Huntingtower.
Lord Ruthven was yet musing, in fearful anxiety, on Wallace's solemn
adieu, and the confirmation which the recitals of Grimsby and Hay had
brought of his determined exile, when he was struck with a new
consternation by the flight of his son. A billet, which Edwin had left
with Scrymgeour, who guessed not its contents, told his father that he
was gone to seek their friend, and to unite himself forever to his
fortunes.
Bothwell not less eager to preserve Wallace to the world, with an
intent to persuade him to at least abandon his monastic project, set
off direct for France, hoping to arrive before his friend, and engage
the French monarch to assist in preventing so grievous a sacrifice.
Ruthven, meanwhile, fearful that the unarmed Wallace and the
self-regardless Edwin might fall into the hands of the venal wretches
now widely dispersed to seize the chief and his adherents, sent out the
veterans, in divers disguises, to pursue the roads it was probable he
might take, and finding him, guard him safely to the coast. Till
Ruthven should receive accounts of their success, he forbore to forward
the letter which Wallace had left for Bruce, or to increase the
solicitude of the already anxious inhabitants of Huntingtower with any
intimation of what had happened. But on the fourth day, Scrymgeour and
his party returned with the horrible narrative of Lumloch.
After the murder of his youthful friend, Wallace had been loaded with
irons, and conveyed, so unresistingly that he seemed in a stupor, on
board a vessel, to be carried without loss of time to the Tower of
London. Sir John Monteith, though he never ventured into his sight,
attended as the accuser, who, to put a visor on cruelty, was to swear
away his victim's life. The horror and grief of Ruthven at these
tidings were unutterable; and Scrymgeour, to turn the tide of the
bereaved father's thoughts to the inspiring recollection of the early
glory of his son, proceeded to narrate, that he found the beauteous
remains in the hovel, but bedecked with flowers by the village girls.
They were weeping over it, and lamenting the pitiless heart which could
slay such youth and loveliness. To bury him in so obscure a spot,
Scrymgeour would not allow, and he had sent Stephen Ireland with the
sacred corpse to Dumbarton, with orders to see him entombed in the
chapel of that fortress.
"It is done," continued the worthy knight, "and those towers he so
bravely scaled with stand forever the monument of Edwin Ruthven."
"Scrymgeour," said the stricken father, "the shafts fall thick upon us,
but we must fulfill our duty."
Cautious of inflicting too heavy a blow on the fortitude of his wife
and of Helen, he commanded Grimsby and Hay to withhold from everybody
at Huntingtower the tidings of its young lord's fate; but he believed
it his duty not to delay the letter of Wallace to Bruce, and the
dreadful information to him of Monteith's treachery. Ruthven ended his
short epistle to his wife by saying he should soon follow his
messenger; but that at present he could not bring himself to entirely
abandon the Lowlands to even a temporary empire of the seditious chiefs.
Ruthven ended his short epistle to his wife by saying he should soon
follow his messenger; but that at present he could not bring himself to
entirely abandon the Lowlands to even a temporary empire of the
seditious chiefs.
On Grimsby's arrival at Huntingtower he was conducted immediately to
Bruce. Some cheering symptoms having appeared that morning, he had
just exchanged his bed for a couch when Grimsby entered the room. The
countenance of the honest Southron was the harbinger of his news. Lady
Helen started from her seat, and Bruce, stretching out his arms,
eagerly caught the packets the soldier presented. Isabella inquired if
all were well with Sir William Wallace; but ere he could make an
answer, Lady Ruthven ran breathless into the room, holding out the open
letter brought by Hay to her. Bruce had just read the first line of
his, which announced the captivity of Wallace; and, with a groan that
pierced through the souls of every one present, he made an attempt to
spring from the couch; but in the act he reeled, and fell back in a
fearful but mute mental agony. The apprehensive heart of Helen guessed
some direful explanation; she looked with speechless inquiry upon her
aunt and Grimsby. Isabella and Ercildown hastened to Bruce; and Lady
Ruthven being too much appalled in her own feelings to think for a
moment on the aghast Helen, hurriedly read to her from Lord Ruthven's
letter the brief but decisive account of Wallace's dangerous
situation--his seizure and conveyance to the Tower of England. Helen
listened without a word; her heart seemed locked within her; her brain
was on fire; and gazing fixedly on the floor while she listened, all
else that was transacted around her passed unnoticed.
The pangs of a convulsion fit did not long shackle the determined
Bruce. The energy of his spirit struggling to gain the side of Wallace
in this his extreme need (for he well knew Edward's implacable soul),
roused him from his worse than swoon. With his extended arms dashing
away the restoratives with which both Isabella and Ercildown hung over
him, he would have leaped on the floor had not the latter held him down.
"Withhold me not!" cried he; "this is not the time for sickness and
indulgence. My friend is in the fangs of the tyrant, and shall I lie
here? No, not for all the empires in the globe will I be detained
another hour."
Isabella, affrighted at the furies which raged in his eyes, but yet
more terrified at the perils attendant on his desperate resolution,
threw herself at his feet, and implored him to stay for her sake.
"No," cried Bruce, "not for thy life, Isabella, which is dearer to me
than my own! not to save this ungrateful country from the doom it
merits would I linger one moment from the side of him who has fought,
bled, and suffered for me and mine, who is now treated with ignominy,
and sentenced to die, for my delinquency! Had I consented to proclaim
myself on my landing, secure with Bruce the king envy would have feared
to strike; but I must first win a fame like his! And while I lay here,
they tore him from the vain and impotent Bruce! But, Almighty pardoner
of my sins!" cried he, with vehemence, "grant me strength to wrest him
from their grip, and I will go barefoot to Palestine, to utter all my
gratitude!"
Isabella sunk weeping into the arms of her aunt. And the venerable
Ercildown, wishing to curb an impetuosity which could only involve its
generous agent in a ruin deeper than that it sought to revenge, with
more zeal than judgment, urged to the prince the danger into which such
boundless resentment would precipitate his own person. At this
intimation the impassioned Bruce, stung to the soul that such an
argument could be expected to have weight with him, solemnly bent his
knees, and clasping his sword, vowed before Heaven "either to release
Wallace or--" to share his fate! he would have added; but Isabella,
watchful of his words, suddenly interrupted him, by throwing herself
wildly on his neck, and exclaiming:
"Oh, say not so! Rather swear to pluck the tyrant from his throne;
that the scepter of my Bruce may bless England, as it will yet do this
unhappy land!"
"She says right!" ejaculated Ercildown, in a prophetic transport; "and
the scepter of Bruce, in the hands of his offspring, shall bless the
united countries to the latest generations! The walls of separation
shall then be thrown down, and England and Scotland be one people."
Bruce looked steadfastly on the sage: "Then if thy voice utter holy
verity, it will not again deny my call to wield the power that Heaven
bestows! I follow my fate! To-morrow's dawn sees me in the path to
snatch my best treasure, my counselor, my guide, from the judgment of
his enemies--or woe to England, woe to all Scotland born who have
breathed one hostile word against his sacred life! Helen dost thou
hear me?" cried he: "Wilt thou not assist me to persuade thy too timid
sister that her Bruce's honor, his happiness, lives in the preservation
of his friend? Speak to her, counsel her, sweet Helen, and, and,
please the Almighty arm of Heaven, I will reward thy tenderness with
the return of Wallace!"
Helen gazed intently on him while he spoke. She smiled when he ended,
but she did not answer, and there was a wild vacancy in the smile that
seemed to say she knew not what had been spoken, and that her thoughts
were far away. Without further regarding him or any present, she arose
and left the room. At this moment of fearful abstraction, her whole
soul was bent with an intensity that touched on madness, on the
execution of a project which had rushed into her mind in the moment she
heard of Wallace's deathful captivity and destination.
Helen gazed intently on him while he spoke. She smiled when he ended,
but she did not answer, and there was a wild vacancy in the smile that
seemed to say she knew not what had been spoken, and that her thoughts
were far away. Without further regarding him or any present, she arose
and left the room. At this moment of fearful abstraction, her whole
soul was bent with an intensity that touched on madness, on the
execution of a project which had rushed into her mind in the moment she
heard of Wallace's deathful captivity and destination.
The approach of night favored her design. Hurrying to her chamber, she
dismissed her maids with the prompt excuse that she was ill, and
desired not to be disturbed until morning, then bolting the door, she
quickly habited herself as the dear memorial of her happy days in
France, and dropping from her window into the pleasance beneath, ran
swiftly through its woody precincts toward Dundee.
Before she arrived at the suburbs of Ferth, her tender feet became so
blistered, she found the necessity of stopping at the first cottage.
But her perturbed spirits rendered it impossible for her to take rest,
and she answered the hospitable offer of its humble owner, with a
request that he would go into the town and immediately purchase a
horse, to carry her that night to Dundee. She put her purse into the
man's hand, who without further discussion obeyed. When the animal was
brought and the honest Scot returned her the purse with its remaining
contents, she divided them with him, and turning from his thanks,
mounted the horse, and rode away.
About an hour before dawn, she arrived within view of the ships lying
in the harbor at Dundee. At this sight she threw herself off the
panting animal, and leaving it to rest and liberty, hastened to the
beach. A gentle breeze blew freshly from the northwest, and several
vessels were heaving their anchors to get under weigh.
"Are any," demanded she, "bound for the Tower of London?"
"None," were the replies. Despair was now in her heart and gesture.
But suddenly recollecting that in dressing herself for flight she had
not taken off the jewels she usually wore, she exclaimed with renovated
hope, "Will not gold tempt some one to carry me thither?" A rough
Norwegian sailor jumped from the side of the nearest vessel, and
readily answered in the affirmative. "My life," rejoined she, "or a
necklace of pearls shall be yours, in the moment you land me at the
Tower of London." The man seeing the youth and agitation of the
seeming boy, doubted his power to perform so magnificent a promise, and
was half inclined to retract his assent; but Helen pointing to a jewel
on her finger as a proof that she did not speak of things beyond her
read, he no longer hesitated; and pledging his word that wind and tide
in his favor, he would land her at the Tower Stairs, she, as if all
happiness must meet her at that point, sprung into his vessel. The
sails were unfurled, the voices of the men chanted forth their cheering
responses on clearing the harbor, and Helen throwing herself along the
floor of her little cabin, in that prostration of body and soul,
silently breathed her thanks to God for being indeed launched on the
ocean, whose waves she trusted would soon convey her to Wallace; to
sooth, to serve--to die, or to compass the release of him who had
sacrificed more than his life for her father's preservation--for him
who had saved herself from worse than death.