The Glen of Stones.
They proceeded in silence through the curvings of the dell till it
opened into a hazardous path along the top of a far-extending cliff,
which overhung and clasped in the western side of a deep loch. As they
mounted the pending wall of this immense amphitheater, Helen watched
the sublime uprise of the king of light issuing from behind the
opposite citadel of rocks, and borne aloft on a throne of clouds that
swam in floating gold. The herbage on the cliffs glittered with liquid
emeralds, as his beams kissed their summits; and the lake beneath
sparkled like a sea of molten diamonds. All nature seemed to rejoice
at the presence of this magnificent emblem of the Most High. Helen's
heart swelled with devotion, and its sacred voice breathed from her
lips.
"Such," thought she, "O sun, art thou! The resplendent image of the
Giver of all Good. Thy cheering beams, like his all-cheering Spirit,
pervade the soul, and drive thence the despondency of cold and
darkness. But bright as thou art, how does the similitude fade before
godlike man, the true image of his Maker. How far do his protecting
arms extend over the desolate! How mighty is the power of his
benevolence to dispense succor, to administer consolation!"
As she thus mused her eyes fell on the noble mien of the knight, who,
with his spear in his hand, and wrapped in his dark mantle of mingled
greens, led the way, with a graceful but rapid step, along the shelving
declivity. Turning suddenly to the left, he struck into a defile
between two prodigious craggy mountains, whose brown cheeks, trickling
with ten thousand mountains, whose brown cheeks, trickling with ten
thousand rills, seemed to weep over the deep gloom of the valley
beneath. Scattered fragments of rock from the cliffs above covered
with their huge and almost impassable masses the surface of the ground.
Not an herb was to be seen; all was black, barren, and terrific. On
entering this horrid pass, Helen would have shuddered, had she not
placed implicit confidence in her conductor.
As they advanced, the vale gradually narrowed, and at last shut them
within an immense chasm, which seemed to have been cleft at its
towering summit, to admit a few beams of light to the desert below. A
dark river flowed along, amid which the bases of the mountains showed
their union by the mingling of many a rugged cliff, projecting upward
in a variety of strange and hideous forms. The men who carried Helen,
with some difficulty found a safe footing. However, after frequent
rests, and unremitted caution, they at last extricated themselves from
the most intricate path, and more lightly followed their chief into a
less gloomy part of this chaos of nature. The knight stopped, and
approaching the bier, told Helen they had arrived at the end of their
journey.
"In the heart of that cliff," said he, "is the hermit's cell; a
desolate shelter, but a safe one. Old age and poverty hold no
temptations to the enemies of Scotland."
As he spoke the venerable man, who had heard voices beneath, appeared
on the rock; and while his tall and majestic figure, clad in gray,
moved forward, and his silver beard flowed from his saintly countenance
upon the air, he seemed the bard of Morven, issuing from his cave of
shells to bid a hero's welcome to the young and warlike Oscar.
"Bless thee, my son," cried he, as he descended; "what good or evil
accident hath returned thee so soon to these solitudes?"
The knight briefly related the circumstances of Helen's rescue, and
that he had brought her to share his asylum.
The hermit took her by the hand, and graciously promised her every
service in his power. He then preceded the knight, whose firmer arm
supported her up the rock, to the outer apartment of the cell.
A sacred awe struck her as she entered this place, dedicated wholly to
God. She bowed, and crossed herself. The hermit, observing her
devotion, blessed her, and bade her welcome to the abode of peace.
"Here, daughter," said he, "has one son of persecuted Scotland found a
refuge. There is naught alluring in these wilds to attract the
spoiler. The green herb is all the food they afford, and the limpid
water their best beverage."
"Ah!" returned Helen, with grateful animation, "would to Heaven that
all who love the freedom of Scotland were now within this glen! The
herb and the stream would be luxuries when tasted in liberty and hope.
My father, his friend-" she stopped, recollecting that she had almost
betrayed the secrecy she meant to maintain, and looking down, remained
in confused silence. The knight gazed at her, and much wished to
penetrate what she concealed, but delicacy forbade him to urge her
again. He spoke not; but the hermit, ignorant of her reluctance to
reveal her family, resumed:
"I do not wonder, gentle lady, that you speak in terms which tell me
even your tender sex feels the tyranny of Edward. Who in Scotland is
exempt? The whole country groans beneath his oppressions, and the
cruelty of his agents makes its rivulets run with blood. Six months
ago I was Abbot of Scone. Because I refused to betray my trust, and
resign the archives of the kingdom lodged there, Edward, the
rebel--anointed of the Lord! the profaner of the sanctuary! sent his
emissaries to sack the convent, to tear the holy pillow of Jacob from
its shrine, and to wrest from my grasp the records I refused to
deliver. All was done as the usurper commanded. Most of my brethren
were slain. Myself and the remainder were turned out upon the waste.
We retired to the Monastery of Cambuskenneth; but there oppression
found us. Cressingham, having seized on other religious houses,
determined to swell his hoards with the plunder of that also. In the
dead of night the attack was made. My brethren fled; I knew not
whither to go; but, determined to fly far from the tracts of our
ravagers, I took my course over the hills, and finding the valley of
stones fit for my purpose, for two months have lived alone in this
wilderness."
"Unhappy Scotland!" ejaculated Helen. Her eyes had followed the chief,
who, during this narrative, leaned thoughtfully against the entrance of
the cave. His eyes were cast upward with an expression that made her
heart utter the exclamation which had escaped her.
The knight turned and approached her. "You hear from the lips of my
venerable friend," said he, "a direful story; happy then am I, gentle
lady, that you and he have found a refuge, though a rough one. I must
now tear myself from this tranquillity to seek scenes more befitting a
younger son of the country he deplores."
Helen felt unable to answer. But the abbot spoke; "And am I not to see
you again?"
"That is as Heaven wills," replied he; "but as it is unlikely on this
side the grave, my best pledge of friendship is this lady. To you she
may reveal what she had withheld from me; but in either case, she is
secure in your goodness."
"Rely on my faith, my son; and may the Almighty's shield hang on your
steps!"
The knight turned to Helen. "Farewell, sweet lady!" said he. She
trembled at the words, and, hardly conscious of what she did, held out
her hand to him. He took it, and drew it toward his lips, but checking
himself, he only pressed it, while in a mournful voice he added, "in
your prayer, sometimes remember the most desolate of men!"
A mist seemed to pass over the eyes of Lady Helen. She felt as if on
the point of losing something most precious to her. "My prayers for my
own preserver, and for my father's," cried she, in an agitated voice,
"shall ever be mingled. And, if ever it be safe to remember me--should
Heaven indeed arm the patriot's hand--then my father may be proud to
know and to thank the brave deliverer of his child."
The knight paused, and looked with animation upon her. "Then your
father is in arms, and against the tyrant! Tell me where, and you see
before you a man who is ready to join him, and to lay down his life in
the just cause!"
At this vehement declaration, Lady Helen's full heart overflowed, and
she burst into tears. He drew toward her, and in a moderated voice
continued: "My men, though few, are brave. They are devoted to their
country, and are willing for her sake to follow me to victory or to
death. As I am a knight, I am sworn to defend the cause of right; and
where shall I so justly find it, as on the side of bleeding, wasted
Scotland? How shall I so well pursue my career as in the defense of
her injured sons? Speak, gentle lady! trust me with your noble
father's name, and he shall not have cause to blame the confidence you
repose in a true though wandering Scot!"
"My father," replied Helen, weeping afresh, "is not where your generous
services can reach him. Two brave chiefs, one a kinsman of my own, and
the other his friend, are now colleagued to free him. If they fail, my
whole house falls in blood! and to add another victim to the destiny
which in that case will overwhelm me--the thought is beyond my
strength." Faint with agitation, and the horrible images which
reawakened her direst fears, she stopped; and then added in a
suppressed voice, "Farewell!"
"Not till you hear me further," replied he. "I repeat I have now a
scanty number of followers; but I leave these mountains to gather more.
Tell me, then, where I may join these chiefs you speak of. Give me a
pledge that I come from you; and whoever may be your father, as he is a
true Scot, I will compass his release, or perish in the attempt."
"Alas! generous stranger," cried she, "to what would you persuade me?
You know not the peril that you seek!"
"Nothing is perilous to me," replied he, with an heroic smile, "that is
to serve my country. I have no interest, no joy but in her. Give me,
then, the only happiness of which I am now capable, and send me to
serve her, by freeing one of her defenders!"
Helen hesitated. The tumult of her mind dried her tears. She looked
up, with all these inward agitations painted on her cheeks. His
beaming eyes were full of patriotic ardor; and his fine countenance,
composed into a heavenly calmness by the sublime sentiments which
occupied his soul, made him appear to her not a as man, but as an angel
from the armed host of heaven.
"Fear not, lady," said the hermit, "that you would plunge your
deliverer into any extraordinary danger by involving him in what you
might call rebellion against the usurper. He is already a proscribed
man."
"Proscribed!" repeated she; "wretched indeed is my country when her
noblest spirits are denied the right to live!-when every step they take
to regain what has been torn from them, only involves them in deeper
ruin!"
"No country is wretched, sweet lady," returned the knight, "till, by a
dastardly acquiescence, it consents to its own slavery. Bonds, and
death, are the utmost of our enemy's malice; the one is beyond his
power to inflict, when a man is determined to die or to live free; and
for the other, which of us will think that ruin, which leads to the
blessed freedom of paradise?"
Helen looked on the chief as she used to look on her cousin, when
expressions of virtuous enthusiasm burst from his lips; but now it was
rather with the gaze of admiring awe than the exhultation of one
youthful mind sympathizing with another. "You would teach confidence
to Despair herself," returned she; "again I hope; for God does not
create in vain! You shall know every danger with which that knowledge
is surrounded. He is hemmed in by enemies. Alas, how closely are they
connected with him! Not the English only, but the most powerful of his
countrymen are leagues against him. They sold my father to captivity,
and, perhaps, to death; and I, wretched I, was the price. To free him,
the noblest of Scottish knights is now engaged; but such hosts impede
him, that hope hardly dares hover over his tremendous path."
"Then," cried the stranger, "let my arm be second to his in the great
achievement. My heart yearns to meet a brother in arms who feels for
Scotland what I do; and with such a coadjutor, I dare promise your
father liberty, and that the power of England shall be shaken."
Helen's heart beat violently at these words. "I would not defer the
union of two such minds. Go, then, to the Cartlane Craigs. But, alas!
how can I direct you?" cried she. "The passes are beset with English;
and I know not whether at this moment the brave Wallace survives, to be
again the deliverer of my father!"
Helen paused. The recollection of all that Wallace had suffered for
the sake of her father, and of the mortal extremity in which Ker had
left him, rose like a dreadful train of apparitions before her. A pale
horror overspread her countenance; and lost in these remembrances, she
did not remark the start, and rushing color of the knight, as she
pronounced the name of Wallace.
"If Wallace ever had the happiness of serving any who belonged to you,"
returned the knight, "he has at least one source of pleasure in that
remembrance. Tell me what he can further do. Only say, where is that
father whom you say he once preserved, and I will hasten to yield my
feeble aid to repeat the service!"
"Alas!" replied Helen, "I cannot but repeat my fears that the bravest
of men no longer exists. Two days before I was betrayed into the hands
of the traitor from whom you rescued me, a messenger from Cartlane
Craigs informed my cousin that the gallant Wallace was surrounded; and
if my father did not send forces to relieve him, he must inevitably
perish. No forces could my father send; he was then made a prisoner by
the English; his retainers shared the same fate, and none but my cousin
escaped, to accompany the honest Scotch back to his master. My cousin
set forth with a few followers to join him--a few against thousands."
"They are in arms for their country, lady," returned the knight; "and a
thousand invisible angels guard them; fear not for them! But for your
father; name to me the place of his confinement, and as I have not the
besiegers of Cartlane Craigs to encounter. I engage, with God's help,
and the arms of my men (who never yet shrunk from sword or spear), to
set the brave earl free!"
"How!" exclaimed Helen, remembering that she had not yet mentioned her
father's rank, and gazing at him with astonishment; "do you know his
name--is the misfortune of my father already so far spread?"
"Rather say his virtue, lady," answered the knight; "no man who watches
over the destiny of our devoted country can be ignorant of her friends,
or of the sufferers who bear injury for her sake. I know that the Earl
of Mar has made himself a generous sacrifice, but I am yet to learn the
circumstances from you. Speak without reserve, that I may seek the
accomplishment of my vow, and restore to Scotland its best friend!"
"Thou brother in heart to the generous Wallace!" exclaimed Lady Helen,
"my voice is too feeble to thank thee." The hermit, who had listened
in silent interest, now, fearing the consequence of so much emotion,
presented her with a cup of water and a little fruit, to refresh
herself, before she satisfied the inquiries of the knight. She put the
cup to her lips, to gratify the benevolence of her host, but her
anxious spirit was too much occupied in the concerns dearest to her
heart, to feel any wants of the body; and turning to the knight, she
briefly related what had been the design of her father with regard to
Sir William Wallace; how he had been seized at Bothwell, and sent with
his family a prisoner to Dumbarton Castle.
"Proceed then thither," continued she. "If Heaven have yet spared the
lives of Wallace and my cousin, Andrew Murray, you will meet them
before its walls. Meanwhile I shall seek the protection of my father's
sister, and in her castle near the Forth abide in safety. But, noble
stranger, one bond I must lay upon you; should you come up with my
cousin, do not discover that you have met with me. He is precipitate
in resentment; and his hatred is so hot against Soulis, my betrayer,
that should he know the outrage I have sustained he would, I fear, run
himself and the general cause into danger by seeking an immediate
revenge."
The stranger readily passed his word to Helen that he would never
mention her name to any of her family until she herself should give him
leave. "But when your father is restored to his rights," continued he,
"in his presence I hope to claim my acquaintance with his admirable
daughter."
Helen blushed at this compliment--it was not more than any man in his
situation might have said, but it confused her; and hardly knowing what
were her thoughts, she answered-"His personal freedom may be effected,
and God grant such a regard to your prowess! But his other rights,
what can recover them? His estates sequestrated, his vassals in bonds,
all power of the Earl of Mar will be annihilated; and from some obscure
refuge like this, must he utter his thanks to his daughter's preserver."
"Not so, lady," replied he; "the sword is now raised in Scotland, that
cannot be laid down till it be broken or has conquered. All have
suffered by Edward; the powerful banished into other countries, that
their wealth might reward foreign mercenaries; the poor driven into the
waste, that the meanest Southron might share the spoil! Where all have
suffered, all must be ready to avenge; and when a whole people take up
arms to regain their rights, what force can prevent restitution? God
is with them!"
"So I felt," returned Helen, "while I have not yet seen the horrors of
the contest. While my father commanded in Bothwell Castle, and was
sending out auxiliaries to the patriot chief, I too felt nothing but
the inspiration which led them on, and saw nothing but the victory
which must crown so just a cause. But now, when all whom my father
commanded are slain or carried away by the enemy, when he is himself a
prisoner, and awaiting the sentence of the tyrant he opposed, when the
gallant Wallace, instead of being able to hasten to his rescue, is
besieged by a numberless host, hope almost dies within me, and I fear
that whoever may be fated to free Scotland, my beloved father, and
those belonging to him are first to be made a sacrifice."
She turned pale as she spoke, and the stranger resumed. "No, lady, if
there be that virtue in Scotland which can alone deserve freedom, it
will be achieved. I am an inconsiderable man, but relying on the God
of Justice, I promise you your father's liberty; and let his freedom be
a pledge to you for that of your country. I now go to rouse a few
brave spirits to arms. Remember the battle is not to the strong, nor
victory with a multitude of hosts! The banner** of St. Andrew was once
held from the heavens, over a little band of Scots, while they
discomfited a thousand enemies--the same arm leads me on; and, if need
be, I despair not to see it again, like the flaming pillar before the
Israelites, consuming the enemies of liberty, even in the fullness of
their might."
**At a time when Achaius King of Scotts, and Hungus King of Picts, were
fiercely driven by Athelstan King of Northumberland into East Lothian,
full of terrors of what the next morning might bring forth, Hungus fell
into a sleep, and beheld a vision, which, tradition tells, was verified
the ensuing day by the appearance of the cross of St. Andrew held out
to him from the heavens, and waving him to victory. Under this banner
he conquered the Northumberland forces, and slaying their leader, the
scene of the battle has henceforth been called Atheistanford.-(1809.)
While he yet spoke, the hermit re-entered from the inner cell,
supporting a youth on his arm. At sight of the knight, who held out
his hand to him, he dropped on his knees and burst into tears. "Do you
then leave me?" cried he; "am I not to serve my preserver?"
Helen rose in strange surprise; there was something in the feelings of
the boy that was infectious; and while her own heart beat violently,
she looked first on his emaciated figure, and then at the noble contour
of the knight, "where every god had seemed to set his seal." His
beaming eyes appeared the very fountains of consolation; his cheek was
bright with generous emotions; and turning from the supplant boy to
Helen. "Rise," said he to the youth, "and behold in this lady the
object of the service to which I appoint you. You will soon, I hope,
be sufficiently recovered to attend upon her wishes as you would upon
mine. Be her servant and her guard; and when we meet again, as she
will then be under the protection of her father, if you do not prefer
so gentle a service before the rougher one of war, I will resume you to
myself."
The youth, who had obeyed the knight and risen, bowed respectfully; and
Helen, uttering some incoherent words of thanks, to hide her agitation
turned away. The hermit exclaimed, "Again, my son, I beseech Heaven to
bless thee!"
"And may its guardian care shield all here!" replied the knight. Helen
looked up to bid him a last farewell--but he was gone. The hermit had
left the cell with him, and the youth also had disappeared into the
inner cave. Being left alone, she threw herself down before the altar,
and giving way to a burst of tears, inwardly implored protection for
that brave knight's life; and by his means to grant safety to Wallace,
and freedom to her father!
As she prayed, her emotion subsided and a holy confidence elevating her
mind, she remained in an ecstasy of hope, till a solemn voice from
behind her called her from this happy trance.
"Blessed are they which put their trust in God!"
She calmly rose, and perceived the hermit; who, on entering, had
observed her devout position, and the spontaneous benediction broke
from his lips. "Daughter," said he, leading her to a seat, "this hero
will prevail; for the Power before whose altar you have just knelt, has
declared, 'My might is with them who obey my laws, and put their trust
in me!' You speak highly of the young and valiant Sir William Wallace,
but I cannot conceive that he can be better formed for great and heroic
deeds than this chief. Suppose them, then, to be equal, when they have
met, with two such leaders, what may not a few determined Scots
perform?"
Helen sympathized with the cheering prognostications of the hermit; and
wishing to learn the name of this rival of a character she had regarded
as unparalleled, she asked, with a blush, by what title she must call
the knight who had undertaken so hazardous an enterprise for her.