"Not so," cried the knight. "If you make it a thousand more, not a foot
of my land shall you ever hold. You have outwitted yourself, master
abbot, by your greed."
Sir Richard's humility was gone; his voice was clear and proud; the
churchmen trembled, here was a new tone. Turning to a table, the knight
took a bag from under his cloak, and shook out of it on to the board a
ringing heap of gold.
"Here is the gold you lent me, Sir Abbot," he cried. "Count it. You will
find it four hundred pounds to the penny. Had you been courteous, I
would have been generous. As it is, I pay not a penny over my due."
"The abbot sat styll, and ete no more
For all his ryall chere;
He cast his head on his sholder,
And fast began to stare."
So ended this affair, the abbot in despair, the knight in triumph, the
justice laughing at his late friends and curtly refusing to return the
cash they had paid to bring him there. His money counted, his release
signed, the knight was a glad man again.
"The knight stert out of the dore,
Awaye was all his care,
And on he put his good clothynge,
The other he lefte there.
"He wente hym forthe full mery syngynge,
As men have tolde in tale,
His lady met hym at the gate,
At home in Wierysdale.
"'Welcome, my lorde,' sayd his lady;
'Syr, lost is all your good?'
'Be mery dame,' said the knight,
'And pray for Robyn Hode,
"That ever his soule be in blysse,
He holpe me out of my tene;
Ne had not be his kyndenesse,
Beggers had we ben.'"
The story wanders on, through pages of verse like the above, but we may
fitly end it with a page of prose. The old singers are somewhat prolix;
it behooves us to be brief.
A twelvemonth passed. The day fixed by the knight to repay his friend of
the merry greenwood came. On that day the highway skirting the forest
was made brilliant by a grand array of ecclesiastics and their
retainers, at their head no less a personage than the fat cellarer of
St. Mary's.
Unluckily for them, the outlaws were out that day, on the lookout for
game of this description, and the whole pious procession was swept up
and taken to Robin Hood's greenwood court. The merry fellow looked at
his new guests with a smile. The knight had given the Virgin as his
security,--surely the Virgin had taken him at his word, and sent these
holy men to repay her debt.
In vain the high cellarer denied that he represented any such exalted
personage. He even lied as to the state of his coffers. It was a lie
wasted, for Little John served him as he had the knight, and found a
good eight hundred pounds in the monk's baggage.
"Fill him with wine of the best!" cried Robin. "Our Lady is a generous
debtor. She pays double. Fill him with wine and let him go. He has paid
well for his dinner."
Hardly had the monk and his train gone, in dole and grief, before
another and merrier train was seen winding under the great oaks of the
forest. It was the knight on his way to pay his debt. After him rode a
hundred men clad in white and red, and bearing as a present to the
delighted foresters a hundred bows of the finest quality, each with its
sheaf of arrows, with burnished points, peacock feathers, and notched
with silver. Each shaft was an ell long.
The knight begged pardon. He had been delayed. On his way he had met a
poor yeoman who was being ill-treated. He had stayed to rescue him. The
sun was down; the hour passed; but he bore his full due to the generous
lords of the greenwood.
"You come too late," said Robin. "The Virgin, your surety, has been
before you and paid your debt. The holy monks of St. Mary, her
almoners, have brought it. They paid well, indeed; they paid double.
Four hundred is my due, the other four hundred is yours. Take it, my
good friend, our Lady sends it, and dwell henceforth in a state
befitting your knightly station."
Once more the good knight, Sir Richard of the Lee, dined with Robin
Hood, and merry went the feast that day under the greenwood tree. The
leaves of Sherwood still laugh with the mirth that then shook their
bowery arches. Robin Hood dwells there no more, but the memory of the
mighty archer and his merry men still haunts the woodland glades, and
will while a lover of romance dwells in England's island realm.
_WALLACE, THE HERO OF SCOTLAND._
On a summer's day, many centuries ago, a young gentleman of Scotland was
fishing in the river Irvine, near Ayr, attended by a boy who carried his
fishing-basket. The young man was handsome of face, tall of figure, and
strongly built, while his skill as an angler was attested by the number
of trout which lay in the boy's basket. While he was thus engaged
several English soldiers, from the garrison of Ayr, came up to the
angler, and with the insolence with which these invaders were then in
the habit of treating the Scotch, insisted on taking the basket and its
contents from the boy.
"You ask too much," said Wallace, quietly. "You are welcome to a part of
the fish, but you cannot have them all."
"That we will," answered the soldiers.
"That you will not," retorted the youth. "I have other business than to
play fisherman for your benefit."
The soldiers insisted, and attempted to take the basket. The angler came
to the aid of his attendant. Words were followed by blows. The soldiers
laid hands on their weapons. The youth had no weapon but his
fishing-rod. But with the butt end of this he struck the foremost
Englishman so hard a blow under his ear that he stretched him dead upon
the ground. Seizing the man's sword, which had fallen from his hand, he
attacked the others with such skill and fury that they were put to
flight, and the bold angler was enabled to take his fish safely home.
The name of the courageous youth was William Wallace. He was the son of
a private gentleman, called Wallace of Ellerslie, who had brought up his
boy to the handling of warlike weapons, until he had grown an adept in
their use; and also to a hatred of the English, which was redoubled by
the insolence of the soldiers with whom Edward I. of England had
garrisoned the country. Like all high-spirited Scotchmen, the young man
viewed with indignation the conduct of the conquerors of his country,
and expressed the intensity of his feeling in the tragical manner above
described.
Wallace's life was in imminent danger from his exploit. The affair was
reported to the English governor of Ayr, who sought him diligently, and
would have put him to death had he been captured. But he took to the
hills and woods, and lay concealed in their recesses until the deed was
forgotten, being supplied by his friends with the necessaries of life.
As it was not safe to return to Ayr after his period of seclusion, he
made his way to another part of the country, where his bitter hostility
to the English soon led him into other encounters with them, in which
his strength, skill, and courage usually brought him off victorious. So
many were the affairs in which he was engaged, and so great his daring
and success, that the people began to talk of him as the champion of
Scotland, while the English grew to fear this indomitable young
swordsman.
At length came an adventure which brought matters to a crisis. Young
Wallace had married a lady of Lanark, and had taken up his residence in
that town with his wife. The place had an English garrison, and one day,
as Wallace walked in the market-place in a rich green dress, with a
handsome dagger by his side, an Englishman accosted him insultingly,
saying that no Scotchman had the right to wear such finery or to carry
so showy a weapon.
He had tried his insolence on the wrong man. A quarrel quickly followed,
and, as on similar occasions before, Wallace killed the Englishman. It
was an unwise act, inspired by his hasty temper and fiery indignation.
His peril was great. He hastened to his house, which was quickly
attacked by soldiers of the garrison. While they were seeking to break
in at the front, Wallace escaped at the rear, and made his way to a
rocky glen, called the Cortland-crags, near the town, where he found a
secure hiding-place among its thick-growing trees and bushes.
Meanwhile, the governor of Lanark, Hazelrigg by name, finding that the
culprit had escaped, set fire to his house, and with uncalled-for
cruelty put his wife and servants to death. He also proclaimed Wallace
an outlaw, and offered a reward for any one who should bring him in,
dead or alive. He and many of his countrymen were destined to pay the
penalty of this cruel deed before Wallace should fall into English
hands.
The murder of his wife set fire to the intense patriotism in Wallace's
soul. He determined to devote his life to acts of reprisal against the
enemy, and if possible to rescue his country from English hands. He soon
had under his command a body of daring partisans, some of them outlaws
like himself, others quite willing to become such for the good of
Scotland. The hills and forests of the country afforded them numerous
secure hiding-places, whence they could issue in raids upon the insolent
foe.
From that time forward Wallace gave the English no end of trouble. One
of his first expeditions was against Hazelrigg, to whom he owed so
bitter a debt of vengeance. The cruel governor was killed, and the
murdered woman avenged. Other expeditions were attempted, and collisions
with the soldiers sent against him became so frequent and the partisan
band so successful, that Wallace quickly grew famous, and the number of
his followers rapidly increased. In time, from being a band of outlaws,
his party grew to the dimensions of a small army, and in place of
contenting himself with local reprisals on the English, he cherished the
design of striking for the independence of his country.
The most notable adventure which followed this increase of Wallace's
band is one the story of which may be in part legendary, but which is
significant of the cruelty of warfare in those thirteenth-century days.
It is remembered among the Scottish people under the name of the "Barns
of Ayr."
The English governor of Ayr is said to have sent a general invitation to
the nobility and gentry of that section of Scotland to meet him in
friendly conference on national affairs. The place fixed for the meeting
was in certain large buildings called the barns of Ayr. The true purpose
of the governor was a murderous one. He proposed to rid himself of many
of those who were giving him trouble by the effective method of the
rope. Halters with running nooses had been prepared, and hung upon the
beams which supported the roof. The Scotch visitors were admitted two at
a time, and as they entered the nooses were thrown over their heads, and
they drawn up and hanged. Among those thus slain was Sir Reginald
Crawford, sheriff of the county of Ayr, and uncle to William Wallace.
This story it is not easy to believe, in the exact shape in which it is
given, since it is unlikely that the Scottish nobles were such fools as
it presupposes; but that it is founded on some tragical fact is highly
probable. The same is the case with the story of Wallace's retribution
for this crime. When the news of it came to his ears he is said to have
been greatly incensed, and to have determined on an adequate revenge. He
collected his men in a wood near. Ayr, and sent out spies to learn the
state of affairs. The English had followed their crime with a period of
carousing, and, having eaten and drunk all they wished, had lain down to
sleep in the barns in which the Scotch gentry had been murdered. Not
dreaming that a foe was so near, they had set no guards, and thus left
themselves open to the work of revenge.
This news being brought to Wallace, he directed a woman, who was
familiar with the locality, to mark with chalk the doors of the
buildings where the Englishmen lay. Then, slipping up to the borders of
Ayr, he sent a party with ropes, bidding them to fasten securely all the
marked doors. This done, others heaped straw on the outside of the
buildings and set it on fire. The buildings, being constructed of wood,
were quickly in a flame, the English waking from their drunken slumbers
to find themselves environed with fire.
Their fate was decided. Every entrance to the buildings had been
secured. Such as did succeed in getting out were driven back into the
flames, or killed on the spot. The whole party perished miserably, not
one escaping. In addition to the English thus disposed of, there were a
number lodged in a convent. These were attacked by the prior and the
monks, who had armed themselves with swords, and fiercely assailed their
guests, few of them escaped. The latter event is known as "The Friar of
Ayr's Blessing."
Such is the story of a crime and its retribution. To say that it is
legendary is equivalent to saying that it is not true in all its
particulars; but that it is founded on fact its common acceptance by the
people of that country seems evidence.
So far the acts of Wallace and his men had been of minor importance. But
now his party of followers grew into an army, many of the Scottish
nobles joining him. Prominent among these was Sir William Douglas, the
head of the most famous family in Scottish history. Another was Sir John
Grahame, who became the chief friend and confident of the champion of
the rights of Scotland.
This rebellious activity on the part of the Scotch had not been viewed
with indifference by the English. The raids of Wallace and his band of
outlaws they had left the local garrisons to deal with. But here was an
army, suddenly sprung into existence, and needing to be handled in a
different manner. An English army, under the command of John de Warenne,
the Earl of Surrey, marched towards Wallace's camp, with the purpose of
putting a summary end to this incipient effort at independence.
The approach of Warenne weakened Wallace's army, since many of the
nobles deserted his ranks, under the fear that he could not withstand
the greatly superior English force. Yet, in spite of these defections,
he held his ground. He still had a considerable force under his command,
and took position near the town of Stirling, on the south side of the
river Forth, where he awaited the approaching English army. The river
was at this point crossed by a long wooden bridge.
The English host reached the southern bank of the river. Its commander,
thinking that he might end the matter in a peaceful way, sent two
clergy-men to Wallace, offering a pardon to him and his followers if
they would lay down their arms.
"Go back to Warenne," was the reply of Wallace, "and tell him we value
not the pardon of the king of England. We are not here for the purpose
of treating of peace, but of abiding battle, and restoring freedom to
our country. Let the English come on; we defy them to their very
beards!"
[Illustration: THE WALLACE MONUMENT, STIRLING.]
Despite the disparity in numbers, Wallace had some warrant for his tone
of confidence. The English could not reach him except over the long and
narrow bridge, and stood the chance of having their vanguard destroyed
before the remainder could come to their aid.
Such proved to be the case. The English, after some hesitation,
attempted the passage of the bridge. Wallace held off until about half
the army had crossed and the bridge was thickly crowded with others.
Then he charged upon them with his whole force, and with such
impetuosity that they were thrown into confusion, and soon put to rout,
a large number being slain and the remainder driven into the Forth,
where the greater part of them were drowned. The portion of the English
army which had not crossed became infected with the panic of their
fellows, and fled in all haste, first setting fire to the bridge to
prevent pursuit.
This signal victory had the most encouraging influence on the people of
Scotland. The defeated army fled in all haste from the country, and
those of the Scotch who had hitherto remained in doubt now took arms,
and assailed the castles still held by the English. Many of these were
taken, and numerous gallant deeds done, of which Wallace is credited
with his full share. How much exaggeration there may be in the stories
told it is not easy to say, but it seems certain that the English
suffered several defeats, lost most of the towns and castles they had
held, and were driven almost entirely from the country. Wallace, indeed,
led his army into England, and laid waste Cumberland and Northumberland,
where many cruelties were committed, the Scottish soldiers being
irrepressible in their thirst for revenge on those who had so long
oppressed their country.
While these events were going on Edward I. was in Flanders. He had
deemed Scotland thoroughly subjugated, and learned with surprise and
fury that the Scottish had risen against him, defeated his armies, set
free their country, and even invaded England. He hurried back from
Flanders in a rage, determined to bring this rebellion to a short and
decisive termination.
Collecting a large army, Edward invaded Scotland. His opponent,
meanwhile, had been made protector, or governor, of Scotland, with the
title of Sir William Wallace. Yet he had risen so rapidly from a
private station to this great position that there was much jealousy of
him on the part of the great nobles, and their lack of support of the
best soldier and bravest man of their nation was the main cause of his
downfall and the subsequent disasters to their country.
Wallace, despite their defection, had assembled a considerable army. But
it was not so strong as that of Edward, who had, besides, a large body
of the celebrated archers of England, each of whom carried, so it was
claimed, twelve Scotchmen's lives in his girdle,--in his twelve
cloth-yard arrows.
The two armies met at Falkirk. Wallace, before the fighting began,
addressed his men in a pithy sentence: "I have brought you to the ring,
let me see how you can dance." The battle opened with a charge of the
English cavalry on the dense ranks of the Scottish infantry, who were
armed with long spears which they held so closely together that their
line seemed impregnable. The English horsemen found it so. They
attempted again and again to break through that "wood of spears," as it
has been called, but were every time beaten off with loss. But the
Scotch horse failed to support their brave footmen. On the contrary,
they fled from the field, through ill-will or treachery of the nobles,
as is supposed.
Edward now ordered his archers to advance. They did so, and poured their
arrows upon the Scottish ranks in such close and deadly volleys that
flesh and blood could not endure it. Wallace had also a body of archers,
from Ettrick forest, but they were attacked in their advance and many of
them slain. The English cavalry now again charged. They met with a
different reception from their previous one. The storm of arrows had
thrown Wallace's infantry into confusion, the line was broken at several
points, and the horsemen charged into their midst, cutting them down in
great numbers. Sir John Grahame and others of their leaders were slain,
and the Scotch, their firm ranks broken and many of them slain, at
length took to flight.
It was on the 22d of July, 1298, that this decisive battle took place.
Its event put an end, for the time, to the hopes of Scottish
independence. Opposition to Edward's army continued, and some successes
were gained, but the army of invasion was abundantly reinforced, until
in the end Wallace alone, at the head of a small band of followers,
remained in arms.
After all others had yielded, he persistently refused to submit to
Edward and his armies. As he had been the first to take arms, he was the
last to keep the field, and for some years he continued to maintain
himself among the woods and hills of the Highlands, holding his own for
more than a year after all the other chiefs had surrendered.
Edward was determined not to leave him at liberty. He feared the
influence of this one man more than of all the nobles of Scotland, and
pursued him unremittingly, a great price being offered for his head. At
length the gallant champion was captured, a Scotchman, Sir John
Menteith, earning obloquy by the act. The story goes that the capture
was made at Robroyston, near Glasgow, the fugitive champion being taken
by treachery, the signal for rushing upon him and taking him unawares
being for one of the company to turn a loaf, which lay upon the table,
with its bottom side uppermost. In after-days it was considered very
ill-breeding for any one to turn a loaf in this manner, if a person
named Menteith were at table.
However this be, it is certain that Wallace was taken and delivered to
his great enemy, and no less certain that he was treated with barbarous
harshness. He was placed on trial at Westminster Hall, on the charge of
being a traitor to the English crown, and Edward, to insult him, had him
crowned with a green garland, as one who had been king of outlaws and
robbers in the Scottish woods.
"I could not be a traitor to Edward, for I was never his subject," was
the chieftain's answer to the charge against him.
He was then accused of taking many towns and castles, killing many men,
and doing much violence.
"It is true I have killed many Englishmen," replied Wallace, "but it was
because they came to oppress my native country. Far from repenting of
this, I am only sorry not to have put to death many more of them."
Wallace's defence was a sound one, but Edward had prejudged him. He was
condemned and executed, his body being quartered, in the cruel fashion
of that time, and the parts exposed on spikes on London bridge, as the
limbs of a traitor. Thus died a hero, at the command of a tyrant.
_BRUCE AT BANNOCKBURN._
To Edward the Second, lying in luxurious idleness in his palace of
pleasure at London, came the startling word that he must strike a blow
or lose a kingdom. Scotland was slipping from his weak grasp. Of that
great realm, won by the iron hand of his father, only one stronghold was
left to England--Stirling Castle, and that was fiercely besieged by
Edward Bruce, brother of Robert Bruce, who some years before had been
crowned King of Scotland and was now seeking to drive the English out of
his realm.
The tidings that came to Edward were these. Sir Philip Mowbray, governor
of Stirling, hotly pressed by Bruce, and seeing no hope of succor, had
agreed to deliver the town and castle to the Scotch, unless relief
reached him before midsummer. Bruce stopped not the messengers. He let
them speed to London with the tidings, willing, doubtless, in his bold
heart, to try it once for all with the English king, and win all or lose
all at a blow.
The news stirred feebly the weak heart of Edward,--lapped in delights,
and heedless of kingdoms. It stirred strongly the vigorous hearts of the
English nobility, men who had marched to victory under the banners of
the iron Edward, and who burned with impatience at the inglorious ease
of his silken son. The great deeds of Edward I. should not go for
naught, they declared. He had won Scotland; his son should not lose it.
Robert Bruce, the rebel chief, had been left alone until he had gathered
an army and nearly made Scotland his own. Only Stirling remained; it
would be to the endless disgrace of England should it be abandoned, and
the gallant Mowbray left without support. An army must be gathered,
Bruce must be beaten, Scotland must be won.
Like the cry of a pack of sleuth-hounds in the ear of the timid deer
came these stern demands to Edward the king. He dared not disregard
them. It might be as much as his crown were worth. England meant
business, and its king must take the lead or he might be asked to yield
the throne. Stirred alike by pride and fear, he roused from his
lethargy, gave orders that an army should be gathered, and vowed to
drive the beleaguering Scots from before Stirling's walls.