Aristomenes.[29]—Hereward le Wake.—Wallace.
Sparta had not long acquired strength under the institutions of
Lycurgus, before she discovered that thirst of dominion which
distinguished her after–history. The neighbouring state of Messenia
was the first to suffer. As usual, it is hard to say which party gave
the first provocation; but if the Lacedæmonians were ever in the
right, they lost that advantage when, in time of peace, with studied
secrecy they bound themselves never to return home until Messenia was
conquered; and when, without the formality of a declaration of war,
they stormed by night Ampheia, a frontier town, and put the unprepared
inhabitants to the sword. Their enterprise succeeded better than its
iniquity merited; for after a vigorous and protracted defence Messenia
was subdued, and continued in servitude for forty years. At the end
of that time a new race had grown up, ignorant of the evils of war,
and too high–spirited to bear their degradation tamely. A gallant
leader is seldom wanting to gallant men engaged in a good cause; and
Aristomenes might serve as a type for all later heroes, whose exploits
belong to the debateable ground which lies between truth and fiction.
He was a young Messenian of the royal line, according to the report of
his countrymen; but other Greeks, with a more unbounded admiration,
related that the hero Pyrrhus,[30] son of Achilles, was his father. His
valour, at least, did not disgrace his reputed parentage; and, though
daring in extremity even to desperation, was not of that blind and
foolish kind which hurries unprepared into action, and sacrifices a
good cause to the vanity and temerity of its supporters. Before taking
the field, he secured the co–operation of Argos and Arcadia, to support
and strengthen the eager spirit of his countrymen, and then, with a
force entirely Messenian, attacked the Lacedæmonians at a place called
Deræ. The event was doubtful; but that a conquered people should meet
its masters in battle, and part from them on equal terms, was in itself
equivalent to a victory. Aristomenes is said to have performed deeds
beyond human prowess, and was rewarded by his grateful countrymen with
a summons to the vacant throne. He declined the dignity, but accepted
of the power under the title of commander–in–chief.
His next exploit was of a singular and romantic cast, such as would
befit a knight of the court of Arthur, or Charlemagne, or the less
fabulous, but scarce less romantic era of Froissart, better than it
assorts with modern notions of a general’s or a sovereign’s duties.
Considering it important to alarm the Spartans, and impress them with
a formidable idea of his personal qualities, he traversed Laconia, and
entered Sparta by night, which, in obedience to Lycurgus’ precepts, was
unwalled and unguarded, to suspend from the temple of Pallas a shield,
inscribed “Aristomenes from the Spartan spoils dedicates this to the
goddess.”[31] Violence was not offered, and his object, therefore,
must have been to win her favour, or at least to alarm the Spartans,
lest their protecting deity should be wiled away. It is to be wished
that we knew the result of this exploit, of which, unfortunately,
no account remains. The year after the battle at Deræ, he again led
his countrymen, supported by their allies, into battle, at a place
called the Boar’s Tomb; and if upon this occasion fortune favoured the
rightful cause, it was again mainly owing to his personal exertions.
Supported by a chosen band of eighty men, who gloried in the privilege
of risking their lives by the side of Aristomenes, he attacked and
broke in detail the choice infantry of Sparta, committing to others the
task of routing a disordered enemy, himself ever present where they
showed the firmest front; till the Lacedæmonians forgot the precepts
of their lawgiver in a hasty flight. Their disorder was complete, but
the pursuit was early stopped, either by the prudence of Aristomenes,
or the promptitude with which the Spartans availed themselves of local
advantages. The latter is probably the real meaning of the following
legend. There lay a wild pear–tree in the track of the retreating
army; Theoclus, the Messenian seer, warned Aristomenes not to urge the
pursuit beyond this tree, for that Castor and Pollux, the tutelary
deities of Lacedæmon, were perched upon it. But Aristomenes thought as
little of his friend’s advice, as Hector of Polydamas’s warning not to
attack the Grecian camp, and was still hard pressing upon the enemy,
when suddenly his shield disappeared. The loss of this weapon was
esteemed disgraceful, and therefore we can scarcely wonder that even
Aristomenes, whose character stood above detraction, should have lost
time in a fruitless search, which, if improved to the full, might have
broken for ever the power of his country’s oppressor. So great was the
loss and dismay of Sparta, that the war was kept alive with difficulty,
and that only through the influence acquired by Tyrtæus, who devoted
his poetical talents to recruiting the courage and exasperating the
hatred of the Lacedæmonians.[32]
The history of this man is somewhat singular. At the beginning of the
war, the Lacedæmonians had been directed by the Delphic oracle to send
to Athens for an adviser: they did so, and the city, unwilling either
to aid in the aggrandizement of a rival, or to disobey the god, thought
to extricate itself from the dilemma by making choice of one Tyrtæus,
an obscure schoolmaster, halt of one leg, and esteemed to be of mean
ability. From the event, a Grecian would have argued in support of the
favourite doctrine, that the decrees of fate were inevitable; for to
the unknown talents of one so lightly valued did Sparta, upon this and
other occasions, owe the favourable issue of the war.
But the reader may be curious to know the fate of Aristomenes’ shield.
Applying at Delphi, he was informed that he would find it in the
cave of Trophonius,[33] at Lebadeia, in Bœotia, where he afterwards
dedicated it, “and I myself have seen it there,”[34] adds Pausanias,
lest any doubt should attach to a story which seems to border somewhat
on the marvellous. How it came there, we are left to conjecture: and
in these days of scepticism and research, may well envy the historian
whose readers’ incredulity was so easily overcome. But, with one or two
brilliant exceptions, it was sufficient for the Greeks that a story
passed current; they cared little to investigate probabilities, or
enter upon long and intricate inquiries, which in modern times have
been so successfully employed in disentangling the mingled web of
truth and fiction. It is curious to mark the importance attached to
this miraculous loss. Aristomenes thought it of sufficient consequence
to render necessary an immediate journey to Delphi; for we find that,
returning from Lebadeia, he renewed the war with his recovered shield,
which therefore must have been dedicated at a later period. At first
he confined himself to predatory incursions. Returning from “driving
a creagh,” in Laconia, he was attacked and wounded, but repelled the
assailants; and, on his recovery, projected an attack upon Sparta,
which, under such a leader, might have been fatal to an unfortified and
unwatched city; but was deterred a second time by the interposition of
Castor and Pollux. Turning aside, therefore, to Carya, he carried off
a band of Spartan maidens while engaged in a religious ceremony; and
on this occasion he showed that a life of warfare had not deadened the
kindlier feelings of his heart, by protecting them from the drunken
intemperance of his soldiers, even to the death of some who persisted
in their disobedience. The captives, according to the custom of the
age, were released upon ransom.
Another adventure terminated less happily, in which he attacked a
quantity of matrons employed in celebrating the rites of Ceres, with
similar views, but with a very different result. Armed only with spits
and the implements of sacrifice, they showed the value of their Spartan
breeding, animated by religious enthusiasm, in the entire defeat of
the marauding party. Aristomenes, beaten down with their torches,
was taken prisoner. This might have been an awkward and ill–sounding
termination to a life of lofty adventure: many a hero has fallen victim
to female wiles; but to be overcome and captured in open war by women
armed with spits and staves, is an event not to be matched since the
days of the Amazons, either in history or romance. The usual course
of events, indeed, was inverted; for love was his deliverer from the
dangers in which valour had involved him. Archidamia, the priestess
of the goddess, who had been previously enamoured of him, forgot her
patriotism, and set him free.
The Arcadians were zealous in the Messenian cause. Unhappily their
prince, Aristocrates, proved treacherous, and took bribes from Sparta
to betray his trust. “For the Lacedæmonians gave the first example
of setting warlike prowess up to sale: prior to the transgression of
Lacedæmon, and the treason of Aristocrates, combatants referred their
cause to the arbitration of valour, and the fortune which Providence
should allot to them. So also did they bribe the Athenian generals
at Ægos–Potami:[35] but in the end the poisoned shaft recoiled upon
themselves. It was through Persian gold, distributed at Corinth, Argos,
Athens, Thebes, that the victorious career of Lacedæmon was stopped
at its height, when, the Athenian fleet being destroyed, and a large
part of Asia delivered, Agesilaus was compelled by the disturbances
of Greece to lead home his victorious army. Thus did the gods turn
to their own ruin the fraud which the Lacedæmonians had devised.”[36]
Aristocrates kept his own counsel, until the eve of the battle of
Megaletaphrus (the great ditch), and then disseminated an opinion
among his countrymen that their position was bad, and offered no means
of retreat if they were worsted; and, moreover, that the omens were
unfavourable: finally, he advised all to betake themselves to flight,
so soon as he should give the word. The Arcadians were steady friends
to the Messenians, yet, strange to say, they became the abettors of
their prince’s baseness, without sharing his reward. They formed the
centre and left wing, and the consternation of the Messenians may be
imagined, when two–thirds of their army at once deserted them. To
complete his treachery, Aristocrates led the flying troops through the
Messenians, and threw them into irretrievable confusion; forgetful of
the battle, they betook themselves to expostulation and upbraiding of
their treacherous allies; and the Lacedæmonians readily surrounded and
defeated them with such slaughter, that from the hope of becoming lords
of their former masters, they were reduced even to despair of safety.
Aristomenes collected from all quarters the scattered remnant of his
countrymen, into one new city which he founded on Mount Eira.
By this step they gave up all their territory, except a strip along
the coast held by the Pylians and Methonæans. But they were not men to
starve peaceably in the neighbourhood of full garners,
For why, the good old rule
Contented them; the simple plan
That they should take, who have the power,
And they should keep, who can:
and in truth circumstances fully justified them in adopting this
simple and compendious rule of action, which they followed with no
ordinary success, carrying off corn, wine, and cattle, equally from
their own country, now occupied by Lacedæmonians, and from Laconia;
and providing for their other wants with the ransoms paid for men and
moveables captured in their predatory excursions. At last the Spartans
found out that it was worse than lost labour to sow, where an enemy was
to reap; and forbade the cultivation, not only of Messenia, but even of
the borders of Laconia. So great a sacrifice bespeaks the formidable
nature of the enemy, and produced disturbances, in appeasing which the
value of Tyrtæus was again displayed. The measure was highly politic,
for it compelled the Messenians to gain their livelihood by long and
dangerous excursions. In one of these Aristomenes, being surprised by
a superior force, was stunned by a blow, and taken, with fifty of his
comrades. Cruelty is almost the necessary consequence of injustice;
and though the Messenians, and especially Aristomenes, seem always to
have treated their prisoners with humanity, it was resolved to insure
future quiet by sacrificing a man whose only crime was perseverance in
his country’s cause. The Spartans executed criminals by throwing them
into a deep pit, called Ceada: into this Aristomenes and his companions
were precipitated. All, except the hero, were killed by the fall,
and he, reserved apparently for a more dreadful fate, retired to the
extremity of the cavern, and for three days sat, his head wrapped in
his cloak, in patient expectation of a lingering and painful death. At
the end of that time he heard a slight noise, and raising his head (his
eyes by this time had become accustomed to the gloom) perceived a fox
gnawing the dead bodies. It might have occurred to a less ready wit,
that where there is an entrance there may also be a way out; he caught
the fox, and allowing it to follow its own path without suffering it
to escape, was led along a dark passage, terminating in a crevice just
large enough to admit the animal, through which a glimmering of light
appeared. Dismissing his guide uninjured, he enlarged the opening with
his hands, and against hope even, as well as probability, stood once
more free to vindicate his country. It was of course supposed that a
special providence, on this as on other occasions, guarded his safety;
and many, to magnify the wonder, asserted that an eagle interposed
itself in the fall, and bore him down secure from all harm.
The whole event was considered marvellous: first, such was his lofty
spirit, and renown in arms, that none believed Aristomenes would be
taken alive; but his return from the bowels of the earth was still more
amazing, and was held to be a manifest interposition of the Deity.
The Lacedæmonians, indeed, refused to believe it, until the total
destruction of a body of Corinthians marching to assist in the siege of
Eira, “convinced them that Aristomenes, and no other of the Messenians,
had done this.”
After this occurrence he performed a second time a rite peculiar to
the Messenians, called Hecatomphonia; a sacrifice offered to the
Ithomæan[37] Jupiter, by such as had slain a hundred men in battle. He
had celebrated it for the first time after the battle at the Boar’s
Tomb; the slaughter of the Corinthians gave him a second opportunity;
and he is said to have offered it yet a third time. The Lacedæmonians
now concluded a truce for forty days, that they might go home, to
celebrate one of their great annual festivals. Aristomenes wandering
abroad without suspicion during its continuance, was seized by seven
Cretan bowmen, who, while the Spartans were feasting, amused themselves
by traversing the country. Two of them set off to bear the news to
Sparta: the others carried him to a neighbouring village, in which a
girl dwelt, who, in a dream in the preceding night, had seen a lion
brought thither in bonds, and deprived of claws, by wolves. She loosed
it, the claws returned, and it destroyed its captors. When Aristomenes
was brought in, and she heard his name, the interpretation of the dream
flashed across her mind. She intoxicated the soldiers, and set him
free; the treacherous Cretans fell an easy prey. In recompence for his
life, he gave his preserver in marriage to his son Gorgus.
Such was the fortune of the war for ten years. After the destructive
battle at Megaletaphrus, in the third year, when their cause was ruined
by the defection of the Arcadians, Aristomenes and the seer Theoclus
consulted the Delphic oracle concerning the fate of their country. The
answer ran thus—
When the he–goat shall bend to drink where dimpling Neda flows,
Messene’s fate draws nigh; no more can I avert her woes.
In the eleventh year of the siege of Eira, the fourteenth of the war,
Theoclus, while walking along the bank of the river Neda, observed a
wild fig–tree, which in the Messenian tongue was called by the same
word which signifies a he–goat, that had grown slanting out of the
bank, and then just swept the water with its branches. He brought
Aristomenes to the place, and they agreed that the prophecy had
received its fulfilment, and the hope of the nation was at an end.
There were certain objects preserved in secret, and invested with
peculiar sanctity, such as the Palladium enjoyed in Troy. If these were
lost, the fortune of Messenia sunk with them for ever; if not, ancient
oracles foretold that the Messenians should again enjoy their own.
Believing that the fated time had arrived, Aristomenes buried secretly
the mystic treasure in the wildest and most desolate part of Mount
Ithome; in the persuasion that the deities, who had till then supported
them in a righteous struggle, would still watch over the mysterious
pledge of their safety.[38]
Pausanias seems to take a malicious pleasure in observing that Eira,
no less than Troy, owed its ruin to a woman. A herdsman, belonging to
Emperamus, a Spartan of distinction, had fled from his master, and
lived near the river Neda. He gained the affections of a Messenian
woman, who dwelt without the walls of Eira, and used to visit her
when her husband was on guard. One night, the husband’s sudden return
compelled him to conceal himself: a storm of extraordinary violence
had caused the guard to disperse, trusting that the inclement season
would keep the Lacedæmonians quiet, and aware that Aristomenes could
not go the rounds, according to his custom, since he was lying ill of
a recent wound. The herdsman listened to this account, and perceived
that it was a favourable opportunity for making his peace, and even
securing reward. He hastened to Emperamus, his master, who was in
command at the camp, narrated what had happened, and conducted the army
to the assault. The way was difficult, and the night terrible, but they
surmounted these impediments, and entered the town before the alarm was
given. Taken by surprise, its devoted inhabitants still acted up to the
reputation they had so deservedly acquired. Aristomenes and Theoclus,
aware that Messenia at length must fall, yet concealed the fulfilment
of the oracle, and roused the courage of their comrades to desperation:
even the women showed that they preferred death to captivity, and
excited the men to higher daring by the participation of their danger.
The night passed without advantage to either party, but at day–break
the rain poured down in still greater fury, and drove in the faces of
the Messenians; and the lightning flashing from the left, an evil omen,
at once blinded them and depressed their spirits, while to the Spartans
it came from the right, and was welcomed as the harbinger of success.
The latter too were far superior in number; but since they could
not avail themselves of this advantage in the narrow streets, their
general sent back a part to the camp to rest and refresh themselves,
with orders to return in the evening, to relieve that division which
remained. Pressed thus continually by fresh foes, the wretched
Messenians yet protracted the struggle. Three days and three nights
they maintained an unceasing fight; at the end of these, watching, and
cold, and wet, and thirst, and hunger, had exhausted their strength.
Then Theoclus addressed Aristomenes: “Why do we still maintain this
fruitless labour? The decree has gone forth that Messene must fall:
that which we now see was foretold to us long since by the priestess
of Apollo, and the fig–tree lately warned us that the time was at
hand. God grants to me a common end with my country: it is your part
to preserve the Messenians and yourself.” He rushed among the enemy,
exclaiming, “Ye shall not rejoice in the possessions of the Messenians
for ever!” and, sated with slaughter, fell surrounded by the victims
of his despair. Aristomenes collected the survivors into a close
column, in the centre of which he placed their wives and children,
and stationing himself with his chosen band at their head, motioned
with his spear to the enemy to allow them a free passage; which the
Spartans granted, rather than exasperate their well–tried intrepidity
to frenzy. They found a hospitable and friendly reception in Arcadia,
the inhabitants of which supplied their wants, and would willingly have
assigned to them a portion of their lands; but the ardent spirit of
Aristomenes could not brook a quiet submission. Selecting five hundred
men, the flower of his army, he asked if they were prepared to die
with him in their country’s behalf; and having received their hearty
concurrence, proposed a scheme for surprising Sparta, and holding it as
a pledge for their own restoration. Three hundred Arcadians volunteered
to join him; but their hopes were frustrated a second time by the
traitor Aristocrates. On this occasion, however, he was detected, and
his former villainy being at the same time revealed, the Arcadians,
in just anger, stoned him to death. The Messenians, exhorted to join
in the punishment, looked to Aristomenes, who sat weeping, and in
imitation of their beloved leader, abstained from sharing in a merited
revenge. Tender by nature must have been the heart of one, who, after
having slain three hundred men with his own hand, could yet weep over
the deserved punishment of an old companion in arms; and it is pleasing
to contrast the staunch patriotism of the Messenians, still tempered by
moderation and mercy, with the savage and wanton cruelties acted by
the polished Greeks of later ages.
The Pylians and Methonæans, who had preserved their navy, invited their
countrymen in Arcadia to join them, and seek a settlement in some
foreign land. Aristomenes refused to accept the proffered command; he
would never cease, he said, to war against the Lacedæmonians, and well
knew that he should ever be the cause of some evil to them. His son
Gorgus, and Manticlus, son of Theoclus, supplied his place. Ere they
had resolved on their course, Anaxilas, prince of Rhegium, sent to
invite their co–operation in a war against the Zanclæans, promising,
in case of success, to assign to them that wealthy city. Zancle soon
fell before their joint efforts. Anaxilas wished to slay the male
citizens, and reduce their families to slavery; but the Messenians
had learnt pity in the school of adversity, and deprecated being
made the instruments of inflicting upon others the miseries which
they themselves deplored. Interchanging oaths of fidelity with the
inhabitants, they dwelt in union with them in the city, to which, in
memory of their beloved country, they gave the name of Messene, which
it bears to this day, under the slightly altered form of Messina.[39]
Shortly after their departure, Damagetus, king of Ialysus, in Rhodes,
inquiring at Delphi where he should seek a wife, was directed to choose
the daughter of the best of the Grecians. He hesitated not to fix
on Aristomenes, and took his youngest and only unmarried child. The
warrior passed with her into Rhodes, and died soon after, ungratified
in his wish of striking another blow at Lacedæmon. He was honoured with
a splendid monument, and worshipped as a hero in Rhodes, and by his
grateful countrymen.
Such of the Messenians as remained on the land were consigned to the
miserable class of Helots. But even in this degraded state they were
still a source of trouble to their masters; and at last revolting,
made so obstinate a defence, that they obtained permission to depart
unarmed, and were settled by the Athenians at Naupactus, on the
Corinthian gulf. Two centuries after their subjection, Epaminondas
collected the scattered remnants of the people, and re–established
them in possession of their country, in a new city, named Messene,
built under his patronage, on Mount Ithome. Thus ancient oracles were
fulfilled, the tutelary deities preserved their trust, and the dying
prophecy of Theoclus was accomplished.
The annals of the Norman conquest of England introduce us to a fit
companion for Aristomenes, in respect of similarity of fortunes, as
well as character. Hereward le Wake, a youth of noble Saxon family,
while yet a boy was distinguished for strength and turbulence of
character: so rough was he in play, that his hand was against every
one, and every one’s hand against him; and so impatient of superiority,
that if the prize of wrestling, or their other games, was awarded to
another, he would assert his own title by the cogent argument of an
appeal to the sword. His father’s love of quiet seems to have been
greater than his parental affection, for he took upon himself the task
of ridding the neighbourhood of his troublesome son, and set forth so
ably his violences against others, and certain boyish impertinences
committed against himself, that he obtained from Edward the Confessor
an order for his banishment. Hereward went to Northumberland, and
thence travelling to Cornwall, Ireland, and Flanders, he distinguished
himself everywhere so highly, for daring, skill in arms, and success
in extricating himself from the greatest dangers, that it was a doubt
whether his courage or his good fortune were the more admirable. His
fame, won in many a conflict, and confirmed even by the report of his
enemies, was not long in reaching England; and so entirely changed the
temper of father, mother, relations, and friends, that the worthy abbot
of Croyland, from whom our narrative is taken, can only account for the
sudden conversion of so much ill will into such violent affection, by
attributing it to the special interposition of Providence.
During his abode in Flanders, he received news of the Norman invasion,
of his father’s death, and the bestowal of his inheritance upon a
Norman, who insulted and oppressed his widowed mother. Hastening to
avenge her, he quickly expelled the spoiler; and then remembering that
he was no knight himself, though knights were now under his command,
he received the order from his uncle the Abbot of Peterborough. For
the English considered the investiture as a religious ceremony, and
whoever underwent it confessed himself, received absolution, and spent
the eve of his consecration in prayer in the church. In the morning,
after hearing mass, he offered his sword upon the altar; and after the
gospel had been read the priest blessed the weapon, and completed the
ceremony by laying it upon his shoulder. But the Normans, who looked
upon the order as exclusively military, held in abomination this method
of receiving it.[40]
A body of noble Saxons, who, like Hereward, had been expelled from
their inheritances, or driven by maltreatment into rebellion, occupied
the Isle of Ely, a tract then environed by morasses, which now have
almost disappeared, and admirably fitted to be a place of refuge from
a more powerful but less active enemy. They chose Hereward for their
leader, and he justified their preference and his own reputation by
a series of exploits, which continued long after to be favourite
subjects of the popular ballads; for the preservation of some of which
posterity would have owned a much greater obligation to Ingulph, than
for the minute details connected with the monastery of Croyland, which
he has thought it more important to preserve.
Upon his uncle’s death the abbey of Peterborough was bestowed by
the Conqueror upon a Norman, by name Thorold, to Hereward’s great
displeasure. In conjunction with the Danes, who then infested the
eastern coast, he resolved to disturb the temporal enjoyments at least
of the intruder. Let the Monk of Peterborough tell his own melancholy
history.
“Early in the morning of the above–mentioned day, came the aforesaid
evil doers, with many ships;[41] but the monks and their men shut the
gates, and bestirred themselves manfully in their defence from above,
so that the battle waxed very sore at the gate called Bulehithe.[42]
Then Hereward and his comrades, seeing they could by no means gain the
mastery, and force entrance, set fire to the houses near the gate,
and so made passage by burning; also, they consumed all the offices
of the monks, save the church and one house. Yet the monks met them,
and besought that they would not do this evil; but they listened not,
and went armed into the church, and would have carried away the great
crucifix, but they could not. Nevertheless they took from its head a
golden crown set with jewels, and a stool, also made of pure gold and
jewels, from under its feet; also two golden reliquaries, and nine
made of silver, fashioned with gold and jewels, and twelve crosses,
some made of gold, others of silver, gold, and jewels. Nor did this
content them, but they went up into the tower, and took thence a
great table made entirely of gold and gems and silver, which the monks
had hidden there, which used to stand before the altar; and they took
such a quantity of gold and silver in articles of all sorts, books,
and ornaments, as can neither be told nor valued. All these were of
the best quality, nor did the like of them remain in England. Yet they
said that out of fealty to the church they did thus, and that the Danes
would preserve those valuables for the use of the church, better than
the Normans. And, indeed, Hereward himself was of a monastic order,
and therefore they put some trust in him, and he afterwards made oath
that he had done this from good motives, because he thought they should
conquer King William, and themselves possess the land.
“So it came to pass that nothing that was taken away was ever restored,
and the monastery, which had been so rich, was now reduced to poverty.
And from that day nothing was ever added or restored to it, but its
wealth continually diminished. Since Abbot Thorold himself not only
added nothing, but dispersed its compact estates among his kinsmen and
the knights that came with him.”[43]
The Abbot gave away sixty–two knights’ fees (feoda) upon tenure of
military service. Not long after, being naturally anxious to dislodge
so formidable an enemy, he summoned his friends and vassals to drive
Hereward from the vicinity. Ivo Tailboys, a Norman baron, to whom
the Conqueror had granted the district of Hoyland, or Holland, in
Lincolnshire, still known by the latter name, entered the woods at the
head of his troops: the Abbot, with other dignitaries, kept warily on
the outside; but while Ivo entered upon the right, Hereward darted
round upon the left, carried off the Abbot and his companions, and made
them pay a ransom of three thousand marks. At length William in person
brought a powerful army against him, beleaguered the island closely
by land and water, and, at vast expense, proceeded to make causeways
across the marshes, by which his position was defended. Ivo Tailboys
was a great believer in witchcraft, and he prevailed upon the king to
try its efficacy. As the causeway proceeded, therefore, a witch was
kept in advance, in a wooden turret, to fulminate her incantations
against the enemy: but the farce soon met with a tragical conclusion,
for Hereward, watching his time when the soldiers and workmen had gone
somewhat forward, made a circuit, and by setting fire to the reeds
upon their flank, involved soldiers, witch, and works, in one common
ruin. But the odds were overwhelming, and at last the Saxons were
compelled to submit. The other chiefs, including some of the most noble
of the land, surrendered to the conqueror’s mercy, and suffered death,
mutilation, or fine, according to the sense entertained by him of their
guilt. Hereward alone, by his superior gallantry and conduct, provided
for the escape of his followers and himself, and was ultimately
rewarded for his valour and perseverance, by being admitted to favour,
and reinstated in his paternal estates. He finished his days in peace,
and was buried in Croyland Abbey.
But British history offers another character to our notice, who bears
perhaps a nearer personal resemblance to Aristomenes, although both
his own fate and the issue of the struggle in which he engaged were
different,—Wallace, the earliest, the stoutest, and the most fondly
remembered champion of Scottish independence: whose name has been
preserved and magnified in the recollection of his countrymen, with an
affection not inferior to that which led the Messenians to pay divine
honours to their departed hero. The fame of both rests chiefly upon
tradition, for the earliest Scottish author who gives the history of
Wallace wrote more than a century after his death, and the notices of
his exploits in the English chroniclers are meagre and unsatisfactory.
It is impossible therefore accurately to depict his character, or to
draw the line minutely between truth and fiction. We see a form of
commanding and colossal proportions, but we see it dimly, and the
features must be filled up from our own imaginations: but we may at
least trace indomitable courage, constancy, and patriotism; and if
these lofty qualities were sometimes sullied by ferocity, yet, in
justification of the sympathy and interest which his career excites,
we may plead not only the character of the age, and the sufferings
endured by Scotland under the English yoke, but the exacerbation of
temper which must necessarily arise from a life of constant hardship
and danger. Hunted continually from morass to forest, denied the
enjoyment of domestic happiness, dependent upon his own right hand for
the security which was to be found only in the death of his pursuers,
it is rather matter for regret, than for stern censure, if in the hour
of victory the call of mercy was unheeded. And in further extenuation
we may add, that to control the excesses of his followers does not
seem always to have been in the power even when it was in the wish of
their chief; and that it is reasonable and consistent with the bitter
spirit of national enmity which long prevailed, to conjecture that the
blind minstrel, who is his principal biographer, consulted the passions
and prejudices of his hearers no less by exaggerating the deeds of
vengeance acted by his hero, than his hair–breadth escapes, and almost
superhuman might.
It is amusing to note how party spirit has biassed the view taken of
his origin and motives. The English writers speak of him slightingly,
without notice of the extraordinary qualities ascribed to him, as a
common robber, who having by degrees collected round him a large band
of desperate men, was emboldened to attack and plunder the suite of
Ormesby, chief justiciary of Scotland. Compare this with the account
given by Bower,[44] in whose eyes, it is but fair to say, the having
fought stoutly in defence of Scotland was cloak enough to cover a
multitude of offences.
“In the same year (1297) that famous warrior William Wallace, the
hammer and the scourge of the English, son of a noble knight of the
same name, lifted up his head; and when he saw the affliction of his
nation, and the goods of the Scots delivered into the hands of their
enemies, his heart pined and was sore afflicted. For he was tall of
stature, gigantic in body, of calm aspect, and cheerful countenance,
broad shouldered, big boned, proportionately corpulent, pleasant, yet
stern to behold, thick loined, powerful of limb, a most stout champion,
and very strong, and well knit in all his joints. Moreover the Most
High had so distinguished him by a certain prepossessing mirthfulness,
had so graced with some heavenly gift both his deeds and words, that
by his mere aspect he disposed the hearts of all true Scots to love
him. And no wonder, for he was most generous, in judgment most just, in
ministering comfort most patient, in council most wise, in sufferance
most enduring, in speech most eloquent: above all things hostile to
lies and falsehood, and abhorrent of treachery: wherefore the Lord was
with him, through whom he was in all things prosperous, venerating the
church, revering churchmen, supporting the poor and widowed, cherishing
orphans, raising the oppressed, lying in wait for thieves and robbers,
and without reward inflicting deserved punishment upon them.”
The following extract comprises such particulars of his early career
as seem entitled to historical credit. “At this time (1297), and out
of this middle class of the lesser barons, arose an extraordinary
individual, who was at first driven into the field by intolerable
injury and despair, and who in a short period of time, in the
reconquest of his native country, developed a character which may
without exaggeration be termed heroic. This was William Wallace, or
Walays, the second son of Sir Malcolm Wallace, of Ellersley, near
Paisley, a simple knight, whose family was ancient, but neither rich
nor noble. In those days bodily strength and knightly prowess were of
the highest consequence in commanding respect and ensuring success.
Wallace had an iron frame. His make, as he grew up to manhood,
approached almost to the gigantic, and his personal strength was
superior to the common run of even the strongest men. His passions were
hasty and violent; a strong hatred to the English, who now insolently
lorded it over Scotland, began to show itself at a very early period of
his life; and this aversion was fostered in the youth by an uncle, a
priest, who, deploring the calamities of his country, was never weary
of extolling the sweets of liberty and the miseries of dependence.
“The intrepid temper of Wallace appears first to have shown itself in
a quarrel with one of the English officers, who insulted him. Provoked
by his taunts, Wallace, reckless of the consequences, stabbed him with
his dagger, and slew him on the spot. The consequence of this was to
him the same as to many others, who at this time preferred a life of
dangerous freedom to the indulgence and security of submission. He
was proclaimed a traitor, banished his home, and driven to seek his
safety in the wilds and fastnesses of his country. It was here that he
collected by degrees a little band, composed at first of a few brave
men of desperate fortunes who had forsworn their vassalage to their
lords, and refused submission to Edward, and who at first carried on
that predatory warfare against the English, to which they were impelled
as well by the desire of plunder, and the necessity of subsistence,
as by the love of liberty. These men chose Wallace for their chief.
Superior rank, for as yet none of the nobility or barons had joined
them, his uncommon courage and personal strength, and his unconquerable
thirst of vengeance against the English, naturally influenced their
choice, and the result proved how well it had fallen. His plans
were laid with so much judgment, that in his first attacks against
straggling parties of the English, he was generally successful; and if
surprised by unexpected numbers, his superior strength and bravery, and
the noble ardour with which he inspired his followers, enabled them to
overpower every effort which was made against them.
“To him these early and desultory excursions against the enemy were
highly useful; as he became acquainted with the strongest passes of
his country, and acquired habits of command over men of fierce and
turbulent spirits. To them the advantage was reciprocal, for they
began gradually to feel an undoubting confidence in their leader; they
were accustomed to rapid marches, to endure fatigue and privation, to
be on their guard against surprise, to feel the effects of discipline
and obedience, and by the successes which these ensured, to regard with
contempt the nation by whom they had allowed themselves to be overcome.
“The consequences of these partial advantages over the enemy were
soon seen. At first few had dared to unite themselves to so desperate
a band. But confidence came with success, and numbers flocked to the
standard of revolt. The continued oppressions of the English, the
desire of revenge, and even the romantic and perilous nature of the
undertaking recruited the ranks of Wallace, and he was soon at the head
of a great body of Scottish exiles.”[45]
About this time he was joined by Sir William Douglas at the head of
all his vassals. A series of brilliant successes followed the union of
their little armies: and such was the effect produced on the public
mind, that when their united strength broke in upon the West of
Scotland, they were joined by some of the most powerful of the Scottish
nobles, among whom we find the Steward of Scotland, Sir Andrew Moray of
Bothwell, his brother, and Wishart, Bishop of Glasgow.
Such is the outset of Wallace’s career, so far as it is matter of
authentic history. His biographer, Blind Harry, carries him through
a great number of adventures before this period; but they possess
so little of interest or poetical merit, and are written in such
antiquated language, that the reader would probably derive little
pleasure from them. They consist chiefly of rencontres with the
English soldiery; enterprising attacks upon the strongholds scattered
throughout Scotland, and the various events of a desultory and almost
predatory warfare, in all which his knightly prowess and sagacity
are represented as compensating for inferiority in numbers, and as
extricating his followers and himself even in the extremity of danger.
The following specimens will probably be sufficient.
The first relates to the surprisal of Dunbarton Castle. Wallace,
entering the town, found the captain and part of his garrison drinking,
and bragging of what they would do if the rebel leader and his men were
within reach.
When Wallace heard the Southron made sic din,
He garred all bide, and him alane went in;
The lave[46] remained, to hear of their tithans,[47]
He saluit them with sturdy countenance.
“Fellows,” he said, “sen I come last fra hame
In travail I was our land, and uncouth fame.
Fra south Ireland I come in this countree,
The new conquest of Scotland for to see.
Part of your drink, or some good would I have.”
The captain then a shrewish answer him gave;
“Thou seemest a Scot unlikely, us to spy;
Thou may be ane of Wallace company.
Contrar our king he is risen again,
The land of Fife he has rademyt in playne.[48]
Thou sall here bide, while we wit how it be;
Be thou of his, thou sall be hanged on high.”
Wallace then thought it was no time to stand,
His noble sword he grippit soon in hand;
Athwart his face drew that captain in tene,[49]
Strake all away that stood abowne his eyne;
Ane othir braithly in the breast he bare,
Baith brawn and bayn,[50] the burly blade through share;
The lave rushed up to Wallace in great ire;
The third he felled full fiercely in the fire.
Stenyn of Ireland and Kerle, in that thrang,
Kepyt na cherge, but entred them amang;
And othir more that to the door can press:
While they saw him, there could no man them cess,[51]
The Southron men full soon were brought to dead.
The following extract is of a more romantic character. Wallace, being
closely pursued by the English, had, in a mingled fit of anger and
suspicion, struck off the head of one of his followers, by name
Fawdoun. At night, when he and his men had taken refuge in a tower,
they heard a horn blown at hand. Two of them went out to see what the
cause might be; they did not return, and the horn was again heard
louder than before. Two more were sent, and so, till Wallace was left
alone.
When he alane Wallace was leavit there,
The awfull blast abounded mickle mair.
Then trowed he they had his lodging seen;
His sword he drew, of noble metal keen,
Syne[52] forth he went whereat he heard the horn.
Without the door Fawdoun was them beforn,
As till his sight, his awn head in his hand.
A cross he made, when he saw him so stand.
At Wallace in the head he swaket[53] there;
And he in haste soon hynt[54] it by the hair,
Syne out again at him he couth[55] it cast;
Intil his heart he greatly was aghast.
Right well he trowed that was no sprite of man,
It was some devil, that sic malice began.
He wist no waill[56] there longer for to byde.
Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide,
Till a close stair: the boards rave in twain.
Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn.[57]
Up the water suddenly he couth fare;
Again he blent[58] what perance he saw there.
Him thought he saw Fawdoun, that hugly sir;
That haill hall he had set in a fire;
A great rafter he had intill his hand.
Wallace as then no longer would he stand.
Of his gude men full great merveill had he,
How they were lost through his fell fantasy.
In the spring of 1297 his career of victory was checked at Irvine, by
the dissensions and desertion of his army; but the cloud soon passed
away, for in the autumn we find him engaged in the siege of Dundee,
from which he was recalled by the approach of the English, under the
command of Warenne, Earl of Surrey. Wallace determined to await the
enemy on the banks of the Forth, near Stirling, where the river could
be crossed only by a narrow and inconvenient bridge, that scarce
admitted the passage of two horsemen together. The Scottish army
consisted of forty thousand foot, and one hundred and eighty horse; the
English, of fifty thousand foot, and one thousand horse.
Surrey was probably aware of the strong position occupied by the
Scots, and the danger of passing the bridge in face of the enemy, for
he despatched two friars to propose terms to Wallace. “That robber,”
says Hemingford, “replied, ‘Tell your fellows, that we come not hither
for the benefit of peace, but are prepared for battle, to avenge and
to free our kingdom. Let them, therefore, come up when they will, and
they shall find us ready to meet them beard to beard.’ And when these
tidings came to our men, they that were hot–headed said, ‘Let us go up
against them, for these are but threats.’ But the wiser part added,
‘We may not yet advance, until we have well reflected what counsel
to pursue.’ Then said that stout knight, Sir Richard Lundy, who had
surrendered to us at Irvine,[59] ‘My lords, if it shall be that we
ascend the bridge, we are dead men. For we can only pass by two and
two, and the enemy are on our flank, and when they please, will form in
line and charge us. But not far off there is a ford where sixty men can
cross at once. Now then give me five hundred horse and a small body of
foot; and we will make a circuit in the enemy’s rear and overthrow him:
and meanwhile you, Lord Earl, and your company will pass the bridge in
safety.’ But they would not abide by his good counsel, saying that it
was unsafe to separate. So being divided in opinion, some cried out
to pass the bridge, others the contrary. Among whom Cressingham, the
king’s treasurer, a proud man and a child of perdition, said, ‘It is
not well, my Lord Earl, to put off this matter farther, and to spend
the king’s money in vain. Rather let us march up, and do our devoir
as we are bound.’ The earl, therefore, being moved by his words, gave
orders that they should pass the bridge. A strange thing was it, and
very direful in its issue, that so many, and such wise men, who knew
the enemy to be at hand, should venture on a narrow bridge, which
two horsemen could hardly pass abreast. So that, as some said, who
were in that battle, if they had filed over without bar or hindrance
from break of day till eleven o’clock, still a large part of the rear
would have remained behind. Neither was there a fitter place in all
Scotland to deliver over the English to the Scots, or the many into
the hands of the few. The banners of the king and earl passed over,
and among the first that most valiant knight, Sir Marmaduke Twenge.
And when the enemy saw that as many as they thought to overthrow had
crossed, they ran down the hill, and blocked up the bridge end with
their spearmen; so that from thenceforth there was neither passage nor
return, but in the attempt many were cast over the bridge and drowned.
As the Scots came down from the mountain, Sir Marmaduke said, ‘Is it
not time, my brethren, to charge them?’ And they assented, and spurred
their horses: and in the shock some of the Scots horsemen fell, and
the others, to a man, ran away. As our men pursued the fugitives, one
said to Sir Marmaduke, ‘Sir, we are betrayed, for our comrades do not
follow, and the banners of the king and earl are not to be seen.’
Then looking back, they saw that many of our men, and among them the
standard–bearers, had fallen, and said, ‘Our way to the bridge is cut
off, and we are barred from our friends: it is better to make trial
of the water, if it be that we may pass it, than to plunge into the
columns of the enemy, and fall to no purpose. It is difficult, yea,
impossible, for us to pass through the midst of the Scots.’ Then
replied that valiant knight, Sir Marmaduke, ‘Surely, my dear friends,
it shall never be said of me, that I drowned myself for nothing. Do
not ye so either, but follow me, and I will clear a passage through
them even to the bridge.’ Then spurring his charger, he plunged among
the enemy, and dealing blows on either side, passed unhurt through
the throng, and laid open a wide path for his followers. For he was
tall, and stout of body. And as he fought thus valiantly, his nephew,
who was wounded, his horse being slain, shouted after him, ‘Sir, save
me.’ He replied, ‘Get up behind me.’—‘I cannot,’ he answered, ‘for my
strength is gone.’ Presently his comrade, an esquire of the same Sir
Marmaduke, came up, and descending from his horse, he placed the young
man on it, and said to his master, ‘Sir, go where you will, I follow;’
and he followed him to the bridge, so that both were preserved. All
who remained, to the number of one hundred horsemen, and five thousand
foot, perished, except a few who swam the river. One knight, also, with
much difficulty, passed the water upon his barded horse.”[60]
The Earl of Surrey quitted the field as soon as he was rejoined by
Twenge, giving orders for the destruction of the bridge. The Scots,
therefore, did not cross to pursue their success: but notwithstanding,
quantities of plunder fell into their hands, and the decisive nature
of the defeat is evident from the consequences which attended it. In
the words of Knighton, “This awful beginning of hostilities roused the
spirit of Scotland, and sunk the hearts of the English.” In a short
time not a fortress of Scotland remained in Edward’s possession. The
castles of Edinburgh and Roxburgh were dismantled, and Berwick, being
abandoned by the English upon the advance of the Scots, was occupied by
Wallace, who resolved on an immediate expedition into England, with the
view of providing sustenance for his troops, and lightening the horrors
of famine, which now fell severely upon Scotland.
“After that ill–omened beginning,” Hemingford continues, “the Scots
were animated, and the hearts of the English troubled. Wallace overran
and devastated the whole of Northumberland. In that time the praise
of God ceased to be heard in all monasteries and churches from
Newcastle–upon–Tyne to Carlisle. For all monks, canons, and other
priests, with all the commons, fled before the face of the Scots.”
Turning then westward, he passed Carlisle, which refused to surrender,
ravaged Cumberland, and was advancing into Durham, when his progress
was stopped by the winter’s setting in with unusual severity: a
deliverance ascribed to the miraculous assistance of Cuthbert, the
patron saint of the diocese. “Returning to Hexham, where stood a
wealthy monastery, which the Scots had plundered on their advance,
three canons of that house, who, having no fear of death, had just
returned, fled into an oratory which they had rebuilt, that, if it
were the Divine will, they might there be offered as a sacrifice of
sweet savour. Presently the spearmen came in and shook their lances
over them, saying, ‘Show us the treasures of your church, or ye shall
instantly die.’ One of them replied, ‘It is not long since you and
your people carried off our property, as if it had been your own, and
you know where you have placed it. Since then we have sought out a few
things, as you now see.’ Meanwhile Wallace appeared and rebuked his
men, and bid them give way, and asked one of the monks to celebrate
mass, which was done. And at the moment of elevating the host, Wallace
went forth to lay aside his armour; and then, when the priest was about
to take the holy sacrament, the Scots gathered round him, to snatch
away the cup. And after Wallace had washed his hands, and returned
from the sacristy to the altar, he found the chalice and the napkins,
and other ornaments of the altar, carried off; even the book in which
the mass had been begun, was gone. And while the priest was hesitating
what he should do, Wallace returned, and seeing what had passed, he
gave order that those sacrilegious men should be sought out, and put to
death. But they were not found, inasmuch as they were not sought for in
earnest. And he said to the canons, ‘Go not away from me, but keep near
me, as you value your safety. For this people is ill–disposed, and may
neither be excused nor punished.’”[61]
Soon after his return from this expedition, he was elected governor
of Scotland, and his measures in this high office appear to have been
judicious and temperate. But the haughty barons could not bear the
superiority of one whose only claim was in his merit, and thus division
was sown in the Scottish councils at the time when unanimity was more
than ever needed. In the summer of 1298 Edward himself invaded Scotland
at the head of a powerful army. The plan adopted by Wallace upon this
occasion was the same as that which was afterwards so successfully
executed by Bruce. He avoided a general battle, which with an army far
inferior to the English must have been fought to a disadvantage,—he
fell back slowly before the enemy, leaving some garrisons in the most
important castles, driving off all supplies, wasting the country
through which the English were to march, and waiting till the scarcity
of provisions compelled them to retreat, and gave him a favourable
opportunity of breaking down upon them with full effect.[62]
They advanced unopposed, therefore, but found an inhospitable desert;
and Edward, unable to replace his exhausted stores, was at length
compelled to issue orders for a retreat to Edinburgh, hoping to meet
his fleet at Leith, and then to recommence offensive warfare. At
this critical juncture, when the military skill and wisdom of the
dispositions made by Wallace became apparent, and when the moment to
harass and destroy the invading army in its retreat had arrived, the
treachery of her nobles again betrayed Scotland to the enemy. Two
Scottish lords, Patrick, Earl of Dunbar, and the Earl of Angus, at
day–break privately sought the quarters of the Bishop of Durham, and
informed him that the Scots were encamped not far off in the forest
of Falkirk. The Scottish earls, who dreaded the resentment of Edward
on account of their late renunciation of allegiance, did not venture
to seek the king in person. They sent their intelligence by a page,
and added, that having heard of his projected retreat, it was the
intention of Wallace to surprise him by a night attack. Edward, on
hearing this welcome news, could not conceal his joy. “Thanks be to
God,” he exclaimed, “who hitherto hath extricated me from every danger.
They shall not need to follow me, since I shall forthwith go and meet
them.”[63]
The consequence of this treachery was the fatal battle of Falkirk, in
which the Scots were totally defeated, with vast slaughter, owing to
the jealousy and dissensions of the nobility; and Wallace, finding his
own exertions thwarted, resigned his office.
“Beside the watyre of Forth, he
Forsook Wardane ever to be.
For lever[64] he had to lyve simply.
Na under sic doubt in Seigniory.
Na the leal comonys of Scotland
He wold not had peryst under his hand.
“Of his good deeds, and manhood
Gret Gestis, I hard say, are made.
But sa mony I trow not
As he intil hys dayis wroucht.
Wha all his Dedis of price wald dyte
Him worthyd a gret Book to wryte
And all thae to wryte in here
I want both wyt and good laysere.”[65]
For several years after this, we do not meet with his name in the
records of authentic history. The blind minstrel transports him to
France during this period, where he goes through many adventures, and,
among others, kills a lion in single combat. But we must hasten to the
closing scene of his life. After Edward had overrun and subjected the
whole country in 1303, all others who had distinguished themselves in
the war were admitted to pardon upon terms more or less hard. “As for
William Wallace,” says the deed, “it is covenanted, that if he thinks
proper to surrender himself, it must be unconditionally to the will
and mercy of our lord the king.” To accept such terms was to deliver
himself over to death; he therefore betook himself to the woods and
mountains, and lived upon plunder.
It is amusing to trace the effects of national partiality in the
contradictory accounts of the Scottish and English historians. Bower
tells us that Wallace’s friends endeavoured to induce him to submit,
upon the same terms as themselves; and that Edward was so anxious upon
this head, that he offered, not only personal security, but an earldom,
with ample domains, to be selected by himself, either in Scotland or
England, as the price of his allegiance. But Wallace answered, that if
every other Scot should submit, still he and his companions would stand
up for the freedom of the kingdom; and never, as they hoped for God’s
favour, obey any one except their monarch or his deputy. Langtoft, on
the other hand, says that the Scottish hero offered to surrender upon
assurance of safety in life, limb, and estate; but Edward’s anger was
so hot against him, that he burst into a fury at the bare proposition.
When they brought that tiding, Edward was full grim,
And betaught him the fende,[66] als his traytoure in lond.
And ever–ilkon his frende, that him susteyned, or fond.
Three hundred marke he hette unto his warisoun,[67]
That with him so met, or bring his hede to toun.
Now flies William Wallis, of pes nought he spedis,[68]
In mores and in mareis with robberie him fedis.
* * * * *
Ah Jhesu whan thou will, how rightwis is thy mede:
That of the wrong has gilt, the endyng may he drede.
William Waleis is nomen,[69] that maister was of theves.
Tiding to the kyng is comen, that robberie mischeves.[70]
Sir Jon of Menetest sewed William so nehi,[71]
He took him whan he wend lest,[72] on nyght his lemman by.
That was thought treson of Jak Short his man,
He was the encheson,[73] that Sir Jon so him nam.[74]
Jak’s brother had he slayn, the Waleis that is said,
The more Jak was fayn to do William that braid.[75]
Selcouthly[76] he endis, the man that is fals,
If he trest on his frends, they begile him als.
Begiled is William, taken is, and bondon.
To Inglond with him thei came, and led him to London.
The first dome he fanged,[77] for treson was he drawen.
For robberie was he hanged, and for he had men slawen,
And for he had brent abbeis, and men of religion,
Eft[78] from the galweis quick[79] thei let him doun,
And bouweld him all hote,[80] and brent them in the fire.
His hede than of smote, swilk[81] was William’s hire;
And for he had mayntend the werre at his myght,
On lordship lended thore[82] he had no right,
And stroied thore he knew, in fele stede sers.[83]
His body thei hewed on four quarters,
To hang in four tounes, to mene[84] of his maners,
In stede of Gonfaynounes[85] and of his baners.
At London is his heved, his quarters ere leved,[86] in Scotland spred,
To wirschip ther isles,[87] and lere of his wiles, how well that he sped.
It is not to drede, traytour sall spede,[88] als he is worthi,
His lif sall he tyne, and die thorgh pyne, withouten merci.
Thus may men here, a lad for to lere, to biggen in pays.[89]
It fallis in his eye, that hewes over high, with the Walays.
_Langtoft’s Chronicle of Edw. I._
“The day after his arrival at London, he was brought on horseback to
Westminster, the mayor, sheriffs, and aldermen, and many others, both
on foot and horseback, accompanying him; and in the greate hall at
Westminster, he being placed upon the south bench, crowned with laurel,
for that he had said in times past, that he ought to bear a crowne
in that Hall (as it was commonly reported), and being appeached for
a traytor by Sir Peter Mallorie, the king’s justice, hee answered,
that he never was traytor to the king of England, but for other things
whereof he was accused, he confessed them, and was after headed and
quartered.”[90]
His head was set up at London, his quarters were sent to Newcastle,
Berwick, Perth, and Aberdeen. But Edward reaped no advantage from
this act of cruelty and injustice, except the gratification of his
implacable temper. If intimidation was his object, it failed, as was to
be expected in the case of a high–spirited people: and the only effect
of raising these ghastly trophies was to inspire a deeper hatred of
the tyrant who commanded them, and of the treacherous minister of his
revenge. The latter long continued to be an object of especial hatred
to the Scottish nation; and is condemned to shame in its traditional
literature under the fitting title of the “false Menteith.”
Here, it might be supposed, history must end, and the ultimate destiny
of the oppressor and oppressed, the tyrant and his victim, remain a
mystery until the time when all things shall be brought to light.
But the patriotic chronicler before quoted, who probably could not
bear that the last scene of his hero should be one of suffering and
degradation, undertakes to enlighten our curiosity on this subject. We
read in the continuation of Fordun by Bower, that, according to the
testimony of many credible Englishmen, “an holy hermit, being rapt in
the spirit, saw innumerable souls delivered from purgatory marshalling
the way, while the spirit of Wallace was conducted to heaven by angels,
in reward of his inflexible patriotism. To whom the proverb may be
applied, ‘The memory of the just with praise, and the name of the
wicked stinketh.’”
Soon after, he proceeds to illustrate the latter clause of the proverb.
When Edward died upon his march to Scotland, an English knight,
Bannister by name, upon the night of his decease, saw in a trance his
lord the king, surrounded by a multitude of devils, who were mocking
him with much laughter, and saying,
En rex Edwardus, debacchans ut leopardus!
Olim dum vixit populum Dei maleflixit.
Nobis viæ talis comes ibis, care sodalis,
Quo condemneris, ut dæmonibus socieris.
Te sequimur voto prorsus torpore remoto.[91]
Meanwhile they drove him on with whips and scorpions. “Let us sing,”
they said, “the canticle of death, beseeming this wicked soul; because
she is the daughter of death, and food of fire unquenchable; the friend
of darkness, and enemy of light.” And then they repeated _En rex_, &c.
While thus tormented by the evil spirits, he turned, said the knight,
his trembling and bloodless visage towards me, as if to implore the
aid which I was used to minister to him. But when voice and sense both
deserted me, he cast upon me such a dreadful look, that while I live
and remember it I can never more be cheerful. With that, he was in a
moment swallowed up into the infernal pit, exclaiming in a doleful
voice,
Heu cur peccavi? fallor quia non bene cavi.
Heu cur peccavi? perit et nihil est quod amavi.
Heu cur peccavi? video, quia littus aravi,
Cum sudore gravi mihimet tormenta paravi.[92]
Bannister was so terrified by this vision, that he forsook the
world and its vanities, and, for the improvement of his life and
conversation, spent his latter days in solitude.[93]
Scotland did not long languish in want of a deliverer. The place of
Wallace was quickly filled up by one scarce his inferior in knightly
renown, or in the affections of his countrymen. Were it not for the
length of this article, we should willingly narrate some of the
exploits and hair–breadth escapes which procured for Robert Bruce,
even among the English, the reputation of being the third best knight
in Europe; but we must hasten to conclude with the panegyric of the
affectionate Bower.
“There is no living man who is able to narrate the story of those
complicated misfortunes which befell him in the commencement of this
war; his frequent perils, his retreats, the care and weariness, the
hunger and thirst, the watching and fasting, the cold and nakedness,
to which he exposed his person, the exile into which he was driven,
the snares and ambushes which he escaped, the seizure, imprisonment,
execution, and utter destruction of his dearest friends and relatives.
And if, in addition to these almost innumerable and untoward events,
which he ever bore with a cheerful and unconquered spirit, any man
should undertake to describe his individual conflicts, and personal
successes, those courageous and single–handed combats in which, by the
favour of God, and his own great strength and courage, he would often
penetrate into the thickest of the enemy,—now becoming the assailant,
and cutting down all who opposed him; at another time acting on the
defensive, and evincing equal talents in escaping from what seemed
inevitable death;—if any writer shall do this, he will prove, if I am
not mistaken, that he had no equal in his own time, either in knightly
prowess, or in strength and vigour of body.”[94]