One and all, the reivers were well
armed, "with spur on heel, and splent on spauld," and with them they
carried scaling ladders, picks, axes, and iron crowbars. The Esk and
Eden were in furious flood, but no force of nature or of man could stay
the reivers' horses that night.
"We go to catch a rank reiver
Has broken faith wi' the bauld Buccleuch."
That was the burden of their thoughts, and although they well knew that
ere the dawning each one of them might be claiming the hospitality of
six feet of English sod, their hearts were light. To them a message that
the fray was up was like the sound of the huntsman's horn in the ears of
a thoroughbred hunter.
"'Where are ye gaun, ye mason lads,
Wi' a' your ladders, lang and hie?'
'We gang to berry a corbie's nest,
That wons not far frae Woodhouselee.'"
No light matter was it to harry that corbie's nest. Carlisle Castle was
a strong castle, strongly garrisoned, and to make a raid on an English
town was a bold attempt indeed. But fear was a thing unknown to the
Border reivers, and the flower of them rode with Buccleuch that
night--close on his horse's heels Wat o' Harden, Walter Scott of
Goldielands, and Kinmont's own four stalwart sons--Jock, Francie,
Geordie, and Sandy.
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