as many of them as possible to his own pastures. The night was set, the expedition was carefully planned, and fortune seemed to smile upon the project. But —
The best laid schemes o’ mice and men
Gang aft a glee.
Some one was good enough to convey to Sir Gideon a hint of what was on foot, and he at once took measures to give the thieves, when they came, a warm reception. After a sharp encounter, Willie Scott was taken prisoner, and thrown into the dungeon of the Castle, with his hands and feet securely bound. He knew quite well the fate which awaited him on the morrow. He would be led forth to the gallows, and there made to pay the forfeit of his life. A better lot, however, was in store for him. A good angel, in the person of Lady Murray, interfered on his behalf. She had been anxiously considering how she could save his life. Her plans were speedily formed, and in the morning she ventured to lay them before her irate husband. As Hogg has humorously described the scene —
The lady o’ Elibank raise wi’ the dawn,
An’ she waukened Auld Juden, an’ to him did say, —
“Pray, what will ye do wi’ this gallant young man?”
“We’ll hang him,” quo Juden, “this very same day.”
“Wad ye hang sic a brisk an’ gallant young heir,
An’ has three hamely daughters aye suffering neglect?
Though laird o’ the best of the forest sae fair,
He’ll marry the warst for the sake o’ his neck.
“Despise not the lad for a perilous feat;
He’s a friend will bestead you, and stand by you still;
The laird maun hae men, an’ the men maun hae meat,
An’ the meat maun be had be the danger what will.”
The plan thus suggested seemed feasable. It might really be the wisest course to pursue, at least so Sir Gideon was disposed to think, and no time was lost in bringing the matter to an issue. Young Scott was at once brought into the hall, the terms on which his life was to be spared were briefly stated, and he was afforded an opportunity of seeing the young lady whom fortune had thus strangely thrown in his way. One glance sufficed. The features of Sir Gideon’s daughter, known to fame as “Muckle-mou’d Meg,” were not attractive. The condemned culprit felt that even the gallows was preferable to such an objectionable matrimonial alliance.
“Lead on to the gallows, then,” Willie replied,
“I’m now in your power, and ye carry it high;
Nae daughter of yours shall e’er lie by my side;
A Scott, ye maun mind, counts it naething to die.”
These were brave words, bravely spoken. Sir Gideon, however, had made up his mind as to the course he meant to pursue, and Willie Scott was at once led forth to make his acquaintance with the “Hanging Tree.” But when he drew near and saw the fatal rope dangling in the wind, his courage began to fail him. The prospect was far from inviting, and he pled for a few days respite to think on his sins, “and balance the offer of freedom so kind.” But the old laird was inexorable. He simply said to him, “There is the hangman, and there is the priest, make your choice.” Thus driven to bay, Willie saw that further parleying would not avail, and so he thought he had better make the best of a bad business. As he thought over the matter, he began to discover certain traits in the young lady’s person and character of a more or less pleasing description. He concluded that, after all, he might do worse than wed with the daughter of Elibank. —
“What matter,” quo’ he, “though her nose it be lang,
For noses bring luck an’ it’s welcome that brings.
There’s something weel-faur’d in her soncy gray een,
But they’re better than nane, and ane’s life is sae sweet;
An’ what though her mou’ be the maist I hae seen,
Faith muckle-mou’d fok hae a luck for their meat.”
Thus everything ended happily, and young Harden had cause to bless the day he found himself at the mercy of Sir Gideon Murray of Elibank. Seldom, indeed, has Border reiver been so beneficently punished!
An’ muckle guid bluid frae that union has flowed,
An’ mony a brave fellow, an’ mony a brave feat;
I darena just say they are a’ muckle mou’d,
But they rather have still a guid luck for their meat.
Such is the tradition, as Hogg has given it in his humourous poem. It goes without saying that the poet has embellished and enlarged the story to suit his own purposes. But the tradition has generally been regarded as having some considerable basis of fact. Satchells, in his History of the Scotts, thus refers to Auld Wat of Harden and his famous son —
“The stout and valiant Walter Scott
Of Harden who can never die,
But live by fame to the tenth degree;
He became both able, strong, and stout,
Married Philip’s daughter, squire of Dryhope,
Which was an ancient family,
And many broad lands enjoyed he;
Betwixt these Scotts was procreat,
That much renowned Sir William Scott,
I need not to explain his name,
Because he ever lives by fame;
He was a man of port and rank,
He married Sir Gideon Murray’s daughter of Elibank.”
The fortunes of other famous reivers have formed the theme of many a stirring ballad. The so-called historical data on which many of these ballads are professedly based, may often, no doubt, be truthfully described as more imaginary than real, nevertheless the picture which the balladist has drawn is often deeply interesting, and subserves an important end by indicating the feeling with which these men and their deeds were usually regarded.
In a history of Border reiving such side-lights as the ballads afford may be profitably utilized.
Maitland, in his celebrated poem on the Thieves of Liddesdale, makes allusion to a well known character who is known to fame as “Jock o’ the Syde.” He was nephew to the “Laird of Mangerton,” and cousin to the “Laird’s Ain Jock,” and had all the enthusiasm of his race for the calling to which the members of his clan seem to have devoted their somewhat remarkable talents. —
He never tyris
For to brek byris
Our muir and myris
Ouir gude ane guide.
It is said that he assisted the Earl of Westmoreland in his escape, after his unfortunate insurrection with the Earl of Northumberland, in the twelfth year of the reign of Queen Elizabeth. But according to the balladist his career, on one occasion, had well nigh terminated disastrously. In the company of some of his friends he had made a raid into Northumberland. Here he was taken prisoner by the warden, and thrown into jail at Newcastle, there to “bide his doom.” He knew that he would not have long to wait. Not much time was wasted in considering the various items of the indictment, more especially when the accused was a well-known thief. “Jeddart justice” was not confined to the small burgh on the Scottish Border. It was as popular, at that time, in England as anywhere else, as many a Scottish reiver has known to his cost. The friends of the prisoner were fully aware that if he was to be saved from the gallows, not one moment must be lost. A rescue party was speedily organized. The laird of Mangerton, accompanied by a few friends – the Laird’s Jock, the Laird’s Wat, and the famous Hobbie Noble (an Englishman who had been banished from Bewcastle) – started off for Newcastle with all speed, determined to bring the prisoner back with them, quick or dead. To allay suspicion and avoid detection, they shod their horses “the wrang way” – putting the tip of the shoe behind the frog – and arrayed themselves like country lads, or “corn caugers104 ga’en the road.” When they reached Cholerford, near Hexham, they alighted and cut a tree – “wi’ the help o’ the light o’ the moon” – on which were fifteen nogs or notches, by which they hoped “to scale the wa’ o’ Newcastle toun.” But, as so often happened in like circumstances, this improvised ladder was “three ells too laigh.” Such trifles, however, rarely ever proved disconcerting. The bold reivers at once determined to force the gate. A stout porter endeavoured to drive them back, but —
“His neck in twa the Armstrongs wrang;
Wi’ fute or hand he ne’er played pa!
His life and his keys at once they hae ta’en,
And cast his body ahint the wa’.”
The path being now clear they speedily made their way to the prison, where they found their friend groaning under fifteen stones of Spanish iron (nothing short of this would have availed to keep a stark Scottish reiver, fed on oatmeal, within the confines of a prison cell), carried him off, irons and all, set him on a horse, with both feet on one side, and rode off with the fleetness of the wind in the direction of Liddesdale:
“The night tho’ wat, they didna mind,
But hied them on fu’ merrilie,
Until they cam’ to Cholerford brae,
Where the water ran like mountains hie.”
Dashing into the stream they soon reached the opposite bank. The English, who were in hot pursuit, when they reached the Tyne, which was rolling along in glorious flood, durst not venture further. They were filled with chagrin when they saw the prisoner, loaded as he was with fifteen stones of good Spanish iron, safe on the other side. They had sustained a double loss. The prisoner was gone, and he had taken his valuable iron chains with him. The land-sergeant, or warden’s officer, taking in the situation at a glance, cried aloud —
“The prisoner take,
But leave the fetters, I pray, to me.”
To which polite request the Laird’s ain Jock replied —
“I wat weel no,
I’ll keep them a’; shoon to my mare they’ll be,
My gude bay mare – for I am sure,
She bought them a’ right dear frae thee.”
No Liddesdale reiver was ever likely to part with anything in a hurry, least of all to give it up to an Englishman.
The Armstrongs, almost without exception, were noted thieves. They seem to have possessed a rare genius for reiving. Their plans were generally so well formed, and carried out with such a fine combination of daring and cunning, that the “enemy” almost invariably came off “second best.” One of the last, and most noted of this reiving clan, was William Armstrong, a lineal descendant of the famous Johnie of Gilnockie, who was known on the Borders by the name of Christie’s Will, to distinguish him from the other members of his family and clan. He flourished during the reign of Charles I., a circumstance which shows that moss-trooping did not altogether cease at the union of the Crowns. It is related that, on one occasion, Christie’s Will had got into trouble, and was imprisoned in the Tolbooth of Jedburgh. The Lord High Treasurer, the Earl of Traquair, who was visiting in the district, was led to enquire as to the cause of his confinement. The prisoner told him, with a pitiful expression of countenance, that he had got into grief for stealing two tethers (halters). The eminent statesman was astonished to hear that such a trivial offence had been so severely punished, and pressed him to say if this was the only crime he had committed. He ultimately reluctantly acknowledged that there were two delicate colts at the end of them! This bit of pleasantry pleased his lordship, and through his intercession the culprit was released from his imprisonment.