The Eskdale Herd-boy | Page 6

must now return to our little party, who were setting out on their
excursions towards the glen, that is to say, a deep and narrow opening
between the hills which bound the dale.
John had no sooner assisted Helen to mount Bob, than Mr. Martin
made his appearance, accompanied by Mrs. Martin, who came to see
them set off, she being detained at home that morning, arranging some
household affairs, which required her presence, and which would not
admit of delay. After wishing them good bye, and giving Helen many
charges to be careful, and keep a firm hold of her bridle, Mrs. Martin
returned into the house, and the travellers proceeded to follow the
windings up towards the glen, where David Little's cottage stood.
Nothing can exceed the beauty of this walk. The holm extends above a

mile above Mr. Martin's house, divided by a large and rapid river, on
each side of which hills rise, almost as high as the eye can reach,
covered with rich, smooth verdure, up to the very top, and seeming to
shut out the inhabitants of the valley from all communication with the
rest of the world. As Mr. Martin and the young people proceeded
leisurely along the road, he related to them several stories, which
occurred to him at the moment, and which he thought would interest
and amuse them. He told them that, in former times, before Scotland
and England were united, there were continual wars between the
Borderers, or inhabitants of the country on each side of the border
dividing the two kingdoms; and that, in order to check the English from
coming over, and plundering the Scotch of their sheep and cattle, one
of the Scottish kings, named James, was said to have brought a family
of seven brothers, of the name of ELLIOTT, from the Highlands, a
stout and hardy race, whom he settled all along the borders of Scotland;
"and the Elliotts," said he, "my dears, who, you know are now so
numerous all through the Dale, are said to be descended from these
seven brothers." Mr. Martin was going on to tell of Johnnie Armstrong,
who was one of the great chieftains of those times, and was a sad
enemy to the English, when John, who had been listening with great
eagerness to all he had heard, cried out, "Oh! Johnnie Armstrong! I
have heard of him sir, all the Dale knows about him. He was a great
robber, was he not? I remember, my father used to sing some old songs
about him to me; and I think I could repeat parts of the verses myself, if
Miss Helen would like to hear them, and you, sir, would give me
leave." "Certainly John," answered Mr. Martin, "I am sure Helen will
like to hear them much."
John cleared his voice, and after considering a little while, began the
following old ballad:--
Some speak of lords, some speak of lairds, And such like men of high
degree; Of a gentleman I sing a song, Sometime called Laird of
Gilnockie.
The King he writes a loving letter, With his own hand so tenderly, And
he hath sent it to Johnnie Armstrong, To come and speak with him
speedily.
The Elliotts and Armstrongs did convene, They were a gallant
company; "We'll ride and meet our lawful king, And bring him safe to

Gilnockie."
They ran their steeds on the Langholm holm, They ran their steeds with
might and main; The ladies looked from their high windows, God bring
our men well back again.
John stopped here and said, "he did not remember the whole ballad, for
it was very long, but he knew that the story was that Johnnie was
deceived by the king, who only wanted to get him into his power, by
enticing him out of his own country; and having succeeded in this, he
caused poor Armstrong and all his followers to be hanged. He would
try," he said, and "remember the last two verses, which gave an account
of Armstrong's death."
Farewell, my bonny Gilnockhall, Where on Esk side thou standest stout!
If I had lived but seven years more, I would have gilt thee round about.
Because they saved their country dear From Englishmen, none were so
bold, While Johnnie lived on the border side, None of them durst come
near his hold.
Just as John had finished his ballad, they turned out of the main road,
up a narrow path, into the glen. On their right hand a small clear brook,
or, as it is called in Scotland, a burn, ran down among the brush-wood;
now hid from view, now showing its white foam, bursting over the
stones which obstructed its passage. The walk from this till our little
party reached David's cottage was