The Scottish Chiefs Part 78

"Tell your sovereign," cried he, "that he mistakes. We are the conquerors who ought to dictate terms of peace! Wallace is our invincible leader, our redeemer from slavery, the earthly hope in whom we trust, and it is not in the power of men nor devils to bribe us to betray our benefactor. Away to your king and tell him that Andrew Murray, and every honest Scot, is ready to live or to die by the side of Sir William Wallace."

"And by this good sword I swear the same!" cried Ruthven.

"And so do I!" rejoined Scrymgeour, "or may the standard of Scotland be my winding-sheet!"

"Or may the Clyde swallow us up, quick!" exclaimed Lockhart of Lee, shaking his mailed hand at the emba.s.sadors.

But not another chief spoke for Wallace. Even Sinclair was intimidated, and like others who wished him well, he feared to utter his sentiments. But most, oh! shame to Scotland and to man, cast up their bonnets and cried aloud, "Long live Kind Edward, the only legitimate Lord of Scotland!" At this outcry, which was echoed even by some in whom he had confided, while it pealed around him like a burst of thunder, Wallace threw out his arms, as if he would yet protect Scotland from herself. "Oh! desolate people," exclaimed he, in a voice of piercing woe, "too credulous of fair speeches, and not aware of the calamities which are coming upon you! Call to remembrance the miseries you have suffered, and start, before it be too late, from this last snare of your oppressor! Have I yet to tell ye that his embrace is death? Oh! look yet to Heaven and ye shall find a rescue!" Bruce seemed to rise at that moment in pale but gallant apparition before his soul.**

**This speech is almost verbatim from one of our old historians.

"Seize that rebellious man," cried Soulis to his marshals. "In the name of the King of England I command you."

"And in the name of the King of kings I denounce death on him who attempts it!" exclaimed Bothwell, throwing himself between Wallace and the men; "put forth a hostile hand toward him, and this bugle shall call a thousand resolute swords to lay this platform in blood!"

Soulis, followed by his knights, pressed forward to execute his treason himself. Scrymgeour, Ruthven, Lockhart, and Ker rushed before their friend. Edwin, starting forward, drew his sword, and the clash of steel was heard. Bothwell and Soulis grappled together, the falchion of Ruthven gleamed amidst a hundred swords, and blood flowed around.

The voice, the arm of Wallace, in vain sought to enforce peace; he was not heard, he was not felt in the dreadful warfare; Ker fell with a gasp at his feet, and breathed no more. At such a sight the soul-struck Wallace wrung his hands, and exclaimed in bitter anguish, "Oh, my country! was it for these horrors that my Marion died? that I became a homeless wretch, and pa.s.sed my days and nights in fields of carnage? Venerable Mar, dear and valiant Graham! is this the consummation for which you fell?" At that moment Bothwell having disabled Soulis, would have blown his bugle to call up his men to a general conflict, but Wallace s.n.a.t.c.hed the horn from his hand, and springing upon the very war-carriage which Le de Spencer had proclaimed Edward's emba.s.sy, he drew forth his sword, and stretching the mighty arm that held it over the throng, with more than mortal energy he exclaimed, "Peace! men of Scotland, and for the last time hear the voice of William Wallace." A dead silence immediately ensued, and he proceeded: "If you have aught of n.o.bleness within ye, if a delusion more fell than witchcraft have not blinded your senses, look beyond this field of horror, and behold your country free. Edward, in these apparent demands, sues for peace. Did we not drive his armies into the sea? And were we resolved, he never could cross our borders more.

What is it then you do, when you again put your necks under his yoke?

Did he not seek to bribe me to betray you? And yet, when I refuse to purchase life and the world's rewards in such baseness, you--you forget that you are free-born Scots, that you are the victors, and he the vanquished; and you give, not sell, your birthright to the demands of a tyrant! You yield yourselves to his extortions, his oppressions, his revenge! Think not he will spare the people he would have sold to purchase his bitterest enemy, or allow them to live unmanacled who possess the power of resistance. On the day in which you are in his hands you will feel that you have exchanged honor for disgrace, liberty for bondage, life for death! Me you abhor, and may G.o.d in your extremest hour forget that injustice, and pardon the faithful blood you have shed this day! I draw this sword for you no more. But there yet lives a prince, a descendant of the royal heroes of Scotland, whom Providence may conduct to be your preserver. Reject the proposals of Edward, dare to defend the freedom you now possess, and that prince will soon appear to crown your patriotism with glory and happiness!"

"We acknowledge no prince but King Edward of England!" cried Buchan.

"His countenance our glory, his presence our happiness!"

The exclamation was reiterated by a most disgraceful majority on the ground. Wallace was transfixed.

"Then," cried Le de Spencer in the first pause of the tumult, "to every man, woman, and child throughout the realm of Scotland, excepting Sir William Wallace, I proclaim, in the name of King Edward, pardon and peace."

At these words several hundred Scottish chieftains dropped on their knees before Le de Spencer, and murmured their vows of fealty.

Indignant, grieved, Wallace took his helmet from his head, and throwing his sword into the hand of Bothwell, "That weapon," cried he, "which I wrested from this very King Edward, and with which I twice drove him from our borders, I give it to you. In your hands it may again serve Scotland, I relinquish a soldier's name, on the spot where I humbled England three times in one day, where I now see my victorious country deliver herself, bound, into the grasp of the vanquished! I go without sword or buckler from this dishonored field, and what Scot, my public or private enemy, will dare to strike the unguarded head of William Wallace?" As he spoke, he threw his shield and helmet to the ground, and leaping from the war-carriage, took his course, with a fearless and dignified step, through the parting ranks of his enemies, who, awe-struck, or kept in check by a suspicion that others might not second the attack they would have made on him, durst not lift an arm or breathe a word as he pa.s.sed.

Wallace had adopted this manner of leaving the ground, in hopes, if it were possible, to awaken the least spark of honor in the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of his persecutors, to prevent the bloodshed which must ensue between his friends and them, should they attempt to seize him. Edwin and Bothwell immediately followed him; but Lockhart and Scrymgeour remained to take charge of the remains of the faithful Ker, and to observe the tendency of the tumult which began to murmur amongst the lower orders of the bystanders.

Chapter LXXVIII.

Banks of the Eske.

A vague suspicion of the regent and his thanes, and yet a panic-struck pusillanimity, which shrunk from supporting that Wallace whom those thanes chose to abandon, carried the spirit of slavery from the platform before the council tent, to the chieftains who thronged the ranks of Ruthven, and even to the perversion of some few who had followed the golden-haired standard of Bothwell. The brave troops of Lanark (which the desperate battle of Dalkeith reduced to not more than sixty men) alone remained unmoved; so catching is the quailing spirit of doubt, abjectness, and fearful submission.

In the moment when the indignant Ruthven saw his Perthshire legions rolling off toward the trumpet of Le de Spencer, Scrymgeour placed himself at the head of the men of Lanark. Unfurling the banner of Scotland, he marched with a steady step to the tent of Bothwell, whither he did not doubt that Wallace had retired. He found him a.s.suaging the impa.s.sioned grief of Edwin, and striving to moderate the vehement wrath of the faithful Murray, "Pour not out the energy of your soul upon these worthless men!" said he; "leave them to the fates they seek--the fates they have incurred by the innocent blood shed this day!

The few brave hearts who yet remain loyal to this country, are insufficient to stem at this spot the torrent of corruption. Retire beyond the Forth, my friend. Rally all true Scots around Huntingtower.

Let the royal inmate proclaim himself, and, at the foot of the Grampians, lock the gates of the Highlands upon our enemies. From those bulwarks he will issue in strength, and Scotland may again be free!"

"Free, but never more honored!" cried Edwin; "never more beloved by me!

Ungrateful, treacherous, base land," added he, starting on his feet, and raising his clasped hands with the vehement abjuration of an indignant spirit; "oh, that the salt sea would ingulf thee at once--that thy name and thy ingrat.i.tude could be no more remembered! I will never wear a sword for her again."

"Edwin!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Wallace, in a reproachful, yet tender tone.

"Exhort me not to forgive my country!" returned he; "tell me to take my deadliest foe to my breast--to pardon the a.s.sa.s.sin who strikes his steel into my heart, and I will obey you; but to pardon Scotland for the injury she has done to you--for the disgrace with which her self-debas.e.m.e.nt stains this cheek I never, never can! I abhor these sons of Lucifer. Think not, n.o.blest of masters, dearest of friends,"

cried he, throwing himself at Wallace's feet, "that I will ever shine in the light of those envious stars which have displayed the sun! No tibi soli shall henceforth be the impress on my shield; to thee alone will I ever turn; and till your beams restore your country and revive me, the springing laurels of Edwin Ruthven shall whither where they grew!"

Wallace folded him to his heart; a tear stood in his eyes, while he said in a low voice:

"If thou art mine, thou art Scotland's. Me, she rejects. Mysterious Heaven wills that I should quit my post; but for thee, Edwin, as a relic of the fond love I yet bear this wretched country, abide by her, bear with her, cherish her, defend her for my sake; and if Bruce lives, he will be to thee a second Wallace, a friend, a brother!"

Edwin listened, wept, and sobbed, but his heart was fixed; unable to speak, he broke from his friend's arms, and hurried into an interior apartment to subdue his emotions by pouring them forth to G.o.d.

Ruthven joined in determined opinion with Bothwell, that if ever a civil war could be sanctified, this was the time; and in spite of all that Wallace could urge against the madness of contending for his supremacy over a nation which would not yield him obedience, still they remained firm in their resolution. Bruce they hardly dared hope could recover; and to relinquish the guiding hand of their best approved leader at this crisis, was a sacrifice, they said, no earthly power should compel them to make.

"So far from it," cried Lord Bothwell, dropping on his knees, and grasping the cross hilt of his sword in both hands, "I swear by the blood of the crucified Lord of this ungrateful world, that should Bruce die, I will obey no other king of Scotland than William Wallace!"

Wallace turned ashy pale as he listened to this vow. At that moment Scrymgeour entered, followed by the Lanark veterans, and all kneeling down, repeated the oath of Bothwell; then starting up, called on the outraged chief, by the unburied corpse of his murdered Ker, to lead them forth and avenge them of his enemies.

When the agitation of his soul would allow him to speak to this faithful group, Wallace stretched his hands over them, and with such tears as a father would shed who looks on the children he is to behold no more, he said, in a subdued and faltering voice, "G.o.d will avenge our murdered friend; my sword is sheathed forever. May that holy Being, who is the true and best King of the virtuous, always be present with you! I feel your love, and I appreciate it. But Bothwell, Ruthven, Lockhart, Scrymgeour, my faithful Lanark followers, leave me awhile to compose my scattered thoughts. Let me pa.s.s this night alone, and to-morrow you shall know the resolution of your grateful Wallace!"

The shades of evening were closing in, and the men of Lanark, first obtaining his permission to keep guard before the wood which skirted the tent, respectfully kissing his hand, withdrew. Ruthven called Edwin from the recess, whither he had retired to unburden his grief: but as soon as he heard that it was the resolution of his friends to preserve the authority of Wallace or to perish in the contest, the gloom pa.s.sed from his fair brow, a smile of triumph parted his lips, and he exclaimed:

"All will be well again. We shall force this deluded nation to recognize her safety and her honor!"

While the determined chiefs held discourse so congenial with the wishes of the youthful knight, Wallace sat almost silent. He seemed revolving some momentous idea: he frequently turned his eyes on the speakers with a fixed regard, which appeared rather full of a grave sorrow than demonstrative of any sympathy on the subjects of their discussion. On Edwin he at times looked with penetrating tenderness; and when the bell from the neighboring convent sounded the hour of rest, he stretched out his hand to him with a smile, which he wished should speak of comfort as well as of affection; but the soul spoke more eloquently than he had intended: his smile was mournful, and the attempt to render it otherwise, like a transient light over a dark sepulcher, only the more distinctly showed the gloom and melancholy within.

"And am I, too, to leave you?" said Edwin.

"Yes, my brother," replied Wallace; "I have much to do with my own thoughts this night. We separate now to meet more gladly hereafter. I must have solitude to arrange my plans. To-morrow you shall know them.

Meanwhile farewell!"

As he spoke he pressed the affectionate youth to his breast, and, warmly grasping the hands of his three other friends, bade them an earnest adieu.

Bothwell lingered a moment at the tent-door, and looking back, "Let your first plan be, that to-morrow you lead us to Lord Soulis'

quarters, to teach the traitor what it is to be a Scot and a man!"

"My plans shall be deserving of my brave colleagues," replied Wallace; "and whether they be executed on this or the other side of the Forth, you shall find, my long-tried Bothwell, that Scotland's peace and the honor of her best sons are the dearest considerations of your friend."

When the door closed, and Wallace was left alone, he stood for awhile in the midst of the tent, listening to the departing steps of his friends. When the last sound died on his ear, "I shall hear them no more!" cried he; and throwing himself into a seat, he remained for an hour in a trance of grievous thoughts. Melancholy remembrances and prospects dire for Scotland pressed upon his surcharged heart. "It is to G.o.d alone I must confide my country!" cried he; "His mercy will pity its madness, and forgive its deep transgressions. My duty is to remove the object of ruin far from the power of any longer exciting jealousy or awakening zeal." With these words, he took a pen in his hand to write to Bruce.

He briefly narrated the events which compelled him, if he would avoid the grief of having occasioned a civil war, to quit his country forever. The general hostility of the n.o.bles, the unresisting acquiescence of the people in measures which menaced his life and sacrificed the freedom for which he had so long fought, convinced him, he said, that his warlike commission was now closed. He was summoned by Heaven to exchange the field for the cloister; and to the monastery at Chartres he was now hastening, to dedicate the remainder of his days to the peace of a future world. He then exhorted Bruce to confide in the Lords Ruthven and Bothwell, as his soul would commune with his spirit, for he would find them true unto death. He counseled him, as the leading measure to circ.u.mvent the treason of Scotland's enemies, to go immediately to Kilchurn Castle, where he knew resources would be; for Loch-awe, who retired thither on the last approach of De Warenne, meaning to call out his va.s.sals for that emergency, needed it not then; for the battle of Dalkeith was fought and gained before they could leave their heights, and the victor did not want them afterward. To use those brave and simple-hearted men for his establishment on the throne of his kingdom, Wallace advised Bruce. And so, amidst the natural fortresses of the Highlands, he might recover his health, collect his friends, and openly proclaim himself. "Then," added he, "when Scotland is your oqn, let its bulwarks be its mountains and its people's arms. Dismantle and raze to the ground the castles of those base chiefs who have only embattled them to betray and enslave their country." Though intent on these political suggestions, he ceased not to remember his own brave engines of war; and he earnestly conjured his prince that he would wear the valiant Kirkpatrick as a buckler on his heart; that he would place Scrymgeour with his Lanark veterans, and the faithful Grimsby next him as his body-guard; and that he would love and cherish the brave and tender Edwin for his sake. "When my prince and friend receives this," added he, "Wallace shall have bidden an eternal farewell to Scotland; but his heart will be amidst its hills. My king, and the friends most dear to me will still be there! The earthly part of my beloved wife rests within its bosom! But I go to rejoin her soul; to meet it in the vigils of days consecrated wholly to the blessed Being in whose presence she rejoices forever. This is no sad destiny, my dear Bruce. Our Almighty Captain recalls me from dividing with you the glory of maintaining the liberty of Scotland, but he brings me closer to himself: I leave the plains of Gilgal to tread with his angel the courts of my G.o.d. Mourn not, then, my absence; for my prayers will be with you till we are again united in the only place where you can fully know me as I am--thine and Scotland's never-dying friend! Start not at the bold epithet. My body may sink into the grave, but the affections of my immortal spirit are eternal as its essence, and, in earth or in heaven, I am ever yours.

"Should the endearing Helen--my heart's sister--be near your couch when you read this, tell her that Wallace, in idea, presses her virgin cheek with a brother's farewell; and from his inmost soul he blesses her."

Messages of respectful adieus he sent to Isabella, Lady Ruthven, and the sage of Ercildown; and then kneeling down in that posture, he wrote his last invocations for the prosperity and happiness of Bruce.

This letter finished, with a more tranquil mind he addressed Lord Ruthven; detailing to him his reasons for leaving such faithful friends so clandestinely; and after mentioning his purpose of proceeding to France, he ended with those expressions of grat.i.tude which the worthy chief so well deserved; and exhorting him to transfer his public zeal for him to the maguanimous and royal Bruce, closed the letter with begging him, for the sake of his friend, his king, and his country, to return immediately with all his followers to Huntingtower, and there to rally round their prince. His letter to Scrymgeour spoke nearly the same language. But when he began to write to Bothwell, to bid him that farewell which his heart foreboded would be forever in this world--to part from this, his steady companion in arms, his dauntless champion!

he lost some of his composure; and his handwriting testified the emotion of his mind. How, then, was he shaken when he addressed the young and devoted Edwin, the brother of his soul? He dropped the pen from his hand. At that moment he felt all he was going to relinquish, and he exclaimed, "Oh, Scotland! my ungrateful country; what is it you do? Is it thus that you repay your most faithful servants? Is it not enough that the wife of my bosom, the companion of my youth, should be torn from me by your enemies; but your hand must wrest from my bereaved heart its every other solace? You s.n.a.t.c.h from me my friends; you would deprive me of my life. To preserve you from that crime, I imbitter the cup of death; I go far from the tombs of my fathers--from the grave of my Marion, where I have fondly hoped to rest!" His head sunk on his arm; his heart gave way under the pressure of acc.u.mulated regrets, and floods of tears poured from his eyes. Deep and frequent were his sighs--but none answered him. Friendship was far distant; and where was that gentle being who would have soothed his sorrow on her bosom?

She it was he lamented. "Dreary, dreary solitude!" cried he, looking around him with an aghast perception of all that he had lost! "how have I been mocked for these three long years! What is renown? what the loud acclaim of admiring throngs? what the loud acclaim of admiring throngs? what the bended knees of worshiping gratefulness but breath and vapor! It seems to shelter the mountain's top; the blast comes; it rolls from its sides; and the lonely hill is left to all the storm! So stand I, my Marion, when bereft of thee. In weal or woe, thy smiles, thy warm embrace, were mine; my head reclined on that faithful breast, and still I found my home, my heaven. But now, desolate and alone, ruin is around me. Destruction waits on all who would steal one pang from the racked heart of William Wallace!--even pity is no more for me.

Take me, then, O Power of Mercy!" cried he, stretching forth his hands, "take me to Thyself!"