The Great Tower.
When Wallace withdrew, Lady Mar, who had detained Murray, whispered to
him, while a blush stained her cheek, that she should like to be
present at the planting of the standard. Lord Mar declared his
willingness to accompany her to the spot, and added, "I can be
supported thither by the arm of Andrew." Murray hesitated. "It will
be impossible for my aunt to go; the hall below, and the ground before
the tower, are covered with slain."
"Let them be cleared away!" cried she; "for I cannot consent to be
deprived of a spectacle so honorable to my country."
Murray regarded the pitiless indifference with which she gave this
order with amazement. "To do that, madam," said he, "is beyond my
power; the whole ceremony of the colors would be completed long before
I could clear the earth of half its bleeding load. I will seek a
passage for you by some other way."
Before the earl could make a remark, Murray had disappeared; and after
exploring the lower part of the tower in unavailing search for a way,
he met Sir Roger Kirkpatrick issuing from a small door, which, being in
shadow, he had hitherto overlooked. It led through the ballium, to the
platform before the citadel. Lord Andrew returned to his uncle and
aunt, and informing them of this discovery, gave his arm to Lord Mar,
while Kirkpatrick led forward the agitated countess. At this moment
the sun rose behind the purple summit of Ben Lomond.
When they approached the citadel, Wallace and Sir Alexander Scrymgeour
had just gained its summit. The standard of Edward was yet flying.
Wallace looked at it for a moment; then laying his hand on the staff,
"Down, thou red dragon," cried he, "and learn to bow before the Giver
of all victory!" Even while speaking, he rent it from the roof; and
casting it over the battlements, planted the lion of Scotland in its
stead.
As its vast evolvements floated on the air, the cry of triumph, the
loud clarion of honest triumph, burst from every heart, horn, and
trumpet below. It was a shout that pierced the skies, and entered the
soul of Wallace with a bliss which seemed a promise of immortality.
"O God!" cried he, still grasping the staff, and looking up to heaven;
"we got not this in possession through our own might, but thy right
hand and the light of thy countenance overthrew the enemy! Thine the
conquest, thine the glory!"
"Thus we consecrate the day to thee, Power of Heaven!" rejoined
Scrymgeour. "And let this standard be thine own; and whithersoever we
bear it, may we ever find it as the ark of our God!"
Wallace, feeling as if no eye looked on them but that of Heaven,
dropped on his knee; and rising again, took Sir Alexander by the hand;
"My brave friend," said he, "we have here planted the tree of freedom
in Scotland. Should I die in its defense, swear to bury me under its
branches; swear that no enslaved grounds shall cover my remains."
"I swear," cried Scrymgeour, laying his crossed hands upon the arm of
Wallace; "I swear with a double vow; by the blood of my brave
ancestors, whose valor gave me the name I bear; by the cross of St.
Andrew; and by your valiant self, never to sheath my sword, while I
have life in my body, until Scotland be entirely free!"
The colors fixed, Wallace and his brave colleague descended the tower;
and perceiving the earl and countess, who sat on a stone bench at the
end of the platform, approached them. The countess rose as the chiefs
drew near. Lord Mar took his friend by the hand, with a gratulation in
his eyes that was unutterable; his lady spoke, hardly conscious of what
she said; and Wallace, after a few minutes' discourse, proposed to the
earl to retire with Lady Mar into the citadel, where she would be more
suitably lodged than in their late prison. Lord Mar was obeying this
movement, when suddenly stopping, he exclaimed, "but where is that
wondrous boy--your pilot over these perilous rocks? let me give him a
soldier's thanks?"
Happy at so grateful a demand, Wallace beckoned Edwin, who, just
relieved from his guard, was standing at some distance. "Here," said
he, "is my knight of fifteen! for last night he proved himself more
worthy of his spurs than many a man who has received them from a king."
"He shall wear those of a king," rejoined the Lord Mar, unbuckling from
his feet a pair of golden spurs; "these were fastened on my heels by
our great king, Alexander, at the battle of Largs. I had intended them
for my only son; but the first knight in the cause of rescued Scotland
is the son of my heart and soul!"
As he spoke, he would have pressed the young hero to his breast; but
Edwin, trembling with emotion, slid down upon his knees, and clasping
the earl's hand, said, in a hardly audible voice, "Receive and pardon
the truant son of your sister Ruthven!"
"What!" exclaimed the veteran, "is it Edwin Ruthven that has brought me
this weight of honor? Come to my arms, thou dearest child of my
dearest Janet?"
The uncle and nephew were folded in each other's embrace. Lady Mar
wept, and Wallace, unable to bear the remembrance which such a scene
pressed upon his heart, turned away toward the battlements. Edwin
murmured a short explanation in the ear of his uncle; and then rising
from his arms, with his beautiful face glittering like an April day in
tears, allowed his gay cousin Murray to buckle the royal spurs on his
feet. The rite over, he kissed Lord Andrew's hand in token of
acknowledgment; and called on Sir William Wallace to bless the new
honors conferred on his knight.
Wallace turned toward Edwin, with a smile which partook more of heaven
than of earth. "Have we not performed our mutual promises?" said he;
"I brought you to the spot where you were to reveal your name, and you
have declared it to me by the voice of glory! Come, then, my brother,
let us leave your uncle awhile to seek his repose."
As he spoke, he bowed to the countess; and Edwin joyfully receiving his
arm, they walked together toward the eastern postern. Agitated with
the delightful surprise of thus meeting his favorite sister's son (whom
he had never seen since his infancy), and exhausted by the variety of
his late emotions, the earl speedily acquiesced in a proposal for rest,
and leaning on Lord Andrew, proceeded to the citadel.
The countess had other attractions: lingering at the side of the rough
knight of Torthorald, she looked back, and when she saw the object of
her gaze disappear through the gates, she sighed, and turning to her
conductor, walked by him in silence till they joined her husband in the
hall of the keep. Murray led the way into the apartments lately
occupied by De Valence. They were furnished with all the luxury of a
Southron nobleman. Lady Mar cast her eyes around the splendid chamber,
and seated herself on one of its tapestried couches. The earl, not
marking whether it were silk or rushes, placed himself beside her.
Murray drew a stool toward them, while Kirkpatrick, tired of his
gallant duty, abruptly took his leave.
"My dear Andrew," said the earl, "in the midst of this proud rejoicing
there is yet a canker at my heart. Tell me, that when my beloved Helen
disappeared in the tumult at Bothwell, she was under your protection?"
"She was," replied Murray; "and I thank the holy St. Fillan, she is now
in the sanctuary of his church."
Murray then recounted to his relieved uncle every event, from the
moment of his withdrawing behind the arras, to that of his confiding
the English soldier with the iron box to the care of the prior. Lord
Mar sighed heavily when he spoke of that mysterious casket. "Whatever
it contained," said he, "it has drawn after it much evil and much good.
The domestic peace of Wallace was ruined by it; and the spirit which
now restores Scotland to herself was raised by his wrongs."
"But tell me," added he, "do you think my daughter safe, so near a
garrison of the enemy?"
"Surely, my lord," cried the countess, too well remembering the
enthusiasm with which Helen had regarded even the unknown Wallace:
"surely you would not bring that tender child into a scene like this!
Rather send a messenger to convey her secretly to Thirlestan; at that
distance she will be safe, and under the powerful protection of her
grandfather."
The earl acquiesced in her opinion; and saying he would consult with
Wallace about the securest mode of travel for his daughter, again
turned to Lord Andrew, to learn further of their late proceedings. But
the countess, still uneasy, once more interrupted him.
"Alas! my lord, what would you do? His generous zeal will offer to go
in person for your daughter. We know not what dangers he might then
incur; and surely the champion of Scotland is not to be thrown into
peril for any domestic concern! If you really feel the weight of the
evils into which you have plunged Sir William Wallace, do not increase
it, by even hinting to him the present subject of your anxiety."
"My aunt is an oracle!" resumed Murray. "Allow me to be the happy
knight that is to bear the surrender of Dumbarton to my sweet cousin.
Prevail on Wallace to remain in this garrison till I return; and then
full tilt for the walls of old Sterling, and the downfall of Hughie
Cressingham!"
Both the countess and the earl were pleased with this arrangement. The
latter, by the persuasions of his nephew, retired into an inner chamber
to repose; and the former desired Lord Andrew to inform Wallace that
she should expect to be honored with his presence at noon, to partake
of such fare as the garrison afforded.
On Murray's coming from the citadel, he learned that Wallace was gone
toward the great tower. He followed him thither; and on issuing from
the postern which led to that part of the rock, saw the chief standing,
with his helmet off, in the midst of the slain.
"This is a sorry sight!" said he to Murray, as he approached; "but it
shall not long lie thus exposed. I have just ordered that these sad
wrecks of human strife may be lowered into the Clyde; its rushing
stream will soon carry them to a quiet grave beneath yon peaceful sea."
His own dead, amounting to no more than fifteen, were to be buried at
the foot of the rock, a prisoner in the castle having described steps
in the cliff by which the solemnity could easily be performed.
"But why, my dear commander," cried Lord Andrew, "why do you take any
thought about our enemies? Leave them where they are, and the eagles
of our mountains will soon find them graves."
"For shame, Murray!" was the reply of Wallace; "they are dead, and our
enemies no more. They are men like ourselves, and shall we deny them a
place in that earth whence we all sprung? We war not with human
nature; are we not rather the asserters of her rights?"
"I know," replied Lord Andrew, blushing, "that I am often the asserter
of my own folly; and I do not know how you will forgive my
inconsiderate impertinence."
"Because it was inconsiderate," replied Wallace. "Inhumanity is too
stern a guest to live in such a breast as yours."
"If I ever give her quarters," replied Murray, "I should most wofully
disgrace the companion she must meet there. Next to the honor of fair
Scotland, my cousin Helen is the goddess of my idolatry; and she would
forswear my love and kindred, could she believe me capable of feeling
otherwise than in unison with Sir William Wallace."
Wallace looked toward him with a benign pleasure in his countenance.
"Your fair cousin does me honor."
"Ah! my noble friend," cried Murray, lowering his gay tone to one of
softer expression; "if you knew all the goodness, all the nobleness
that dwells in her gentle heart, you would indeed esteem her--you would
love her as I do."
The blood fled from the cheek of Wallace. "Not as you do, Murray; I
can no more love a woman as you love her. Such scenes as these," cried
he, turning to the mangled bodies which the men were now carrying away
to the precipice of the Clyde, "have divorced woman's love from my
heart. I am all my country's, or I am nothing."
"Nothing!" reiterated Murray, laying his hand upon that of Wallace, as
it rested upon the hilt of the sword on which he leaned. "Is the
friend of mankind, the champion of Scotland, the beloved of a thousand
valuable hearts, nothing? Nay, art thou not the agent of Heaven, to be
the scourge of a tyrant? Art thou not the deliverer of thy country?"
Wallace turned his bright eye upon Murray with an expression of mingled
feelings. "May I be all this, my friend, and Wallace must yet be
happy! But speak not to me of love and woman; tell me not of those
endearing qualities I have prized too tenderly, and which are now
buried to me forever beneath the ashes of Ellerslie."
"Not under the ashes of Ellerslie," cried Murray, "sleep the remains of
your lovely wife." Wallace's penetrating eye turned quick upon him.
Murray continued: "My cousin's pitying soul stretched itself toward
them; by her directions they were brought from your oratory in the
rock, and deposited, with all holy rites, in the cemetery at Bothwell."
The glow that now animated the before chilled heart of Wallace,
overspread his face. His eyes spoke volumes of gratitude, his lips
moved, but his feelings were too big for utterance, and, fervently
pressing the hand of Murray, to conceal emotions ready to shake his
manhood, he turned away, and walked toward the cliff.
When all the slain were lowered to their last beds, a young priest, who
came in the company of Scrymgeour, gave the funeral benediction both to
the departed in the waves, and those whom the shore had received. The
rites over, Murray again drew near to Wallace and delivered his aunt's
message. "I shall obey her commands," returned he; "but first we must
visit our wounded prisoners in the tower."
Above three hundred of them had been discovered amongst the dead.
Murray gladly obeyed the impulse of his leader's arm; and, followed by
the chieftains returned from the late solemn duty, they entered the
tower. Ireland welcomed Wallace with the intelligence that he hoped he
had succored friends instead of foes, for that most of the prisoners
were poor Welsh peasants, whom Edward had torn from their mountains to
serve in his legions; and a few Irish, who in the heat of blood, and
eagerness for adventure, had enlisted in his ranks. "I have shown to
them," continued Ireland, "what fools they are to injure themselves in
us. I told the Welsh they were clinching their own chains by assisting
to extend the dominion of their conqueror; and I have convinced the
Irish they were forging fetters for themselves by lending their help to
enslave their brother nation, the free-born Scots. They only require
your presence, my lord, to forswear their former leaders, and to enlist
under Scottish banners."
"Thou art an able orator, my good Stephen," returned Wallace; "and
whatever promises thou hast made to honest men in the name of Scotland,
we are ready to ratify them. Is it not so?" added he, turning to
Kirkpatrick and Scrymgeour.
"All as you will," replied they in one voice. "Yes," added
Kirkpatrick; "you were the first to rise for Scotland, and who but you
has a right to command for her?"
Ireland threw open the door which led into the hall, and there, on the
ground, on pallets of straw, lay most of the wounded Southrons. Some
of their dimmed eyes had discerned their preserver, when he discovered
them expiring on the rock; and on sight of him now, they uttered such a
piercing cry of gratitude, that, surprised, he stood for a moment. In
that moment, five or six of the poor wounded wretches crawled to his
feet. "Our friend! our preserver!" burst from their lips, as they
kissed the edge of his plaid.
"Not to me, not to me!" exclaimed Wallace. "I am a soldier like
yourselves. I have only acted a soldier's part; but I am a soldier of
freedom, you of a tyrant, who seeks to enslave the world. This makes
the difference between us; this lays you at my feet, when I would more
willingly receive you into my arms as brothers in one generous cause."
"We are yours," was the answering exclamation of those who knelt, and
of those who raised their feebler voices from their beds of straw. A
few only remained silent. With many kind expressions of acceptance,
Wallace disengaged himself from those who clung around him, and then
moved toward the sick, who seemed too ill to speak. While repeating
the same consolatory language to them, he particularly observed an old
man who was lying between two young ones, and still kept a profound
silence. His rough features were marked with many a scar, but there
was a meek resignation in her face that powerfully struck Wallace.
When the chief drew near, the veteran raised himself on his arm, and
bowed his head with a respectful air. Wallace stopped. "You are an
Englishman?"
"I am, sir, and have no services to offer you. These two young men on
each side of me are my sons. There brother I lost last night in the
conflict. To-day, by your mercy, not only my life is preserved, but my
two remaining children also. Yet I am an Englishman, and I cannot be
grateful at the expense of my allegiance."
"Nor would I require it of you," returned Wallace; "these brave Welsh
and Irish were brought hither by the invader who subjugates their
countries; they owe him no duty. But you are a free subject of
England; he that is a tyrant over others can only be a king to you; he
must be the guardian of your laws, the defender of your liberties, or
his scepter falls. Having sworn to follow a sovereign so plighted, I
am not severe enough to condemn you, because, misled by that phantom
which he calls glory, you have suffered him to betray you into unjust
conquests."
"Once I have been so misled," returned the old man; "but I never will
again. Fifty years I have fought under the British standard, in
Normandy and in Palestine; and now in my old age, with four sons, I
followed the armies of my sovereign into Scotland. My eldest I lost on
the plains of Dunbar. My second fell last night; and my two youngest
are now by my side. You have saved them and me. What can I do? Not,
as your noble self says, forswear my country; but this I swear, and in
the oath do you, my sons, join (as he spoke they laid their crossed
hands upon his, in token of assent), never to lift an arm against Sir
William Wallace or the cause of injured Scotland!"
"To this we also subjoin!" cried several other men, who comprised the
whole of the English prisoners.
"Noble people!" cried Wallace, "why have you not a king worthy of you?"
"And yet," observed Kirkpatrick, in a surly tone, "Heselrigge was one
of these people!"
Wallace turned upon him with a look of so tremendous a meaning, that,
awed by an expression too mighty for him to comprehend, he fell back a
few paces, muttering curses, but on whom could not be heard.
"That man would arouse the tiger in our lion-hearted chief!" whispered
Scrymgeour to Murray.
"Ay," returned Lord Andrew; "but the royal spirit keeps the beast in
awe--see how coweringly that bold spirit now bows before it!"
Wallace marked the impression his glance had made, but where he had
struck, being unqilling to pierce also, he dispelled the thunder from
his countenance, and once more looking on Sir Roger with a frank
serenity. "Come," said he, "my good knight; you must not be more
tenacious for William Wallace than he is for himself! While he
possesses such a zealous friend as Kirkpatrick of Torthorald, he need
not now fear the arms of a thousand Heselrigges."
"No, nor of Edwards either," cried Kirkpatrick, once more looking
boldly up, and shaking his broad claymore: "My thistle has a point to
sting all to death who would pass between this arm and my leader's
breast."
"May heaven long preserve the valiant Wallace!" was the prayer of every
feeble voice, as he left the hall to visit his own wounded, in an upper
chamber. The interview was short and satisfactory. "Ah! sir," cried
one of them, "I cannot tell how it is, but when I see you, I feel as if
I beheld the very soul of my country, or its guardian angel, standing
before me--a something I cannot describe, but it fills me with courage
and comfort!"
"You see an honest Scot standing before you, my good Duncan," replied
Wallace; "and that is no mean personage; for it is one who knows no use
of his life but as it fulfills his duty to his country!"
"Oh that the sound of that voice could penetrate to every ear in
Scotland!" rejoined the soldier; "it would be more than the call of the
trumpet to bring them to the field!"
"And from the summit of this rock many have already heard it; and more
shall be so aroused!" cried Murray, returning from the door, to which
one of his men had beckoned him; "here is a man come to announce that
Malcolm, Earl of Lennox, passing by the foot of this rock, saw the
Scottish standard flying from its citadel; and, as overjoyed as amazed
at the sight, he sends to request the confidence of being admitted."
"Let me bring him hither!" interrupted Kirkpatrick; "he is brave as the
day, and will be a noble auxiliary."
"Every true Scot must be welcome to these walls," returned Wallace.
Kirkpatrick hastened from the tower to the northern side of the rock,
at the foot of which stood the earl and his train. With all the pride
of a freeman and a victor, Sir Roger descended the height. Lennox
advanced to meet him. "What is it I see? Sir Roger Kirkpatrick master
of this citadel, and our king's colors flying from its towers? Where
is the Earl de Valence? Where the English garrison?"
"The English garrison," replied Kirkpatrick, "are now twelve hundred
men beneath the waters of the Clyde. De Valence is fled; and this
fortress, manned with a few hardy Scots, shall sink into yon waves ere
it again bear the English dragon on its walls."
"And you, noble knight," cried Lennox, "have achieved all this? You
are the dawn to a blessed day for Scotland!"
"No," replied Kirkpatrick; "I am but a follower of the man who has
struck the blow. Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie is our chief; and
with the power of his virtues he subdues not only friends, but enemies,
to his command."
He then exultingly narrated the happy events of the last four and
twenty hours. The earl listened with wonder and joy. "What!" cried
he, "so noble a plan for Scotland, and I ignorant of it?-I, that have
not waked day or night, for many a month, without thinking or dreaming
of some enterprise to free my country--and behold it is achieved in a
moment! I see the stroke, as a bolt from Heaven; and I pray Heaven it
may light the sacrifice throughout the nation! Lead me, worthy knight,
lead me to your chief, for he shall be mine too: he shall command
Malcolm Lennox and all his clan."
Kirkpatrick gladly turned to obey him; and they mounted the ascent
together. Within the barbican gate stood Wallace, with Scrymgeour and
Murray. The earl knew Scrymgeour well, having often seen him in the
field as hereditary standard-bearer of the kingdom; of the persons of
the others he was ignorant.
"There is Wallace!" exclaimed Kirkpatrick.
"Not one of those very young men?" interrogated the earl.
"Even so," was the answer of the knight; "but his is the youth of the
brave son of Ammon; gray beards are glad to bow before his golden
locks, for beneath them is wisdom."
As he spoke they entered the barbican; and Wallace (whom the
penetrating eye of Lennox had already singled out for the chief)
advanced to meet his guest.
"Earl," said he, "you are welcome to Dumbarton Castle."
"Bravest of my countrymen!" returned Lennox, clasping him in his arms,
"receive a soldier's embrace, receive the gratitude of a loyal heart!
accept my service, my arms, my men: my all I devote to Scotland and the
great cause."
Wallace for a moment did not answer; but warmly straining the earl to
his breast, said, as he released him, "Such support will give sinews to
our power. A few months, and with the blessing of that arm which has
already mowed down the ranks which opposed us, we shall see Scotland at
liberty."
"And may Heaven, brave Wallace!" exclaimed Lennox, "grant us thine arm
to wield its scythe! But how have you accomplished this? How have
your few overthrown this English host?"
"He strikes home, when right points his sword," replied Wallace; "the
injuries of Scotland were my guide, and justice my companion. We
feared nothing, for God was with us; we feared nothing, and in his
might we conquered."
"And shall yet conquer!" cried Lennox, kindling with the enthusiasm
that blazed from the eyes of Wallace. "I feel the strength of our
cause; and from this hour, I devote myself to assert it, or to die."
"Not to die! my noble lord," said Murray; "we have yet many an eve to
dance over the buried fetters of Scotland. And as a beginning of our
jollities, I must remind our leader that my aunt's board awaits him."
Lord Lennox understood from this address it was the brave Murray who
spoke to him; for he had heard sufficient from Sir Roger Kirkpatrick to
explain how the Countess of Mar and her patriot husband came within
those walls.
The countess, having arrayed herself with all her powers to receive her
deliverer, awaited the hour of his arrival with an emotion at her
heart, which made it bound against her bosom, when she saw the object
of her splendid toil advancing along the courtyard. All others were
lost to her impatient eyes; and hastily rising from the window as the
chiefs entered the porch, she crossed the room to meet them at the door.
The Earl of Lennox stood amazed at sight of so much beauty and splendor
in such a scene. Lady mar had hardly attained her thirty-fifth year;
but from the graces of her person, and the address with which she set
forth all her charms, the enchanted gazer found it impossible to
suppose her more than three or four and twenty. Thus happily formed by
nature, and habited in a suit of velvet, overlaid with Cyprus-work of
gold, blazing with jewels, about her head, and her feet clad in
silver-fretted sandals, Lennox thought she looked more like some
triumphant queen, than a wife who had so lately shared captivity with
an outlawed husband.** Murray started at such unexpected magnificence
in his aunt. But Wallace scarcely observed it was anything unusual,
and bowing to her, presented the Earl of Lennox. She smiled; and
saying a few words of welcome to the earl, gave her hand to Wallace to
lead her back into the chamber.
**This is the style for state dress worn by noble ladies in the
thirteenth century.
Lord Mar had risen from his seat; and leaning on his sword (for his
warlike arm refused any other staff), stood up on their entrance. At
sight of Lord Lennox, he uttered an exclamation of glad surprise.
Lennox embraced him. "I, too, am come to enlist under the banners of
this young Leonidas."
"God armeth the patriot," was all the reply that Mar made, while the
big tears rolled over his cheek, and he shook him by the hand.
"I have four hundred stout Lennox men," continued the earl, "who by
to-morrow's eve shall be ready to follow our leader to the very
borders."
"Not so soon," interrupted the countess; "our deliverer needs repose."
"I thank your benevolence, Lady Mar," returned Wallace; "but the issue
of last night, and the sight of Lord Lennox this day, with the promise
of so great a support, are such aliments that--we must go forward."
"Ay, to be sure," joined Kirkpatrick; "Dumbarton was not taken during
our sleep; and if we stay loitering here, the devil that holds Stirling
Castle may follow the scent of De Valence; and so I lose my prey!"
"What?" cried the countess, "and is my lord to be left again to his
enemies? Sir William Wallace, I should have thought-"
"Everything, madam," rejoined he; "that is demonstrative of my devotion
to your venerable lord! But with a brave garrison, I hope you will
consider him safe here, until a wider range of security be won, to
enable you to retire to Braemar."
As the apostrophe to Wallace, in the latter part of the countess'
speech, had been addressed to himself in rather a low voice, his reply
was made in a similar tone, so that Lord Mar did not hear any part of
the answer, except the concluding words. But then he exclaimed, "Nay,
my ever-fearful Joanna, art thou making objections to keeping garrison
here?"
"I confess," replied Wallace, "that an armed citadel is not the most
pleasant abode for a lady; but at present, excepting perhaps the
church, it is the safest; and I would not advise your lady to remove
hence, until the plain be made as free as this mountain."
The sewer now announced the board in the hall; and the countess leading
the way, reluctantly gave her hand to the Earl of Lennox. Lord Mar
leaned on the arm of Wallace, who was followed by Edwin and the other
chieftains.