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Updated: May 17, 2025
Surrey put the Till between himself and the Scottish army, and marched north, his movement masked by hills on his left, with the intention of reaching Berwick, or of threatening the Scottish communications. Arrived at Barmoor Wood, the Admiral, Thomas Howard, Surrey's son, proposed to march west, cross the Till, and move south again, threatening the rear of James's position.
On the day before the battle took place, Surrey, that "auld crooked carle," as James called him, marched his men northward across the Till and encamped for the night near Barmoor Wood.
Our horses stamped, and then whinnied. A horse on the road above us whinnied. One of the clattering troop cried, "There they are. We have them. Come along, boys." Some one I knew the voice it was Captain Barmoor, of the Yeomanry cried out, "Stand and surrender." And then I saw the sabres gleam under the trees, and heard the horses' hoofs grow furious upon the stones.
I must confess that for my part I had forgotten this incident of Sir R.N. Fowler's Mayoralty, and I think it may interest some of your readers to be reminded of it at the present time. I am, thine truly, THOMAS HODGKIN. Barmoor, Northumberland." The late Dr.
Crossing the Till on the 8th, he encamped at Barmoor Wood, about two miles from the Scottish position, concealing his movement from the enemy. On the 9th he marched down the Till to near its confluence with the Tweed, and recrossed to the eastern bank.
There be no tubs here, sir," he said, after a short examination. "Her be dead enough. Stone dead, sir. There's an empty pistol-case, master." "Oh," said Captain Barmoor. "Any saddlebag, or anything of that kind?" The man fumbled about in the gear. "No, there was nothing of that kind nothing at all." "Bring on the saddle," said the captain. "There may be papers stitched in it."
Get down and see if there's any contraband upon him. After them, you others. We shall get them now. Ride on, I tell you! What are you pulling up for?" The other preventives crashed on over the shingle. Captain Barmoor and the sergeant remained by the dead horse.
The two horses bolted off along the strand, scattering the pebbles, and then, while the clash of their hoofs was still loud upon the stones, the preventives came pounding up, their horses all badly blown and much distressed. Their leader was Captain Barmoor. I knew him by his voice. "Here's a dead horse!" he cried. "Sergeant, we have one of their horses.
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