Berwick and the Tweed.
In the course of an hour Murray returned from having seen the departing
Southrons beyond the barriers of the township. But he did not come
alone; he was accompanied by Lord Auchinleck, the son of one of the
betrayed barons who had fallen in the palace of Ayr. This young
chieftain, at the head of his vassals, hastened to support the man
whose dauntless hand had thus satisfied his revenge; and when he met
Murray at the north gate of the town, and recognized in his flying
banners a friend of Scotland, he was happy to make himself known to an
officer of Wallace, and to be conducted to that chief.
While Lord Andrew and his new colleague were making the range of the
suburbs, the glad progress of the victor Scots had turned the whole
aspect of that gloomy city. Doors and windows, so recently closed in
deep mourning, for the sanguinary deeds done in the palace, now opened
teeming with smiling inhabitants. The general joy penetrated to the
most remote recesses. Mothers now threw their fond arms around the
necks of the children whom just before they had regarded with the
averted eyes of despair; in the one sex, they then beheld the victims
of, perhaps, the next requisition for blood; and in the other, the
hapless prey of passions, more felt than the horrid rage of the beast
of the field. But now all was secure again. These terrific tyrants
were driven hence; and the happy parent, embracing her offspring as if
restored from the grave, implored a thousand blessings on the head of
Wallace, the gifted agent of all this good.
Sons who in secret had lamented the treacherous death of their fathers,
and brothers of their brothers, now opened their gates, and joined the
valiant troops in the streets. Widowed wives and fatherless daughters
almost forgot they had been bereaved of their natural protectors, when
they saw Scotland rescued from her enemies, and her armed sons, once
more walking in the broad day, masters of themselves and of their
country's liberties.
Thus, then, with every heart rejoicing, every house teeming with
numbers to swell the ranks of Wallace, did he, the day after he had
entered Ayr, see all arranged for its peaceful establishment. But ere
he bade that town adieu, in which he had been educated, and where
almost every man, remembering its preserver's boyish years, thronged
round him with recollections of former days, one duty yet demanded his
stay: to pay funeral honors to the remains of his beloved grandfather.
Accordingly, the time was fixed; and with every solemnity due to his
virtues and his rank, Sir Ronald Crawford was buried in the chapel of
the citadel. It was not a scene of mere ceremonious mourning. As he
had been the father of the fatherless, he was followed to the grave by
many an orphan's tears; and as he had been the protector of the
distressed of every degree, a procession, long and full of lamentation,
conducted his shrouded corpse to its earthly rest. The mourning
families of the chiefs who had fallen in the same bloody theater with
himself, closed the sad retinue; and while the holy rites committed his
body to the ground, the sacred mass was extended to those who had been
plunged into the weltering element.
While Wallace confided the aged Elspa and her sister to the care of Sir
Reginald Crawford, to whom he also resigned the lands of his
grandfather; "Cousin," said he, "you are a valiant and a humane man! I
leave you to be the representative of your venerable uncle; to cherish
these poor women whom he loved; to be the protector of his people and
the defender of the town. The citadel is under the command of the
Baron of Auchinleck; he, with his brave followers, being the first to
hail the burning of the accursed Barns of Ayr."
After this solemnity, and these dispositions, Wallace called a review
of his troops; and found that he could leave five hundred men at Ayr,
and march an army of at least two thousand out of it.
His present design was to take his course to Berwick; and, by seizing
every castle of strength in his way, form a chain of works across the
country, which would not only bulwark Scotland against any further
inroads from its enemies, but render the subjugation of the interior
Southron garrisons more certain and easy.
On the third morning after the conflagration of the palace, Wallace
quitted Ayr; and marching over its far-stretching hills, manned every
watch-tower on their summits. For now, whithersoever he moved, he
found his victories had preceded him; and all, from hall to hovel,
turned out to greet and offer him their services. Thus, heralded by
fame, the panic-struck Southron governors fled at the distant view of
his standards; the flames of Ayr seemed to menace them all, and castle
and fortalice, from Muirkirk to the walls of Berwick, opened their
gates before him.
Arrived under those blood-stained towers which had so often been the
objects of dispute between the powers of England and of Scotland, he
prepared for their immediate attack. Berwick being a valuable fortress
to the enemy, not only as a key to the invaded kingdom, but a point
whence by their ships they commanded the whole of the eastern coast of
Scotland, Wallace expected that a desperate stand would be made here to
stop the progress of his arms. But being aware that the most
expeditious mode of warfare was the best adapted to promote his cause,
he first took the town by assault; and then, having driven the garrison
into the citadel, assailed it by a vigorous seige.
After ten days hard duty before the walls, Wallace devised a plan to
obtain possession of the English ships which commanded the harbor. He
found among his own troops many men who had been used to a seafaring
life; these he disguised as fugitive Southrons from the late defeats,
and sent in boats to the enemy's vessels which lay in the roads. The
feint took; and by these means getting possession of those nearest the
town, he manned them with his own people; and going out with them
himself, in three days made himself master of every ship on the coast.
By this maneuver the situation of the beseiged was rendered so
hopeless, that no mode of escape was left but by desperate sallies.
They made them, but without other effect than weakening their strength
and increasing their miseries. Wallace was for them to do in their
situation, he needed no better spy over their actions than his own
judgment.
Foiled in every attempt, as their opponent, guessing their intentions,
was prepared at every point to meet their different essays, and losing
men at every rencounter, their governor stood without resource.
Without provisions, without aid of any kind for his wounded men, and
hourly annoyed by the victorious Scots, who continued day and night to
throw showers of arrows, and other missile weapons, from the towers and
springalls with which they had overtopped the walls, the unhappy Earl
of Gloucester seemed ready to rush on death, to avoid the disgrace of
surrendering the fortress. Every soul in the garrison was reduced to
similar despair. Wallace even found means to dam up the spring which
had supplied the citadel with water. The common men, famished with
hunger, smarting with wounds, and now perishing with inextinguishable
thirst, threw themselves at the feet of their officers, imploring them
to represent to their royal governor that if he held out longer, he
must defend the place alone, for they could not exist another day under
their present sufferings.
The earl indeed repented the rashness with which he had thrown himself
unprovisioned into the citadel. He now saw that expectation was no
apology for want of precaution. When his first division had been
overpowered in the assault on the town, his evil genius then suggested
that it was best to take the second unbroken into the citadel, and
there await the arrival of a reinforcement by sea. But he thence
beheld the ships which had defended the harbor seized by Wallace before
his eyes. Hope was then crushed, and nothing but death or dishonor
seemed to be his alternatives. Cut to the soul at the consequences of
his want of judgment, he determined to retrieve his fame by washing out
that error with his blood. To fall under the ruins of Berwick Castle
was his resolution. Such was the state of his mind when his officers
appeared with the petition from his men. In proportion as they felt
the extremities into which they were driven, the offense he had
committed glared with tenfold enormity in his eyes; and, in a wild
despair, he told them "they might do as they would, but for his part,
the moment they opened the gates to the enemy, that moment should be
the last of his life. He, that was the son-in-law of King Edward,
would never yield his sword to a Scottish rebel."
Terrified at these threats on himself, the soldiers, who loved their
general, declared themselves willing to die with him; and, as a last
effort, proposed making a mine under the principal tower of the Scots;
and by setting fire to it, at least destroy the means by which they
feared their enemies might storm the citadel.
As Wallace gave his orders from this commanding station, he observed
the besieged passing in numbers behind a mound, in the direction of the
tower where he stood: he concluded what was their design; and ordering
a countermine to be made, what he anticipated happened; and Murray, at
the head of his miners, encountered those of the castle at the very
moment they would have set fire to the combustibles laid to consume the
tower. The instant struggle was violent, but short; for the impetuous
Scots drove their amazed and enfeebled adversaries through the
aperture, back into the citadel. At this crisis, Wallace, with a band
of resolute men, sprung from the tower upon the wall; and it being
almost deserted by its late guards (who had quitted their post to
assist in repelling the foe below), he leaped into the midst of the
conflict and the battle became general. It was decisive; for beholding
the undaunted resolution with which the weakened and dying were
supporting the cause their governor was determined to defend to the
last, Wallace found his admiration and his pity alike excited; and even
while his followers seemed to have each his foe's life in his hands,
when one instant more would make him the undisputed master of the
castle (for not a Southron would then breathe to dispute it), he
resolved to stop the carnage. At the moment when a gallant officer,
who, having assaulted him with the vehemence of despair, now lay
disarmed under him; at that moment when the discomfited knight
exclaimed, "In mercy strike, and redeem the honor of Ralph de
Monthermer!"** Wallace raised his bugle and sounded the note of peace.
Every sword was arrested, and the universal clangor of battle was
hushed in expecting silence.
**Ralph de Monthermer, a noble knight who married Jane of Acre, the
daughter of King Edward I. He was created Earl of Gloucester on his
marriage with that princess.-(1809.)
"Rise, brave earl," cried Wallace, to the governor; "I revere virtue
too sincerely to take an unworthy advantage of my fortune. The valor
of this garrison commands my respect; and, as a proof of my sincerity,
I grant to it what I have never yet done to any: that yourself and
these dauntless men march out with the honors of war, and without any
bonds on your future conduct toward us. We leave it to your own hearts
to decide whether you will ever be again made instruments to enchain a
free and brave people."
While he was speaking, De Monthermer leaned gloomily on the sword he
had returned to him, with his eyes fixed on his men. They answered his
glance with looks that said they understood him: and passing a few
words in whispers to each other, one at last spoke aloud: "Decide for
us, earl. We are as ready to die as to live; so that in neither we may
be divided from you."
At this generous declaration the proud despair of De Monthermer gave
way to nobler feelings; and while a big tear stood in each eye, he
turned to Wallace, and stretching out his hand to him. "Noble Scot,"
said he, "your unexampled generosity, and the invincible fidelity of
these heroic men, have compelled me to accept the life I had resolved
to lose under these walls, rather than resign them. But virtue is
resistless, and to it do I surrender that pride of soul which made
existence insufferable under the consciousness of having erred. When I
became the husband of King Edward's daughter, I believed myself pledged
to victories or to death. But there is a conquest, and I feel it,
greater than over hosts in the field; and here taught to make it, the
husband of the princess of England, the proud Earl of Gloucester,
consents to live to be a monument of Scottish nobleness, and of the
inflexible fidelity of English soldiers."
"You live, illustrious and virtuous Englishmen," returned Wallace, "to
redeem that honor of which too many rapacious sons of England have
robbed their country. Go forth, therefore, as my conqueror, for you
have on this spot extinguished that burning antipathy with which the
outraged heart of William Wallace had vowed to extirpate every Southron
from off this ravaged land. Honor, brave earl, makes all men brethren;
and, as a brother, I open these gates for you, to repass into your
country. When there, if you ever remember William Wallace, let it be
as a man who fights, not for conquest or renown, but to restore
Scotland to her rights, and then resign his sword to peace."
"I shall remember you, Sir William Wallace!" returned De Monthermer;
"and, as a pledge of it, you shall never see me again in this country
till I come an embassador of that peace for which you fight. But
meanwhile, in the moment of hot contention for the rights which you
believe wrested from you, do you remember that they have not been so
much the spoil of my royal father's ambition as the traffic of your own
venal nobles. Had I not believed that Scotland was unworthy of
freedom, I should never have appeared upon her borders; but now that I
see that she has brave hearts within her, who not only resist
oppression, but know how to wield power, I detest the zeal with which I
volunteered to rivet her chains. And I repeat, that never again shall
my hostile foot impress this land."
These sentiments were answered in the same spirit by his soldiers; and
the Scots, following the example of their leader, treated them with
every kindness. After dispensing amongst them provisions, and
appointing means to convey the wounded in comfort, Wallace bade a
cordial farewell to the Earl of Gloucester, and his men conducted their
reconciled enemies over the Tweed. There they parted. The English
bent their course toward London, and the Scots returned to their
victorious general.