The Scottish Chiefs Part 72

"Dear lady," said Wallace, "these venerable heroes were both known to and beloved by me. And now that Heaven has resumed them to itself, as the last act of friendship that I, perhaps, may be fated to pay to their offspring, I shall convey you to that sister whose matchless heart yearns to receive so dear a consolation."

To disengage Isabella's thoughts from the afflicting remembrances, now bathing her fair cheeks with tears, Ercildown put a cup, of the mingled juice of herbs, into her hand, and commissioned her to give it to their invalid. Wallace now learned that his friend's wound was not only in the head, accompanied by a severe concussion, but that it must be many days before he could remove him from his bed without danger. Anxious to release him from even the scarcely breathed whispers of his martial companions, who stood at some distance from his couch, Wallace immediately proposed leaving him to rest, and beckoning the chiefs, they followed him out of the apartment.

On the following morning he was aroused at daybreak by the abrupt entrance of Andrew Lord Bothwell into his tent. The well-known sounds of his voice made Wallace start from his pillow, and extend his arms to receive him.

"Murray! My brave, invaluable Murray!" cried he, "thou art welcome once more to the side of thy brother in arms. Thee and thine must ever be first in my heart!"

The young Lord Bothwell returned his warm embrace in silent eloquence; but sitting down by Wallace's couch, he grasped his hand, and pressing it to his breast, said, "I feel a happiness here which I have never known since the day of Falkirk. You quitted us, Wallace, and all good seemed gone with you, or buried in my father's grave. But you return!

You bring conquest and peace with you, you restore our Helen to her family, you bless us with yourself! And shall you not see again the gay Andrew Murray? It must be so, my friend, melancholy is not my climate, and I shall now live in your beams."

"Dear Murray!" returned Wallace, "this generous enthusiasm can only be equaled by my joy in all that makes you and Scotland happy."

He then proceeded to confide to him all that related to Bruce; and to describe the minutiae of those plans for his establishment, which had only been hinted in his letters from France. Bothwell entered with ardor into these designs, and regretted that the difficulty he found in persuading the veterans of Lanark to follow him to any field where they did not expect to find their beloved Wallace, had deprived him of the partic.i.p.ation of the late danger and new glory of his friend.

"To compensate for that privation," replied Wallace, "while our prince is disabled from pursuing victory in his own person, we must not allow our present advantages to lose their expected effects. You shall accompany me through the Lowlands, where we must recover the places which the ill-fortune of James c.u.mmin has lost."

Murray gladly embraced this opportunity of again sharing the field with Wallace, and the chiefs joined Bruce. Bothwell was presented to his young sovereign, and Douglas entering, the discourse turned on their different posts of duty. Wallace suggested to his royal friend, that as his restoration to health could not be so speedy as the cause required, it would be necessary not to await that event, but begin the recovery of the border counties before Edward could reinforce their garrisons. Bruce sighed; but with a generous glow suffusing his pale face, said:

"Go, my friend! Bless Scotland which way you will, and let my ready acquiescence convince future ages, that I love my country beyond my own fame; for her sake I relinquish to you the whole glory of delivering her out of the hands of the tyrant who has so long usurped my rights.

Men may say when they hear this, that I do not merit the crown you will put upon my head; that I have lain on a couch while you fought for me; but I will bear all obloquy rather than deserve its slightest charge, by withholding you an hour from the great work of Scotland's peace."

"It is not for the breath of men, my dear prince," returned Wallace, "that either you or I act. It is sufficient for us that we effect their good, and whether the agent be one or the other, the end is the same. Our deeds and intentions have one great Judge, and He will award the only true glory."

Such were the principles which filled the hearts of these two friends, worthy of each other, and alike honorable to the country that gave them birth. Gordon had won their confidence, and watched by his prince's pillow.

Though the wounded John c.u.mmin remained possessed of the t.i.tle of regent, Wallace was virtually endowed with the authority. Whatever he suggested was acted upon as by a decree--all eyes looked to him as to the cynosure by which every order of men in Scotland were to shape their course. The jealousies which had driven him from his former supreme seat, seemed to have died with their prime instigator, the late regent; and no chief of any consequence, excepting Soulis and Athol, who had retired in disgust to their castles, breathed a word of opposition to the general grat.i.tude.

Wallace having dictated his terms and sent his prisoners to England, commenced the march that was to clear the Lowlands of the foe. His own valiant band, headed by Scrymgeour and Lockhart of Lee,** rushed toward his standard, with a zeal that rendered each individual a host in himself. The fame of his new victories, seconded by the enthusiasm of the people and the determination of the troops, soon made him master of all the lately lost fortresses.

**The crusading ancestor of this Lockhart was the bringer of the famous Lee penny from the Holy Land, and from his sprung the three brave branches of the name--Lockhart of Lee, Lockhart of Carnwarth, and Lockhart of Drydean.

Hardly four weeks were consumed in these conquests, and not a rood of land remained south of the Tay in the possession of England, excepting Berwick. Before that often-disputed stronghold, Wallace drew up his forces to commence a regular siege. The governor, intimidated by the powerful works which he saw the Scottish chief forming against the town, dispatched a messenger to Edward with the tidings; not only praying for succors, but to inform him that if he continued to refuse the peace for which the Scots fought, he would find it necessary to begin the conquest of the kingdom anew.

Chapter LXX.

Berwick.

While Wallace, accompanied by his brave friends, was thus carrying all before him from the Grampian to the Cheviot Hills, Bruce was rapidly recovering. His eager wishes seemed to heal his wounds, and on the tenth day after the departure of Wallace, he left the couch which had been beguiled of its irksomeness by the smiling attentions of the tender Isabella. The ensuing Sabbath beheld him still more restored, and having imparted his intentions to the Lords Ruthven and Douglas, who were both with him, the next morning he joyfully buckled on his armor. Isabella, when she saw him thus clad, started, and the roses left her cheek. "I am armed to be your guide to Huntingtower," said he, with a look that showed her he read her thoughts. He then called for pen and ink, to write to Wallace. The rea.s.sured Isabella, rejoicing in the glad beams of his brightening eyes, held the standish.

As he dipped his pen, he looked at her with a grateful tenderness that thrilled her soul, and made her bend her blushing face to hide emotions which whispered bliss in every beat of her happy heart. Thus, with a spirit wrapped in felicity, for victory hailed him from without, and love seemed to woo him to the dearest transports within, he wrote the following letter to Wallace:

"I am now well, my best friend! This day I attend my lovely nurse, with her venerable guardian, to Huntingtower. Eastward of Perth, almost every castle of consequence is yet filled by the Southrons, whom the folly of James c.u.mmin allowed to reoccupy the places whence you had so lately driven them. I go to root them out; to emulate in the north, what you are now doing in the south! You shall see me again when the banks of the Spey are as free as you have made the Forth. In all this I am yet Thomas de Longueville. Isabella, the sweet soother of my hours, knows me as no other; for would she not despise the unfamed Bruce? To deserve and win her love as De Longueville, and to marry her as King of Scotland, is the fond hope of your friend and brother, Robert ---. G.o.d speed me, and I shall send you dispatches of my proceedings."

Wallace had just made a successful attack upon the outworks of Berwick, when this letter was put into his hand. He was surrounded by his chieftains; and having read it, he informed them that Sir Thomas de Longueville was going to the Spey to rid its castles of the enemy.

"The hopes of his enterprising spirit," continued Wallace, "are so seconded by his determination, I doubt not that what he promises, G.o.d and the justice of our cause will perform; and we may soon expect to hear Scotland has no enemies in her Highlands."

But in this hope Wallace was disappointed. Day after day pa.s.sed, and no tidings from the north. He became anxious; Bothwell and Edwin too began to share his uneasiness. Continued successes against Berwick had a.s.sured them a speedy surrender, when unexpected succors being thrown in by sea, the confidence of the garrison became re-excited, and the ramparts appeared doubly manned. Wallace saw that the only alternative was to surprise and take possession of the ships, and turn the siege into a blockade. Still trusting that Bruce would be prosperous in the Highlands, he calculated on full leisure to await the fall of Berwick on this plan; and so much blood might be spared. Intent and execution were twin-born in the breast of Wallace. By a masterly stroke he effected his design on the shipping; and having closed the Southrons within their walls, he dispatched Lord Bothwell to Huntingtower, to learn the state of military operations there, and above all to bring back tidings of the prince's health.

On the evening of the very day in which Murray left Berwick, a desperate sully was made by the garrison; but they were beaten back with such effect, that Wallace gained possession of one of their most commanding towers. The contest did not end till night; and after pa.s.sing a brief while in the council-tent listening to the suggestions of his friends relative to the use that might be made of the new acquisition, he retired to his own quarters at a late hour. At these momentous periods he never seemed to need sleep; and sitting at his table setting the dispositions for the succeeding day, he marked not the time till the flame of his exhausted lamp expired in the socket.

He replenished it and had again resumed his military labors, when the curtain which covered the door of his tent was drawn aside, and an armed man entered. Wallace looked up, and seeing that it was the Knight of the Green Plume, asked if anything had occurred from the town.

"Nothing," replied the knight, in an agitated voice, and seating himself beside Wallace.

"Any evil tidings from Perthshire?" demanded Wallace, who now hardly doubted that ill news had arrived of Bruce.

"None," was the knight's reply; "but I am come to fulfill my promise to you, to unite myself forever heart and soul to your destiny, or you behold me this night for the last time."

Surprised at this address, and the emotion which shook the frame of the unknown warrior, Wallace answered him with expressions of esteem, and added:

"If it depend on me to unite so brave a man to my friendship forever, only speak the word, declare your name, and I am ready to seal the compact."

"My name," declared the knight, "will indeed put these protestations to the proof. I have fought by your side, Sir William Wallace; I would have died at any moment to have spared that breast a wound, and yet I dread to raise my visor to show you who I am. A look will make me live or blast me."

"Your language confounds me, n.o.ble knight," replied Wallace. "I know of no man living, save the base violators of Lady Helen Mar's liberty, who need tremble before my eyes. It is not possible that either of these men is before me; and whoever you are, whatever you may have been, brave chief, your deeds have proved you worthy of a soldier's friendship, and I pledge you mine."

The knight was silent. He took Wallace's hand--he grasped it; the arms that held it did indeed tremble. Wallace again spoke.

"What is the meaning of this? I have a power to benefit, but none to injure."

"To benefit and to injure!" cried the knight, in a transport of emotion; "you have my life in your hands. Oh! grant it, as you value your own happiness and honor! Look on me and say whether I am to live or die."

As the warrior spoke, he cast himself impetuously on his knees, and threw open his visor. Wallace saw a fine but flushed face. It was much overshadowed by the helmet.

"My friend," said he, attempting to raise him by the hand which clasped his, "your words are mysteries to me; and so little right can I have to the power you ascribe to me, that although it seems to me as if I had seen your features before, yet--"

"You forget me!" cried the knight, starting on his feet, and throwing off his helmet to the ground; "again look on this face and stab me at once by a second declaration that I am remembered no more!"

The countenance of Wallace now showed that he too well remembered it.

He was pale and aghast.

"Lady Mar," cried he, "not expecting to see you under a warrior's casque--you will pardon me, that when so appareled I should not immediately recognize the widow of my friend."

She gasped for articulation.

"And it is thus," cried she, "you answer the sacrifices I have made for you? For you I have committed an outrage on my nature; I have put on me this abhorrent steel; I have braved the dangers of many a hard-fought day, and all to guard your life! to convince you of a love unexampled in woman! and thus you recognize her who has risked honor and life for you--with coldness and reproach!"

"With neither, Lady Mar," returned he, "I am grateful for the generous motives of your conduct; but for the sake of the fair fame you confess you have endangered, in respect to the memory of him whose name you bear, I cannot but wish that so hazardous an instance of interest in me had been left undone."

"If that is all," returned she, drawing toward him, "it is in your power to ward from me every stigma! Who will dare to cast one reflection on my fair fame when you bear testimony to my purity? Who will asperse the name of Mar when you displace it with that of Wallace?

Make me yours, dearest of men," cried she, clasping his hands, "and you will receive one to your heart who never knew how to love before, who will be to you what your heart who never knew how to love before, who will be to you what woman never yet was, and who will endow you with territories nearly equal to those of the King of Scotland. My father is no more; and now, as Countess of Strathearn and Princess of the Orkneys, I have it in my power to earn and Princess of the Orkneys, I have it in my power to bring a sovereignty to your head, and the fondest of wives to your bosom." As she vehemently spoke, and clung to Wallace, as if she had already a right to seek comfort within his arms, her tears and violent agitations so disconcerted him that for a few moments he could not find a reply. This short endurance of her pa.s.sion aroused her almost drooping hopes, and intoxicated with so rapturous an illusion, she threw off the little restraint in which the awe of Wallace's coldness had confined her, and flinging herself on his breast, poured forth all her love and fond ambitions for him. In vain he attempted to interrupt her, to raise her with gentleness from her indecorous situation; she had no perception but the idea which had now taken possession of her heart, and whispering to him softly, said: "Be but my husband, Wallace, and all rights shall perish before my love and your aggrandizement. In these arms, you shall bless the day you first saw Joanna of Strathearn!"

The prowess of the Knight of the Green Plume, the respect he owed to the widow of the Earl of Mar, the tenderness he ever felt for all of womankind, were all forgotten in the disgusting blandishments of this disgrace to her s.e.x. She wooed to be his wife, but not with the chaste appeal of the widow of Mahlon. "Let me find favor in thy sight, for thou hast comforted me! Spread thy garment over me, and let me be thy wife!" said the fair Moabitess who in a strange land cast herself at the feet of her deceased husband's friend. She was answered, "I will do all that thou requirest, for thou art a virtuous woman!" But neither the actions nor the words of Lady Mar bore witness that she deserved this appellation. The were the dictates of a pa.s.sion impure as it was intemperate. Blinded by its fumes, she forgot the nature of the heart she sought to pervert to sympathy with hers. She saw not that every look and movement on her part filled Wallace with aversion, and not until he forcibly broke from her did she doubt the success of her fond caresses.

"Lady mar," said he, "I must repeat that I am not ungrateful for the proofs of regard you have bestowed on me; but such excess of attachment is lavished upon a man that is a bankrupt in love. I am cold as monumental marble to every touch of that pa.s.sion to which I was once but too entirely devoted. Bereaved of the object, I am punished; thus is my heart doomed to solitude on earth for having made an idol of the angel that was sent to cheer my path to Heaven." Wallace said even more than this. He remonstrated with her on the shipwreck she was making of her own happiness, in adhering thus tenaciously to a man who could only regard her with the general sentiment of esteem. He urged her beauty and yet youthful years, and how many would be eager to win her love, and to marry her with honor. While he continued to speak to her with the tender consideration of a brother, she, who knew no gradations in the affections of the heart, doubted his words, and believed that a latent fire glowed in his breast which her art might yet blow into a flame. She threw herself upon her knees, she wept, she implored his pity, she wound her arms around his, and bathed his hands with her tears, but still he continued to urge her, by every argument of female delicacy, to relinquish her ill-directed love, to return to her domains before her absence could be generally known. She looked up to read his countenance. A friend's anxiety, nay, authority, was there, but no glow of pa.s.sion; all was calm and determined. Her beauty, then, had been shown to a man without eyes, her tender eloquence poured on an ear that was deaf, her blandishments lavished on a block of marble! In a paroxysm of despair she dashed the hand she held far from her, and standing proudly on her feet--"Hear me, thou man of stone!" cried she, "and answer me on your life and honor, for both depend on your reply; is Joanna of Strathearn to be your wife?"