Ambition was the latent fault of his character, and a decision was
brought before him that placed a flattering prize within his grasp. He
yielded, and seized the prey; injustice, violence, anger, and cruelty
followed, promises were violated, his subjects oppressed, his honor
forfeited, and his name stained. From the time that Edward I. gave way
to the lust of conquest, his history is one of painful deterioration.
It was unfortunate for him that, at the very time that the lure was
held out to him, he was deprived of the gentle wife whose influence had
always turned him to the better course. Eleanor of Castile was on her
way to join him on his first expedition to the Scottish border, when she
fell sick at Grantham, in Lincolnshire; and though he travelled day and
night to see her, she died before his arrival, on the 29th of November,
1292. In overwhelming grief Edward accompanied her funeral to
Westminster, a journey of thirteen days. Each evening the bier rested
in the market-place of the town, where the procession halted, till the
clergy came to convey it with solemn chantings to the chief church,
where it was placed before the high altar. At each of these
resting-places Edward raised a richly-carved market cross in memory of
his queen; but, of the whole thirteen, Northampton and Waltham are the
only towns that have retained these beautiful monuments to the gracious
Eleanor, one of the best-beloved names of our English history.
CAMEO XXXIV. THE HAMMER OF THE SCOTS. (1292-1305.)
_King of England_.
1272. Edward I.
_King of Scotland_.
1292. John Balliol.
_King of France_.
1285. Philippe IV.
_Emperors of Germany_.
1292. Adolph.
1298. Albert I.
_Popes_.
1287. Nicholas IV.
1291. Boniface VIII.
1294. Celestine V.
1303. Benedict XI.
The gallant line of Scottish kings descended from “the gracious Duncan”
suddenly decayed and dwindled away in the latter part of the thirteenth
century. They had generally been on friendly terms with the English, to
whom Malcolm Ceanmore and Edgar both owed their crown; they had usually
married ladies of English birth; and holding the earldom of Huntingdon,
the county of Cumberland, and the three Lothians, under the English
crown, they stood in nearly the same relation to our Anglo-Norman
sovereigns as did these to the kings of France. If France were esteemed
a more polished country, and her language and manners were adopted by
the Plantagenet kings, who were French nobles as well as independent
sovereigns of the ruder Saxons, so, again, England was the model of
courtesy and refinement to the earlier Scottish kings, who, in the right
of inheritance from St. David’s queen, Earl Waltheof’s heiress, were
barons of the civilized court of England, where they learnt modes of
taming their own savage Highland and island domains.
Thus, with few exceptions, the terms of alliance were well understood,
and many of the Cumbrian barons were liegemen to both the English
and Scottish kings. Scotland was in a flourishing and fast-improving
condition, and there was no mutual enmity or jealousy between the two
nations.
Alexander III. was the husband of Margaret, the eldest sister of Edward
I., and frequently was present at the pageants of the English court. He
was a brave and beloved monarch, and his wife was much honored and loved
in Scotland; but, while still a young man, a succession of misfortunes
befell him. His queen died in 1275, and his only son a year or two
after; his only other child, Margaret, who had been married to Eric,
Prince of Norway, likewise died, leaving an infant daughter named
Margaret.
Finding himself left childless, Alexander contracted a second marriage
with Yolande, daughter of the Count de Dreux; and a splendid bridal took
place at Jedburgh, with every kind of amusements, especially mumming
and masquing. In the midst, some reckless reveller glided in arrayed in
ghastly vestments, so as to personate death, and after making fearful
gestures, vanished away, leaving an impression of terror among the
guests that they did not quickly shake off--the jest was too
earnest.
Less than a year subsequently, Alexander gave a great feast to his
nobles at Edinburgh, on the 15th of March, 1286. It was a most
unsuitable day for banquetting, for it was Lent; and, moreover, popular
imagination, always trying to guess the times and seasons only known to
the Most High, had fixed on tins as destined to be the Last Day.
But the Scottish nobles feasted and revelled, mocking at the delusion
of the populace, till, when at a late hour they broke up, the night was
discovered to be intensely dark and stormy. King Alexander was, however,
bent on joining his queen, who was at Kinghorn--perhaps he had promised
to come to calm her alarms--and all the objections urged by his servants
could not deter him. He bade one of his servants remain at home, since
he seemed to fear the storm. “No, my lord,” said the man, “it would ill
become me to refuse to die for your father’s son.”
At Inverkeithing the storm became more violent, and again the royal
followers remonstrated; but the King laughed at them, and only desired
to have two runners to show him the way, when they might all remain in
shelter.
He was thought to have been “fey”--namely, in high spirits--recklessly
hastening to a violent death; for as he rode along the crags close above
Kinghorn, his horse suddenly stumbled, and he was thrown over its head
to the bottom of a frightful precipice, where he lay dead. The spot is
still called the King’s Crag.
Truly it was the last day of Scotland’s peace and prosperity. Thomas of
Ereildoune, called the Rymour, who was believed to possess second sight,
had declared that on the 16th of March the greatest wind should blow
before noon that Scotland had ever known. The morning, however, rose
fair and calm, and he was reproached for his prediction. “Noon is not
yet gone!” he answered; and ere long came a messenger to the gate, with
tidings that the King was killed. “Gone is the wind that shall blow
to the great calamity and trouble of all Scotland,” said Thomas the
Rymour--a saying that needed no powers of prophecy, when the only
remaining scion of the royal line was a girl of two years old, the child
of a foreign prince, himself only eighteen years of age.
The oldest poem in the Scottish tongue that has been preserved is a
lament over the last son of St. David.
“When Alysander, our king, was dead,
That Scotland led in love and lee,
Away was sons of ale and bread,
Of wine and wax, of game and glee;
Our gold was changed into lead.
Christ, born in to virginity,
Succour Scotland, and remede
That stead is in perplexity.”
The perplexity began at once, for the realm of Scotland had never yet
descended to the “spindle,” and the rights of the little “Maid of
Norway” were contested by her cousins, Robert Bruce and John Balliol,
two of the Cumbrian barons, half-Scottish and half-English, who, though
their claims were only through females, thought themselves fitter to
rule than the infant Margaret.
Young Eric of Norway sent to entreat counsel from Edward of England, and
thus first kindled his hopes of uniting the whole island under his sway.
“Now,” he said, “the time is come when Scotland and her petty kings
shall be reduced under my power.” The Scottish nobles came at the same
time to request his decision, which was readily given in favor of the
little heiress, whom he further proposed to betroth to his only son,
Edward of Caernarvon; and as the children were first cousins once
removed, he sent to Rome for a dispensation, while Margaret sailed from
Norway to be placed in his keeping. Thus would the young Prince have
peaceably succeeded to the whole British dominions; but the will of
Heaven was otherwise, and three hundred years of war were to elapse
before the crowns were placed on the same brow.
The stormy passage from Norway was injurious to the tender frame of the
little Queen: she was landed in the Orkney Isles, in the hope of saving
her life, but in vain; she died, after having scarcely touched her
dominions, happy in being spared so wild a kingdom and so helpless a
husband as were awaiting her.
Twelve claimants for the vacant throne at once arose, all so distant
that it was a nice matter to weigh their several rights, since the very
nearest were descendants of Henry, son of St. David, five generations
back.
The Scots agreed to refer the question to the arbitration of one
hitherto so noted for wisdom and justice as Edward I. They little knew
that their realm was the very temptation that was most liable to draw
him aside from the strict probity he had hitherto observed.
He called on the competitors and the states of Scotland to meet him at
Norham Castle on the 10th of May, 1291, and the conference was opened by
his justiciary, Robert Brabazon, who, in a speech of some length,
called on the assembly to begin by owning the King as Lord Paramount of
Scotland.
It had never been fully understood for how much of their domains the
Scottish kings did homage to the English, and the more prudent princes
had avoided opening the question, so that there might honestly be two
opinions on the subject. Still Edward was acting as the King of France
would have done had he claimed to be Paramount of England, because
Edward paid homage for Gascony, and he ought to have known that he was
taking an ungenerous advantage of the kingless state of his neighbors.
They made answer that they were incapable of making such an
acknowledgment; but Edward answered, “Tell them that by the holy St.
Edward, whose crown I wear, I will either have my rights recognized, or
die in the vindication of them.”
He gave them three weeks to consider his challenge, but in the
meantime issued writs for assembling his army; and thus left the more
quietly-disposed to expect an invasion, without any leader to oppose it;
while each of the twelve claimants could not but conceive the hope of
being raised to the throne, if he would consent to make the required
acknowledgment.
Accordingly, they all yielded; and when the next meeting took place at
Hollywell Haugh, a green plain close to “Norham’s castled height,”
the whole body owned Edward as their feudal superior; after which the
kingdom of Scotland was delivered over to him, and the great seal placed
in the joint keeping of the Scottish and English chancellors.
In the following year, on the 17th of November, the final decision was
made. Nine of the claimants had such frivolous claims, that no attention
was paid to them, and the only ones worth consideration were those
derived from David, Earl of Huntingdon, the crusading comrade of Coeur
de Lion, and son of Henry, son of St. David. This Earl had left three
daughters, Margaret, Isabel, and Ada. Margaret had married Allan of
Galloway, and John Balliol was the son of her only daughter Devorgoil.
Isabel married Robert Bruce, and her son, Robert, Earl of Carrick, was
the claimant; and Ada had left a grandson, Florence Hastings, Earl of
Holland.
A baron leaving daughters alone would divide his heritage equally among
them, and this was what Hastings desired; but Scotland was pronounced
indivisible, and he retired from the field. Bruce contended that, as son
of one sister, he was nearer the throne than the grandson of the other,
although the elder; but this was completely untenable, and Balliol,
having been adjudged the rightful heir, was declared King of Scotland,
was crowned, and paid homage to Edward.
He soon found that the fealty he had sworn was not, as he had hoped,
to be a mere dead letter, as with the former kings. Edward used to
the utmost the suzerain’s privilege of hearing appeals from the
vassal-prince--a practice never put in force by his predecessors, and
excessively galling to the new Scottish King, who found himself fettered
in all his measures, and degraded in the eyes of his rude and savage
subjects, who regarded him as having given away the honor of their
crown. Whenever there was an appeal, he was cited to appear in person at
the English court, and was treated, in fact, like a mere feudal noble,
instead of the King of a brave and ancient kingdom. Indeed, the Scots
called him the “toom tabard,” or empty herald’s coat--a name not
unsuited to such a king of vain show.
By and by a war broke out between England and France, and Edward sent
summonses to the Scottish barons to attend him with their vassals. It
was no concern of theirs, and many flatly refused to come, whereupon
he declared them to have forfeited their fiefs, and thus pushed his
interference beyond their endurance. John Balliol, their unfortunate
King, who was personally attached to Edward, and at the same time
greatly in dread of his fierce vassals, was utterly confused and
distressed; and finding no help in him, his subjects seized him, placed
him in a fortress, under the keeping of a council of twelve, and in his
name declared war against England.
Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick, to whom his father’s claims had
descended, remained faithful to King Edward, who, to punish the
rebellion of the Scots, collected an army of 30,000 foot and 4,000
horse, and, with the sacred standards of Durham at their head, marched
them into Scotland. Berwick, then a considerable merchant-town, closed
her gates against him, and further provoked him by the plunder of some
English merchant-ships. He offered terms of surrender, but these were
refused; and he led his men to the assault of the dyke, that was the
only defence of the town. He was the first to leap the dyke on his horse
Bayard, and the place was won after a brave resistance, sufficient to
arouse the passions of the soldiery, who made a most shocking massacre,
without respect to age or sex.
The report of these horrors so shocked John Balliol, that he sent to
renounce his allegiance to Edward, and to defy his power. “Felon and
fool!” cried Edward, “if he will not come to us, we must go to him.”
So frightful ravages were carried on by the English on one side and the
Scots on the other, till a battle took place at Dunbar, which so utterly
ruined the Scots, that they were forced to make submission, and Balliol
sued for peace. But Edward would not treat with him as a king, and only
sent Anthony Beck, the Bishop of Durham, to meet him at Brechin. He was
forced to appear, and was declared a rebel, stripped of his crown and
robes, and made to stand with a white rod in his hand, confessing that
he had acted rebelliously, and that Edward had justly invaded his
realm. After this humiliation, he resigned all his rights to Scotland,
declaring himself worn out with the malice and fraud of the nation,
which was probably quite true. He was sent at first to the Tower, but
afterward was released, lived peaceably on his estates in France, and
founded the college at Oxford that bears his name and arms.
The misfortunes endured by this puppet did not deter the Earl of Carrick
from aspiring to his seat; but Edward harshly answered, “Have I nothing
to do but to conquer kingdoms for you?” and sent him away with his
eldest son, a third Robert Bruce, to pacify their own territories of
Carrick and Annandale. Edward did nothing without law enough to make him
believe himself in the right, and poor Balliol’s forfeiture gave him,
as he imagined, the power to assume Scotland as a fief of his own. He
caused himself to be acknowledged as King of Scotland, destroyed the old
Scottish charters, and transported to Westminster the Scottish crown and
sceptre, together with the stone from Scone Abbey, on which, from time
immemorial, the Kings of Scotland had been placed when crowned and
anointed. All the castles were delivered up into his hands, and every
noble in his dominions gave him the oath of allegiance, excepting one,
William, Lord Douglas, who steadily refused, and was therefore carried
off a prisoner to England, where he remained to the day of his death.
Edward did not come in as a severe or cruel conqueror; he gave
privileges to the Scottish clergy, and re-instated the families of the
barons killed in the war. Doubtless he hoped to do great good to the wild
population, and bring them into the same order as the English; but the
flaw in his title made this impossible; the Scots regarded his soldiery as
their enemies and oppressors, and though the nobles had given in a
self-interested adhesion to the new government, they abhorred it all the
time, and the mutual hatred between the English garrisons and Scottish
inhabitants led to outrages in which neither party was free from blame.
As Hereward the Saxon had been stirred up against the Norman invaders,
so a champion arose who kept alive the memory of Scottish independence.
William Wallace was the younger son of Sir Malcolm Wallace of Ellerslie,
near Paisley, one of the lesser gentry, not sufficiently high in rank to
be required to take oaths to the English King. William was a youth of
unusual stature, noble countenance, and great personal strength and
skill in the use of arms, and he grew up with a violent hatred to the
English usurpers, which various circumstances combined to foster. While
very young, he had been fishing in the river Irvine, attended by a boy
who carried his basket, when some English soldiers, belonging to the
garrison of Ayr meeting him, insisted on seizing his trout. A fray took
place, and Wallace killed the foremost Englishman with a blow from the
butt of his fishing-rod, took his sword, and put the rest to flight.
This obliged him to fly to the hills. But in those lawless times such
adventures soon blew over, and, a year or two after, he was walking in
the market-place of Lanark, dressed in green, and with, a dagger by his
side, when an Englishman, coming up, insulted him on account of his gay
attire, and his passionate temper, thus inflamed, led to a fray, in
which the Englishman was killed. He then fled to the house where he was
lodging, and while the sheriff and his force were endeavoring to break
in, the lady of the house contrived his escape by a back way to a rocky
glen called the Crags, where he hid himself in a cave. The disappointed
sheriff wreaked his vengeance on the unfortunate lady, slew her, and
burnt the house.
Thenceforth Wallace was an outlaw, and the most implacable foe to the
English. In his wild retreat he quickly gathered round him other men
ill-used, or discontented, or patriotic, or lovers of the wild life
which he led, and at their head he not only cut off the parties sent to
seize him, but watched his opportunity for marauding on the English or
their allies. There is a horrible story that the English governor of
Ayr, treacherously inviting the Scottish gentry to a feast, hung them
all as they entered, and that Wallace revenged the slaughter with
equal cruelty by burning the English alive in their sleep in the very
buildings where the murder took place, the Barns of Ayr, as they were
called. The history is unauthenticated, but it is believed in the
neighborhood of Ayr, and has been handed down by Wallace’s Homer,
Blind Harry, whose poem on the exploits of the Knight of Ellerslie was
published sixty years from this time.
The fame of Wallace’s prowess swelled his party, and many knights and
nobles began to join him. He raised his banner in the name of King John
of Scotland, and, with the help of another outlaw chief, Sir William
Douglas, pounced on the English justiciary, Ormesby, while holding his
court at Scone, put him to flight, and seized a large booty and many
prisoners.
His forays were the more successful because the King was absent in
England, and the Chancellor, Hugh Cressingham, was not well agreed with
the lay-governor, John de Warrenne, Earl of Surrey. Many of the higher
nobility took his side, among them the younger Robert Bruce; but as the
English force began to be marshalled against him, they took flight for
their estates, and returned to the stronger party. It may have been that
they found that Wallace was not a suitable chief for more than a mere
partisan camp; brave as he was, he could not keep men of higher rank in
obedience. He lived by plunder, and horrible atrocities were constantly
committed by his men, especially against such English clergy as had
received Scottish preferment. Whenever one of these fell into their
hands, his sacred character could not save him; his arms were tied
behind his back, and he was thrown from a high bridge into a river,
while the merciless Scots derided his agony.
Warrene and Cressingham drew together a mighty force, and marched to the
relief of Stirling, which Wallace had threatened. The Scots had come
together to the number of 40,000, but they had only 180 horse; and
Warrenne had 50,000 foot and 1,000 horse. The Scots were, however, in a
far more favorable position, encamped on the higher ground on the bank
of the river Forth; and Warrenne, wishing to avoid a battle, sent two
friars to propose terms. “Return to your friends,” said Wallace; “tell
them we came with no peaceful intent, but determined to avenge ourselves
and set our country free. Let them come and attack us; we are ready to
meet them beard to beard.”
On hearing this answer, the English shouted to be led against the bold
rebel; but the more prudent leaders thought it folly to attempt to cross
the bridge, exposed as it, was to the enemy, but that a chosen body
should cross a ford, attack them in the flank, and clear the way.
Cressingham thought this policy timid. “Why,” said he to Warrenne,
“should we protract the war, and spend the King’s money? Let us pass on,
and do our duty!”
Warrenne weakly gave way, and the English troops began to cross the
bridge, the Scots retaining their post on the high ground until Sir
Marmaduke Twenge, an English knight, impetuously spurred up the hill,
when about half the army had crossed, and charged the Scottish ranks. In
the meantime, Wallace had sent a chosen force to march down the side of
the hill and cut off the troops who had crossed from the foot of
the bridge, and he himself, rushing down on the advancing horsemen,
entirely, broke them, and made a fearful slaughter of all on that side
of the river, seizing on the bridge, so that there was no escape. One of
the knights proposed to swim their horses across the river. “What!” said
Sir Marmaduke Twenge, “drown myself, when I can cut my way through the
midst of them by the bridge? Never let such foul slander fall on me!”
He then set spurs to his horse, and, with his nephew and armor-bearer,
forced his way back to his friends, across the bridge, by weight of
man and horse, through the far more slightly-armed Scots. Warrenne
was obliged to march off, with, the loss of half his army, and of
Cressingham, whose corpse was found lying on the plain, and was
barbarously, mangled by the Scots. They cut the skin into pieces, and
used it for saddle-girths; even Wallace himself being said to have had a
sword-belt made of it.
This decisive victory threw the greater part of Scotland into Wallace’s
hands; and though most of the great earls still held with the English,
the towns and castles were given up to him, and the mass of the people
was with him. He plundered without mercy the lands of such as would
not join him, and pushed his forays into England, where he frightfully
ravaged Cumberland and Northumberland; and from St. Luke’s to St.
Martin’s-day all was terror and dismay, not a priest remaining between
Newcastle and Carlisle to say mass. At last the winter drove him back,
and on his return he went to Hexham, a rich convent, which had been
plundered on the advance, but to which three of the monks had just
returned, hoping the danger was over. Seeing the enemy entering, they
fled into a little chapel; but the Scots had seen them, and, rushing on
them, demanded their treasures. “Alas!” said they, “you yourselves best
know where they are!” Wallace, coming in, silenced his men, and bade the
priests say mass; but in one moment, while he turned aside to take off
his helmet, his fierce soldiery snatched away the chalice from the
altar, and tore off the ornaments and sacred vestments. He ordered that
the perpetrators should be put to death, and said to the priests, “My
presence alone can secure you. My men are evil-disposed. I cannot
justify, I dare not punish them.”