Stirling.
The happy effects of these rapid conquests were soon apparent. The
fall of Berwick excited such a confidence in the minds of the
neighboring chieftains, that every hour brought fresh recruits to
Wallace. Every mouth was full of the praises of the young conqueror;
every eye was eager to catch a glimpse of his person; and while the men
were emulous to share his glory, the women in their secret bowers put
up prayers for the preservation of one so handsome and so brave.
Amongst the many of every rank and age who hastened to pay their
respects to the deliverer of Berwick, was Sir Richard Maitland, of
Thirlestane, the Stawlart Knight of Lauderdale.**
**Sir Richard Maitland, of the castle of Thirlestane on the Leeder, is
noted in Scottish tradition for his bravery. His valiant defense of
his castle against the English in his extreme old age, is still the
subject of enthusiasm amongst the people of Lauderdale.
Wallace was no sooner told of the approach of the venerable chief, than
he set forth to bid him welcome. At sight of the champion of Scotland,
Sir Richard threw himself off his horse with a military grace that
might have become even youthful years; and hastening toward Wallace,
clasped him in his arms.
"Let me look on thee!" cried the old knight; "let me feast my eyes on
the true Scot, who again raises this hoary head, so long bent in shame
for its dishonored country!" While he spoke, he viewed Wallace from
head to foot. "I knew Sir Ronald Crawford, and thy valiant father,"
continued he, "O! had they lived to see this day! But the base murder
of the one thou hast nobly avenged, and the honorable grave of the
other, on Loudon Hill,** thou wilt cover with a monument of thine own
glories. Low are laid my own children, in this land of strife, but in
thee I see a son of Scotland that is to dry all our tears."
**Sir Malcolm Wallace, the father of Sir William Wallace, was killed in
the year 1295, on Loudon Hill, in a battle with the English.
He embraced Wallace again and again; and, as the veteran's overflowing
heart rendered him garrulous, he expatiated on the energy with which
the young victor had pursued his conquests, and paralleled them with
the brilliant actions he had seen in his youth. While he thus
discoursed, Wallace drew him toward the castle, and there presented to
him the two nephews of the Earl of May.
He paid some warm compliments to Edwin on his early success in the
career of glory; and then turning to Murray: "Ay!" said he, "it is joy
to me to see the valiant house of Bothwell in the third generation.
Thy grandfather and myself were boys together at the coronation of
Alexander the Second; and that is eighty years ago. Since then, what
have I not seen! the death of two noble Scottish kings! our blooming
princes ravished from us by untimely fates! the throne sold to a
coward, and at last seized by a foreign power! Then, in my own person,
I have been the father of as brave and beauteous a family as ever
blessed a parent's eye; but they are all torn from me. Two of my sons
sleep on the plains of Dunbar; my third, my dauntless William, since
that fatal day, has been kept a prisoner in England. And my daughters,
the tender blossoms of my aged years--they grew around me, the fairest
lilies of the land: but they, too, are passed away. The one, scorning
the mere charms of youth, and preferring a union with a soul that had
long conversed with superior regions, loved the sage of Ercildown. But
my friend lost this rose of his bosom, and I the child of my heart, ere
she had been a year his wife. Then was my last and only daughter
married to the Lord Mar; and in giving birth to my dear Isabella she,
too, died. Ah, my good young knight, were it not for that sweet child,
the living image of her mother, who in the very spring of youth was
cropped and fell, I should be alone: my hoary head would descend to the
grave, unwept, unregretted!"
The joy of the old man having recalled such melancholy remembrances, he
wept upon the shoulder of Edwin, who had drawn so near, that the story,
was begun to Murray, was ended to him. To give the mourning father
time to recover himself, Wallace was moving away, when he was met by
Ker, bringing information that a youth had just arrived in breathless
haste from Stirling, with a sealed packet, which he would not deliver
into any hands but those of Sir William Wallace. Wallace requested his
friends to show every attention to the Lord of Thirlestane, and then
withdrew to meet the messenger.
On his entering the ante-room, the youth sprung forward, but suddenly
checking himself, he stood as if irresolute whom to address.
"This is Sir William Wallace, young man," said Ker; "deliver your
embassy."
At these words the youth pulled a packet from his bosom, and putting it
into the chief's hand, retired in confusion. Wallace gave orders to
Ker to take care of him, and then turned to inspect its contents. He
wondered from whom it would come, aware of no Scot in Stirling who
would dare to write to him while that town was possessed by the enemy.
But not losing a moment in conjecture, he broke the seal.
How was he startled at the first words! and how was every energy of his
heart roused to redoubled action when he turned to the signature! The
first words in the letter were these:
"A daughter, trembling for the life of her father, presumes to address
Sir William Wallace." The signature was "Helen Mar." He began the
letter again:
"A daughter, trembling for the life of her father, presumes to address
Sir William Wallace. Alas! it will be a long letter! for it is to tell
of our countless distresses. You have been his deliverer from the
sword, from chains, and from the waves. Refuse not to save him again
to whom you have so often given life, and hasten, brave Wallace, to
preserve the Earl of Mar from the scaffold.
"A cruel deception brought him from the Isle of Bute, where you
imagined you had left him in security. Lord Aymer de Valence, escaping
a second time from your sword, fled under rapacious robber of all our
castles, found in him an apt coadjutor. They concerted how to avenge
your late successes; and Cressingham, eager to enrich himself, while he
flattered the resentments of his commander, suggested that you, Sir
William Wallace, our deliverer, and our enemy's scourge, would most
easily be made to feel through the bosoms of your friends. These cruel
men have therefore determined, by a mock trial, to condemn my father to
death, and thus, while they distress you, put themselves in possession
of his lands, with the semblance of justice.
"The substance of this most unrighteous debate was communicated to me
by De Valence himself; thinking to excuse his part in the affair by
proving to me how insensible he is to the principles which move alike a
patriot and a man of honor.
"Having learned from some too well-informed spy that Lord Mar had
retired in peaceful obscurity to Bute, these arch-enemies to our
country sent a body of men disguised as Scots to Gourock. There they
dispatched a messenger into the island to inform Lord Mar that Sir
William Wallace was on the banks of the Frith waiting to converse with
him. My noble father, unsuspicious of treachery, hurried to the
summons. Lady Mar accompanied him, and so both fell into the snare.
"They were brought prisoners to Stirling, where another affliction
awaited him;-he was to see his daughter and his sister in captivity.
"After I had been betrayed from St. Fillian's monastery by the
falsehoods of one Scottish knight, and were rescued from his power by
the gallantry of another, I sought the protection of my aunt, Lady
Ruthven, who then dwelt at Alloa, on the banks of the Forth. Her
husband had been invited to Ayr by some treacherous requisition of the
governor, Arnuf; and with many other lords was thrown into prison.
Report says, bravest of men, that you have given freedom to my betrayed
uncle.
"The moment Lord Ruthven's person was secured, his estates were seized,
and my aunt and myself being found at Alloa, we were carried prisoners
to this city. Alas! we had then no valiant arm to preserve us from our
enemies! Lady Ruthven's first born son was slain in the fatal day of
Dunbar, and in terror of the like fate, she placed her eldest surviving
boy in a convent.
"Some days after our arrival, my dear father was brought to Stirling.
Though a captive in the town, I was not then confined to any closer
durance than the walls. While he was yet passing through the streets,
rumor told my aunt that the Scottish lord then leading to prison was
her beloved brother. She flew to me in agony to tell me the dreadful
tidings. I heard no more, saw no more, till, having rushed into the
streets, and bursting through every obstacle of crowd and soldiers, I
found myself clasped in my father's arms--in his shackled arms! What a
moment was that! Where was Sir William Wallace in that hour? Where
the brave unknown knight, who had sworn to me to seek my father, and
defend him with his life? Both were absent, and he was in chains.
"My grief and distraction baffled the attempts of the guards to part
us, and what became of me I know not until I found myself lying on a
couch, attended by many women, and supported by my aunt. When I had
recovered to lamentation and to tears, my aunt told me I was in the
apartments of the deputy warden. He, with Cressingham, having gone out
to meet the man they had so basely drawn into their toils, De Valence
himself saw the struggles of paternal affection contending against the
men who would have torn a senseless daughter from his arms, and yet,
merciless man! he separated us, and sent me, with my aunt, a prisoner
to his house.
"The next day a packet was put into my aunt's hands, containing a few
precious lines from my father to me, also a letter from the countess to
Lady Ruthven, full of your goodness to her and to my father, and
narrating the cruel manner in which they had been ravished from the
asylum in which you had placed them. She then said that could she find
means of apprising you of the danger to which she and her husband are
now involved, she would be sure of a second rescue. Whether she has
blessedly found these means I know not, for all communication between
us, since the delivery of that letter, has been rendered impracticable.
The messenger that brought the packet was a good Southron, who had
been won by Lady Mar's entreaties. But on his quitting our apartments,
he was seized by a servant of De Valence, and on the same day put
publicly to death, to intimidate all others from the like compassion to
the sufferings of unhappy Scotland. Oh! Sir William Wallace, will not
your sword reach these men of blood?
"Earl de Valence compelled my aunt to yield the packet to him. We had
already read it, therefore did not regret it on that head, but feared
the information it might give relative to you. In consequence of this
circumstance, I was made a closer prisoner. But captivity could have
no terrors for me, did it not divide me from my father. And, grief on
grief! what words have I to write it? they have CONDEMNED HIM TO DIE!
That fatal letter of my step-mother's was brought out against him, and
as your adherent, Sir William Wallace, they have sentenced him to lose
his head!
"I have knelt to Earl de Valence; I have implored my father's life at
his hands, but to no purpose. He tells me that Cressingham, at his
side, and Ormsby, by letters from Scone, declare it necessary that an
execution of consequence should be made to appall the discontented
Scots; and that as no lord is more esteemed in Scotland than the Earl
of Mar, he must be the sacrifice.
"Hasten, then, my father's preserver and friend! hasten to save him!
Oh, fly, for the sake of the country he loves; for the sake of the
hapless beings dependent on his protection! I shall be on my knees
till I hear your trumpet before the walls; for in you and Heaven now
rest all the hopes of Helen Mar."
A cold dew stood on the limbs of Wallace as he closed the letter. It
might be too late! The sentence was passed on the earl, and his
executioners were prompt as cruel: the ax might already have fallen.
He called to Ker, for the messenger to be brought in. He entered.
Wallace inquired how long he had been from Stirling. "Only thirty-four
hours," replied the youth, adding that he had traveled night and day
for fear the news of the risings in Annandale, and the taking of
Berwick, should precipitate the earl's death.
"I accompany you this instant," cried Wallace! "Ker, see that the
troops get under arms." As he spoke he turned into the room where he
had left the Knight of Thirlestane.
"Sir Richard Maitland," said he, willing to avoid exciting his alarm,
"there is more work for us at Stirling. Lord Aymer de Valence has
again escaped the death we thought had overtaken him, and is now in
that citadel. I have just received a summons thither, which I must
obey." At these words, Sir Roger Kirkpatrick gave a shout and rushed
from the apartment. Wallace looked after him for a moment, and then
continued: "Follow us with your prayers, Sir Richard; and I shall not
despair of sending blessed tidings to the banks of the Lauder."
"What has happened?" inquired Murray, who saw that something more than
the escape of De Valence had been imparted to his general.
"We must spare this good old man," returned he, "and have him conducted
to his home before I declare it publicly; but the Earl of Mar is again
a prisoner, and in Stirling."
Murray, who instantly comprehended his uncle's danger speeded the
departure of Sir Richard; and as Wallace held his stirrup, the chief
laid his hand on his head, and blessed him. "The seer of Ercildown is
too ill to bring his benediction himself, but I breathe it over this
heroic brow!" Wallace bowed his head in silence; and the bridle being
in the hand of Lord Andrew, he led the horse out of the eastern gate of
the town, where, taking leave of the veteran knight, he soon rejoined
his commander, whom he found in the midst of his chieftains.
He had informed them of the Earl of Mar's danger, and the policy as
well as justice of rescuing so powerful and patriotic a nobleman from
the threatened execution. Lord Ruthven needed no arguments to
precipitate him to the assistance of his brother and his wife; and the
anxieties of the affectionate Edwin were all awake when he knew that
his mother was a prisoner. Lord Andrew smiled proudly when he returned
his cousin's letter to Wallace. "We shall have the rogue on the nail
yet," cried he; "my uncle's brave head is not ordained to fall by the
stroke of such a coward!"
"So I believe," replied Wallace; and then turning to Lord Dundaff-"My
lord," said he, "I leave you governor of Berwick."
The veteran warrior grasped Wallace's hand. "To be your representative
in this fortress, is the proudest station this warworn frame hath ever
filled. My son must be my representative with you in the field." He
waved Sir John Graham toward him; the young knight advanced, and Lord
Dundaff, placing his son's hands upon his target, continued, "Swear,
that as this defends the body, you will ever strive to cover Scotland
from her enemies; and that from this hour you will be the faithful
friend and follower of Sir William Wallace."
"I swear," returned Graham, kissing the shield. Wallace pressed his
hand. "I have brothers around me, rather than what the world calls
friends! And with such valor, such fidelity to aid me, can I be
otherwise than a victor? Heaven's anointed sword is with such
fellowship!"
Edwin, who stood near this rite of generous enthusiasm, softly
whispered to Wallace, as he turned toward his troops, "But amongst all
these brothers, cease not to remember Edwin--the youngest and the least.
Ah, my beloved general, what Jonathan was to David, I would be to
thee!"
Wallace looked on him with penetrating tenderness; his heart was
suddenly wrung by a recollection, which the words of Edwin had
recalled. "But thy love, Edwin, passes not the love of woman!" "But
it equals it," replied he; "what has been done for thee I would do;
only love me as David did Jonathan, and I shall be the happiest of the
happy." "Be happy then, dear boy!" answered Wallace; "for all that
ever beat in human breast, for friend or brother, lives in my heart for
thee."
At that moment Sir John Graham rejoined them; and some other captains
coming up. Wallace made the proper military dispositions, and every
man took his station at the head of his division.
Until the men had marched far beyond the chance of rumors reaching
Thirlestane, they were not informed of the Earl of Mar's danger. They
conceived their present errand was the recapture of De Valence. "But
at a proper moment," said Wallace, "they shall know the whole truth;
for," added he, "as it is a law of equity, that what concerns all,
should be approved by all, and that common dangers should be repelled
by united efforts, the people who follow our standards, not as
hirelings, but with willing spirits, ought to know our reasons for
requiring their services."
"They who follow you," said Graham, "have too much confidence in their
leader, to require any reasons for his movements."
"It is to place that confidence on a sure foundation, my brave
friends," returned Wallace, "that I explain what there is no just
reason to conceal. Should policy ever compel me to strike a blow
without previously telling my agents wherefore, I should then draw upon
their faith, and expect that confidence in my honor and arms which I
now place on their discretion and fidelity."
Exordiums were not requisite to nerve every limb, and to strengthen
every heart in the toilsome journey. Mountains were climbed, vast
plains traversed, rivers forded, and precipices crossed, without one
man in the ranks lingering on its steps, or dropping his head upon his
pike, to catch a moment's slumber. Those who had fought with Wallace,
longed to redouble their fame under his command; and they who had
recently embraced his standard, panted with a virtuous ambition to
rival those first-born in arms.
Sir Roger Kirkpatrick had been the first to fly to arms, on the march
to Stirling being mentioned; and when Wallace stood forward to declare
that rest should be dispensed with till Stirling fell, full of a fierce
joy, the ardent knight darted over every obstacle to reach his aim. He
flew to the van of his troops, and hailing them forward: "Come on!"
cried he, "and in the blood of Cressingham let us forever sink King
Edward's Scottish crown."
The shouts of the men, who seemed to drink in the spirit that blazed
from Kirkpatrick's eyes, made the echoes of Lammermuir ring with a
long-estranged noise. It was the voice of liberty. Leaping every
bound, the eager van led the way; and, with prodigious perseverance,
dragging their war-machines in the rear, the rest pressed on, till they
reached the Carron side. At the moment the foaming steed of Wallace,
smoking with the labors of a long and rapid march, was plunging into
the stream to take the form, Ker snatched the bridle of the horse: "My
lord," cried he, "a man on full speed from Douglas Castle has brought
this packet."
In his march to Ayr, Wallace had left Sir Eustace Maxwell governor of
that castle, and Monteith as his lieutenant.
Wallace opened the packet and read as follows:
"The patriots in Annandale have been beaten by Lord de Warenne. Sir
John Monteith (who volunteered to head them) is taken prisoner, with
twelve hundred men.
"Earl de Warenne comes to resume his arrogant title of Lord Warden of
Scotland, and thereby to relieve his deputy, Aymer de Valence, who is
recalled to take possession of the lordship of Pembroke. In pursuance
of his usurping commission, the earl is now marching rapidly toward the
Lothians, in the hope of intercepting you in your progress.
"Thanks to the constant information you send us of your movements, for
being able to surprise you of this danger! I should have attempted to
have checked the Southron, by annoying his flanks, had not his numbers
rendered such an enterprise on my part hopeless. But his aim being to
come up with you, if you meet him in the van, we shall have him in the
rear; and, so surrounded, he must be cut to pieces. Surely the tree
you planted in Dumbarton, is not now to be blasted!
"Ever your general's and Scotland's true servant,
"Eustace Maxwell."
"What answer?" inquired Ker.
Wallace hastily engraved with his dagger's point upon his gauntlet,
"Reviresco!** Our sun is above!" and desiring it to be given to the
messenger to carry to Sir Eustace Maxwell, he refixed himself in his
saddle, and spurred over the Carron.
**Reviresco! means "I bud again!" This encouraging word is now the
reuto of the Maxwell arms.
The moon was near her meridian as the wearied troops halted on the deep
shadows of the Carse of Stirling. All around them was desolation; the
sword and the fire had been there, not in open declared warfare, but
under the darkness of midnight, and impelled by rapacity and
wantonness; hence from the base of the rock, even to the foot of the
Clackmannan Hills, all lay a smoking wilderness.
An hour's rest was sufficient to restore every exhausted power to the
limbs of the determined followers of Wallace; and, as the morning
dawned, the sentinels on the ramparts of the town were not only
surprised to see a host below, but that (by the most indefatigable
labor, and a silence like death) had not merely passed the ditch, but
having gained the counterscarp, had fixed their movable towers, and
were at that instant overlooking the highest bastions. The mangonels
and petraries, and other implements for battering walls, and the
ballista, with every efficient means of throwing missive weapons, were
ready to discharge their artillery upon the heads of the beseiged.
At a sight so unexpected, which seemed to have arisen out of the earth
like an exhalation (with such muteness and expedition had the Scottish
operations been carried on), the Southrons, struck with dread, fled a
moment from the walls; but immediately recovering their presence of
mind, they returned, and discharged a cloud of arrows upon their
assailants. A messenger, meanwhile, was sent into the citadel to
apprise De Valence and the Governor Cressingham of the assault. The
interior gates now sent forth thousands to the walls; but in proportion
to the numbers which approached, the greater was the harvest of death
prepared for the terrible arm of Wallace, whose tremendous war wolves
throwing prodigious stones, and lighter springalls, casting forth
brazen darts, swept away file after file of the reinforcements. It
grieved the noble heart of the Scottish commander to see so many
valiant men urged to inevitable destruction; but still they advanced,
and that his own might be preserved they must fall. To shorten the
bloody contest, his direful weapons were worked with redoubled energy;
and so mortal a shower fell that the heavens seemed to rain iron. The
crushed and stricken enemy, shrinking under the mighty tempest, forsook
their ground.
The ramparts deserted, Wallace sprung from his tower upon the walls.
At that moment De Valence opened one of the gates; and, at the head of
a formidable body, charged the nearest Scots. A good soldier is never
taken unawares, and Murray and Graham were prepared to receive him.
Furiously driving him to a retrograde motion, they forced him back into
the town. But there all was confusion. Wallace, with his resolute
followers, had already put Cressingham and his legions to flight; and,
closely pursued by Kirkpatrick, they threw themselves into the castle.
Meanwhile, the victorious Wallace surrounded the amazed De Valence,
who, caught in double toils, called to his men to fight for their king,
and neither give nor take quarter.
The brave fellows too strictly obeyed; and while they fell on all
sides, he supported them with a courage which horror of Wallace's
vengeance for his grandfather's death, and the attempt on his own life
in the hall at Dumbarton, rendered desperate. At last he encountered
the conquering chief, arm to arm. Great was the dismay of De Valence
at this meeting; but as death was now all he saw before him, he
resolved, if he must die, that the soul of his enemy should attend him
to the other world.
He fought, not with the steady valor of a warrior determined to
vanquish or die; but with the fury of despair, with the violence of a
hyena, thirsting for the blood of his opponent. Drunk with rage, he
made a desperate plunge at the heart of Wallace--a plunge, armed with
execrations, and all his strength; but his sword missed its aim, and
entered the side of a youth, who at that moment had thrown himself
before his general. Wallace saw where the deadly blow fell; and
instantly closing on the earl--with a vengeance in his eyes, which
reminded his now determined victim of the horrid vision he had seen in
the burning Barns of Ayr--with one grasp of his arm, the incensed chief
hurled him to the ground; and setting his foot upon his breast, would
have buried his dagger there, had not De Valence dropped his uplifted
sword, and with horror in every feature, raised his clasped hands in
speechless supplication.
Wallace suspended the blow; and De Valence exclaimed: "My life! this
once again, gallant Wallace! by your hopes of heaven, grant me mercy!"
Wallace looked on the trembling recreant with a glare, which, had he
possessed the soul of a man, would have made him grasp at death, rather
than deserve a second. "And hast thou escaped me again?" cried
Wallace. Then turning his indignant eyes from the abject earl to his
bleeding friend-"I yield him his life, Edwin, and you, perhaps, are
slain?"
"Forget not our own bright principle to avenge me," said Edwin, as
brightly smiling; "he has only wounded me. But you are safe, and I
hardly feel a smart."
Wallace replaced his dagger in his girdle. "Rise, Lord de Valence; it
is my honor, not my will, that grants your life. You threw away your
arms! I cannot strike even a murderer who bares his breast. I give
you that mercy you denied to nineteen unoffending, defenseless old men,
whose hoary heads your ruthless ax brought with blood to the ground.
Let memory be the sword I have withheld!"
While he spoke, De Valence had risen, and stood, conscience-stricken,
before the majestic mien of Wallace. There was something in this
denunciation that sounded like the irreversible decree of a divinity;
and the condemned wretch quaked beneath the threat, while he panted for
revenge.
The whole of the survivors in De Valence's train having surrendered
themselves when their leader fell, in a few minutes Wallace was
surrounded by his chieftains, bringing in the colors, and the swords of
their prisoners.
"Sir Alexander Ramsay," said he, to a brave and courteous knight, who
with his kinsman, William Blair, had joined him in the Lothians; "I
confide Earl de Valence, to your care. See that he is strongly
guarded; and has every respect according to the honor of him to whom I
commit this charge."
The town was now in possession of the Scots; and Wallace, having sent
off the rest of his prisoners to safe quarters, reiterated his
persuasions to Edwin, to have the ground, and submit his wounds to the
surgeon. "No, no," replied he; "the same hand that gave me this,
inflicted a worse on my general at Dumbarton: he kept the field then;
and shall I retire now, and disgrace my example? No, my brother; you
would not have me so disprove my kindred!"
"Do as you will," answered Wallace, with a grateful smile; "so that you
preserve a life that must never again be risked to save mine. While it
is necessary for me to live, my Almighty Captain will shield me; but
when his word goes forth, that I shall be recalled, it will not be in
the power of friendship, nor of hosts, to turn the steel from my
breast. Therefore, dearest Edwin, thrown not yourself away, in
defending what is in the hands of Heaven--to be lent, or to be withdrawn
at will."
Edwin bowed his modest head; and having suffered a balsam to be poured
into his wound, braced his brigandine over his breast; and was again at
the side of his friend, just as he had joined Kirkpatrick before the
citadel. The gates were firmly closed, and the dismayed Cressingham
was panting behind its walls, as Wallace commanded the parley to be
sounded. Afraid of trusting himself within arrow-shot of an enemy who
he believed conquered by witchcraft, the terrified governor sent his
lieutenant up on the walls to answer the summons.
The herald of the Scots demanded the immediate surrender of the place.
Cressingham was at that instant informed by a messenger, who had
arrived too late the preceding night to be allowed to disturb his
slumbers, that De Warenne was approaching with an immense army.
Inflated with new confidence, he mounted the wall himself, and in
haughty language, returned for answer, "That he would fall under the
towers of the citadel before he would surrender to a Scottish rebel.
And as an example of the fate which such a delinquent merits,"
continued he, "I will change the milder sentence passed on Lord Mar,
and immediately hang him, and all his family, on these ramparts, in
sight of your insurgent army."
"Then," cried the herald, "thus says Sir William Wallace--if even one
hair on the heads of the Earl of Mar and his family falls with violence
to the ground, every Southron soul who has this day surrendered to the
Scottish arms shall lose his head by the ax."
"We are used to the blood of traitors," cried Cressingham, "and mind
not its scent. But the army of Earl de Warenne is at hand; and it is
at the peril of all your necks, for the rebel, your master, to put his
threat in execution. Withdraw, or you shall see the dead bodies of
Donald Mar and his family fringing these battlements; for no terms do
we keep with man, woman, or child, who is linked with treason!"
At these words, an arrow, winged from a hand behind Cressingham, flew
directly to the unvisored face of Wallace, but it struck too high, and
ringing against his helmet fell to the ground.
"Treachery!" resounded from every Scottish lip; while indignant at so
villainous a rupture of the parley, every bow was drawn to the head;
and a flight of arrows, armed with retribution, flew toward the
battlements. All hands were now at work, to bring the towers to the
wall; and mounting on them, while the archers by their rapid showers
drove the men from the ramparts, soldiers below, with pickaxes, dug
into the wall to make a breach.
Cressingham began to fear that his boasted auxiliaries might arrive too
late; but, determining to gain time at least, he shot flights of darts,
and large stones, from a thousand engines; also discharged burning
combustibles over the ramparts, in hopes of setting fire to the enemy's
attacking machines.
But all his promptitude proved of no effect. The walls were giving way
in parts, and Wallace was mounting by scaling-ladders, and clasping the
parapets with bridges from his towers. Driven to extremity,
Cressingham resolved to try the attachment of the Scots for Lord Mar;
and even at the moment when their chief had seized the barbican and
outer ballium, this sanguinary politician ordered the imprisoned earl
to be brought out upon the wall of the inner ballia. A rope was round
his neck, which was instantly run through a groove, that projected from
the nearest tower.
At this sight, horror froze the ardent blood of Wallace. But the
intrepid earl, descrying his friend on the ladder which might soon
carry him to the summit of the battlement, exclaimed, "Forward! Let
not my span of life stand between my country and this glorious day for
Scotland's freedom!"
"Execute the sentence!" cried the infuriate Cressingham.
At these words, Murray and Edwin precipitated themselves upon the
ramparts, and mowed down all before them, in a direction toward their
uncle. The lieutenant who held the cord, aware of the impolicy of the
cruel mandate, hesitated to fulfill it; and now, fearing a rescue from
the impetuous Scots, hurried his victim off the works, back to his
prison. Meanwhile, Cressingham perceiving that all would be lost
should he suffer the enemy to gain this wall also, sent such numbers
upon the brave Scots who had followed the cousins, that, overcoming
some, and repelling others, they threw Murray, with a sudden shock,
over the ramparts. Edwin was surrounded; and his successful
adversaries were bearing him off, struggling and bleeding, when
Wallace, springing like a lioness on hunters carrying away her young,
rushed in singly amongst them. He seized Edwin; and while his falchion
flashed terrible threatenings in their eyes, with a backward step he
fought his passage to one of the wooden towers he had fastened to the
wall.
Cressingham, being wounded in the head, commanded a parley to be
sounded.
"We have already taken Lord de Valence and his host prisoners,"
returned Wallace; "and we grant you no cessation of hostilities till
you deliver up the Earl of Mar and his family, and surrender the castle
into our hands."
"Think not, proud boaster!" cried the herald of Cressingham, "that we
ask a parley to conciliate. It was to tell you that if you do not draw
off directly, not only the Earl of Mar and his family, but every
Scottish prisoner within these walls, shall perish in your sight."
While he yet spoke, the Southrons uttered a great shout, and the Scots
looking up, beheld several high poles erected on the roof of the keep,
and the Earl of Mar, as before, was led forward. But he seemed no
longer the bold and tranquil patriot. He was surrounded by shrieking
female forms, clinging to his knees; and his trembling hands were
lifted to heaven, as if imploring its pity.
"Stop!" cried Wallace, in a voice whose thundering mandate rung from
tower to tower. "The instant he dies, Lord Aymer de Valence shall
perish!"
He had only to make the sign, and in a few minutes that nobleman
appeared between Ramsay and Kirkpatrick. "Earl," exclaimed Wallace,
"though I granted your life in the field with reluctance, yet here I am
ashamed to put it in danger. But your own people compel me. Look at
that spectacle. A venerable father, in the midst of his family; he and
they doomed to an ignominious and instant death, unless I betray my
country and abandon these walls. Were I weak enough to purchase their
lives at such an expense, they could not survive that disgrace. But
that they shall not die, while I have the power to preserve them, is my
resolve and my duty! Life, then, for life; yours for this family!"
Wallace, directing his voice toward the keep:
"The moment," cried he, "in which that vile cord presses too closely on
the neck of the Earl of Mar, or any of his blood, the ax shall sever
the head of Lord de Valence from his body!"
De Valence was now seen on the top of one of the besieging towers. He
was pale as death. He trembled, but not with dismay only; ten thousand
varying emotions tore his breast. To be thus set up as a monument of
his own defeat, to be threatened with execution by an enemy he had
contemned, to be exposed to such indignities by the unthinking ferocity
of his colleague, filled him with such contending passions of revenge
against friends and foes, that he forgot the present fear of death in
turbulent wishes to deprive of life all by whom he suffered.
Cressingham became alarmed on seeing the retaliating menace of Wallace
brought so directly before his view; and, dreading the vengeance of De
Valence's powerful family, he ordered a herald to say that if Wallace
would draw off his troops to the outer ballium, and the English chief
along with them, the Lord Mar and his family should be taken from their
perilous situation, and he would consider on terms of surrender.
Aware that Cressingham only wanted to gain time until De Warenne should
arrive, Wallace determined to foil him with his own weapons, and make
the gaining of the castle the consequence of vanquishing the earl. He
told the now perplexed governor that he should consider Lord de Valence
as the hostage of safety for Lord Mar and his family, and therefore he
consented to withdraw his men from the inner ballium till the setting
of the sun, at which hour he should expect a herald with the surrender
of the fortress.
Thinking that he had caught the Scottish chief in a snare, and that the
lord warden's army would be upon him long before the expiration of the
armistice, Cressingham congratulated himself upon this maneuver; and
resolving that the moment Earl de Warenne should appear, Lord Mar
should be secretly destroyed in the dungeons, he ordered them to their
security again.
Wallace fully comprehended what were his enemy's views, and what ought
to be his own measures, as soon as he saw the unhappy group disappear
from the battlements of the keep. He then recalled his men from the
inner ballium wall, and stationing several detachments along the
ramparts, and in the towers of the outer wall, committed De Valence to
the stronghold of the barbican, under the especial charge of Lord
Ruthven, who was, indeed, eager to hold the means in his own hand that
were to check the threatened danger of relatives so dear to him as were
the prisoners in the castle.