The Scottish Chiefs Part 57

That their regent had entered the keep was soon rumored through the city; and when he appeared from the gate he was hailed by the acclamations of the people. He found his empire again in the hearts of the lowly, they whom he had restored to their cottages, knelt to him in the streets, and called for blessings on his name; while they--oh!

blasting touch of envy!-whom he had restored to castles, and elevated from a state of va.s.salage to the power of princes, they raised against him that very power to lay him in the dust.

Now it was, that when surrounded by the grateful citizens of Stirling (whom it would have been as easy for him to have inflamed to the ma.s.sacre of Badenoch and his council, as to have lifted his bugle to his lips), that he blew the summons for his captains. Every man in the keep flew to arms, expecting that Wallace was returning upon them with the host he had threatened. In a few minutes the Lord Ruthven, with his brave followers, entered the inner ballium gate. Wallace smiled proudly as they drew near. "My lords," said he, "you come to witness the last act of my delegated power! Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, enter into that hall, which was once the seat of council, and tell the violent men who fill it, that for the peace of Scotland, which I value more than my life, I allow them to stand unpunished of their offense against me. But the outrage they have committed on the freedom of one of her bravest sons I will not pardon, unless he be immediately set at liberty; let them deliver to you Sir Alexander Ramsay, and then I permit them to hear my final decision. IF they refuse obedience, they are all my prisoners, and, but for my pity on their blindness, should perish by the laws."

Eager to open the prison door for his friend Ramsay, and little suspecting to what he was calling the insurgents, Scrymgeour hastened to obey. Lorn and Badenoch gave him a very rough reception, uttering such rebellious defiance of the regent that the brave standard-bearer lost all patience, and denounced the immediate deaths of the whole refractory a.s.sembly. "The courtyard," cried he, "is armed with thousands of the regent's followers, his foot is on your necks, obey, or this will be a more grievous day for Scotland than even that of Falkirk; for the Castle of Stirling will run with Scottish blood!" At this menace Badenoch became more enraged, and Scrymgeour, seeing no chance of prevailing by argument, sent a messenger to privately tell Wallace the result. The regent immediately placed himself at the head of twenty men, and, re-entering the keep, went directly to the warder, whom he ordered, on his allegiance to the laws, to deliver Sir Alexander Ramsay into his hands. He was obeyed, and returned with his recovered chieftain to the platform. When Scrymgeour was apprised of the knight's release, he turned to Badenoch, with whom he was still contending in furious debate, and demanded:

"Will you or will you not attend me to the regent? He of you all,"

added he, addressing the chieftains, "who in this simple duty disobeys, shall receive from him the severer doom."

Badenoch and Lorn, affecting to deride this menace, replied, they would not for an empire do the usurper the homage of a moment's voluntary attention; but if any of their followers chose to view the mockery, they were at liberty. A very few, and those of the least turbulent spirits went forth. They began to fear having embarked in a desperate cause; and, by their present acquiescence, were willing to deprecate the wrath of Wallace, while thus a.s.sured of not exciting the resentment of Badenoch.

When Wallace looked around him and saw the s.p.a.ce before the keep filled with armed men and citizens, he ascended an elevated piece of ground, which rose a little to the left, and waving his hand in token that he intended to speak, a profound silence took place of the buzz of admiration, grat.i.tude, and discontent. He then addressed the people:

"Brother soldiers! friends! And--am I so to distinguish Scots?-enemies!"

At this word, a loud cry of "Perish all who are the enemies of our glorious regent!" penetrated to the inmost chambers of the citadel.

Believing that the few of his partisans who had ventured out, were falling under the vengeance of Wallace, Badenoch, with a brandished weapon, and followed by the rest, sallied toward the door, but there he stopped, for he saw his friends standing unmolested.

Wallace proceeded; and, with calm dignity, announced the hatred that was now poured upon him by a large part of that n.o.bility who had been so eager to invest him with the high office he then held.

"Though they have broken their oaths," cried he, "I have fulfilled mine! They vowed to me all lawful obedience; I swore to free Scotland or to die. Every castle in this realm is restored to its ancient lord; every fortress is filled with a native garrison; the sea is covered with our ships, and the kingdom, one in itself, sits secure behind her well-defended bulwarks. Such have I, through the strength of the Almighty arm, made Scotland! Beloved by a grateful people, I could wield half her power to the destruction of the rest; but I would not pluck one stone out of the building I have raised. To-day I deliver up my commission, since its design is accomplished. I resign the regency."

As he spoke, he took off his helmet, and stood uncovered before the people.

"No, no!" seemed the voice from every lip; "we will acknowledge no other power, we will obey no other leader!"

Wallace expressed his sense of their attachment, but repeating to them that he had fulfilled the end of his office, by setting them free, he explained that his retaining it was no longer necessary. "Should I remain your regent," continued he, "the country would be involved in ruinous dissensions. The majority of your n.o.bles now find a vice in the virtue they once extolled; and seeing its power, no longer needful, seek to destroy my upholders with myself. I therefore remove the cause of contention. I quit the regency; and I bequeath your liberty to the care of your chiefs. But should it be again in danger, remember, that while life breathes in this heart, the spirit of William Wallace will be with you still!"

With these words he descended the mound, and mounted his horse, amidst the cries and tears of the populace. They clung to his garments as he rode along; and the women, with their children, throwing themselves on their knees in his path, implored him not to leave them to the inroads of a ravager; not to abandon them to the tyranny of their own lords; who, unrestrained by a king, or a regent like himself, would soon subvert his good laws, and reign despots over every district in the country. Wallace answered their entreaties with the language of encouragement; adding, that he was not their prince, to lawfully maintain a disputed power over the legitimate chiefs of the land.

"But," he said, "a rightful sovereign may yet be yielded to your prayers; and to procure that blessing, daughters of Scotland, night and day invoke the Giver of every good gift."

When Wallace and his weeping train separated, at the foot of Falkirk Hill, he was met by his veterans of Lanark; who, having heard of what had pa.s.sed in the citadel, advanced to him with one voice, to declare that they never would fight under any other commander. "Wherever you are, my faithful friends," returned he, "you shall still obey my word."

When he entered the monastery, the opposition that was made to his resignation of the regency, by the Bishop of Dunkeld, Lord Loch-awe, and others, was so vehement, so persuasive, that had not Wallace been steadily principled not to involve his country in domestic war, he must have yielded to the affectionate eloquence of their pleading. But showing to them the public danger attendant on his provoking the wild ambition of the c.u.mmins, and their mult.i.tudinous adherents, his arguments, which the sober judgment of his friends saw conclusive, at last ended the debate. He then rose, saying, "I have yet to perform my vow to our lamented Mar. I shall seek his daughter; and then, my brave companions, you shall hear of me, and, I trust, see me again!"

Chapter LVI.

The Monastery.

It being Lady Ruthven's wish that the remains of her brother should be entombed with his ancestors, preparations were made for the mournful cavalcade to set forth toward Braemar Castle. The countess, hoping that Wallace might be induced to accompany them, did not long object to this proposal, which Lady Ruthven had enforced with tears. Had any one seen the tow, and been called upon to judge, by their deportment, of the relationship in which each lady stood to the deceased, he must have decided that the sister was the widow. At the moment of her husband's death, Lady Mar had felt a shock; she had long looked for this event, as to the seal of her happiness; it was the sight of mortality that appalled her. The man she doted on, nay, even herself, must one day lie as the object now before her--dead!-insensible to all earthly joys, or pains! but awake, perhaps, fearfully awake, to the judgments of another world! This conviction caused her shrieks, when she saw Lord Mar expire. Every obstacle between her and Wallace she now believed removed. Her husband was dead; Helen was carried away by a man devotedly enamored of her; and most probably was at that time his wife.

The specters of conscience pa.s.sed from her eyes; she no longer thought of death and judgment; and, under a pretense that her feelings could not bear the sight of her husband's bier, she determined to seclude herself in her own chamber, till the freshness of Wallace's grief for his friend should have pa.s.sed away. But when she heard, from the indignant Edwin, of the rebellious conduct of the young Lord Badenoch, and that the regent had abdicated, her consternation superseded all caution. "I will soon humble that proud boy," exclaimed she; "and let him know, that in opposing the elevation of Sir William Wallace, he treads down his own interest. You are beloved by the regent, Edwin!"

cried she, interrupting herself, and clasping his hand with earnestness; "teach his enthusiastic heart the true interests of his country! I am the first woman of the house of c.u.mmin; and is not that family the most powerful** in the kingdom? By the adherence of one branch to Edward, the battle of Falkirk was lost; by the rebellion of another, the regent of Scotland is obliged to relinquish that dignity?

It is in my power to move the whole race at my will; and if Wallace would mingle his blood with theirs, would espouse me (an overture which the love I bear my country impels me to make), every nerve would then be strained to promote the elevation of their nearest kinswoman.

Wallace would reign in Scotland, and the whole land lie at peace."

**The family of c.u.mmin was so powerful and numerous, that an incredible number of chieftains of that name attended the first parliament which Robert I. Held at Dunstaffnage Castle. The relationship between the heiress of Stratheaarn and that family was very near, her paternal grandmother having been the daughter of a Lord Badenoch.--(1809.)

Edwin eyed her with astonishment while she spoke. All her late conduct to his cousin Helen, to his uncle, and to Wallace, was now explained; and he saw in her flushed cheek, that it was not the patriot who desired this match, but the enamored woman.

"You do not answer," said she; "have you any apprehension that Sir William Wallace would reject the hand which would give him a crown?

which would dispense happiness to many thousand people?"

"No," replied he; "I believe that, much as he is devoted to the memory of her, whom alone he can ever love, could he purchase true happiness to Scotland by the sacrifice, he would espouse any virtuous woman who could bring him so blessed a dowry. But in your case, my honored aunt, I can see no probability of such a consequence. In the first place, I know, that now the virtuous Earl of Badenoch is no more, he neither respects nor fears the c.u.mmins; and that he would scorn to purchase a crown or even the people's happiness, by baseness in himself. To rise by their means, who, you have seen, will at any time immolate all that is sacred to man to their own caprice, or fancied interests, would be unworthy of him; therefore, I am sure, if you wish to marry Sir William Wallace, you must not urge the use he may make of the c.u.mmins as an argument. He need not stoop to cajole the men he may command. Did he not drive the one-half of their clan, with the English host to boot, to seek any shelter from his vengeance? And for them in the citadel, had he chosen to give the word, they would now be all numbered with the dust! Aunt! he has a Divine Master, whose example he follows, though in deep humility! He lays down his power; it is not taken from him.

Earthly crowns are dross to him who looks for a heavenly one.

Therefore, honored lady, believe it no longer necessary to wound your delicacy, by offering him a hand, which cannot produce the good you meditate!"

The complexion of the countess varied a thousand times during this answer. Her reason a.s.sented to many parts of it; but the pa.s.sion she could not acknowledge to her nephew, urged her to persist. "You may be right, Edwin," she replied; "but still, as there is nothing very repugnant in me, the project is surely worth trying! At any rate, even setting the c.u.mmins aside, a marriage with the daughter of Strathearn, by allying your n.o.ble friend to every ill.u.s.trious house in the kingdom, would make his interest theirs, and all must unit in retaining to him the regency. Scotland will be wrecked should he leave the helm; and, sweet Edwin, though your young heart is yet unacquainted with the strange inconsistencies of the tenderest pa.s.sion, I must whisper you that your friend will never be happy till he again live in the bosom of domestic affection."

"Ah! but where is he to find it?" cried Edwin, "what will ever restore his Marion to his arms?"

"I," cried she-"I will be more than ever Marion was to him! She knew not--O! she could not--the boundless love that fills my heart for him!"

Edwin's blushes at this wild declaration told her how far she had betrayed herself. She attempted to palliate what she could no longer conceal, and, covering her face with her hand, exclaimed, "You, who love Sir William Wallace, cannot be surprised that all who adore human excellence should partic.i.p.ate in that sentiment. How could I see him, the benefactor of my family, the blessing to all Scotland, and not love him?"

"True," replied Edwin; "but not as a wife would love her husband! You were married. And was it possible you could feel thus when my uncle lived? So strong a pa.s.sion cannot have grown in your breast since he died; for surely, love should not enter a widow's heart at the side of an unburied husband!"

"Edwin!" replied she, "you, who never felt the throbs of this tyrant, judge with a severity you will one day regret. When you love, and struggle with a pa.s.sion that drinks your very life, you will pity Joanna of Mar, and forgive her!"

"I pity you now, aunt," replied he; "but you bewilder me. I cannot understand the possibility of a virtuous married woman suffering any pa.s.sion of this kind to get such domination over her as to cause her one guilty sigh; for guilty must every wish be that militates against the duty of her marriage vow. Surely, love comes not in a whirlwind, to seize the soul at once; but grows by degrees, according to the development of the virtues of the object, and the freedom we give ourselves in their contemplation--and, if it be virtue that you love in Sir William Wallace, had you not virtue in your n.o.ble husband?"

The countess perceived by the remarks of Edwin than he was deeper read in the human heart than she had suspected; that he was neither ignorant of the feelings of the pa.s.sion, nor of what ought to be its source; and therefore, with a deep blush, she replied:

"Think for a moment before you condemn me. I acknowledge every good quality that your uncle possessed--but oh! Edwin, he had frailties that you know not of--frailties that reduced me to be, what the world never saw, the most unhappy of women."

Edwin turned pale at this charge against his uncle; and, while he forbore to draw aside the veil which covered the sacred dead, little did he think that the artful woman meant a frailty to which she had equally shared, and the consequences of which dangerous vanity had constrained her to become his wife. She proceeded:

"I married your uncle when I was a girl, and knew not that I had a heart. I saw Wallace; his virtues stole me from myself, and I found-- In short, Edwin, your uncle became of too advanced an age to sympathize with my younger heart. How could I, then, defend myself against the more congenial soul of your friend? He was reserved during Mar's life!

but he did not repulse me with unkindness. I therefore hope; and do you, my Edwin, gently influence him in my favor, and I will forever bless you."

"Aunt," answered he, looking at her attentively, "can you, without displeasure, hear me speak a few, perhaps ungrateful, truths?"

"Say what you will," said she, trembling; "only be my advocate with the n.o.blest of human beings, and I can take naught amiss."

"Lady Mar," resumed he, "I answer you with unqualified sincerity, because I love you, and venerate the memory of my uncle, whose frailties, whatever they might be, were visible to you alone. I answer you with sincerity, because I would spare you much future pain, and Sir William Wallace a task that would pierce him to the soul. You confess that he already knows you love him--that he has received such demonstrations with coldness. Recollect what it is you love him for, and then judge if he could do otherwise. Could he approve affections which a wife transferred to him from her husband, and that husband his friend?"

"Ah! but he is now dead!" interrupted she; "that obstacle is removed."

"But the other, which you raised yourself!" replied Edwin; "while a wife, you showed to Sir William Wallace that you could not only indulge yourself in wishes hostile to your nuptial faith, but divulge them to him. Ah! my aunt, what could you look for as the consequence of this?

My uncle yet lived when you did this! And that act, were you youthful as Hebe, and more tender than ever was fabled the queen of love, I am sure, the virtue of Wallace would never pardon. He never could pledge his faith to one whose pa.s.sions had so far silenced her sense of duty; and did he even love you, he would not, for the empire of the world, repose his honor in such keeping."

"Edwin!" cired she, at last summoning power to speak, for during the latter part of this address she had sat gasping from unutterable disappointment and rage; "are you not afraid to breathe all this to me?

I have given you my confidence and do you abuse it? Do you stab me, when I ask you to heal?"

"No, my dear aunt," replied he; "I speak the truth to you, ungrateful as it is, to prevent you hearing it in perhaps a more painful form from Wallace himself."