Saint Augustine - "The Confessions of Saint Augustine"

Clarence E. Edwords - "Bohemian San Francisco"

Thomas Chandler Haliburton - "The Attache; or, Sam Slick in England (V1)"

Ludwig Wittgenstein - "Tractatus Logico Philosophicus"

The Scottish Chiefs

M >> Miss Jane Porter >> The Scottish Chiefs




"If he indeed regard me," returned Wallace, "for my sake let him
cherish you. My consolations must come from a higher hand; I go where
it directs. If I live, you shall see me again; but twilight
approaches-we must away. The sun must not rise again upon Heselrigge."
Halbert now followed the rapid steps of Wallace, who, assisting the
feeble limbs of his faithful servant, drew him up the precipitous side
of the Lynn,** and then leaping from rock to rock, awaited with
impatience the slower advances of the poor old harper, as he crept
round a circuit of overhanging cliffs, to join him on the summit of the
craigs.

**The cavern which sheltered Sir William Wallace, near Corie Lynn, is
yet revered by the people.

Together they struck into the most inaccessible defiles of the
mountains, and proceeded, till on discerning smoke whitening with its
ascending curls the black sides of the impending rocks, Wallace saw
himself near the objects of his search. He sprung on a high cliff
projecting over this mountain-valley, and blowing his bugle with a few
notes of the well-known pibroch of Lanarkshire, was answered by the
reverberations of a thousand echoes.

At the loved sounds which had not dared to visit their ears since the
Scottish standard was lowered to Edward, the hills seemed teeming with
life. Men rushed from their fastnesses, and women with their babes
eagerly followed to see whence sprung a summons so dear to every
Scottish heart. Wallace stood on the cliff, like the newly-aroused
genius of his country; his long plaid floated afar, and his glittering
hair streaming on the blast, seemed to mingle with the golden fires
which shot from the heavens. Wallace raised his eyes-a clash as of the
tumult of contending armies filled the sky, and flames, and flashing
steel, and the horrid red of battle, streamed from the clouds upon the
hills.**

**The late Duke of Gordon exhibited a similar scene to Prince Leopold,
when his royal highness visited Gordon Castle, his "hills reeming with
life."-(1830.)

"Scotsmen!" cried Wallace, waving the fatal sword, which blazed in the
glare of these northern lights like a flaming brand, "behold how the
heavens cry aloud to you! I come, in the midst of their fires, to call
you to vengeance. I come in the name of all ye hold dear, of the wives
of you bosoms, and the children in their arms, to tell you the poniard
of England is unsheathed-innocence and age and infancy fall before it.
With this sword, last night, did Heselrigge, the English tyrant of
Lanark, break into my house, and murder my wife!"

The shriek of horror that burst from every mouth, interrupted Wallace.
"Vengeance! vengeance!" was the cry of the men, while tumultuous
lamentations for the "sweet Lady of Ellerslie," filled the air from the
women.

Wallace sprung from the cliff into the midst of his brave countrymen.
"Follow me, then, to strike the mortal blow!"

"Lead on!" cried a vigorous old man. "I drew this stout claymore last
in the battle of Largs.** Life and Alexander was then the word of
victory: now, ye accursed Southrons, ye shall meet the slogan [FN#9:
Slogan, so the war0word was termed.-(1809.)] of Death and Lady Marion."

**In the battle of Largs, Sir Malcolm Wallace, the father of Wallace,
fell gloriously fighting against the Danes.-(1830.)

"Death and Lady Marion!" was echoed with shouts from mouth to mouth.
Every sword was drawn; and those hardy peasants who owned none, seizing
the instruments of pasturage, armed themselves with wolf-spears,
pickaxes, forks, and scythes.

Sixty resolute men now ranged themselves around their chief. Wallace,
whose widowed heart turned icy cold at the dreadful slogan of his
Marion's name, more fiercely grasped his sword, and murmured to
himself. "From this day may Scotland date her liberty, or Wallace
return no more! My faithful friends," cried he, turning to his men,
and placing his plumed bonnet on his head, "let the spirits of your
fathers inspire you souls; ye go to assert that freedom for which they
died. Before the moon sets, the tyrant of Lanark must fall in blood."

"Death and Lady Marion!" was the pealing answer that echoed from the
hills.

Wallace again sprung on the cliffs. His brave peasants followed him;
and taking their rapid march by a near cut through a hitherto
unexplored defile of the Cartlane Craigs, leaping chasms, and climbing
perpendicular rocks, they suffered no obstacles to impede their steps,
while thus rushing onward like lions to their prey.



Chapter V.

Lanark Castle.



The women, and the men who age withheld from so desperate an
enterprise, now thronged around Halbert, to ask a circumstantial
account of the disaster which had filled all with so much horror.

Many tears followed his recital; not one of his auditors was an
indifferent listener; all had individually or in persons dear to them,
partaken of the tender Marion's benevolence. Their sick beds had been
comforted by her charity; her voice had often administered consolation
to their sorrows; her hand had smoothed their pillows, and placed the
crucifix before their dying eyes. Some had recovered to bless her, and
some had departed to record her virtues in heaven.

"Ah! is she gone?" cried a young woman, raising her face, covered with
tears, from the bosom of her infant; "is the loveliest lady that ever
the sun shone upon, cold in the grave? Alas, for me! she it was that
gave me the roof under which my baby was born; she it was who, when the
Southron soldiers slew my father, and drove us from our home in
Ayrshire, gave to my old mother, and my then wounded husband, our
cottage by the burnside. Ah! well can I spare him now to avenge her
murder."

The night being far advanced, Halbert retired, at the invitation of
this young woman, to repose on the heather-bed of her husband who was
now absent with Wallace. The rest of the peasantry withdrew to their
coverts, while she and some other women, whose anxieties would not
allow them to sleep, sat at the cavern's mouth watching the slowly
moving hours.

The objects of their fond and fervent prayers, Wallace and his little
army, were rapidly pursuing their march. It was midnight-all was
silent as they hurried through the glen, as they ascended with flying
footsteps the steep acclivities that led to the cliffs which overhung
the vale of Ellerslie. Wallace must pass along their brow. Beneath
was the tomb of his sacrificed Marion! He rushed forward to snatch one
look, even of the roof which shrouded her beloved remains.

But in the moment before he mounted the intervening height, a soldier
in English armor crossed the path, and was seized by his men. One of
them would have cut him down, but Wallace turned away the weapon.
"Hold, Scot!" cried he, "you are not a Southron, to strike the
defenseless. The man has no sword."

The reflection on their enemy which this plea of mercy contained
reconciled the impetuous Scots to the clemency of their leader. The
rescued man, joyfully recognizing the voice of Wallace, exclaimed, "It
is my lord! It is Sir William Wallace that has saved my life a second
time!"

"Who are you?" asked Wallace; "that helmet can cover no friend of mine."

"I am your servant Dugald," returned the man; "he whom your brave arm
saved from the battle-ax of Arthur Heselrigge."

"I cannot ask you how you came by that armor; but if you be yet a Scot
throw it off and follow me."

"Not to Ellerslie, my lord," cried he; "it has been plundered and
burned to the ground by the Governor of Lanark."

"Then," exclaimed Wallace, striking his breast, "are the remains of my
beloved Marion forever ravished from my eyes? Insatiate monster!"

"He is Scotland's curse," cried the veteran of Largs. "Forward, my
lord, in mercy to your country's groans!"

Wallace had now mounted the craig which overlooked Ellerslie. His once
happy home had disappeared, and all beneath lay a heap of smoking
ashes. He hastened from the sight, and directing the point of his
sword with a forceful action toward Lanark, re-echoed with supernatural
strength, "Forward!"

With the rapidity of lightning his little host flew over the hills,
reached the cliffs which divided them from the town, and leaped down
before the outward trench of the castle of Lanark. In a moment Wallace
sprung so feeble a barrier; and with a shout of death, in which the
tremendous slogan of his men now joined, he rushed upon the guard that
held the northern gate.

Here slept the governor. These opponents being slain by the first
sweep of the Scottish swords, Wallace hastened onward, winged with
twofold retribution. The noise of battle was behind him; for the
shouts of his men had aroused the garrison and drawn its soldiers,
half-naked, to the spot. He reached the door of the governor. The
sentinel who stood there flew before the terrible warrior that
presented himself. All the mighty vengeance of Wallace blazed in his
face and seemed to surround his figure with a terrible splendor. With
one stroke of his foot he drove the door from its hinges, and rushed
into the room.

What a sight for the now awakened and guilty Heselrigge! It was the
husband of the defenseless woman he had murdered come in the power of
justice, with uplifted arm and vengeance in his eyes? With a terrific
scream of despair, and an outcry for the mercy he dared not expect, he
fell back into the bed and sought an unavailing shield beneath its
folds.

"Marion! Marion!" cried Wallace, as he threw himself toward the bed and
buried the sword, yet red with her blood, through the coverlid, deep
into the heart of her murderer. A fiend-like yell from the slain
Heselrigge told him his work was done; and drawing out the sword he
took the streaming blade in his hand. "Vengeance is satisfied," cried
he; "thus, O God! do I henceforth divide self from my heart!" As he
spoke he snapped the sword in twain, and throwing away the pieces, put
back with his hand the impending weapons of his brave companions, who
having cleared the passage of their assailants, had hurried forward to
assist in ridding their country of so detestable a tyrant.

"Tis done," cried he. As he spoke he drew down the coverlid and
discovered the body of the governor weltering in blood. The ghastly
countenance, on which the agonies of hell seemed imprinted, glared
horrible even in death.

Wallace turned away; but the men exulting in the sight, with a shout of
triumph exclaimed, "So fall the enemies of Sir William Wallace!"

"Rather to fall the enemies of Scotland!" cried he; "from this hour
Wallace has neither love nor resentment but for her. Heaven has heard
me devote myself to work our country's freedom or to die. Who will
follow me in so just a cause?"

"All!-with Wallace forever!"

The new clamor which this resolution excited, intimidated a fresh band
of soldiers, who were hastening across the courtyard to seek the enemy
in the governor's apartments. But on the noise they hastily retreated,
and no exertions of their officers could prevail on them to advance
again, or even to appear in sight, when the resolute Scots with Wallace
at their head soon afterward issued from the great gate! The English
commanders seeing the panic of their men, and which they were less able
to surmount on account of the way to the gate being strewn with their
slain comrades, fell back into the shadow of the towers, where by the
light of the moon, like men paralyzed, they viewed the departure of
their enemies over the trenches.



Chapter VI.

Cartlane Craigs.



The sun was rising from the eastern hills when the victorious group
re-entered the mountain-glen where their families lay. The cheerful
sounds of their bugles aroused the sleepers from their caves; and many
were the gratulations and embraces which welcomed the warriors to
affection and repose.

Wallace, while he threw himself along a bed of purple heath, gathered
for him by many a busy female hand, listened with a calmed mind to the
fond inquiries of Halbert, who, awakened by the first blast of the
horn, had started from his shelter and hastened to hail the safe return
of his master. While his faithful followers retired each to the bosom
of his rejoicing family, the fugitive chief of Ellerslie remained alone
with the old man, and recounted to him the success of his enterprise,
and the double injuries he had avenged. "The assassin," continued he,
"has paid with his life for his inexpiable crime. He is slain, and
with him several of Edward's garrison. My vengeance may be appeased;
but what, O Halbert, can bring redress to my widowed heart? All is
lost to me; I have now nothing to do with this world, but as I may be
the instrument of good to others! The Scottish sword has now been
redrawn against our foes; and, with the blessing of Heaven, I swear it
shall not be sheathed till Scotland be rid of the tyranny which has
slain my happiness! This night my gallant Scots have sworn to
accomplish my vow, and death or liberty must be the future fate of
Wallace and his friends."

At these words, tears ran down the cheeks of the venerable harper.
"Alas! my too brave master," exclaimed he, "what is it you would do?
Why rush upon certain destruction? For the sake of her memory whom you
deplore; in pity to the worthy Earl of Mar, who will arraign himself as
the cause of all these calamities, and of your death, should you fall,
retract this desperate vow!"

"No, my good Halbert," returned Wallace. "I am neither desperate nor
inefficient; and you, faithful creature, shall have no cause to mourn
this night's resolution. GO to Lord Mar, and tell him what are my
resolves. I have nothing now that binds me to life but my country; and
henceforth she shall be to me as mistress, wife and child. Would you
deprive me of this tie, Halbert? Would you, by persuading me to resign
my interest in her, devote me to a hermit's seclusion amongst these
rocks? for I will never again appear in the tracks of men if it be not
as the defender of her rights."

"But where, my master, shall we find you, should the earl choose to
join you with his followers?"

"In this wilderness, whence I shall not remove rashly. My purpose is
to save my countrymen, not to sacrifice them in needless dangers."

Halbert, oppressed with sorrow at the images his foreboding heart drew
of the direful scenes in which his beloved master had pledged himself
to become the leader, bowed his head with submission, and, leaving
Wallace to his rest, retired to the mouth of the cavern to weep alone.

It was noon before the chief awoke from the death-like sleep into which
kind nature had plunged his long-harassed senses. He opened his eyes
languidly, and when the sight of his rocky apartment forced on him the
recollection of all his miseries, he uttered a deep groan. That sad
sound, so different from the jocund voice with which Wallace used to
issue from his rest, struck on the heart of Halbert; he drew near his
master to receive his last commands for Bothwell. "On my knees," added
he, "will I implore the earl to send you succor."

"He needs not prayers for that," returned Wallace; "but depart, dear,
worthy Halbert; it will comfort me to know you are in safety; and
whithersoever you go, you carry my thanks and blessings with you."

Old age opens the fountains of tears; Halbert's flowed profusely, and
bathed his master's hand. Could Wallace have wept, it would have been
then; but that gentle emollient of grief was denied to him, and, with a
voice of assumed cheerfulness, he renewed his efforts to encourage his
desponding servant. Half persuaded that a Superior Being did indeed
call his beloved master to some extraordinary exertions for Scotland,
Halbert bade him an anxious farewell, and then withdrew to commit him
to the fidelity of the companions of his destiny.

A few of them led the old man on his way, as far as the western
declivity of the hills, and then, bidding him good speed, he took the
remainder of his journey alone.

After traversing many a weary mile, between Cartlane Craigs and
Bothwell Castle, he reached the valley in which that fortress stands,
and calling to the warder at his gates, that he came from Sir William
Wallace, was immediately admitted, and conducted into the castle.

Halbert was led by a servant into a spacious chamber, where the earl
lay on a couch. A lady, richly habited, and in the bloom of life, sat
at his head. Another, much younger, and of resplendent beauty, knelt
at his feet, with a salver of medicinal cordials in her hand. The Lady
Marion's loveliness had been that of a soft moonlight evening; but the
face which now turned upon Halbert as he entered, was "full of light,
and splendor, and joy;" and the old man's eyes, even though dimmed in
tears, were dazzled. A young man stood near her. On the entrance of
Halbert, whom the earl instantly recognized, he raised himself on his
arm, and welcomed him. The young lady rose, and the young man stepped
eagerly forward.

The earl inquired anxiously for Sir William Wallace, and asked if he
might expect him soon at Bothwell.

"He cannot yet come, my lord," replied Halbert; "hard is the task he
has laid upon his valiant head; but he is avenged! He has slain the
Governor of Lanark." A faint exclamation broke from the lips of the
young lady.

"How?" demanded the earl.

Halbert now gave a particular account of the anguish of Wallace, when
he was told of the sanguinary events which had taken place at
Ellerslie. As the honest harper described, in his own ardent language,
the devoted zeal with which the shepherds on the heights took up arms
to avenge the wrong done to their chief, the countenance of the young
lady, and of the youth, glowed through tears; they looked on each
other; and Halbert proceeded:

"When my dear master and his valiant troop were pursuing their way to
Lanark, he was met by Dugald, the wounded man who had rushed into the
room to apprise us of the advance of the English forces. During the
confusion of that horrible night, and in the midst of the contention,
in spite of his feebleness he crept away, and concealed himself from
the soldiers amongst the bushes of the glen. When all was over, he
came from his hiding-place; and finding the English soldier's helmet
and cloak, poor Dugald, still fearful of falling in with any straggling
party of Heselrigge's, disguised himself in those Southron clothes.
Exhausted with hunger, he was venturing toward the house in search of
food, when the sight of armed men in the hall made him hastily retreat
into his former place of refuge. His alarm was soon increased by a
redoubled noise from the house; oaths and horrid bursts of merriment
seemed to have turned that once abode of honor and of loveliness into
the clamorous haunts of ribaldry and rapine. In the midst of the
uproar, he was surprised by seeing flames issue from the windows.
Soldiers poured from the doors with shouts of triumph; some carried off
the booty, and others watched by the fire till the interior of the
building was consumed and the rest sunk a heap of smoking ruins.

"The work completed, these horrid ministers of devastation left the
vale to its own solitude. Dugald, after waiting a long time to
ascertain they were quite gone, crawled from the bushes, and, ascending
the cliffs, he was speeding to the mountains, when, encountering our
armed shepherds, they mistook him for an English soldier, and seized
him. The chief of ruined Ellerslie recognized his servant; and, with
redoubled indignation, his followers heard the history of the moldering
ashes before them."

"Brave, persecuted Wallace!" exclaimed the earl; "how dearly was my
life purchased! But proceed, Halbert; tell me that he returned safe
from Lanark."

Halbert now recounted the dreadful scenes which took place in that
town; and that when the governor fell, Wallace made a vow never to
mingle with the world again till Scotland should be free."

"Alas!" cried the earl, "what miracle is to effect that? Surely he
will not bury those noble qualities, that prime of manhood, within the
gloom of a cloister!"

"No, my lord; he has retired to the fastnesses of Cartlane Craigs."

"Why," resumed Mar, "why did he not rather fly to me? This castle is
strong; and while one stone of it remains upon another, not all the
hosts of England should take him hence."

"It was not your friendship he doubted," returned the old man, "love
for his country compels him to reject all comfort in which she does not
share. His last words to me were these: 'I have nothing now to do but
to assert the liberties of Scotland, and to rid her of her enemies. Go
to Lord Mar; take this lock of my hair, stained with the blood of my
wife. It is all, most likely, he will ever again see of William
Wallace. Should I fall, tell him to look on that, and in my wrongs
read the future miseries of Scotland; and remember, that God armeth the
patriot!"

Tears dropped so fast from the young lady's eyes, she was obliged to
walk to a window, to restrain a more violent burst of grief.

"O! my uncle," cried the youth, "surely the freedom of Scotland is
possible. I feel in my soul, that the words of the brave Wallace are
prophetic."

The earl held the lock of hair in his hands; he regarded it, lost in
meditation.

"'God armeth the patriot!'" He paused again, his before pallid cheek
taking a thousand animated hues; then raising the sacred present to his
lips, "Yes," cried he, "thy vow shall be performed; and while Donald
Mar has an arm to wield a sword, or a man to follow to the field, thou
shalt command both him and them!"

"But not as you are, my lord!" cried the elder lady; "your wounds are
yet unhealed; your fever is still raging! Would it not be madness to
expose your safety at such a crisis?"

"I shall not take arms myself," answered he, "till I can bear them to
effect; meanwhile all of my clan, and of my friends, that I can raise
to guard the life of my deliverer and to promote the cause, must be
summoned. This lock shall be my pennon; and what Scotsman will look on
that, and shrink from his colors! Here, Helen, my child," cried he,
addressing the young lady, "before to-morrow's dawn, have this hair
wrought into my banner. It will be a patriot's standard; and let his
own irresistible words be the motto-God armeth me."

Helen advanced with awestruck trepidation. Having been told by the
earl of the generous valor of Wallace, and of the cruel death of his
lady, she had conceived a gratitude and a pity deeper than language
could express, for the man who had lost so much by succoring one so
dear to hear. She took the lock, waving in yellow light upon her
hands, and, trembling with emotion, was leaving the room, when she
heard her cousin throw himself on his knees.

"I beseech you, my honored uncle," cried he, "if you have love for me,
or value for my future fame, allow me to be the bearer of your banner
to Sir William Wallace."

Helen stopped at the threshold to hear the reply.

"You could not, my dear nephew," returned the earl, "have asked me any
favor I could grant with so much joy. To-morrow I will collect the
peasantry of Bothwell, and with those, and my own followers, you shall
join Wallace the same night."

Ignorant of the horrors of war, and only alive to the glory of the
present cause, Helen sympathized in the ardor of her cousin, and with a
thrill of sad delight hurried to her apartment, to commence her task.

Far different were the sentiments of the countess, her stepmother. As
soon as Lord Mar had let this declaration escape his lips, alarmed at
the effect so much agitation might have on his enfeebled constitution,
and fearful of the perilous cause he ventured thus openly to espouse,
she desired his nephew to take the now comforted Halbert (who was
pouring forth his gratitude to the earl, for the promptitude of his
orders), and see that he was attended with hospitality.

When the room was left to the earl and herself, she ventured to
remonstrate with him upon the facility with which he had become a party
in so treasonable a matter. "Consider, my lord," continued she, "that
Scotland is now entirely in the power of the English monarch. His
garrisons occupy our towns, his creatures hold every place of trust in
the kingdom!"

"And is such a list of oppressions, my dear lady, to be an argument for
longer bearing them? Had I, and other Scottish nobles, dared to resist
this overwhelming power after the battle of our liberties, kept our own
unsheathed within the bulwarks of our mountains, Scotland might now be
free; I should not have been insulted by our English tyrants in the
streets of Lanark; and, to save my life, William Wallace would not now
be mourning his murdered wife, and without a home to shelter him!"

Lady Mar paused at this observation, but resumed, "That may be true.
But the die is cast; Scotland is lost forever; and by your attempting
to assist your friend in this rash essay to recover it, you will only
lose yourself also, without preserving him. The project is wild and
needless. What would you have? Now that the contention between the
two kings is past; now that Baliol has surrendered his crown to Edward,
is not Scotland at peace?"

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