fast. Thomas Howard, the old Earl of
Surrey, a faithful servant of Richard till
he fell at Bosworth, and since that time an
equally faithful champion of the Tudors,
had come to Pontefract on his way to
Newcastle. All the chivalry of the north
soon joined his banner;  first of all Lord
Dacre, the warden of the East and Middle
Marches;  and with him Sir Marmaduke
Constable, Sir William Bulmer of Brumspeth,
and Lord Scrope of Bolton, with
all the hardy Northumbrian and Yorkshire
men.  Sir Edward Stanley, the fifth
son of Thomas, first Earl of Derby, brought,
too, his Cheshire and Lancashire bowmen;
and Lord Clifford (the Shepherd
Lord) led on his Cumberland spearmen;
while Jack of Newbury, the honest clothier,
came with his Berkshire contingent of one
hundred men with bows and bills;  and
just in the nick of time, too, landed in the
Tyne the Earl of Surrey's son, Lord Thomas
Howard, High Admiral of England, father
of the poet Surrey.  At Durham, Bishop
Ruthal (still fretting for his castle at Norham)
delivered to the Earl the red velvet
banner with the white velvet cross, enclosing
that holy relic the corporax cloth of St.
Cuthbert. He also bore before him those
standards, pennons, and flags which Queen
Catharine herself had made for the English
hosts, and which she had written to Wolsey
to say she was "horribly busy in making."
The Queen of Scotland and her ladies, on
their part, had also employed their fair
fingers in similar work. From Durham
and Newcastle the bands of English archers
and billmen were pressing on fast to Alnwick.
By the 5th of September the English
pitched their tents at Botton, a hamlet
north of the river Aln, and five miles west
of Alnwick. Here more of the Northumberland
men joined them.  Surrey was
now at the head of some thirty thousand
soldiers.

The Scottish army had already melted to
about the same number. The feudal tenure
only required forty days' service, and that
time having expired, the careful Scots were
returning home in troops, driving before
them their herds of English cows and
horses laden with English silks and English
coin. Surrey learning this through his spies,
instantly sent to challenge King James to
battle on Friday the 9th of September, and
at the same time his son the admiral added
a message that, as King James had often
complained of the death of Andrew Barton,
he, Lord Thomas, by whom that deed was
done, was now ready to maintain it with
his sword in the front of the fight. James
returned answer, that to meet the English in
battle was so much his wish, that, had the
earl's letter even found him at Edinburgh,
he would have laid aside all other business
to have met him on a pitched field. At this
time the king was encamped on the eastern
side of Flodden Hill, the last slope of the
Cheviots, with the Tweed on one side, and
to the north the deep, slow, sluggish river
Till, which extended from Wooler, where
Surrey was on the 8th, to Twizel Bridge
by the Tweed.

At the council many of the Scottish nobles
were for retreat, or, at least, for the king's
leaving the command for a place of safety.
Lord Patrick Lindsay, president of the war
council, compared the contest to a rich
merchant, who should stake a rose noble of
gold against a common sharper's crooked
halfpenny, the English troops being a mere
parcel of mechanics, led by an old crooked
churl lying in a chariot, while the Scotch
had their king and the prime of their
nobility, the common people having gone
home. The Earl of Angus, old "Bell the
Cat,"  a warrior once of gigantic strength,
was of the same opinion, and rebuked the
French ambassador, who wished for battle
at all hazards. The young king, ardent for
battle, said:

"I will fight with these English, though
you had all sworn the contrary. Ye may
shame yourselves by flight, but you shall
not shame me. As for Sir Patrick Lindsay,
who has got the first vote, I vow that when
I return to Scotland I will cause him to be
hanged over his own gate."

Then to the old grisly earl he said with
scornful bitterness, "Angus, if you are
afraid, you may go home."

The earl, too proud to brook such an
insult even from a king, rode sullenly home
that night, leaving his two sons and two
hundred of the name of Douglas to die on
that hill-side, soon to be crimson with the
best blood of Scotland.

That night, both at Flodden and at
Wooler, romantic incidents occurred. As
the old Earl of Surrey was anxiously
inquiring among the thievish moss-troopers,
for guides over the Cheviots, and rough
riders who knew how to cross the brooks
that fed the Till, and the marsh that lay at
the foot of Flodden Hill—for he knew that
James had camped in a natural fortress—a
man completely armed, with visor down,
rode up, dismounted, and knelt before him,
offering, if pardon were given him, to lead
the army. The earl assured him of forgiveness,