William Faa, when I was in his house, showed me the mark of a stroke of a sword on his right wrist, by which he had nearly lost his hand. With others of his clan, he had been engaged in a smuggling speculation, on the coast of Northumberland, when they were overtaken by a party of dragoons, one of whom singled out and attempted to take Faa prisoner. William was armed with a stick only, but, with his stick in his dexterous hand, he, for a long time, set the dragoon, with all his arms, at defiance. The horseman, now galloping round and round him, attempting to capture him, became exasperated at the resistance of a man on foot, armed with a cudgel only, and struck with such vigour that the cudgel became shattered, and cut in pieces, till nothing but a few inches of it remained. Still holding up the stump, to meet the stroke of his antagonist's sword, William was cut to the bone, and compelled to yield himself a prisoner. A person, present at the scuffle, informed me that the only remark the brave Tinkler made to the dragoon was, "Ye've spoiled a good fiddler." William Faa, the lineal descendant of John Faw, "Lord and Earl of Little Egypt," when I saw him, appeared about sixty years of age, and was tall and genteel-looking, with grey hair, and dark eyes. He is the individual who fought the three battles with Young, between Dunse and Coldstream. The following notice of his death I have extracted from the "Scotsman" newspaper, of the 20th October, 1847: "A LAMENT FOR WILL FAA, "The Deceased King of Little Egypt. "The daisy has faded, the yellow leaf drops; The cold sky looks grey o'er the shrivelled tree-tops; And many around us, since Summer's glad birth, Have dropt, like the old leaves, into the cold earth. And one worth remembering hath gone to the home Where the king and the kaiser must both at last come, The King of the Gipsies--the last of a name[167] Which in Scotland's old story is rung on by fame. The cold clod ne'er pressed down a manlier breast Than that of the old man now gone to his rest. "It is meet we remember him; never again Will such foot as old Will's kick a ball o'er the plain, Or such hand as his, warm with the warmth of the soul, Bid us welcome to Yetholm, to bicker and bowl. Oh, the voice that could make the air tremble and ring With the great-hearted gladness becoming a king, Is silent, is silent; oh, wail for the day When Death took the Border King, brave Willie Faa. "No dark Jeddart prison e'er closed upon him, The last lord of Egypt ne'er wore gyve on limb. Though his grey locks were crownless, the light of his eye Was kingly--his bearing majestic and high. Though his hand held no sceptre, the stranger can tell That the full bowl of welcome became it as well; The fisher or rambler, by river or brae, Ne'er from old Willie's hallan went empty away.