So Buccleuch rode out, one dark night, with a small party of Borderers, and succeeded, aided by one of the gusty storms of the region, in making his way to Carlisle undetected. "And when we left the Staneshaw-bank, The wind began full loud to blaw; But 'twas wind and weet, and fire and sleet, When we came beneath the castle wa'." The sudden uproar raised by the little band bewildered the garrison, and to Kinmont Willie, heavily ironed in the inner dungeon and expecting death in the morning, came the voices of friends. "Wi' coulters, and wi' forehammers, We garr'd[2] the bars bang merrilie, Until we cam' to the inner prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie. "And when we cam' to the lower prison, Where Willie o' Kinmont he did lie: 'O sleep ye, wake ye, Kinmont Willie, Upon the morn that thou's to die?' "'O I sleep saft, and I wake aft; It's lang since sleeping was fley'd frae me! Gie my service back to my wife and bairns, And a' gude fellows that spier[3] for me.'" But his spirits rose to the occasion, and when Red Rowan, "The starkest man in Teviotdale," hoisted Kinmont Willie, whose fetters there was no time to knock off, on his back and carried him up to the breach they had made in the wall, from which they went down by a ladder they had brought with them, the man so narrowly delivered from the noose had his jest ready: "Then shoulder-high with shout and cry We bore him down the ladder lang; At every stride Red Rowan made I wot the Kinmont's airns[4] play'd clang. "'O mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I have ridden horse baith wild and wood.[5] But a rougher beast than Red Rowan I ween my legs have ne'er bestrode. "'And mony a time,' quo' Kinmont Willie, 'I've pricked a horse out owre the furse, But since the day I back'd a steed, I never wore sic cumbrous spurs.'" It is high time that we, too, escaped from Carlisle Castle into the open-air delights of the surrounding country. Five miles to the east lies the pleasant village of Wetheral on the Eden. Corby Castle, seat of a branch of the great Howard family, crowns the wooded hill across the river, but we lingered in Wetheral Church for the sake of one who may have been an ancestor of "the fause Sakelde." This stately sleeper is described as Sir Richard Salkeld, "Captain and Keeper of Carlisle," who, at about the time of Henry VII, "in this land was mickle of might." His effigy is sadly battered; both arms are gone, a part of a leg, and the whole body is marred and dinted, with latter-day initials profanely scrawled upon it. But he, lying on the outside, has taken the brunt of abuse and, like a chivalrous lord, protected Dame Jane, his lady, whose alabaster gown still falls in even folds.