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The Scottish Chiefs

M >> Miss Jane Porter >> The Scottish Chiefs




The truth and gallantry of these sentiments struck the awakened mind of
Bruce with the force of conviction. Another auditor was nigh, who also
lost not a syllable; "and the flame was conveyed from the breast of one
hero to that of the other."

Lord Carrick secretly repented of all that he had done; but being too
proud to acknowledge so much, he briefly answered: "Wallace, your words
have made an impression on me, that may one day still more brighten the
glory of your fame. Be silent respecting this conference; be faithful
to the principles you have declared, and ere long you shall hear
royally of Bruce." As he spoke, he turned away and was lost among the
trees.

Wallace stood for some minutes musing on what had passed, when, hearing
a footstep behind him, he turned round, and beheld approaching him a
young and graceful form, habited in a white hacqueton wrought in gold,
with golden spurs on his feet, and a helmet of the same costly metal on
his head, crested with white feathers. Had the scene been in
Palestine, he might have mistaken him for the host's guardian angel in
arms. But the moment the eyes of Wallace fell on him, the stranger
hastened forward, and threw himself on one knee before him, with so
noble a grace that the chief was lost in wonder what this beautiful
apparition could mean. The youth, after an agitated pause, bowing his
head, exclaimed:

"Pardon this intrusion, bravest of men! I come to offer you my heart,
my life! To wash out, by your side, in the blood of the enemies of
Scotland, the stigma which now dishonors the name of Bruce!"

"And who are you, noble youth?" cried Wallace, raising him from the
ground. "Surely my prayers are at last answered; and I hear these
sentiments from one of Alexander's race!"

"I am indeed of his blood," replied he; "and it must now be my study to
prove my descent by deeds worthy of my ancestor. I am Robert Bruce,
the eldest son of the Earl of Carrick and Annandale. Grieving over the
slaughter that his valor had made of his own people (although, till you
taught him otherwise, he believed they fought to maintain the
usurpation of an ambitious subject), he walked out in melancholy. I
followed at a distance; and I heard, unseen, all that has passed
between you and him. He has retired to his tent; and, unknown to him,
I hastened across the Carron, to avow my loyalty to virtue, to declare
my determination to live for Scotland, or to die for her; and to follow
the arms of Sir William Wallace, till he plants my father in the throne
of his ancestors."

"I take you at your word, brave prince!" replied the regent; "and this
night shall give you an opportunity to redeem to Scotland, what your
father's sword has this day wrested from her. What I mean to do must
be effected in the course of a few hours. That done, it will be
prudent for you to return to the Carrick camp; and there take the most
effectual means to persuade your father to throw himself at once into
the arms of Scotland. The whole nation will then rally round their
king; and as his weapon of war, I shall rejoice to fulfill the
commission with which God has intrusted me!" He then briefly unfolded
to the eagerly listening Bruce (whose aspiring spirit, inflamed by the
fervor of youth, and winged by natural courage, saw the glory alone of
the enterprise), an attack which he meant to make on the camp of
Edward, while his victorious troops slept in fancied security.

He had sent Sir John Graham to Stirling, to call out its garrison; Ker
he had dispatched on a similar errand; and expecting that by this time
some of the troops would be arrived on the southern extremity of the
carse, he threw his plaid over the prince's splendid garb to conceal
him from notice; then returning to the few who lay on the northern bank
of the river, he asked one of the young Gordons to lend him his armor,
saying he had use for it, and to seek another suit in the heap that had
been collected from the buried dead. The brave Scot cheerfully
acquiesced; and, Wallace retiring amongst the trees with his royal
companion, Bruce soon covered his gay hacqueton with this rough mail;
and placing the Scottish bonnet on his head, put a large stone into the
golden helmet, and sunk it in the waters of the Carron. Being thus
completely armed like one of the youthful clansmen in the ranks (and
such disguise was necessary), Wallace put the trusty claymore of his
country into its prince's hand; and clasping him with a hero's warmth
to his heart--

"Now it is," cried he, "that William Wallace lives anew since he has
seen this hour!"

On re-emerging from the wood, they met Sir John Graham, who had just
arrived with five hundred fugitives from Lord Bute's slaughtered
division, whom he had rallied on the carse. He informed his friend
that the Earl of Mar was within half a mile of the Carron, with three
thousand more; and, that he would soon be joined by other
re-enforcements to a similar amount. While Graham yet spoke, a
squadron of armed men approached from the Forth side. Wallace,
advancing toward them, beheld the Bishop of Dunkeld, in his sacerdotal
robes, at their head, but with a corselet on his breast, and instead of
his crosier he carried a drawn sword. "We come to you, champion of
Scotland," cried the prelate, "with the prayers and the arms of the
church. The sword of th44e Levites of old smote the enemies of Israel;
and in the same faith, that the God of Justice will go before us this
night, we come to fight for Scotland's liberties."

His followers were the younger brethren of the monastery of
Cambus-Kenneth, and others from the neighboring convents, altogether
making a stout and well-appointed legion.

"With this handful," cried Wallace, "Heaven may find a David, who shall
yet strike yon Goliath on the forehead!"

Lord Mar and Lord Lennox now came up; and Wallace, marshaling his
train, found that he had nearly ten thousand men. He gave to each
leader his plan of attack; and having placed Bruce with Graham in the
van, before he took his station at its head, he retired to the ruins
near Dunipacis, to visit the mourning solitude of Murray. He found the
pious son sitting silent and motionless by the side of his dead parent.
Without rousing the violence of grief by any reference to the sight
before him, Wallace briefly communicated his project. Lord Andrew
started to his feet. "I will share all the peril with you! I shall
again grapple with the foe that has thus bereaved me! This dark
mantle," cried he, turning toward the breathless corpse, and throwing
his plaid over it, "will shroud thy hallowed remains till I return. I
go where thou wouldst direct me. Oh, my father!" exclaimed he, in a
burst of grief, "the trumpet shall sound, and thou wilt not hear! But
I go to take vengeance for thy blood!" So saying, he sprung from the
place, and accompanying Wallace to the plain, took his station in the
silent but swiftly moving army.


Chapter LIV.

Carron Banks.



The troops of King Edward lay overpowered with wine. Elated with
victory, they had drunk largely, the royal pavilion setting them the
example; for though Edward was temperate, yet, to flatter his recovered
friends, the inordinate Buchan and Soulis, he had allowed a greater
excess that night than he was accustomed to sanction. The banquet
over, every knight retired to his tent; every soldier to his pallet;
and a deep sleep lay upon every man. The king himself, whose many
thoughts had long kept him waking, now fell into a slumber.

Guards had been placed around the camp more from military ceremony than
an idea of their necessity. The strength of Wallace they believed
broken; and that they should have nothing to do next morning but to
chase him into Stirling, and take him there. But the spirit of the
regent was not so easily subdued. He ever thought it shameful to
despair while it was possible to make a stand. And now, leading his
determined followers through the lower grounds of Cumbernaul, he
detached half his force under Mar, to take the Southron camp in the
rear, while he should attack the front, and pierce his way to the royal
pavilion.

With soundless caution, the battalion of Mar wound round the banks of
the Forth to reach the point of its destination; and Wallace,
proceeding with as noiseless a step, gained the hill which overlooked
his sleeping enemies. His front ranks, shrouded by branches they had
torn from the trees in Tor Wood, now stood still. Without this
precaution, had any eye looked from the Southron line they must have
been perceived; but now should a hundred gaze on them, their figures
were so blended with the adjoining thickets, they might easily be
mistaken for a part of them. As the moon sunk in the horizon they
moved gently down the hill; and scarcely drawing breath, were within a
few paces of the first outpost, when one of the sentinels starting from
his reclining position, suddenly exclaimed, "What sound is that?"

"Only the wind amongst the trees," returned his comrade; "I see their
branches waving. Let me sleep; for Wallace yet lives, and we may have
hot work to-morrow." Wallace did live, and the man slept--to wake no
more; for the next instant a Scottish brand was through every Southron
heart on the outpost. That done, Wallace threw away his bough, leaped
the narrow dike which lay in front of the camp; and with Bruce and
Graham at the head of a chosen band of brave men, cautiously proceeded
onward to reach the pavilion. At the moment he should blow his bugle,
the divisions he had left with Lennox and Murray, and the Lord Mar,
were to press forward to the same point.

Still all lay in profound repose, and guided by the lamps which burned
around the royal quarters, the dauntless Scots reached the tent.
Wallace had already laid his hand upon the curtain that was its
entrance, when an armed man with a presented pike, demanded, "Who comes
here?" the regent's answer laid the interrogator's head at his feet;
but the voice had awakened the ever watchful king. Perceiving his own
danger in the fall of the sentinel, he snatched his sword, and calling
aloud on his sleeping train, sprung from his couch. He was immediately
surrounded by half a score of knights, who started on their feet before
Wallace could reach the spot. Short, however, would have been their
protection; they fell before his arm and that of Graham, and left a
vacant place, for Edward had disappeared. Foreseeing from the first
prowess of these midnight invaders, the fate of his guards, he had made
a timely escape, by cutting a passage for himself through the canvas of
his tent. Wallace perceived that his prize had eluded his grasp, but
hoping to at least drive him from the field, he blew the appointed
signal to Mar and Lennox; caught one of the lamps from the monarch's
table and setting fire to the adjoining drapery, rushed from its
blazing volumes to meet his brave colleagues amongst the disordered
lines. Graham and his followers with firebrands in their hands, threw
conflagration into all parts of the camp, and with the fearful
war-cries of their country, seemed to assail the terrified enemy from
every direction. Men half-dressed and unarmed, rushed from their tents
upon the pikes of their enemies; hundreds fell without striking a blow,
and they who were stationed nearest the outposts, betook themselves to
flight, scattering themselves in scared throngs over the amazed plains
of Linlithgow.

The king in vain sought to rally his men-to remind them of their late
victory. His English alone hearkened to his call; superstition had
laid her petrifying hand on all the rest. The Irish saw a terrible
judgment in this scene; believing it had fallen upon them for having
taken arms against their sister people; the Welsh, as they descried the
warlike Bishop of Dunkeld issuing from the mists of the river, and
charging his foaming steed through their flying defiles, could not
persuade themselves that Merlin had not arisen to chastise their
obedience to the ravager of their country. Every superstition, every
panic created by fear took possession of the half-intoxicated, stupid
wretches; and falling in bloody and unresisting heaps all around, it
was rather a slaughter than a battle. Opposition seemed everywhere
abandoned, excepting on the spot still maintained by the King of
England and his brave countrymen. The faithless Scots who had followed
the Cummins to the field also stood there and fought with desperation.
Wallace opposed the despair and valor of his adversaries with the
steadiness of his men; and Graham having seized some of the
war-engines, discharged a shower of blazing arrows upon the Southron
phalanx.

The camp was now on fire in every direction; and putting all to the
hazard of one decisive blow, Edward ordered his men to make at once to
the point, where, by the light of the flaming tents, he could perceive
the waving plumes of Wallace. With his ponderous mace held terribly in
the air, the king himself bore down to the shock; and breaking through
the intervening combatants assaulted the chief. The might of ten
thousand souls was then in the arm of the Regent of Scotland. The
puissant Edward wondered at himself as he shrunk from before his
strokes; as he shuddered at the heroic fierceness of a countenance
which seemed more than mortal. Was it indeed the Scottish chieftain?
or some armed delegate from heaven, descended to flight the battles of
the oppressed? Edward trembled; his mace was struck from his hand; but
immediately a glittering falchon supplied its place, and with
recovering presence of mind he renewed the combat.

Meanwhile the young Bruce (who, in his humble armor, might have been
passed by as an enemy for meaner swords), checking the onward speed of
March, pierced him at once through the heart: "Die, thou disgrace to
the name of Scot," cried he, "and with thy blood expunge my stains!"
His sword now laid all opposition at his feet; and while the tempest of
death blew around, the groans of the dying, the shrieks of the wounded,
and the outcries of those who were perishing in the flames, drove the
king's ranks to distraction, and raised so great a fear in the minds of
the Cummin clan, that, breaking from the royal line with yells of
dismay, they fled in all directions after their already fugitive allies.

Edward saw the Earl of March fall, and finding himself wounded in many
places, with a backward step he received the blows of Wallace; but that
determined chief, following his advantage, made a stroke at the king
which threw him astounded into the arms of his followers. At that
moment Lincoln raised his arm to strike his dagger into the back of
Wallace; but Graham arrested the blow, and sent the young lord's
motionless body to the earth. The Southron ranks closed immediately
before their insensible monarch; and a contest more desperate than any
which had preceded it, took place. Hosts seemed to fall on both sides;
at last the Southrons (having stood their ground till Edward was
carried from further danger) suddenly wheeled about and fled
precipitately toward the east. Wallace pursued them on full charge;
driving them across the lowlands of Linlithgow, where he learned from
some prisoners he took, that the Earl of Carrick was in the Lothians;
having retreated hither on the first tidings that the Scots had
attacked the English camp.

"Now is your time," said Wallace to Bruce, "to rejoin your father.
Bring him to Scotland, where a free crown awaits him. Your actions of
this night must be a pledge to your country of the virtues which will
support his throne!"

The young warrior, throwing off his rugged hauberk in a retired glen,
appeared again as a prince, and embracing the regent:

"A messenger from myself or from my father," said he, "shall meet you
at Stirling; meanwhile, farewell!--and give my thanks to the young
Gordon whose sword armed me for Scotland!"

Bruce mounted the horse Wallace had prepared, and spurring along the
banks of the Almond, was soon lost amidst its luxuriant shades.

Wallace still led the pursuit of Edward, and meeting those auxiliaries
from the adjoining counties, which his provident orders had prepared to
turn out on the first appearance of this martial chase; he poured his
troops through Ettrick Forest, and drove the flying host of England far
into Northumberland. There checking his triumphant squadrons, he
recalled his stragglers, and returned with abated speed into his own
country. Halting on the north bank of the Twee, he sent to their
quarters those hands which belonged to the border castles, and then
marched leisurely forward, that his brave soldiers, who had sustained
the weight of the battle, might recover their exhausted strength.

At Peebles he was agreeably surprised by the sight of Edwin. Though
ignorant of the recommenced hostilities of Edward, Lord Ruthven became
so impatient to resume his duties, that as soon as he was able to move,
he had set off on his return to Perth. On arriving at Huntingtower he
was told of the treachery of March, also of his fate, and that the
regent had beaten the enemy on the banks of the Carron, and was
pursuing him into his own dominions. Ruthven was inadequate to the
exertion of following the successful troops, but Edwin, rejoicing at
this new victory, would not be detained, and crossing the Forth into
Mid-Lothian, had sped his eager way until the happy moment that brought
him again to the side of his first and dearest friend.

As they continued their route together, Edwin inquired the events of
the past time, and heard them related with wonder, horror, and
gratitude. Grateful for the preservation of Wallace, grateful for the
rescue of his country from the menaced destruction, for some time he
could only clasp his friend's hand with strong emotion to his heart.
The death of his uncle Bothwell made that heart tremble within him at
the thought of how much severer might have been his deprivation; at
last, extricating his powers of speech from the spell of contradictory
feelings which enchained them, he said, "But if my uncle Mar and our
brave Graham were in the last conflict, where are they, that I do not
see them share your victory?"

"I hope," returned Wallace, "that we shall rejoin them in safety at
Stirling. Our troops parted in the pursuit, and after having sent back
the Lowland chieftains, you see I have none with me now but my own
particular followers."

The regent's expectations that he should soon fall in with some of the
chasing squadrons, were the next morning gratified. Crossing the
Bathgate Hills, he met the returning battalions of Lennox, with Lord
Mar's, and also Sir John Graham's. Lord Lennox was thanked by Wallace
for his good services, and immediately dispatched to reoccupy his
station in Dumbarton. But the captains of Mar and of Graham, could
give no other account of their leaders, than that they saw them last
fighting valiantly in the Southron camp, and had since supposed that
during the pursuit they must have joined the regent's squadron. A cold
dew fell over the limbs of Wallace at these tidings; he looked on
Murray and on Edwin. The expression of the former's face told him what
were his fears; but Edwin, ever sanguine, strove to encourage the hope
that all might yet be well: "They may not have yet returned from the
pursuit; or they may be gone on to Stirling."

But these comfortings were soon dispelled by the appearance of Lord
Ruthven, who (having been apprised of the regent's approach) came forth
to meet him. The pleasure of seeing the earl so far recovered as to
have been able to leave Huntingtower, was checked by the first glance
of his face, on which was deeply characterized some tale of grief.
Edwin thought it was the recent disasters of Scotland he mourned; and
with a cheering voice he exclaimed, "Courage, my father! our regent
comes again a conqueror! Edward has once more recrossed the plains of
Northumberland!"

"Thanks be to God for that!" replied Ruthven! "but what have not these
last conflicts cost the country! Lord Mar is wounded unto death, and
lies in a chamber next to the yet unburied corpses of Lord Bute and the
dauntless Graham." Wallace turned deadly pale; a mist passed over his
eyes, and staggering, he breathlessly supported himself on the arm of
Edwin. Murray looked on him; but all was still in his heart: his own
beloved father had fallen; and in that stroke Fate seemed to have
emptied all her quiver.

"Lead me to their chambers!" cried Wallace; "show me where my friends
lie; let me hear the last prayer for Scotland from the lips of the
bravest of her veterans!"

Ruthven turned the head of his horse; and, as he rode along, he
informed the regent that Edwin had not left Huntingtower for the Forth
half an hour when an express arrived from Falkirk. By it he learned
that, as soon as the inhabitants of Stirling saw the fire of the
Southron camp, they had hastened thither to enjoy the spectacle. Some,
bolder than the rest, entered its deserted confines (for the retreating
squadrons were then flying over the plain); and amidst the slaughtered,
near the royal tent, one of these visitors thought he distinguished
groans. Whether friend or foe, he stooped to render assistance to the
sufferer, and soon found it to be Lord Mar. The earl begged to be
carried to some shelter that he might see his wife and daughter before
he died. The people drew him out from under his horse and many a
mangled corpse; and, wrapping him in their plaids, conveyed him to
Falkirk, where they lodged him in the convent.

"A messenger was instantly dispatched to me," continued Ruthven; "and,
indifferent to all personal considerations, I set out immediately. I
saw my dying brother-in-law. At his request, that others might not
suffer what he had endured under the pressure of the slain, the field
had been sought for the wounded. Many were conveyed into the
neighboring houses, while the dead were consigned to the earth. Deep
have been dug the graves of mingled Scot and English on the banks of
the Carron! Many of our fallen nobles, amongst whom was the princely
Badenoch, have been conveyed to the cemetery of their ancestors; others
are entombed in the church of Falkirk; but the bodies of Sir John
Graham and my brother Bothwell," said he, in a lower tone, "I have
retained till your return."

"You have done right," replied the till then, silent Wallace; and
spurring forward, he saw not the ground he trod, till, ascending the
hill of Falkirk, the venerable walls of its monastery presented
themselves to his view. He threw himself off his horse and entered,
preceded by Lord Ruthven.

He stopped before the cell which contained the dying chief, and desired
the abbot to apprise the earl of his arrival. The sound of that voice,
whose heart-consoling tones could be matched by none on earth,
penetrated to the ear of his almost insensible friend. Mar started
from his pillow, and Wallace through the half-open door heard him say:
"Let him come in, Joanna! All my mortal hopes now hang on him."

Wallace instantly stepped forward, and beheld the veteran stretched on
a couch, the image of that death to which he was so rapidly
approaching. He hastened toward him; and the dying man, stretching
forth his arms exclaimed: "Come to me, Wallace, my son, the only hope
of Scotland, the only human trust of this anxious paternal heart!"

Wallace threw himself on his knees beside him, and taking his hand,
pressed it in speechless anguish to his lips; every present grief was
then weighing on his soul, and denied him the power of utterance. Lady
Mar sat by the pillow of her husband, but she bore no marks of the
sorrow which convulsed the frame of Wallace. She looked serious, but
her cheek wore its freshest bloom. She spoke not, and the veteran
allowed the tears of enfeebled nature to fall on the bent head of his
friend. "Mourn not for me," cried he, "nor think that these are
regretful drops. I die as I have wished, in the field for Scotland.
Time must have soon laid my gray hair ignobly in the grave; and to
enter it thus covered with honorable wounds, in glory, has long been my
prayer. But, dearest, most unwearied of friends, still the tears of
mortality will flow; for I leave my children fatherless in this
faithless world. And my Helen! Oh, Wallace, the angel who exposed her
precious self through the dangers of that midnight walk to save
Scotland, her father, and his friends, is-lost to us! Joanna, tell the
rest," said he, gasping, "for I cannot."

Wallace turned to Lady Mar with an inquiring look of such wild horror
that she found her tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth, and her
complexion faded into the pallidness of his.

"Surely," exclaimed he, "there is not to be a wreck of all that is
estimable on earth. The Lady Helen is not dead?"

"No," rejoined the earl; "but-"

He could proceed no further, and Lady Mar forced herself to speak.

"She has fallen into the hands of the enemy. On my lord's being
brought to this place, he sent for myself and Lady Helen; but in
passing by Dunipacis, an armed squadron issued from behind the mound,
and putting our attendants to flight, carried her off. I escaped
hither. The reason for this attack was explained afterward by one of
the Southrons, who, having been wounded by our escort, was taken, and
brought to Falkirk. He said that Lord Aymer de Valence, having been
sent by his beset monarch to call Lord Carrick to his assistance, found
the Bruce's camp deserted; but by accident learning that Lady Helen Mar
was to be brought to Falkirk, he stationed himself behind Dunipacis;
and springing out as soon as our cavalcade was in view, seized her.
She obtained, the rest were allowed to escape, but as the Lord de
Valence loves Helen, I cannot doubt he will have sufficient honor not
to insult the fame of her family, and so will make her his wife."

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