wet and useless. He was chased to the river Esk,
which he swam without hesitation, and, finding himself on Scottish ground,
and in the neighbourhood of friends, he turned on the northern bank, and
with the true spirit of the Borderer, invited his followers to come
through and drink with him. After this taunt he proceeded on his journey,
and faithfully accomplished his mission."[106]

If Christie's Will may be regarded as the last Border freebooter of any
note, it is evident that the peculiar genius of the family to which he
belonged survived in full vigour to the end.

But the last of the Armstrongs who paid the penalty of death for his
misdeeds was _Willie of Westburnflat_. It is said that a gentleman of
property, having lost twelve cows in one night, raised the country of
Teviotdale, and traced the robbers into Liddesdale, as far as the house of
Westburnflat. Fortunately, perhaps, for his pursuers, Willie was asleep
when they came, and consequently without much difficulty they secured him,
and nine of his friends. They were tried in Selkirk, and though the jury
did not discover any direct evidence against them to convict them of the
special fact, they did not hesitate to bring in a verdict of guilty, on
the ground of their general character as "notour thieves and limmers."
When sentence was pronounced, Willie sprang to his feet, and laying hold
of the oaken chair on which he had been sitting, broke it in pieces, and
called on his companions who were involved in the same doom, to stand
behind him and he would fight his way out of Selkirk with these weapons.
But, strange to relate, they held his hands, and besought him to let them
_die like Christians_. They were accordingly executed in due form of law.
This incident is said to have happened at the last circuit court held in
Selkirk.[107]

Willie Armstrong, as he stood under the gallows-tree, might appropriately
have sung the lines composed by _Ringan's Sandi_, a relative of his own,
who was executed for the murder of Sir John Carmichael, the warden of the
Middle Marches--

This night is my departing night,
For here nae langer must I stay;
There's neither friend nor foe o' mine,
But wishes me away.

What I have done through lack of wit,
I never, never can recall;
I hope ye're a' my friends as yet;
Good night, and joy be with you all!

XIV.

UNDER THE BAN.

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,
He called for his candle