The Chapter House.
The march of De Valence from the castle having proved that no suspicion
of any of its late inhabitants being still in the neighborhood remained
with its usurpers, Grimsby thought he might depart in safety; and next
morning he begged permission of the prior to commence his journey. "I
am anxious to quit a land," said he, "where my countrymen are
committing violences which make me blush at the name of Englishman."
Murray put a purse of gold into the soldier's hand, while the prior
covered his armor with a pilgrim's gown. Grimsby, with a respectful
bow, returned the gift; "I cannot take money from you, my lord. But
bestow on me the sword at your side, and that I will preserve forever."
Murray took it off, and gave it to the soldier. "Let us exchange, my
brave friend!" said he; "give me yours, and it shall be a memorial to
me of having found virtue in an Englishman."
Grimsby unlocked his rude weapon in a moment, and as he put the iron
hilt into the young Scot's hand, a tear stood in his eye: "When you
raise this sword against my countrymen, think on Grimsby, a faithful,
though humble soldier of the cross, and spare the blood of all who ask
for mercy."
Murray looked a gracious assent, for the tear of mercy was infectious.
Without speaking, he gave the good soldier's hand a parting grasp; and
with regret that superior claims called so brave a man from his side,
he saw him leave the monastery.
The mourner banquets on memory; making that which seems the poison of
life, its ailment. During the hours of regret we recall the images of
departed joys; and in weeping over each tender remembrance, tears so
softly shed embalm the wounds of grief. To be denied the privilege of
pouring forth our love and our lamentations over the grave of one who
in life was our happiness, is to shut up the soul of the survivor in a
solitary tomb, where the bereaved heart pines in secret till it breaks
with the fullness of uncommunicated sorrow; but listen to the mourner,
give his feelings way, and, like the river rolling from the hills into
the valley, they will flow with a gradually gentler stream, till they
become lost in time's wide ocean.
So Murray judged when the poor old harper, finding himself alone with
him, again gave loose to his often-recapitulated griefs. He wept like
an infant; and recounting the afflictions of his master, while
bewailing the disasters at Bothwell, implored Murray to go without
delay to support the now almost friendless Wallace. Murray was
consoling him with the assurance that he would set off for the
mountains that very evening, when the prior returned to conduct Halbert
to a cell appointed for his novitiate. The good priest had placed one
of his most pious fathers there, to administer both temporal and
spiritual cordials to the aged sufferer.
The sorrowing domestic of Wallace being thus disposed of, the prior and
Murray remained together, consulting on the safest means of passing to
the Cartlane hills. A lay brother whom the prior had sent in pursuit
of Helen's fifty warriors, to apprise them of the English being in the
craigs, at this juncture entered the library. He informed the father
that, secure in his religious garb, he had penetrated many of the
Cartlane defiles, but could neither see nor hear anything of the party.
Every glen or height was occupied by the English: and from a woman, of
whom he begged a draught of milk, he had learned how closely the
mountains were invested. The English commander, in his zeal to prevent
provisions being conveyed to Wallace and his famishing garrison, had
stopped a procession of monks bearing a dead body to the sepulchral
cave of St. Columba. He would not allow them to ascend the heights
until he had examined whether the bier really bore a corpse, or was a
vehicle to carry food to the beleaguered Scots.
In the midst of this information, the prior and his friends were
startled by a shout, and soon after a tumult of voices, in which might
be distinguished the cry of "A gallows for the traitor!"
"Our brave Englishman has fallen into their hands," cried Murray,
hastening toward the door.
"What would you do?" interrupted the prior, holding him. "Your single
arm could not save the soldier. The cross has more power; I will seek
these violent men. Meanwhile stay here, as you value the lives of all
in the convent."
Murray had now recollected himself, and acquiesced. The prior took the
crucifix from the altar, and ordering the porter to throw open the
great doors (near which the incessant shouting seemed to proceed), he
appeared before a turbulent band of soldiers, who were dragging a man
along, fast bound with their leathern belts. Blood trickling from his
face fell on the hands of the ruthless wretches, who, with horrid
yells, were threatening him with instant death.
The prior, raising the cross, rushed in among them, and, in the name of
the blessed Son who died on that tree, bade them stand! The soldiers
trembled before the holy majesty of his figure, and at his awful
adjuration. The prior looked on the prisoner, but he did not see the
dark locks of the Englishman; it was the yellow hair of Scotland that
mingled with the blood on his forehead.
"Whither do you hurry that wounded man?"
"To his death," answered a surly fellow.
"What is his offense?"
"He is a traitor."
"How has he proved it?"
"He is a Scot, and he belongs to the disloyal Lord of Mar. This bugle,
with its crowned falcon, proves it," added the Southron, holding up the
very bugle which the earl had sent by Halbert to Wallace, and which was
ornamented with the crest of Mar wrought in gold.
"That this has been Lord Mar's," replied the prior, "there is no doubt;
but may not this man have found it? Or may it not have been given to
him by the earl, before that chief incurred the displeasure of King
Edward? Which of you would think it just to be made to die because
your friend was condemned to the scaffold? Unless you substantiate
your charge against this man, by a better proof than this bugle, his
death would be a murder, which the Lord of life will requite in the
perdition of your souls." As the father spoke, he again elevated the
cross: the men turned pale.
"I am a minister of Christ," continued he, "and must be the friend of
justice. Release, therefore, that wounded man to me. Before the altar
of the Searcher of all hearts he shall confess himself; and if I find
that he is guilty unto death, I promise you by the holy St. Fillan, to
release him to your commanding officer, and so let justice take its
course. But if he proves innocent, I am the soldier of Christ, and no
monarch on earth shall wrest his children from the protection of the
church."
While he spoke, the men who held the prisoner let go their hold, and
the prior stretching out his hand, gave him to a party of monks to
conduct into the convent. Then, to convince the soldiers that it was
the man's life he sought to save, and not the spoil, he returned the
golden bugle, and bade him depart in peace.
Awed by the father's address, and satisfied with the money and arms of
which they had rifled the stranger, the marauders retreated;
determining, indeed, to say nothing of the matter to the officer in the
castle, lest he should demand the horn; and, elated with the present
booty, they marched off to pursue their plundering excursion. Bursting
into yeomen's houses and peasants' huts, stripping all of their
substance who did or did not swear fealty to Edward; thus robbing the
latter, and exacting contributions from the former; while vain prayers
for mercy and unanswered cries for redress echoed dolefully through the
vale of Bothwell, they sped gayly on, as if murder were pastime and
rapine honor.
The prior, on returning into the convent, ordered the gates to be
bolted. When he entered the chapter-house, finding the monks had
already bound up the wounds of the stranger, he made a sign for the
brethren to withdraw: and then, approaching the young man, "My son,"
said he, in a mild tone, "you heard my declaration to the men from whom
I took you! Answer me the truth and you shall find that virtue or
repentance have alike a refuge in the arms of the church. As I am its
servant, no man need fear to confide in me. Speak with candor! How
came you by that bugle?"
The stranger looked steadfastly on his questioner; "A minister of the
all righteous God cannot mean to deceive. You have saved my life, and
I should be less than man could I doubt the evidence of that deed. I
received that bugle from a brave Scot who dwells amongst the eastern
mountains; and who gave it to me to assure the Earl of Mar that I came
from him."
The prior apprehended that it was of Wallace he spoke. "You come to
request a military aid from the Earl of Mar!" rejoined the father,
willing to sound him, before he committed Murray, by calling him to the
conference.
The stranger replied: "If, reverend sir, you are in the confidence of
the good earl, pronounce but the Christian name of the man who charged
me with the bugle, and allow me, then, for his sake, to ask you what
has indeed happened to the earl! that I was seized by foes, when I
expected to meet with friends only! Reply to this, and I shall speak
freely; but at present, though I would confide all of myself to your
sacred character, yet the confidence of others is not mine to bestow."
The prior, being convinced by this caution, that he was indeed speaking
with some messenger from Wallace, made no hesitation to answer. "Your
master is a knight, and a braver never drew breath since the time of
his royal namesake, William the Lion!"
The man rose hastily from his seat, and falling on his knees before the
prior, put his garment to his lips: "Father, I now know that I am with
a friend of my persecuted master! But if, indeed, the situation of
Lord Mar precludes assistance from him, all hope is lost! The noble
Wallace is penned within the hills, without any hopes of escape.
Suffer me, then, thou venerable saint! to rejoin him immediately, that
I may at least die with my friend!"
"Hope for a better destiny," returned the prior; "I am a servant, and
not to be worshiped; turn to that altar, and kneel to Him who can alone
send the succor you need!"
The good man, thinking it was now time to call the young lord of
Bothwell, by a side-door from the chapter-house entered the library,
where Murray was anxiously awaiting his return. On his entrance, the
impatient youth eagerly exclaimed, "Have you rescued him?"
"Grimsby, I hope, is far and safely on his journey," answered the good
priest; "but the man those murderers were dragging to death, is in the
chapter-house. Follow me, and he will give you news of Wallace."
Murray gladly obeyed.
At sight of a Scottish knight in armor, the messenger of Wallace
thought his prayers were answered, and that he saw before him the
leader of the host which was to march to the preservation of his brave
commander. Murray told him who he was; and learned from him in return,
that Wallace now considered himself in a state of siege; that the
women, children, and old men with him, had nothing to feed on but wild
strawberries and birds' eggs, which they found in the hollows of the
rocks. "To relieve them from such hard quarters, girded by a barrier
of English soldiers," continued the narrator, "is his first wish: but
that cannot be effected by our small number. However, he would make
the attempt by a strategem, could we be at all supported by succors
from the Earl of Mar!"
"My uncle's means," replied Murray, "are for a time cut off: but mine
shall be exerted to the utmost. Did you not meet, somewhere, a company
of Scots to the number of fifty? I sent them off yesterday to seek
your noble chief."
"No," rejoined the young man; "I fear they have been taken by the
enemy; for in my way to Sir William Wallace, not knowing the English
were so close to his sanctuary, I was nearly seized myself. I had not
the good fortune to be with him, when he struck the first blow for
Scotland in the citadel of Lanark; but as soon as I heard the tale of
his wrongs, and that he had retired in arms toward the Cartlane Craigs,
I determined to follow his fate. We had been companions in our boyish
days, and friends after. He saved my life once, in swimming; and now
that a formidable nation menaces his, I seek to repay the debt. For
this purpose, a few nights ago I left my guardian's house by stealth,
and sought my way to my friend. I found the banks of the Mouse
occupied by the English; but exploring the most intricate passes, at
last gained the bottom of the precipice on the top of which Wallace is
encamped; and as I lay among the bushes, watching an opportunity to
ascend, I perceived two English soldiers near me. They were in
discourse, and I overheard them say, that besides Heselrigge himself,
nearly two hundred of his garrison had fallen by the hand of Wallace's
men in the contention at the castle; that the tidings were sent to Sir
Richard Arnulf, the Deputy-governor of Ayr; and he had dispatched a
thousand men to surround the Cartland Craigs, spies having given notice
that they were Sir William's strongholds, and the orders were, that he
must be taken dead or alive; while all his adherents, men and women,
should receive no quarter.
"Such was the information I brought to my gallant friend, when in the
dead of night I mounted the rock, and calling to the Scottish sentinel
in Gaelic, gave him my name, and was allowed to enter the sacred spot.
Wallace welcomed his faithful Ker,** and soon unfolded his distress and
his hopes. He told me of the famine that threatened his little
garrison; of the constant watching, day and night, necessary to prevent
a surprise. But in his extremity, he observed that one defile was
thinly guarded by the enemy; probably because, as it lay at the bottom
of a perpendicular angle of the rock, they thought it unattainable by
the Scots. To this point, however, my dauntless friend turns his eyes.
He would attempt it, could he procure a sufficient number of fresh men
to cover the retreat of his exhausted few. For this purpose, as I had
so lately explored the most hidden paths of the craigs, I volunteered
to visit the Lord Mar, and to conduct, in safety, any succors he might
send to our persecuted leader."
**The stem of this brave name, in subsequent times, became two great
branches, the Roxburghe and the Lothian.
"This," continued Ker, "was the errand on which I came to the earl.
Think then my horror, when in my journey I found redoubled legions
hemming in the hills; and on advancing toward Bothwell Castle, was
seized with that nobleman, who, they said, was condemned to lose his
head!"
"Not so bad as that, my brave Ker," cried Murray, a glow of indignation
flushing his cheek; "many a bull's head** shall frown in this land, on
the Southron tables, before my uncle's neck gluts their axes! No true
Scottish blood, I trust, will ever stain their scaffolds; for while we
have arms to wield a sword, he must be a fool that grounds them on any
other terms than freedom or death. We have cast our lives on the die;
and Wallace's camp or the narrow house must be our prize!"
**A bull's head, presented at a feast, was a sign that some one of the
company was immediately to be put to death.-(1809.)
"Noble youth!" exclaimed the prior, "may the innocence which gives
animation to your courage, continue its moving soul! They only are
invincible who are as ready to die as to live; and no one can be firm
in that principle, whose exemplary life is not a happy preparation for
the awful change."
Murray bowed modestly to this pious encomium, and turning to Ker,
informed him, that since he must abandon all hope of hearing any more
of the fifty brave men his cousin Helen had sent to the craigs, he
bethought him of applying to his uncle, Sir John Murray, who dwelt hard
by, on his estate at Drumshargard. "It is small," said he, "and cannot
afford many men; but still he may spare sufficient to effect the escape
of our commander; and that for the present will be a host!"
To accomplish his design without delay--for promptitude is the earnest
of success--and to avoid a surprise from the English lieutenant at
Bothwell (who, hearing of the reencounter before the castle, might
choose to demand his men's prisoner). Murray determined to take Ker
with him; and, disguised as peasants, as soon as darkness should shroud
their movements, proceed to Drumshargard.