The encounter, such as it was, took place not so much in Solway Moss, however, as over towards Arthuret. The Scots--a strong raiding army, but disorganised, and in a state of incipient mutiny against their newly-appointed leader, Oliver Sinclair, (Ridpath says: "a general murmur and breach of all order immediately ensued" when his appointment was made known,)--at dawn of the 24th were already burning northward through the Debateable Land. Wharton with his compact little English force watched them from Arthuret Howes and skilfully drew them into a hopeless trap between the Esk and an impassable swamp, where there was no room to deploy. Here the English--at most not a sixth part so numerous as the Scots--charging down on the Scottish right flank threw them into hopeless confusion, and from that minute all was over. {405}Panic seized the Scots: men cast aside whatever might hamper their flight, and, plunging into the water, scrambled for what safety they might find among the Grahams and the English borderers of Liddesdale--which, as it turned out, meant little better than scrambling from the frying pan into the fire. [Illustration: 0425] Many were driven into the swamp and perished there miserably, many were drowned in the river, and twelve hundred men--including a large percentage of nobles--were captured. Out of a force variously estimated at from two to three thousand strong--Sir William Musgrave, who was with the cavalry, puts it at the higher figure--the English lost but seven men killed. It was a {406}sorry business, a dreadful day for Scotland; and it ended the life of James V as effectually as if he had been slain on the field of battle. [Illustration: 0426] I do not know if Arthuret church was injured on this occasion; it is recorded in 1597 that it had then been ruinous for about sixty years. Perhaps the Armstrongs may have been responsible; they made a big raid hereaway in 1528. The present building dates, I believe, from 1609. There was another calamity connected with Solway Moss, later than the battle and local in effect, yet sufficiently terrible to cast over the district a black shadow of tragedy, the memory of which time has lightened but even yet has not entirely wiped out. November 1771 was a month of evil note for its storms and ceaseless wet. Day followed day sodden with driving rain, and the country lay smothered under a ragged grey blanket of mist. Firm ground became a quagmire that quaked under foot, pools widened into lakes, and the rivers {407}rose in dreadful spate that yet failed to carry off the superfluous water. [Illustration: 0427]