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THE
SC OTTISH C HIE F S;
A ROMANCE,
BY
Miss Jane porter,
AUTHOR OF THADDEUS OF WARSAW AND REMARKS
on SIDNEY’s AP HoH ISMS.
Five volumES IN Two.
There comes a voice that awakes my soul. It is the voice of
years that are gone; they roll before me with all their
deeds.-Ossian.
*. VOL. I.
PHILADELPHIA :
PUBLISHED BY B. EW ANS,
1819.
PREFACE.
To paint the portrait of the most complete heroes, that
ever filled the page of history, may be a bold, though I hope
not a vain design. The contemplation of virtue is an im-
proving as well as a delightful employment: and however
inadequate this picture may be to represent duly its great
original, yet, that it is a copy of such excellence, will give
it some merit in the eyes of those who love virtue even in
its shade.
I have spared no pains in consulting almost every writing
extant which treats of the sister kingdoms during the period
of my narrative. It would be tedious to swell this page
with a list of these authorities, for they are very numerous;
but all who are well acquainted with our old British histori-
ans, must perceive on reading the Scottish Chiefs, that in
the sketch which history would have laid down for the bio-
graphy of my principal hero. I have not added to the out-
line, excepting, where time having made some erasure, a
stroke was necessary to fill the space and unite the whole.
Tradition has been a great assistant to me in this respect.
And for the most essential information on the subject, i am
indebted to the suggestions of my invaluable fri, ºil Mr
Thomas Campbell, who has so nobly mingled the poet’s
brightest bays with the ancient laurels of his clan.
While tracing the characters of my personages in the
Scottish annals, it was with infinite pleasure that I found
those virtues in the fathers, which have attached me to their
posterity. Delighted with this most’clear proof of kindred,
I have fondly lingered over my work; re-enjoying in its
visionary scenes, hours fled to heaven ; I have again dis-
coursed, and mingled my soul, with friends whose nobility
of spirit honoured the illustrious stems from which they
sprung : But like the blossomed bough, torn untimely
from its branch, they are gone : alid spread fragrance in
my path no more.
It is the fashion to contemn even an honest pride in an
cestry. But where is the Englishman who is not proud of
being the countryman of Nelson Where is the British
sailor that does not thirst to emulate his fame 2 If this senti-
ment be right, respect for noble progenitors cannot be
wrong ; for it proceeds from the same source : the princi-
* * *
*
*-* * -
iy PREFACE,
ple of kindred, of inheritance, and of virtue. Let the long
race of Douglas, or the decendants of the Percy, say, if the
name they bear is not as a mirror to show them what they
ought to be, and as a burning-glass to kindle in their hearts
the flame of their fathers? Happy is it for this realm that
the same destiny which now unites the once contending
arms of these two brave families, has also consolidated their
rival nations into one ; and by planting the heir of Plantaga-
net and of Bruce upon the British throne, hath redeemed
the peace of the land, and fixed it on lasting foundations.
From the nature of my story, mofe agents have been
used in its conduct than I should have adopted, had it been
a work of mere imagination; for taste would have selected
the simplest means of accomplishing the fable; and even
here, where the principle could be followed without any
extravagant violation of the fact, it has been obeyed. Very
few persons wholly imäginary have been introduced; and
wishing to keep as near historical truth as was consistent
with my plan, no intentional injustice has been committed
against the characters of the individuals who were the real
actors with the hero of the tale. The melancholy, circum-
stance which first excited him to draw his sword for Scot-
land, though it may be thought too much like the greation
of modern romance, is recorded as a truth in the old poem’
by blind Harrie. Other private events have been interwo-
ven with the public subjects of these volumes, that the dis-
agreable monºony of a continued series of warlike achieve-
Inents might be avoided. Some notes are added, to point
out the historical incidents; but finding that were they all
marked, such a plan would swell each volume beyond its
{...}. size: in one word, I assure the reader that l seldom
ead him to any spot in Scotland whether some written or
oral testimony respecting my hero had not previously con-
ducted myself. In the same spirit, being careful to keep to
the line of chronology, I have not stroyed from it in any in-
stance until my chief personages return from France ; and
then my history being intended to be within the bounds of
modern romance, and not to rival the folios of Scudery, f
found myself obliged to take some liberties with time and
and circumstance : for both of which offences, and particu-
larly for the management of my catasu ophe, I hope the
historical, if he be also a gentle reader, will find no difficulty
in forgiving me. - -

- THE
sco TTIs H CHIEFs.
CHAP. I,
The war which had desolated Scotland was now at an
end. Ambition seemed satiated; and the vanquished, after
passing under the yoke of their enemy, concluded they might
wear their chains in peace. Such were the hopes of those
Scottish noblemen who, early in the spring of 1296, signed
the bond of submission to a ruthless conqueror; purchasinº
life at the price of all that makes life estigable—Liberty
and Honour. . . . . - - * *
Prior to this act of vassalage, Edward the First of England
had entered:Scotland at the head of an immense army. He
seized Berwick by a base stratagem; laid the country in ash-
es; and on the field of Dunbar forced the King and his no-
bles to acknowledge him their liege Lord.
While the courts of Edward, or of his representatives,
were crowded by dhe humbled Scots, the spirit of one brave
man remained dinsubdued. Disgusted alike at the facility
with which the sovereign of a warlike nation could resign his
people and his crown into the hands of a treacherous invader,
and at the pusillanimity of the nobles who could ratify such
a sacrifice, William Wallace retired to the glen of Eilerslie.
Withdrawn from the world, he hoped to avoid the sight of
oppressions he could not redress, and the endurance of injurº
ries beyond his power to avenge.
Checked at the opening of life in the career of glory that
was his passion, secluded in the bloom of manhood from the
sºcial haunts of men, he repressed the eager aspirations of
jlis mind; and strove to acquire that resignation to enevitable
evils which could alone reconcile him to forego the promises .
of his youth; and enable him to view with patience that hu-
miliation of Scotland which blighted her honor, menaced her
existence, and consigned her sons to degradation or obscurity.
. A 2 * ~ * *
6 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
The latter was the choice of Wallace. Too noble to bend
his spirit to the usurper, too honest to affect submission, he
resigned himself to the only way left of maintaining the in-
dependênce of a true Scot; and giving up the world at
once, all the ambitions of youth were extinguished in his
breast, since nothing was preserved in his country to sancti.
fy their fires. Scotland seemed proud of her chains. Not to
share in such debasement seemed all that was now in his
power; and within the shades of Ellerslie he found a retreat
and a home, whose sweets beguiled him of every care; and
made him sometimes forget the wrongs of his country in the
tranquil enjoyments of wedded love.
During the happy months of the preceding autumn, while
Scotland was yet free, and the path of honorable distinction
lay open before her young nobility; Wallace married Mari-
on Braidfoot, the beautiful heiress of Lammington. Of the
same age, and brought up troin childhood together, recipro-
cal afféction grew with their growth; and sympathy of taste,
virtues and mutual tenderiness, gradually mingling their
spirits, made, them so entirely obsethat when at the age of
twenty-two the enraptured lover was allºwed by his grand-
father to pledge that faith publicly at ºffe altar which he had
so often vowed to his Marion in secrè, he clasped her to
his heart, and softly whispered—“dearenthan life part of
my being now and forcver! blessed is this union that min.
gles thy soul with mine to all eternity!” *
Edward’s invasion of Scotland broke in upon their inno-
cent joys. Wallace threw aside the wedding garment for the
cuirass and the sword But he was not permitted to use
either—Scotland submitted to her enemies; and he had no
alternative but to bow to her oppressors, or to become an
exile from man amid the deep glens of his country.
The tower of Eilerslie was henceforth the lonely abode of
himself and his bride. The neighboring nobles avoided him,
becat.se the principles he declared were a tacit reproach oil
their proceedings; and in the course of a short time, as he
forbore to seek timera, they even forgot that he was in exis-
tence. Indeed, all occasions of fixing with society were now
rejected by Wallace. The hunting spear, with which he de-
... ghted to follow the flying roe-buck from glade to glade,
frein mountain to mountain; the arrow 3 with which he used

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 7.
to bring down the heavy tarmagan or the towering cagle, all
were laid aside; Scottish liberty was no more ; and Wallace
would have blushed to have shewn himself to this free-born
deer of his native hills, in communion with the spoilers of
his country. Had he pursued his once favourite exercises he
must have mingled with the English now garrisoned in every
town; and who passed their hours of leisure in the chase.
Being resigned to bury his youth, since its strength could
be no longer serviceable to his country; books, his harp, and
the sweet converse of his tender Marion, were the occupa-
tions of his days. Ellerslie was his hermitage ; and there,
closed from the world, with an angel his companion, he
might have forgotten that Edward was lord in Scotland,
had not what was without his little paradise, made a way to
its gates, and shewed him tº.e slavery of the nobles, and the
wretchedness of the people. In these cases, his generous
hand gave succour where it could not bring redress. Those
whom the lawless plunderer had driven from their houses,
or stripped-of their covering, found shelter, clothing and
food, at the house of Sir William Wallace.
Ellerslie was the refuge of the friendless and the comfort cf
the unhappy. Wherever Latly Wallace moved, whether look-
ing out from her window on the accidental passenger; or
aking her morning, or moonlight walks through the glen
leaning on the arm of her husband ; she had the rapture of
hearing his steps greeted and followed by the blessing of the
poor destitute, and the prayers of them who were ready to per-
ish. It was then that this happy wornan would raise her lius-
band’s hand to her lips, and in silent adoration thank God
for blessing her with a being made so truly in his own image.
Wallace, who read her heart in this action, would reply,
—“sweetest Marion, what merit has thy Wallace in mere
benevolence 2 contracted is now my sphere of duty, and easi-
ly fulfilled ; it is only to befriend the oppressed to the ut-
most of my power! and while tyranny leaves me that privi-
lege I shall not consider myself quite a slave. Were I useless
to my fellow-creatures I should be miserable; for, in blessing
others, I bless myself—I bless thee my Marion; and the
grateful countenances of these poor people add beauty even
to thine : art thou not loveliest in my eyes at this moment,
thou angel of peace and love' dost thou not praise thy hus-
*
$º
& "THE SCOTTISH CHAEFS,
*
band for what is common with thee *. She smiled, and a
happy tear glittered in her eye. “To be lovely to thee, Wal-
lace, is all my jöy; and to see thee so worthy of all my love,
fills me indeed with an angel’s happiness!”
Several months of this blåsfäl and uninterrupted solitude
had elapsed, when Lady Wallace saw a stranger chieftan ar-
rive at her gate. He inquired for Sir William, requested a
private conference, and retired with liminto a remote room.
They remained there for above an hour; when Wallace
coming forth, ordered his horse and four servants to be in
readiness, saying he meant to accompany his guest to Doug-
las castle. When he embraced his wife at parting, he told
her that as it was only a few miles distant, he should be at
home again before the moon rose.
She passed the tedious hours of his absence with tranquik-
ty, till after she saw the moon, the appointed signal of his
return, rise behind the highest summits of the opposite
mountains. So bright were its beams, that she did not need
any other light to show her the stealing sands of her hour
glºss, as they numbered the prolqnged hours of her hus-
band’s stay. She dismissed all her servants to their rest, ex-
cepting Halbert the gray-haired harper of Wallace; and he,
like herself, was too unaccustomed to the absence of his
master, to find sleep visit his eyes, whilst Ellerslie was be-
left of its joy and its guard,
As the night advanced, Lady Wallace sat in the window
of her bed-charaber, which looked towards the west. She
watched the winding path-way that led from Lanerk down
the opposite height; eager to catch a glimpse of the waving
plumes of her husband, when he sliould emerge from behind
the hili, and pass through the mingling thicket which over-
hung the road. How often, as a cloud obscured for an in-
stant the moon’s light, and threw a transitory shade across
the path, did her heart bound with the thought that her
watching was at an end. It was he whom she had seen .#
denly start from some abrupt turning of the rock they we
the folds of his tartan that darkened the white cliff; but the
mo; n again rolled through her train of clouds, and threw
Łer light around. Where was then her Wallace f alas, it was
only a shadow she had seen : the hill was still lonely, and he
w Hom she sought was yet far away ! Overcome with watch-


THE 5c OTTISH CHIEFS, 3.
ing, expectation, and disappointment; unable to say whence
arose her fears; she sat down again to lºok, but her eyes
were blinded with tears; and in a voice interrupted by sighs,
she exclaimed, “not yet, not yet!—ah, my Wallace, what
evil has betided thee ?” - - -
Trembling with a nameless terror, she knew not what to
dread. She believed all hostile rencontres had ceased, when
Scotland no longer contended with Edward. The nobles,
without remonstrance, had surrendered their castles into the
hands of the usurper; and the peasantry, following the ex-
ample of their lords, had allowed their homes to be ravaged
without lifting an arm in their defence. Opposition being en-
tirely over, nothing then could threaten her husband from
the enemy; and was not the person who had taken him
from Ellerslie, a friend! - i
Before Wallace’s departure he had spoken to Marion
alone, and told her that the stranger was Sir John Mon-
teith, the youngest son of the brave Walter Lord Monteith,
(a) who was so treacherously put to death by the English
in the early part of the last year. This young nobleman was
then left by his dying father to the particular charge of his
friend William Lord Douglas, at that time governor of Ber-
wick. After the fall of that place and the captivity of its
defender, Sir John Monteith had returned to Douglas Cas-
tle in the vicinity of Lanerk; and was now the only master
of that princely residence. Sir James Bouglas, the only
son of the veteran lord, was still at Paris ; whither he had
gone before the defeat at Dunbar, to negociate a league be-
tween the French monarch and the then king of Sests.
Informed of the privacy, in which Wallacewished to live,
Monteith had never ventured to disturb it, tinfilº this day;
and then, knowing the steady honor of his ºld school-fel.
low, he came to entreat, by the reverence he entertained
for the memory of the sacrificed Lord Monteith, by the
respect he had for the brave Douglas, and by his love for
his country, that he would not refuse to accompany him
that day to Douglas castle.
I have a secret to disclose to you, said he, which cannot
be divulged on any other spot.
Unwilling to deny so small a favor to the son of one who
had so ofteå shed his blood in his country’s service, Wal-

10 THE scottis H CHIEFs.
lace, as has been said before, conscnted; and was conduct-
ed by Monteith towards Douglas. , - t
As they descended the heights which lead down to the
castle, Monteith kept a profound silence ; and when they
crossed the draw-bridge which lay over the water at its bage,
he put his finger to his lips, in token to the servants for
equal taciturnity: this was explained as they entered the
gate and looked round: they saw it guarded by English
soldiers.-Wallace started, and would have drawn back, but
Monteith laid his hand on his arm and whispered, “for your
country " upon these words, which struck like a spell upon
the ear of Wallace, he procéeded; and his attendants fol-
lowed into the court-yard. {
The sun was just setting as Monteith led his friend into a
room which looked towards the east. The reflection of the
departing orb upon the distant hills, reminded Wallace of
the strétch he had to retread, to reach his home before mid-
night ; and thinking of his anxious Marion, he proposed with
inpatience, to be told the object of his journey. . .
Monteith closed the door, looked fearfully around for
some time, and trembling at every step, approached Wal-
lace.—When drawn quite near, in a low voice he said, “you
must swear upon the cross that you will keep inviolable the
secret I am now going to reveal.”
Wallace put aside the hilt of the sword which Monteith
presented to receive his oath; no, said he with a smile, I
take no oaths. In these times I would not bind my con-
science on subjects that I do not know. If you daré trust
the word of a Scotsman and a friend, speak out; and if it be
honest, my honour is your pledge- -
And you will met swear! demanded Monteith, with a
doubtful look.
No.
Then I must not irust you. t
Then our business is at an end; returned Wallace, ri-
sing, and l pay return home.
Stop cried Monteith, forgive me-noble Wallace, that I
have dared it. hesitate these are indeed times of such trca-
son to honour, that I do not wonder you should be carefui
how you swear. But the nature of the confidence repôsed
$º me, wiłł. I hope, convince you that i ought not to share

THE scortis H. CHIEFS. i
it rashly. Of any one but you, whose truth stands as faif as
virgin purity, I would exact oaths on oaths; but your word
is given, and on that I rely. Await me here.
Monteith unlocked a door which had been concealed by
the tapestry of the room, and in a few minutes re-entered
with a smail iron box. He set it hastily on the table near
his friend; then went to the great door which he had before
so carefully closed, tried that the bolts were secure, and re-
turned with a still more pallid countenance towards the ta-
ble. Wallace, surprised at so much precaution, and at the
extreme apprehension visible in these actions, awaited with
wonder the promised explanation. Mgnteith sat down with
his hand on the box, and fixing his eyes on it, began:
“I am going to mention a name which you may hear
with patience, since the power by which its bearer insulted
you is no more. §The successful rival of Bruce, and the en-
. of your family, is now a prisoner in the tower of Lon-
on.” .*
- “You speak of Baliol f"
“I dog’ answered Monteith ; “and his present sufferings
will perfiaps soften your indignation at his too vindictive re-
º of the injury he received from Sir Ronald Craw-
ord.”
“My grandfather never injured him or any man!” inter-
rupted Wallace; “Sir Ronald Crawford was ever as incapa-
ble of injustice, as of flattering the minion of his country’s
enemy. But Baliol is fallen, and I forgive him.”
“Did you witness his degradation,” returned Monteith
“you would even pity him.”
“He was always an object of my pity,” continued Wal-
lace. “I never thought him worthy of a stronger sentiment;
and as you are ignorant of the cause of his enmity against
Sir Ronald and myself, in justice to the character of that
most venerable of men, I will explain it. I first saw Baliol
four years ago, when I accompanied my grandfather to wit-
ness the arbitration of the king of Engiand between the two
contending claiments for the Scottish crown. Sir Ronald
came on the part of Bruce. I was deemed too young to
have a voice in the council: but I was old enough to under-
stand what was passing; and to perceive in the crouching
demeanor, with which Baliol received the crown, that it was
i 2 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
the price for which he had sold his country. However, as
Scotland acknowledged him sovereign, and as Bruce submit-
ted, my grandfather silently acquiesced. But Baliol forgot
not former opposition : his behaviour to Sir Ronald and my-
self at the beginning of this year, when according tº the priv-
ilege of our birth, we appeared in the field against the public
enemy, fully demonstrates what was the injury Baliol com-
plains of; and how unjustly he drove us from the standard of
Scotland, JNone, said he, shall serve under me who ever pre-
sumed to declare themselves the friends of Bruce 2 poor, weak
man the purchased vassal of England ; yet enamored of his
ideal kingship, he hated all who had opposed his power, even
while his own treachery sapped its foundation. * Edward
having made use of him, all these sacrifices of honor and of
conscience were insufficient to retain his favor. The trea-
son completed, his employer detests the traitor; and Baliol is
removed from his throne to a prison can I feel one re-
.vengeful pang against a wretch so abject? no I do indeed
pity him. And now that I have cleared my grandfather's
name of this calumny, I am ready to hear you further.”
Monteith, after remarking on the well known honor of
Sir Ronald Crawford, resumed, :
“During the massacre at the capture of Berwick, Lord
Douglas, who had defended it to the last, was taken, wounded
and insensible, by a trusty band of Scots, out of the citadel;
and they contrived to escape with him out of the town, even
through the midst of the carnage. I followed toº:Dunbar,
where he sufficiently recovered to witness that days dread-
ful loss which completed the victory of the English. When
the few nobles who survived the battle, dispersed, he took
the road to Forfar : hoping to meet King Baliol there, and
to concert with him new plans of resistance. I accompanied
him ; and when we arrived, we found his majesty in close
conversation with John Cummin, Earl of Athol; and this
worthless Scot had thoroughly persuaded him, that by the
disaster at Dunbar, all was so lost, that if he wished to save
his life, he must immediately go to the King of England, at
Montrose, and surrender himself to ". mercy. (b)
“Our brave Douglas tried to alter Baliol's resolution, but
without effect. The King only wept at the picture our
friend drew of the miseries to which his flight would abandon
THE SCOTTISH C III EFS, 13
Scotland; he could not return any reasonable answers to
the arguments which were offered to induce him to remain,
but continued to repeat with sobs and tears, it is any fute, it
is my fate / Athol sat knitting his black brows during this
conversation; and at last, throwing out some sullen remarks
to Lord Douglas on the vehemencé with which he exhorted
the king to defy his liege lord, he abruptly left the room.
“As soon as he was gone, Baliol rose from his seat with a
very anxious countenance, and taking my patron into an ad-
joining room, they continued there a few minutes, and then
re-entered, Douglas bearing with him this iron box. Mon-
teith, said he, I confide this to your care. As he spoke, he put
the box under my arm, and concealing it with my cloak, ad-
ded, carry it directly to my castle in Lanerkshire. I will re.
join you there in four-and twenty hours after you arrive.—
Meanwhile, by your ſº to me, and fidelity to your king,
breathe not a ‘word ºf what has passed.
“Look on this, and be faithful, said Baliol, putting this
ruby ring on my finger. I withdrew, and as I crossed the
outward hall was met by Athol. He eyed me sternly, and
inquired whither I was going. I replied, to Douglas, to pre-
pare for the coming of its lord. The hall was full of armed
men in Athol’s colors. Not one of the remnant who had
followed lord Douglas from the bloody field of Dunbar was
visible. Athol looked round on his myrmidons; here, cried
he, see that you speed this fellow on his journey. His master
goes with us to London. I saw the danger that threatened
i.ord Douglas; but as I attempted to return to give him
warning, a score of spears were presented at my breast. I
was forced to desist; and to secure my charge, which far-
ther resistance might have hazarded, I hastened into the
court yard, and being permitted to mount my horse, set off
on full gallop.
“I arrived at this place on the second day; and remem.
bering that secret closet, carefully deposited the box within
it. A week passed without any tidings of Lord Döuglas,
However, I still flattered myself, notwithstanding the me-
nace of Athol, that by some means he might escape the
share, and reach his castle; but the arrival of a pilgrim, on
his way to the shrine of St. Ninian, in Galway, cut off all my
hopes. He requested to see me alone : and fearing nothing”
* {} . . . [.
14 THE Scottis H CHIEFs.
from a man in so sacred a habit, I admitted him. He pre-
sented me with a packet, saying it had been entrusted to him
by Lord Douglas, at Montrose. He proceeded to tell me
that my brave friend, having been forcibly carried on board
a vessel which was to convey him and the unhappy Baliol
prisoners to London, (for such it seems were King Edward's
orders,) he sent to the Tironensian monks, at Aberbrothick,
and under a pretence of making a religious confession before
he sailed, begged to be visited by the subprior. , I am that
prior, continued the pilgrim, and having been born on the
Douglas lands, he well knew he had every claim to my fidelity,
He gave me this packet, and conjured ºne to lose no time in con-
veying it to you. The task was difficult; and as in these calami-
tous times for Scotland, when ºvery man’s hand seems raised
against his buother, we know not whom on earth to trust. A de-
termined to bring it myself; and vowed to visit the holy shrine
of St. Ninian, if it should please the blessed saints to carry ºne
safely through my embassy.
“I inquired of the reverend father whether Lord Douglas
had actually sailed. Yes, replied he, I stood on the beach at
AMontrose, º: ship disappeared / and woeful was the sight,
for it carried away the benefactor of my youth.”
A half-stifled groan burst from the indignant breast of
Wallace. It interrupted Monteith for an instant, but with-
out noticing it, he proceeded, not appearing to have paused.
“Not only the brave Douglas was wrested from our coun-
try, but so was our king, and that holy pillar of Jacob, (c)
which prophets have declared the palladium of Scotland ſº
What? inquired Wallace, with a frown, has Baliol robbed
Scotland of that trophy of one of her best kings is the sa-
cred gift of Fergus to be made the spoil of a coward 2
Băliol is not the robber, rejoined Monteith ; the hallowed
stone was taken from its sanctuary at Scone, by the com-
mand of the King of England, and carried on board the same
vessel, with the sackings of Ikolmkill: the archives of the
kingdom have also been torn from that monastery, and
thrown by Edward's own hands into the fire.
f ºrant exclaimed Wallace, thou may’st fill the cup too
Uli º * -
His depredations, continued Monteith, the good monk told
me, have been as wide as they were destructive. He has
*
THE scottish C HIEFS, 1 5
not left a parchment, either of public records, or of private
annals, in any of the monasteries or castles around Montrose;
all have been searched and plundered. And besides, Pa-
trick Dunbar, the faithless Earl of March, and Lord Soulis,
have been such parricides of their country, as to be his co-
adjutors, and have performed the like robberies from the
eastern shores of the Highlands, to the furthest of the West-
ern Isles. (d)
Do the traitors think, cried Wallace, that by robbing Scot-
Iand of her annals, and of that stone, that they really deprive
her of her palladium ? Fools Fools! Scotland's history is in
the memories of her sons; her palladium is in their hearts :
and Edward may, one day find that she remembers the
victory of Largs, (e) and needs not talismans to give her
freedom. 3.
Alas! not in our time ! answered Monteith, the spear is
at our breasts, and we must submit. You see this castle is
full of Edward’s soldiers! Every house is a garrison for Eng-
land; but more of this by and by ; I have yet to tell you
the contents of the packet which the monk brought. As
soon as he had declared to me what I have told you, I order-
ed proper means to forward him on his pilgrimage, and bid.
ding him farewell, retired to open the packet. It contained
two, one directed to Sir James Douglas, at Paris, and the
other to me ; I read, as follows:–
“Athol has persuaded Baliol to his ruin, and betrayed me
into the hands of Edward. I shall see Scotland ng, more.
Send the enclosed to my son at Paris, it will inform hiſm what
is the last wish of William Douglas for his country. The
iron box I confided to you, guard as your life, until you can
deposit it with my son. But should he remain abroad, and
you ever be in extremity, commit the box in strict charge to
the worthiest Scot you know ; and tell him, that it will be at
the peril of his soul who dares to open it till Scotland be again
free / when that hour comes, then let the man by whose va-
lor God restores her rights, receive the box as his own ; for
by him only, is it to be opened.
“Monteith, as you would not disgrace the memory qf your
noble father, and as you hope for honor here, or hapipness
hereafter, attend to these injunctions of your friend Douglas.”
Monteith finished reading the letter, and remained silent.
f
| 6 - THE SCOTTISH C HII. F.S.
Wallace, who had listened to it with increasing indignation
against the enemies of Scotland, spoke first 5–" Tell me in
what I can assist you ? or how serve the last wishes of the
brave Douglas º *. º
Monteith replied by reading over again this sentence,—
“should my son remain abroad, and you ever be in eactremity,
commit the bow in strict charge to the worthiest Scot you know.”
I am in that extremity now, Edward had formed his plan of
desolation, when he placed English governors throughout
Our towns; and the rapacious Heselrigge, his representative
in Lanerk, is not backward to execute the despots will. He
has just issued an order for all the houses of the absent chiefs
to be searched for records, and secret correspondences. Two
or three in the neighbourhood have already gone through this
ordeal; and the event has proved that it was not papers they
sought, but plunder; and an excuse for dismantling the cas-
tléfar occupying them with English officers.
“A detachment of soldiers were sent hither by Heselrigge
this morning by day-break, to guard the castle, until he could
in person be present at the examination. This ceremony is
to take place to-morrow ; and as Lord Douglas is considered
a traitor to Edward, I am told the place will be sacked to its
bare walls. In such an extremity, to you noble Wallace, as
to the worthiest Scot I know, I fly to take charge of this box ;
within the remote cliffs of Ellerslie it will be safe from sus-
picion; and when Sir James Douglas a gives from Paris, to
him you can resign the trust. Meanwhile, as I shall not re-
sist the plunderers to-morrow, after delivering up the keys
of the state apartments to Heselrigge, I will subunit to neces-
sity, and beg his permission to retire to my lodge on Ben
Venu.” * -
Wallace made no difficulty in granting his request : and
desiring Monteith, when he found means to forward Lord
Douglas's packet to his son, to inform that young nobleman
of the circumstances which deposited the box in Ellerslie, he
proposed to depart immediately. There being two iron rings
on each side of the casket, Wallace took the leathern bélt
wilich girded his sword, and putting it through theni, swung
it easily under hks left arm, and covered, it with his plaid.
His charge being secured, Monteith’s eyes brighteſied, the .
paleness left his cheek, and with a firmed step, as if sudden.

* HE Sco'I'TISH CHIEFS. iº
ly relieved of a heavy load, he called a servant to prepare
Sir William Wallace’s horses and attendants.
As Wallace shook hands with his friend, Monteith in a
low and solemn voice, bade him be cautious in what part of
his house he kept the box; remember, said he, the penalty
that hangs over him who looks into it.
Be not afraid, answered "Wallace, even the outside shall
never be seen by other eyes than my own, unless the same
circumstance which now induces you, mortal extremity,
should force me to confide it to safer hands.
Beware of that! exclaimed Monteith, for who is there
that would adhere to the prohibition as I have done, as you
will do and, besides, as I have no doubt it contains holy
relics, who knows what calamities a sacrilegious look might
bring upon our already devoted country.
Relics or no relics, replied Wallace, it would be an equal
sin against good faith to invade what is forbidden; but from
the weight, I am rather inclined to suspect that the box con-
tains gold; probably a treasure, with which the sordid mind
of Baliol thinks to compensate the hero who may free his
country, for all the miseries a traitor King, and a treacher-
ous usurper have brought upon it.
A treasure, repeated Monteith, I never thought of that,
it is indeed very heavy —As we are responsible for the con-
tents of the box, I wish we were certain of what it contains:
let us consider that
It is no consideration of ours; returned Wallace, with
what is in the box we have no concern; all we have to do,
is to preserve the contents unviolated by even our own eyes;
and to that as you have now transferred the charge to me, I
pledge myself—farewell.
But why this haste § rejoined Monteith, sure you had
. stay a little, indeed I wish I had thought, stay only a
little. *
I thank you, returned Wallace, proceeding to the court
yard, but it is now dark, and I promised to be at home before
the moon rises; I must bid you good night. If you wish me
to serve you farther, I shall be happy to see you at Ellerslie
to-morrow. My Marion will have pleasure in entertaining
for days or weeks the friend of her husband. --
While Wallace spoke he •ºsed to bis horse, to which
B 3 . -
# 8 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
º
he was lighted, not only by the servants of the castle, but by
several English soldiers who crowded forward out of curiosi-
ty. As he put his foot in the stirrup, he held in his hand the
loosened sword which to accommodate his charge he had un-
buckled from his side. Monteith, whose dread of detection
was ever awake, whispered, “a weapon in your hand will ex-
cite suspicion P’ Fear incurred what it would have avoided;

as he hastily pulled aside Wallace’s plaid to throw it over the
glittering hilt of the sword, he exposed the iron box. The
light of so many torches striking upon the polished rivets,
displayed it to all eyes; but no remark being made, and
Wallace not observing what was done, again shook hands
with Monteith, and calling his servants about him, galloped
away; and being obliged to leave the northern and direct
road, because the English marauders swarmed there, he was
presently lost amid the thick shades of Clydesdale.
=ºmm,
CHAP. II.
The darkness was almost impenetrable. Musing on what
had passed with Monteith , and on the little likelihood of any
hero appearing who by freeing his country, could ever claim
the privilege of investigating the mystery which was now
commited to his care, Wallace road on; till crossing the
bridge of Lanerk, he saw the light of the rising moon, silver.
ing the tops of the distant hills; and his meditations embraced
a gentler subject. This was the time he had promised Ma-
rion to be returned ; five long miles to go before he could
reach the glen of Ellerslie ' He thought of her being alone;
and watching, with perhaps a chiding heart, the minutes of
his delay. Scotland and its wrongs, he forgot in the idea of
her whose happiness was dearer to him than life; he could
not achieve the deliverance of the one, but it was his bliss to
preserve the peace of the other; and putting spurs to his
horse, under the now bright beams of the ascending moon,
he galloped through the town. *...
He was abruptly turning the angle of a street, which leads
down to the Mouse river, when the cry of murder arrested
THE sco TTISH chiefs. 19
his ear; he checked his horse, and listened; the clashing of
arms told him that the sound had issued from an alley, to the
left; he alighted in an instant, and drawing his sword, threw
away the scabbard, (prophetic omen') and leaving his horse
with one of his servants, was followed by the other three to
the spot whence the noise proceeded. -
On arriving, he discovered two men in tartans, with their
backs to the opposite wall, beset by a throng of Edward’s
soldiers, who were cutting at them with merciless fury. At
this sight, the brave Scots who accompanied Wallace, were
so enraged, that blowing their bugles to encourage the assail-
ed, they hurried after their gallant leader, and attacking the
banditti, each man cut his opponent to the ground.
Such unexpected assistance re-animated the drooping
strength of one of the two from whom the cry had issued.—
He sprung from the wall with the vigor of a tiger, but at the
moment received a wound in his back, which would have
thrown him into the hands of his enemies, had not Wallace,
who at that moment penetrated to his side, caught him in his
left arm, and with his right cleared the way, while he called
to his men who were fighting near him—“To the glen P as
he spoke, he threw the wounded stranger, who had fainted
with loss of blood, into their arms. The other poor fellow,
whose cries had first attracted Wallace, at that instant fell
covered with blood, exclaiming—“save save my lord **
Two ofthe servantshaving obeyed, had carried their sense.
less burthen towards the horses; but the third could not move,
being hemmed in by the furious soldiers. Wallace made a
passage to his rescue; but he soon found himself alone with
the assailants, for his already wounded follower received a
ash in the sword arm which so disabled him, that his master
ordered him to seeksafety in flight, and leave him to his own
strength and heaven. One base wretch, as the poor servant
was retreating, made a stroke at his neck, which would have
severed his head from his body, had not the trusty claymore
(f) of Wallace struck down the pending weapon of the cow:
ird, and received his rushing body upon its point. He fell
with bitter imprecations, calling aloud for vengeance.
A dreadful cry was tow raised by the whole band of assas-
sins. “Murder treason Arthur Heselrigge is slain *--
The uproar became general. The windows of the adjoining
20 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
house were thrown open; people armed and unarmed issus
ed from their doors, and pressed forward to inquire the cause
of the alarm, Wallace was nearly overpowered; a hundred
swords flashed in the torch-light and were levelled towards
him; but at the moment when he expected they would all
be sheathed in his heart, the earth gave way under his feet,
and he sunk into utter darkness.
He fell upon, what he knew by its perfume, to be a quan,
tity of gathered broom; and concluding that the weight of
the thronging multitude had burst his passage through some
archway into a cellar, he sprung on his feet; and though he
heard the curses of several wretches who had fallen with him
and fared worse, he moved gently towards a half-opened
door, pointed out to him by a faint gleam from an inner pase
sage. The men uttered a shout as they saw him darken the
light which glimmered through it; but they were incapable
of pursuit; and Wallace, aware of his danger, flew with the
fleetness of a deer across the adjoining apartment, (a kitched
deserted by its inhabitants now in the street ;) and darting
through the window, which he burst open, leaped out at the
foot of the Lanerk hills.
The cries of the soldiers, enraged at his escape, echoed in
his ears till distance sunk them into hoarse murmurs. He
pursued his way without stopping, along the craigs, through
the valley, and across the river to the cliffs which overlooked
the garden of Ellerslie. Springing on the projecting point
of the nearest, he leaped into the midst of a thicket of honey-
suckles. This was the favorite bower of his Marion . The
soft perfume, as it saluted his senses, seemed to breathe
peace and safety; and as he emerged from their fragrant
embraces, he walked with a calmer step towards the house.
He approached the door which led from the parlour into the
garden. It was open. He beheld his beloved in her white
night-dress leaning over a couch on which was laid the per-
son he had recued. Halbert was dressing his wounds.
Wallace paused for a moment to contemplate his lovely
wife in this more lovely act of charity. Herbeautiful hands
held a cup to the lips of the stranger, while her long hair,
escaped from the band that confined it, fell in long jetty ring.
lets, and mingled with his silver locks.
Marion' burst from the overflowing soul of her fond hus-
'THE SCOTTISH C HIFF 8, 2 |
band. She looked up at the well-known sound, and with a
cry of joy rushed forward and threw herself into his arms;
her tears ſlowed, she sobbed-r-she clung to his breast. It
was the first time that Wallace had been from her; she had
feard it would have been the last. The hour—the conflict
—the bleeding stranger | But now he was returned—he
was safe
Art thou indeed here 3 exclaimed she.—Blood fell from his
forehead upon her face and bosom ; O my Wallace, my Wal-
lace, cried she, in an agony clasping him to her, heart.
“Fear not, my love it is a mere scratch. All is well,
since the wounded stranger is safe.”
But you bleed! returned she.—No tears now impeded her
voice. Terror had checked their joyful currents: and she
felt as if she expected the life-blood to issue from the wound
on which she gazed.
I hope my preserver is not mortally hurt? inquired the
stranger.
Oh no : replied Wallace, putting back the liair from his
forehead; a mere trifle !—That the action had discovered
the gash to be wider than he thought, he saw in the counte-
nance of his wife; she turned deadly pale. Marion, said he,
to convince you how causeless are your fears, you shall cure
me yourself, and with no other surgery than your girdle."
When Lady Wallace heard his gay tone, and saw the un-
forced smiles on his lips, she took courage; and remembering
the deep wounds she had just assisted Halbert to dress with.
out any alarm for the stranger's life, she began to hope that
she need not now fear for the object dearest to her in exist-
ence. Rising from her husband’s arms, with a languid smile
she unbound the linen fillet from her waist; and Halbert
having poured some balsom into the wound, she prepared to
apply the bandage; but when she lifted his hair from his
temple, that hair, which had so often been the object of her
admiration as it hung in amber tresses over his polished fore-
head when the clotted blood met her fingers, a mist seemed
to pass over her sight : she paused for a moment; but rally.
ing her strength as the cheerful voice of her husband con-
versing with his guest, assured her fear was groundless, she
tied the fillet: and stealing a soft kiss on his cheek, as she
finished, seated herself yet trembling by his side.
3.
22 'I' pH E SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
Gallant Wallace, continued the stranger; for agitation had
prevented her hearing what had been said before ; it is
Donald, Earl of Mar, who owes to you his life.
Then blest be my arm, exclaimed Wallace in a glow of
surprised delight, that has preserved a life so precious to my
country !
May it indeed be blest cried Lord Mar, for this night it
has made the Southrons (g) feel that there is yet one man in
Scotland who fears not to resist oppression, and to punish
treachery.
Treachery ! what treachery inquired Lady Wallace, her
alarmed spirit still hovering about her soul’s far dearer part,
and thinking that all pointed at him; is any meant to my
husband.
None to Sir William Wallace, more than to any other
brave Scot replied the Earl; but we all see the oppression
of our own country, we all know the treachery by which it
was subjugated: and this night, in my own person, I have
felt the effects of both. Heselrigge, the English governor
of Lanerk, dispatched a body of men to Bothwell castle,
(where my family now are), on a plea, that as its lord was
adverse from Edward, and gone to the Highlands, it must be
searched in the king's name for traitorous papers. Consid-
ering myself the representative of my brother-in-law, Lord
Bothwell, and suspecting they might be only a private ma-
rauding party, I refused to admit the soldiers; and saw them
depart from the gates, swearing to return the next day with
a stronger force and storm the castle. To be ascertained of
the fact, and to appeal against such unprovoked tyranny,
should it be true, I immediately followed the deiachment to
Lanerk. -
I saw Heselrigge—He avowed the transaction ; but being
awcd by the power which he thinks I possess in the country,
he consented to spare Bothwell while I and my family re-
main in it. As it was nearly dark, I took my leave; and was
proceeding out of the hall to join my servants, in the court-
yard, when a young man accosted me. I recognized him to
be the officer who had commanded the party I liad driven
from the castle, Heselrigge having told me that he was his
nephew, I made no hesitation to go back with him, as he
said his uncle had forgotten to communicate something of
$
THE scort ISH ch1EFs, 23
importance, and begged me to return. I followed his steps;
but instead of conducting me to the room in which I had con-
versed with Heselrigge, he led me along a dark passage into
a small apartment, where telling me his uncle would attend
me, he suddenly retreated out of the door, and before I could
recollect myself. I heard him bolt it after him.
“I now judged myself a prisoner; and alarmed at what
might be the fate of my defenceless family, made every cs-
say, but in vain, to force open the door; the noise seemed to
reach no ear; and driven to dispair, I was in a state of mind
not to be described, when the bolt was undrawn, and two
men entered with manacles in their hands. They attempt-
ed to seize me, telling me I was the prisoner of King Edward.
F listened not to what they said, but wounding one with my
dagger, (which I had previously drawn, to be prepared
against violence,) H knocked the other down: and darting
past him, made my way through what passage I cannot tell,
tiłł I found myself in a street leading from behind the gover-
flor’s house. I ran against some one as I rushed from the
portal; it was my servant Neil. I hastily told him to draw
his sword and follow me. We then hurried forward, he tel-
ling me he had just stepped out of the hall to observe the
night, while the rest of my men were awaiting me there, with
wonder at my delay. # *
Rejoicing at my escape, and fearing the worst of conse-
quences from the visit of Heselrigge and his miscreants at
Bothwell castle, I was hastening onward, determined to pur-
stre my way on foot to the protection of my family, when, at
the turning of an angle which leads to the Bothwell road,
we found ourselves surrounded by a crowd of armed men.
The moon shone full in their faces, and I discovered they
were Southrons, and that young Heselrigge was at their
head. -
Villain, cried he, aiming a blow at my head with his up.
fifted battle-axe, you have escaped me once, but you shaki . .
now die! the plunder of Bothwell, my lads! cried he to the s
shaft be yours,
I: a moment every sword was levelled towards me. They .
wounded me in several places; but the thought of my daugâ.
ter gave supernatural vigor to my arm, and I defended my.
g
, ſº , º,
. . . * :
- F -
sofliers; down with its lord, and all but the lovely Helen . .
*; ſ
* -# * * •
. . . . .
f
*
* * *
• *, *:
- §
} 3.
.**
* * * *
** {
24 THE SCOTT ISH CHIEFS.
self from the death they threatened, till the cries of my dy-
ing servant brought you my brave deliverer to my rescue
But, while I am safe, perhaps my treacherous assaulter has
marched towards Bothwell, too sure to commit the horrid
violence he meditates; there are none to guard my child but
a few domestics, the unpractised sword of my stripling he-
phew, and the feeble arms of my wife.”
Be easy on that head, interrupted Wallace, I believe the
infamous leader of the banditti fell by my hand; for the sol-
diers made an outcry that Arthur IIeselrigge was killed ;
and then pressing on me to take revenge, their weight broke
a passage into a vault, through which I escaped—
Save, save yourself my master cried a man rushing in
from the garden; you are pursued,—save, save—while he
spoke, he fell down covered with blood, and in a swoon, at
Wallace’s feet. The chief perceived that it was honest Du.
gald; he whom he had bidden seek safety in flight; and who
from the bleeding of his wounds and consequent debility, had
been all this while reaching Ellerslie.
Wallace had hardly time to give him to the care of Ha!.
bert, when the voice of war assaulted his ear. The outcry
of men demanding admittance, and the terrific sounds of
spears rattling against the shields of their owners, told the
astonished group within that the house was beset by armed
Tſlei?.
Blood for blood / cried a horrid voice, which penetrated
the almost palsied senses of Lady Marion; vengeance on Wal.
face for the murder of Heselrigge 1
Fly fly cried she, looking wildly at her husband.
Whither answered he, supporting her in his arms; would
this be a moment to leave you and our wounded guest ? I
must meet these assailants. º -
Not now ; cried Lord Mar, hear you not by the uproar
how numerous they are mark that shout! they thirst for
ºblood. in pity fly! if you have love for your wife or regard
#ſºme delay not a moment again—The uproat redoubled,
šººd the room was instantly filled with shrieking women ia
ºtheir night clothes; the attendants of Lady Wallace. She
zºº, almost expiring on her husband’s breast.
§º.”O my lord, cried the terrified creatures, wringing their
Fe: hands, what will become of us? the Southrons are at the
: º gates, and we shall be lost forever.
f
*





Tº HE - SC 07 ISH C HIEFS, - 25,
Fear not, replied Wallace, retire to your chambers. I am
the person they seek; none else will meet with injury.
The women, appeased by this assurance, retreated to their
apartments; and Wallace turning to the Early who continued
to enforce the necessity of his flight. repeated that he would
not consent to leave his wife in such a tumult. I entreat
you to leave me, cried she in a hardly articulate voice,
leave me or see me die
As she spoke, there was a violent crash, and a tremendous
burst of imprecations. Three of Wallace’s men ran breath-
lessly into the room. Two of the assailants had climbed to
the hall window; they were just thrown back upon the cliffs,
and one killed. Conceal yourself, said the Scots to Wallace,
or in a few minutes more, your men will not be able to main-
tain the gates.
Yes, my dear Lord, cried Halbert, there is the dry well
at he end of the garden; at the bottom of that you will be
Säfte.
By your love for me Wallace; by all you owe to the ten-
der affections of your grandfather, hearken to him cried
Lady Marion, falling at his feet, and clasping his knees with
energy, I kneel for my life in kneeling for yours Pity the
gray hairs of Sir Ronald, whom your untimely death would
bring to the grave?—Pity your unborn child !—Fly, Wal-
lace, fly, if you would have me live —She was pale and
breathless.
Angel of my life exclaimed Wallace, straining her to
his heart, I obey thee. But if a hand of one of these despe-
rate robbers dares to touch thy hallowed persons—
Think not so, my Lord! interrupted Halbert, it is you
they seek. Not finding you, they will be too eager in pur-
suit to molest my lady.—I will preserve her from affront at
the peril of my life.
I shall be safe, whispered Marion, only fly while you:
are here their shouts kill me. -
But thou shalt ; with me, returned he, the well will con- * .
rst let our faithful Halbert, and these hon- * :
est fellows, lower Lord Mar into the place of refuge. He .
being the cause of the affray, if discovered, would be imme-
tain us àti. But
.
diately sacrificed.
WQL. I. C
º
.
.
36 THE SCOTTKSH CHIEFS.
Lord Mar acquiesced. And while the contention was so
* loud without, as to threaten the tearing down of the walls,
the Earl was carried into the garden. He was followed by
Sir William Wallace, to whose arm his wife yet fondly
clung. At every cry of the enemy, and at every shock they
• gave to his yet impregnable gates, she bréathed the shorter,
and was clasped by the lord of her heart still more closely to
his bosom.
At the well side they found the Earl bound with the rope
that was to lower him down. By great care it was safely
done ; and the cord being brought up again, before it was
tied round Wallace, (as Marion insisted he should descend
next) he recollected that the iron box swung at his side,
might hurt the wounded nobleman, by striking him in his
descent. Unbuckling it he told his faithful old harper, it
contained matters of great value, and desired it might be
lowered first.
Lord Mar, beneath, was releasing it from the rope, when
a shout of triumph pierced their ears. ... A party of the Eng-
lish soldiers having come round the heights, from the point
of a high craig, had leaped the wall of the garden, and were
within a few yards of the well. For Wallace to descend
now was impossible. That tree whispered Marion, point-
ing to an oak near which they stood. As she spoke she slid
from his arms, and in a moment, along with the venerable
Halbert who seized her by the hand, she disappeared amid
the adjoining thicket. The two servants fled also.
Wallace finding himself alone, the next instant was like
one of his native eagles, looking down from the towering top
of the wood, upon his enemies.—They passed beneath him
denouncing vengeance upon the assassin of Arthur Hesel-
rigge At that moment, one who seemed by the brightness
of his armor to be their leader, stopped under the tree, de-
…elaring he had sprained his ancle in leaping from the wall,
, ºnd must wait a few minutes to recover himself. Several of
** the soldiers crowded round him; but he desired them to
8. pursue their duty, to leave him, search the house, and bring
**Wallace dead or alive before him.
#. They obeyed; while others, who had gained admittance to
# , the tower through the now forced gates, ran towards their
leader, saying that the murderer could no where be found.
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 27
But here is a gay lady, cried one, perhaps she can inform
us! and at that moment Marion and Halbert appeared be-
tween a band of men. The lighted torches which the sol-
diers held, shone full on her face.' Though pale as monu:
mental marble, yet the exquisite beauty of her features, and
the calm dignity which commanded from her eyes, awed the
officer into respect and admiration.
Soldiers, stand back cried he, advancing to Lady Wal-
lace; “Fear not, madam as the words passed his lips a
flight of arrows flew into the bosom of the tree. A piercing
shriek from Marion was her only answer. O ! my lady’s
falcon 1 cried Halbert, alarmed for the fate of his master-
He saw a violent agitation of the branches had excited an in;
definite suspicion in a body of archers who stood near, and
who, with one mind, discharged their arrows to the spot.--
Halbert’s ready excuse both for the disturbance in the tree,
and his lady’s shriek, was prompted and warranted true, by
the appearance of a large bird which the rushing of the ar-
rows had frighted from her nest; she rose suddenly from
amongst the branches, and soared away far to the east with
loud screams.- ' ' ' . . .
All being again still, Marion hoped that her husband had
escaped any mortal injury from the arrows; and turning
with recovered composure to the officer, heard him, with a
glow of comfort, reprimand his men for daring to draw their
bows without his orders. Then addressing her, I beg your
pardon, madam, said he, both for the alarm these hot-headed
men have occasioned you, and for the violence they have
committed in forcing one of your sex and beauty before me.
Had I expected to have found a lady here, I should have is-
sued orders to have prevented this: but I am sent hither in
quest of Sir William Wallace, who, by a mortal attack made
on the person of the governor of Lanerk’s nephew, has for-
feited his life. The scabbard of his sword, found beside the
murdered Heselrigge, is an undermiable proof of his guilt.—
Direct us to find him, and not only release, but the favor of
the English monarch will await your allegiance —
I am Sir William Wallace's wife; returned the gentle
Marion in a firm tone; and by what authority you seek him
thus, and presume to call him guilty, I cannot understand. -
I º y the authority of the laws, madam, which he has vio. * *
ated. - .
28 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS
;
-
What laws? rejoined she , Sir William Wallace acknowl-
edges noné but those of his God and his country. Neither
of these has he transgressed : - *
“He this nightassassinated Arthur Haselrigge in the streets
of Lanerk; and that condemns him by the last declaration of
King Edward :—Whatever Scot analtreats any one of the Eng.
lish soldiers, or civil officers garrisoned in the towns of Scotland,
shall thereby forfeit his life as the penalty due to his crime.”
* A tyrant’s law, sir, to which no freeborn Scot will sub-
mit ! But even were it allowed by my countrymen, in this
case it can have no hold on my husband. That he is a Scot,
he glories: and not that he maltreated any Englishman in the
streets of Lanerk, do I glory !—but, because, when he saw
two defenceless men born down by a band of armed soldiers,
he exposed his unshielded breast in their defence one of the
two, died, covered with wounds. That the governor’s me-
phew also fell, was a just retribution for his heading so une-
quel a contest! and no crime in Sir William Wallace : for he
slew him to preserve a feeble old man, who had a hundred
English swords levelled at his life.”
The officer paused for a moment; and then ordering his
soldiers to fall farther back; when they were at a sufficient
distance, he offered to take Lady Wallace’s hand, but she
withstood his motion with a reserved air, and said, speak, sir,
what you would say, or allow me to retire.”— -
I mean not to offend you, noble Lady; continued he—had
I a wife lovely as yourself, I hope were I in like circum-
stances, in the like manner she would defend my life and hon-
or,.-I know not the particulars of the affair in which Arthur
Heselrigge fell, till I heard them from your lips; I can easi-
ly credit them, for l know his unmanly character. Wallace
is a Scot; and acted in Scotland, as Gilbert Hambledon
would have done in England, were it possible for any vile
foreigner there to put his foot upon the neck of a countryman
of his.—Wherever you have concealed your husband, let it
be a distantassylum, until the rage of the governor be appeas-
-ed. At present no track within the jurisdiction of Lalierk
will be left unsearched by his indefatigable fevenge. -
Lady Wallace, overcome with gratitude at this generoſis.
speech of the English officer, uttered someiuarticulate words,

THE SCOTTISH C IIIEFS, 29
expressive more in sound, than clearness of her grateful feel-
ings.-Hambledon continued.—I will use my influence with
Heselrigge to prevent the interior of your house being dis-
turbed again ; but, it being in the course of military opera-
tions, it will be impossible for me to free you from the dis-
agreeable ceremony of a guard being placed to-morrow morn-
ing around the domains.—This I know will be done to inter-
cent Sir William Wallace, should he attempt to return.
Oh! that he were indeed far distant thought the now
trembling Lady Wallace. The officer added;—however,
you shall be relieved of my detachment directly. I will now
call off my men from a search which they must see is unavail-
ing; and leave you, noble lady, to your rest. As he spoke,
he waved his sword to them who had seized the harper; they
advanced, still holding their prisoner. He ordered them to
commit the man to him, and to sound. The trumpeter obey-
ed; and in a few seconds the whole detachment was assem-
bled before their commander.
Soldiers; cried he , Sir William Wallace has escaped our
hands. Return to your horses that we may march back to .
Lanerk, and search the other side of the town. Lead forth,
and I will follow. -
The troops obeyed; and falling back through the opened
gates, left Sir Gilbert Hambledon alone with Lady Wallace
and the wondering Halbert, The brave young man took the
now not withdrewn hand of the grateful Marion, who had
stood trembling while so many of her husband’s mortal ene-
mies were assembled under the place of his concealment.
Noble Englishman, said she, as the last body of soldiers
passed from her sight, I cannot enough thank you fºr this
generous conduct! but, should you or yours be ever ſhthe
like extremity with my beloved Wallace; (and in these tyr-
rannous times, what brave spirit can answer for its continued
safety?) may the ear which has heard you this night, at that
hour repay my gratitude 1 -
Sweet lady, answered Hambledon; I thank you for your
§ , God is indged the benefactor of a true soldier; and
though I serve my king and obey my commanders, yet it is
only to the Lord of battles that I look for a sure reward; and
whether he pay mie here with victories and honors, on take
my soul through a rent in my breast to receive my laume, in
C ... • -


3O • THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
paradise, it is all one to Gilbert Hambledon. But the night
is cold : I must see you safe within your own doors: and
then lady, farewell ! r fº
Lady Wallace yielded to the impulse of his hand with re-
doubled haste, as she heard a sudden rustling of the tree
above her head. Hambledon did not notice it; but desiring
Halbert to follow. in a few minutes disappeared with the
agitated Marion into the house. ... "
Wallace, whose spirit could ill brook the sight of his do.
mail.s filled with hostile troops, and the wife of his bosom
brought a prisoner before their commander, would instantly
have braved all dangers, and have leaped down amongst
them, had not, at the instant he placed his foot on a lower
, bough to make a spring, the courteous address of Hambledon
to his wife, made him hesitate. He listened to the replies of
his Marion with exultation: and when the Englishman order-
ed his men to withdraw, and delivered himself so generously
... respecting the safety of the man he came to seize, Wallace
could hardly prevent a noble confidence in such virtue from
compelling him to come from his concealment, and thank
him on the spot. But the consideration that such a disclosure
would put the military duty and the generous nature of the
commander at variance, he desisted with such an agitation
of spirits, that the boughs again shook under him, and re-
awakened the alarm of his trembling wife.
Cmnipotent Virtue ! exclaimed Wallace to himself; if it
were possible that thy generous spirit could animate the
breast of an invading conquerer, how soon would the van-
quished cease to forget their former freedom, and learn to
love their vassalage.—This man’s nobleness, how soon has
it disarmed the vengeance with which, when I ascended this
tree, I prayed might extirpate every follower of the detested
Edward
Sir William my master cried a well known voice in a
suppressed tone, as if still fearful of being overheard. It
was Halbert’s : speak, my dear lord, are you safe *
In heart and body returned Wallsee, sliding from the
tree and leaping on the ground;—One only of the arrows
touched me ; and that merely struck against my bugle and,
fell back among the leaves. I must now hastem to the deaf-
est, the noblest of women . . . . . . . . .
THE scottish chIEFs. 31
Halbert begged him to stay till they should hear the re-
treat from the English trumpets. Till their troops are out
of sight added he, I cannot believe you will be safe.
Hark! cried Wallace; the horses are now descending the
craig. . That must satisfy you, honest Halbert. With these
words he flew across the lawn, and entering the house, met
the returning Marion, who had just bade farewell to Hamble-
don.—She rushed into his?arms, and with the excess of a
disturbed and uncertain joy, fainted on his neck. Her gen-
tle spirit had been too powerfully excited by the preceding
scenes. Unaccustomed to tumult of any kind, and nursed
in the bosom of fondness, till now no blast had blown on her
tender form, no harshness had ever ruffled the blissful sereni-
ty of her mind. What then was the shock of this evening’s
violence her husband pursued as a murderer; herself expos-
ed to the midnight air, and dragged by the hands of merci-
hess soldiers, to betray the man she loved All these scenes
were new to her; and though a kind of preturnatural strength
supported her through them, yet, when the cause of immedi-
ate exertion was over ! when she fell once more into her
husband’s extended arms, she seemed there to have found
again her shelter, and the pillow whereon her harrassed soul
might again repose.
My life my best treasure preserver of thy Wallace
look on him exclaimed ine; bless him with a smile from
those dear eyes. ~ *
His voice, his caresses, soon restored her to sensibility.
and recollection. She leaned on his breast, and wept tears.
of heavenly delight: with love’s own eloquence he thanked
heaven that he escaped the search and the arrows of his en-
© II? IeS,
But my dear lady, interrupted Halbert; remember that
my master must not stay here. You know the English com-
inander said, that if he would preserve his life, he must
fly far away.—Nay, spies may even now be lurking to be-
tray him. , .
You, are right; said Marion, rising from her husband's
arms; my Wallace, you must depart. Should the guard
arrive soon, your flight may be prevented. You must so
now : but, q}, whither -
Not very distant, my love—In going from thee, I leave
32 - THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
behind all that makes life precious to me; how then can I
go far away No; there are recesses amongst the Cartlane
craigs discovered by me when hunting, and which I believe
have been visited by no mortal foot but my own : There
will I be, my Marion, before sunrise; and before it sets,
thither must you send Halbert to tell me how you fare-
Three notes from thine own sweet strains of Thusa ha meas.g-
na reultan mor, (h) blown by his pipe, shall be a sign to me
that he is there, and I will come forth to hear tidings of thee!
“Ah, my Wallace, let me go with thee!”
What, dearest, returned he, to live amidst rocks and
streams ? to expose thy tender self and thine unborn infant
to all the accidents of such a lodging
But are not you going to so rough, so dangerous a lodging!
asked she, winding her arms around him “O !, would not
rock’s and streams be heaven’s paradise to me, when blessed
with the presence of my husband Ah! let me go!”
impossible, my lady : cried Halbert; afraid that the melt-
#ng Heart of his master would consent; you are perfectly
safe here; and your flight would awaken suspicion in the
English that he had not gone far.—Your ease and safety
would be dearer to him than his own life; and most likely,
by his anxiety to preserve them, he would the more easily
be traced ; and so fall a ready sacrifice to the enemy.
It is true, my Marion, what he says: I could not preserve
you in the places to which I go.
But the hardships you will endure cried she, to sleep on
the cold stones, with no covering but the sky or the dripping
vault gf some dreary cave I have not courage to abandon
you alone to such cruel rigors.
Cease, my beloved interrupted he, cease these ground-
less alarms. Neither rocks nor storms have any threats to
me. It is only tender women’s cares that make man’s body
delicate. Before I was thine, my Marion, I have lain whole
nights upon the mountain’s brow, counting the wintry stars,
as I impatiently awaited the hunter’s horn that was to recal
me to the chase in Glensinias. Alike to Wallace is the
couch of down, or the bed of heather; so, best beloved of my
heart, grieve not at hardships which were once my sport,
and will now be my safety.
Then farewell may good angels guard thee! her voice
- •r;
THE scottish citiers. 33
~g , -
failed, she put his hand to her lips. Courage, my Marion,
said he, remember that Wallace lives but in thee. Revive,
be happy for my sake; affiligod who putteth down the of
pressor, will restore me again to thine arms. She spoke not,
.* !: - - -
# 2n of fervent pr
#1. wav
tantly disappeared into her.
; :: * * *
ºt. "
looked up with an expr
iling through a show
**
him to départ, and insta
ber. … . . . . . .
Wäl
Wallace gazed at the closed door with his soil in his eye
To leave his Marion thus; to quither who was the best part
of his being; who seemed the yery spring of the life now
throbbing in his heart; was a contention with his fond, fond
love, almost too powerful for his resolution. Here indeed
his brave spirit gave way, and he would have followed her,
and perhaps have determined to await his fate at her side,
had not Halbert, reading his mind in his countenance, taken
him by the arm; and drawn him towards the portal. . . . . .
Wallace soon recovered his better reason; and obeying
the friendly violence of his servant, who had pulled him out
into the garden, he accompanied him to the quarter which
pointed towards the heights thatlead to the remotest recesses
of the Clyde. In their way they approached the well where
Lord Mar lay. Wallace finding that the Earl had not been
inquired for, deemed his stay to be without peril; and in-
tending to inform him of the necessity which still impelled .
his own flight, he called to him, but no voice answered. He
looked down, and seeing him extended at the bottom with-
out moti
am g
one in
še, and you can collect the dispersed servants, send
ºth. well to bring him forth, and if he be indeed no
more, deposit his body in my oratory, and then send to the
Countess of Mar, and receive her commands respecting his
remains. The iron box, now in the well, is of inestimable
value. Take it to Lady Wallace and tell her she must
uard it as she has done my life; but not to look into it at
he tierii of what is yet dearer to her—my honor.”
Hålbert promised to adhere to his master's orders; and
Wallace girãing on his sword, and taking his hunting-spear
in his haird, (a weapon with which the care of his venerable
domestic had provided him, for the convenience of leaping
• *
but rising frºm his breast, clasped her hands together, and
- - - - - - - âyer; and then
I her hand to
ion; “I fear, said he, the earl is dead: As soon as I
**.-
.























34 THE scortish chiefs.
.*****, * : ... - º, ºr ºr . . . . . . ...*.*. º
the precipices)he pressed the faithful hand that prese
and enjoining him to be watchful of the tranquilit
lady, and to be with him in the evening neaf the
he climbed the wall which joined the neares
n er it, was out of sight in an ifistant,
-º-
Linear returned te the house, and entering the room
* , .i.
tº “...
“. . . . .
yinto which Marion had withdrawn, beheld her on her
knees before a crucifix; she was praying fervently for the
safety of her belovéd Wallace. - .
“Māy he: Q gracious Lord!” cried she, “soon return to
his home. But if I am to see him here no more, O may it
§: thee to grant me to meet him within thy arms in
“Hear her, blessed son of Mary!” ejaculated the old man.
She looked round, and rising from her knees, demanded of
him in a kind but anxious voice, whether he had left fier
In the way to it, my lady! answered Halbert. He then
repeated all that Wallace had said at parting; and after-
wards tried to jºièvail on her to go to rest. Sleep cannot
visit my eyes this night my faithful creature; replied she,
my spirit will follow Wallace in his mountain flight. Go you
to your chamber. After you have had repose, that will be
time enough to revisit the remains of the poor earl, and to
bring them, with the box to the house. I will take à reli-
gious charge of both, for the sake of the dear entruster.
Halbert persuaded his lady to lie down on the bed, that
her Émbs at least might rest after the fatigue of so harrassing
a night; and she, little suspecting that he meant to do other.
wise than to sleep also, kindly wisfied him repose, and retiſſed.
Her maids during the late terror had dispersed, and were
howhere to be found; and the men servants too, after their
**,
stout resistance at the gates had all disappeared; some fled,
and others where sent away prisoners to Lanerk
- prisoners to lanerk, while the
good Hambledon was conversing with.
ty wallace. Hºi.


















THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 35
bert therefore resigned himself to await with patience the
rising of the sun, when he hoped some of the sacred domes-
tics, would return, or he might himself go to the poor cotters
who lived in the depths of the glen, and bring them to supp.
ly the place of the fugitives.
Thus musin; he sat on the stone bench which ran round
the hall, watthing with anxiety the appearance of that orb,
whose setting beams he hoped should light him back with
such tidings of Sir William Wallace as would prove the best
comforter to the lonely heart of his lady. All was still as
death Nothing was heard but the sighing of the trees as
they waved before the western window which opened toward
the Lanerk hills. The morning was yet grey; and the fresh
air blowing in rather chilly, Halbert rose to close the wooden
casement; at that moment his eyes were arrested by a party
of armed men slowly proceeding down the opposite declivity.
The platform before the house was already filled with Eng-
lish. Alarmed at the sight of such a host, although he ex-
pected that a guard would arrive, he was retreating across
the apartment towards his lady's room, when the great hall
door was burst open by a band of soldiers who rushed for-
ward and seized him.
Tell me, dotard' cried their leader, a man of low stature,
with gray locks but a fierce countenance; where is the mur-
derer? where is Sir William Wallace 2 speak, or the torture
shall force you. *
Halbert trembled, but it was for his defenceless lady, not
for himself—My lord, said he, in a faltering voice, is far
from hence. -
* Where 7”
“I know not.” - - -
Thou shalt be made to know, thou hoary-headed villain;
cried the same violent interrogator. Where is the assassin's
wife 2 I will confront ye—seek her out. .
At that word the soldiers parted right and left; and in a
moment afterwards three of them appeared, with shouts,
bringing in the unhappy Marion. + +
Oh, my lady! cried Halbert, struggling to approach her,
as with terrified apprehension she looked around her. But
they held him fast; and he saw her led up to the merciless
wretch who had given the orders to have her summoned.
36 ***
THE SCOTTISH CHIEF 3.
Woman, cried he, as soon as she stood before him " I am
the governor of Lanerk. You now stand before the repre-
sentative of the great King Edward; and on your allegiance
to him, and on the peril of your life, I command you to an-
swer me three questions. Where is Sir William Wallace,
the murderer of my nephew 2 who is that old Scot for whom
my nephew was slain He and his whole fa shall meet
my vengeance 1 and tell me where is that box of treasure
which your husband stole from Douglas castle answer me
these questions on your life.
Lady Wallace remained silent.
Speak women'ſ demanded the governor; if fear cannot
move you, know that I can reward as well as avenge. I
will endow you richly, if you declare the truth. If you per-
sist to refuse, you die.
Then I die, replied she scarcely opening her half closed
eyes, as she leaned fainting and motionless against the
shoulder of the soldier who held her.
What? cried the governor, stifling his rage, in hopes to
gain by persuasion on a spirit which he found threats could
not intimidate, can so gentle a lady as yourself reject the fa-
vor of England; large grants in this country ; and perhaps
a fine English knight for a husband 2 when you might have
all for the trifling service of giving up a traitor to his liege
lord, and confessing where his robberies lie concealed !—
speak, fair dame : give me this information, and the lands of
the wounded chieftain whom Wallace brought here, with the
band of the handsome Sir Gilbert Hambledon, shall be your
reward. Rich, and a beauty in Edward’s court lady, can
you now refuse to purchase all, by declaring the hiding place
of the traitor Wallace
“It is easier to die.”
Fool cried Heselrigge, driven from his assumed temper
by her steady denial : what Is it easier for these dainty
limbs to be hacked to pieces by my soldier's axes Is it ea-
sier for that fair bosom to be trodden under foot by my hor-
ses’ hoofs; and for that beauteous head of thine to decorate
my lance 2—Is all this easier than to tell me where to find a
murderer and his gold
Lady Wallace shuddered; she stretched her hands to hea-
ven : Blessed Virgin, to thee I commit myself! -
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 37
Speak once for all! cried the enraged governor, drawing
his sword; I am no waxen-hearted Hambledon to be cajoled
by your beauty.—Declare where Wallace is concealed, or
dread my vengeance.
The horrid steel gleamed across the eyes of the unhappy
Marion: unable longer to sustain herself, she sunk on the
ground.
Kneel not to me for mercy; cried the infurate wretch :
I grant none, unless you confess your husband’s hiding place.
A momentary strength darted from the heart of lady Wal-
lace; to her voice—“I kneel to Heaven alone and may it
ever preserve my Wallace from the fangs of Edward and
his tyrants "
Blasphemous wretch cried Heselrigge, and at that mo-
ment he plunged his sword into her defenceless breast. Hal-
bert, who had all this time been held back by the soldiers,
waiting with anxiety his mistress’ replies; could not believe
that the fierce interlocutor would perpetrate the horrid deed
he threatened; but seeing it done, with a giant's strength."
and a terrible cry, he burst from the hands which held him,
and had thrown himself on the bleeding Marion before her
murderer could strike his second blow. However it fells
and pierced through the neck of the faithful. servant before
it reached her heart.—She opened her dying eyes for a mo-
ment, and seeing who it was that would have shielded her
life, just articulated—“Halbert my Wallace to God”—and
with the last unfinished sentence, her pure soul took its
flight to regions of eternal peace.
The good old man’s heart almost burst, when he felt that
before heaving bosom now motionless; and groaning with
grief and fainting with loss of blood, he sunk senseless on
her body.
A terrible stillness was now in the hall Not a man
spoke; all stood looking on each other with a stern horror
marking each pale countenance. Heselrigge dropping his
blood-stained sword on the ground, perceived by the behav-
iour of his men that he had gone too far; and fearful of arous-
ing the indignation of awakened humanity to some act
against himself, he addressed the soldiers in an unusual ac-
cent of condescension; my friends, said he, we will now re-
Vol. 1 T
38 THE' scortish c HIEFs.
#.
turn to Lanerkº-To morrow you may come back; for Ire.
wasiyour services of this night with the plunder of Ellerslie.
May a curse light on him who first carries a stick from its
grºunds! exclaimed a veteran from the farther end of the
hāti, Amen murmured all the soldiers, with one con-
sent; and falling back they disappeared one by one out of
the great door, leaving Heselrigge alone with the old sol-
dier, who stood, leaning on his sword, looking on the mur-

y-
* Grimsby: why stand you there; demanded Heselrigge,
follow me.
Never, feturned the soldier.
What? exclaimed the governor, momentarily forgettin
his panic, how dare you speak thus to your commanding of.
ficer? march on before me this instant, or expect to be treat-
ed as a rebel. *
I march at your command no more, replied the veteran,
f º resolutely; the moment you perpetrated this
º ody deed, you became unworthy of the name of man;
and I should disgrace my own manhood were I ever again to
obey the word of such a monster. **
a. illain! cried the enraged Heselrigge, you shall die for
g? *
That may be ; answered Grimsby, by the hands of some
tyrant like yourself; but no brave mian, not the royal Ed.
ward himself, would do otherwise than acquit his soldier for
refusing obedience to the murderer of an innocent wo.
man. It was not so he treated the wives and daughters of
*the slaughtered Saracens, when I followed his banners over
the fields of Palestine !
Thou canting miscreant cried Heselrigge, springing of
him suddenly and darting his dagger into his breast. But
the hand of the soldier arrested the weapon at the moment
its point entered the skin : and at the same instant closing
upon the governor, with a turn of his foot, he, threw him to
the ground, Heselrigge, as he lay prostrate, his dagger be-
ing now in his adversary's hand, with the most dastardiy
promises, implored for iife
Monster! cried the soldier, rising, I would not pollute ºy
honest hands with such unnatural blood. Neither, though
thy hand has been lifted against my life, would I willingly
take thine. It is not rebellion against my commander that



‘Frik, SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 39
actuates me, but hatred of the vilest of murderers, lºgo far
from you or your power: But if you forswear your volun-
tary oath, and attempt to seek me out for vengeance,
member that it is a soldier of the cross you pursue ; and a
dire retribution shall be demanded by heaven, at a moment
you cannot avoid, and with a horror commensurate with
your crimes. - -
There was a solemnity and a determination in the voice
and manner of the soldier that, paralized the intimidated soul
of the governor; he trembled violently and repeating his
oath of leaving Grimsby unmolested, at last obtained his
permission to return to Lanerk. The men, in obedience to
the conscience-struck orders of their commander, had
mounted their horses, and were now far out of sight; hav.
ing left Heselrigge’s charger fastened in the eourt-yard,
where he had dismounted. He was approaching it with
haste, when the soldier, with a prudent suspicion, called out; . .
Stop, Sir you must walk to Lanerk. The cruel are gener-
ally false. I cannot trust your word, should you have the
power to break it: leave this horse, here : to-morrow yog
may send for it. I shall then be far away. . . . . .
Heselrigge saw that remonstrance would be unavailing;
and shaking with fear and impotent rage, he turned into the
path which, after five weary miles, would lead him once
more to his citadel. -
The soldier, fully aware, from the moment his manly spi-
rit had dared to deliver its abhorrence of Lady Wallace’s
murder, that his life would no longer be safe within reach
of the machinations of Heselrigge; and determined, alike
by detestation of him, and regard for his preservation, re-
solved to take shelter in the mountains, till he could have
an opportunity of going beyond sea to join his king's troops
in the Guienne wars. - . .
Fuli of these thoughts he returned into the hall.—But as
he approached the bleeding group on the floor, he perceiv-
ed it move; hoping, that perhaps the unhappy lady might
not be quite dead, he drew near ; but alas! as he bent to
examine, he touched her hand, and found it cold as snow.
The blood which had streamed from the now exhausted
heart, lay congealed upon her arms and bosom.–Grimsby
shuddered.—Again he saw her move; but it was not with
re-


40 THE SCOTTISH CHI E.F.S.
her own life, but the recovering senses of her faithful ser-
vant. The arms of Halbert still clinging round the body of
his mistress, as motion was restored to them, had disturbed
the remains of her who would wake no more ; and so far
an instant had raised an evanescent hope of her life in the
breast of the soldier.
On seeing that existénce yet struggled in one of these
blameless victims, Grimsby did his utmost to revive the old
man. He raised him from the ground, and setting him on
the nearest bench, poured some strong liquor out of his am-
munition-flask into his mouth. Halbert breathed free ; and
his kind surgeon, with a rent from the venerable harper's
own plaid, bound up the wound in his neck, which the air
had already staunched. Halbert opened his eyes ; when he
ifixed them on the rough features and English helmet of the
soldier, he closed them again with a "deep groan.
My honest Scot, said Grimsby, perceiving that he thought
him an enemy; trust in me... I am a man like yourself; and
though a Southron, am no enemy to age and helplessness.
The harper took courage at these words, and raising him-
self from the bench, he again, looked at the soldier; but
suddenly recollecting what had past, he turned his eyes to-
wards the body of his mistress, on which the beams of the
, now rising sun were shining. He started up, and staggering
tewards it, would have fallen, had not Grimsby supported
| him. O, what a sight is this, cried he, wringing his hands,
my lady my lovely lady I see how low she lies, who was
once the delight of all eyes, the comforter of all hearts. The
old man’s sobs suffocated him. The veteran turned away
his face; a tear dropped upon his hand. Accursed Hesel-
rigge, ejaculated he, thy fate must come.
If there be a man’s heart in all Scotland, it is not far dis-
tant cried Halbert, my master lives, and will avenge this
night’s murder —You weep, soldier; and you will not betray
what has now cscaped me *
I have fought in Palestine, returned he ; and a soldier of
the cross betrays none who trust in him. Saint Mary pre-
serve your master and conduct you safely to him. . We niust
both hasten hence. Heselrigge will, surely send in pursuit
of me : he is too vile to forgive the truth I have spoken to
him; and should I fall into his power I could expect nothing ,


*
& ; t
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 4}
less than death at his hands. Let me assist you to put this
poor lady’s remains in some decent place; and then my hom-
est Scot, we must separate. 3-
Halbert, at these words, threw himself upon the bosom of
his mistress, and wept with loud lamentations over her. In
vain he attempted to raise her in his feeble arms. I have
carried thee scores of times in thy blooming infancy; cried
he, and now must I bear thee to thy grave 2 I had hoped
that my eyes would have been closed by this dear hand.—
As he spoke in stifled accents he pressed her cold hand to
his lips with such convulsive sobs, that the soldier fearing
he would expire in the agony of his sorrow, took him alsº
most motionless from the dead body, and exhorted him tº-
repress such self-destroying grief for the sake of his master,
Halbert, gradually revived and listening to him, cast a wish-
ful look on the lifeless Marion.
Thy babe, thine unborn babe cried he, there sleeps the
pride and hope of Ellerslie, the mother with her child. My.
widowed, childless master, what will comfort thee! • .
The soldier fearing the ill consequence of further delay,
again interrupted his lamentations with arguments for flight;
and IIaloert recollecting the oratory in which Wallace had “
ordered the body of the dead Lörd Mar to be deposited, he
named it to Grimsby; who immediately wrapping Lady
Wallace in the white garments which hung about her, raised
her in his arms; and was conducted by Halbert to a little
chapel in the heart of a neighbouring cliff.
The still weeping old man removed the altar; and Grims.
by, laying the body of Marion upon ita.gaarble platform; cow. *
ered her with the velvet pall which he drew from the ho-
ly table, and laid the crucifix upon her bosom. Halbert,
when he saw his beloved mistress thus hidden from his sight
by this dismal vestment of death, threw himself on his knees
beside her, and in the vehement language of grief offered
*ip a prayer for her departed soul. --
Hear die, righteous Judge of heaven and earth ! cried he,
as thou ºdst avenge the blood of innocence shed in Bethle.
hem, so let the gray hairs of Heselrigge be brought down in
blood to the grave, for the murder of this innocent lady :
Halbert kissed the cross; and rising from his knees, wen;
weeping out of the chapel, ºwed by the soldier,
D
+
42 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS
Having closed the door, and carefully locked it; absorbed
in meditation of what would be the agonized transports of
his master, when, long before sunset, he should tell him of
these grievous tidings, Halbert proceeded in silence, uncon-
scious whither he went, till he and his companion, as they
approached the well, were startled by a groan.
Here is some one cried the soldier. Is it possible he lives 7
exclaimed Halbert, bending down to the edge of the well
and calling to the earl with the same enquiry, Yes : feebly
answered his lordship ; 1 still exist, but am very faint. If all
be safe above, I pray remove me from this dismal place.
Halbert replied that it was indeed necessary he should ascend
immediately ; and lowering the rope, he told him first to tie
...the iron box to it, and then himself. This done, with some
difficulty, and the assistance of the wondering soldier, who
now expected to see the husband of the unfortunate lady
Wallace emerge to the kiloggledge of his loss; they at last
effected theºrs release for few seconds he supported
himself on his countryman’s shoulder, while the fresh morn-
ing air gradually revived his exhausted frame. The soldier
looked at his gray locks, furrowed forehead, and grisled
beard, and marvelled how such appendages of age could be-
long to the man whose resistless valor had discomfitted the
fierce determination of Arthur: Heselrigge and his myrmi-
dons. However his doubts of the veteran before him being
other than the brave Wallace, were soon removed by the
Earl himself, who asked for a draught of the water which
trickled down the opposite hill. Halbert went to bring it,
and white he was absent, Lord Mar raised his eyes to enquire
for Sir William and the Lady Marion. He started when he
saw English armor on the man he would have accosted, and
rising suddenly from the stone on which he sat, demanded
in a stern voice, “who art thou ?”
An Englishman; answered the soldier : one who does no’,
like the monster IIeselrigge, disgrace the name. I would as-
sist you, noble Wallacce, to fly this spot; and 3. r' that, I
shall seek refuge abroad, and there demonstrate Gnºshe fields
of Guienne, my fidelity to my king. *
Mar looked at him steadily. You mistake ; I am.net Sir
William Wallace. +.


At that moment Halbert came up with the waeºle
3. # .*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 43
Earl drank it, though now, from the impulse surprise had
given to his blood, he did not require its efficacy; and turn-
ing to the venerable bearer, he asked of him whether his
master were safe, * ,
I trust he is ; replied the old man, but your lordship must
hasten hence. This place, this once dear Ellerslie, is now
full of horror; a foul murder has been committed liere since
he left it. Yº!
But where is Lady Wallace asked the Earl, if there be
such danger, we must not leave her to meet it.
She will never meet danger more cried the old man,
clasping his hands ; she is in the bosom of the virgin, and
no second assassin’s steel can reach her there !
What exclaimed the Earl, hardly articulate with horror;
is Lady Wallace murdered Halbert answered only by his
tears.
Yes, said the soldier, and detestation of so unmanly an
outrage, provoked me to desert his standard. But we must
not lose time in unavailing lamentation; for Heselrigge will
certainly return; and if we also would not be sacrificed to
his rage, we must hence immediately.
The Earl, struck dumb. at this recital, gave the soldier
time to recount the particulars. When he had done, Lord
Mar seeing the necessity for instant flight, ordered that
three horses might be brought from the stables. Though he
had fainted while in his concealment, yet the present shock
gave such a sudden tension; to liis nerves, that he found he
could now ride without difficulty,
Halbert went as he commanded, and returned with two
horses; as he had only amongst rocks and glens to go, he did
j;ot bring one for himself; and begging that the good soldier
might attend his lordship to Bothwell, he added, “will guard
you and this box, which Sir William Wallace holds as the
apple of his eye. What it contains I know not; and none,
he says, may dare to search into. But you will take care of
it for his sake, till more peaceful times allow him to reclaim
his own ''' *
Fatal box, cried the soldier, regarding it with an abhor-
rent eye i that was the leading cause which brought Hesel-
iigge to Ellerslie,
How enquired the Earl,—Grimsby then briefly related, that
*.
44. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
.
immediately after the return to Lanerk of the detachment
sent to Ellerslie under the command of Sir Gilbert Hamble-
don, an officer arrived from Douglas castle, (the property
of which he, with a troop, had been deputed to guard in the
king’s name;) and he told the governor that Sir William
Wallace had that evening taken a quantity of treasure from
the castle of Douglas. His report was that the English sol-
dier, who stood by the Scottish knight when he mºunted at
the castle gate, had seen an iron box under his arm; but not
suspecting its having belonged to Douglas, they thought not
of it till they overheard Sir John Monteith, as he passed
through one of the galleries, muttering something about gold
and a boar. To intercept the robber, (for so he chose to de-
signate Wallace) amongst his native glens, he deemed im-
practicable; and therefore, came immediately to lay the infor-
mation before the governor of Lanerk. As the scabbard
found in the affray with young Arthur had betrayed the vic-
tor to have been Sir ºw. this intimation of his
having been also the instrument of wresting from the grasp
of Heselrigge; the spoil.he deemed his own, ; the
governor to the most extravagant degree. Inflaméd with the
double furies of revenge and avarice, be ordered out a new
troop, and placing himself at the head, took the way to Eller-
slie hoping by threats or persuasions, to discover from Lady
Wallace, both the retreat of her husband, and the conceal-
ment of the box. One of the servants, whom some of Ham-
bledon's men had seized for the sake of information, on being
threatened with the torture, confessed to Heselrigge, that
not only Sir William Wallace was in the house when it was
attacked, but that the person whom he reseued in the streets
of Lanerk, and who proved to be a wealthy nobleman, was
there also. This whetted the eagerness of the governor to
reach Ellerslie. And expecting to get a rich booty, without
the most distant idea of the horrors he was going to perpe-
trate, a large detachment of men followed him. t
To extort money from you, my Lord; continued the sol-
dier, and to obtain that fatal box, were his main objects.-
But disappointed in his darling passion of avarice, he forgot
he was a man, and the blood of innocence glutted his barba-
fous vengeance. *
Hateful gold; cried Lord Mar, spurning the box with his

- THE scottish chiefs. 45
z' { . - -
foot; it cannot be for itself that the nºb
ly prizes it! it must be a chârge. . .
i believe it was, return
dy to preserve it for the
it then my Lord for the some sacred reason: . . .
The Englishman made no objection to accompany the
and by a suggestion of his own, changing his English
for a Scottish bonnet and cloak, which Halber
him from the house; he was pâtting them off,
observed that the poor old harperstood near him with a
drawn and bloodstained sword iſ his hå z:
steadfastly gazed—Whence came that horridºw
Lord Mar. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
It is my Lady's blood : replied Halbert, still looking on
it; I found it were she lay in the halt; and I will carry it to
hèenj
. . . . . .
* * * ... "
los
ht
éâpón * cried
to my master. Was not every drop of her blood dear to him
and here are many as the old man spoke, he bent his head
on the sword, and groaned heavily. . . . . .
England shall hear more of this, cried Mar, as he threw
himself across the horse. Give me that fatal box, I will
buckle it to my saddle bow. Inadequate will be my utmost
care of it, to repay the vast sorrows its preservation and mine .
have brought upon the head of my deliverer. . . .
The Englishman in silence mounted his horse ; and Hal-
bert opening a back gate that led to the hills which lay be.
tween Ellerslie and Bothwell Castle, Lord Mar took a gold-
en trophied bugle from his byeast; “give this to your mas.
ter; and tell him that by whatever hands he sends it, the
sight of it shall always command the service ºf Donald Mar.
I go to Bºthwell it expectation that lie will join me there.
In making it his home he will rendet me happy; for my
friendship is: - - - - - -
can sever.” – “.
* 3: .. • - . -
. . . Jº : ; - - • s -
Halbert took the horn, and promising faithfully to repeat
is:
the Earl's message, he exchanged blessings with the honest
* ..., -- a 3&ti. - . . . . . . . . . . . . . . * ...: - * s' - - - *
soldier: and stri '#'. deep ravine, which led to the re-
imote solitudes of the glen, pursued his way in dreadful si-
Hence. . No human fice ºf Scot or English cheered or scºred
him as he passed along.' Thg tumult of the preceding Hight,
by dispersing the servants of Ellerslie, had so alarmed the
poor cottagers, that with one accord they fled tewards the
v.- -. bined my la-
...***'. . ** **.*.*. -
honor. Take care of
nº º- ºr . . . .
is now bound to him by bonds which only death
& Wallace so great-
º:
*.
























46 - THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
ſ
hills; there to await, amid those fastnesses of nature, and
with their more robust brethren, (who, according to the cus-
tom of the country, had previously emigrated to the heights
to feed their flocks) till tidings should arrive that all was
still in the valley, and that they might return in peace. Hal-
bert looked to the right and left; no smoke curling its gray
mist from behind the intersecting rocks, reminded him of
the gladsome morning hour, or invited him to take a mo-
ment’s rest from his grievous journey. All was lonely and
desolate; and sighing bitterly over the wide devastation, he
concealed the fatal sword under his cloak : and by means of
a staff which he broke from a withered tree, he walked re-
solutely, though feebly, down the winding way: But many
a pointed craig pierced his aged feet as he explored the al-
most trackless paths which by their direction he hoped
would lead him towards the deep caves of Corie Lin.
* Lººse
CHAP. IV. . . . .
THE poor old minstrel of the house of Wallace, after hav.
ing traversed many a weary rood of, to him, before untrodden
ground, exhausted by fatigue sat down on the declivity of a
very steep craig. The burning beams of the mid-day sun
now beat upon the rocks; the overshadowing foilage afford-
ed him shelter; and a few branbles which knit themselves
over the path which he had yet to explore, with a draught
of water from the passing brook, were all the food that of.
fered to revive his enfeebled limbs. Insufficient as they ap-
peared, he took them, blessing Heaven for sending even
these ; and after half an hour's rest, he again grasped his
staff to pursue his way. i.e. .
After breaking a passage through the entangled shrubs
which grew across the only possible footing in this solitary
wilderness, he went along the side of the burn which now,
at every turning of the rocks increased in depth and vio.
lence. The rills from above and other nountain streams
pouring into it from abrupt falls down the craigs, covered
him with spray and intercepted his passage. Finding it im-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 4&
practicable to proceed through the rushing torrent of a cat-
aract, whose roarings had intimidated him at some distance,
and which now burst upon his sight, he crept on his hands
and knees up the opposite acclivity, catching by the fern and
other weeds, to stay him from falling back into the raging
flood below. Prodigious craggy mountains towered above
his head as he ascended; in parts, the rolling clouds which
canopied their summits, seemed descending to wrap him in
their “fleecy skirts;” and in others, projecting rocks, bend-
ing over the waters of the glen, left him only a narrow shelf
in the cliff, along which he crept, till it brought him to the
mouth of a cavern.
He must either enter it, or return the way he came, or at-
tempt the descent of overhanging precipices, which nothing
else could penetrate but the pinion of their native eagles—
Above was the mountain. To re-tread his footsteps until
he had seen his beloved master, he was resolved not to do ;
to perish in these glens would be more tolerable to him; for
while he moved forward, hope, even in the arms of death,
would cheer him with the whisper that he was in the path of
duty. He therefore entered the cavity, through which he
soon perceived an aperture; and emerging on the other
side, found himself again on the margin of the river. Hav-
ing attained a wider bed, it left him a still narrower cause-
way on which to perform the remainder of his journey.
Huge masses of rock, canopied with a thick umbrage of
firs, beech, and the weeping birch, closed over the glen, and
almost excluded the light of day. Halbert, now more an-
xious, as he believed by the increased rapidity of the black
stream, that he was approaching the great fall near which his
master was concealed, redoubled his speed But an unlook-
ed for obstacle impeded him. A growing gloom, which he
had not observed in the sky-excluded valley, entirely over-
spread the heavens, and discharged itself, amidst peals of
thunder, in sudden and heavy flooris of rain.
Fearful of being overwhelmed by the streams which now
on all sides crossed his path, he kept upon the edge of the
river, to be as far as possible from the influence of their vio-
lenee. And thus he proceeded, slowly and with trepida-
tion, through numerous defiles, and under the plunge of
many a mountain torrept, till the augmented roar of a world


48 THE scottish chiefs.
of waters dashing from side to side, and boiling up with the
noise and füry of the contending elements above, told him
he was not far from the fall of Corie Lin.
The spray was spread in so thick a mist over the glen that
he knew not how to advance. A step farther might be on
the firm earth ; but more probably it would be illusive, and
dash him into the roaring Lin, where he would be ingulphed
at once in its furious whirlpool. He paused and looked
around him. The rain had ceased; but the thunder still roll-
ad at a distance, and echoed tremendous from the surround-
ing rocks. Halbert shook his gray locks streaming with wet,
and looking towards the sun, which was now setting, and
gilding with its last rays the vast sheets of falling water.
This is thine hour, my master exclaimed the old man,
and surely I am now too near the Lin to be far from thee!
With these words he raised the pipe that hung at his
breast, and blew three strains of the sweet air which in former
days he used to play on his harp, to call forth from her bower
that fair star of evening, the beauteous Marion, who was now
forever departed into her native heaven. The notes tr bled
as his agitated breath breathed them into the instrument;
but feeble as they were, and theugh the roar of the cataract
might have prevented their reaching a less attentive ear than
that of Wallace, yet he sprung from the innermost recess of
the cave under the fall, and dashing through the rushing
waters, was the next instant at the side of Halbert.
Faithful creature ; cried he, catching him in his arms, and
feeling how blissful is that moment which ends the anxious
wish to learn tidings of all that is dearest in the world; how
fares my Marion ? º
I am weary; cried the heart-stricken old man,"lake pºle
within your sanctuary and I will tell you all. * *
Wallace perceived that his time-worn servant was indeed
exhausted; and knowing the toils and hazards of the peril-
ous tract he must have passed over in his way to this fearful
solitude; and remembering how, as he satin his shelter, lie
had dreaded the effects of the storm upon so aged a travel-
ler; he no longer wondered at the dispirited tone of his
grecting, and readily accounted for the pale countenance
and perilous steps which had at first excited his alarm. .
Giving him his hand, he led him with caution to the brink
"THE SCO’ſ CIS H CHIEFS. 49
of the Lin; and then taking him in his arms, dashed with
him through the tumbling water into the cavern he had cho-
sen for his asylum. Halbert sunk against its rocky side ;
and putting forth his hand to catch some of the water as it
fell, drew a few drops to his parched lips and swallowed
them. After this slight refreshment he breathed a little,
and turned his eyes wishfully upon his anxious master.
“Are you sufficiently recovered, Halbert 2 may I now ask
how you left my dearest Marion ?” .
Halbert dreaded to see the animated light which cheered
him from the eyes of his master, happy in expectation, over-
clouded with the cimmerion horrors his story, was formed to
unfold:—he evaded a direct reply.—“I saw your guest in
safety before I left Ellerslie ; I saw him and the iron box on
their way to Bothwell.”
What, enquired Wallace, were we mistaken 2 was not the
earl dead when we looked into the well ?–Halbert replied
if the negative; and was proceeding with a circumstantial
account of his recovery and departure, when Wallace inter-
rupted him.
“But what of my wife, Halbert ; why tell me of others
before of her 2—surety she remembers me ! some message!”
Yes, my dear lord ; cried Halbert, throwing himself on his
knees in a paroxism of mental agony ; she remembers you
where her best prayers can be heard. She kneels for her
beloved Wallace before the throne of God!
Halbert, cried Sir William, in a low and fearful voice,
what do you say ? my Marion—speak—tell me in one word
she lives,
“ In kleaven.”
At this confirmation of a sudden terror, imbibed from the
agmbiguous words of Halbert, and which, his fond heart
would not allow him to acknowledge to himself, he covered
his face with his hands, and fell back with a deep groan
against the side of the cavern. The horrid idea of prema-
ture maternal pains, occasioned by anguish for him; of her
consequent death, involving perhaps that of her infant, struck
him to the sºul; a mist seemed passing over his eyes, life
was receding, and gladly did he believe he felt his spirit on
the eve of joining her’s. *...
Halbert, thinking that he had revealed the worst in de-
4
# -
5|Q THE SCOTTISH C li i EFS.
claring that the idol of his master’s heart no longer existed
for him in this word, went on—“her last breath was spent
in prayer for you... My Wallace, were the last words her
angel spirit uttered as it issued from her bleeding wounds.”
The cry that burst from the heart of Wallace as he started
on his feet at this horrible disclosure, seemed to pierce
through all the recesses of the glen, and with an instantane-
ous and dismal return, was re. echoed from rock to rock.-
Halbert threw his arms round his master’s knees. The fran-
tic blaze of his eyes struck him with affright. “Hear me
my lord' for the sake of your wife, now an angel hovering
near you, hear what I have to say.”
Wallace looked around him with a wild countenance—
“My Marion near me : blessed spirit !—oh, my murdered
wife, my unborn babe 1–who made those wounds tell me,”
cried he, throwing himself down on the ground, and seizing
Halbert with a tremendous though unconscious grasp 3–
“Tell me, who had the heart to aim a deadly blow at that
angel’s life P”
The governor of Lanerk; replied Hulbert.
How for what demanded Wallace, with a terrific glare
of madness shooting from his eyes; “my wife, my wife;
what had she done *
“He came at the head of a band of ruffians; and seizing
my lady, commanded her on the peril of her life, to declare
where you and the earl of Mar and the box of treasure were
concealed. My lady persisted to refuse him information,
and in a deadly rage, before I was aware, he plunged his
sword into her breast –Wallace clenched his hands over
his face and Halbert went on ; “before he aimed a second
błow, I had broken from the men who held me, and thrown
myself on her bosom ; but all could not save her; through
my neck the villian’s sword penetrated her heart.” *...*
Great God exclaimed Wallace, again springing on his
feet; dost thou hear this murder His hands were stretch-
ed towards heaven: then falling on his knees, with his eyes
fixed, and his arms yet extended; give me power Almighty
Judge cried he, to assert thy justice,—Let me avenge this
angel’s blood, and then take me to thyself.
My graciºus master; cried Halbert, seeing him rise with
3 stern composure from his knees; here is the fatal sword
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFs. 5 i
with which the cruel governor killed my lady. The blood
on it is sacred, and l brought it to you. - * * - I
Wallace took it in his hand. He gazed at it, touched it,
and kissed it franticly. The blade was hardly yet dry, and
the ensanguined hue came off upon the pressure. Marion,
Marion cried he, is it thine —Does thy blood stain my lip :
he paused for a moment, leaning his burning forehead against
the fatal blade; then looking up with a terrific smile, “he-
Joved of my soul, never shall this sword leave my hand till
it has drunk the life blood of thy murderer.” *
What is it you intend, my lord cried Halbert, viewing
with increased alarm the resolute ferocity which now blazed
from every part of his countenance, and seemed to glitate his
figure with more than mortal daring, what can you do *-
your single arm– 3.
“I am not single—God is with me—I am his avenger.--
Now tremble tyranny, I come to hurl thee down " at the
word, he sprang from the cavern’s mouth; and had already
reached the topmost cliff, when the piteous cries of Halbert.
penetrated his ear, and caught his attention.—They recalled
him to recollection ; and returning with the same prompti-
tude to this faithful servant, as that with which he had left
him, he now tried to sooth his fears; and spoke in a composed .
though determined tone. “I will lead you from this solitude
to the mountains, where the shepherds of Ellerslie are tend-
ing their flocks. With them you will find a refuge till you
have strength to reach Bothwell castle. Lord Mar will pro-
tect you for my sake.” 1.
Halbert now remembered the bugle with which the earl
had entrusted him ; and putting it into his master’s hand with
the accompanying message, he asked for some testimony in
return that the earl might know he had delivered it safely;
“even a lock of your precious hair, my beloved master, will
be sufficient.” -
Thou shalt have it, severed from my head by this accursed
steel; answered Wallace, taking off his bonnet, and letting
his long amber locks fall in masses on his shoulders. Halbert
but st into a fresh flood of tears ; for he remembered how of.
ten it had been the delight of Marion to comb these bright
tresses, and to twist them round her ivory fingers. Wallace
ſooked up as the old man’s sobs became audible, and read
$.
‘52 the scort ISH CHIEFs.
his thoughts. It will never be again, Halbert; cried he,
#, and with a firm grasp of his sword, he cut off a large hand-
ful of his hair. The end which he separated from his head
was stained red. . . . ; - s
ºthy blood hath marked itſ exclaimed he, and ev.
i. ery hair of my liead shall be died of the same hue before I
; sheath this sword upon thy murderers. Here Halbert, con-
tinued he, knotting it together; take this to the earl of Mar.
It is all, most likely, he will ever see of William Wallace.—
“Should I fall, tell bim to look on that, and in my wrongs read
the future miseries of Scotland, and remember that God
armeth the patriot’s hand. Let him act on that conviction,
hand Scotland may yet be free. -
* Halfºrt placed the lock in his bosom, and repeated his en-
treaties ºathis master would accompany him to Bothwell
eastle, where he was sure he would meet with every conso-
lation from the good Earl’s friendship.
if he indeed love me, returned Wallace, for my sake let
him cherish you. My consolations must come from a higher
hand, I go where it directs. If I live you shall see me again.
Butºilight approaches, we must away : the sun must not
againºise upon Heselrigge. - ' +
ºf Halbert now followed the rapid steps of Wallace, who, as: .
sisting the feeble limbs of his faithful servant, drew him up.”
tº the precipitious side of the Lin: (i) and then leaping from
* ruck to rock, awaited with impatience the slower advances
§ of the poor old harper as he crept found a circuit of over-
3 hanging cliffs, to join him on the summit of the crigs.
Together they struck into the most inaccessible defiles of
the mountains, and proceeded, till by the smoke, whitening
with its ascending curls the black sides of the impending
rocks, Wallace saw he was near the objects of his search.—
He sprung on a high cliff which projected over this moun-
tain valley, and blowing his bugle with a few notes of the
well known fibroch (#) of Lanerkshire, was answered by the
reverberation of a thousand echoes. * ‘. . . .
At the loved sounds, which had not dared to visit their ears ".
since the Scottish standard was lowered to Edward, the hills
seemed teeming with life. Men rushed from their fastnesses;
and women with their babes, eagerly followed, to see whence,
sprung a summons so dear to every Scottish heart, Wallas’






























THE scortish chiFFs. 53
stood on the cliff like the newly aroused genius of his suffer-
ing country. His long plaid #. afar, and his glittering
hair streaming on the blast, seemed to mingle with the golden
fires which shot from the heavens. Wallace raised his eyes: ..
a clash, as of the tumult of contending armies, filled the sky; .
and flames and flashing steel, and the horrid red of battle,
streamed from the clouds upon the hills.
Scotsmen; cried Wallace, waving the fatal sword, which
blazed in the glare of these northern lights like a flaming
brand, behold how the heavens cry aloud to you. I come in
the name of all ye hold dear, of your lives, your Hiberties, and
of the wives of your bosoms, and the children now in their
arms. The poignard of England is unsheathed:—Innocence,
age, and infancy fall before it. With this sword, last night,
did Heselrigge, the English tyrant of Lanerk, break into
my house and murder my wife. *
The shriek of horror that burst from every mouth inter. ,
rupted Wallace. “Vengeance, vengeance P’ was the cry of .
the men, while tumultuous lamentations for the “sweet lady
of Ellerslie,” filled, the air from the women.
Wallace sprang from the cliff into the midst of his brave
countrymen. “ Follow me then to strike the first blow.”
Lead us forward; cried a vigorous old man : I drew this
stout claymore last in the battle of i_args. Life and Alexan-
der was then the word of victory: now ye accursed South-
rons, ye shall find that the slogen (l) of Death and Lady Ma-
rion f will be a cry to bring angels down to avenge her blood
and free the country. -
Death and Lady Marion * was now echoed with loud shouts
from mouth to mouth. Every sword was drawn. And those
hardy peasants who had none, seized the instruments of pas-
turage; and armed themselves with wolf-spears, pick-axes,
forks and scythes. *
Sixty resolute men now arranged themselves around their
chief. Wallace, whose widowed heart turned icy cold at the
dreadful slogen of his Marion's name, more fiercely grasped
bis sword, and murmured to limself—“From this hour may
Scotland date her liberty, or Wallace return no more —My
faithful friends,” cried he, turning to his men, and placing
the plumed bonnet on his hand ; let the spirits of your fath-
ers inspire your souls; ye go .." preserve that freedom for
- - F. * *
§
~ y,
2 3.
*
54 THE SCOTTISH C H I EF3,
which they died. Before the moon sets, the tyrant of Lanerk
shall fall in blood.” * ..
Death and Lady Marion / was the pealing answer that
echoed from the hills. ,
Wallace again sprung on the cliff. His brave peasants fol-
lowed him; and taking their rapid march by a near cut over
the most precipitious heights, and though the hitherto unex-
plored defiles of Cartlane craigs; leap in chasms, and climb-
ing perpendicular rocks; no obstacles impeded them, as they
rushed onward like lions to their prey.
CHAPTER V.
THE women, and the men who were too aged to engage
in so desperate an enterprize, now thronged around Ilal-
bert to ask a circumstantial account of the disaster which
had filled them with so much horror. . . .
Many were the tears which followed his recital. Not one
of his auditors was an indifferent listener ; all had individu-
ally partaken of the tender Marion’s benevolence. Their
šick-beds had been comforted by her charity; her voice had
often administered consolation to their sorrows; her hand
had smoothed their pillows, and placed the crucifix before
their dying eyes. Some had recoverºl to bless her; and
some departed to record her virtues in Heaven.
Ah! is she gone cried a young woman, raising her face,
covered with tears from the bosom of her infant; is the love-
Hiest lady that ever the sun shone upon, cold in the grave 2
Alas for me ! she it was that gave me the roof under which
my baby was born. She it was that, when the Southron
soldiers slew my father and drove us from our home in Ayr- .
shire, gave to my old mother, and to my poor wounded
husband, the cottages by the burn-side. Ah, well can I
spare him to avenge her murder. , i $
The night being far advanced, Halbert retired at the invi.
tation of this young woman, to repose on the heather bed
of her husband, who was now absent with Wallace. The
rest of the peasantry withdrew to their coverts; while she,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 53
*I
and some other women, whose anxieties would not allow
them to sleep, sat at the cavern’s mouth watching the slow-
By-moving hours. t *
The objects of their fond and fervent prayers, Wallace
and his little army, were rapidly pursuing their march. It
was midnight—all was silent as they hurried through the
glen, and ascended with flying footsteps the steep acclivi-
ties which intersected the way that led to the cliffs which
overhung the vale of Ellerslie. Wallace must pass along
their brow. Beneath was the tomb of his sacrificed Marion.
He rushed forward to snatch one look, even at the roof
which shrouded her beloved remains.-->
At the moment before he mounted thé intervening height
a soldier in English armor crossed the path and was seized
by his men. An uplifted axe was levelled at the man’s neck.
Wallace turned the weapon:-Hold Scot! cried he, to the
Highlander who aimed it; you are not a Southron, to strike
the defenceless. This man has no sword.
The reflection on their enemy, which this plea of mercy
contained, reconciled the impetuous Scots to the clemency
of their leader. The terrified wretch, who had expected
nothing less than immediate death, joyfully recognizing the
voice of Wallace, fell on his knees, exclaiming, surely it is
my lord—it is Sir William Wallace who has saved my life a
second time !
Who are you ? asked Wallace; that bassinet can cover
sto friend of mine. §
I am your servant Dugal, returned the man, he whom
your brave arm saved from the battle axe of Arthur Hesel-
rigge. *.
“I cannot now ask you how you came by that dress; but
if you be yet faithful, throw it off and follow me.”
Not to Ellerslie, my lord; cried he, it has been this day
sacked, and set in flames by the commands of the governor
of Lanerk.
Then, exclaimed Wallace inwardly, and striking his
breast; are the remains of my beloved Marion for ever
ravished from my eyes! Insatiate monster!
Too long he hives to curse the earth; cried the vetéran
of Largs; forward my lord, in mercy to mankind
Wallace had now mounted the craig which over-looked
56 THE SCOTT IS II C H IFFS,
.
- *
Ellerslie.—His once happy home had disappeared, and all
beneath lay a heap of smoking ashes. He hastened from the
sight and directing the point of his sword with a forceful ac-
tion towards Lanerk, re-echoed with supernatural strength,
“ Forward P’ tº
with the rapidity of lightning his little host flew over the
hills, reached the cliffs which divided them from the town,
and leaped down before the outward trench of the castle of
Lanerk. In a moment Wallace sprung so feeble a barrier,
and with a shout of death, in which the tremendous slogen
of his men now joined, he rushed upon the guard that held
the northern gate of the fortress. -
Here slept the governor. The few opponents being slain
by the first sweep of the Scottish swords, Wallace lastened
onward, winged with twofold retribution. The noise of bat-
tle was behind him ; for the shout of his men had aroused
the garrison, and drawn the soldiers, half naked, to the spot.
—He had now reached the door of the governor—The sen-
tinel who stood there, flew before the terrible warrior that
presented himself. All the mighty vengeance of Wallace
blazed in his face and seemed to surround his figure with a
terrible splendor. With one stroke of his foot, he drove the
door from its hinges and rushed into the room.
What a sight for the now awakened and guilty Heselrigge 3
—lt was the husband of the defenceless woman he had mur.
dered, come in the power of justice, with uplifted arm, and
vengeance in his eyes | With a terrific scream of despair,
and an outcry for the mercy he dared not expect, he fell
back into the bed, and sought an unavailing shield beneath
its folds.
. Marion 1 Marion cried Wallace, as he threw himself to.
wards the bed—and buried the sword, yet red with her blood,
through the coverlid, decp into the heart of her murderer.—
A fiend like yell from the slain Heselrigge, told him his work
was done; and drawing out the sword, he took the stream-
ing blade in his hand–Vengeance is satisfied—cried he,
thus O God do I henceforth divide self frama my heart As
he spoke, he snapt the sword in twain, and throwing away
the pieces, put back with his hand the impending weapons
of his brave companions; who, having cleared the passage
of their assaikants, had hurried forward to assist in Tidding
their country of so detestable a tyrant,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 57
'Tis done, cried he. As he spoke he drew down the cov-
erlid, and discovering the body of the governor weltering in
blood: the ghastly countenance, on which the agonies of
hell seemed imprinted, glared horridly even in death.
Wallace turned away, and the men, exulting in the sight,
with a shout of triumph exclaimed—“So fall the enemies of
Sir William Wallace tº
Rather, so fall the enemies of Scotland cried he ; from
this hour, Wallace lias neither love nor resentment but for
her. Heaven has heard me devote myself to work our
country’s freedom, or to die. Who will follow me in so
just a cause - *. g
** All . With Wallace forever t” * -
The new clamor which their present resolution excited,
intimidated a fresh band of soldiers who were marching
across the court-yard to intercept their passage from the
governor’s apartments; they hastily retreated; and no ex-
ertions of their officers could prevail on them to advance
again, or even to appear in sight of their resolute enemies,
when soon afterwards, with Wallace at their head, they issu-
ed from the great gate. The English commanders, seeing
that their men were struck with a panic which they were
the less able to surmount, as the way to the gate was strewn
with slain, fell back into the shadow of the towers; and by
the light of the moon, leisurely viewed the departure of the
Scots over the trenches.
CHAP. VI.
THE sun was rising from behind the eastern hills, when
the victorious groupe entered the mountain glen where their
families lay. The cheerful sounds of their bugles, aroused
the sleepers from their caves, and many were the joyous
gratulations and embraces which welcomed the warriors to
affection and repose. . .
Wallace, while he threw himself along a bed of purple
heath, gathered for him by a busy female hand, listened with
a caimed mind to the fond enquiries of Halbert, who, awak-
58 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS,
ened by the first blast of the horn, had started from his
shelter, and hastened to hail the safe return of his master.—
While his faithful followers retired each to the bosom of his
rejoicing family, the fugitive chief of Ellerslie remained
alone with the old man; and recounted to him the success
of his enterprize, and the double injuries he had avenged.
The assassin, continued he, has paid with his life for his in-
expiable crime,—He is slain, and with him several of Ed-
ward’s garrison.—My vengeance may be appeased ; but
what, O! Halbert can bring redress to my widowed heart?
—all is lost to me; I have then nothing to do with this
world, but as I am the instrument of good to others: the
Scottish sword has now been re-drawn against our foes; and
with the blessing of Heaven, I swear it shall not be sheath-
ed till Scotland be rid of the tyranny which has slain my
happiness!—This night my gallant Scots have sworn to ac-
complish my vow ; and death or liberty, must be the future
fate of Wallace, and his friends,
At these words, tears ran over the cheeks of the venera-
ble harper :—Alas, my too brave master, exclaimed he, what
iš it you would do why rush upon certain destruction ?—
for the sake of her memory whom you deplore; in pity to
the worthy Earl of Mar, who wiłł arraign himself as the
cause of all these calamities, and of your death, should you
fall—retract this desperate vow-tº
No, my good Halbert; returnèd Wallace, I am neither
desperate nor inefficient; and you, faithful creature, shall
have no cause to mourn this night’s resolution. Go to Lord
Mar, and tell him what are my resolves. I have nothing
now that binds me to life but my country ; and henceforth
she shall be to me as mistress, wife, and child.—Would you
deprive me of this tie, Halbert would you by persuading me
to resign my interest in her, devote me to a hermit’s seclu-
stor amongs these rocks —for I will never again appear in
the tracks of men, if it be not as the defender of her rights.
“But where, my master shall we find you, should the Earl
choose to join you with his followers ?” -
“In this wilderness; whence I shall not remove fashiy.—
For my purpose is to save my countrymen, not to sacrifice
them in needless dangers.” t
Halbert, oppressed with sorrow at the images his forebog.
THE "SC OT"I’ISH CHIEF 5. 59
ing heart drew of the direful scenes in which his beloved
master had pledged himself to become the leading actor,
bowed his head with submission; and leaving Wallace to rest,
retired to the mouth of the cavern to weep alone.
It was noon before the chief awakened from the death-like
sleep into which kind nature had plunged his long harrassed
senses. He opened his eyes languidly ; and when the sight
of his rocky apartment forced on him the recollection of all
his miseries, he uttered a deep groan.—That sad sound, so
different from the jocund voice with which Wallace used to
issue from his rest, struck the ear of Halbert, who mean-
while, had prepared a staff and scrip for his journey He
drew near his master, and kissing his hand, begged his per-
mission to set out for Bothwell—on my knees, added he, will
# implore the Earl to send you succours.
He heeds not prayers for that, returned Wallace; but de-
part, dear, worthy Halbert: it will comfort me to know you
are in safety ; and whithersoever you go, you carry my
thanks and blessings with you ! *
Old age opens the fountain of tears —Halbert’s flowed
profusely, and bathed his master’s hand—Could Wallace
have wept, it would have been then ; but that gentle emolli-
ent of grief was denied him ; and with a voice of assumed
cheerfulness, he renewed his efforts to encourage his des-
ponding servant.—Half persuading that a superior Being did
indeed call his beloved master to some extraordinary exer-
tions for Scotland, he took his leave, first of him, and then
of the companions of his destiny. A few of them led him
on his way as far as the western declivity of the hills; when
bidding them farewell, he took the remainder of his journey
alone. •
After traversing many a weary mile, which lay between
the Cortlane.craigs and Bothwell castle, he reached the val-
ley in which that fortress stands; and calling to the warder
at its gates, by declaring that he came from Sir William
Wallace, he was admitted and conducted into the castle.
Halbert was led by a servant into a superb chamber, where
the Eart lay upon a couch. A lady richly habited, set at his
head; and another, much younger, arid of resplendent beau-
ty, clothed in green, with a circlet of diamonds round her
brows, knelt at his feet with a salver of medicinal cordials in " "
60 THE sco TTISH CHIEFs.
her hand; near to them stood a young man. On the eſſ-
trance of Halbert, whom the Earl instantly recognized, he
raised himself on his arm, and welcomed him. The young
lady rose; and the young man stepped eagerly forward.
The Earl enquired anxiously after Sir William Wallace,
and asked if he might expect § soon at Bothwell.
He cannot yet come, my lord; replied Halbert, hard is
the task he has laid upon his valiant head; but he is aveng-
ed!—he has slain the governor of Lanerk. A faint exclama-
tion of dismay broke from the lips of the young lady.
Slain how 2 demanded the Earl.
Halbert now gave a particular account of the anguish of
Wallace when he was told of the sanguinary events which
had taken place at Ellerslie. As the honest harper described
in his own ardent language the generous zeal with which the
shepherds on the heights took up arms to avenge the wrong
done to their chief, the countenance of the young lady and
of the youth glowed through their tears; they looked on
each other; and Halbert proceeded. t
When my dear master and his valianº troop were pursu-
ing their way to Lanerk, as he approached the cliffs of El-
lerslie, he was met by Dugald ; the man who your lordship
must remember, rushed into the room to apprise us of the ad-
vance of the English forces. During the confusion of that
horrible night, after I had bound up his wounds and left him,
I thought, expiring in a corner of the hall, he recovered in
the midst of the contention, and creeping away, concealed
himself from the soldiers amongst the bushes of the glen.
When all was over, he came from his hiding place and find-
ing the Englishman’s bassinet and cloak, which we had made
him exchange for a bonnet and plaid, poor Dugald, still fear-
ful of falling in with any straggling party of Heselrigge’s,
disguised himself in the soldier’s clothes. Exhausted with
hunger, more than with pain of his wounds, which were only
in the arms, he was venturing towards the house in search of
food, when, as he approached, the sight of armed men in
the hall made him hastily retreat into his former place of
refuge. He did not lie long before his alariñº was increased
by a redoubled noise from the house; oaths, and horrid
bursts of metriment seemed to have turned that once abode
of honor and of loveliness, into the clamorous haunts of rib-
THE scottish chiefs. . 61
aldry and violence. In the midst of the uproar he was sur-
prised by seeing flames issue from the windows of the house;
the soldiers poured from the doors with shouts of triumph;
and afterwards watched by the fire the whole day and cwe-
ning, carrying off the booty, till the interior of the building
was consumed, and the rest sunk a heap of smoking fuins.
“The work completed, these horrid ministers of devasta-
tion left the vale to its own solitude. Dugald, after waiting
a long time to ascertain to himself that they were quite gone,
crept from the bushes: and ascending the cliffs, he was
speeding to the mountains, when encountering our armed
shepherds, who mistook him for an English soldier, they
seized him. The men recognized their former companion,
and heard with redoubled indignation the history of the
mouldering ashes before them.”
Brave, persecuted Wallace exclaimed the earl, how dear-
ly was my life purchased But procced, Halbert, tell me that
he returied safe from Lanerk.
Halbert now recounted the dreadful scenes which took
place in that town: and that, when the governor fell, Wal-
lace made a vow never to mingle with the world again, till
Scotland should be free.
Alas! cried the earl, what miracle is to effect that Sure--
ly he will not bury those noble qualities, that bloom of youth,
within the gloom of a cloister - -
“No my lord, he has retired to the fastnesses of Cartlane
craigs,” . t -
Why? resumed Mar, why did he not rather fly to me?
This castle is strong ; and while one stone offt remains upon
another, not all the hosts of England should take him hence.
It was not your friendship that he doubted; returned the
old man; love for his country compels him to reject all com.
fort in which she does not share. His last words to me were
these. I have nothing now to do but to assert the liberties of
Scotland and to rid her of her enemies. Go to Lord Mar, take
this lock ºf my hair, stained with the blood of my wife. It is
all, most likely, he will ever again see of William Wallace.—
Should I fall, tell him to look on that, and in my wrongs read
the future miseries of Scotland, and remember that God arm-
eth the patriot / - *... . . . . . . . .
VoI. I. F . . . . . . .
62 THE Scottish C HIEFs.
i.
|
sº.
Tears dropped so fast from the young lady’s eyes, that she
*WºS obliged to walk to a window to conceal them. v.
O! lily uncle, cried the youth, surely the freedom of Scot.
land is possible. feelin my soul that the words of the brºwe
Wallace are prophetic. -
The earl held the lock of hair in his hands; he regarded
it, lost in meditation. “God armeth the patriot! He paused
again, his before pallid cheek taking a thousand animated
hues; then raising the sacred present to his lips: Yes, cried
he, thy vow shall be performed; and while Donald Mar has
an arm to wield a sword, or a man to follow to the field, thou
shalt command both him and them.
But not as you are, my Lord ; cried the elder lady, your
wounds are yet unhealed ; your fever is still raging ! would
it not be madness to expose your safety at such a crisis?
I shall not take arms myself, answered he, till I can bear
them to effect; meanwhile, all of my clan and of my friends
that I can raise to guard the life of my deliverer, and to pro-
mote the cause, must be summoned. This lock shall be my

pennon, and what Scotsman will look on that and start from
; his colors! Here, Helen, my child !eried he, addressing the

young lady, before to-morrow’s dawn, have his hair whought
into my banner. It will be a patriot's standard, and ſet his
own irresistible words be the motto, God armeth me.
Helen advanced with blushing trepidation. Having been
told by the earl, of the generous valor of Wallace, and of the
cruel death of his lady, she had conceived an enthusiastic
gratitude; and ºf pity, deeper than language could express,
for a man who had lost so much by succouring one so dear
to her. She took the lock, waving in yellow light upon her
hands; and trembling with a strange emotion, was leaving
the room, when she heard her cousin suddenly throw him-
self on his knees. * *
I beseech you, my honoured uncle, cried he, if you have
any love for me, or value for my future fame, that you will .
allow me to be the bearer of your banner in the army of
Sir William Wallace. -
isen stopped a moment at the threshhold to hear the
reply. * . .. !. -
You could not, my dear nephew, returned the earl, have
asked me any favor that I would grant with so much jºy.
*
•
- ...
THE scottish chi EFs. 63
To-morrow I will collect the peasantry. of Bothwelf, and
with those and my own followers, you shall join Wallace the
same night. Լ
Helen, who ignorant of the horrors of war, and only alive
to the glory of the present cause, sympathised in the ardor
of her cousin, with a thrill of delight hurried to her own
apartment to commence her task,
Far different were the sentiments of the countess. “As
soon as Lord Mar had let this declaration escape his lips,
alarmed at the effect so much agitation might have on his
enfeebled constitution; and fearful of the perilous cause he
ventured thus openly to espouse : she desired her nephew
to take the now comforted Halbert,(who was poºring forth
his gratitude to the Earl for the promptitude of his orders)
and see that he was attended with due hospitality. t
When the room was left to the Earl and herself, with an
uneasy presage of some impending evil, she ventured to re-
monstrate with him upon the facility with which he had be-
come a party in so treasonable a unatter; Consider, my jord,
*
..!
continued she, that Scotland is now cmtirely in the power of .
the English monarch. His garrisons occupy out towns, and .
his creatures hold every-place of trust in the kingdom
And is such a list of oppressions, thy dear lady, to be an
argument for longer bearing them Hail i Åfid other Scot-
tish nobles dared to resist this overwhičiming power after
the battle of Dunbar ; had we, instead of kissing the sword
that robbed us of our liberties, kept our own unsheathered
within the bulwarks of our mountains, Scotiaud would now
be free; I should not have been assaulted by otºr English
tyrants in the streets of Lanerk; and to save my life, Wii-
*
liam Wallace would not now be motirming his murdered
wife, and without a home to shelter him : . . ºf
Lady Mar paused at this observation ; but resumed. That
may be true. But the die is cast, Scotland is lost for ever;
and by your attempting to assist your friend in this rash es-
say to recover it,"you will only iose yourself also, without
preserving him. The project is wild and needless. What
would you have 2 now that the contention between the two
kings is past? now that Baliol has surrendered his crown to
Edward, is not Scotland at peace
A bloody peace, Joanna, answered the Earl, witness these

'64 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
wounds. An usurper’s peace is more destructive than his
open hostilities, plunder and assassination are its concomi-
tants. I have now seen and felt enough of Edward’s juris-
diction. It is time I should awake, and like Wallace deter-
minc to die for Scotland, or to avenge her.
Lady Mar wept, “cruel Donald P is this the reward of all
my love and duty you tear yourself from me, you consign
your estates to sequestration, you rob your children of their
name, nay, by your infectious example, you stimulate our
brother Bothwell's son to head the band that is to join this
madman Wallace 1
Hold, Joanna, cried the Earl, speak that word again, and
you forfeit my love . What is it I hear you call the hero,
who in saving your husband's life, reduced himself to these
cruel extremities, a madman / was he mad, because he pre-
vented the Countess of Mar from being left a widow 2 was
he mad because he prevented her children from being fa-
therless -
* The Countess, overcome by this cutting reproach, threw
# herself upon her husband’s neck, and with a burst of tears,
# entreated forgiveness. Akas, my lord, cried she, all is mad-
* ness to me, that would plunge you in danger. Think of
your own safety; of my innocent twins, now in their cradle,
should you fall. Think of our brother’s feelings, when you
send his only son to join one, whom perhaps he will call a
rebel in arins |
If Earl Hothwell considered himself a vassal of Edward's
he would not now be with Lord Loch-awe. From the mo-
ment that gallant Highlander returned to Argylshire, the
King of England regarded all his adherents with a suspicious
eye. Bothwell’s present visit to Loch-awe, you see is suffi-
cient offence to sanction the plunder of this castle by the
peaceful government you approve. You saw the opening of
those proceedings, which had not the death of Arthur He-
selrigge prevented from coming to their dreadful issue,
whére, iny dear Joanna, would now be your home, your hus:
band, your children : It was the arm of the brave chief of
Ellerslie, which saved them from destruction, and our Heier,
from a ravisher. … …
i. Lady Mar shuddered, “I admit the truth of what you say.
| But oh, is it not hard, to put my all to the hazard; to see
.
t º:
fºr
THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS. 65.
sº
the bloody field on one side of my beloved Donald, and the
mortal scaffold on the other P’’ - - >
Hush, cried the Earl, it is justice that beekons me, and vic-
tory will receive me to her arms. Let, Oh, power above ex-
claimed he, hurried away with enthusiasm; let the victori-
ous field for Scotland be Donald Mar’s grave, rather than
doom him to live a witness of her miseries c.
I cannot hearygu, answered the Countess, I must leave
you. I must invoke the virgin to give me courage to be a
patriot’s wife; at present your words are daggers to me.
As she uttered this, she hastily withdrew, and left the
earl to muse on the past, and to concert plans for the por-
tentous future. ' t ***n- •: $.3
CHAP. VII.
*º-
MEAN while the fair Helen had retired to her own aparts.
ments, which were in a distant wing of the castle.—Lord
Mar’s banner being wrought to her from the armory, she ,
sat down to weave ifito its silken texture, the amber locks:
of the Scottish chief. Wondering at their softness and
beauty while her needle flew, she pictured to herself the . .
fine countenance they had once adorned. **
The duller extremities of the hair, which, a saddler liquid
than that which now dropped from their eyes, had rendered
stiff and difficult to entwine with the warp of the silk, seems
ed to adhere to her fingers. Helen almost shrunk from the ".
touch. Unhappy lady sighed she to herself; what a pang
must have rent her heart, when the stroke of so cruel a death
tore her from such a husband –and how must he have loved
her, when for her sake he thus forswears all future joys, but
those which camps and victories may yield !—Ah, what
would I give to be my cousin Murray, to bear this pennon at
his side : What would I give to reconcile so admirable a be-
ing to happiness again;–to weep his griefs or to smile him
into comfort!--to-be, that man’s friend, wºuld be a higher
honor in my mind, than to be Edward’s queen. -
While her heart was thus discoursing with itself, a page
r F * - - - -t,
r r &
3.
#66 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
#: the door, saying that her cousin begged admittance.
Helen having fastened the flowing charge into its azure field,
was embroidering the motto when Murray entered. He led
in the venerable harper, who, refreshed by the plentiful re-
past which the young lord had set before him, now followed
with less feeble steps, to repeat to Lady Helen all he had
been telling his gracious entertainer. - , .
You know not, my good old man, said the youth to Hal-
bert, as he conducted him across the galleries, what a noble
mind is contained in that lovely young creature. I was
brought up with her and to the sweet contagion of her
taste do I owe that love of true glory which carries me to the
side of Sir William Wallace. The virtuous only can awaken
an interest in her heart ; and in these degenerate days, a
long sleep it was likely to have slept, had not the history
which my uncle recounted of your brave master aroused her
- attention, and filled her with admiration responsive to my
own, I know she rejoices in my present destination. And
to prevent her hearing from your own lips, all you have now
told me of the gentle as well as heroic virtues of my intend.
ed commander, and of the heroism of his angelic wife,
would be depriving her of a mournful pleasure, for which l
* could find no equivalent. .# t
The gray-haired bard of Ellerslie, who had ever received
the dearest rewards for his songs in the smiles of its mis-
tress, did not require persuasion to appear before the fair
Lady of Mār; and to recite in her ears a truer legend, of
charms which were to be seen no more. ,
Helen rose as he and her cousin appeared: and showing
them her work, enquired if they thought it were what the
earl had wished.— Murray approved it, and Halbert, with a
full heart, took the pennon in his hand.—Ah! little did my
dear lady think, exclaimed he, that one of these loved locks
would ever be suspended on a staff to lead men to battle
what changes have a few days made she, the gentlest of
women laid in a bloody grave; and he, the most benevolent
of human beings, wielding an exterminating sword
You speak of her grave, venerable Halbert, enquired Hel.
en : had you then an opportunity of performing the rites of
sepulture to her remains . . . -
No, madam; replied he, after the wºrthy English soldier

THE scorrish chiefs. 67
now in this castle, assisted me to place her precious body in
my lord’s oratory, I had no opportunity of returning to give
her a more holy grave. -
Alas! cried Lady Helen, then her sacred relics have
been consumed in the burning house !
I hope not, rejoined Halbert, the place I speak of, is at
some distance from the main building. It was excavated in
the rock by Sir Ronald Crawford; who on my master’s mar-
riage with the Lady Marion, gave the name of Ellerslie to
this estate, in compliment to Sir William’s place of birth in
Ayrshire; and presented it to ift, as the just property of the
only surviving son of his dear departed daughter Cecily
Crawford, who had married the brave Sir Malcolm Wallace. . .
Both the parents of my honored master are now dead; and
a grievous task will it be to him who is to tell the good old
Sir Ronald, that the sweet flower of Ellerslie is cut down ;
That the noblest branch of his own stem is torn from its na-
tive soil and cast far away into the wilderness.
The tears of the venerable harperbore testimony to his in-
ward resolve, that this messenger of woe should not be him.
self. Lady Helen, who had unconsciously fallen into a reve-
rie during the latter part of his speech, now spoke; but it was
with timidity.—An idea had struck her, by which she might
demonstrate her gratitude for the preservation of her father;
and perhaps impart some consolation to the heart of the
widowed chief.
Then, we may hope, asked she, that the oratory has not on-
ly escaped the flames, but perhaps the violation of the English
soldiers —would it not comfort your lord to have his lovely
wife entombed according to the rites of the church
“Surely, my lady. But how can that be done?—he thinks
her remains were lost in the conflagration of Ellerslie ; and
gfor fear of precipitating him into the new dangers which
‘might have menaced him had he sought to bring away her .
body, I did not disprove his mistake.”
But her body shall be brought away, rejoined lady Helen;
it shall have holy burial. - - ... '
To effect this, tymmand my services, exclaimed Murray.
Helen thanket. “for an instance which would render
the completion of design easy. The English soldier as a
guide, and fifty me; ſhe said, must accompany him.
* 68 THE SCOTTISH CHIEF3.
Alas, my young lord, interposed Halbert, suppose you
should meet the English still loitering there !
And what of that, my honest Halbert would not I and
my trusty band soon make them clear the way they are not
the first wolves I have made fly before my hunting spear. Is
it not to give comfort to the deliverer of my uncle that I seek
the glen?—and shall any thing in mortal shape make Andrew
Murray turn his back?—no, Halbert, I was not born on
Saint Andrew's day for nought; and by his bright cross I
swear, either to lay Lady Wallace in the tomb of my an-
cestors, or to leave my bones to blancil on the grave of
her’s.
“Your resolution, my brave cousin, is dear to me, and I
cannot but expect a happy issue; for when we recollect the
panic with which the death of Heselrigge must have possess-
ed the English garrison, and that ruined Ellerslie has no
loſiger attractions for rapine, I think there can be no dread
of yearjºleeting an enemy in that now desolate place; so
without further hesitation, I will ask my father’s permission
while you are calling out the men, and Halbert seeks a few
hours repose.” 1.
The old man respectfully put her hand to his lips. Good
night, continued she ere you see me again I trust the earth-
ly part of the angel now in paradise, will be safe within these
towers. Halbert poured a thousand blessings on her head ,
and as she left the room to execute her beneficient mission,
he almost thought that he saw in her one of heaven’s fairest
inhabitants, sent down to bear away the boily as well as the
soul of his dear mistress to her divine abode.
On entering her father’s apartment, Lady Helen found
him alone. She repeated to him the substance of her con-
versation with Wallace’s faithful servant; and my wish is,
continued she, to have the murdered lady’s remainientombº
ed in the cemetery beneath the chapel in this castle. *
The earl approved her request; accompanying his assent
with many expressions of satisfaction at the filial affection
which so lively a gratitude to his preserveſ evinced. Let
this be entirely your own deed, my dear Helen, choose
from among my vassals, whom ever you may think deservin;
the honour of serving you ;—and let them be sent with Tº
nephew, to execute your design.
- - #.

*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 69
May I then, my dear father, returned she, deeply blush-
ing, have your permission to pay our debt of gratitude to Sir
William Wallace, to the utmost of my power —For by such
means only, can 1 demonstrate my love for the best of pa.
rents, and my homage to that virtue, which you first tanght
Ine to revºre. . * ." -
“You are at liberty, my noble child, to do as you please—
my vassals, my coffers, all are at your command.”
Helen kissed his hand;—“may I have what I please from
the armory !”—command even there, said the earl, for I
know Bothwell would think that too much cannot be done
for the defender of his country. f
Helen threw her arms about her father’s neck, and thank-
ing him tenderly, with a beating heart retired to prosecue
her various plans. Murray, who met her in the anti-room
informed her, that fifty of the sturdiest in the glen awaited
her orders; and Helen, telling her cousin of the Šarl’s ap-
proval, took the sacred banner in her hand, and proceeded
to the gallery which ran round the hall.
The moment she appeared, a shout of joy bade her wel-
come—she waved her hand in token of silence; and smiling
with a benignity that spoke her angel earand : My brave
friends, said she, I thank you for the ardour with which, by
this night’s enterprize, you assist me to pay the everlasting
tribute that is due to the man who has preserved to me the .
blessing of so good a father. - *
And to us noble lady; cried they, the most generous of
chiefs. -
With that spirit, then, returned she, I address you with
greater confidence. Who amongst you wiłł shrink from fol-
Iowing this standard to the field of glory? who will refuse to
make himself the especial guardian of the life of Sir William
'allace alyst who, in the moment of peril, will not stand
by him to the last 2
None are here, cried a fine tall youth, advancing before
his fellows; who would not gladly die in his defence.
We swear it! burst from every lip at once.
She bowed her head, and said, return from Ellerslie to-
morrow with the heir of its sainted Mistress. I will then be-
stow upon every man in this band a war-bonnet plumed with
my colors. This banner with its amber ensign, will lead
70 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
you to the side of Wallace; and it is my will that ye there
remain a stouter wall than that which divides the two king-
doms, between him and his foes. In the shock of battle,
look at this standard; and remember that God not only arm-
eth the patriot’s hand, but shieldeth his heart. In this faith,
be ye the bucklers which heaven sends to guard the life of
Wallace; and so honored, exult in your station; and expect
the future gratitude of Scotland.
MWallace and Lady Helen / to death or liberty / was the ami-
mated response to this exhortation—and smiling and kissing
her hand to them in token of thanks, she retired in the midst
of their acclamations into the gallery. Murray, ready armed
for his expedition, met her at the door—restored to his
usual vivacity by the spirit-moving emotions which the pre-
sent scenes awakened in his heart, he forgot the horrors of
contention in the glory of victory, and giving her a gay salu-
tation, led her back to her apartments, where the English
soldier awaited her commands. Lady Helen, with a gentle
grace, acknowledged her obligations to the Southron for this
acquiescence. -
Lands in Marshall be yours; added she, or a post of honor
in the little army the earl is now going to raise. Speak but
the word, and you shall find, worthy Englishman, that neith-
er a Scotsman nor his daughter know what it is to be un-
grateful. i
The blood mounted into the soldier’s cheek : “I thank
you, sweetest lady, for the generous offer; but as 1 am an
Englishman, I dare not accept it—my arms are due to my
own country; and whether I am tied to it by lands and pos-
sessions, or have nought but my English blood, and my oath
to my king to bind me ; still I should be equaliy unwarrant-
ed in breaking those bends. England gave me birth ; º
with no country hostile to her, can I unite myself. I swore
fidelity to Edward the first; and with no man adverse to him.
will I lift my sword. I left Heselrigge, because he dishchor-
ed the name of my country : and for me to forswear her,
would be to make myself infamous. Hence, all I ask is, titat
after I have this night obeyed your ladyship’s commands, the
earl of Mar will allow me to seek my way to the sea-sitie.—
I mean to embark for the Guienne shores; whither my sovs-
reign is now gone to chastise that rebel province,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 71
Lady Helen replied, that she revered his sentiments too
sincerely, to insult them by any persuasions to the contrary.
And taking a diamond clasp from her bosom she put it into
his hand. “Wear that in remembrance of your virtue, and
of Helen Mar’s gratitude.” The man kissed it respectfully,
and bowing, swore to preserve so distinguishing a gift to the
latest hour of his existence. fif §
Helen retired to her chamber to finish her task; and Mur.
ray, bidding her good night, repaired to the earl’s apartments
to take his final orders, before he and his troop set out for
the ruins of Ellerslie. . . .
CHAP. VIII.
NIGHT having passed away over the sleepless heads of the
inhabitants of Bothwell castle; as soon as the sun arose, the ,
earl of Mar was carried out of his bed-chamber, and laid on
a couch in the state apartment. His lady had not yet left the
room of her daughter; by whose side she had lain the whole
night in hopes of infecting her with the fears which possessed
herself. &
Helen replied, that she could see no reason for direful ap-
prehensions; if her father, instead of joining Wallace in per-
son, would, when he had sent him succours, retire with his
family into the Highlands; and there await the issue of the
contest. It is too late to retreat, my dear mether, continued
she, the first blow against the public enemy was struck in
defence of your husband; and would you have my father act
so base a part as to abandon his preserver to the wrath his
generous assistance has provoked 2 - -
Alas! my child; answered her ladyship; what great ser-
wice will he have done to me or your father, if he delivers
him from one danger, only to plunge him into another? Ed-
ward’s power in this country is too great to be resisted now.
Have not most of our barons sworn fealty to him.f...And are
not the potent families of the Cummin, the Soulis, and the
March, all in his interest ? You may perhaps say, that most
of these are my relations, and that I may turn them which
Way I will ; but if I have no influence with a husband, it
would be madness to expect it over more distant kindred,
72 THE SCOTTISH C Hi EFS,
How then, with such a host, against him, can your infatuated
father venture, without dispair, to support the man who
breaks the peace with England
Who can despair, my dear madam, returned Helen, in so
jśa cause Let us rather believe with our good King
jd I, that Honour must hope always; for no real evtl can be-
fºr the virtuous either in this world or the next " Were la man,
the justice that leads on the brave Wallace, would nerve my
arm with the strength of a host. Besides, my too anxious
mother, look at our country :—God’s gift of freedom is
stampt upon it. Gur mountains are his seal. Plains are the
proper territories of tyrranny; there the armies of an usurp-
er may extend themselves with ease; leaving no corner un-
occupied, in which patriotism might shelter, or treason hide.
But mountains, glens, morasses, and lakes, set bounds to
conquest; and amidst these is the impregnable seat of liber-
ty. To such a fortress, to the deep defiles of Loch Catli-
erine; or to the cloud-piercing heights of Corryarraick; I
would have my father retire; and there watch the footsteps
of our mountain goddess, till led by her immortal champion,
she plants her standard forever upon the summit of Scotland’s
proudest hill!
The complexion of the animated Helen shone with a radi-
ant glow. Her heart panted with a foretaste of the delight
she should feel when all her generous wishes would be ful-
filled; and pressing the now completed banner to her breast,
with an enthusiasm she believed prophetic ; her lips moved,
though her voice did non utter the inexpressible rapture of
her heart.
Lady Mar looked at her. “It is well for me, romantic
girl, that you were not a boy- in such a case, I do not guess
wrong in believing that your mad headed disobedience
would have made me rue the day I became your fatheº’s
wife.” * &
Sex, madam, returned Helen, could not have altered my
sense of duty. Whether man or woman, I would obey you
in all things consistent with my duty to a higher power; but
when it commands, then by the ordinance of heaven, we
must leave father and mother and cleave wuto it. . .
“And what, Oh! foolish Helen, do you call a higher duty
than that of a child to a parent or a husband to his wife!”




The Scottish chiefs. 73
“Duty of any kind cannot be transgressed with innocence.
Nor would it be any relinquishment of duty to you, should
my father leave you, to take up arms in the assertion of his
country’s rights. Her-rights are your safety; and therefore,
in defending them, a husband Ör a son best shows his sense
of domestic as well as of public duty.” . . .
“Who taught you this sophistry, Helen?—Not your heart,
for it would start at the idea of your father’s blood.” &
Helen, turned pale.—" Perhaps madam, had not the pres-
ervation of my father's blood occasioned such malignity frºm
England, that nothing but an armed force can deliver his
preserver, I too, might have been content to see Scotland in
slavery. But now to wish my father to shrink behind the
excuse of far-strained family duties, ānd to abandon Sir Wil-
liam Wallace to the blood-hounds who hunt his life; would
be to devote the name of Mar to infamy, and deservedly
bring a curse, upon his offspring.” . .
“Then it is only to preserve Sir William Wallace that you
are thus anxious ! your spirit of freedom is now disallowed;
and all this mighty rout is made for him. My husband, his
vassals, your cousin, and in short, the sequestration of the es-
tates of Mar and Bothwell, are all to be put to the hazard on
account of a frantic outlaw : to whom, at this period, since
the loss of his wife, I should suppose death would be pre-
ferable to any gratitude we can pay him.” … *
Lady Helen, at this ungrateful language, inwatdly thanked
heaven that the sentiments proceeded from a step-mother;
and that she inherited no part of the blood which animated
so kindless a heart. “That he is an outlaw, Lady Mar,
springs from us. That death is the preferable comforter of
his sorrows, also he owes to us; for was it not for my father’s
sake that his wife fell, and that he himself was driven into
the wiłds I do not then blush for making his preservation
my first prayer; and that he may achieve the freedom of
Scotland is my second.”
We shall see whose prayers will first be answered : return-
ed Lady Marºrising coldly from her seat; my saints are per-
haps heater than yours; and before twenty-four hours are
over your head you will have reason to repent such extrava-
gant opinions. I do not-understand them.”
“Titl now you never disapproved them.” *.
Y QI. I. G
f
74 THE SC OTTISH CHIEFS.
“I allowed them in your infancy, replied the Countess, Le-
* cause I thought they went no farther than a minstrel's song;
but since they are become so dangerous, I rue the day in
which I complied with the entreaties of Sir Richard Maitland,
and permited yoti and your sister to remain so long at Thir-
Testane, to imbibe the ideas of his romantic kinsman, the
wizard of Ercildown. (m) Had not Sir Richard been your
own mother's father, I should not have been so easily pre-
vaiſed on ; and thus am I rewarded for my indulgence.
*hopſ', my dear madam, said Helen, wishing to soften the
displeasure of her step-mother; thope you will never be ill
rewarded for that indulgence, either by my grandfather, my
sister, or myself. Isabella in the quiet of Thirlestane, has
no chance of giving you the offence that I do ; and I am
forced to offend you, because I cannot disobey my conscience.
A tear stood in the eye of Lady Helen ; cannot you, dear
Tady Mar, continued she, forcing a smile; pardon the daugh-
ter of your early friend my mother, who loved you as a sis-
ter; cannot you forgive your Helen for révering justice
even more than your favour *
The countess more influenced by the sweet humility of her
daughter-in-law, than by the ingenuous manner with which
she maintained her sentiments, or with the appeal to the
memory of the first Lady Mar; relaxed from the frigid air
she had assumed, and kissing her, with many renewed in-
junctions to bless the hand that might put a final stop to the
ruinous enthusiasm which had seized her family, she quitted
the room.
As soon as Helen was alone, she forgot the narrowminded
arguments of the Countess, and calling to recollection the
generous permission with which her father had endowed her
the right before, she wrapped herselfin her mantle, and at-
tended by her page, proceeded to the armory. The armorer
was stready there, having just given out arms for three hun-
dred men, who, by the earl’s orders, were to assemble on
Bothwell Moor; and there wait fill young Murray and the
subordinate leaders should join them.
Helen told the man that she came for the best stait of ar-
mor in his custody: “it must be of excellent proof.”
He drcw from an oaken chest a cost of black mail studded
with gold, Helen admired its strength and beauty. It is
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 75
the richest in all Scotland; answered he and it was worn
by our great King William the Lion, in all his victories.
“Then it is worthy its destination. Bring it with its hel.
met, target, and sword to my apartment.” -
The armoror took it up ; and accompanied by the page
carrying the lighter parts, followed her into the western
to Wer.
When Helen was again alone, as it was yet very early in
the morning, she employed herself in pluming the casque,
and forming the scarf which she meant should adorn *.
present. Thus, time flew with her, till the sand-glass fold
her it was the eighth hour, But in a short time afterwards
she was aroused from the profound stillness in which tha
part of the castle lay, by the doleful lament of the troop re.
turning from Ellerslie.
She dropt the half formed scarf from her hand; and listen-
ed, without daring to draw her breath, to the deep-toned
lamentations, as they came on the breeze. She thought that
she had never before heard the dirge of her country so pierc-
ing, so thrillingly awful.—Her head fell on the armor and
scarf. Sweet Lady sighed she to herself, who is it that
darest thus invade thy duties—but my gratitude—gratitude
to thy once loved lord, will not offend thy pure spirit' Again
the mournful wailings rose on the air; and with a convulsion
of feelings she could not restrain, she threw herself on her
knees, and leaning her head on the newly adorned helmet,
wept profusely.
Murray entered the room unobserved. Helen' my sweet
cousin cried he surprised at her attitude, and at the ar-
mor which lay at her feet. Helen started, and rising up,
apologized for the tears by owning the truth. He now told
her that the body of the beautiful lady was deposited in the
chapel of the castle ; and that the priests from the adjacent
priory, only awaited her presence, to consign it, with all the
church’s rites to its tomb. --
Helen retired for a few minutes to recover herself and
then re-catering covered with a long black wail, was led by
her cousin to the awful scene.
The inier lay before the altar. The prior of Saint Filian,
in his hºly vestments, stood at its head; a band of monks
were ranged an each side. The maids of Lady Helen, in
76 THE SCOTTISH CHI EFS,

mourning garments, met their mistress at the portal. They
had wrapped the bearitiful corpse in the shroud prepared
for it, and now having laid it, strewed with flowers, back on
the bier, they advanced to their trembling lady, expecting
her to approve their services. Helen drew near—she bow-
ed to the priests: one of her women put her hand on the
pall to uncover the once lovely face of the murdered Mari-
on. Lady Helen hastily resisted the woman’s motion, by
laying her hand also upon the pall. The chill of death struck
thºugh the velvet to her fingers. She turned pale; and
waving her hand to the prior to begin, the bier was lower-
ed by the priests into the tomb beneath. As it descended,
Helen sunk upon her knees, and the anthem for departed
souls was raised. The pealing notes, as they rose and swel-
led, seemed to bear up the spirit of the sainted Marion to its
native heaven; and the tears which now flowed from the
eyes of Helen, as they mingled with her pious aspirations,
seemed the very balm of paradise, descending upon her soul.
When all was over, the venerable Halbert, who had con-
dealed his overwhelming sorrow behind a pillar, threw him-
self on the cold stone which for ever closed the last chamber
of his beloved mistress. With faint cries, he gave way to
the woe which shook his aged bosom, and called on death to
hay him low with her. The women of Lady Helen again
chanted forth their melancholy wailings for the dead ; and
her ladyship, unable longer to bear the scene, threw herself
into the arms of her cousin, and was carried in an almost in-
sensible state to her apartment. He consigned her to the
care of the maids who had followed from the chapel; and
having seen her revive, left her, to rejoin the Earl.

CHAP. IX,
McRaAY, as soon as he returned from EHerslie, having
rewarded his trusty followers with their promised wºr-Hon.
nets from the hind of Helen, and dispatched them onwººl
to the foot of Cartline craigs, thºre to await his iº,
the larger levy; now went to Lord Mar, to inform liim tº
• *
º * \
The scottish chie Fs. 77
far he had executed his command; and to hear what would
be his future orders. He found the veteran Earl surround-
ed by arms and armed men fifty brave Scots, who were to
officer the three hundred now on the B9thwell moor, were
receiving their bows and arrows, spears, and swords, and
other weapons, from the hands of their Lord. n
Bear these stoutly, Iny gallant countrymen; cried he, and
remember, that although the dragon (n) of England, has
burnt up your harvest, and laid your houses in ashes :-yet
there is a lion in Scotland that withers his power and will
glut you with the spoil of your foe!
He scarcely uttered these words, when the double-doors
of the apartment were, thrown open; and his eyes were
blasted by the sudden sight of Lord Soulis, (o) the sworn
partizan of Edward: he was accompanied by a unan in splen-
did English armor, and a train of Southron soldiers. The
Earl started from his couch.-‘My lord, what is the occa-
sion of this unapprised visit * - -
The ensign of the liege lord of Scotland is my warrant;
replied Soulis; you are my prisoner: and in the name of
King Edward of Englanu, I take possession of this castle.
Never, cried the indignant Earl, while there is a man’s
arm within it. - , *
Alen or women, returned Lord Soulis, they must surren-
der to Edward ; for an army of three thousand English have
seized three hundred of your men at arms on Bothwell
moor. The castle is surrounded; resistance is impossible.
Throw down your arms, also, ye mutinous viłłains ! cried
he, turning to the Scots who were present; or be hanged
for rebellion against your lawful sovereign
Our lawful sovereign, returned a young man who stood
near him, must be the enemy of Edward; and to none else
will we yield our swords ! -
Traitor cried the English commander, and with a sudden
and dreadfulstroke of his battle-axe, he laid the body of the
generous Scot a headless corpse at his feet. A cry of revenge,
proceeded from his enraged comrades. Every sword was
drawn; and before the bewildered and soul-struck Earl
could utter a word, the furies blew their most horrible blast
through the chamber; and the half frantic Mar beheld his
brave Scots at one moment jºrious, and in the next the
&
78 THE scottis11 Ch IEFs.

f
floor strºwed with their dead bodies. A new succession of
blood-hounds rushed in at every door; and before the exter-
minating sword was allowed to rest, the whole of his faithful
trºops lay around him, wounded and dying. Several had
fallen agross his body; having warded with their lives the
strokes which they thought were levelled at his. In vain
his voice had called upon his men to surrender; in vain he
had implored the iron-hearted Soulis and his coadjutor Ay-
iner de Valence, to stop the havoc of death. All now lay
in blood ; and the room thronged by the victors, became so
intolerable, that De-Valence, for his own sake, ordered the
Earl to be removed into another apartment.
TMeanwhile, Helen, unconscious of what was passing, had
laid down on her bed, to seek a few minutes repose; having
watched the whole of the foregoing night, she now sank into
ă profound and refreshingsleep. "
Murray, who was present at the abrupt entry of the ene-
my, no sooner heard them declare that the castle was sur-
rounded by a comparatively large army, than he knew that
without some stratagem all would be lost. And before the
dreadful signal of carnage was given in the fall of the young
Scot, he slid behind the canopy of his uncle’s couch, and lift-
ing the arras, by a back-door which led to some private
rooms, hastily made his way to the chamber of his cousin.
As he hurried along, he heard a fearful shout. He paused
for a moment, but thinking it best, whatever might have
happened, to seeure the safety of Helen, without the usual
ceremony of demanding admittance, he flew past her maids
and entered her room. She lay upon the bed in a deep
sleep. Awake Helen, awake! cried he , he laid his hand
upon her arm—for your life awake
She opened her eyes, and looked at him in surprise; but
he, without allowing her time to speak, hastily added: “The
castle is fall of armed men, led hither by the Englisli, cóm-
mander Aymer De Valence and the execrable Soulis. Uju-
less you fly through the vaulted passage you will be their
prisoner.” .*
Helen gazed at him full of terror: “Whāt leave my fa-
ther I cannot.”
“Hesitate not, my dear cousin fly in pity to your father.
What will be his anguish should you fall into the hands of
&
'#' HE SC OTTISH CHIEFS, 79
the man whose love you have rejected; and when it will
no longer be in the power of even a parent to preserve your
person from the outrages of his eager and revengeful pas-
sion. If you had seen Soulis’ merciless eyes—” He was
interrupted by a clamor in the opposite gallery, and the
shrieks of women. Helen grasped his arm: “Alas my poor
damsels I will #9 with you—lead me whither you will, to
be far from him.”
As Murray threw his arm about her waist to support her
almost falling steps, her eyes fell on the banner and the suit
of armour. Helen had ordered the latter to be buckled in a
large plaid, ready to be sent away with the armed clan when
they should begin their march. It was meant as a tribute qf
gratitude to the deliverer of her father. f
This banner shall still be mine, exclaimed Murray, seizing .
it : but what is to be done with that armour I guess you
intended it for the brave Wallace. -
I did, faintly replied Helen. º
Then it shall be his yet, was the rapid response of Murray:
and giving her the banner, as it was a light thing to carry,
he threw the plaid and its contents on his shoulder, and still
making Helen hold by him, he hastened with her down the
secret stairs whigh led from the western watch-tower, to the
vaults beneath the castle. On entering the first cellar, to
which a dim light was admitted through a small grating near
the top, he looked around for the arch way of the vault that
contained the avenue of their release. Having descried it,
he hastened into it, and raising one of the large flags which
paved the floor, assisted his affrighted cousin down a short
flight of steps into the secret passage; This, whispered he,
will carry us in a direct line to the cell of the prior of St.
Fillan. It was constructed in old times, for religious as well
as wºrlike purposes. The prior is a Murray, and with him
3: #. be safe.
*But what will become of my father and Lady Mar 3–
This flight from them—I fear to complete it!”
Rather fear the libertine Soulis, returned Murray; he can
only make them prisoners; and even that injury will be of
short duration; for I shall soon join the brave Wallace, and
tºº, my sweet cousin, hey for liberty and a happy meet-
1ng * -


80 THE Scottish chIEFs.
#
Alas, his venerable harper! cried she, suddenly recollect-
ing Halbert, and stopping her cousin as he was hurrying her
forward; should he be discovered to have belgnged to Wal-
lace, he will be put to death by these merciless men.
Murray sat down his load. “Have you courage to remain
in this darkness alone If so, I will seek him, and he shall
accompany us.” . -
Helen feared not for herself, but for the dangers Murray
might encounter by returning into the castle ; but the gen-
erous youth entered too fully into her apprehensions con-
cerning the old man, to be withheld. Should I be delayed
in coming back, said he, recollecting the possibility of him-
self being attacked and slain, go forward to the end of this
passage; it will lead you to a flight of stairs; ascend them,
and by drawing the bolt of a door, you will find that it will
immediately admit you to the prior's cell. --
Talk not of delay, replied Helen, return quickly, and I
will await you at the entrance of the passage. So saying,
she swiftly retraced with him her steps to the bottom of the
stone stairs by which they had descended. He re-raised
the flag, sprung out of the aperture, and closing it down,
left her in solitude and darkness.
Murray passed through the first cellar, and was proceed-
ing to the second (amongst the catacombs of which lay the
concealed entrance to the private stairs) when he saw the
great gates of the cellar open, and a large party of English
soldiers enter : they were conducted by the butler of the
castle, who seemed to perform his office very unwillingly,
as they crowded in, uttering many jovial threats against the
juice of the vineyard.
Murray, at the first glance of these plunderers, aware how
unequal his single arm would be to contend with such num-
bers, retreated behind a heap of empty casks in a remote
corner. While the trembling butler was loading a dºzen
of the men with flasks for the refreshment of their mastºs,
the rest were helping themselves from the adjacent cata-
combs, some leaving the cellars with their booty, and others
remaining to drink it on the spot. Bothwell’s old servant,
glad to escape the insatiable demands of the soldiers, who
łay wallowing in the wine they were pouring over them.

THE SC OTT (SH CHIEF5. 81

selves, left the cellar with the last company that bore flag-
gons to their comrades above. / 4
Murray at this time listened anxiously, in hopes of hearing
‘from his garrulous neighbouršsome intimation of the fate of
his uncle and aunt. He hearkened in vain, for nothing was
uttered by these intoxicated banditti, but loud boastings of
the number each had slain in the earl’s apartment, execra-
tions against the Scots for their obstinate resistance ; and a
thousand sanguinary wishes that the nation had but one
neck, that they might destroy it with a single h!ow.
How often during this conversation was Murray tempted
to rush out amongst them and seize a desperate revenge.—
But the thought of his poor cousin now awaiting his return,
and perhaps already suffering dreadful alarms from such ex-
traordinary uproar, restrained him ; and unable to move:
from his hiding place without precipitating himself into in-
stant death, he remained nearly an hour in the most pain-
ful anxiety; watching the dropping to sleep of this horrid
crew one by one.
When all seemed hushed, not a voice, even a whispet,
startling his ear; he ventured forth with a stealing step to
the side of the slumbering group. Like his brave ancestor,
Gaul, the son of Morna, he disdained to stab a sleeping foc &
He must pass them to reach the private stairs. He paused
and listened. Silence still reigned, and not even a hand
moved, so deeply were they sunk in the fumes of wine. He
took courage, and flew with the lightness of air to the secret
door: as he laid his hand on it, it was opened from without,
and two persons appeared. By the few rays which gleamed
feem the expiring torches of the sleepers, he could see that
the first wore English armor. Murray believed himself lost;
but determined to sell his life dearly, he made a spring to
catch the man by the throat, and was aiming a stroke at him
with his dirk, when some one seized his arm, excitiming—
“Stop, my lord Murray ! It is the faithful Grims y you
would kºi l'' Murray let go his holl, glad to find that both
his English friend, and the venerable object of his solitude
were this providentially brought to meet him ; but fearing
that the violence of his action, and Hilbert’s exclamation,
might have alarmed the sleeping soldiers, (who, drunk as
they were, were too numerous to be resisted) he lais; his
82 THE SCOTTISH C II IEFS,
finger on the lip of Grimsby in loken of silence, and motion
ed to the astonished pair to follow him.
Halbert as he drew near the group on the ground, started
on seeing they were English, and allowed an ejaculation of
horror to escape him. Murray listened with redoubled
alarm to the sound as it echoed round the vaults. The old
man seemed rooted to the spot, while one of the soldiers
moved as if disturbed. Murray seeing that no time could
be lost, held his sword over the sleeping wretch, ready to
plunge it into his heart should he attempt to rise ; at the
same moment he beckoned to his companions to proceed,
inwardly trembling with fear that the indiscretion of Hal-
bert had betrayed them to their enemies.
Being advanced to the flag, he drew it up, and eager to
have: his double charge from the peril that threatened them
lie thrust them together dºwn the stairs. At that moment
a loud shriek from Helen, "who discovered by the gleam of
light which then burst into the vault, a man descending in
English armour, resounded through the cellars. Two of the
soldiers jumped upon their feet, and with brandished swords
rushed upon Murray. He had let the flag drop behind him,
but still remaining by it, it case of an opportunity to escape,
Jhe received the strokes of their weapons upon his target,
and returned them with double violence. One assailant in
a few seconds lay gašping #! his feet. But the clashing of
arms, and the cries of the survivor, had already awakened
the whole crew ; who with horrid menaces throwing them-
selves towards the young Scot, would...certainly have cut
him to pieces, had he not snatched the only remaining torch
out of the hand of a staggering soldier, and extinguished it
uniºr his foot. Bewildered where to find their prey, with
threºt; and imprecations they grouped in darkness, slashing
the air with their swords, and not unfrequently wounding
each other it; the vain search.
Murray was now far from their pursuit. He had no soon-
er put out the fight than he pulled up the flag, and leaping
down, drew it after him, and found himselfin perfect Safety.
i)esnerate as was the contest, it had been short, for he yet
heard the footstcps of the panic struck Helen flying along
the passage. The Englishman and Halbert, on the first fall.
i:g of the fiag, not knowing its spring, had unsuccessfully
THE SCOT”TISH C HIEFS. 83
tried to re-raise it, that they might assist Murray in the tu-
mult they heard above. On his appearing again so unex-
pectedly, the soldier declared hisjoy ; but the young lord,
impatient to calm the apprehensions of his cousin, returned
no other answer than “ Follow me !”...whilé he darted for-
ward. But terror gave her wings: and unable to hear the
low sounds of Murray's voice, which he durst not raise to a
higher pitch for fear of being overheard by the enemy about,
he did not come up with her till she fellº breathless against
the stairs at the extremity of the vault.
As soon as he found her within his arms, he turned to the
soldier, and requested him to go a few paces back into the
passage, and bring a bundle of armour he would find lying
against the wall. Grimsby retreated to execute this com-
mission, and Halbert advancing, enquired whether it were
indeed Lady Helen's voice he º heard 2
It was her’s, replied Murray, but she is now so cold, that
I much fear I shall never hear it again . As he spoke he car-
ried her up the steps, and drew the bolt of the door; it
sprung open, and discovered a large monastic cell, into which
the light of the sun streamed through one long narrow win-
dow. A straw pallet, an altar, and a marble bason, were the
furniture. The cell was solitary, the holy occupier being
then at high mass in the chapel of the monastery. Murray
took his insensible burthen and laid it on the monk’s bed.—
IHe then ventured, (believing, as it was to restore so pure a
being to life that it was no sacrilege) to throw some of the
holy water upon the face of Helen, and by means of a little
chalice which stood upon the altar, he poured some into her
mouth At last opening her eyes, she recognized the figure
of her cousin leaning over her. The almost paralized Hal-
bert stood at her feet. “Blessed virgin am ſ yet safe, and
with my dear Andrew ; Oh I. feared you were slain ſº cri-
ed, she, bursting into a flood of tears.
Thank God we are both safe, answered he comfort your-
self my beloved cousin you are now on holy ground ; this
is the celi of the Prior of St. Filians. None but the hand of
an infidel durst tear you from this sanctuary. *
“But my father, my mother; what may have become of
#helm ?”
Your mother, my gracious lady, answered Halbert, since

84 THE scortish chiefs.
you eduld not be found in the castle, is allowed to accompa.
ny your father to Dumbarton castle : they are to be treated
with every respect until De Valence receives further orders
from King Edward.
Wallace Wallace' cried she, where then are the succors
we were to have sent to thee —And without succors, how
canst thou rescue my dear father from this tyranny ? "
Do not despair: replied Murray, look but at the banner
you held fast even while insensible; your own hands have
engraven my answer—God armeth the patriot (–Convinced
of that, can you still fear for your father No; I will join
Wallace to-morrow ; your own fifty warriors await me at the
bottom of Cartlane craigs ; and if any treachery should be
meditated against my uncle, that moment we will raze the
towers of Dumbarton to their foundation.
Helen's reply was a deep sigh. She thought it might be
Heaven's will that her father, like the good Lord Douglas,
should fall a victim to royal revenge : and so sad were her
forebodings, that she hardly dared to hope what the sanguine
disposition of her cousin promised. Grimsby now appeared
with his charge over his shoulder; he laid it down, and at
the same time unloosing an iron box that was swung under
his arm, put it into the hands of Lord Murray.
This fatal treasure, said he, was committed to my care by
the earl your uncle, to deliver to the prior of St. Fillans or
to yout.
What does it contain demanded Murray; I never saw
it before.
I know not its contents; returned the soldier, it belongs
to Sir Williarn Wallace.
Indeed gjaculated Helen; if it be treasure, why was it
not sent to him —But how, honest soldier, could you escape
with it through these possessed walls
He replied, that he was obliged to have recourse to strata-
gem :—As soon as the English and their Scottish partizan’s
under lord Soulis, had surprised the castle, he saw that his
only chance of safety was to throw off the bonnet and plaid,
&nd to mix amongst the numerous soldiers who took posses-
sign of the gates. His armor and his language showed, he
was their countryman; and they easily believed that he had
joined the plunderers, as a volunteer from the army which at
THE scortis H chiefs. 33
a greater distance beleaguered the castle. The story of his
desertion from the Lanerkgarrison, had not yet reached those
of Glasgow and Dumbarton; and one or two men who had
known him in former expeditions, readily reported that he
had been drafted into the present one ºtheir recognition
warranted his truth : and he had no difficulty, after the car-
nage in the state apartment, to make his way to the bed
chamber where Lord Aymer de Valence had ordered Lord
Mar to be carried. He found the earl alone, and, lost in
grief. He knew not but that his nephew, and the Lady
Helen, and the countess, had fallen, beneath the impetuous
swords of the enemy. Astonished at seeing the soldier walk-
ing at large, he expressed his surprise with some suspicions.
But Grimsby told him of the stratagem he had used, and then
satisfied his anxiety that Lord Andrew Murray had not been
seen since the onset. This information inspired him with a
hope that he had escaped ; and when the soldier also said
that he had seen the countess led by Lord Soulis across the
hall towards his daughter’s apartments, and had overheard
him promising them every respect; the earl seemed comfort-
ed. But how, (enquired he of Grimsby) has this hard fate
befallen us ; Have you learnt how De Valence knew that I
meant to take up arms for my country :
When the soldier was relating this part of the conference.
Murray interrupted him with the same demand. -
On that head I cannot fully satisfy your lordship, replied
he I could only gather from the soldiers, that a sealed pack-
et had been delivered to Lord Aymer de Valence, late last
night at Dumbarton castle. Soulis was then with him; he
immediately set out for Glasgow, for the followers he had
left there; and early this morning he joined De Valence and
his legions on Bothwell Moor. The consequences there you
know; but they do not end at Bothwell : the gallant Wal-
lace— s
At that name, so mentioned, the heart of Helen grew
cold— +- -
What of him exclaimed Murray. …
They have killed my dear master! cried Halbert : oh
soldier, why did you not tell me this before ? I might have
staid, and found a stop to these heavy miseries on their
bloody swords.
WQL, I. H

86 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
Be not alarmed, replied Grimsby, no personal harm has
happened to Sir William Wallace; but I understand that in
the same moment De Valence gave orders to his troops to
mureh. to Bothwell, he sent others to intercept that perse-
cuted knight's escape from the Cartlane craigs.
That damned sealed packet, cried Murray, has been the
traitor some villain in Bothwell-castle must have written
it; whence else could have come the information and if so,
added he with tremendous emphasis, may the curse of sla-
very ever pursue him and his posterity
- Helen shuddered, as the amen to this frightful malediction
was echoed by the voices of Halbert and the soldier. The
latter continued:
“When I had informed Lord Mar, of the measures of these
enemies of Wallace, he expressed his hope that your first
detachment to his assistance, might with you perhaps at its
head, elude their vigilance, and join his friend. This dis-
course remindled him of the iron box. It is in that closet;
(said he, pointing to an opposite door) you will find it be-
... neath the little altar before which I pay my daily duties to
... the all-wise dispenser of the fates of men: take it thence
and buckle it to your side.
“I obeyed ; and he then proceeded : there are two pas-
sages in this house which lead to a sanctuary : The one near-
est to us will be the safest for you. A stair-case from the clos-
et you have just left, will conduct you directly into the chapel.
When there you will see the image of the virgin. Slip aside
the marble tablet on the back of the pedestal : it will admit
you to a flight of steps; descend them, and at the bottom
you will find a door. Open it with this key; it will convey
you into a range of cellars; and lifting up the largest flag
stone in the second, and again descending, you will be con-
ducted through a dark vault to an iron door; draw the bolt,
and remain in the cell it will open to you, till the master en-
ters. He is the prior of St. Filians; give him this golden
cross, which he well knows is a mark that you come from
me; and say it is my request that he will assist you to gain
the sea-shore. As for the iron box : tell him to preserve it
for me as he would his life; and never give it up to any one
but to myself, my children, or to Sir William Wallace, its
rightful owner.”
THE scorrish chiefs. 87
-č.
Alas! cried Halbert, that he had never been its owner;
that he had never brought it to Ellerslie to draw down mise-
ry on his own head —ill-omened box whatever it contains,
its presence carries blood and sorrow in its train. Wherev-
er it has been deposited, war and murder have followed:—
I trust, my dear master will never see, it more : -
He may indeed never see it more murmured Helen, in a
low voice; oh! how am I, bereaved 1–where are now my •
gay anticipations of freedom to Scotland alas! Andrew,
said she, taking his hand, and weeping over it; I have been
too presumptuous ! to punish me, my father is a prisoner,
and Sir William Wallace lost . . . ." . * • * * * *
Cease, my dear Helen : cried he, cease thus to distress
yourself! these are merely the vicissitudes of the great con-
tention we are engaged in ; we must expect occasional disap-
pointments, or look for miracles every day. Such disasters
are sent as lessons, to teach us precaution, promptitude, and
patience—these are the soldier’s graces, my sweet cousin,
and depend on it I will pay them due obedience.
But why, said Helen, taking comfort from the unsubded
spirits of her cousin, why my good soldier, did not my dear
father take advantage of this sanctuary . . .
I urged the earl to accompany me; returned Grimsby, but
he declared his inability from the weakness attending on his
wounds. And besides, where I capable, said he, how could I
leave my wife and children in unprotected captivity: and
perhaps implicate the good brothers of St. Fillau in my ca-
lamities No; H will await my fate; for the God of those
who trust in him knows that I do not fear !
“Having received such peremptory orders from the earl,
I took my leave of him; and entering the chapel by the way
he directed, was agreeably surprised, to find the worthy Hal-
bert; whom, never having seen him since the funeral obse-
quies, I supposed had fallen during the carnage in the state
chamber. He was still kneeling by the tomb of his buried
raistress. I did not take long to warn him of his danger;
and desiring him to follow me, we descended beneath the
holy statue; and were just emerging into the cellars, when
you, dear sir, met us at the entrance.
“It was while we were yet in thc chapel, that I heard De
Valence and Soulis at high words in the court-yard. The for-
:*
38 “I HE 5c OTTISH CHIEFS.
s
3.
mer, in a loud voice, gave orders, that as Lady Helen Mar
could no where be found, the earl and countess, with their
two infant children, should not be separated; but conveyed
as his prisoners to Dumbarton castle. -
That is a comfort: cried Helen, my father will then be
consoled by the presence of his wife.
But very different would have been the case, madam, had
you appeared : rejoined the soldier; one of Lord De Val-
ence'sſmen told me that Lord Soulis would have taken you
and the countess to Dun-glass castle, near Glasgow, while
the sick earl was to have been carried alone to Dumbarton
and detained in solitary confinement. Lord Soulis was in so
dreadful a rage when you could not be found, that he almost
quarrelled with the English commander; acºusing him of
having leagued with Lady Mar to deceive him. In the midst
of this contention, we descended into the vaults.
Helen shuddered at the thought how near she was to fall-
ing into the hands of so fierce a spirit. In his character, he
united every quality which could render power formidable.
Combining prodigious bodily strength with cruelty, dissimu.
latiºn and treachery, he was regarded by the common peo-
ple as a sorcerer, and by those of his own rank, as the ene-
my of all public virtue, and the violater of every private tie.
Iłelen Mar had twice refused his hand : first, during the con-
test of Baliol and Bruce, when he declared his pretensions
to the crown : she was then a mere child, hardly more than
fourteen ; but sile rejected him with abhorrence :-Though
stung to the quick by two such disappointments: being deni-
ed the object of his love and his ambition at the same mo-
ment; he hesitated nºt, at another period, to renew his of.
fers to lić1 : at the fall of Dunbar, when he again founded
his uprise on the ruins of his country ; as sooi, as he had re-
p.cated his oaths of eterial fidelity to Fdward, he hastened
to 'i''.iries are to throw himself a second time at the feet of
Lady Heier –her ripened judgement condil med her dislike
of his rufº.h qualitics, and again he was rejected.
By the powers of heli, exclaimed he, when the project of
surprising Bot!ywell was imparted to him; if I once get that
proud minion into my grasp, she shall kneel as unpitied by
me, as I have krić 't to her.—She shall be mine as I will; and

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 89
tº to beg for even a look, from the man who has humbled
er
Helen knew not half the afflictions with which his resent-
ful heart had meditated to subdue and torture her; and there-
fore, though she shrunk at the sound of a name so generally
infamous, yet not aware of all the evils she had escaped, she
replied with languor, though with gratitude, to the almost
rapturous congratulations of her cousin on her timely flight.
Murray having replaced the altar, which the opening of
the iron door had pushed into the middle of the apartment,
all things were arranged in their usual order, when the door
of the cell opened and the prior entered from the cloisters.
He started on seeing his room filled with strangers; Murray
took off his helmet and approached him. On recognizing
him, the prior enquired his commands, and expressed some
surprise that such a company, and above all, a lady, could
have passed the convent gate without his previous notice.
Murray pointed to the recess behind the altar; and then
explained to the good priest the necessity which had com-
pelled them to seek the protection of St. Fillan. Lady Helen
continued he, must share your care, until heaven empowers
the Earl of Mar to reclaim his daughter, and adequately to
reward his holy church.
The soldier then presented the cross, with the iron-box,
repeating along with them, the message that conſided them
to his keeping.
The prior listened to these recitals with sorrowful atten-
tion : he had heard the noise of armed men advancing to the
castle; but knowing that the Earl was making warlike pre-
pations, he had no suspicions that these were other than
the Bothwell soldiers. He took the box, and laying it on the
altar, pressed the cross to his lips—“The Earl of Marshall
find that fidelity here, which his faith in the church merits
—That mysterious chest, to which you tell me so terrible a
denunciation is annexed, shall be preserved as sacredly as
the relics of Saint Fillan.”
Halbert groaned heavily at these words, but he did not
speak. The prior looked at him attentively, and then pro-
ceeded: “And for you, virtuous Southron, I will give you
a pilgrim's habit. Travel in that privileged garb to Mont-
rose ; and there a brother of he church, the subprior of
H tº
9 O THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
Aberbrothnick will, by a letter from me, convey you in a
vessel to Normandy; whence you can safely find your way
to Guierine.” •
The soldier, perfectly satisfied with this arrangement;
bowed his head; and the priest turning to Lady Helen, told
her, “that a cell should be appointed for her, and some pi-
ous woman brought from the adjoining hamlet, to pay her
due attendance.”
As for this venerable old man, continued he, his silver
hairs already proclaim his spirit to be near its heavenly flight!
he had best put on the cowl of the holy brotherhood; and
in the arms of religion repose securely, till he passes through
the sleep of death to wake in everlasting life.
Tears started into the eyes of Halbert. “I thank you,
'" reverend father; I have indeed drawn near the end of my
pilgrimage—too old to serve my dear Sir William in fields of
blood and hardship, I will at least devote my last hours in
uniting my prayers with his, and all good souls, for the re-
pose of his lady—I accept your invitation with gratitude;
and considering it a call from heaven to give me rest. I
shall welcome the day that invests the poor harper of El-
Herslie with the sacred tonsure.” -
The sounding of approaching trumpets; and soon after,
the clattering of horses hoofs and the clang of armour, made
an instantaneous silence in the cell. Helen looked fearfully
at her cousin, and grasped his hand; Murray clasped his
sword with a firmer hold—“I will protect you with my life.”
He spoke in a low tone, but the prior heard him; there is
no cause of alarm ; rejoined the holy man; Lord De Valence
is only marching by in his way to Dumbarton. *
Alas, my poor father! cried Helen, covering her face with
her hands.
The venerable prior, pitying her affliction, knelt down by
her; my daughter, be comforted ; said he, they dare not
commit any violence on the earl. King Edward too well
understands his own interest to allow even a long imprison-
wnent of so popular a nobleman. This assurance, with other
arguments kindly suggested by the prior; and assisted by
the consolations of a firm trust in God, at length raised her
head with a sweet smile. He continued to speak of the im-
pregnable hopes of the christian who found his confidence in
*
f
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 91.
omnipotence : and while his words spread a serenity through
her soul, that seemed the ministration of a descended saint,
she closed her hands over her breast, and silently invoked the
protection of the Almighty Jehovah for her suffering parents.
The prior seeing her composed, recommended leaving
Lady Helen to seek a few hours rest. As sleep had not vi-
sited her eye-lids for a long lapse of time, she allowed them
to depart; and the prior led Murray and his companions
into the convent library.
CHAP. X.
SINee, by the march of De Valence from the castle, the
suspicion of any of its late inhabitants being still in the
neighborhood seemed to have subsided; Grimsby thought
he might depart in safety; and accordingly, next morning,
he begged permission of the prior immediately to commence
his journey, I am anxious to quit a land, said he, where
my countrymen are committing violences which make me
blush at the name of Englishman.
Murray put a purse of gold into the soldier’s hand, as the
prior covered his armor with a pilgrim’s gown. Grimsby,
with a respectful bow, returned the gift: “l cannot take
money from you, my lord.—Bestow on me the sword that is
at your side, and I will preserve it forever.”
Murray took it off and gave it to the soldier. Let us ex-
change, my brave friend said he, give me yours; and I
will regard it as a memorial of having found virtue in an
Englishman. -
Grimsby complied with his wish ; and as he put the iron
hitt into his hand, a tear stood in his eye : When you raise
this sword against my countrymen, think on Grimsby, and
spare the blood of all who ask for mercy. r
Murray smiled a gracious assent, for the tear of mercy,
was infections; without speaking he gave the good soldier
a parting grasp of the hand; and with regret, that prior
claims called so brave a man from his side, he saw him leave
#he monastery.
92 - THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
g
The mourner banquets on memory ; making that whici;
seems the poison of iife its aliment. During the hours of re-
gret we recal the images of departed joys, and in weeping
over each tender remembrance, tears so softly shed embalm
the wounds of grief. To be denied the privelege of pouring
forth our love and our lamentations over the grave of one
who in life was our happiness, is to shut up the soul of the
survivor in a solitary tomb, where the bereaved heart pines
in secret till it breaks with the fulness of uncommunicated
sorrow —But listen to the mourner; give his feelings way,
and, like the river rolling from the hills into the valley, they
will flow with a gradually gentler stream, till they become
lost in time’s wide ocean.
So Murray judged, when the poor old harper, finding
himself alone with him, again gave loose to his often recapit-
ulated griefs. He wept like an infant; and recounting the
afflictions of his master, and the disasters at Bothwell, implor-
ed Murray to go without delay to support the now almost
friendless Wallace. Murray was consoling him with the assu-
rance that he would set off for the mountains that very even-
ing, when the prior returned to conduct Halbert to a cell
appointed for his moviciate. The good man bad placed there
one of the oldest fathers in the convent, to administer both
temporal and spiritual cordials to his enfeebled state.
The sorrowing domestic of Wallace being thus disposed of,
the prior and Murray remained together, consulting on the
safest means of passing through the country to the Cartlane
hills. A lay irother, whom the prior, by the young lord’s
desire, had sent in pursuit of Helen's fifty warriors to apprise
them of the English being in the craigs, at this moment en-
tered the library. He informed the father that secure in his
religious garb, he had penetrated many of the Cartlane de-
files, but could neither see nor hear any thing of the troop.
Every glen or height was occupied by the English ; and from
a very communicative woman, of whom he had begged a
draught of milk, he learnt how closely the mountains were
invested by the enemy. The English commander in his
zeal to prevent provisions being conveyed to Wallace and
his famishing garrison, had the day before stopped a proces-
sion of monks who were bearing a dead youth to be buried
in the cave of saint Columba. He would not allow them *
THE SCO'HTISH CHIEFS,
ascend the heights until he had examined whether the bit
really bore the body, or was a vehicle to carry food to ti
beleaguered Scots, . . . "
The woman also informed the friar that the men taken at
Bothwell were marched prisoners to Glasgow; that lord and
lady Mar had been conveyed to Dumbarton; and that De-
Valence had left a large detachment at Bothwell castle, to
guard the plunder which he had seized in the king’s name.
In the midst of this conference they were startied by a sud-
den shout, and a cry of “hang the traitor''' * *
Our brave Englishman has fallen into their hands, cried
Murray, hastening towards the door.
What would you do interrupted the prior, catching hold
of him ; your single arm could not save the soldier. The
cross will have more power : I will seek these violent men :
Mcanwhile stay here, as you value the lives of all in the con-
vent.
Murray had now recollected himself, and acquiesced The
prior took the crucifix from the altar, hastened across the
cloisters; and ordering the porter to throw open the great
doors, (near which the incessantshouting seemed to proceed)
in a moment he appeared before a turbulent band of soldiers
who were dragging a man along, fastbound with their leath-
ern belts. His blood, trickling from his face, feil on the
hands of the ruthless wretches who, with horrid yells were
threatening him with instant death.
The prior, raising the cross, rushed in amongst them; and
in the name of the blessed Son who died on that tree, bade
them stop the soldiers trembled before the holy majesty of
his figure, and at his awfui adjuration The prior looked of:
the prisoner, but he saw not file dark locks of the English-
man : it was the yellow hair of Scotland that mingled witli
the blood on his forehead.
“Whither do you hurry that wounded man *
To his death, answered a surly fellow.
“What is his offence. ?”
“He is a traitor.”
“How has he proved it * -
He is a Scot; and he belongs to the disloyal ford of \{at.
This bugle with its crowned falcon, proves it, alled he,
holding up the very bugle which the earl had sent by Ha!-


4. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
ert to Wallace, and which was ornamented with the cresi.
If Mar wrought in gold.
That this has been lord Mar’s replied the prior, there is no
doubt ; but may not this man lave found it –Or may it not
have been given to him by the Earl, before that chief in-
curred the displeasure of King Edward which of you would
think it just to be made to die because you friend was con-
demned to the scaffold 2 Unless you substantiate your charge
of treason against this man, by a better proof than finding
this bugle on him, his death would be a murder which the
Lord of life will requite, at the perdition of your souls. As
the prior spoke, he again elevated the cross : The men who
held the stranger turned pale.
I am a minister of Christ, continued he, and must be the
friend of justice. Release, therefore, that wounded man to
me. Before the altar of the searcher of all hearts, he shall
confess himself; and if I find that he is guilty unto death, I
promise you by the holy St. Fillan to release him to your
commanding officer, and to let justice take its course. But
if he prove innocent I am the soldier of Christ; and no mon-
arch on earth slail wrest his children from the protection of
the church.
While he spake, the men who held the prisoner, had Îet
go their hold ; and the prior, stretching out his hand to him,
gave him to a party of monks to conduct into the convent.
To convince the soldiers that he meant to be disinterested,
that it was the man’s life he sought to save, and not the spoi;,
the prior returned the golden bugle, and bade them deport
in peace.
A Wed by the holy father's address, and satisfied with the
money and arms of which they inad rifled the stranger, the
marauders (who were only a straggling band, led by no offi
cer) quietly retreated ; determining to 3ay nothing of the
matter to the lieutenant in the castle, lost he should demand
the horn, which they resolved to break up and divide with
the rest of the spoil amongst themselves. Elated with their
present booty, they marched off to pursue their plundering
excursion ; and bursting into yeoman’s houses, and peasant’s
huts; stripping all of their substances who did, or did not
swear fealty to Edward; robbing from the latter, and exact-
ing contributions from the former; while vain prayers for


THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 95
mercy, and unanswered cries for redress, echoed dolefully
through the vale of Bothwell, they sped gaily on, as if mur-
dér were pastime and rapine honor."
The prior on returning into the convent ordered the gates.
to be bolted. . When he entered the chapter-house, finding
the monks had already bound up the wounds of the stranger,
he made a sign for the brethren to withdraw ; and then ap-. .
proaching the young man-My Son. Said he, in a mild tone,
you heard what was my declaration to the men from whom”
I took you! answer me with truth, and you will find that
virtue, or repentance, have alike a refuge in the arms of the
church. As I am its servant, no man needs fear to confide
in me. Speak with candor!—How came you by that bu-
gle - º
The stranger looked stedfastly on the prior —“A minis-
ter of the all-righteous God cannot mean to deceive. You
have saved my life; and I should be less than man could I
doubt the evidence of that deed. I received that bugle from
a brave Scot who dwells amongst the eastern mountains, and
who gave it to me to convince the Earl of Mar that I came
from him.” -
The prior now apprehended that it was of Wallace he
spoke. “You come to request a military aid from the Earl
of Mar !” rejoined the father, willing to sound him before
he committed Murray, by calling him to the conference.
The stranger replied: If, reverend Sir, you are in the con-
fidence of the good earl, pronounce but the christian name
of the man who charged me with the bugle, and allow me
then, for his sake, to ask you what has happened to the earl,
that I was seized by foes when I expected to meet with
friends only Reply to this, and I shall then speak freely :
But at present, though I would confide all of myself to your
sacred character, yet the confidence of others is not mine to
bestow. • -
The prior, by this caution, being convinced that he was
speaking with some messenger of Wallace, made no hesi-
tation to answer —“Your master is a knight; and a braver
never drew breath since the time of his royal name-sake
"William the Lion * -
The man rose hastily from his seat, and falling on his knee
Žefore the prior, put his garment to his lips —Father, I
s
:



6 ‘i H. E. S.C. O'F'i i Si I C {{IF, F.S.,
3.
ow know that i tº iºticed with a friend of lºy ſºciscºt. “
#naster allºw me them, thou venerable Saint, instañºly
to return to him ; for since the situation of Lord Mar pre-
cludes all assistance from him, the noble Wallace is penned
within the heart of those hills without any hopes of escape.
Suffer me then to gº, that I may at least die with my
friend '''
Hope for a better destiny, returned the prior; I am a
servant, and not to be worshipped ; turn to that altar, anºi
kneel to him who can alone truly send the succour you nee:-
The good man thinking it was now time to call the yout:g
lord of Bothwell, by a side-door from the chapter-house en-
tered the library where Murray was anxiously waiting His
return. Of his entrance, the impatient youth eagerly ex:
claimed, “ have you rescued him *
I have rescued some one, answered he , but not Grimsby :
he, I hope, is far and safely on his journey. The man those
murderers were dragging to death is in the chapter-house.
i. Follow me, and he will give you news of Wallace.
t a Murray gladly obeyed.
| At sight of a Scottish knight in armour, the messenger Gi
# Wallace thought his prayers were answered, and that he sax.
before him the leader of the host which was to march to the
preservation of his brave commander. Murray told jºirs
who he was ; and learnt from him in return, that Wallacº
now considered hittisºlf in a state of seige; that the worneº,
children, and old men, were on the point of starvation ; hav.
ing nothing to feed on but wild strawberries, and the bit is
eggs which they foun l in the inollows of the rocks. To re.
lieve them from such hard quarters, continued the narrator,
is his first wish ; but that cannot be effected by so striaiſ a
body of forces, who, to do it, must cut their way through &
strong barrier of English soldiers. However, this he propo-
§eſ to a complish by a stratagem, could his means be
strengthened by succours from the Earl of Mia!'.
My father’s means, replied Murray, are for a time cut off;
but mine shall be exerted to the utmost. Did you not meet
in your way hither a company of Scots to the number of fif.
ty, whom I sent off yesterday morning to the support of our
gallant friend ?
No rejoined the young man, I fear they have been takeº


THE SCOTTISH, CHIEF8. 97
by the enemy; for in my way to Sir William Wallace, not
knowing the English were so close to his sanctuary, I was
nearly seized myself—I had not the honour of being under
the command of Sir William wheºhe struck the first blow
for Scotland in the citadel of Lanerk; but as soon as I heard
the terrible tale of his wrongs, and that he had retired in
arms towards the Cartlane Craigs, I determined to follow
his fortunes. We had been school-fellows in our boyish
days, and friends ever after. He had saved my life once in
a swimming party; and now that a formidable nation mena-
ced his life, I vowed to make mine his bulwark. For this
purpose, a few nights ago I left my guardian’s house by
stealth, and habited as a shepherd, sought my way to the
banks of the Mouse. To my astonishment I found them oc-
cupied by the English: but still pursuing my course, by
creeping among the thickets, and exploring the most intri.
cate passages, I at last gained the bottom of the precipice on
the top of which Wallace was encamped; and as I lay watch-
ing an opportunity to ascend, I perceived two English sql.
diers through the bushes; they were in discourse, and from
them I learnt, that besides Heselrigge himself nearly tw
hundred of his garrison had fallen by the band of Wallace’s º
men in the contention at the castle. Sir Gilbert Hambledon
bore the tidings to Sir Richard Arnulff, the deputy-governor
of Ayr ; and there some words passing between them, the
former retired in disgust to England, and the latter sent a
thousand men to surround the Cartlane Craigs. Spies had
already given notice that they were Sir William's strong
holds; and the orders were, that he should be taken dead
or alive; and his adherents, men and women, receive no
quarter.
“Such was the information I brought to my gallant friend,
when in the dead of the night I mounted the rock, and calling
to the Scottish centinel in gaelic, gave him my name, and
was allowed to enter that sac:ed spot. Wallace welcomed
his faithful Ker, and unfolded to me his distress and his
hopes. He told me of the famine that threatened his little
garrison, of the constant watching day and night that was
necessary to prevent a surprise, and that their present un-
remitted employment, was to dash the assailing English
down the precipice, with showers of stones, as they tº:
WOL. I. I ; :
t’ * e e e "
93 THE Scot'ſ ISH C HIEFs.
ed to ascend. In this extremity, he observed that one defile
was but thinly guarded bp the enemy, because, as it lay at
the bottom of a perpendigular angle of the roek, they thought
it unattainable by Wallace. To this point, however, my
dauntless friend turned his eyes. He would attempt it,
could he procure a sufficient number of fresh men to cover
the retreat of his exhausted few. For this purpose, as I had
so lately explored the most hidden paths of the craigs; 1 vo-
lunteered to visit the Lord Mar, and to conduct in safety,
any succors he might send to my commander. At the en-
trance of the defile, is a cavern open at each extremity, the
one end to the perpendicular side of the rock, and the other
to the passage amongst the craigs. By this unguarded ave--
nue I meant to have brought the earl’s men, who by spring-
ing unawares upon the English stationed there, might have
easily mastered them, and formed an effectual screen for the
poor inhabitants of the rock, while letting themselves down
by the bushes to the cave’s mouth, through which they were
to escape. Wallace and Lord Mar’s band would have then
followed, blocking up the mouth of the cavern to prevent
spursuit.
This, continued Ker, was the errand on which I came to
the earl. Think then what was my horror, when in my jour-
ney I found redoubled legions hemming in the hills; and on
advancing towards Bothwell castle, I was seized by a party
of English, rifled, and declared an accomplice with that no-
bleman, who was, they said, condemned to lose his head
Not so bad as that, neither, my good Ker, said Murray, a
glow of indignation passing over his cheeks, many a bull’s
head (p) shall make groan the Southron tables in this land,
before my uncle’s head gluts their thirsty axes —No true
Scottish heart, I trust, will ever bleed on their scaffolds; for
while we have arms to wield a sword, and legs to carry us to
the field, he must be a fool that leaves it on any other terms
than freedom or death. We have cast our lives on the die;
and Wallace’s camp, or the narrow house must be our prize!
Brave youth exclaimed the prior, may the innocence
which gives animation to your courage, continue its moving
soul! They only are invincible who are as ready to die as to
live and no one can be firm in that principle whose exem.
pººr; life is not a happy preparation for the awful change.
* *
*
&
* e o e
* e s e
o
THE scorrish chiefs. 99
Murray bowed modestly to this pious encomium, and turn-
ing to Ker, informed him, that since he must abandon all
hope of hearing any more of the fifty brave men his cousin
Helen had sent to the craigs, he had bethought him of ap-
plying to his uncle Sir John Murray, who dwelt hard by on
his estate at Drumshargard. It is small, said he, and cannot
afford many men; but still he may spare us sufficient to ef.
fect the escape of our commander, and that for the present,
will be enough.
To accomplish his design withont delay, for promptitude
he regarded as the earnest of success, and to avoid a surprise
from the lieutenaut of Bothwell, (who, hearing of the ren-
contre before the castle, might choose to demand his men's
prisoner of the prior,) Murray determined to take Ker along
with him; and disguised as peasants, as soon as darkness
should shroud their movements, proceed to Drumshargard.
* -->
CHAP. XI.
WHILE these transactions of Murray and his friends occu-
pied the whole of the morning, Lady Helen (who the night
before had been removed by the prior to the cell appointed
for her) slept long and sweetly. Her exhausted frame had
found renovation in a deep and lengthened repose ; and she
awoke with a heavenly calm at her heart. A cheering vi-
sion had visited her sleeping thoughts : and a trance of hap-
py feelings still absorbed her senses, while her hardly dis-
engaged spirit hovered over its fading images.
She had seen in her dream, a young knight in beautiful
armour enter her cell, with her father in his arms. He laid
the Earl down at her feet; but as she stooped to embrace
him, the knight took her by the hand, and leading her to the
window of the apartment, (which now seemed extended to
an immense size) he smiled and said,-‘‘Hook out and see
how I have performed my vow ;” she obeyed, and saw crowds
of rejoicing people, who at the sight of the young warrior
raised such a shout of joy, that Helen awoke. She started
-She looked around—she was still in the narrow cel: aid -
i00 T}:{E SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
j. alone : but the rapture of beholding her father yet fluttered
** at her heart, and the touch of the warrior's hand seemed
still warm upon her’s. Angels of rest, cried she, I thank
you for this blest vision. -
The Prior ºf St. Fillan might have read his own just sen-
timent in the heart of Lady Helen. She, though the gen.
tlest of human beings, was an evidence that an ardent and
pious mind contains the true principles of heroism : its hopes
tread down impossibilities, and regardless of impediments
or dangers, rush forward to seize the prize; in the midst of
hosts it feels a conqueror's power; or where it is weak, sees,
by the eye of faith, legions of watching angels to fill the de-
ficienty. Lady Helen knew that the cause was just which
had put the sword into the hand of Wallace ; that it was
virtue which had prompted, her father to second him ; and
where justice is, there are the wings the Most High stretch-
ed out as a shield !
This dream seemed prophetic: Yes, cried she, though
thousands of Edward’s soldiers surrounded my father and his
friend, I should not despair. Thy life, Oh, noble Wallace,
was not given to be extinguished in an hour ! thy morn has
hardly risen; the perfect day must come that is to develope
thy greatness l—that is to prove thee; and, Oh! gracious
God, grant my prayer the glory of Scotland .
Owing to the fervor of her apostrophe, she did griot ob-
serve the door of the cell open; and she was nºt wrested
from the enchantment of her feeling still the prior stood be-
fore her. After expressing his pleasure at the healthful
renovation that shewed itself in her countenance, he inform-
cd her of the departure of the English soldier, an of the
alarm which he and Murray had sustained for his safety, by
the adventure which had thrown a stranger from the craigs
into their protection. At the mention of that now moment-
ous spot she blushed; the golden haired warrior of her
dream seemed ready to rise before her, and with a beating
heart she prepared to hear some true but miraculous ac-
count of her father’s rescue **
The prior, unconscious of what was passing in her young
and eager Innd, proceeded calmly to ºš that Ker had
said of the dangerous extremity to which Wallace was re-
ditccii and then closed his intelligence by mentioning the
:
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 101
attempt which her cousin meditated to make, to save him.
The heightened color gradually faded from the face of Hel-
en, and low sighs were all the replies she made to his ob-
servations on the difficulty of the enterprise. But when his
pity for the brave mem engaged in the cause, compelled
him unthinkingly to express his fears that the patriotic zeal
of Wallace would only make him and them a sacrifice, Hel-
en smiled; there was inspiration on her lips and in her eyes.
Father, said she, hast thou not taught me that God shieldeth
the patriot as well as armeth him
True. returned he, with an answering smile, steadily be-
lieve this, and where will be the sighs you have just been
breathing 2 t
Nature will shrink, replied she, but the Christian's hope
checks her ere she falls. Pardon me, then, holy father, that
I sometimes weep; but they are often tears of trust and
consolation. -
Daughter of heaven, replied the good prior, you might
teach devotion to age, and couse youth to be enamoured of
the graces of religion Be ever thus, and you may look with
indifference on the wreck of worlds.
Helen having meekly replied to this burst from the heart
of the holy man, begged to see her cousin before he set off
on his expedition. The prior withdrew on the embassy, and
in an hour Murray, habited for his visit to his uncle, enter-
ed the apartment. Their conversation was long, and their
parting full of an interest that dissolved them both into tears.
“When I see you again, my brave cousin, tell me that my
father is free, and his preserver safe. Your own life, dear
Andrew,” added she, as he pressed his cheek to her’s,
“must always be precious to me.”
Yıurray hastily withdrew, and Helen was again left alone.
Having no method of conveying baggage, the armour in-
tended for Wallace was left with the iron box in the care of
the prior; and Murray and Ker putting peasant’s cloaks
over their own armour, took leave of the prior; and having
wreceived a thousand blessings from Halbert, to be delivered
to his master, they bade adieu to him ; and proceeded un-
der cover of the night through the obscurest paths of the
wood which divided Bothwell from Drumshargard. . .
Sir John Murray was gone to rest when his nephew:aºri:
w I - © : º ..":
102 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
ºved; but Lord Andrew's voice being well known by the por.
ſer, he was admitted into the house, and leaving his com-
Sanion in the dining-hall, he went to the apartment of Sir
... John. The old knight was soon aroused; and he welcomed
`…his nephew with open arms, for he had feared from the ac-
counts brought by the fugitive tenants of Bothwell, that he
also had been carried away prisoner. - .
Murray now unfolded his errand :—First to obtain a band
of Sir John’s trustiest people, to assist in rescuing the pre-
server of the earl’s life from immediate destruction ; and se-
condly, if a commission for Lord Mar’s release did not ar.
rive from Edward, to aid him to free his uncle and the
countess from Dumbarton castle.
Sir John listened with growing anxiety to his nephew’s
details: when he heard of Lady Helen's continuing in the
convent, he highly approved of it: that is well, said he to
have taken her to any private protection, would have been
to spread calamity. She might have been traced, and her
protector put in danger: none but the church ean with safe.
ty to itself, grant an asylum to the daughter of a state pris.
Oner.
Then I doubly rejoice she is there, replied Murray, and
there she will remain, till your generous assistance empow.
ers me to rescue her, father.
Lord Mar has been very rash, nephew, returned Drilm-
shargard, (q) what occasion was there for him to volunteer
sending men to support Sir William Wallace and how durst
he bring ruin on Bothwell castle, by collecting, unauthor-
ised by my brother, its vassals for such a dangerous experi:
• ment h
Murray started at these unexpected observations. . He
knew his uncle was timid, but he never suspected him of
meanness : however, in consideration of the respect he
owed to him as his father’s brother, he smothered his dis-
gust, and gave him a mild, answer. But the old man could
not approve of a nobleman of his rank, running himself, his
fortune, and his friends into peril, to pay any debt of grati-
tude: and as to patriotic sentiments being a stimulus, he
treated the idea with contempt. Trust me, Andrew, said
he, Dobody profits by these tºotions but thieves, and despe-
rate:ſellows who are ready to become thieves?” }
^ a e
o
* e e e
ſº
º:

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 103
jºr
I do not understand you, sir! * , , ,
Not understand me! replied the knight, rather impatient- “..
ly; who suffers in these contests for liberty, as you choose to
call them, but such men as Lord Mar and your father ? Be-
trayed by artful declamation, they rush into conspiracies
against the existing government—are detected—ruine -
and, perhaps, finally lose their lives | Who gains by rebell-
ion but a few penny less wretches, who embrace these vaunt-
ed principles from the urgency of their necessities they ac-
quire plunder under the mask of extraordinary disinterest-
edness; and hazarding nothing of themselves, but their
worthless lives, they would make tools of the first men in .
the realm ; and throw the whole country into flames, that
they may catch a few brands from the fire " . . . .
Young Murray felt his anger rise with this speech. “You
do not speak to my point, Sir l—I do not come.here to dis-
pute the general evil of revolt, but to ask your assistance to
snatch two of the bravest men in Scotland from the fangs of
the tyrant who has made you a slave * -
Nephew cried the knight, starting from his couch, and
darting a fierce look at him, if any man but one of my own
blood had uttered that word, this hour should have been
his last,
Every man, Sir, continued Murray, who acts upon your
principles, must know himself to be a slave;---And to re-
sent being called so, is to affront his own conscience. A
name is nothing; the fact ought to knock upon your heart,
and there arouse the indignation of a Scot and a Murray.
See you not the villages of your country burning around
you ? The castles of your chieftains razed to the ground
†)id not the plains of Dunbar reek with the blood of your
kinsmen; and even now, do you not see them led away in
chains to the strong holds of the tyrant? Are not your
stoutest vassals pressed from your service, and sent into fo-
reign wars ”—And yet you exclaim, I see no injury-I spurn
at the name of slave 4
Murray rose from his seat as he ended, and walking the
I'don in-agitation, did not perceive the confusion of his un-
cle, who, at once overcome with conviction and with fear,
again ventured to speak: “It is too sure, you speak truth,
Andrew ºftāţwhat am I, or any other private individual,


i04 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
. . that we should make ourselves a forlorn hope for the whole
* nation * Will Baliol, who was the first to bow to the usur-
per, will he thank us for losing our heads in resentment of
his lindignity ? Bruce himself, the rightful heir of the crown,
leaves us to our fates, and has become a courtier in Eng-
land For whom then should I adventure my gray hairs,
and the quiet of my home, to seek an uncertain liberty, and
to meet an almost certain death **
For Scotland uncle; replied he liberty is her right.—
You are her son, and if you do not make one in the grand
attempt to rescue her from the blood-hounds which tear her
vitals, the guilt of parricide will be on your soul!. Think
not Sir, to preserve your home, or even your gray hairs, by
hugging the chains by which you are bound. You are a
Scot; and that is sufficient to arm the enemy against your
property and life. Remember the fate of Lord Monteith !
At the very time he was beset by the parasites of Edward,
and persuaded by their flatteries to be altogether as an Eng:
lishman : in that very hour, when he had taken a niece of
Cressingham’s to his arms, by her hands the vengeance of
Edward reached him.—He fell -
Murray saw that his uncle was struck, and that he trem-
bled, -
“But I am too insignificant, Andrew ſ” .
You are the brother of Lord Botliwell answered Mºur.
ray, with all the dignity of his father rising in his counte-
nance; His large possessions made him a traitor in the eyes
of the tyrant’s representatives. Cressingham, as treasurer
for the crew, has already sent his lieutenant to lord it in our
paternal castle; and do not deceive yourself in helieving
that some one of his officers will not require the fertile fields
of Drumshargård as a reward for his services ! No : cheat
not yourself with the idea that the biºther of Lord Bothwell
will be too insignificant to share in the honour of being a
part in the confiscations of his country : Trust me, my un-
cle, the forbearance of tyrants is not that of mercy, but of
convenience. When they need your wealth of your lands,
your submission is forgotten, and a prison or the axe, ready
to give them quiet possession.
Sir John Murray, though a timid and narrowsighted man,
now fully comprehended his nephew’s reas.

THE SCOTTTSH & Hººf'8. 105
fears taking a different turn, he hastily declared his deter*
mination to set off immediately for the Highlands. In the
morning, by day-break, said he, I will commence my jour-
ney, and join my brother at Loch awe ; for I cannot believe
myself safe a moment, while so near the garrisons of the en-
emy. t
wrung leave, to take thirty men from his vassals, to follow
him to the mountains; he returned to the hall to make the
selection, and to inform Ker of the success of his mission,
It was not necessary, neither wººd it have been agreeable
to his pride, to relate the argumeñts which had been require
ed to obtain this small assistance; and in the course of an
hour he had brought together the appointed number of the
bravest men on the estate. When epuipped in their gar-
ments of mingled greens, (that they might the better escape
detection in creeping through the underwood on the rocks)
he led them into the hall to receive the last commands from
their feudal lord. ºpe:
On seeing them armed, with everyºnan his drawn dirk in
his hand. Sir John turned pale. Müğay with the unfolded
banner of Mar in his hand, and Ker by his side, stood at
their head. #
Young men, said the old knight, striving to speak in a
firm tone; in this expedition you are to consider yourselves
as the followers of my nephew : He is brave and honoura-
ble, therefore I commit you to his command. But as it is
at his earnest petition, I am not answerable to any man for
the enterprizes to which he may lead you.
Be they all on my head cried Murray, blushing at his
uncle's pusilanimity, and drawing out his sword with an im-
patient jerk of his arm that made the old knight start back:
we now have yºur permission to depart, Sir. • I
h - Y- Wr
Sir John gave a ready assent: He was anxious to get so
hot-headed a youth out of his house, and to collect his gold
and servants, that he might commence his own flight by
break of day -
It was still dark as midnight when Murray and his little
company passed over the heights above Drumshargard, and
took their rapid, though silent march towards the gliºs,
3
*
º tº
Murray approved this plan; and after obtaining his hard-
* 3 & tº e e^ *e
106 THE SC 6TTISH CHIEFS.
which would conduct them to the more dangerous passes of
Cartlane Craigs.
-- ~~- + -
CHAP.XII.
Two days passed drearily away to Helen. . She could not
expect tidings from her cousin in so short a time, No more
happy dreams cheered her lonely hours; and anxiety to learn
what might be the condition of the earl and countess, so
possessed her, that visions of affright now disturbed both her
waking and sleeping senses. Fancy showed them in irons,
and in a dungeon : and sometimes she started in horror,
thinking that perhaps at that moment the assassin’s steel was
raised against the life of her father. 3.
On the morning of the third day, when she was chiding
herself for the rebellious despondence to which she had giv-
en way, the female who waited on her, came into the cell
to inform her that the prior had sent a friar to conduct her
to his library, where messengers from Dumbarton awaited,
to deliver a letter to her from Lady Mar. Helen lingered
not a moment, but giving her hand to the good father, was
led by him into the apartment where the prior was standing
between two men in military habits. The one was dressed
in English armour with his visor closed, the other as a knight,
... :" Be not alarmed, lady, your parents have:
but in tartans. The Scot presented her with a signet in
gold. Helen looked on it, and immediately recognized it to
be-the same that her step mother always used.
The Scottish knight was preparing to address her, when
the prior interrupted him, and taking Lady Helen by the
hand, made her seat herself. Compose yourself for a few
minutes, said he , this transitory # hourlºrings forward
events to teach us to be calm, and to resign our wishes and
our wills to the Lord of all things, $ *
Helen looked fearfully in his face —“Some evil tidings
are to be told me.” The blood left her lips; it seemed leav.
ing her heart also. The prior, full of compassion, hesitated
to:speak, The Scot abruptly answered her :
allen into hu.
: s #- - t
tº º

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 107
mane hands. I am sent under the command of this noble
Southron knight to conduct you to them.” *.
Then my father lives! They are safe, cried she, in a trans.
port of joy, and bursting into tears.
He yet lives, returned the officer, but his wounds opening
afresh, and the fatigues of his journey, have so exhausted
him that Lord Aymer de Valence has granted the prayers of
the countess, and we come to take you to receive his last
blessing. - - *
A cry of anguish burst from the heart of Lady Helen; and
falling into the arms of the prior, she found refuge from woe,
in a merciful insensibility. The pitying exertions of the
venerable father, who poured restoratives into her mouth,
at last recalled her to recollection and to sorrow. She rose
from the bench on which he had laid her, and begging per-
mission to retire for a few minutes; tears choaked her fur-
ther utterance, and being led out by the friar, she once
more re-entered her cell. s
Lady Helen passed the moments she had requested, in
those duties which alone can give comfort to the afflicted,
even when all that is visible bids it despair: and rising from
her knees with that holy fortitude which none but the devout
can know, she took her mantle and veil, and throwing them
over her, sent her attendant to the prior to say that she was
ready to set out on her journey, and wished to receive his
parting benediction. The venerable father followed by
Halbert, obeyed her summons. On seeing the poor old
harper, Helen's heart lost some of its newly acquired com-
posure. She held out her hand to him; he pressed it re-
spectfully to his lips —“Farewell, sweetest lady! may the
prayers of the dear saint, to whose remains your pious care
gave a holy grave, draw down upon your own head, in this
your great extremity, consolation and peace.” The old man
sobbed; and the tears of Lady Helen, as he bent upon her
hand, dropped upon his silver hair : “May heaven hear you,
good Halbert —And cease not, venerable old man, to pray
for me ; for I go in the hour of trial.” --
All that dwell in this house, my daughter, rejoined the
prior, shall put up orison for your comfort, and for the soul of
the departing earl. Observing that her grief augmentel ât
these words, he proceeded in a yet more soothing voice:::".”:
108 * THii: SGOTTISH CHIEFS).
“Regret not that he goes before you ; for what is death but
entrance into life It is the narrow gate which shuts us from
this dark world, to usher us into another of everlasting light
and happiness.—Weep not then, sweet child of the church,
that your earthly parents precede you to the Heavenly Fa-
ther ; rather say with the virgin Saint Bride ; “How long,
Oh, Lord, am I to be banished thy presence 3 How long endure
the prison of my body before I am admitted to the freedom of
paradise to the bliss of thy saints 2° -- .
Helen raised her eyes, yet shining in tears, and with a di-
wine smile pressing the crucifix to her breast; “You do in-
deed arm me, my father!—This is my strength '''
:
And one that will never fail thee! exclaimed he.—She
dropped upon one knee before him. He crossed his hands
over her head—he looked up to heaven—his bosom heaved
s—his lips moved—then pausing a moment, go in peace, said
he, and may the angels which güard innocence, minister to
your sorrows, and lead you into all joy!
Helen bowed; and breathing inwardly a devout response
to this blessing, she rose and followed the prior out of the
eell. At the end of the cloister she again bade farewel to
Halbert ; and, led by the prior, bent her steps towards the
grand entrance of the monastery. At the gates stood the
lºnights, with their attendants. She once more kissed the
crucifix held by the prior, and giving her hand to the Scot,
was placed by him on a horse superbly caparisoned. He
sprung on another himself; and the English officer who was
already mounted, drawing up to her, she pulled down her
veil; and all bowing to the holy brotherhood at the porch,
rode off at a gentle pace.
A long stretch of woods which spread before the monaste-
ry, and screened the back of Bothwell castle from being dis-
cernible on that side of the Clyde, lay before them. Through
this path they pursued their way till they had crossed the
l'I W.e?". -
Time wears! exclaimed the Scot to his companion: we
push on. The English knight nodded, and set his spurs
into his steed. The whole troop now fell into a rappid trot; ,
and winding along the sequestered banks of the Aven, which
§: into a hundred beautiful seclusions intersecting the
ºeş sides of the river with umbrageous shades and green
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 109
hillocks, the road seemed lengthening as they went.—He-
len in vain looked for the distant towers of Dumbarton cas-
tle marking the horizon: no horizon appeared, but a range
of rocks and wooded precipices.
A sweet breeze played through the valley, and revived the
harrassed frame of Helen. She put aside her veil to enjoy its
freshness, and saw that the knights turned their horse’s heads
into one of the obscurest mountain defiles. She started at
its depth, and at the gloom which involved the extremity in
total darkness. It is our nearest path, said the Scot: Helen
made no reply, but turning her steed followed him, there be-
ing room for one only to ride along the narrow margin of
the river that flowed at its base. The Englisman whose
voice she had never yet heard, and the attendants followed
her. It was with difficulty the horses could make their way
through the thickets that interlaced the path-way, which
was so confined that it rather seemed a cleft made by an
earthquake in some huge mountain, than a road that was
meant for man.
When they had been employed for an hour in breaking
their way through this trackless place, they came at last to
a wider space, where other ravines broader than this, open-
ed themselves. The Scot, taking one to the right raised his
bugle, and blew so sudden and loud a blast, that the horse
on which Lady, Helen sat took fright, and began to plunge
and rear, to the evident hazard of throwing her into the
stream. Some of the dismounted men seeing her danger,
seized the horse by the bridle, while the English knight ex-
tricated her from the saddle, and carrying her in his arms
through some clustering bushes which were held back for
him by the Scot he entered a cave, and laid her at the feet
of an armed man who stood in the midst.
Terrified at this extraordinary action, she started tip with
a piercing shriek, but was at that moment enveloped in the
arms of the stranger; and a loud and brutal shout of exulta-
tion was uttered by one of the men who had brought her in.
It was echoed from without and accompanied by a burst
of boisterous laughter. There was horror in every sound.—
Mighty God, protect me ! cried she, franticly striving to
break away from the man who held her: Where am I ?
‘YQ E. T. * * K

i i G ºf HE scoTTISH CHriefs,
cried she, looking wildly at the two men who had brought
her. Why am I fiot taken to my father ?
We leave our lord to tell you, answered the Scot; and so
saying, both he and the Englishman left the place. The
stranger still held her locked in a grasp that seemed of iron.
In vain she struggled, in vain she shrieked, in vain she called
on earth and heaven for assistance; she was held, and still he
kept silence. Exhausted with terror and her fruitless at-
tempts for release, she put her hands together, and in a calm-
er tone exclaimed ; “If you have honor or humanity in
your heart, you will release me ! I am an unprotected wo.
man, praying for your mercy, withhold it not for the sake
of Heaven and your own soul!
Kneel to me then, thou syren : cried the warrior, with
fierceness. As he spoke he threw the tender knees of Lady
Helen upon the rocky floor. His voice echoed terrible in
her eans ; but obeying him, free me, cried she, for the sake
of my lying father
“Never, till I have had my revenge ’’
At this dreadful denunciation she shuddered to the soul,
but yet she spoke : “Surely I am mistaken for some one
else!—Oh, how can I have offended any man to incur so
cruel an outrage l’”
The warrior burst into a satanic laugh, and throwing up
his visor : Beltold me, Helen cried he, grasping her clasp-
ed hands with a horrid force : “My hour is come !”
At sight of the dreadful face of Soulis she comprehended
all her dangers, and with a supernatural strength wresting
her hands from his bold, she burst through the bushes out of
the cave. Her two first enemies stood at the entrance, and
catching her in their arms, brought her back to their lord-
But it was an insensible form they now laid down before him.
Overcome with horror at being again dragged into the pow-
er of a ravisher, her senses fled. However, short was her
suspension from misery : water was thrown on her face, and
she awoke to recollection, lying on the bosom of her enemy.
Again she struggled, again her éties echped from side to side
~pf the cavern. Peace cried the monster; you cannot es-
cape—you are mine by a force that shall gompel you to sub-
mit when an where I will. How ofteå have I knelt at your
feet, begging for that mercy on my passion which you deni-

THE SCOTTISH C H #EF S. * { }
•ed? Twice you refused to be my wife —you dared to des.
pise my love and my power:—now you shall feel my hatred
and my revenge |
Kill me ! cried the distracted Helen; kill me, and I will
bless you.
That would be a poor vengeance, cried he you must be
humbled, proud minion. You must learn to fawn on me for
a smile ; to woo as my slave for one of those embraces
which you spurned to receive as my wife. I will make you
feel the tyger in my love 1 and then, if she will, the dishon-
ored and despised Lady Helen may die! As he spoke he
strained her to his breast, with the contending expressions
of passion and revenge glaring in his eyes. Helen shrieked
at the pollution of his lips; and as he more fiercely held her,
and declared that she should be his forever, her hand struck
against the hilt of his dagger. In a moment she drew it out,
and armed with the strength of outraged innocence, unwit-
ting of whether it gave death or not, only hoping it would
release her, she struck it into his side. All was the action
of an instant. And as instantaneously he caught her wrist;
and exclaiming, damnable traitoress, thou shalt fare the
worse for this dashed her from him, and struck her stun-
ned and motionless to the ground. *
The weapon had not penetrated far. But the sight of his
own blood, drawn by the hand of a woman, so incensed the
now raging Soulis, that had not insensibility been her secu-
rity, perhaps the violence of his unmanly indignation would
have repeated the blow, and at once have rid her of life and
his indignities. He called aloud on Macgregor. The two
men, who yet stood without the cave hastily entered; but
they started when they saw a dagger in his hand, and the
lady lying pale and apparently lifeless, with blood sprinkled
on her garments,
Macgregor who had personated the Scottish knight, spoke
first; and in a tremulous voice, asked why he had killed the
lady ?
§ºi. frowned: Here! said he, throwing open his vest,
this wound, that beautiful fiend, whom you so piteously look-
ed upon, aimed at my life —I only sought to force her tº
my wishes; and thus did she requite an honour, which many
of her proud sex sigh after in vain.

112 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
My lord, said the other man, I expected different treat-
ment for the earl of Mar’s daughter.
Base Scot! returned Soulis, when you brought a woman
into these wilds to my arms, you had no right to expect that
I should use her otherwise than as a wanton, and you as the
servile minister of my pleasures. From this hour, dare but
to pass a judgment on my actions, and your infamy shall be
published as widely as my trumpets can blow the tale.
This language, Lord Soulis rejoined the man, much agi-
tated :-but you mistook me—I meant not to reproach.
“”Tis well you did not.” And turning from him with
contempt, he listened to Macgregor, who stooping towards
the inanimate Helen, took her hand, and observed that the
pulse beat—Fools' returned Soulis, did you think I would
so rashly throw away what I have been at such pains to
in Call your wife, Macgregor: she knows how to bring
vemen out of these fits; and she will teach her to know
the wisdom of submission to my will.
. The man obeyed; and while his companion by the com-
mand of Soulis bound a fillet round the bleeding forehead of
Helen, which was cut by the pointed flint; the chief him-
self brought two chains, and fastening one to her wrists, and
the other on her ankles, he exclaimed with brutal triumph
as he locked them on : “There, my haughty damsel ! flat-
ter not thyself that the arms of Soulis shall be thine only
fetters. These chains shall bind thee to my feet; and no
more daggers shall be near to thwart my revenge tº
Macgregor's wife entered. Here Margery, said he, take
this lady under your care. Recover her from this swoon,
and while I go to have the litter prepared for h. t reception,
counsel her to behave with more gratitude to so rue a lover.
Margery promised to obey; but expressing surprise at the
sight of the chains. Soulis said her duty was obedience, not
remark; and withdrawing, followed by iiis vassal, the woman
was left alone with the breathless body of Helen. Watèr,
and a few drops which Margery poured into her mouth, re-
stored the unhappy lady to her senses. On opening her eyes,
the sight of one of her own sex inspired her with hope; but
stretching out her hands in the act of supplication, she was
horror-struck at finding them fastened, and at the clink of
the chains as they shook against each other. Why ami thus:

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, liš
demanded she of the woman; but suddenly recollecting hav.
ing attempted to pierce Soulis with his own dagger, and now
supposing she had slain him, she added, is Lord Soulis killed?
No, my lady, replied she, my husband says he is but slight-
ly hurt, and surely your fair face belies your heart, when
you could attempt the life of so brave and loving a lord?'
You then belong to him cried the wretched Helen,
wringing her hands; alas, how am I besetſ what will be my
unhappy fate —Oh Virgin of Heaven, take me to thyself!
Heaven forbid! cried the woman, that you should pray
against being the favourite lady of Qur noble chief! Many
are the scores round Hermitage castle who would come hi-
ther on their hands and knees to arrive at the happiness
which you reject 4.
Happiness! cried Lady Helen, in anguish of spirit. Oh it
can visit me no more till I am restored to my father-till I
am released from the power of Soulis' Give me iberty,
continued she, wildly grasping the arm of the woman, assist
me to escape, and half the wealth of the Earl of Mar, shall
be your reward
I would sooner throw myself into a boiling cauldron, fe-
turned the woman; my lord would burn me on the spot,
and murder my husband, did he think I even listened to such
a project. No, lady, you never will see your father; for
none who enter my lord’s hermitage once, are ever desi-
rous to come out again.
The hermitage : cried Helen, starting from the ground;
but in the action the chains entangling her feet, she stum-
bled and fell against Margery: Father of the desolate, ex-
claimed she, bursting into tears, have mercy upon me! Oh
never let me live to enter those accursed walls
They are frightful enough, to be sure, returned the wo.
man, but not so to you. My lord told me, when he brought
me, to these wilds to attend on your ladyship, that you shall
reign in hermitage just as if you were his lawful wife; and
that for your sake he will send away all the other young dam-
sels, who now, in losing their master's love may indeed,
curse the walls that witnessed their ruin, . But you, gentle
lady, will be princess there; and in all things commanding
the kingly heart of its lord, have rather cause to bless than
to curse the castle of Soulis. * *
K 2

1 14 the scorris H c HIEFs.
Himself and all that bears his name is accursed to me: re-
turned Helen, his love is my abomination, and his hatred my
dread. Pity me, kind creature; and if you have a daughter
whose honour is dear to your prayers, think you see her in
me, and have compassion on me. My life is in your hands.
for I swear before the throne of Almighty purity, that Sou-
lis shall see me die, rather than be dishonoured: • *
Poor young soul! cried the woman, looking at her frantic
gestures with commiseration, I would pity you if I durst, but
i repeat, my life, and my husband's, and my children, who
are now near Hermitage, would all be sacrificed to the rage
of Lord Soulis. You must be content to submit to his will.
Helen closed her hands over her breast in mute despair, and
the woman went on, and as for the matter of your making
such lamentations about not reaching your father, if he be
as little your friend as your mother is, you have not much
cause to break your heart on that score.
Helen, started aghast. “My mother what of her ?—
speak, tell me —It was her signet that betrayed me into
these horrors. She cannot have consented—Oh! no l—-
some villains—speak, tell ſhe what you would say of my
mother P’
The woman, regardless of the terrible emotion which now
shook the frame of her auditor, coolly replied, that she had
heard from her husband, who was the confidential servant of
Lord Soulis, that it was to Lady Mar he owed the know-
ledge of Helen's being at Bothwell. The Countess had
written a letter to her cousin Lord Buchan, who being a
sworn friend of England, was then passing some time with
Lord De Valence at Dumbarton. In this epistle she intima-
ted her wish that Lord Buchan would devise a plan to surprise
Bothwell castle the ensuing day; but added he inust not give
cause to Lord Mar to suspect that she was privy to the affair;
His presentmisled mind might blame that interferenge which
was impelled by anxiety for the safeties of her hirāśāāsīāhd.
Lady Helen, as well as from a zeal which she avāwīābād;
its source in her sense of duty to Edward, the royal friend of
her fearest kinsman. The Countess then proceeded to relate,
that the E rl of Mar had been over persuaded to engage in
some preparations to send armed men to the support of the
unfortunate outlaw, Sir William Wallace, who was then.

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 1 15
with a small troop lurking about the caverns of Cartlane
CTâ19'S. * * * t *...*
When this letter arrived, Lord Soulis was at dinner with
the other Lords; and Buchan laying it beforé, De Valence,
(whom he knew to be in the confidence of King Edward)
they all consulted what was best to be done. Lady Mar beg-
ged her cousin not to appear in the affair himself that she
might escape the suspicions of her husband, who she strong-
ly declared, was not arming his vassals from any disloyal dis-
position towards the King of England, but only at the insti-
gations of Wallace, to whom he romanticly considered him-
self bound by the ties of gratitude. As she gave this infor-
mation, she hoped that no attainder would fall upon Lord
Mar, which this disclosure was intended to prevent: and to
keep the transaction as close as possible, she proposed that
Lord Soulis, who she understood was then at Dumbarton,
should take the command of two or three thousand troops;
and marching to Bothwell next morning, seize the few hun-
dred armed Scots, who were ready to proceed to the moun-
tains. Her ladyship ended by saying that her daughter was
at the castle, which she hoped would be an inducement to
Soulis to insure the earl’s safety for the sake of her love, and
to obtain her hand as his reward. - * -
The greatest part of Lady Mar’s injunctions could not be
attended to, as Lord De Valence as well as Soulis, was made
privy to the secret. The English nobleman declared that
he should not do his duty to his king, if he did not head the
force that went to quell so dangerous a conspiracy; and
Soulis, eager to go at any rate, joyfully accepted the honor
of being his companion. It was concerted amongst the
three, that De Valence should send the Lord Mar prisoner
to:Dumbarton castle, there to await the award of Edward
on his crime. Lord Buchan was easily persuaded to the sei-
2ure of Mar’s person, as he hoped the king would endow him
yith the Mar estates, which must now be confiscated. He-
lºn groaned at the latter part of this narration, but the wo.
ſtian, without noticing it, proceeded to relate how, when the
party had executed their design on Bothwell castle, the
Countess and Helen were to have been sent to Soulis’s castle
of Dun-glass, near Glasgow; but on that wily Scot not finding
her, he conceived the suspicion that Lord de Valence had
! ió THE SCO'CTISH CHIEFS,
t
prevailed on the Countess to give her up to him. He obser-
ved that the woman who could be prevailed on to betray her
daughter to one man, would easily be bribed to repeat the
crime to another; and under this impression he accused the
English nobleman of treachery: his Lordship denied it vehe-
mently: a quarrel ensued; and Soulis departed with a few of
his own followers, giving out that he was retiring in high in-
dignation to Dun-glass. But the fact was, he lurked about
in Bothwell wood and from its recesses saw Cressingham’s
fieutenant march by to take possession of the castle in the
King’s name. A deserter from his troops, a few hours after-
wards fell in with Lord Soulis’s company, and flying to him
for protection, along private conversation took place between
them; but it was interrupted by one of the spies who had
been sent by the chief in quest of news, and who now return-
ed with a woman, a tenant of the convent of St. Fillans,
whom he had seduced away on finding her pretty and talk-
ative. She told him all he wanted to know ; and to assure his
Hord that he spoke truth, and to gain the promised reward,
he brought her to confirm his intelligence that a beautiful
young lady, who could be no other than Lady Helen Mar,
was concealed in that convent.
On this information, the delighted Lord Soulis conversed a
long time with the stranger from Cressingham’s detachment.
And determining on taking Helen immediately to Hemitage,
that the distance of Tevoit dale might render a rescue less
probable, he laid his plan accordingly; and sent for Macgre-
gor's wife and a litter from Dun-glass, that she might be ready
to attend his beautiful prey. eanwhile, continued the wog.
man, my husband and the stranger, the one habited as a
Scottish and the other as an English knight, (for my lord be.
ing ever on some wild prank, has always a chest of strange
dresses with him ;) set out for St. Fillans, taking with theim
the signet which your mother had sent with her letter to
the Earl her cousin. They hoped such a pledge would en-
sure them belief both with the prior and you. . You know
the tale they invented; and its success proves that my lord
is no bad contriver,

The scortish chiefs. 117
CHAP. XIII.
HELEN, who listened with astonishment and grief to this
too probable story of her step-mother's ill judged tender-
ness, or cruel treachery, remembered the threats which had
escaped that lady in their last conversation ; and not seeing
reason to doubt what so clearly explained the before inex-
plicable seizure of her father, the betraying of Wallace, and
her own present calamity, she made no reply; but inwardly
prayed heaven to traverse by its Almighty power the wide
mischief which had thus been wrought by the rashness of
Lady Mar. -- -
You do not answer me, rejoined the woman; but if you
doubt my account, Lord Soulis himself will assure you that
all I have said is true. +
Alas, no' returned Helen, profoundly sighing; I believe
it too well. I see the depth of the misery into which I am
plunged. And yet, cried she, suddenly recollecting the im-
position the men had put upon her : yet, I shall not be
wholly so, if my father lives and was not in the extremity
they told me of ! -
If that thought gives you comfort, retain it; returned the
woman; the whole story of the Earl’s illness, was an inven-
tion to bring you at so short notice from the protection of
the prior. . . . .
I thank thee, gracious Providence, for this comfort ex-
claimed Helen ; it inspires me with redoubled trust in thee.
Margery shook her head. Ah, poor victim, (thought she,)
how vain is thy devotion . But she had not time to say so,
for her husband and the deserter from Cressingham re-en-
tered the caye. Helen, afraid that it was Soulis, started up.
The strangef made a motion to lift her in his arms, she
struggled, and by the suddenness of her motion his beaver
fell down and discovered a pale and stern countenance with
a large scar across his jaw; this mark of contest and the
gloomy scowl of his eyes made Helen shudder and rush to.
wards the woman for protection. The man hastily put up
| | 8 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
his beaver, and speaking through the closed steel, she for
the first time, heard his voite, which sounded hollow and
decisive;—he bade her prepare to accompany Lord Soulis
in a journey southward.
Helen looked at her shackled arms, and despairing of ef.
fecting her escape by any effort of her own, she É.
that gaining time was some advantage; and allowed the man
to take her hand, while Macgregor supported her on the
other side, they led her out of the cave, She observed the
latter smile and wink at his wife.—Oh, I am cajoled again!
cried Helen, taking a sudden fright, towhat am I to be be-
trayed —unhand me—leave me ! Almost fainting with the
dread of some new horrors, she leaned against the arm of
the stranger.
The thunder now pealed over her head, and the lightning
shot across the top of the mountains. She looked up : Oh!
cried she, in a voice of deep horror; is there no bolt for
me !—At that moment Soulis, mounted on his steed, ap-
proached, and ordered her to be put into the litter. Incapa-
ble of contending with the numbers which surrounded her,
she allowed them to execute their master’s commands, and to
draw the curtains around her. Margery was set on a pillion
behind her husband : and Soulis giving the word, they all
marched on at a rapid pace. In a few hours they cleared
the shady vallies of the Clyde, and entered on the barren
tracks of the Leadhill moors; a dismal hue was thrown over
the country.
The thunder yet roared in distant peals; and the lightning
came down in such vast sheets that the carriers were often
obliged to set down their burthen, and cover their eyes with
their hands to recover their scathed sight. A shrill wind
pierced the slight covering of the litter, and blowing it aside
at intervals, discovered the rough outlines of the distant hills,
just visible through their misty veil, and the gleaming waves
of some wandering water as it glided along through the
cheerless waste. #. ' -
All is desolation, like myself thought Helen, but neither
the cold wind, nor the rain which was now falling and drift-
ing into her vehicle, occasioned her any sensation. It is on-
ly when the mind is at ease that the body is delicate: all



* ,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,. i 19-
* -
within was too expectant of mental horrors, to notice the
casual inconveniences of season or situation. -
The cavalcade with difficulty mounted the steeps of a stu-
pendous mountain where the storm raged so turbulently that
the men, stopping, told their lord that it would be impossible
to proceed in the approaching darkness with safety. Look
cried they, look at the perpendicular rocks, rendered indeter-
minate by the thick clouds of gathering mist —feel the over-
whelming gusts of the tempest, and judge whether we dare
venture with this litter on the dangerous path way made
slippery by descending rain *
To pause, to halt in such a spot, seemed to Soulis asperil-
ous as to proceed. We shall not be better off, answered he,
should we attempt to return ; precipices lie on either side :
and to stand still would be equally perilous: the increasing
torrents from the heights are so violent, that there is every
chance of our being swept away should we remain exposed
to the swelling stream. - -
Helen looked at these sublime cascades with a calm wal-
come, as they poured from the hills and dashed their spray
upon the roof of her vehicle. She hailed her release in the
death they menaced ; and far from being intimidated at the
prospect, cast a resigned, and even wistful glance, into the
swelling lake beneath, under whose wave she expected soon
to sleep. 4. .
The men, on the remonstrance of their master, resumed
their pace; and after hard contention with the storm, they
gained the summit of the west side of the mountain: and
were descending its eastern brow, when the shades of night
closed in upon theffi, Looking down into the black chaos be-
fore them, they once more protested that they could not, on
peril of their lives, advance a foot until the dawn of morning
should light them on their way.
At this declaration, which Soulis saw could not now be dis-

puted, he ordered the troop to halt under the shelter of a
vast projecting föck which overhung the narrow ledge that
formed the road, while a deep gulph at itsfeet, by the roaring
of waters, proclaimed itself the receptacle of those tremen.
dous cataracts which rush in torrents from the ever stream-
ing Pentland hills. t º
Soulis dismounted. The men set down their litter, and re-
| 20 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
*
moved to a distance as he approached. He opened one of
the curtains, and throwing himself along the couch on which
lay the exhausted, but watchful Helen, he clasped his arms
roughly about her, and exclaimed—“Sweet minion I must
pillow on your bosom, till the morn awakes P’ His brutal
lips were again rivetted to her cheek. Ten thousand
strengths seemed then to heave him from her heart; and
struggling with a power that amazed even herself, she threw
him from her; and, bolding him off with her shackled arms,
her shrieks again º the heavens.
Scream thy strength away, poor fool l exclaimed Soulis,
seizing her fiercely in his arms; for thou art now so surely
Inine that heaven itself connot preserve thee.
Death death ! was the faint cry of the now desperate
Helen; and making another powerful effort to extricate her-
self from the monster who triumphed in her agonies, she re-
leased her right hand in which she grasped a small golden
knife that had been the gift of her father, and which since
the dagger had been wrested from her, she had concealed in
her bodice as a last refuge ; raising the hand that contained
it to plunge it into her own breast, she was arrested in the
stroke by a loud noise at the side of her couch 3–and the
moment afterwards, she was covered with the blood of Sou-
lis. A stroke from an unseen arm had cut through the
shoulder of the ravisher; and though it did not injure his life,
yet the red stream gushed from the wound, and’starting on
his feet, a fearful battle of swords took place over the pros-
trate Helen, -
Two men out of the numbers who came up to assist Sou-
lis, fell dead on her body; and the chieftain himself, cover-
ed with wounds, and breathing revenge and blasphemy, was
forced off by the survivors. Where do you carry me, villains f
cried he, separate me not from the vengeance i will yet hurl
on that night-demon who has robbed me of my victim, or
ye shall die a death more horrible than hell itself can inflict . .
He raved ; but more unheeded than the teampest; terrifiedº
that the spirits of darkness were indeed at their backs, in
spite of his reiterated threats the men carried him off to a
hollow in the rock, where they laid him down, now nearly
insensible by the loss of blood. One or two of the boldest of
them cautiously returned to see what was become of Lady

THE scortish chiefs. 12 1
Helen; well aware, that if they could regain possession of
her, their master would load them with favours : but on the
reverse, should she be finally lost, the whole troop knew their
fate would be some merciless punishment.
Macgregor and the deserter of Cressingham were the first
who reached the spot were the lady had been left, and with
the greatest horror they found the litter but notherself. She
was gone. But whether carried off by the mysterious arm
which had felled their lord, or she had thrown herself into
the foaming gulph beneath, they could not determine. The
latter, however, they decided should be their report to Sou-
lis; knowing that he would rather hear that the object of his
passions had perished, than that she had escaped his toils.
Almost stupified with consternation, they returned to re-
peat to their furious lord (who on having his wounds staunch-
ed, had recovered from his swoon,) their cunningly devised
tale. On hearing that the beautiful creature he had so lately
believed his own beyond the power of fate; that his property
as he called her, the devoted slave of his will, the mistress
of his destiny, was lost to him forever, swallowed up in the
whelming wave, he became frantic. There was desperation
in every word. He raved; tore up the earth like a wild
beast; and foaming at the mouth, dashed Margery from
him, as she approached with fresh balsam for his wounds.--
{}ff scum of a damned sex cried he, where is she whom I
entrusted to thy care 2
My lord, answered the affrighted woman,-you know best.
You terrified the poor young creature. You forced yourself
into her litter, and can you wonder—
That I should force you to hell !—Execrable witch cried
he, that knew no better how to prepare a slave to receive her
lord . As he spoke, he struck her again; but it was with his
gatintlet hand, and the eyes of the unfortunate Margery
opened no more. The blow fell on her temple; the steel cut
the artery; and a motionless corpse lay before him.
* My wife' cried the poor Macgregor, putting his trembling
*
*arms about her neck: Oh, my lord, how have I deserved
this 2 You have slain her
Humph 1 suppose I have ; returned the chieftain with a
cold scorn, touching her body with his foot; she was old and
tigly : and could you recove; Helen, who was more to me
A. C.F. T.,
i iſ 2 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
than fifty thousand wives, you should cull hermitage for a
substitute for this prating beldame, º
Macgregor made no reply, but feeling in his heart that he
who sows the wind will reap the whirlwind ; that such were the
rewards of villainy to its vile instruments; he could not but
say to himself, I have deserved it of my God, but not from
thee —and sobbing over the remains of his equally criminal
wife, by the assistance of his comrades, he removed her from
the now hated presence of his lord.
=º-
CHAP. XIV.
MEAN while, the Lady Helen, hardly rational from the
contending emotions of horror and hope that agitated her
heart, the moment Soulis disappeared, had extricated herself
from the weight of dead bodies which lay upon her; and man-
acled as she was, in her eagerness to escape, she would eer-
tainly have fallen over the precipice, had not the same gai-
lant arm which had covered her ravisher with wounds,
caught her as she sprang from the couch. Fear not, mad.
am, exclaimed a gentle voice, you are under the protection
of a Scottish knight.
There was a kindness in the sound, that seemed to proclaim
the speaker to be of her own kindred: she felt as if suddenly
rescued by a brother, and dropping her head on his bosom,
a shower of grateful tears relieved her surcharged heart, and
revented her from fainting. Aware that no time was to be
ost; that the enemy rallying, would soon be on him again,
he clasped her close in his arms; and with the activity of a
mountain deer, leaping from rock to rock, crossed two rush-
ing streams, even under the foam of their pouring flood; and
then treading with a light and steady step an alpiñe bridge of
one single tree which alone arched the cataract roaring be’”.
low; he ordered a man who now approached to spread his
plaid upon the rock. He laid the trembling Helen upon it;
and again conjuring her to confide in him, called to his men,
severally by their names: in a moment he was surrounded
by a number, whose swords gleaming in the faint light cast

'I HE Sc O'ITISII C HIEFs. 123

by a few unclouded stars, would have re-awakened the
alarm of Helen, had she not stilſ heard his voices—There
was graciousness and balm-distilling sweetness in every tone,
and she listened in calm expectation.
He directed the men to take their axes and cut away on
their side of the fall, the tree which clasped it to the other.
He thought that the villain whom he had just assailed, should
he not be killed, might, with his followers have sufficient
strength to follow him; and therefore he thought it pru-
dent to demolish the bridge.
The men obeyed; and in five minutes the hardly breath-
ing Helen heard the loud splash of the falling beam into the
water. On this being done, the warrior returned to his fair
charge. It was raining fast, and fearful of farther exposing
her to the inclemencies of the night, he wished to propose
Heading her to shelter. “There is a hermit’s cell on the
northern side of this mountain. I will conduct you thither
in the morning, as the securest asylum ; but meanwhile you
must allow me to seek you a refuge from this pitiless night.”
Any where, Sir, with honour, my guide, answered Helen
timidly.
You are as safe with me, lady, returned he, as in the arms
of the virgin. I am a man who can now have nq joy in wo-
mankind, but when as a brother I protect them. Whoever
you are, confide in me, and you shall not be betrayed.
At these words, Helen confidently gave bim her hand, and
strove to rise ; but at the first attempt the shackles pierced
her ankles, and she sunk again to the ground.—The cold
iron on her wrists touched the hand of her preserver. He
now recollected his surprise on hearing the clank of chains
as he carried her over the bridge;—Who, enquired he,
could do this unmanly deed
“The wretch from whom you rescued me, to prevent my
escape from a captivity worse than death.”
While she spoke, he wrenched open the clasps round her
wrists and ankles, and releasing her, threw the chains over
the cliff into the torrent beneath. As she heard them dash
into the stream, it seemed a pledge of her deliverer’s truth :
and while an almost unutterable gratitude filled her heart,
she again resigned to him her hand to lead her forward ; and
turning to him, with all the earnestness of the sentiment she
Ł24 ‘i’ iſ E. Sc OTTISH C H II.F.S.
felt, Oh, Sir, said she, if you have wife or sister—should they
(for in these terrific times who is secure ?) ever fall into the
like peril with mine; imay heaven reward your bravery, by
sending them such a preserver ! ...
The stranger sighed deeply:—Sweet lady, returned he, I
have no wife, no sister-But my kindred is nevertheless
very numerous, and I thank thee for thy prayer. The hero
sighed profoundly again; and led her silently down the wind-
ings of the declivity. Having proceeded with caution, they
descended into a little wooden cell where stood a hut.
This, said the knight, leading her into it, was, three days
ago, the habitation of a good old shepherd who fed his flocks
on these mountains; but a marauding band of Southron sol-
diers forced his only daughter from him; and plundering
his little abode, drove him out upon the waste. He perished
the same night by grief and the inclemencies of the weather.
—And his son, a brave youth, who was left for dead by his
sister’s ravishers, I to-day found, sitting in this dreary soli-
tude, wounded and in despair.—Indeed lady, when I heard
your shrieks from the opposite side of the chasm, I thought
they might proceed from this poor boy’s sister, and that I
should have the satisfaction of restoring them to each other.
Helen shuddered as he related the simple story which so
nearly resembled her own ; and at his closing words, she
said, “Unhappy girl, that did not find so generous a protec-
tor!—And I, ah, Sir, how can I express my gratitude to
heaven and you ?”—As she spoke, she trembled so with
weakncss, and the remembrances which, crowding on her
mind, painted what might now have been her fate, had Šhe
not been rescued by this gallant stranger, that unable longer
to stand, she sunk down upon a turf seat. The chief still
held her hand : it was chill as death. He did not reply to
the agitated speech she last made, but alarmed for her state,
took notice how cold she was ; and calling to his men, or-
dered them to seek fuel to make a fire. The night was so
utterly dark, that his messengers despaired of success; but
while they were exploring the crannies of the rocks for dried
leaves or sticks, Helen, totally exhausted, leaned almost mo-'.
tionless against the rough wall of the hut. The knight, find-
§ her shortening breath that she was fainting, took her
in his arms, and supporting her on his breast, chafed her cold
;
4.
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. I25
lands and forehead. His efforts were vain; she seemed to
have ceased to breathe; hardly a pulse moved her heart.—
Alarmed at such signs of death, he again called to the men
who remained in the outward chamber. “ * -
Blair, cried he to the first that entered, have you no cor-
* Amongs you, with which I might revive this suffering
{{CIW 8
#e man answered by putting a flask into his master’s
hand. The knight poured some into her mouth, and much
more upon the streaming locks, which touched his reclining
cheek. Poor lady! sighed he, she will perish in these for-.
lorn regions, where neither warmtff nor nourishment ºr.
be found ! - º,
Ah, Sir, returned Blair, had not those ruthless Southroris, tº
brought their besom of desolation even to sweep away the .
comforts of the poor, honest Hay would now have been alives. 3
and ministering both food and a cheering fire to this ; ..
lady.—Alas, what a change it is they who have rendered -
these once smiling hills, forlorn regions and wastes for men
to perish in
Before the knight could reply to these remarks of his ser-
vant, several of the men re-entered with a quantity of brok:
en branches from some withered trees, which they had
found under a projecting rock at a little distance. With
these a fire was soon kindled; and its blaze diffusing com-
fort through the chamber, he had the satisfaction of hearing
a reviving sigh steal from the breast of his charge, . She lay
on the ground, on which he had caused several plaids to be.
spread to make her a couch ; and her head still leaned on
his bosom, when she opened her eyes. The lightshone full
on her face.
Sweet Lady, said he, are you revived
Her delicacy started at making a pillow of the breast even
of her deliverer; and raising herself, though feebly, she
thanked him, and requested a little water to drink. . It was
given to her. She drank some, and looking up, met the fix-
ed and compassionate gaze of the knight; but weakness had
cast such a film before her eyes, that she hardly discerned
that his face was turned towards her; and being still lan-
guid, she leaned her head back on the turf seat. Her long
hair, having lost its veil, lay in dishevelled tresses over her,
*
+
I, X,
126 THE scorris H. c HIEFs.
#
*
neck and shoulders. Her face was pale as marble, and her
thick auburn locks saturated with wet, by their darkness
Inade her look of a more deadly hue.
Death ! how lovely canst thou be sighed the knight to
himself—he even groaned. Helen started, and looked round
her with alarm. Fear not, said he, I only dreaded your pale
looks: but you revive, and will yet bless all that are dear to
you: suffer me, sweet'lady, to drain the wet from these tres-
ses. He took hold of then as he spoke ; the effects of such
terrible cºld may be dangerous. She saw the water running
from her hair over his hands, and allowing him to wring out
the rain, he continued wiping her glºssy locks with his scarf,
till exhausted by fatigift, she gradually sank into a pro-
A found sleep. §
The dawn of morning had penetrated through the broken
lattices of the cottage before Lady Helen awoke. But when
‘she did she was refreshed; and opening her eyes—hardly
conscious where she was, or whether all that seemed to float
before her memory were not the departing vapours of a
frightful dream—she started, and fixed them upon the figure
of the knight seated near her. His noble air and the Sereme
expression of his fine features, struck like a spell upon her
gathering recollections; she at once remembered all she had
suffered, all that she owed to him. Agitated by a few anxious
thoughts that grasped the future, she moved.—Her preser-
1 ver turned his eyes towards her : seeing she was awake, lie
rose from the side of the dying embers he had sedulgusly
kept alive during her slumber, and expressing his hopes that
she felt I evived, she returned him a few words in the affirm-
alive, mingling with them thanks for his care’. and soon af.
* ter he quitted her to rouse his men for their journey to the
hermit's cell. 3.
*…*When he re-entered, he found Helen seated on the bench,
irº iding up the fine hair which the rain had so lately reduced
ša streaming mass. At his approach, she threw back her
-' föng ringlets, and would have risen, but he seated himself
on a stone at her feet. We shall be detained here a few min-
utes longer, said he ; I have ordered my men to make a car-
liage of crossed branches, to bear you on their shoulders ;
and as they are not very experienced workmen, it may em-
ploy them some time. For you to walk, lady, added he, is
:
*

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 127
impossible. Your delicate limbs would not be equal to the .
toil of descending these heights to the glen of stones. The
holy man who inhabits there will protect you, until, by your
directions he can summon your family or your friends to re-
ceive his charge. *. t
At these words, which Helen thought were meant to re-
prove her for not having revealed herself, she blushed. But
fearful that the breathing of a name under the interdict of .
the English govenors, and which had already spread such de-
vastation over all with whom it had been connected; fearful
of involving her preserver’s safety by making him aware of
the outlawed creature he had rescued; she paused for a mo-
ment and then the color heightened on her cheeks; she repli-
ed. “For your humanity, brave Sir, shown this night to a
&riendless woman, I must he ever grateful; But not even to
the hermit can I reveal my name; it is faught with danger
to every honest Scot who should know that he protects any
who bears it; and therefore least of all; noble stranger,
would I breathe it to you. She averted her face to conceal
emotions she could not subdue.
The knight looked at her intensely, and profoundly sighed.
Half her unbraided locks lay upon her bosom, which now
heaved with suppressed feelings; and the fast falling tears
gliding through her long eye lashes trembled on her cheeks,
and dropped upon his hand—he started and lore his eyes from
her countenance. I ask not, madam, to know what you
think proper to conceal. But danger has no alarms for me,
when by incurring it Ican serve those who need a protector.”
She looked up in his face : Ah, thought she, are there
then two men ifi Scotland who will speak thus ! The plumes
of his bonnet shaded his features; but they were paler than
she had noticed them on his entrance, and a strange ex-
pression of distraction disturbed their before composed-lines.
His eyes were bent to the ground as he proceeded.
“I am the servant of my fellow-creatures—command me,
and my few faithful followers; and if it be in the power of
such small means to succour you or yours, I am ready to in-
swer for their obedience. If the villain from whom I had
the happiness to release you, be yet more deeply impligated
in your sorrows, tell me how they can be relieved, and l,
*:
},
;

328 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS,
will attempt it. I shall make no new enemies by the deed,
for the Southrons and I are at eternal enmity. $.
Helen could not withdraw her eyes from his varying coun.
tenance which from underneath his dark plumes seemed like
a portentious cloud, at intervals to emit the rays of the cheer-
ing sun, or the lightning of threatening thunder. Alas! re-
lied she, ill should I repay such nobleness were I to involve
it in the calamities of my house. No, generous stranger, I
must remain unknown. Leave me with the hermit; and
from his cell I will send to a near relation of mine, who has
not yet been ingulphed in the misfortunes of my family. He
will take me thence, and reward the holy man for his care.
I urge you no more, gentle lady, replied the knight, rising,
were I at the head of an army, instead of a handful of men, I
might then have a better argument for offering my services;
but as it is I feel my weakness and seek to know no further.
Helen trembled with an unaccountable emotion: “Were
you at the head of an army, I might then indeed reveal to you
the full weight of my anxieties; but Heaven has already
been sufficiently gracious to me by your hands, in redeeming
me from my cruelest enemy : and for the rest, I must put my
trust in the same overruling Providence.”
A man at this moment entered and told the knight that the
vehicle was finished, and that the morning being fine, his
men assembled ready to march. He turned again towards
Helen : May I conduct you to the Tude carriage we have
prepared
Helen gathered her mantle about her, and the knight
throwing his scarf over her head, as it had no other covering,
she gave him her hand, and he led her out of the hut to the
side of the bier. It was overlaid with the men's plaids and
made a comfortable vehicle. The knight placed her on it,
and the men raising it on their shoulders, her deliverer spoke
the word, and leading the way, they took their course down
the mountain.
*º.
CHAP. XV.
*
Tº proceeded in silence through the curvings of the
dell, till it opened into a most hazardous path along the top
"FHE SCOTTISH C HiFFS, 12.9
of a far extending cliff which overhung and clasped in the
western side of a deep loch. As they mounted the pending
wall of this immense amphitheatre, Helen watched the sub-
lime uprise of the king of light issuing from behind the oppo-
site citadel of rocks and borne aloft on a throne of clouds
that streaked the whole horizon with floating gold. The hº-
bage on the cliffs glittered with liquid emeralds as his beams
kissed their summits; and the lake beneath sparkled like a
sea of molton diamonds. All nature seemed to rejoice at the
presence of this magnificient emblem of the Most High. Her
heart swelled with devotion, and a prompt thanksgiving to
God breathed from her lips.
Such, thought she, Oh Sun, art thou!—The resplendent
image of the Giver of All Good, Thy chèering beams, like
His All-cheering Spirit, pervade the very soul, and drive
thence the despondency of cold and darkness. But, bright
as thou art, how does the similitude fade before god-like
man, the true image of his Maker . How far do his protect-
ing arms extend over the desolate How mighty is the pow-
er of his benevolence to dispense succour, and to administer
consolation 1
As she thus mused, her eyes fell on the noble mien of the
knight, who, wrapped in his dark mantle of mingled greens,
his spear in his hand, led the way with a graceful but rapid
step along the shelving declivity. Turning suddenly to the
left, he struck into a broad defile between two prodigious
craggy mountains, whose brown cheeks trickling with ten
thousandrills from the recent rains, seemed to weep over the
deep gloom of the valley beneath. Scattered fragments of
rock from the cliffs above covered with their huge and al-
most impassable masses the surface of the ground. Not an
herb was to be seen; all was black, barren and terrific. On
entering this horrid pass, where no trace of human footstep
was to be seen, Helen would have shuddered had she not
placed implicit confidence in her conductor.
As they advanced, the vale gradually narrowed, and at
last shut them in between two beetling rocks that seemed
just separated a top to admit a few rays of the sun. A small
river flowed at the bottom, amid which the bases of the moun-
tains showed their union by the mingling of many a rugged
cliff projecting upwards in a variety of strange and hideous

* *.
#-g
*
I 30 THE Seottish chl E.F.s.
forms. Amongst the chaos of nature, the men who carried
Helen, with some difficulty found a safe footing. However,
after frequent stops and unremitted caution, they at last ex-
tricated themselves from the most intricate path, and more
lightly followed their chief into a less gloomy part of this val-
ley of stones. The knight stopped, and approaching the
bier, told Helen they had arrived at the end of their journey.
In the heart of that cliff, said he, is the hermit’s cell ;-a
desolate shelter but a safe one. Old age and poverty yield
no temptations to the enemies of Scotland.
As he spoke, the venerable man, who had heard voices be-
neath, appeared on the rock; and while his tall and majestic
figure clad in grey, moved forward, and his long silver beard
flowed from his saintly countenance and streamed upon the
air, he seemed the bard of Morven issuing from his cave
of shells to bid a hero's welcome to the young and warlike
Oscar.
Bless thee, my son, cried he as he descended, what good or
evil accident hath returned thee so soon to these solitudes:
The knight briefly replied, “After I left you yesternight,
and had again gained the heights over Hay’s cottage, I was
leading my men along their brow, when I heard a woman
scream. I listened for a moment; the shrieks were redoub-
led. The sound proceeded from the other side of the chasm;
I remembered having in the morning seen a felled tree over
it, and now rushing across, by Heaven’s assistance freed this
lady from a ravisher; and I bring her to you for protection.”
Helen stepped off the bier; the hermit took her by the
hand, and graciously promised her every service in his pow-
er. He then preceded the knight, whose firmer arm support-
ed her up the rock, to the outer apartment of the cell.
A holy awe struck her as she entered this place, dedicated
wholly to God. A stone altar stood before her, supporting
a wooden crucifix, and a superb illuminated missal which lay
open upon it. In a basin cut in the rock was the consecra-
ted water, with which every night and morn this pious man,
in emblem of the purifying blood of Christ, (the Living
Fountain of Salvation) was accustomed, with mingled tears
of penitence, to wash away the sins of the day. Helen bow-
ed and crossed herself as she entered. And the hermit ob.
*
*. THE Scottis H chiefs. i Sl
serving her devotion, blessed her, and bade her welcome to
the abode of peace.
Here daughter, said he, has one son of persecuted Scot-
land found a refuge. Thefé is naught alluring in these wilds
to attract the spoiler. The green herb is all the food they
afford, and the limpid water the best beverage.
Ah! returned Helen, with grateful animation, I would to
Heaven that all who love the freedom of Scotlahd were now
within this glen The herb and the stream would be to them
the sweetest luxuriés, when tasted in liberty and hope. My
father, his friend—she stopped, suddenly recollecting that
she had almost betrayed the secrecy she meant to maintain,
and looking down remained in confused silence. The knight
gazed at her; and much wished to penetrate what she con-
cealed: but delicacy forbade him to urge her again. He
spoke not: but the hermit being ignorant of her reluctance
to reveal her family, resumed.
“I do not express wondér, gentle lady, that you spake in
terms which tell me that even your tender sex feels the gall-
ing chain of Edward. Who is there in Scotland that does
not The whole country groans beneath the weight of his
oppressions; and the cruelty of his agents make its rivulets
run with blood. Six months ago I was abbot of Scone; and
because I refused to betray my trust, and resign the archieves
of the kingdom, lodged there by our devout King David.
Edward, the rebel anointed of the Lord, the profaner of the
sanctuary, sent his emissaries to sack the convent; to tear
the holy pillar of Jacob from its shrine, and to wrest from my
grasp records I refused to deliver. All was done as the usur-
per commanded. I and my brethren were turned out upon
the waste. We retired to the monastery of Cambus Kenneth:
but there the tyrant found us. Cressingham, his treasurer,
having seized on other religious houses, determined to make
the plunder of this convent swell the hoards of his spoil. In
the dead of night his men attacked it: the brethren fled, but
not until the ferocious wolves, though glutted with useless
slaughter, had slain several, even at the very foot of the al-
tar. All being dispersed, I knew not whether to go. . But
determined to fly far from the tracks of men, I took my
course over the hills, discovered the valley of stones; and
I 32. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
finding it fit for my purpose, have for two months lived alone
in this wilderness.
Unhappy Scotland ejaculated Helen. Her eyes had fol-
lowed the chief, who, during this narrative leaned against the
open entrance of the cave. His eyes were cast upwards with
an expression that made her heart vibrate with the exclama-
tion which had just escaped her. The knight turned towards
her, and approached. You hear from the lips of my vener-
able friend, said he, a direful story; happy then am I, gen-
tle lady, that you and he have a shelter, though a rough
one. The hours wear away, and I must tear myself from
this tranquillity to scenes better befitting a younger son of
the country he deplores. To you, my good father, continu-
ed he, addressing the hermit in a lowered voice; I commit
this sacred charge; Heaven sent me to be her temporary
guardian ; and since she allows me to serve her no farther,
I confide her to you.
Helen felt unable to answer. But the Abbot spoke ;
“Then am I not to see you any more ?” -
That is as heaven wills: replied he, but as it is not likely
on this side the grave, my best pledge of friendship is this
lady. To you she may reveal what she has withheld from
me; but in either case she is secure in your goodness.
Rely on my faith, my son: and may the Almighty's shield
hang on your steps'
The ‘knight kissed the reverend man’s hand ; and turning
to Helen, Farewell sweet lady said he. She trembled at
the words, and hardly conscious of what she did, held out
her hand to him. He took it, and drew it towards his lips,
but checking himself he only pressed it; and in a mournful
voice added—“In your prayers, sometimes remember the
most desolate of men l’” º
A mist seemed to pass over the eyes of Lady Helen. She
felt as if on the point of losing something most precious to
her; my prayers for my own preserves and my father’s,
hardly articulated she, shall ever be mingled. And, if ever
it be safe to remember me—should heaven indeed arm the
patriot's hand, then my father may be proud to know and
thank the brave deliverer of his child. º
The knight paused, and looked with animation upon her;
“Then your father is in arms, and against the tyrant —Tel:
THE • SGOTTISH CHIEFS, 133
me where 2 and you see before you a man who, with his fol-
lowers, is ready to join him, and lay down his life in the just
cause !”
At this vehement declaration, Lady Helen's full heart gave .
way, and she burst into tears. He drew towards her and in º.º.
a moderated voice continued ; “My men, though few, gº.
brave. They are devoted to ther country ; and are willing. "#.
for her sake to follow me into victory or death. As I am at
knight, I am sworn to defend the cause of right; and where
shall I so justly find it, as on the side of bleeding wasted Scot-
land How shall I so well begin my career, as in the defence
of her injured sons —Speak, gentle lady! trust me with your
noble father's name, and he shall not have cause to blame
the confidence you repose in a true, though wandering
Scot I’” *
My father, replied Helen, weeping afresh; is not where
your generous services can reach him. Two brave chiefs,
one a kinsman of my own, and the other his friend, are now
colleagued to free him. If they fail my whole house falls in
blood, and to add another victim to the destiny which in that
case will overwhelm me—the thought is beyond my strength.
Faint with agitation, and the fears which now awakened,
struck her with consternation, she stopped; and then added
in a suppressed voice—Farewell.
Not till you hear me further; replied he 1 repeat, I
lave now a scanty number of followers ; but I leave these
mountains to gather more. Tell me then where I may join
these chiefs you speak of; give me a pledge to them that I
come from you ; and, whoever may be your father, be he
but a true Scot, I will compass his release or die in the at-
tempt.
Alas! generous stranger, cried she, to what would you
persuade me You have kindred you say ! What right have
I to dispose of a life that must be so dear to them —Alas,
you know not the peril that you ask!
Nothing is perilous to me, replied he, with a heroic smile,
that is to serve my country. I have no interest, no joy but
in her. Give me then the only happiness of which I am
now capable, and send me to serve her by freeing one of
her defenders. x:
Helen hesitated. The unt of her mind dried her tears.
WOL. I.

# 34 'I'HE SCOTTISH C HIEFSºs
—She looked up with all these inward agitations painted on
her cheeks. His beaming eyes were full of patriotic ardour,
while his fine countenance, composed into a heavenly calm-
ness by the sublime sentiments of unselfed bravery which
occupied his soul, made him appear to her not as a man,
but as a god. tº
Fear uot, lady, said the hermit, that you plunge your de-
fiverer into any extraordinary danger, by involving him in
what you might call a rebellion against the usurper. He is
already outlawed by Edward's representative: and knowing
that, fear not to confide your father’s fate to him.
He too, outlawed exclaimed she, wretched indeed is my
country when her noblest spirits are denied the right to
live Unhappy are her children, when every step they take
to regain what has been torn from them, only involves them
in deeper ruin º
No country is wretched, sweet lady, returned the knight,
till by a dastardly acquiescence it consents to its own slavery.
Bonds and death are the utmost of our enemy’s malice; the
one is beyond their power to inflict, when a man is deter-
mined to die or to live free ; and for the other, which of us
will think that ruin which leads us into the blessed freedom
of paradise 2
Helen looked on the chief as she used to look on her cousin,
when expressions of virtuous enthusiasm burst from his lips;
but now it was rather with the gaze of admiring awe, than the
exultation of one youthful mind sympathizing with another:
You would teach confidence to despair herself; returned she,
again I hope—for God does not create in vain' you shall
know my father; but first, generous stranger, let me ap-
prise you of every danger with which that knowledge is sur-
rounded. He is hemmed in by enemies;—Alas; how close-
ly are they connected with him —not the English only are
leagued against him, but the most powerful of his own coun-
trymen join in the confederation. My unhappy self is the
victim of a horrid coalition between a Southron chief and
two rebel Scots; rebels to their country for they stºny
father to captivity and perhaps death; and I, wretº
was the price. To free him the ...; Scottish kiºs
is now engaged; but such hosts impède him, that hopetº
ly dares hover over his tremendous path.


THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 1 S5
: Then, criëd the stranger, send me to him. Let my arm
be second to his in the great achievement. My heart yearns
to meet a brother in arms.who feels for Scotland what I do ;
and with such a coadjutor as you speak of, I dare promise
your father liberty, and that the power of England shall be
shaken.
Helen’s heart beat violently at these words. “I would
not refuse the union of two such minds—go then to the re-
motest point in Cartlane craigs. But alas ! how can I direct
you ? cried she, hastily interrupting herself, the passes are
beset with English ; and heaven knows, whether at this mo-
ment the brave. Wallace survives to be again the deliverer
of my father!”
Helen paused. The recollection of all that Wallace had
suffered for the sake of her father, and the extremity to which
he was driven when his messenger left him, rose like a hor-
rid train of apparitions before her. In one instant she seem-
ed to see his murdered wife extended on the bier in Both-
well castle, and in the next, the brave chief laying on the
ground, with his golden locks dyed a horrid red, and drop-
ping gore.—A pale horror overspread her countenance, and
lost in these recollections, she did not remark the surprise
which was manifested in the sudden start and rushing color
of the knight as she pronounced the name of Wallace.
lf Wallace ever had the happiness of serving any that be-
longed to you, returned the knight, he has at least one source
of pleasure in the remembrance. Tell me what he can far.
ther do * Only say where is that father whom you say he
once preserved, and 1 will hasten to yield my feeble aid to
repeat the service.
Alas, replied Helen, I cannot but repeat my fears, that the
bravest of men no longer blesses the earth with his existence.
Two days before I was betrayed into the hands of the trai-
tor from whom you rescued me I saw a messenger from the
gallant Wallace, and he informed me that his master was sur-
rounded in the mountains, and that if my father did not send
forces to relieve him, he must inevitably perish. No forces
could my father send ; he was then made a prisoner by the
English; his retainers shared the same fate, and none but my
cousin escaped to accompany the honest Scot back to his
186 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
#
master. , My cousin set forth with a few follºwers to join
him ; a few against thousands, . . -
: They are in arms for their country, lady; returned the
knight, and a thcusand invisible angels guard them tº fear
not for them I leave Wallace and your cousin to their own
valor and your prayers. But for your father, if I guess
aright, he is one of the Scots dearest to his country name to
me the place of his confinement, and as I have not the be-
siegers of Cartlane craigs to encounter, I engage, with God’s
help and the arms of my men, who never yet shrunk from
Bword or spear, to set the brave earl free.
How ! exclaimed Helen, remembering that she had not
yet mentioned her father’s rank, and gazing at him with as-
tonishment, “do you know his name—is the misfortune of
my father already so far spread tº
Rather say his virtue, noble lady, answered the knight; no
man, who watches over the destiny of our devoted country,
can be ignorant of who are her friends, or of the sufferings
of them who are afflicted for her sake. I know that the earl
of Mar has made himself a generous sacrifice, but I do not
know the circumstances; therefore I am yet to learn them
from you, that I may know where to seek the accomplish-
ment of my vow, to set him at liberty or to die.
Thou brother in heart to the generous Wallace exclaim-
ed Lady Helen, my voice is feeble to thank thee. A few
tears of grateful agitation fell from her eyes; and the good
hermit who sat by the altar all this time, in suspense of
how this conversation would terminate, now advanced to her
side, and giving her a cup of water and a little fruit, conjur-
ed her to refresh herself before she satisfied the enquiries of
the knight. She put the cup to her lips to gratify the benev-
olence of her host, but her anxious spirit was too much occu-
pied in the concerns dearest to her heart, to feel the wants of
the body; and turning to the knight, she briefly related the
design of her father to send succours under the command of
his nephew, Lord Andrew Murray, to Sir William Wallace ;
also she described the seizure of Bothwell castle by Aºther
de Valence and the Lord Soulis. The English lord, contin-
tied she, carried my father and all his family to Dumbºton
castle, while the Scottish one, by a base stratagem, drew me
into these wilds. - … . . .

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 1.37
"She then related what had been the embassy of Kerto Lord
Mar; and of her cousin intending to apply to his uncle, Sir
John Murray, for a few men to lead to the rescue of Wal-
Iace. Proceed then to Dumbarton castle, continued she, if
heaven have yet spared the lives of these two dear friends,
you will meet them before those walls. Meanwhile, I shall
seek the protection of Lady Ruthven, my father's sister; and
from her castle of Alloa near the Forth, send a courier to
Dumbarton to inform my father where I am : I shall then
be in safety. Therefore, noble stranger, one bond I must lay
upon you, should you come up with my cousin, do not dis-
cover that you have met with me. He is precipitate in his
resentment; and his hatred is so hot against Soulis, that
should he know the outrage I have sustained, he would, I
fear, run himself and the general cause into great danger,
by seeking an immediate vengeance. * .
The stranger readily passed his word to Helen, that he
would never mention her name to any of her family until she
herself gave him liberty. But when your father is restored
to his rights, continued he, in his presence I hope to claim
my acquaintance with his lovely daughter.
Helen blushed at this complinent. It was not more than
any man in his situation might have said, but it confused her,
and hardly knowing what she said, she answered; “Heaven
alone knows when that will be, for where will my outlawed
parent find a refuge 3 none will dare yield rights to him, who
ties under the interdict of Edward.
Fear not, lady' replied he, the sword is now raised in
Scotland that cânnot be laid downtill it be broken or has con.
quered. All have suffered by Edward; the powerful banish-
ed into other countries or assassinated at home, that their
wealth might reward foreign mercenaries; the poof, driven
into the waste, that the meanest Southron might share the
spoil. Such has been the wide devastation. Where all have
suffered, all must be ready to revenge. And when a whole
people take up-arms in defence of their rights, and of all
that is dear to fathers, sons and husbands, what force of
their violaters can repel them -
So I felt, returned Helen, feeling the glow of enthusiasm
rekindling in her breast; while 1 had not yet seen the hor.
rors of the contest, While my father commanded in Both-
M 2

j:38 THE SCOTTISTH CHIEFS,

well castle, and was calling out his men by hundreds, to send
as auxiliaries to the patriot chief, who struck the first blåw
for Scotland; I too felt nothing but the inspiratiºn which
led them on, and saw nothing but the victory which must
Acrown determined valor in a just cause. But now, when all
who my father commanded are slain or carried away by the
enemy; when he is himself a prisoner and awaiting the sen-
tence of the tyrant he has opposed; when the gallant Wal-
lace, instead of being able to hasten to his rescue is hemmed
in between unnumbered hosts;–-hope almost dies within
3 me, and I fear that whoever may be fated to free Scotland,
my beloved father, and those belonging to him, are first to
be made a sacrifice.
She turned pale as she spoke; and the stranger, compas-
sionating the emotion which she prevented flowing from her
eyes, resumed : “No, lady; if there be that virtue in Scot-
land, which can alone deserve freedom, it will be achieved :
I am an inconsiderable man: , but relying on the God of jus-
tice, I promise you your father’s liberty; and let his free-
dom be a pledge to you for that of your country. I now go
to rouse a few brave spirits to arms.-Remember, the battle
is not to the strong, nor victory with a multitude of hosts
the banner (r) of Saint Andrew was once held out from the
heavens over a little army of Scots while they discomfitted
thousands.-The same holy arm leads me:—and if need be,
I despair not to see it again, like the pillar of fire before the
Israelites, consuming the enemies of liberty even in the full-
ness of their might.”
While he yet spoke, the hermit re-entered from the inner
cell, leading in a youth who, apparently weak, leaned on
him for support. On sight of the knight, who held out his
hand to him, he dropped on his knees and kišsing it, burst
into tears. Do you then leave me 2 cried he, in a hardly
articulate voice; am I not to serve my preservefºº.
Helen rose in indescribable agitation; there was something
in the feelings of the boy that was infectious, and whišher
own heart beat violently, she looked first on his ematiated
figure, and then at the noble contour of the knight, where
every god had seemed to have set his seal to form a perfectim-
age of his own divinity. His beaming eyes seemed the very
fountains of consolation; his cheek was bright with gener-
THE SCOTTISH CHEEFS, 1 39
**.
+.
to Helen, she advanced a few paces towards him.
Rise, said he to the youth, and behold in this lady the obs
ject of the service to which I appoint you.-You will soon I
hope, be sufficiently recovered to attend upon her wishes as
you would upºn mine.—Be her servant and her guard.—And
when we meet again, as she will then be under the protec-
tion of her father, if you do not prefer so gentle a service
before the rougher one of war, I will resume you to myself.
The young man who had obeyed the knight and rised; sº, --
bowing respectfully, acquiesced in his new commission; and
cus emotions; and turning his look from the suppliant boy
#
Helen uttering some incoherent words of thanks, to hide her ºs
increasing agitation, turned away. The hermit exclaimed;
again, my son, I beseech Heaven to bless thee!—and may
its guardian care protect all here ! returned the knight.—
Helen looked up to bid him a last farewell—but he was
gone. The hermit had left the cell with him, and she found
herself alone; for the youth had also disappeared into the
inner cave. She threw herself down before the altar, and
giving way to a burst of tears, folded her hands over her
breast, and inwardly impiored heavento protect the knight’s
life; and to grant by his means, safety to Wallace, and free-
dom to her father.
As she prayed, her agitation subsided; and a holy confi-
dence elevating her mind, she remained in an ecstacy of hope
and heavenly assurance, till a solemn voice from behind,
aroused her from this happy trance.
“Blessed are they who put their trust in God!”
She started-up and perceived the hermit, who on entering
had observed her devout position, and a spontaneous bene-
diction broke from his lips-Daughter, said he, leading her
to a seat; this hero will prevail; for the power beforew OSè:
altar you have just knelt, has declared, my might is with
them who qbey ºvy laws and put their trust in me! You speak
highly of the young and valiant Sir William Wallace, but I
cannot conceive that he can be better formed for great and
heroic deeds than this chief. Suppose them to be equal ;
when they have met with two such leaders what may not a
few patriotic hearts effect : aw-
Helen sympathized with the cheering prognostications of .
the hermit ; and wishing to learn who this rival of the citat.
#.
A
~,
140 THE SCOTTISH C HiF. F$. .
cater of Wallace was; a character she had contemplated
with admiration, and almost believed it to be unparalleled;
she asked with a blush, not doubting the hermit could in-
form her, the name of the knight who had undertaken so
hazardous an enterprize for her.
}
CHAP. XVI,
**
*
I know not ; returned the hermit, I never saw your gal-
lant deliverer before yesterday morning. At the hour of
my matin orisons I was adoring the Giver of Light at the
entrance of my cell, when of a sudden I heard a noise, and
the moment after saw a deer rush down the precipice and
fall headlong. As he lay struggling amongst the stones, I had
just observed that an arrow stuck in his side, when a shout
issued from the rocks above, and looking up, I beheld a
young warrior with a bow in his hand, leaping from cliff to
cliff, till springing from a high projection on the right, he
lit at once at the head of the wounded deer.
“Seeing by his bonnet and flowing plaid that he was a
Scot, I emerged from the recess that concealed me, and ad-
dressed him with the benediction of the morning. Soon af.
ter, his followers, who were not so agile as their leader, ap-
peared, and with a few strokes of their broad swords slew
the panting animal.—The chief left them to dress it for their
own refreshment; and on my invitation entered the cell to
share with me a hermit’s fare.
“I told him who I was, and what had driven me to this
seclusion. In return, I learnt from him that it was his de-
sign to stimulate the surrounding chiefs to some exertions for
eir suffering country; but his name he sº
to me; it was necessary, he said, to concealiſt fößlie sake of
those to whom he should apply; and who m :*::::::::
up arms: . By his remaining unknown, they would esc.
the suspicion of having even been asked. His zeal for $éât-
land had already made himself an outlaw. When he told
me these particulars, I imparted to him 'my dºubts &he
possibility of any single individual being able to arºse the
:#
*



THE SCOTTISH - C.H.I.EFS, 1 41
slumbering courage of his country ! but his language soon
filled me with other thoughts. The arguments he meant to
use were few and conclusive. He set before me the perfidy
of King Edward, who, being the son of our late monarch
Alexander's sworn brother, the good Henry, and deemed a
prince of high honour, was chosen umpire in the cause of
Bruce and Baliol. Edward accepted the task in the charac-
ter of a friend of Scotland; but no sooner was he advanced
into the heart of our kingdom at the head of a large army,
which he had treacherously introduced as a mere appendage
of state; than he declared the act of judgment was his right
as liege lord of the realm. This falsehoºd, which the testi-
mony of men and our records disproved at the outset, was
not his only baseness she bought the conscience of Baliol,
and adjudged to him the throne. That recreant prince ac-
knowledged him for his master; and in the degrading cere-
mony of the homage he was followed by almost all the Scot-
tish lords then on the borders. But this vile yielding did not
purchase them peace: Edward demanded oppressive services
from the king ; and the castles of the nobility to be resigned
to English governors. These requisitions being remonstra-
ted against by a few of our boldest chiefs, among whom your
illustrious father, gentle lady, stood the most conspicuous :
the tyrant repeated them with additional demands, and pre-
pared to resent the appeal on the whole nation.
“Three months have hardly elapsed since the fatal battle
of Dunbar; our nobles, indignant at the accumulated out.
rages cömmitted on their passive monarch, arose to assert
their rights; but being defeated on that desperately-fought
field, Baliol was taken, and themselves obliged again to swear
fealty to their enemy. Then came the seizures of the treas-
ures of our monasteries, the burning of the national records,
the sequestration of our property, the banishment of our
chiefs, the violation of our women, and the slavery or mur-
der of the poor people groaning under the yoke. “The
storm of desolation thus raging over our country, how, (cried
the youtºg warrior to me) can any of her sons shrink from.
the glory ºf again attempting her restoration ?” He then
infor,” d me that Earl de Warrenne, whom Edward had left
Lord Warden of Scotland, was ill, and had retired to Lon-
don: leaving Aymer de Valence as his deputy in the king-

i42 "THE $CO'ſ" "ISH C HIE * 5.
dom. To this new tyrant, De Warrenne has lately sent a
host of mercenaries, drawn from Wales and the continental
provinces, to hold the south of Scotland in subjection ; and
to reinforce Cressingham and Ormsby, who command north-
wards from Stirling to the extremest point of Southerland.
“With these representations of the conduct of our op-
pressors, the brave knight demonstrated the facility with
which invaders drunk with power, and gorged with rapine,
could be vanquished by a resolute and hardy people. The
absence of Edward, who is now in Flanders, increases the
probability of success. The knight’s design is to infuse his
own spirit into the bosoms of the chiefs, of the numerous
clans in this part of the kingdom. By their assistance to
seize the fortresses in the low lands; and so form a strong
chain of repulsion against the admission of fresh troops from
England. Then, while other chiefs (to whom he also means
to apply) rise in the highlands, the Southron garrisons there
being unsupported by supplies, must become an easy prey,
and would yield men of consequence to be exchanged for
our countrymen who are now prisoners in England He
wished to be furnished at present with troops merely enough
to take some castle of power sufficient to give confidence
to his friends. On his becoming master of such a place, it
should be the signal for all to declare themselves; and ris-
ing at once, overwhelm Edward’s garrisons in every part of
Scotland.
“This is the knight's plan; and I hope for your sake, as
well as for that of the cause, that the first fortress he gains
may be that of Dumbarton : It has always been considered
the key of the country.”
May heaven grant it! holy father ; returned Helen, and
whoever this knight may be, may the blessed Saint Andrew
at all times guide his arms ?
I dare not guess who he is, replied the hermit, as he
thinks fit to coneeal himself; but if I dare breathe a thought
on the subject, it is that that noble brow was formed some
day to wear a crown. ' '--
What, said Helen, starting, you think that this knighttis
the royal Bruce 2
I am at a loss what to think: replied the hermit, he has
a most princely air; and there is such an overflowing of soul
*** THE Scott ISH CHIEES. 143
towards his country when he speaks of it, that such love can
alone spring from the royal heart which was created to fos-
ter and to bless it.
But is he not too young, enquired Helen to be either of
the Bruces I have heard my father say that, Bruce, Lord
of Annandale, the opponent of Baliol for the crown was
much his senior ; and that his son, the earl of Carrick, must
be now fifty years of age. This knight, if I am any judge
of looks, cannot be twenty-five. }
True, answered the hermit: and yet he may be a Bruce.
For it is neither of the two you have mentioned that I mean;
but the grandson of the one, and the son of the other. You
may see by this silver beard, lady, that the winter of my life
is far spent. The elder Bruce, Robert Lord of Annandales.
was my contemporary ; we were boys together, and educa-
ted at the same college in Icolmkill. He was brave, and pas-
sed his manhood in visiting different courts; and at last mar-
rying a lady of the princely house of Clare, took her to
France, and there left his only son to be brought up under
the eye of the renowned St. Lewis—Young Robert took
the cross while quite a youth; and carrying the banner of
the holy king of France to the plains of Palestine, covered
himself with immortal glory. One day, in scaling the walls
of a Saracen fortress, by an extraordinary act of valor, he
rescued the person of Prince Edward of England. The hor-
rible tyrant who now tramples on all laws human and divine,
was then in the bloom of youth, defending the cause of chris-
tianity. Think on that, sweet lady, and marvel at the chang-
ing power of ambition.
“From that hour a strict friendship subsisted between the
two young crusaders; and when Edward returned to Eng-
land and mounted the throne, as he was then the ally of Scot-
land, the earl of Annandale, to please bis wife, and his son,
took up his residence at the English court.—When the male
issue of David failed in the untimely death ºf our Alexander
III, then same the contention between Bruce and Baliol
for the vacant crown. Our most venerable chiefs, the guar-
dians of our laws, and the witnesses of the parliamentary set-
tlement which had been made on the house of Bruce during
the reign of the late king, all declared for Lord Annandale.
He was not only the nearest male heir in propinquity of

i 44. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, -*.
blood, but his experienced years, and his known virtues,
made all eager to place him on the throne.
“Meanwhile Edward, forgetting friendship to his friend,
and fidelity to a faithful ally, was undermining the interest
of Bruce and the peace of the kingdom. Inferior rivals to
eur favourite prince were soon discountenanced; but by cov-
ert ways, with bribes and promises, the king of England
raised such an opposition on the side of Baliol as seemed to
threaten a civil war. Bruce, secure in his right, and averse
to plunge his country in blood, easily fell in with a proposal
that was insidiously hinted to him by one of Edward’s creas
tures; to require that monarch to be umpire between him and
Baliol. Then it was that Edwardſ, after receiving the re-
quisition as an honor conferred on him, declared it to be his
right as supreme lord of Scotland. The earl of Annandale
ed to acknowledge this assumption. Baliol bowed to
*: for such obedience the unrighteous judge gave him
the crown. On this base decision, Bruce absolutely refused
to acknowledge its justice; and leaving the scene of action
to avoid the power of the king who had betrayed his rights,
and the jealousy of the other who had usurped them, he
went over seas to join his son, who happened then to be at
Paris. But alas, even that comfort was denied him, for he
died on the road of a broken heart. “
“When his son Robert (who was earl of Carrick, in right
of his wife) returned to Britain, he, like his father, disdain-
ed to acknowledge Baliol as king : and being more incensed
at his successful rival, than at the treachery of his false
friend Edward, he believed his glossing speeches; and by
what infatuation I cannot tell, established his residence at
that monarch's court. This forgetfulness of his royal blood
and of the independency of Scotland, has nearly obliterated
him from every Scottish heart; for when we look at Bruce
the courtier, we cease to remember Bruce the descendant
of Saint David, Bruce the valiant knight of the cross, who
bled for true iberty before the walls of Jerusalem.
“His eldest son maybe now about the age of the youn
Rnight who has just left us. And when I look on his roya
port and listen to the patriotic fervors of his soul, I cannot
but think that the spirit of his noble grandfather has revived
in his breast; and that leaving his indolent father to the vas-

1'HE SøO'º'TISH G HIEFS, 145
sal luxuries of Edward’s palace, he is come hither in secret,
to arouse Scotland and to assert his claim.”
It is very likely; rejoined Helen, deeply sighing; and
may heaven reward his virtue with the crown qf his an-
cestors : * #
Amen replied the hermit : and to that end shall my hands
be lifted up in prayer day and night.-May. I, oh, gracious
power! cried he, looking upwards and pressing the cross to
his breast; live but to see that hero victorious, and Scotland
free; and then, let thy servant depart in peace. since mine eyes
quill have seen her salvation / f
Her salvation, father said Helen timidly;..is not that tog
sacred a word to apply to anything, however dear, that re-
lates to earth : iſ
She bluished as she spoke, and casting her eyes to the
ground, fearful of having too daringly objected, awaited with
anxiety his answer. The hermit observed her attentively,
and with a smile of holy benignity, replied: Earth and hea-
ven are the work of one Creator-He careth alike for angel
and for man; and therefore, nothing that he has made is too
mean to be objects of his salvation. The word is compre-
hensive; in one scrise it may signify our redemption from sin
and death by the coming of the Lord of Life into this world;
and in another, it intimates the different means by which
Providence, decrees the ultimate happiness of men. Happi-
ness can only be found in virtue ; and virtue cannot exist
without liberty. Hence, when Scotland is again made free,
the bonds of the tyrant who corrupts her principles with
temptations, or compels her to iniquity by threats, are bro.
ken Again the honest peasant may cultivate his lands in
security; the liberal hand feed the hungry; and industry
spread smiling plenty through all ranks. Every man to
whom his maker hath given talents, let them be one or five,
may apply them to their use ; and by eating the bread of
peaceful labor, rear numerous families to virtuous action and
the true worship of God. The nobles, meanwhile, looking
alone to the legislation of heaven and to the laws of Scotland,
which alike demand justice and mercy from all, will live the
fathers of their country, teaching her brave sons that the
only homage which does not debase a man, is that which
he pays to virtue.
WOL. T. N
146 THE scottish c HIEFs.
§
“This it is to be free, this it is to be virtuous, this it is to
be happy, this it is to live the life of righteousness, and to
die in the hope of immortal giory ! say then, dear daughter,
if in praying for the liberty of Scotland, I said to much in
calling it her salvation ? *
“forgive me, father cried Helen, overcome with sham
at having questioned him.
Forgive you what * returned he, you have not offended
me. I rather love the holy zeal which is jealous of allowing
objects, dear even to your wishes, to encroach on the sanc-
tuary of heaven. Be ever thus, meek child of the church,
and no human idol, not even a king at your feet, will be
able to usurp that part of your virgin heart which belongs
to God. .
Helen blushed:—“My heart, reverend father, returned
she, has but one wish ; the liberty of Scotland; and with that
the safety of my father and his brave deliverers.
Sir William Wallace, I never have seen, rejoined the her.
mit, but when he was quite a youth, I heard of his graceful
victories in the mimic war of the jousts, which were celebrat-
ed at Berwick in honour of Edwººd, when that tyrant first
marched into this country under the mask of friendship.–
From what you have said, I do not doubt his being a worthy
coadjutor of Bruce. However, dear daughter, as it is only a
suspicion of ours that the knight is this young prince, we
must not for his safety, and for the sake of the cause, let the
name escape our lips. No, not even to your relations when
you rejoin them, nor to the youth whom his humanity put un-
der my protection. Till he reveals his own secret, for us
to divulge it would be folly and dishonour.
Helen bowed acquiescence to this; and the hermit pro-
ceeded to inform her who the youth was the stranger left
to be her page. After the knight and his men quitted me,
continued he, he fell in with this poor boy, lying wounded
amongst the weeds near his ravaged cot. The child's tender
years, not being, as you see, fifteen, had no effect on the ob-
durate hearts of our enemies. He only lifted his arm to de-
fend his sister from their violence, and they laid him senseless
at their feet. When he awoke to recollection, the hut was
stripped of its humble furniture, and his sister carried off.
He crawled out of the door in quest of his wounded parent,

The scorrish chiefs. 147
but weakness prevented him going farther. There he lay
under the dews of night; and most probably would have
perished from cold and famine, had nothèavensent the knight
to his assistance. Our young warrior immediately retraced
his steps and brought the youth to me; promising to call at
my cell on his return from his present enterprize, and take
my charge with him to be his page. He then left us : but
soon he appeared with you—showing, in the strongest lan-
guage, that he who in spite of every danger, succours the
sons and daughters, of violated Scotland, is proclaimed by
spirit of heaven, to be her future deliverer and king.”
As he ended speaking; he rose, and taking Helen by the
hand, led her into a small recess, formed by an inner exca-
vation in the rock, where a bed of dried leaver, covered
with a grey coverlid lay on the ground. Here, gentle lady,
said he, I leave you to repose. In the evening I expect a
lay brother from St. Oran’s monastery, who generally comes
every Sabbath eve to commune with me ; he, you may send
on any embassy to Alloa, and before he returns, I hope that
Walter Hay will be sufficiently restored to accompany you
to your friends. At present may gentlest Seraphs guard your
slumber -
Helen fatigued in spirit and in body, thanked the good her-
mit for his carefulness, and bowing to her blessing, he quit-
ted the apartment, and left her to repose.

CHAP. xvii.
MURHAY, guided by Ker, having led on his thirty follow-
ers by the remotest windings of the wooded defiles which
intersect #: Lanerk hills, avoided even the sight of a
Southron soldier.
Cheered by so favorable a commencement of their expe-
dition they felt no dismay, when at the glooming of the even-
ing, Ker descried at a distance a body of armed men sitting
round a fire. They were stationed at the foot of a projecting
rock which guards the western entrance of the Cartlane
craigs. Murray ordered his men to fall back amongst the
148 Tºº Sºo TT SH CHIEF5.
4
bushes, and making the sign, concerted in case of such a
dilemma, they struck their iron crows into the interstiees of
the cliff, and catching at the branches which grew out of its
precipitaus side, with much labour and in perfect silence,
gained the summit. . That effected, they pursued their way
with the same stilly caution, till after a long and watchful
march, without encountering a human being, they came to
the base of the huge rock, which wallace had made his for-
tress.
Ker, who expected to see it surrounded by an English ar-
my, was amazed to find a death-like solitude. In a low voice
he said to Murray, “The place is deserted my brave friend
has either miraculously escaped; or what is too probable,
compelled by the extremity of his little garrison, has been
obliged to surrender.”
We will ascend and see, was Murray’s answer.
Her led round the rock to the most accessible point, and
mounting by the projecting stones, with some difficulty gain-
ed the top. Silence pervaded every part; the seattered rocks
which crowned the pinnacle of this huge craig, and which
had formed the temporary houses of his comrades, were lone-
ly. On entering the recess where Wallace used to seek a
few minutes slumher, the moon, which shone full into the
cave discovered something bright lying in a farther corner.
Ker hastily approached it, recollecting what Wallace had
told him, that if during his absence he could find means of
escape, he would leave some weapon as a sign. A dagger,
if it were by the south point, where he must fight his way
through the valley; and an arrow if it were by the north,
as he should then seek a shelter for his exhausted followers
in the wilds of Glenfinlass.
It was the iron head of an arrow which the moon had sil.
wered, and Ker catching it up, with a gladdened counte-
nance, exclaimed, he is safe this leads us to Glenfinlass-
He then explained to Murray what had been the arrange-
ment of Wallace respecting this sign, and without hesita-
tion they decided to follow him.
Turning their faces towards the northern part ºf the cliff,
they came to a spot, which had been under the strongest
guard of the enemy, but now, like the rest, was deserted.
A narrow, winding path, led from this rocky platform to a
*" THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 149
*
fall of water which rushed impetuously by the mouth of a
large cavern. Over the top of this cave, after they had des-
cended the main craig, they clambered, and entering upon
another sweep of rugged hills, commenced a rapid march.
Traversing the lower part of Stirlingshire, they “crossed
Graham's Dyke, (s) and pursuing their course westward, left
Sterling castle-far to the right. They now ascended the
Oichel hills, and proceeding along the wooded heights which
overhang the banks of the Teifū, forded the river, and en-
tered at once into the broad valley which opened to them a
distant view of Ben Lomond and Ben Lidi.
There, exclaimed Ker, extending his hand towards the
cloud-clapped Lidi, beneath the shadow of that mountain we
shall find the light of Scotland, my dear master in arms 1
At this intimation the wearied Murrays, like seamen long
harassed on a tempestuous ocean at sight of a port, uttered
a shout of loy, and hastening forward with renovated strength
met a foaming river roaring in their path. Despising all
obstacles, thcy rushed in, and buffeting the waves, soon
fonnd a firm footing on the opposite shore. The sun shone
cheerily above their heads, and illuminating the sides of the
mountains as they pressed through the umbrageous defiles,
hung every dew-dripping herb with the splendor of dia-
monds. Ben Lidi, the standard of their hope, seemed to
wave them on, as the white clouds streamed from its sum-
mit, and rolling down its dark sides, floated in strange vi-
sionary shapes over the lakes beneath.
When the little troop halted on the shore of Loch Vana-
choir, the mists-which lingered on the brow of Lidi, now
descended into the valley, and covering the mouth of the
pass that led from the loch, seemed to shut them at once be-
tween the mountain and that world of waters. ‘Ker, who
had never seen in these tracts before, became alarmed ; but
Murray, whº remembered having explored them with his
father in his way to Argyleshire, led forward through a steen
rough road, cut out of the side of the mountain. As they
clung by the slippery rocks which overhung the lake, the
mists dissolved into a heavy shower, and by degrees clear-
ing away, discovered the shining heads of Ben Lomond and
Ben Cochan.
They now entered a winding labyrinth of craigs: and passe
R. J.
15ty THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
g
ing onward, gradually descended amid pouring torrents and
gaping chasms overlaced with brambles, which must have
betrayed less weary travellers to inevitable destruction; till
the augmented roar of rushing waters intimated to Murray
that they drew near the great fall of Glenfinlass. The river,'
though bursting forward with the noise of thunder, was
scarcely discerned through the thick forest which groaned
over its waves. Here towered a host of stately pines, and
there the lofty beeches, birches, and mountain ash, bending
over the flood, interwove each other’s branches, and formed
an arch so impenetrable, that while the sun gilded the tops
of the mountain, all beneath lay in profound shadow.
The awful entrance to this sublime valley, struck the
whole party with a feeling that made them pause. It seem-
ed as if to these sacred solitudes, hidden in the very bosom
of Scotland, no hostile foot dare intrude. Murray looked
at Ker: “We go, my friend, to arouse the genius of these
wilds. Here are the native fastnesses of Scotland, and from
this pass the spirit will issue that is to bid her groaning sons
and daughters be free (*
They entered; and with beating hearts pursued their
way along the western border of Loch Lubnaig, till the roy-
ai heights of Craignacoheilg showed their heath-covered
summits. The forest stretching far over the valley, lost its
high trees in the shadow of the surrounding mountains, and
told them they were now in the centre of Glenfinlass.
Ker put his bugle to his lips, and sounded the pibroch of
Ellerslie. A thousand echoes returned the notes: and after
a pause which allowed the last response to die away, the air
was answered by a horn from the summit of Craignacoheilg.
At the same moment an armed man appeared on the lock,
leaning forwards towards the loch. Ker drew near, and
taking off his bonnet that he might he known, called aloud -
“Stephen it is William Ker who speaks. I come with the
Lord Andrew Murray of Bothwell, at the head of thirty men
to the support of our master Sir William Wallace.”.
At these words, Stephen placed his bugle to his motith, and
blowing the appointed signal, in a few minutes the rock was
covered with the members of its little garrison. Women a
children appeared, shouting with joy; and the men descend.
ing on the side next the glen, hastened forward to bid their
*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 1 5 I
comrades welcome. . One advanced towards Murray, who
instantly recognized him to be Sir Roger Kirkpatrick of Tor-
thorald; a chieftain who two months before had retired in
disgust to the Highlands, in consequence of a blow which he
had received in the court of justice at Stirling, from Cres-
singham, its haughty governor. The chiefs saluted each
other; and Murray, pointing to his men, said–-" I have
brought these few brave followers to the aid of Sir William,
Wallace. Poor as is my offering, I am yet eager to be led . .
to him, that I may express my gratitude for the blessing he
preserved to me : the life of my dear uncle.”
Kirkpatrick’s answer disappointed the eager spirit of the
young warrior: “I am sorry, brave Murray, that you have
no better knight to receive you than myself. I, and the gal-
lant chieftain have not yet met : but I am in arms for him,
and the hour of retribution for my injuries as well as his, is
at hand.”
But where is Sir William Wallace demanded Murray.
“Gone towards the Forth, to rouse that part of sleeping
Scotland. If all he meet have my spirit, they will not re-
quire a second call. Now is the time to aim the blow ; and
thanks to the accident which brought me the welcome news
that an arm was raised that should strike it home.”
As he spoke he led Murray to the cliffs which crown the
summit of Craignacoheilg; and conducting him into the low-
er apartment of a tower, which had once been a favourite
hunting lodge of the great King Fergus, he welcomed him a
second time with a warm embrace. This, said he, is the far
famed lodge of the three kings ; here did our heroic Fergus,
attended by his two royal allies, Durstus the Pict, and Dio-
nethus the Briton, reside during their long huntings in Glen-
finlass 1 (t) And here, eight hundred years ago, did the same
glorious monarch form those plans which saved his kingdom
from a foreign yoke . On the same spot, we will lay ours, to
rescue Scotland from a tyranny more intolerable than that
which menaced him, Yes, Murray; there is not a stone in
this building that has not a voice which calls aloud to us to
draw the sword, and give liberty to the people whom that
illustrious prince kept frºë at the price of his blood.
And by the ghost of that same Fergus, I swear, exclaimed
152 THE Scottish ghi EFs.
Murray...that my honest claymore shall never shrºud its
head while an invader be left alive in Scotland!
Kirkpatrick caught him in his arms:-" Brave son of the
noble Bothwell, thou art after mine own heart! The blow
which the dastard Cressingham durst aim at a Scottish chief,
still smarts upon my cheek, and rivers of his countrymen’s
blood shall flow to wash out the stain. After I had been per-
suaded by his serpent eloquence to swear fealty to Edward
on the defeat at Dunbar, I vainly thought Scotland had only
changed a weak and unfortunate prince, for a wise and victo-
rious king ; but when in the courts of Stirling I heard Cres-
singham propose to the barons north of the dyke, that they
should give their strongest castles into English hands, when
I opposed the measure with all the indignation of a Scot who
saw himself betrayed, he first tryed to overturn my argu-
ments; and finding that impossible, as I repeated them with
redoubled force—he struck me !—Powers of earth and hea-
ven, what was then the mighty tempest of my soul?—I drew
my sword, and would have laid him dead at my feet, had
not my obsequious countrymen held my arm, and dragged
me from the apartment.
“Covered with dishonour by a blow which I could not
avenge, I fled to my brother in-law Sir John Scott, of Loch
Doine, and there, for a time, buried my injury from the
world; but it lived in my heart; it haunted me day and
Might, calling for revenge.
“In such an hour, how did I receive the tidings which
my old soldier Stephen Ireland brought to me, that a Scot
was in a rins against the tyrant It was the voice of heaven
calling me to peace of mind Stephen on entering the
neighbourhood of Loch Doine, heard of my residence with
my bedridden kinsman, and bethought himself of applying
to me, (as he knew in right of my deceased wife I was heir
to all these domains) for clothing and other comforts for the
women and children in his company. Accordingly, he
came to me over night, made his appeal to my humanity-
but it aroused the courage of my soul . The dauntless Wal-
lace had engaged in an enterprise which even my injuries
had failed to inspire me with a determination to attempt.
But the moment I heard he was in arms, I grasped at the
opportunity of avenging my country: and of trampling on
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. l 53
the proud heart of the Southron villain, who had dared to
inflict disgrace upon the cheek of Roger Kirkpatrick.
“I not only sent the contents of my wardrobe and cellars
to the rock where the brave troops were assembled, but call-
ing together, with the permission of Sir John Scott, his har-
diest Loch Doiners, I set forth the tyranny which surround-
ed them; and then painting the advantages of that liberty
for which I was determined to contend ; I prevailed on them
all, and led a hundred, with stout hearts and strong armor, to
rêinforce the brave Lanarkers on this rock.
“I have been here two days, awaiting the arrival of Wal-
lace, that we may set forth together to Stirling ºffid there,
in the very heart of his den, sacrifice the tiger Cressingham
to the fate he merits.”
But what, my noble friend, asked Murray, are the forces
you deem sufficient for so great an enterprize How many
fighting men remain of Wallace’s own company, besides
your own 2
More thana hundred, replied Kirkpatrick, including yours,
“But how inadequate will all our forces be, (when unit-
ed, not three hundred men) to storm so strong a place as
Stirling castle ! To attempt it, without a thousand men at
least, would be to hazard our whole enterprize. It is garri-
soned with four times that number; and the advantage of
their situation would be more than equal to double that force
again. In short, it would be Leonidas amongst the host of
Xerxes.” -
True : answered Kirkpatrick; and like him even in death
we should be triumphant. When honest vengeante nerves a
single arm, it is equal in strength to a hundred. Oh would
to Heaven that I were this moment with my Loch Doiners
alone in the citadel of Stirling neither Cressingham, nor
any of his proud council should breathe another hour !
Were your Loch Doiners there, returned Murray, they
might indeed sell their lives dearly, and send many a South-
ron to purgatory; but how, with so small a band as that we
command, are they to get into the citadel ! the brunt of the
contest must be before the walls; and nought but a propor.
tionate force can be of any avail. Resolution, but not rash-
ness, must be the principle of our proceedings.-Having
passed the Rubicon we must go forward. And my opinion
154 THE SCOTTISA CHIEFs.
is, that a few minor advantages obtained, our countrymen
would flock to our standard; the enemy would be intimida-
ted; and we should carry thousands instead of hundreds be-
fore the walls of Stirling. To attempt it now, would be to
invite defeat, and pluck upon us the ruin of our project.
You are right, young man; cried Kirkpatrick; my grey
head, .#. its experience, and rendered impetuous by
insult, did not see the blind temerity of my scheme ; I would
rather for years, watch the opportunity of taking a signal
revenge than not to accomplish it at last : Oh, I would rather
waste all my life in these solitary wilds, and know that at the
close of it I should see the blood of Cressingham on these
hands, than live a prince and die unrevenged
Ker and Stephen now entered; the former having learnt
from the latter the particulars of Sir Roger Kirkpatrick's
joining them : and paying his respects to the grey bearded
knight, he informed Murray, that having disposed of his
present followers, with those who had reached them in the
valleys of Stirlingshire, he was come to lead him to share
some refreshment in the banqueting room of the tower.—
What? cried Murray, full of glad amazement ; is it possible
that my cousin Helen’s troops have reached their destina-
tion ? for none other belonging to Bothwell castle, had any
chance of escaping their jailor’s hands.
Stephen will answer you in the hall : answered Ker; for
neither of us, my friend, shall speak farther, till, like the
mortal followers of the immortal heroes of old our hunger be
appeased.
Kirkpatrick told Murray, that while he and Ker were at
the board, he would retire to despatch expresses to two
brave cousins of his, the Drummonds of Stobhall, and Con-
craig, who, as they were in the same shire, would not be long
in sending him each an hundred men: so my good Murray,
cried he, striking Lord Andrew on the shoulder, shall the
snow-ball gather that is to fall on Edward to his destruc-
tion
Murray approved his zeal; and bidding him ashort adieu,
followed Stephen and Ker into the hall. A haunch of veni-
son of Glenfinlass smoaked on the board and a goblet of wine
from the bounteous cellars of Sir John Scott, brightened the
hopes which glowed in every heart.
** **
THE scort ISH CHIEFs. § 55
While Ker and Murray were recruiting their exhausted
strength, Stephen, who played the part of host, sat at the
head of the table to carve the food; and to satisfy the anxi-
ety of Murray to know how the fifty Bothwellers came to
Craignacoheilg; and by what fortunate occurrence, or sig-
mal act of bravery, Wallace could have escaped with his
whole train from the foe-surrounded Cartlane craigs.
Heaven smiled on us! replied Stephen. The very even-
ing of the day in which Ker left us, there was a carousal in
the English camp. We heard the sound of the song and of
riot; and of many an insult cast upon our besieged selves-
About an hour after sunset the noise sunk by degrees; and
seemed to intimate that the revellers, overcome by excess,
had fallen asleep. At this very time, owing to the heat of
the day, so great a vapor had been exhaled from the lake be-
meath, that the whole of the northern summit and side of the
fortress cliff was covered with a mist so exceedingly thick
that we could not discern each other at a foot's distance.
Now is the moment, said our gallant leader. The enemy are
stupified with mine; the rock is clothed in a veil;--It is the
shield of God that is held before us 3 under its shelter, let us
pass from their hands /
“He called us together; and making the proper disposi-
tions, commanded the children and women on their lives to
keep silence. He then led us to the top of the nothern cliff
that overhung the cave through which Ker escaped, and al-
so a strong guard of the enemy. By the assistance of a
rope, held above by several men, our resolute chief, twist-
ing it round one arm to steady him, with the other catching
by the projecting stones of the precipice, made his way down
the rock, and was the first who descended. He stood at the
bottom enveloped in the cloud which shrouded the moun-
tain, till all the men of the first division had cleared the
height; he then marshalled them with their pikes towards
the foe, that they might receive them on their points should
any accidental noise give the alarm. But all remained quiet
on that spot; although the sounds of murmuring voices,
both in song and laughter, intimidated that the utmost pre-
caution was necessary, as a wakeful part of the enemy was
not far distant. t -
“Wallace re-asdended the rock half way; and receiving
Ł 56 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
the children successively, which their trembling mothers
lowered into his arms : he handed them to Fergus, and Fer-
gus to me, and I carried them through the bushes which
obscured the cave’s mouth, and left them in charge of the
women who were already there. The rest of the men soon
followed: and our sentinels receiving the signal, that all
were safe, drew silently from their guard, and closed our
match through the cavern.
This effected, we blocked up its mouth, that shoulêour
escape be discovered, the enemy might not, by seeing a
passage, find the direct road we had taken...
“We pursued our way quite unmolested; and reached
the northern outlets of the mountains, which opened to us
the hospitable valleys of Stirlingshire. Here, some kind
shepherds gave the poor women and children temporary
shelter, and Wallace seeing how thin were his ranks, and
that if any thing was to be done for Scotland, he must swell
his few to a host, put the whole party under my guidance ;
and telling me, (when the women and old men were rested)
to march them to this place, ordered me here to await his
return. Selecting ten men; with that small band he set
out towards the Forth, where, he said, he hoped to meet
some valiant friends, lovers of their country, who would rea-
dily embrace her cause.
“He had hardly been an hour departed, when Fergus,
who stood upon the hill side, observed a procession of monks
descending the opposite mountain. They drew near ; and
while the rest of our party kept close, I ventured to wrap
myself in my plaid and mingle with them as they halted in
the glen. A crowd of women from the neighbouring hills
had followed the train, and were now gathered round the
bier which the monks had set down in the midst. I know
not by what happy fortune I came close to the leader of the
procession, but he saw something in my old rough features
that declared me to be an honest Scot Friend, whispered
he in our native gaelic, will you conduct us to some safe
place where we can rest, and withdraw this bier from the
sacrilegious eye of curiosity ?
“I made no hesitation ; but desired the train to follow me
into a byre belonging to the good shepherd who was my host-
Qn this motion, the common people went away; and the


THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. i57
ar
shepherd and myself entering the place, were left alone with
the monks. He went into his cottage to collect provisions
for them ; and I remained with the brethren, who now sat
down on the piled turf, fatigued, but happy to have faund
such christian charity. ſº
“When the travellers threw up their hoods, which, as
mourners, they had worn over their faces, I could not help
exclaiming—“Alas, for the glory of Scotland, that his good-
ly groupe of stout young men rather wore the helmet than
the cowl P-How ! (asked their principal, who did not him-
self appear to have seen thirty years;) Do we not pray for
the glory of Scotland —Such is our weapon.; True; (repli-
ed I) but while Moses prayed, Joshua fought. God gives
the means of glory that they should be used. But for what,
old veteran, (said the monk, with a penetrating iock) should
we exchange our cowl for the helmet Knowest thou any
thing of the Joshua that would lead us to the field !—There
was something in the young priest’s eyes that seemed to
contradict his pacific words: They flashed an impetuous
fire. My reply was short: “...Are you a Scot * “I am, in
soul, and in arms.” “Then, knowest thou not the chief of
Ellerslie P” As I spoke, for I stood close to the bier, I per-
ceived the pall that covered it, shake. The monk answered
my last question with an exclamation, “You mean Sir Wil-
liam Wallace "
Yes; my master! I replied. My eyes, still rivetted on the
bier, which shook more violently at these words, saw the
pall hastily thrown off and a beautiful youth habited in a
shroud, start up in it, exclaiming—Then is our pilgrimage
at an end ? Let us to him :
“I confess I fell back several paces at this sight. The
monk perceiving my terror, hastily said: “Fear not he is
alive—our leader' and seeks Sir William Wallace. His
pretended death was a stratagem to conduct us safely through
the English army; for we are all soldiers like yourself.” As
he spoke, he opened his grey habit, and showed me the
mailed tartans of my country beneath.”
What then interrupted Murray, these monks were my
faithful Bothwellels 2
Even so, replied Stephen; I soon assured them they might
how resume their own characters; for all who inhabited the
WOI., I, O
158 THE SCO'TTISH CHI EFS,
valley we were then in, were true, though poor and aged
Scots. The young had long been drafted by Edward's
agents to fight his battles abroad.
“Ah! (interrupted the youth on the bier)are we a peo-
ple that can die for the honour of this usurper, and are we
ignorant how to do it for our country Lead us, soldier of
Wallace, (cried he stepping resolutely on the ground) lead
us to your brave master; and tell him that a few determined
Bothwell men are come to shed their blood for him and for
Scotland I’” &
“I then briefly explained to this astonishing youth, for he
did not appear to be more than fifteen, and stood before me
in his white robes of death, like the spirit of some bright-
haired son of Fingal; I told him whither Wallace was gone;
and of our destination to journey forward, and await him in
the forest of Glenfinlass. My momentary fright, great as it
Irad been, was 'º'; to the horror:which struck the good
shepherd, who flºw entered followed by some of my Laner-
kers with a stock of provisions. He uttered a terrible cry
at the sight of the shrouded youth standing amongst us; but
before he had flown a yard from the byre, I caught hold of
him, and bringing him back, Kenneth, who was the conduct-
or of the procession, convinced him that the supposed speo-
tre was a living creature. sº
“Closing the door, while the poor fellows were refreshing
themselves, we learnt from Kenneth that the troop, when it
had left Bothwell under the expectation of your soon follow-
ing them, marched gaily onward. But they had hardly pro-
ceeded half a dozen miles, before their scouts perceived the
out-posts of the English which surrounded Cartlane craigs;
and therefore they struck into a circuitous track that would
bring them to a remote and less guarded entrance to these
hills. They went forward with much hazard, precaution,
and difficulty, till they reached the convent of St. Columba,
at the western side of the Craigs. Kenneth knew the abbot,
and entering it under covert of the night, obtained permis-
sion for his harassed men to rest there. The ypath, now
their leader, was a student in the church. He had been sent
hither by his mother, a very pious lady, in the hope that as
he is of a very gentle nature, he would attach himself to re-
Higious retirement, and become a novice for the sacred ton-

ºr HE sco TTISH CHIEFs. - H 59
sure. But courage often springs with most strength in the
softest frames. - * . . .
“The moment this youth discoveréd what was Kenneth's
errand, he threw himself at the feet of the abbot, and after
many rejected entreaties, told himtrising from his knees in
anger, that if he would not consent to his joining Sir Wil-
liam Wallace with these men, he would take the earliest op-
portunity to escape from the convent and throw himself an
the English pikes. The abbot seeing him determined, with "
reluctance granted his wish :—And then it was, (said Ken-
neth) that the youth seemed inspired, it was no longer a
lovely enthusiastic boy that we saw beforg.us, but an angel
gifted with wisdom to direct, and enterprize to lead us. It
was he proposed disguising ourselves as monks; and while
he painted his blooming countenance of a death-like pale-
ness, and stretched himself on the bier, the abbot sent to
the English army to request admittance into the Cartlane
hills for a party of monks to cross them to bury their dead
in the cave of St. Columbia, in Stirlingshire. Our young
leader hoped, that in passing among the craigs, we might
find an opportunity to apprise Wallace that we were friends
and ready to reinforce his exhausted garrison.
“On our entrance into the passes of the craigs, (continued
Kenneth) the English commander, told us of the horrors
which had just happened at Bothwell; and with very little
courtesy to sons of the church, ordered the bier to be open-
ed, to examine whether it really did contain a corpse, or
provisions for our besieged countrymen ; and then to see us
fairly through the glens, that we might not communicate
with Wallace, or Wallace with us, he sent a strong guard to
watch our motions. In hopes of evading their vigilance, on
pretence of a vow of the deceased, that his bearers should
perform a pilgrimage over all the craigs, we traversed them
in every direction; and I have no doubt we should at last have
wearied out our sentinels and gained our point, had not the
news been brought to our guard that Wallace had escaped.
How, none in the £nglish army could guess; for not a man
was missing from his post, and not an avenue appeared by
which they could trace his flight; but gone he wag, and with
him his whole train. On this disappointment the Southrons
retired as fast as possible to Glasgow, to give as good an ag-
#
Föt) ‘rhE scortish cilirfs.

count as they could to their commander in chief, for the dis-
graceful termination of their seige. Dismayed at this intellie.
gence, the guard hurried us into Stirlingshire, where we
had said the cave of St. Columba lay and having executed
their commission, they had just parted with us, when at the
other side of yon mountain, the people around, attracted by
eur procession, followed us down into the valley. Had we
riot met with you, it was our young chief's design to have
thrown off our disguises in the first safe place, and divided
into small bands, have parted, and severally sought Sir Wil-
liam Wallace.
“Your appearance, worthy Stephen, (continued Kenneth)
puts an end to our wanderings, till in Glenfinlass, we shall
be joined by him to whose service we have sworn to the
Lady Helen Mar, to devote our lives.” -
But where, demanded Murray, who had listened with de-
lighted astonishment to this recital where is this admirable
youth : Why, if Kenneth have learnt I am arrived, does he
not bring him to receive my thanks and friendship 2
It is my fault, returned Stephen, that Kenneth will not ap-
proach you till your repast is over. I left him to see your
followers properly refreshed. And for the youth he seems
timid of appearing before you : his name cannot be breath.
ed to you till he reveals it himself, as none know him here
by any other than that of Edwin. He has mentioned to-mor-
row morning for the interview.
I must submit to his determination, replied Murray, but
I am at a loss to guess why so brave a creature should hesi-
tate to meet me. I can only suppose he dislikes the idea of
resigning the troop he has so well conducted, and if so, I
shall think it my duty to yield to him the command.
Indeed he richly deserves it, returned Stephen, for the
very soul of Wallace seemed transfused into his breast, as
he cheered us through our long march from the valley to
Glenfinlass. He played with the children, heartened up the
women; and when the men were weary and lagged by the
way, he sat him down on the nearest stone, and sang to us
legends of our ancestors, till every nerve was new braced
with warlike emulation, and starting up, we proceeded on-
ward with resolution, and even gaiety. -
“When we arrived at Craignacoheilg; as the women were
in great want, I suddenly recollected that I had an old friend
*-
THE 5COTTISH CHIEFS, 16|
#
in the neighborhood. When a boy I had been the play-fellow
of Sir John Scott, of Loch Doine, and understanding that he
" was a bed-ridden invalid in his house, I went thither, and
while I told my tale, and begged for only a few necessaries
for our babes and their mothers, his brother-in-law, Sir Rog-
er Kirkpatrick, who sat by his pillºw, took fireat my descrip-
tion of the patriotic valor of my master, and remembering
his own outrages, immediately declared his determination to
accompany me to Craignacoheilg. When he joined the troop
on the summit of this rock, he embraced them separately,
hailing the men as brethren and the women as his sisters.
The children he took in his arms, and while he held their
hands, in his, he said, “Let not this right hand be baptis-
ed, (u) till it has been bathed in the blood of the foe; for
mercy belongs not to the enemy who is now doomed to fall
beneath our swords !” - . -
It is indeed a deadly contest rejoined Murray, shudder-
ing, for evil has been the example of that foe. How many
throbing bosoms have their steel made cease to heave How
many hapless babes have their merciless hands dashed
against the stones'—ruthless, ruthless war 4 even a soldier
trembles to contemplate thy horrors' -
Only till he can avenge them cried a stern voice, enter-
ing the apartment: It was Kirkpatrick’s, and he proceeded,
when vengeance is in our grasp, tell me, brave Murray, who
will then tremble Dost thou not feel retribution in thine
own hands 2 Dost thou not see the tyrant’s blood washing
thy feet As he spoke, he looked down with a horrid exul-
tation in his eyes, and bursting into a more horrible laugh,
struck his hand several times violently on his heart: It glads
me! It glads me ! I shall see it—and this arm shall assist to
pull him down. - - . . -
His power in Scotland may fall, returned Murray, but I
fear that Edward will be too careful of his life, to come
within reach of our steel. ..! i -
That may be, rejoined Kirkpatrick, but my dagger shall
yet drink the blood of his agents. Cressingham shall feel my
foot upon his neck | Cressingham shall see that hand torn
from its wrist which durst violate the unsullied cheek of a
true Scotsman. Murray, I cannot live unrevenged. . . .
Aş he spoke he left the apartment with a countenance of
Q &

*.
**
* * **
* * *
º ..
:3:
162 THE SCOTTISH CHIEF $.
such tremendous fate, that the young warrior doubted it
was human ; it spoke not the noble resolves of patriotism,
but the fºſtentious malignity with which the great adversa-
ry of mankind détermines the ruin of nations : it seemed to
wither, the grass, as he moved, and Murray almost thought
that the clouds flarkened as the gloomy knight issued from
the porch into the open air. * -
£enneth Mackenzie joyfully entered the hall. Murray
received him with a warm embrace; and after some conver.
sation, in which he related to Kenneth the particulars of the
disasters at Bothwell castle, they separated for the night;
and Stephen. Ireland led the wearied Murray to a bed of
freshly gathered heath he had prepared for him in an up-
per chamber. -

**º-
CHAP. XVIII.
SIEEP, the gentlesister of that awful power which shrouds
us in her cold bosom, and bears us in still repose to the
blissful wakefulness of eternal life :-she, sweet restorer
wraps us in her balmy embraces; and extricating from our
wearied limbs the effects of every toil, safely relinquishes us
at morn to the new-born vigor that is her gift; to the glad-
some breezes which call us forth to labor and enjoyment.
Such was the rest of the youthful Murray, till the shrill
notes of a hundred bugles piercing his ear, made him start.
He listened; they sounded again. The morning had fully
broken. He sprung from his couch, threw on his armor, and
snatching up his lance and target issued from the tower.
Several women were flying past the gate. On seeing him
they exclaimed ;-* hasten the Lord Wallace is arrived :
His bugles have sounded—our husbands are returned P’
Murray followed their eager footsteps, and reached the
edge of the rock just as the brave group were ascending. A
stranger was also there, whom from his extreme youth and
elegance, he judged to be the young protector of his Both-
wellers; but under his present circumstances, he forbore to
THE SC GTTISH CHIEFS. i 63
address him until they should be presented to each other
by Wallace himself.
It was indeed the same. The youthful chieftain on hear-
ing the first blast of the horn, had started from his bed of
heath, and buckling on his brigandine, with the swiftest had
rushed to the rock; but at sight of the noble figure of Wal-
lace, who first gained the summit, the young hero fell back;
an undescribable awe checked his steps; and he stood at a
distance, while Kirkpatrick welcomed the chief, and intro-
duced Lord Andrew Murray. Wallace received the latter
with a glad smile; and taking him warmly by the hand. My
gallant friend, said he, I hope with such assistance soon to
reinstate your brave uncle in Bothwell castle; and so cut out
a passage to even a mightier rescue ! we must carry off Scot-
land from the tyrants arms; or—added he in a graver tone,
we shall only rivet her chains the closer.
I am but a poor auxiliary : returned Murray, my troop
is a séanty one, for it is of my own gathering. It is not my
father’s nor my uncle’s strength that I bring along with me.
But there is one here (continued he) who has preserved a
party of men sent by my cousin Lady Helen Mar, almost
double my numbers.
At this reference to the youthful warrior, Sir Roger Kirk.
patrick discerned him at a distance ; and hastened towards
him, while Murray briefly related to Wallace the extraordi-
nary conduct of this unknown. The youth, on being told
that the chief waited to receive him, hastened forwards with
a trepidation he never had felt before ; but it was a trepida-
tion that did not subtract from his own worth ; it was the
timidity of a noble heart which believed it approached one
of the most perfect among mortals; and while its anxious
pulse beat to emulate such merit, a generous coilsciousness
of measureless inferiority, embarrassed him with a confusion
so amiable, that Wallace, who perceived his extreme youth
and his blushes, opened his arms and embraced him. Brave
youth, cried he, I trust that the power which blesses our
cause, will enable me to return you, with many a well earn-
ed glory, to the bosom of your family -
Edwin was encouraged by the frank address of a hero,
whom he expected to have found reserved, and wrapped in
the deepest glooms of the fate which had roused him to be
i54 THE SCOT’FISH CHIEFS.
the thunderboit of heaven ; and when he saw a benigu
though pale countenance hail him with smiles, he made a
strong effort to shake off the awe with which the divine dig-
nity of the figure and mien of Wallace had oppressed him;
and replying with a still more mantling blush : “My family
is worthy of your esteem, my father is brave. But my mo-
ther fearing for me, her favourite son, prevailed on him to
put me into a monastery. Dreading the power of the Eng-
lish even there, she allowed none but the abbot to know
who I was. And as she chose to hide my name, and k have
burst from my concealment without her knowledge ; till I
do something worthy of that name, and deserve her pardon,
permit me, noble Wallace, to follow your footsteps by the
simple appellation of Edwin.
Noble boy returned Wallace, your wishes shall be com-
plied with. We urge you no further to reveal what such
innate bravery must shortly proclaim in the most honoura-
ble manner.
Edwin bowed, and turned to Murray, who now eagerly
complimented him on the share he had in p. serving the
Bothwell men from falling into the bands of their enemies.
As you have won them you shall wear them continued he,
and I am sure my fair cousin, who swore them to be the un-
yielding guards of Sir William Wallace, will not be displeas-
ed that I resign them into so brave, though youthful a hand
I will fight by your side and theirs; replied Edwin ; but
finitist learn to serve, before I can presume to command;
so, generous Lord Murray, do not make my boyhood blush
by luocking me with the offer of a truncheon :
Well, have it as you will; returned Murray, laughing,
but if my little Edwin does not carry one before me, I shall
have the better luck, and must make my best bow to the
grim visaged Bellona.
By this time the whole of the troops having ascended,
their wives, children, and friends were rejoicing in their
embraces ; and Wallace asking some questions relative to
Bothwell, Murray briefly related the disasters which had
happened at the castle.
My father, added he, is still with the worthy Neil Camp-
bell, lord of Lochawe.—Thither my uncle Sir John Murray
is gone also, to request my father to send to the Cartlane
THE scoºr Tish ch iEFs. 165
craigs all the followers he took with him into Argyleshire.
But as things have turned out, would it not be well to dis-
patch a messenger to Kiliburn castle, to say that you have
sought refuge in Glenfinlass. " ; ,
Before it can arrive, returned Wallace, I hope we shall
be where his reinforcements may reach us by water. Our
present object must be the earl of Mar. He is the first Scot-
tish earl who has hazarded his estates and life for Scotland ;
and as her best friend, his liberation must be our first enter-
prize. In my circuit through two or three eastern counties-
a noble increase has been made to our little army. Sir Si-,
mon Frazer, of Oliver castle, and his brother, my old school-
fellow, have each given me a hundred men; and the brave
Sir Alexander Scrymgeour whom I met in West-Lothain,
has not only brought fifty stout Scots to my command; but
as the hereditary standard bearer (w) of the kingdom, has
come hither himself to carry the royal banner of Scotland to
glory or oblivion. 4.
To glory ! cried Murray waving his sword; Oh not
while a Scot survives, shall that golden lion (x) again lick
the dust!
No, rather, cried Kirkpatrick, his eyes flashing fire, rather
may every Scot and every Southron perish, provided they
fill but one gravel let me, cried he, sternly grasping the hilt
of his sword and looking upwards; let me, oh, Saviour of
mankind, live but to see the Forth and the Clyde, so often
stained with our blood, dye the eastern and the western
oceans with the vital floods of these our foes; and when
none is spared, then let me die in peace
The eyes of Wallace glanced at the young Edwin, who
stood gazing on Kirkpatrick: ; and turning on the knight
with a powerful look of reprehension—Check that prayer :
cried he, remember my brave companion, what the Saviour
of mankind was ; and then think, whether he who offered
life to all the world, will listen to so damning an invoca-
tion—If we would be blessed in our arms, we must be mer-
ciful. - f - *
To whom 2 exclaimed Kirkpatrick ; to the robbers who
tear from us our 'lands; to the ruflians who wrest from us
i. honours ? but you are patient ; you never received a
ow !
* ,
*-
166 . . The sco TTIs H CHIEFs.
Yes, cried Wallace, turning paler; a heavy one on my
heart. True, returned Kirkpatrick; your wife fell under the
steel of a Southton governor; and you slew him for it! you
were revenged: your feelings were appeased,
-Not the death of fifty thousand govenors, replied Wallace,
could appease my feelings. Revenge were insufficient to
satisfy the yearnings of my soul. For a moment he cover-
ed his agitated features with his hands and then proceeded;
“I slew Heselrigge because he was a monster under whom
the earth groaned. My sorrow, deep, deep, as it was—was
but one of many which his rapacity, and his nephew’s licen-
tiousness, had occasioned. Both fell beneath my arm; but
I do not denounce the whole nation without mercy;—when
the sword of war is drawn, all who resist must conquer or
fall; but there are some noble English who abhor the ty-
ranny they are obliged to exercise over us; and when they
declare such remorse, shall they not find mercy at our
hands. Surely, if not for humanity, for policy’s sake, we
ought to give quarter; for the exterminating sword, if not
always victorious, incurs the ruin it threatens. My hope in
facing the usurper is, that by our righteous cause and our
clemency, we shall not only gather our own people to out le-
gions, but turn the hearts of the poor Welsh and misled
Irish, whom he has forced into his armies; and so confront
him with troops of his own levying. Many of the English
were too generous to undertake the subjugation of a country
which they had sworn to befriend; and those who are here,
when they see Scotsmen no longer consenting to their own
degradation, may take shame to themselves for assisting to
betray a confiding people.”
That may be, returned Kirkpatrick, but surely you would
not rank Aymer De Valence who lords it over Dumbarton :
and Cressingham, who acts the tyrant in Stirling, and per-
haps now plays away the month of May in Bothwell castle;
you would not rank them among these generous English ;
No ; replied. Wallace, the haughty oppression of the one
and the wanton cruelty of the other, have given Scotland too
many wounds, for me to hold a shield before them; I leave
them to your sword. -
And by heavens ! cried Kirkpatrick, gnashing his teeth

THE scortrs H chiefs. 167
* *
its point . . . . . * * *
To-morrow morning by day-break, said Wallace, turning
to Murray; I purpose marching towards Dumbarton. It is
not at such a distance but that we may reach the castle be.
fore the moon sets. The men shall rest for an hour behind-
the eastern morass: I propose seizing it by storm. . . . . .
Both. Murray and Kirkpatrick joyfully acquiesced in this
project. Edwin smiled an enraptured assent. And Wal-
lace with many a gracious look, and speech, disengaged
himself from the clinging embraces of the weaker part of
the garrison, who, seeing in him the spring of their husbands’
might and the guard of their own safety, clung to him as to
a presiding deity. . . . . .” . . . . . "
You, my dear country women, said he, shall find a home
for your aged parents, your children and yourselves, with
the venerable Sir John Scott, of Loch-Doine. You are to
be conducted thither this evening; and there await in com-
fort, the happy return of your husbands, whom Providence
now leads forth to be the champions of your country. . .
The women, filled with enthusiasm, uttered a shout of
triumph : and embracing their husbands, said they were
ready to resign them wholly to heaven and Sir William
Wallace. - - . . - -
Wallace left them with these tender relatives from whom
they were so soon to part, and retired with his three friends,
now joined by Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, to arrange the
plan of his proposed attack,-Edwin delighted with the
glory which seemed to wave him from the pinnacles of Dum-
barton rock, listened in profound silence to all that was said;
and then hastened to his quarters, to collect his armor for
the ensuing morning, - - - - -
with the fury of a tyger insight of his prey; they shall know

CHAP. XIX.
WHILE the young chieftain was thus employed, Kenneth
entered and told him that it being the cool of the evening,
Sir William Wallace had determined to call his little army
I 68 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
before him that he might see their strength and know their
numbers. Edwin, whose soul had become not more enam-
oured of the panoply of war, than of the gracious smiles of
his admired leader, at this intelligence twisted his tartan
plaid over his snow-white brigandine, and placing a swan-
plumed helmet on his brows, hastily issued forth to meet his
general on the field. :-
Kirkpatrick had already taken his station at the head of
his Loch-Doiners, augmented by half the clan of Drummond.
Scrymgeour waved the royal standard before his fifty fol-
lowers; and Ireland coming up with the old staunch troop
of Lanakers: the thirty followers of Murray appeared just
as the two hundred Frasers entered from an opening in the
rocks. The blood mounted into the cheek of Murray as he
compared his inferior numbers, and recollected the weight
of obligation they were to repay, and the greater one they
were now to incur. He threw the standard, worked by
Helen, (which now for the first time since they parted,
he had unfurled) lightly over his shoulder: and turning
to Wallace as he moved away to take the head of his men :
behold, said he, the poor man’s mite it is great, for it is
my all ! . - . - -
Great, indeed, brave Murray, returned Wallace, for it
brings me a host in yourself.
I will not disgrace my standard said Murray, lowering
the banner staff to Wallace. He started when he saw the"
flowing lock, which he could not help recognising to be the
same he had sent to the earl of Mar. This is my betrothed;
continued Murray in a gayer tone; I have sworn to take her
for better for worse; and I pledge you my troth that no-
thing but death shall part us.
Wallace grasped his hand:—“And I pledge you my word
that the head whence it sprang shall be laid low, before I
eyer suffer so generous a defender to be separated, dead or
alive, from this standard.” His eye glanced at theidigress.
Thou art right! continued he, God doth indeed arm thee!
and in the strength of a righteous cause, thou goest with the
confidence of success, to embraee victory like a bride!
No ; I am only the bride-groom’s man replied Murray,
gaily moving off, I shall be content with a kiss or two from
the handmaids, and leave the lady for my general. ...
Happy, happy youth ! said Wallace to himself as his eye



The scottish chiefs. 169
‘pursued the agile footsteps of the young chieftain: no con-
quering affection has yet thrown open thy heart; no deadly
injury hath lacerated it with wounds incurable. Patriotism
is a virgin passion in thy breast, and innocence and joy wait
upon her! * - .
We just muster five hundred men; said Ker, advancing
from the lines to Wallace; but they are all as stout in heart
as condition; and ready, even to night, if you will it, to com-
mence their march. . . . -
No ; replied Wallace, we must not over-strain the gener-
ous spirit. Let them rest to night; and to morrow’s dawn
shall light us through the forest. - -
Ker who acted as epuarry to Wallace, now went forward
to give the word ; and they all marched forward. .
Sir Alexander Scrymgeour with his golden standard charg-
ed with the lion of Scotland, led the van. Wallace raised
his bonnet from his head as it drew near. Scrymgeour low-
ered the staff. Wallace threw up his outstretched hand at
this action, in sign for him to check the intended homage,
but the knight not understanding him he stepped forward;
Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, said, I am the country’s soldier,
not its sovereign : that standard must not bow to me. It
represents the royalty of Scotland, before which we fight
for her liberties. And if virtue: yet dwell in the house of
the valiant Saint David, some of his offspring will, when he
hears of this day, shake off the spell of the tyrant, reclaim
his rights, and lead it forward to conquest and to a crown.
Till such an hour, let not that standard bend to any man.
Wallace fell back as he spoke; and Scrymgeour bowing
his head Îh sign of acquiescence, marched on. .
Sir Roger Kirkpatrick at "; head of his well appointed
highlanders, fiext advanced. is blood-red banner stream-
ed to the air; and as it bowed to Wallace, he saw that the
indignant knight had adopted the thistle, the devise of the
hardy king Achius; (y) but with a fiercer ſhotto: “Touch
and }pierce 7"
“That man, (thought Wallace, as he passed along) car-
ries malignity and a relentless sword in his very eye —How
much brighter is courage without ferocity That implacable
countenance, instead of attracting sympathy, turns the up-
lifted arm from the foe it would have pierced, to shield him
WOL. I. * [º

170 THE scottish chiefs.
the Loch-Doiners, a str
~7 ſº,
from the merciless stroke of such an avenger,
While these º rapidly through his mind,
5hg, tall, and well-armed body of
men, marched on, and gave place to the advancing corps of
Bothwell. The eye of Wallace felt as if turning from a pros-
pect of gloom and horror, to the cheerful light of day, when
it fell on the bright and ingenuous face of Murray. Kenneth
"with his troop followed; and the youthful Edwin, like Cupid
in arms, closed the procession.
Being fully drawn up in line, their chief, fully satisfied,
advanced towards them, and expressing his sentiments of
the patriotism which brought them into the field and his ap-
probation of their martial appearance, called to Stephen Ire-
land to make preparations for the march. The sun has now
set, said he, and before dark, you must conduct the families
of my worthy Lanerkers to the protection of Sir John
Scott-H is time that age, infancy, and female weakness,

should cease their wanderings with us ; to-night we bid them
adieu, to meet them again in freedom and prosperity.
As Wallace ceased, and was retiring from the ground,
several old men, and young women with their babes in their
arms, rushed forward from behind the ranks and throwing
themselves at his feet, some caught hold .#. lands and
others of his garments.-We go, said the venerable fathers,
to pray for your welfare :—and sure we are, a crown will
bless our country’s benefactor, here or in heaven
In heaven, replied Wallace, shaking the plumes of his
bonnet over his eyes, to hide the moisture which suffused
them ; I can have no right to any other crown. :
Yes, cried a hoary-headed shepherd, who had numbered
nearly a hundred years, you have David’s right. You free
your country from tyrants; gººd the Lord speaking from the
people’s hearts will proclaim their deliverer king. -
Migy your rightful king, worthy patriarch, said Wallace,
whoever he may be, whether a Bruce or a Baliol, meet with
equal zeal from Scotland at large; and tyranny must then
fall before courage and loyalty. as -
The women wept as they clung to his hands and one, the
daughter of Ireland, holding up her child in lier arms, pre-
sented it to him; look on my son : cried she, with energy;
the first word that he speaks, shall be Wallace; the second,
liberty. And every drop of milk he drinks from my bosom,

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 17 |
shall be turned into blood, either to nerve his arm to con-
quer, or to flow on the field for his country. -
At this speech all the women held up their children to-
wards him :—Here, cried they, we devote them to heaven
and to our country !—adopt them, noble Wallace, as thy fol-
lowers, in arms, when perhaps, their fathers are laid low.
Wallace, unable to speak, pressed their little faces sepa-
rately to his lips, and then returning them to their mothers.
put his handon his heart, and answered in an agitated voice—
“They are mine !—my weal shall be theirs, my woe, my
own.” As he spoke he hurried from the weeping group,
and emerging amid the cliffs, hid himself from their tears
and their blessings. . - - -
He threw himself down on a shelving rock, whose fern-
covered bosom projected over the winding waters of Loch-
Lubnaig; and while his eyes contemplated its serene surface,
he sighed, and thought how tranquil was nature till the re-
bellious passions of man, wearying of innocent joys, disturb-
ed all by restlessness and violence.
The mists of evening hung on the gigantic tops of Benlidi
and Ben-Worlich ; and sailing fo, ward, by degrees obscured
the whole of the mountains; and left nothing for the eye to
dwell on but the long silent expanse of the lake beneath.
So, said he, did I once believe myself for ever shut in from
the world by an obscurity that promised me happiness as well
as seclusion—But the hours of Ellerslie are gone. No ten-
der wife will now twine her faithful arms about my neck
No child of Marion's will ever be pressed to my fond bosom
—I saw slavery around me and yet I slept. Alas, the angel
that charmed away mysense of injury, that sunk my country’s
wrongs to a dreamy forgetfulness in her arms, she was to be
immolated that I might awake —my wife, my unborn babe,
they both must bleed for Scotland and the sacrifice shall
not be yielded in vain. No, Great God cried he, stretch-
ing his clasped hands towards heaven ; endow me with thine
own spirit, and I shall yet lead my countrymen to liberty
and happiness -Let me counsel with thy wisdom: let me
conquer with thine arrſ 1 and when all is finished, give me,
Oh, gracious Father! a quiet grave beside my wife and child.
Tears, the first he had shed since the hour in which he, un-
gonsciously, for the last time, pressed his beloved Marion te

172 the scortish chiefs.
his heart, now'ſlowed copiously from his eyes. The women,
the children, had aroused all his recollections, but in so soft-
ened a train, that they melted his heart, till he wept. It is
thy just tribute, Marion f said he it was blood you shed for
Hºme and I shall check these poor drops?—look on me, sweet
saint, best beloved of my soul:—Oh hover near me in the
day of battle; and thousands of thine and Scotland’s ene-
# mies shall fall before thy husband's arms!
The plaintive voice of the highland pipes, at this moment
broke upon his ear. It was the farewell of the patriarch
Lindsay, as he and his departing company descended the
winding paths of Craignacoheilg. Wallace started on his
feet. The separation had then taken place between his
trusty followers and their families; and guessing the feelings
of those brave men from what was passing in his own breast,
he dried away the traces of his tears, and grasping his spear
—cast from him all depressing thoughts: and once more as-
suming the warrior's cheerful look, sought that part of the
rock where the Lanerk men were quartered. .
As he drew near unobserved, he saw some standing on
the cliff; while others leaned over to catch another giance
of the departing group ere it was lost amid the thick shades
of Glenfinlass. - - - r :
Are they quite gone? asked Fergus. Quite, answered a
young man, who seemed to have got the most advantageous
situation for a view. Then, cried he, may Saint Andrew and
the Virgin keep them till we meet again
Amen ejaculated Wallace. At the sound of this reponse
from their chief, they all turned round. My brave compan-
ions, said he, I come to repay this hour’s pangs, by telling
you, that in the attack of Dumbarton to-morrow night, you
shall have the honor of first mounting the walls. I shall be
at your head ; and he that first gains the summit after me,
shail be knighted by my hand.
To follow you, my lord, said Fergus, is our duty.
I grant it, replied the chief, and as I am the leader in that
duty, it is mine to dispense to every man the rewards of his
deserts; and to prove to all men that virtue alone is true
nobility. . . . .
Ah, dearest Sir' exclaimed Edwin, who having been as-
sisting the women to carry their infants down the steep, was
|
r x - . . -- -
º' - ...: tº . E-ºak. H. 3. . . . . . . . . -- …— . . - - - - - -




THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. | 73
now returned, and ascending the cliff had heard the latter
art of this conversation: deprive me not of the aim of my
ife These warriors hav, had you long, have distinguished
themselves in your eyes:-Deprive me not then of the ad-
vantage of being near you; it will make me doubly brave. .
And for the honour of being ennobled by the sword of Sir
William Wallace, I know not who would not risk his life;
but I contend not for that reward. Let him, whoever he ,
may be, who is the second to gain the ascent, be the knight. . . ;
But for me, Oh, my dear commander, let me only carry to - .
the grave the consciousness, that next to your godlike self,
I was the first, and you will make me noble indeed
Wallace looked at him with a smile of such graciousness, "
that the youth threw himself into his arms: —You will grant
my boon Sir William Wallace :
I will ; noble boy said he, act up to your sentiments, and
you shall be my brother. &
Let who will be a knight; cried he, grasping Wallace’s ”
hand, call me by that appellation, and I will dare anything.
Be the first then to follow me to-morrow night; said he,
and I will lead you tê an honour the highest in my gift; you
shall unclose the chains of the Earl of Mar ! and he, contin-
ued he, turning to his men ; ye shall not find your country
slow to commemorate the duty of such sens Being the first
to strike the blow for her freedom, ye shall be the first she
will honour. I now speak as her minister : and as a badge ;
to times immemorial of your fidelity, wear on your shields.
the Scottish Lion,
A shout of proud joy issued from every heart. And Wal-
lace seeing that honour had dried the tears of regret, left .
them to their repose. Edwin retired to his quarters, The *
chief himself, entering the tower without seeking the rest .
ºf his officers, withdrew to his chamber; and after offering
his evening invocation to heaven, threw himself along his
heathy couch, and soon lost all recollection of cares past
and to come, in the balmy oblivion of sleep. ,
-*º-
CHAP. XX.
w
<!
*
*
43
*
t
PROFound as was the rest of Wallace, yet the first clarion
P 2
fº 4 THE SCOTTISH chIEFs.
g
*
f

of the lark awakened him. The rosy dawn shone in at the
casement: . and a fresh breeze woed him with its inspiring
breath to rise and meet it. But the impulse was in his own
mind ; he needed nothing outward to call him to action.
Rising immediately, he put on his glittering hauberk, asid is-
suing from the tower, raised his buglé to his lips, and blew
so rousing a blast, that in an instant Murray rushed from his
bed, and in nothing but his linen tunic, appeared on the
platform. On seeing Wallace, he exclaimed; being little
better than thin air, my lord, I will echo you in a moment
—As he spoke he caught up his hornand breathed forth such
a rapid and vociferous charge that before he had time to de-
camp into the tower to throw on his armor, the whole rock
was covered with soldiers.
Wallace put his helmet on his head, and advanced towards
them just as Edwin had joined him, and Sir Roger Kirkpa-
trick, armed "ap-a-pee, issued from the tower. Best be this
morn, said the old knight, that rises to me, the happiest of
my life My sword springs from its scabbard to meet it:—
And ere this good steel be sheathed again, continued he,
shaking it sternly, what deaths may die its point!
Wallace shuddered at the ferocity with which his cal-
league contemplated those horrid features of war from which
every humane soldier would seek to turn his thoughts, that
he might encounter them with the steadiness of a man, and
, not the irresolution of a woman. To hail the field of blood
:
with the fierceness of hatred eagerfor the slaughter of its vic-
tim ; to know any joy in combat but that each contest might
render another less necessary; did not enter into the imagi-
nation of Wallace until he had heard and seen the infuriate
Kirkpatrick. He now talked of the coming battle with hor-
rid rapture; and told the young Edwin that he should that
day see Loch Lomond red with English blood.
Wallace, offended at such savageness, without answering
him drew towards Murray, who had placed himself at the
head of his men, and calling to Edwin, ordered him to march
at his side. The youth seemed glad of the summons; and
Wallace was pleased to observe it, as he thought that a long-
er stay with one who so grossly overcharged the feelings of
honest patriotism, might breed disgust in his innocent mind
}
THE SCOTTISH "CHIEFS, 175
against a cause which had so furious, and therefore unjust a
defender.
Justice and mercy ever dwell together; said he to Edwin,
who now drew near him ; for universal love is the parent of ~
justice as well as of mercy. But implacable revenge :
whence did she spring but from the head of Satan himself?
Though their cause appeared the same, never were two
spirits more discordant than those of Wallace and Kirkpat-
rick. But Kirkpatrick did not so soon discover the dissimi-
larity ; as it is easier for fairness to destry its opposites, than
for foulness to apprehend that any thing can be purer than
itself. ***
The forces being now all drawn out and marshalled accord-
ing to the preconcerted order, the three commanders, with
Wallace at their head, assembled in the van. Ker, Kenneth
Mackenzie, and Stephen Ireland, (now returned from Sir
John Scott’s) covered the rear.
Without molestation they passed through the forest of
Glenfinlass. The enemy thought it too desert a region to re-
quire a guard of soldiers; and only visiting it at certain sea-
sons to carry off the deer or to cut down some of those trees
for their navy, which had shaded the manly sports of many
a Scottish king ; no Southron at this time had polluted its
sacred bordérs.
The sun had just risen as they emerged upon the eastern
bank of loch Lomond. The bases of the mountains were
yet covered with the dispersing mist of the morning, and
were hardly distinguishable from the blue waters of the lake,
which lashed the shore with a proud yet cheerful violence.
The newly awakened sheep bleated from the sloping hills;
and the umbrageous herbage dropping dew, seemed glitter-
ing with a thousand fairy gems.
Where is the man who would not fight for such a country :
exclaimed Murray, as he lightly stepped over a slight bridge
of interwoven trees which crossed one of the mountain
streams:–this land was not made for slaves. Look at these
bulwarks of nature | Every mountain-head which forms this
chain of hills, is an impregnable rampart against invasion.—
If Baliol had possessed but half a heart, Edward might have
returned, even worse than Caesar, from our shores;–with.
out a cockle to decorate his helmet.
;
•
.#
iž6 THE scorris H C HIEFs.
Baliol has found the oblivion he incurred; returned Wai.
lace, his son perhaps, may better deserve the sceptre of such
a country.-- Let us cut the way; and he who merits the
crown, will soon rush to the goal.
Then it will not be Edward Baliol; rejoined Scrymgcour;
I was so unhappy as once to carry a message from his father
to England. I there saw the Prince. He had been brought
by King Edward’s desire at his court ; and so effeminate
had he become, that when I was introduced to him, I found
him in a perfumed chamber, and lying upon a couch of em-
broidered velvet. His youthful limbs were clothed in a thin
habit of blue taffeta : and his hair, which was fair, and flow-
ing like a woman's, was in the act of being curled by a page
who stood behind him I started, thinking 1 had, by mistake,
been shown into a lady’s apartment. But he called to me;
Scrymgeour, said he, do not be afraid to disturb me—I have
teen sometime awake.
“At this summons I advanced. But to kneel to such a
shadow of a prince when I presented his father’s letter, I
found I could not ; so merely bowing, I laiºſt at his feet.—
He looked at me with an air of surprisé : Boors boors?
cried he. Scrymgeour, added he, breaking up the letter,
which a page, kneeling, had handed to him on a scented
cushion ; you know nothing of politeness on your-side the
Tweed. When I am kit'g, I must bring half a score of
gentlemen-ushers from Edward’s court, to teach you man-
Inel'S
“To answer such a speech in a proper style, would have
been unavailing. My single rebuke could not have unprin-
ced him, and would have ruined myself. So I made no re-
ply ; but waited in silence till he had read the letter. “My
royal father is most barbarously unmerciful (exclaimed he]
he expects that I will transport myself from these dear hos-
pitable scenes, to the horrid descris of the north !–Tell him
it is impossible. Heavens ! Bertram, (said he, turning to
the page who crisped his locks) what would the fair Matilda
de Valence say to my desertion —I positively cannot go.—
Here, Spencer write it, I am so wearied with last night’s
revel, I cannot hold a pen to-day.” His secretary advanced
to his side; and in the most affected manner he dictated a
fetter of refusal to his father. When finished he gave it to
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 177
me to carry; and receiving from him a ring, which he took
off his pretty white hand as a mark of graciousness, I took
my leave :-only praying that snch a puppet might never
disgrace the throne of our brave Scottish kings.”
If such be the tuition of our lords in the court of Edward
—and wise is the policy for his own views observed Wal-
lace; what can we expect even from the Bruce they were
ever a nobler race than the Baliol :-but bad education and
luxury will debase the most princely minds.
I saw neither of them when I was in London; replied
Scrymgeour; the earl of Carrick was at his house in Cleave-
land; and Robert Bruce, his eldest son, with the English
army in Guienne, But they bore a notile character; par-
ticularly young Robert, who, anotwithstanding the pains
which the effeminate Edward of Scotland took to please the
fair of the court, carried off both the psalm and the myrtle
from him. It seems his person and manners are graceful as
well as manly; and while 'the English ladies call him the
flower of courtesy ; a knight told me, that since he had dis-
tinguished, himself in the jousts and battles of Guienne, he
had received from the fair of that country, the equally flat-
tering appellation of prince of chivalry.”
It would be more to his honour, interrupted Murray, he
compelled them to acknowledge him as Prince of Scotland.
With so much bravery, how can he allow such a civet-cat as
Edward Baliol to bear away the title which is his by the
double right of blood and virtue
Perhaps, said Wallace, the young lion only sleepeth'—the
time may come when both he and his father will rise from
their lethargy and throw themselves at once into the arms of
Scotland. Let them win her crown from the usurper who
now holds it, and every honest Scot will bail the name of
Bruce as his lawful and respected sovereign To such an
end I look. To stimulate the dormant patriotism of these
two princes, by showing them a subject leading their people
to liberty, is one great end of the victories I seek. Only a
brave king can bind the various interests of this distracted
country in one ; and therefore, for fair freedom’s sake, my
heart turns towards the Bruces with most anxious hopes.
For my part, cried Murray, I have always thought tha
the lady we will not woo, we have no right to pretend to

178 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
}
—If the Bruces will not be at the pains to snatch Scotland
from drowning, I see no reason for making them a present
ef what will cost us many a wet jacket before we tug her
from the waves. He that wins the day, ought to wear the
laurel: and so, once for all, I proclaim him king of good old
Albin, (2) who will have the glory of driving her oppres-
sors beyond her farthest wall.
Wallace did not hear this last sentiment of Murray’s, as it
was spoken in a lowered voice in the ear of Kirkpatrick. I
perfectly agree with you; was that knight's reply ; and in
the true Roman style, may the death of every haughty South-
ron now in Scotland, and as many more as Edward chooses
to compliment us with, be the preliminary games of the cor-
onation
Wallace who heard this, turned to Kirkpatrick with a gen-
tle rebuke in his eye : Balaam blest, when he meant to
curse said he, but you curse when you mean to bless. Are
not such prayers mere blasphemies 2-for, how can we ex-
pect the blessing of the all-gracious God upon our arms,
when our invocations are all for the blood of our enemies;
and not one solitary prayer is put up for that happy peace
which ought to be the aim of alf warfare
Blood for blood, is only justice; cried Murray; and how
can you, noble Wallace, as a Scot and as a man, plead for
the villains who have stabbed you to the heart 2
I plead not for them; returned Wallace; the monster who
outraged human nature and me, is now indust But for the
poor wretches, many of whom follow their leaders by force
to the field of Scotland, I would not inflict on them the cruel-
tics we now resent. It is not to aggrieve, but to redress, that
we carry arms. If we make not this distinction, we turn
courge into a crime ; and plant disgrace instead of honour
upon the warrior’s brow.
I do not understand commiserating the wolves who have
so long made havoc with all we value. Methinks, replied
Kirkpatrick in a surly tone, that such maidenly mercy is
rather out of place in the mouth of the leader of so many
brave inch.
Wałlace turned to him with a beliign smile : “I will an-
swer you, my valiant friend, by adopting your own figurc.
It is, that these Southron wolves may not confound us witt,

THE scottish chiefs. 179
*.
themselves, that I wish to show in our conduct, rather the
generous ardor of the faithful guardian of the fold, than the
rapacious fierceness, which equals them with the beasts of
the desert. As we are men and Scots, let the burthen of
our prayers be the freeing of our country, not the slaughter
of our enemies —The one is an ambition with which angels
may sympathise: The other a horrible desire which claims
kindred with devils. §
In some cases this may be ; replied Sir Roger, a little re-
conciled to the argument; but not in mine. My injury yet
burns upon my cheek. And as nothing but the life bloom of
Cressingham can quench it, I will listen no more to your doc-
i. till I am revenged. That done, I will not forget your
€SSOI).
Generous Kirkpatrick exclaimed Wallace, nothing that
is really cruel can dwell in such manly candour. Say what
you will, I can trust your heart after this moment.
Do not trust it too far, continued Kirkpatrick, for I will an-
swer for it, that it pays poor lady mercy a very jade's trick,
should it mount Dumbarton walls and get into company with
De Valence, or any otherºſailor of our brave Lord Mar.
They had crossed the rivér Ennerie, and were issuing from
the narrow ridge of hills between which they had been pent
for some miles when Wallace, pointing to a stupendous rock
which rose in solitary magnificence in the midst of a vast
plain, exclaimed, there is Dumbarton castle Earl Donald
must repass this river to-norrow with us; and then we shall
have made ourselves a power :—for that citadel holds the
fetters of Scotland; and if we break them at this lock, every
minor link will easily give way.
The men uttered a shout of anticipated triumph at this
sight. And proceeding forwards, they soon came in view of
the fortifications which helmeted the rock. As they more
nearly approached, they discovered that it had two summits;
being in a manner sleft in twain: the one side, rising in a
pyramidical form; and the other, of a more level shape, sus-
tained the ponderous buildings of the fortress,
It was dusk when the little army arrived in the rear of a
close thicket which skirted the eastern dyke of the castle,
and reached to an immense depth on the plain. On thi
spot Wallace rested his men; and while they lay thus in am
º
F80 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
bush till the appointed time of attack, he perceived through
an opening in the wood the gleaming of the troops on the
ramparts, and fires beginning to light, on a lonely watch-
tower which crowded the pinnacle of the highest rock.
Poor fools: exclaimed Murray, like the rest of their
brethren of clay, they look abroad for evils, and prepare not
for those which are even at their doors,
That beacon-fire, cried Scrymgeour, shall light us to their
chambers; and for once we thank them for their providence.
Thai beacon-fire, whispered Edwin to Wallace, shall light
me to honour, To-night, by your agreement, I shall callyou
brother, or lie dead on those walls; for their summit I will
gain.
Edwin, said to Wällace, act as you say, and deserve not only
to he called my brother, but to be the first patriot knight.
He then turned towards the lines, and giving his orders to
each division, directed them to seek repose on the surround-
ing heaps of growing heather, till the now glowing moon
should have sunk her tell-tale light in the western waves.
—#
CHAF. XXI.
The weary troops obeyed their general. Wallace him-
self, having seen all depart, reclined along a pile of moss-
grown stones, which in the days of the renowned Fingal,
had covered the body of some valiant Morven hero. He fix-
ed his wakeful eyes on the castle, how illuminated in every
part by the fulness of the moon's lustre; and coasidered
which would be most assailable by the scaling ladders he
had prepared. Every side seemed a precipiće. The Leven
surrounded it on the north and the west; the Clyde, broad
as a sea, on the south. The only place that seemed at all
accessible, was the side next the dyke behind which he lay.
Here the ascent to the castellated part of the rock, because
more perpendicular than the others, was less guarded by
outworks; and by this, he determined to make the attempt,
º soon as the setting moon should declare it to be past mid-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 18 l
-º
night, and have involved the garrison in the same darkness
with himself. *: *:
Under that veil, Oh! power of justice, cried he, looking
towards the yet brilliant heavens; let us march forward in
thy iight let us conquer in thy strength ! and what will
then avail ten thousand foes, if thou art with us !
While he yet spokº, he thought he heard a footstep ap-
proaching him with a swift, though stealing motion. He
raised,himself, and laying his hand on his sword, saw a figure
wrapped in a cloak advancing cautiously towards him.—
Who art thou ? demanded Wallace.
A faithful Scot, was the reply. -- ~~
Wallace recognized the voice of Edwin. “What has dis-
turbed you ? Why do you not take rest with the others?”
That we may have the surer to-morrow; replied the youth,
I am just returned from the summit of yon rock.
How interrupted Wallace, have you scaled it alone, and
are returned in safety *
Wallace caught him in a transport in his arms; “intrepid,
glorious boy! tell me for what purpose did you thus hazard
your precious life :"
I wished to learn its most pregnable part, replied Edwin,
his young heart beating with triumph at these encomiums
from his commander; and particularly where in the castle
the good earl is confined, that we might make the attack di-
rectly to the point.
And have you been successful my brave Edwin demand-
ed Wallace, with an impatience which could only be equal-
led by his admiration of the zeal of the young soldier.
I have, was his answer. Loyd Mar and his lady are kept
in a black square tower, which stands in a cleft between the
two summits of the rock. It is on every side, not only sur-
rounded by embattled walls which flank the ponderous but-
tresses of this huge dungeon, but the space on which it stands
is bulwarked at each end by a stone curtain of fifteen feet
high, guarded by turrets full of armed men.
And yet by this side you suppose we must ascend ? said
Wallace.
Certainly ; for if you attempt it on the west, there we
should have to scale the watch-tower cliff, which is nearly
twice as high as the other, and from the danger and length
* {}T., ;
182 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
of the ascent, we could not all accomplish it before day.--
Should we take the south, and gain the lower rock, we must
cut through the whole garrison before we could reach the
earl. And this side the dyke, (which rather should be call-
ed a deep slimy morass,) lies too near the foot of the rock
to admit an approach without the greatest danger. But on
the north, where I descended, by w \ding through part of
the Levin, and climbing from cliff to cliff, I have every hope
that you may succeed. .
I stole from the thicket on your dispersing the men to
their rest; and under this deep green plaid so mixed myself
with the weeds at the bottom of the rock, that I very secure-
ly made my circuit round, without attracting observation.
The south certainly seemed the most easy bf access; and
by that side I ascended. Having gained the height, I glam-
bered behind a buttress, whose shadow the moon cast in
such blackness upon the wall, that, obscured by the dark-
ness, I crept safely through a crenelle in the parapet, and
dropping gently inwards, on my hands and knees, still keep-
ing the shadowy side of the battlements, proceeded cautious-
ly along, even undiscovered by #e sentinels who guarded
this side of the fortress.
I soon arrived at the open square before the citadel. It
was yet occupied by some gay groups of South rom officers,
who were walking to and fro under the light of the moon.
In hopes of gaining information by listening to their die.
course, I got behind a box of arrows, and as they passed
backwards and forwards, distinctly heard them jesting each
other about divers fair prisoners whom they had possessed
at various times; and the conversation ended with a long de-
bate whether or no the icy coldness of their governor, the
haughty De Valence, would be thawed by the majestic
beauties of the countess of Mar A thousand insolent thing-
were said on the subject; but suffice it to say that I gather-
ed from their discourse that De Valence troated the earl
and countess very severely ; and that they were confined in
the black tower in the cleft,
IIaving learnt all I expected from them, I speeded my way
under the friendly shadow, towards the other side of the cº-
adel, and arrived just as the giard approached to relieve th:
sentinels of the northern postern. I kept close behind a

"THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, # 88
buttress, and happily overheard the word of the might as it
was given to the new watch. This providential circum-
stance saved my life; finding no mode of egress from this
place but by the postern, or into a small tower, the door of
which was open, and take my chance for getting out on the
other side, I decided at once for the tower—and stealing in
found it full of spare arms, with two or three vacant couches
in different corners, where, I suppose the officers on guard
occasionally repose. Several watch-cloaks lay about. I
readily apprehended how the discovery might be useful to
me; and throwing one over my shoulders, I dropped from a
large embrasure in the wall on to a declivity, which shelved
down to the cleft wherein I now saw the black tower.
I had scarcely lit on firm ground, when a sentinel, follow-
ed by two others with presented pikes approached me and
demanded the word, Pembroke—was my rapid reply. Why
leap the embrasure ? said one. Why not enter by the post-
ern ? demanded another. The conversation of the officers
had given me a hint. Love, my brave comrade, (replied I)
seldom chooses even ways. I go on a message from a young
ensign in the Keep, to one of the Scottish damsels in yonder
tower. Delay me, and his vengeance will fall upon us all.
Cupid speed you, my good lad, was their reply; and with a
lightened step I hastened towards the tower.
Not deeming it safe, or needful, to seek an interview with
any of the earl’s family, I merely crept along its base and
across the works till I reached the high wall that blocks up
the egress from the north. . It is constructed of fragments of
rocks; and for the convenience of the garrison to mount to
precipitate any assailants down the height, who should be
daring enough to scale it, a sloping platform leads from with-
in up to the top of the wall. On the other side it is perpen-
dicular. A solitary sentinel stood here, and how to pass him
was my next devise. To have attacked him would have
been a desperate Hazard, as lie was only one of the close
chain of gº., rds " lich is planted at certain distances all
round the u. 3r or of the fortress. Hence his voice, had it
been raisei in least, would have called half a score to his
assistance, al. 1 rā'is. .ave been seized on the instant.
I bethough; me of my former excuse and remembering
the flask of spirits which Ireland had put into my pouch on
A
184 p. THE scottish chiefs.
leaving Glenfinlass, 1 affected to be a little intoxicated, and
staggering up to the man, accosted him as if I were a servant
belonging to the garrison. He did not seem to doubt me,
and holding out my flask to him, I said that a pretty girl at
the tower had not only given me a long draught of the same
good liquor, but had filled my bottle, that I might not lack
amusement while her companion, one of the Lady Mar’s
ladies in waiting, was tying up a true lover's knot to send by
me to my master in the garrison. He believed my tale the
more readily as I put the flask into his hand, and bidding him
drink, told him not to spare it, as it was a chilly night, and I
should get more where it came from. My henest Southron
did as Ibade him, and soon saw the bottom of the flask-
The spirit had the effect I wished, he became flustered and
impatient of his duty: and I yawning and telling him I was
sleepy, said I would go to the top of the wall, and there, lit
by the lamp of the moon, sleep like an eagle on the giddy
height, if he would move a little forward on his post, and
watch the coming of the pretty Seot, who was to bring me
the token for my master. The fellow liked no better sport,
and reeling and tumbling I gained the top of the wall.
“I threw myself along it and seeing my dupe already
several paces from me and looking towards the tower, I dropt
from a height of fifteen feet, to the manifest danger of my
limbs; but thank heaven I lit amidst a bed of friendly weeds.
Being unhurt, I clambered down the steep with less difficulty
and greater rapidity, thau I had expected : and now stand
before you to offer it as my humble opinion, that the north
point of the rock is the most assailable.”
And your opinion shall be followed, replied Wallace; the
intrepidity of this action merits that every confidence should
be put in the result of your observations. Your safe return
is a pledge that our design is approved. And when we go
in the strength of Heaven, who can doubt the issue ! This
night when the Lord of battles puts that fortress into our
hands, you shall mount by my side, and before the whole
of our little army receive that knighthood from my hand
which you have so richly deserved. Such, my truly dear
brother, my noble Edwin, shall be the reward of your virtue
and toil!
Wallace would now have sent him to repose himself before

*
THE SCOTTISH CHJEFS, i 85
the attack was to be made; but animated by the success of
his adventure, and exulting in the honour which was so soon
to stamp a sign of this exploit upon him forever, he told his
leader, that he felt no want of rest, and would rather take
on him the office of arousing the other captains to their sta-
tions, as the moon, their preconcerted signal was approach-
ing its sitting.
when Kirkpatrick Murray, and Scrymgeour arrived, to
their great admiraton, Wallace recounted the exploit of
his young soldier, and then repeated the plans which the al-
teration in his node of attack had caused him to make.—
These being Approxed, every man withdrew to call up his
slumbering followers. In a few minutes they were under
arms; and being marshalled according to Wallace’s new or-
ders, he led them forward in silence through the water, and
along the beach which lay between the rock and the Levin.
Arriving at the base just as the moon set, they began to as-
cead. To do this in the dark, redoubled the difficulty; but
as Wallace had the place of every accessible stone accurate-
ly described to him by Edwin (whom he had sent as his re-
presentative on an equally arduous duty) he went confident-
ly forward, followed by his Lanerkers.
He and they, being the first to mount, fixed and held the
tops of the scaling ladders, while Kirkpatrick and Scrym-
geour with their men gradually ascended and gained the
height at the bottom of the wall. Here, planting themselves
in the fissures of the rock, under the impenetrable darkness
of the night (for the moon had not only set, but the stars
were obscured by thick clouds) they awaited the signal from
Murray's detachment, for the attack.
Meanwhile, Edwin as guide, led Lord Andrew with his
followers, and the Frazer men, round by the western side
to mount the watch-tower rock, and seize the few men who
kept the beacon. As a signal of having succeeded. they
were immediately to smother the flame on the top of the
tower, and then descend the height towards the garrisoa to
meet Wallace before the prison of the Earl of Mar.
While the Lanakers in deadly stillness, with their eyes
fixed on the burning beacon, watched with beating hearts
the wished-for signal, Wallace, by the aid of grapling irons,
which he struck into the firm ; that occupied the cracks
Q. * %.
*
186 THE SCO TTISH , C HIEFS,
# *
in the regkºłrew himses up, almost parallel with the top of
the great Wall, which stretched along like a vast curtain,
clasping the basses of the twº hills. He listened: not a voice
was to be heard in the garrison, of all the legions which he
had so lately seen glittering of its battlements. It was an
awful pause. Now was the moment when Scotland was to
make her first essay for freedom; should it fail, ten thousand
bolts of iron would be added to her chans! Should it succeed,
liberty and happiness were the almostcºrtain consequences
He looked up ; and fixing his eyes on the beacon-flame,
thought he saw the figures of men pass before it—the next
moment all was darkness-he sprung on theop of the wall;
and feeling byºtouch of hands about his feet that his
brave followers tº Aready mounted their ladders, with his
sword firmly g ihe leaped down on the ground with-
in. As he litºisłet, he struck against the sentirel who
was just passing, and by the violence of the shock struck
him to the earth; but the man as he ſell, catching Wallace
round the waist, dragged him after him, and with a vocifer-
ous cry shouted murder. *
Several sentinels ran with levelled pikes to the spot ; the
adjacent turrets emptied themselves of their armed inhabi-
tants; and fell all on Wallace, just as he had extricated him-
self from the grasp of the prostrate soldier.
Who are you ? demanded they.
Your enemy, was the stern reply ; and two fell at his feet
with one stroke of his sword.
Alarm --Treason was the outcry of the rest as they aim-
ed their random strokes at the conquering chief. But he
was now assisted by the vigorous arm of Ker and of several
Łanerkers; who having cleared the wall, were by his side,
dealing about blows in the darkness which filled the air with
groans, and stre v. ed the ground with the dying and the dead.
One or two Southrons, whose courage was not equal to
their caution, 1...d fled to arouse the garrison ; and just as the
whole of Wallace’s men had leaped the wall and rallied to
Iris support, the inner ballium gate burst open, and a legion
qf foes, bearing torches, and in battle array, issued forth.-
With horrible threatnings they came on ; and in one mo-
ment surrounded Wallace and his little company. But his
vuul brigl,'ei ed in danger, and his ruen stood firm with fixed


THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. * 187
pikes, receiving without injury the assault; while, their
weapon’s being longer than the enemy’s, the Southron’s, un-
conscious of the circumstance, rushed upon their points, in-
curring the death they meant to give. Wallace seeing their
disorder, ordered the pikes to be dropped, and his men to
charge sword in hand. Terrible was now the havoc; for the
desperate Scots, grappling each to his foe with a fatal hold,
let not go till the piercing shriek, or the agonizing groan of
their victims, convinced them that the steely death had en-
tered their vitals. Wallace stood in front, making a dread-
ful passage through the falling ranks, while the tremendous
sweep of his sword flashing in the intermitting light, warned
the survivors where the avenging blade would next fall. A
horrid vacuity was made in the lately thronged spot. It
seemed not the slaughter of a mortal arm, but as if the de-
stroying angel himself was there; and with one blast of his
desolating brand, had laid all in ruins. The platform was
cleared : and the falling torches lying, some half extinguish-
ed, and others flaming on the ground by the sides of their
d.ºad holders, showed by their uncertain gleams, a few ter-
rified wretches seeking safety in flight. The same lurid
rays, casting a transitory light on the iron gratings of the
Black Tower, informed Wallace that the heat of conflict
had drawn him to the prison of the earl.
We are now near the end of this night’s work cried he,
let us press forward to give the brave earl liberty
Liberty, and Lord Mar! cried Kirkpatrick, rushing on-
wards. He was immediately followed by his own men; but
not so quickly but that the guard in the tower, bearing the
outcry, turned out from the flanking gates, and surrounding
him, took him prisoner. * "
If there be might in your arms, roared he with the voice
of a lion, men of Loch Doine, rescue your leader
They hurried forward with yells of defiance : but the
whole garrison, awakened by the flying wretches from the
defeat, turned out all its troops; and with Dc Valence him-
self at their head, taking Kirkpatrick's men in flank, would
have overpowered them, had not Wallace, pressing on with
his sixty heroes (for each felt within himself that his whole
soul was in his arm, while heaven guided the stroke) in that
faith, a host in themselves, they flew 'forward, and with ve-
!
.
# 88 THE sco'ITISH CIIIERs. .
#
hement acclamations, shouted, “Wallace and Freedom ſº
“Death for the Traitor "was the loud and terrible reply "
Pikes struck against corslets, swords rung on helmets;
and the ponderous battle-axe falling with the weight of fate
cleft the uplifted target in twain. Blood seemed to pour
from every side; and the dripping hands of Kirkpatrick, as
Wallace tore him from the grasp of the enemy, proclaimed
that he had bathed his vengeance in the very stream, Kirk-
patrick on being released, and shaking his ensanguined
arms, burst into a horrid laugh : “The work speeds !—Now
through the heart of the governor P”
As he spoke, Wallace lost him from his side again; and
again, by the shouts of the Southrons, who cried “no quar-
ter for the fiend I’’ he learnt that he was re-taken. That
merciless cry was the death-bell of their own doom. It di-
rected Wallace to the spot; and throwing himself and his
brethren of Lanerk into the midst of the band which held
the chief—Kirkpatrick was rescued, and again into his
Hands. But thousands seemed now to surround him. To
do this generous deed, he had advanced farther than he
ought; and himself and his brave followers must have been
slain, had he not fallen back, and covering their rear with
the black tower, all who had the hardihood to approach, fell
under the weight of the Scottish sword.
Scrymgeour, at the head of the desperate Loch Doiners
and his own men, in vain attempted to reach his surrounded
countrymen; and fearful of being taken, or of losing the
royal standard, he was turning to make a valiant retreat,
when Murray and Edwin, having disengaged their men
from the precipices of the beacon-rock, and guided by the
noise of º battle, rushed into the midst of it, striking their
shields, and uttering the inspiring slogen of “Wallace and
Freedom P’ It was re-echoed by every Scot; those that
were flying returned; they who sustained the conflict hailed
the cry with braced sinews; and the terrible thunder of the
word, pealing from rank to rank, struck a terror into De
Valence’s men which made them pause. *
On that short moment turned the crisis of their fate. Wal-
Iace cut his way through the dismayed Southrons; who
hearing the reiterated shouts of the fresh reinforcement,
knew not whether its strength—might not be thousands in-
T'HE scott ISH chiefs. I 89
stead of hundreds, and panic-struck, they became an easy
prey to their enemies. Surrounded, mixed with the assail-
ants, they knew not friends from foes; and each individual's
thoughts being now bent on flight, without regard to their
fellows, they all indiscriminately cut to right and left, wound-
ing as many of their own men as of the foe; and finally, after
slaughtering half their companions, some few escaped
through the small posterns of the garrison ; the inner ballia
gate being occupied by part of the Frazers, with Ireland at
their head.
The whole of the field being now cleared, Wallace order-
ed the gates of the Black Tower to be forced. But at the
main entrance resistance was still made. A strong guard
was within ; and as the assailants drew near, every means .
were used to render their assault abortive. As the Scots
pressed forward to obey their commander, stönes and differ-
ent heavy metals were thrown down upon their heads; and
a piece of iron from the machicolation over the gate, struck
the right arm of Wallace motionless to his side. Not in the
least obstructed by this accident, he tºok his sword in his
left: and ordering his men to drive a large beam of wood
which lay on the ground, against the hinges of the door, it
burst open—and the whole party rushed into the great hall.
And short, sanguinary but deeisive conflict took placc.
The hanberk and green plaid of Wallace were dyed from
head to foot with red. His own brave blood and the ferg-
cious stream from his enemies, mingléºl in one horrid hue
upon his streaming hands.
Walkace Wallace : cried the stentorian lungs of Kirk-
patrick. In a moment Wallace was at his side, and found
him struggling with two men who had already forced him to
the ground. The dagger that would have terminated his ex-
istence, was aimed at the very instant in which Wallace laid
the holder of it dead across the body of the fallen kright;
and catching the other assailant by the throat, even with hiş
weakened arm he threw him prostrate at his feet. .4
Spare me for the honor of knighthood cried the con-
quered.
For my honor you shall die! cried Kirkpatrick, who had
cxtricated himself from the slain, and starting up, almost
thrust Wallace from off their supplicating enemy. His

*A
i 90 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
ſ;
;
tºp-
sword was already at the heart of the Englishman. Wallace
beat it back. Höld, Kirkpatrick! He is my prisoner, and I
give him his life.
You know not what you do : cried the old knight in a fu-
ry, and struggling with Wallace to release his sword arm :
This is De Valence you would not spare our deadliest foe!
“Yes, even Edward in that position " *::
Even Edward's thanks will await you noble chief, cried
#: panting and hard pressed De Valence, if you grant me
11e
Sooner take my own, Wallace cried the determined
Kirkpatrick, fixing his foot on the neck of the prostrate
earl; and again trying to wrench his right hand from the
grasp of Wallace.
By all the powers of mercy, t swear, cried Wallace, that
he shall strike through my heart who aims a blow at any fall-
en Southron that I hear beg for quarter. It is their absence
, we want, not their lives. And besides, this earl being our
prisoner will be of ºre advantage to us than his death.
Our safety is his ruction, Wallace : cried Kirkpatrick,
who enraged at this opposition, violently pushing his com-
mander, (who little expected such an action) from off the
body of the earl, gave that wily courtier so much advantage,
that catching Kirkpatrick by the leg which pressed upon
him, he overthrew him to the ground and by a sudden spring
starting up, turned quickly on Wallace, who he feared, not-
withstanding his clemency, would stop him, and struck his
dagger into his side. All this was done in an instant. But
W i. did not fall; staggering a few paces with the wea-
pon siekigg in the wound, he was so surprised by the base-
ness dº the action, as not to give the alarm before De Wal-
enge had disappeared.
#: flying earl took his course through a narrow passage
between the works, and proceeded swiftly along, descended
the rºck towards the south, where issuing at one of the out-

Šer ballium gates, (that part of the castle being now solitary,
as all the men had been drawn from the walls to the con-
test within :) he made his escape in a fisher's boat across
the Clyde,
Meanwhile Wallace having recovered himself just as his
own men brought in lighted torches from the lower apart-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEF5. | 9 |
ments of the tower, he saw Sir Roger Kirkpatrick leaning
sternly on his blood-dripping sword, and ille young Edwin
coming forward in garments too near the hue of his own.-
*Andrew Murray was already by his side. Wallace’s hand
was upon the hilt of the dagger which the ungrateful De
Valence had left in his breast.—You are wounded : you are
slain! cried Murray, in a voice of the most anguished con-
sternation. Edwin stood motionless with horror.
That dagger! exclaimed Scrymgeour.
Has done nothing, replied Wallace, but let me a little
more blood. As he spoke he drew it out, and thrusting
the corner of his searf into his bosom, staunched the
wound.
So is your mercy rewarded ! exclaimed Kirkpatrick,
So am I true to my duty, returned Wallace, though De
Valence is a traitor to his
You treated him as a man, replied Kirkpatrick, but now
you find he is a wild beast ! and when he next falls into our
hands, I hope you will allow me to fulfil my duty in ridding
the world of such a monster :
Your eagerness, my brave friend returned Wallace, has
lost him as a prisoner. If not for humanity or honour, for
policy’s sake, we ought to have spared his life, and detained
him as an hostage for our own countrymen in England.
Kirkpatrick, remembering how his violence had released
the earl, looked down abashed, Wallace, perceiving it, con-
tinued—“But let us not abuse our time ºf discoursing of the
coward. He is gone; the fortress is ours; and our first mea-
sure must be to guard it from surprise.” **
As he spoke his eyes fell upon Edwin, who having recov- .
ered from the shock of Murray's exclamation, was listening
with anxiety. Brave youth ! cried Wallace, beckońifig him
towards him, you, who at the imminent risk of yout life éx-
plored these heights, that you might render our asces; more
sure; you, who have fought like a youngilion in thisºne.’
qual contest ; here, in the face of all your valiant comrades, ,
receive that knighthood, which rather derives lustre
from your virtues than gives additional consequence to your
Ilāhīne. ..., s
Edwin, with a bounding heart bent his knee ; and wallace
giving him the hallowed accolade, (aa) the young knight

#. Y:
***
i 92 THE scofºrish chiers.
rose from his position with all the roses of his springing fame
flowing in his countenance, Scrymgeour presented him
the knightly girdle, (bb) which he unbraced from his own
Ioins; and while the happy boy received the sword to which
it was attached, he exclaimed with animation: “While I
follow the example before my eyes, I shall never draw it in
an unjust cause, nor ever sheath it in a just one.”
Go, then ; returned Wallace, smiling an approval of this
sentiment, while work is to be done, I will keep my knight
to the toil; go, and with twenty of my Lanerkers, guard the
wall by which we ascended. We must not be surprised,
where we surprised. º
Edwin disappeared in an instant; and Wallace dispatch-
ing detachments to occupy other parts of the garrison, took
a torch in his hand, and turning to Murray, proposed to seek
the earl. Lord Andrew was already at the iron door which
led from the hall to the principal stairs.
We must have our friendly battering ram here 2 cried he ,
a close prisoner do they make my uncle when even the inner
doors are bolted on him
The men brought the beam, and striking it with all their
strength against the iron, it burst open with the noise of
thunder.—Sºlieks from within followed the sound. The
women of Lady Mar, who had not known what to suppose
during the uproar of the conflict, and the short but horrid
stillness that succeeded it, now hearing the door forced in-
stead of opened inºhe usual manner, expected nothing less
than that some new enemies were advancing ; and giving
themselves up to despair, they flew into the room where the
countess sat, in equal though less declamatory terror.
At the first shouts of the Scots, when they began the at-
tack, the earl had started from his couch.--That is not


2%
péâge.' said he, there is some surprise !
ºf º from whom returned Lady Mar; who would ven-
ºtligeº attack a fortress like this garrisoned with thousands?
‘. ... The cry was repeated with the additional acclamations of
liberty or death !
... .It is the slogen of Sir William Wallace : cried he, I shall
be free Oh, for a sword –hear! hear! J. : :
. . As the shouts, redoubled, and mingling with the yºpitals
clangors of battle, drew nearer the tower, the i tence
THE scottish chiefs. 193
of the earl could not be restrained. Hope and eagerness
seemed to have dried up his wounds and new-strung every
nerve ; and unarmed as he was, he rushed from the apart-
‘ment and flew down the stairs which led to the iron door.
He found it so firmly fastened by bars and padlocks, that it
was not to be moved. Again he ascended to his terrified
wife; who, conscious of the little obligation Wallace owed to
her, dreaded as much to see her husband’s hopes realized ; as
to find herself yet more rigidly the prisoner of the haughty
De Valence.
Joanna! cried he, the arm of God is with us.—My pray-
ers are heard; Scotland will yet be free. Hear those groans,
those shouts.-Victory ! Victory !
As he thus re-echoed the loud cry of triumph, uttered by
the Scots as they burst open the outer gate of the tower, and
rushed into the seizure of De Valence, the foundations of
the building shook, and Lady Mar almost in a state of insen-
sibility from terror, received the exhausted body of her
over-joyed husband into her arms. He fainted from an ex-
cess of transport, his weakened frame was unable to bear :
and he had just opened his eyes and was beginning to re-
vive, when the panic struck women (who had all this time
been crowded into their own apartments) ** to
their mistress. #
The countess could not speak, but sat pale and motionless,
supporting his head on her bosom. At this instant, guided
by the noise, Lord Andrew flew into the room, and rushing
towards his uncle, fell at his feet.—“Liberty Libelty P’
was all he could say. His words pierced the ear of the earl
like a voice from Heaven; and looking up, without a word,
he threw his arms around the neck of his nephew.
Tears relieved the contending feelings of the countess.--
And the women recognizing the young lord of Bothweil by
the light of the torches which now glared through the cham-
ber, retired into a distant corner, well assured that they had
now no cause of fear.
The Earl rested but a moment on the panting breast of
his nephew ; and looking up to seek the mighty leader of
the band, he saw Wallace enter, with the firm step of secu-
rity and triumph in his eyes.
Ever' my deliverer! clied the venerable Mar, stretching
WQ L., I, R
*
*
194 THE SCOTTISH CHIEF5.
forth his arms. The next moment he held Wallace to his
breast, and remembering all he had lost for his sake since
they parted, a soldier's heart melted, and he burst into tears.
Wallace, my preserver ! Thou victim for Scotland and for
me—or rather, thou chosen of Heaven, who, by the sacri-
fice of all thou didst hold dear on earth, art made a blessing
to thy country ! Receive my thanks, and my heart.
Wallace felt all in his soul which the earl meant to imply:
but recovering the calmed tone of his mind before he was
released from the embrace of his friend; when he raised
himself, and replied to the acknowledgements of the coun-
tess, it was with a serene though glowing counteriance.
She, when she had glanced from the eager entrance and
action of her nephew, to the advancing hero, looked as Ve-
nus did when she beheld the god of war, rise from a field of
blood. She started at the appearance of Wallace: But it was
not his garments dropping gore, nor the blood-stained faul-
chion in his hand, that caused the new sensation: It was the
figure, breathing youth and manhood; It was the face, where
every noble passion of the heart had stampt themselves on
his perfect features ; it was his air, where majesty and sweet
entrancing e mingled in lovely union. They were all
these that s at once upon the sight of Lady Mar, and
made her exclaim within herself:—This is a god this is the
hero that is to humble Edward—that is to bless—whom 2–
was her thought. Oh ! no woman let him be a creature
enshrined and holy, for no female heart to love :
This passed through the mind of the countess in less time
than it has been registered : and when she saw him clasped
in her husband’s arms, she longed to throw herself on his
neck, and there utter all her admiration in a paroxism of
tears. Helen thou wert right, thought she , thy gratitude
was prophetic of a matchless object: while I, wretch that I
am, even whispered to myself, that while I gave the infor-
mation against my husband, this man, the cause of all, might
be secured and perhaps slain :
Just as the last idea struck her, Wallace rose from the em-
brace of his venerable friend, and met the rivetted eye of
the countess. She stammered forth a few expressions of ob-
ligation; and Wallace attributing her confusion to the sur-
"hrise of the moment, replied to ſier respectfully; and then
THE SeoTTISH CHIEFS. 195
i
turning again to the earl, briefly related the events of the
night. *
"#. good old vetéran's joy was unbounded, when he
found that a handful of Scots had put two thousand South-
rons to flight, and gained entire possession of the castle.
Wallace having satisfied the anxious questions of his brave
auditor, and being nearly overpowered by the eloquent grat-
itude of the countess, who had now recovered herself, glad-
ly perceived the morning light paling the fires of the torch-
es. He rose from his seat. I shall take a temporary leave
of you, my lord, said he to the Earl, I must now visit my
brave comrades at their stations; and see that the colours of
Scotland are planted on the citadel.
CHAP. XXII.
As soon as Wallace withdrew, Lady Mar, who had de-
tained Murray, whispered to him, while ablush stained her
cheek, that she should like to be present; ºthe planting of
the standard. Lord Mar heard her; and tº that fear of
alarming her spirits by proposing to leavčº
F for even so
short a time, had alone prevented his expressing a similar
desire, he declared his willingness to accompany her to the
spot, and added, “I can be supported thither by thº arm of
our Andrew, for sorry should I be to be absent fromisoglo-
rious a sight.” *
Murray, though eager as themselves to be of the party,
yet. hesitated. “It will be impossible for my aunt to go ;
the hall below and the whole of the ground before the tow-
er are strewn with the slain.”
Let them be cleared away, then, said she hastily, for I can-
riot consent to be deprived of a spectacle so honourable to
my country.
Murray regarded the pitiless indifference with which she
gave this order with amazement: To do that, madam, said
he, is beyond my power, as the whole ceremony would be
completed long before I could clear the earth of half its


196 THE SCOTTISII CHIEFS.
bleeding load. I will rather seek a passage for you by some
other way. & i
Before the Earl could make any remark on this part of
the conversation, Murray disappeared; and after wandering
about the lower part of the tower in unavailing search for a
way to the inner ballium, he met Sir Roger Kirkpatrick is-
suing from a small door, which being in shadow, he had hith-
erto overlooked. It led through the ballium to the platform
before the citadel. Lord Andrew returned to his uncle and
aunt, and informing them of this discovery, gave his arm to
Lord Mar, while Kirkpatrick led forward the agitated
countess. As they proceeded, Murray looked behind, and
observing her tremble as she walked, be believed that he
had wronged his aunt in supposing that her order had been
given from inhumanity. Her present agitation was doubtless
the effect of a compassionate dread of meeting the objects
he had described, and internally he begged her pardon for
his hasty aspersion of her heart.
As they approached the platform of the citadel, Wallace
having been joined by Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, had al-
ready gained the summit. The standard of Edward was yet
flying. *śl at it for a moment, and then laying his
hand on the Down thou red dragon, cried he, and learn
to bow before ºf: Giver of all Victory ! As he spoke, he rent
it from the roof, and casting it over the battlements, planted
the Lion of Scotland in its stead.
As the vast evolvements floated on the air, the cry of tri-
umph, the loud clarion of victory, burst from every heart,
horn, and trumpet below. It was a shout that pierced thf:
skies and entered the soul of Wallace with a bliss which
seemed a promise of immortality.
Oh God cricd he, still grasping the staff and looking up
to heaven; we got not this in possession through onr own
might, but thy right hand and the light of thy countenance
overthrew the enemy . Thine the conquest, thine the glory !
And thus we consecrate the day to thee. Oh power of
heaven rejoined Scrymgeour, let this standard be thing
own and whethersoever we bear it the result will be victory :
Wallace dropping on his knee, crossed it with his sword,
in token that he subscribed to the vow ; and rising #.
took Sir Alexander by the hand: My brave friend, said he,


THE SCOT TISH CHIEF5. ig º'
we have here planted the tree of liberty in Scotland.
Should I die in its defence, swear to bury me under its
branches, swear that no enslaved ground shall cover my re-
II*31I].S.
I swear, cried Scrymgeour, laying his crossed hands upon
the arm of Wallace ; by the blood of my brave ancestors,
whose valor gave me the name I bear, by the cross of St.
Andrew, and by your valiant self, never to sheath my sword
while I have life in my body, until Scotland be frce :
And so I swear! cried Murray, who had impatiently broke
from his uncle, to partake in the martial rites which the par-
apats of the citadel partially obscured: “And moreover,
added the gay chieftain, I vow to make mince-meat of every
man's son in this castle who does not, on our going down,
join in the oath !
The colours fived, Wallace and his brave colleagues de-
scended the tower; and approachéd the earl and countess,
who sat on a stone bench at the end of the platform. The
countess had sent for the standard of England, which she
saw fall at a little distance from her, and having ordered it to
be disengaged from its staff, was wrapping it together to pre-
serve as a trophy, when Wallace appeared from the citadel.
She rose as he drew near ; Lord Mar cau him by the
hand with an expression of gratulation in his eyes that was
unutterable; her ladyship spoke, hardly consciou of what
she said; and Wallace putting the earl’s arm through that
of Kirkpatrick, proposed to him to retire with Lady Marin-
to the citadel, where she would be more suitably lodged
than in the Black Tower. The countess returned a ready
assent to this proposal, being delighted by such a mark of
particular attention from their deliverer; and the earl was
obeying her movement, when suddenly stopping, he ex-
claimed to Wallace.—“But where is that wondrous boy who
you said was your dauntless pilot over these perilous rocks
—Let me give him a soldier’s thanks.”
Wallace, happy to be so reminded of a pleasure which
had escaped him amidst his pressing duties, beckoned Ed-
win, who, just relieved from his guard, was standing at some
distance. He took him by the hand, and putting it into
that of the earl’s ; here, said he, is my knight of fifteen l and
last night he proved himself ºre worthy of his spurs than
Iº.
}98 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS.
many a man who has received them from the hands of a
king.
#. shall then wear those of a king; rejoined the Lord Mar
unbuckling from his feet a pair of golden º: : these were
fastened on my heels by our great king Alexander, at the
battle of Largs. I had intended them for my only son : but
the first knight in the cause of rescued Scotland, doubles
that blessing; he is the son of my heart and soul |
As he spoke he would have prest the young hero to his
breast, but Edwin, trembling with excess of emotion, slid
down upon his knees, and clasping the Earl's hand to his
l:eart, said in a hardly audible voice,—“Receive and par-
don, the run-away son of your sister Ruthven l’’
What exclaimed the veteran, is it Edwin Ruthven that
has brought me this weight of glory —Come to my arms,
thou dearest child of my dearest Janet.
The uncle and nephew were folded in each others cm-
brace. Lady Mar wept ; and Wallace, unable to bear the
remembrances which such a scene pressed upon his heart,
turned away towards the battlements. Edwin murmured
a short explanation in the ear of his uncle; and then rising
from his arms, with his beautiful face glittering like an April
day in tears, ātowed his gay cousin Murray to buckle the
royal spurs on his feet. The rite over, he kissed Lord An-
drew’s hand in token of his acknowledgements, and called
on Sir William Wallace to bless the new honours conferred
on his knight.
Wallace turned round, and stretching forth his hand to
3 dwin, with a smile which partook more of heaven than
carth, said: have we not performed our mutual promises I
brought you to the spot where you were to reveal your
name, and you have declared it to me by the voice of glory :
—come then, my brother, let us leave your uncle a while to
seek his repose
As he spoke, he bowed to the countess, and Edwin joy-
fully taking his arm, they walked together towards the east-
ern postern.
The earl, agitated with the delighted surprise of thus
meeting his favourite sister’s son, (a child whom he had never
seen since its infancy, and who from its delicate constitution
was intended for the church) and exhausted by the variety
‘i HE SCO'ſ TISH CHI EE 3. 199
of his late emotions, readily acquiesced in a proposal for
rest, and leaning on Lord Andrew, proceeded to the citadel.
The countess had other attractions; and lingering at the
side of the rough knight of Torthorald, she looked back;
and when she saw the object of her gaze disappear through
the gates which flew open before him, she sighed; and turn-
ing to her conductor, walked by him in silence till they join-
ed her husband, in the hall of the keep. Murray led the way
into the apartments lately occupied by De Valence. They
were furnished with all the luxury of a Southron nobleman.
Łady Mar, with no inconsiderable degree of pleasure, cast
her eyes round the splendid chamber, and seated herself on
one of its tapestried couches. The earl not marking whe-
ther it were of silk or of rushes placed himself beside her;
and Murray drew a stool towards them ; while Kirkpatrick,
tired of his gallant duty, hastily bowing to the countess, ab-
ruptly took his leave.
Lord Mar and his wife being left with Murray, she reclin-
ed her thoughtful head upon the arm of the couch, and the
earl laid his hand upon the shoulder of his nephew.
My degr Andrew, said he, in the midst of this proud re-
joicing for myself and Scotland, there is yet a canker at my
heart. Remcve it—and teii me that my beloved Helen, when
she disappeared in the tumult at Bothwell, was under your
protection ?
She was ; replied Murray, and I thank the holy St. Fillan
she is now in the sanctuary of his church.
Murray then recounted to the earl the events which had
happened to him from the moment of his withdrawing be-
hind the arras, to his conſiding the Euglish soldier with the
iron box to the care of the prior. Lord Mar sighed heavily
when he spoke of that mysterious casket. It is well, said
re, that it is safe. Whatever it contains, it has drawn after
it unuch evil and much good. The domestic peace of Wal-
Jace was ruined by it, and my preservation effected; and
the spirit which now restores Scotland to herself was raised
by his wrongs.
Heaven knows what is in that Pandora-box; interrupted
Murray, but I would not open it were I evensure the fair-
est lady in the land would leap out and bles; me with her
200 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
charms! they talk of relics, but I guess some devil is at the
bottom of it; and I am glad that the good St. Pillán has him
under lock and key. -
I do not want to remove him, said the earl, forcing a
smile ; but tell me, do you think my daughter is equally
safe so near a garrison of the enemy
Surely, my lord, said the countess, suddenly remembering
the enthusiasm with which Helen had regarded even the
unknown Wallace; surely you would not bring that tender
child into a scene like this! rather send a messenger to con-
vey her secretly to Thirlestane, where, with her sister, she
may be safe under the protection of her grandfather.
The earl acquiesced in her opinion; and saying that he
would consult with Wallace about the securest mode of
travel for his daughter, he again turned to Lord Andrew to
learn farther of their late proceedings. But the countess,
more uneasy at his second determination than at his first,
once more interrupted him.
“Alas! my lord, what would you do? His generous zeal
will offer to go in person for your daughter. We know not
what dangers he may then incur; and surely the ehampion
of Scotland is not to be thrown into perii for any domestic
concern. If you really feel the weight of the evils into
which you have plunged Sir William Wallace, do not in-
crease it by even hinting to him the present subject of your
discourse.”
My aunt is an oracle resumed Murray; and what is bet-
ter, she gives me hopes of a boon which I was just going to
ask when you knocked me down with my general’s trunch-
eon. Allow me to be the happy knight that is to bear the
surrender of Dumbarton to my sweet cousin : prevail on
Wallace to remain lord of this garrison till I return ; and
then, full tilt for the walls of old Stirling, and the downfall
of Hughie Cressingham :
The countess and the earl were both pleased with this ar-
rangement. The latter, by the persuasion of his nephew,
retired into an inner chamber to seek repose; and the for-
mer desired Lord Andrew to inform Wallaces that she
should expect to be honoured with his presence at noon to
partake of such fare as the garrison afforded. Murray with-
drew; and she, calling up some of the soldiers, sent them
THE sco.TTISH chiefs. 201
to the black tower to bring away her wardrobe, and to con-
duct her maids with her infant child, to the citadel. When
they arrived she made every disposition to establish herself
quite at home; and gave orders for as magnificent a dinner
to be prepared as could be côllected from the full stores of
De Valence. - --
Murray, on descending to the ground before the citadel,
met Ker, who told him that Wallace having been the round
of all the posts, and being perfectly satisfied with their order,
had proceeded with Sir Roger Kirkpatrick and Edwin Ruth-
ven towards the Black tower. Murray followed them thith-
er; and on issuing from the postern which led to that part
of the rock, he observed his chief standing with his helmet
off in the midst of the slain. Those of the Scots who had fal-
len, were collected on his right hand; while the dead of the,
enemy, tº the number of twelve hundred, were spread in
heaps on his left. *
This is a horrid sight, said he to Murray, as he approach-
ed, but it shall presently be removed from view. I have just
ordered biers to be prepared, by which these sad,wrecks of
human nature may be lowered into the Clyde : Its rushing
stream will soon carry them to a deeper grave beneath yon
peaceful sea. He added, that as his own dead amounted to
no more than fifteen, he meant to bury them at the foot of
the rock : A prisoner in the castle had described a flight of
stone steps cut in the cliff, by which the solemnity could
easily be performed. -
But why, my dear commander, cried Lord Andrew, why
do you take any thought about out enemies 2 Leave them
where they are, and the eagles of our mountains will soon
find them graves, ... -
For shame, Murray, was the reply of Wallace; they are
dead, and our enemies no more. They are men like our-
selves; and shall we deny them a place in that earth whence
we all sprung We war not with human nature : Are we
not rather the asserters of her rights. w
I know, replied Lord Andrew, blushing ; that I am often
the asserter of my own folly; and I do not know how you
will forgive my inconsiderate impertinence.
Because it was inconsiderate, replied Wallace with a
202 THE Scottish ch iEFs.
3. *
smile; inhumanity is too stern a guest to live in such a breast
as yours. - .
If I ever gave her quarters, replied Murray, I should most
wofully disgrace the companion she would meet there. No ;
next to the honour of fair Scotland, my sweet cousin Helen
is the goddess of my idolatry; and she would tie me up on
the nearest tree, if she thought me capable of feeling other-
wise than in unison with Sir William Wallace.
Wallace looked towards him with a benign pleasure in his
countenance:—Your sweet cousin does me honour: and
though I hardly think she would so cruelly punish the cruel-
ty she abhors, yet you teach me to be proud of the appro-
bation of one so excellent.
Ah! my noble friend, cried Murray, lowering his gay
tone to one of a softer expression, if you knew all her good-
mess: all the amiableness that dwells in her gentle heart,
you would ineeed esteem her—you would love her as 1 do.
The blood fled from the cheek of Wallace. “Not as you
do, Murray : 1 can no more love woman, as you do her.—
Such scenes as these,” cried he, turning to the mangled
bodies, which the men were now carrying off in litters, to
the precipice of the Clyde, “ have divorced woman’s love
from my heart. I am all my country’s, or I am nothing.”
Nothing' reiterated Murray, laying his hand upon that of
Wallace, as it rested upon the hilt of his sword on which he
leaned : “Is the friend of mankind, the champion of Scot-
land, the beloved of a thousand valuable hearts, nothing
Nay, art thou not the agent of heaven to be the scourge of
a tyrant Art thou not the deliverer of thy country "
Wallace turned his bright eye upon Murray with an ex-
pression of mingled feelings:—“May I be all this, my friend,
and Wallace will yet be happy —but speak not to me of
love and women : tell me not of those endearing qualities
which I have prized too tenderly, and which are now buried
to me forever beneath the ashes of Eilerslie.”
Murray looked at his anguished face with trepidation :--
Not under the ashes of Ellerslie, said he, sleep the remains
of your lovely wife. Wallace’s penetrating eye, full of a
surprized enquiry, turned quick upon him; Murray contin.
ned, “My cousin's pitying soul stretched itself towards
THE ScotriSH chIEFS, 203
&
them; by her directions they were brought from the ora-
tory in the rock, and deposited with all holy rites in the ce-
metery at Bothwell.” -
The glow that now animated the before chilled heart of
Wallace, overspread his face. His eyes spoke volumes of
gratitudé, his lips moved, but his feelings were too big for
utterance, and fervently pressing the hand of Murray : to
conceal emotions which he found ready to shake his man-
hood, he turned from his friend and walked towards the
cliff. Lord Andrew followed at a short distance ; but that
he might not by his immediate presence press still further
upon his awakened recollection, he kept far to the right,
and joining Edwin Ruthven, assisted him in directing the
men in their melancholy duty of lowering the slain to Sir
Alexander Scrymgeour’s detachment who were below to
commit them to the deep. -
When all was finished, a young priest in the company of
Scrymgeour, gave the holy blessing both to the departed in
the waves, and those whom the shore received. The rites
over, Murray re-ascending the rock, again drew near to Wal-
Hace and delivered his aunt’s message, which amidst more
interesting matters he had forgotten. The chief told him
that he had just replied to a messenger from the countess,
and that he had sent her word he would attend her com-
mands. We must first, continued he, visit our wounded
prisoners in the tower. There are above three hundred of
them, whom Edwin and 1 discovered amongst the dead.—
They are now safely lodged, with a few of our own men,
under the care of Stephen Ireland; and I hope to have a
good account of them. & *
Murray gladly obeyed the impulse of his leader’s arm :
and followed by the captains on the late solemn duty, they
elitered the tower. Ireland met them in the porch, and wel-
comed Wallace with the intelligence that he hoped he had
succoured friends instead of foes ; for that most of the pris-
oners were poor Welsh peasants whom Edward had torn
from their mountains tº serve in his legions; and a few Irish,
who, in the heat of blóqq, and eagerness for adventure, had
enlisted in his ranks, f have shown to them, continued Ire-
land, what fools they are, thus to injure themselves, and us.
To the Welsh, I said they were rivetting their chains by as-
204 THE SCOTTI3]+ CHIEFS,
\
sisting to cxtend the dominion of their conqueror:—And to
the Irish, I enforced that they were forging fetters for them-
selves by lending their help to enslave their brother nation,
the freeborn Scots. They only require your presence, my
lord, to forswear their former leaders, and to enlist under
Scottish banners, >
Thou art an able orator, my good Stephen, returned Wal-
lace; and whatever promises thou hast made to honest men,
in the name of Scotland, we are ready to ratify them. Is it
not so added he, turning to Kirkpatrick and Scrymgeour.
All as you will, replied they in one voice. Yes; added
Kirkpatrick, you were the first to strike for Scotland: and
who but you has the right to be the first to command for
her ? $ gº ¥
So say I; and swear it too, by the royal standard 1 bear !
**
rejoined Scrymgeour.
$.
And I, cried Murray, by all the standards, royal, loyal,
and saintly, between this and the Holy land so, dear gen-
eral, lead us to our recruits, w
Ireland threw open the door which led into the hall: and
there, on the ground, on pallets of straw, lay most of the
wounded Southrons. A few who were not so much injured
as the rest, and having had balsam poured into their wounds,
were assisting the Scots to administer to the others. At sight
of Wallace, whom some of their dimmed eyes had discerned
when he discovered them expiring on the rock and ordered
them to be conveyed into the tower, they uttered such a
piercing cry of joyful gratitude, that surprized, he stood for
a moment. In that moment already five or six of the poor
wounded wretches had crawled to his feet—Our enemy —
Our Preserver burst from their lips, as they kissed the hem
of his garment.
Not to me, not to me, hastily exclaimed Wallace ; I am
a soldier like yourselves; I have only acted a soldier's part :
—But I am a soldier of freedom ; you of a tyrant who seeks
to enslave the world ; This makes the difference between
us; this lays you at my feet, when I would more willingly,
as brothers in one generous cause, receive you to my arms.
We are yours, was the answering exclamation of those
who knelt, and of those who raised their feebier voice from
their beds of straw. A few only remained silent. Wallace
THE scottish chiefs. 205
disengaging himself with many kind expressions of appro-
bation from those, who clung around him, walked forwards
to the sick who seemed to be too ill to speak. While re-
peating the same consolatory language to them, he observ-
ed an old man laying between two young ones, who, unlike
the rest, still kept a profound silence. His rough features
were marked with many a scar; but there was a meek re-
signation in his face that powerfully struck Wallace. As the
chief drew near, the veteran raised himself a little on his
arm, and bowed his head with a respectful air. Wallace
stopped. “You are an Englishman º'
“I am, sir, and I have no services to offer you. These
two young men on each side of me, are my sons. Their
brother I lost last night in the conflict. To-day, by your
mercy, my own life is not only preserved, but my two re-
maining children also !—yet I am an Englishman, and I can-
not forswear my country; I cannot be grateful at the ex-
pence of my allegiance. -
Nor would I require it of you, returned Wallace; these
brave Welsh and Irish were brought hither by the oppressor
who subjugates their countries; they owe him no duty. But
you are a free subject of England; he that is a tyrant over
others, can only be your king; he must be the guardian of
your laws, the defender of your liberties, or his sceptre falls.
And having sworn to follow a sovereign so plighted, I am
not severe enough to condemn you, because, blinded by
that ignis fatuus which he calls glory, you have suffered him
to lead you to unjust conquest. . .
Once I have been so led, returned the old man, but never
again. Fifty years I have fought under the British standard
in Normandy and in Palestine; and now in my old age with
four sons, I followed the armies of my sovereign into Scot-
land. My eldest I lost in the plains of Dunbar. My second
fell last night; and my two youngest are now by my side;
you have saved them and me. What can I do Not, as your
noble self says, forswear my country; but this I swear; and
in the oath, do you my sons join ; (as he spoke they laid
their crossed hands upon his, in token of assent) never to
raise our swords against England; and with the like faith,
never to lift an arm against Sir William Wallace or the cause
of struggling Scotland -
W 01, I. S
wº. .
f}
}
2O6 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
To this we also swear, cried several other men, who eom-
prised the whole of the English prisoners. , , ” tº
Noble people ! cried Wallace, why have you not a king
worthy of you ? -- -
And yet, said Kirkpatrick in a surly tone; angry with
Wallace for such admiration of his enemies, and at himself
for feeling some sympathy with the scene; Heselrigge was
one of these people. Wallace turned round upon him with
a look of such tremendous meaning, that awed by an ex-
pression too mighty for him to comprehend, he fell back a
few paces, muttering something that was not heard.
That man would arouse the tyger in our lion-hearted chief,
whispered Scrymgeour to Murray.
Aye ; returned he, but the royal spirit keeps the wild
beast in awe :—See how coweringly that bold brow now
bows before him.
Wallace marked the impression his glance had made; and
where he had struck, being unwilling also to pierce, he dis-
pelled the thunder from his countenance, and once more
looking on Sir Roger with a frank serenity; come, said he,'
my good knight, you must not be more tenacious for Wil-
liam Wallace than he is for himself; and while he possesses
such a zealous friend as Kirkpatrick of Torthorald, he needs
not now fear the arms of a thousand Heselrigges.
No, nor of Edward’s neither; cried Kirkpatrick, once
more looking boldly up, and shaking his broad claymore :
my thistle has a point to sting all to the death who pass be-
tween this arm and my leader's breast.
May heaven long preserve the valiant Wallace ; was the
prayer of every feeble voice, as the chieftain left the hall to
visit his own wounded, who were in an upper chamber.—
The interview was short and satisfactory. He found the
young Edwin ministering to them with the tenderness of a
son. Fergus, whom he had deputed to superintend their re-
covery, gave him a cheering account of their state.: and as
all who were wounded belonged to Wallace’s own particular
band, he promised that he and Edwin would return in the
evening to the tower, and make it their lodging. The poor
fellows, with overflowing hearts, thanked him for this con-
descension. Ah, sir, said one of them, I cannot tell how it is,
but when I see you, I feel as if I beheld the very soul of my
THE SGOTTISH CHIEFS. 207
-Ir,
couñtry, or its guardian angel, standing before me —a
something I cannot describe, but that fills me with courage
and comfort. -
You see an honest Scot standing before you, my good
Duncan; replied Wallace, and that is no mean personage;
for it is one who knows no use of his life but to preserve it,
or to lay it down, for the sons of Scotland, for their true
happiness. ' ' , - h
Oh! that the sound of that voice could penetrate to every
ear in Scotland rejoined the soldier, it would be more than
the call of a trumpet to bring them to the field !
And from the summit of this rock many have heard it, and
more shall be aroused cried Murray, returning from the
door, to which one of his men had beckoned him : here is
a man come to announce to Sir William Wallace, that Mal-
colm, Earl of Lenox, passing by the foot of this rock, saw
the Scottish standard flying from its citadel; and as amazed
as overjoyed at the sight, has sent to request the favour of
being admitted.
Let me bring him hither! interrupted Kirkpatrick; he is
brave as the day, and will be a noble auxiliary.
Every true Scot is welcome to these walls, returned Wal-
lace; and you, Sir Roger, shall have the satisfaction of con-
ducting one of the bravest of them to at least one free spot
on his native hills.
Kirkpatrick, taking with him a few followers, hastened
through the different gates till he reached the northern side
where, at the foot of the rock stood the Earl and his train,
Sir Roger, with all the pride of a freeman and a victor des-
cended the height. The earl advanced to meet him. What
is it I see 2 said he, Sir Roger Kirkpatrick master of this cit-
adel; and our king’s colors flying from its towers! Where
is Earl De Valence Where the English garrison 2
The English garrison, replied Kirkpatrick, are now,
twelve hundred men, beneath the waters of the Clyde. De
Valence has fled; and this fortress, manned with a few har-
dy Scots will sink into the waves sooner than again see the
English dragon on its walls. -
And you, noble knight ! cried Lennox, have achieved all
this. You are the dawn to a blessed day for Scotland.
No : replied Kirkpatrick, I am but a follower of the man
Jr.
208 "THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
who inspires us all. Sir William Wallace of Ellerslie igour
chief; and, with the power of his virtues, he subdues not
only friends, but enemies, to his command. - -
He then proceeded to narrate to the earl the particulars
of the taking of the castle; and also the volunteering of the
three hundred prisoners to serve in the Scottish army. The
earl listened with wonder and joy. What! cried he, so no-
ble a plan for Scotland, and I ignorait of it?—I, that have
not waked or slept day or night for many a month, without
thinking or dreaming of some enterprize to free my country :
—and behold it is achieved in a moment —I see the stroke
as a bolt from heaven; and I pray heaven it may light the
sacrifice throughout the nation
“Lead me, worthy knight, lead mé to your chief; for he
shall be mine too : He shall command Malcolm Lennox and
all his clan.”
Kirkpatrick gladly turned to obey him ; and mounting the
ascent together, within the Barbican gate, which was thrown
open to receive the expected guest, stood Wallace, with
Scrymgeour, Murray, and Edwin. The earl knew Scrym-
geour well, having seen him often in the field as hereditary
standard-bearer of the kingdom of the persons of the oth-
ers he was ignorant. ºr
There is Wallace exclaimed Kirkpatrick. -
Surely not one of those very young men? interrogated .
the earl. 4.
Even so ; was the answer of the knight; but his is the
youth of the brave son of Ammon; grey beards are glad to
bow before his golden locks; for beneath them is a wisdom
which makes even the aged tremble. * .
As he spoke they entered the Barbican; and Wallace
(whom the penetrating eye of Lennox had already singled
out for the chief) advanced to meet his guest.
Earl, said he, you are welcome to Dumbarton castle.
Bravest of my countrymen returned Lennox, clasping
him in his arms; receive a soldier's embrace; receive the
gratitude of a loyal heart! accept my services, my arms, my
men; my all I devote to Scotland and the great cause.
Wallace, for a moment, did not answer; but warmly strain-
ing the earl to his breast, said as he released him, “Such
support will give sinews to our power. A few months, and
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 209
with the blessing of that arm which has already mowed
down the ranks which opposed us, we shall see Scotland at
liberty.”
And may heaven, brave Wallace exclaimed Lennox,
grant us thine arm to wield its scythe but how have you ac-
complished all this? How have your few managed to over-
come the English thousands -
He strikes home, when right points his sword, replied
Wallace; the injuries of Scotland were my guide, and jus-
tice my companion. We feared nothing, for God was with
us; "we feared nothing, and in his might we conquered.
And shall yet conquer! cried Lennox, inflamed with the
enthusiasm that blazed from the eyes of Wallace: I feel the
strength of our cause; and from this hour, I devote myself
to assert it or to die. -
Not to die! my noble lord; said Murray, we have yet ma-
ny a joyous eve to dance over the buried fetters of rescued
Scotland. And as a beginning of our jolities, I must remind
our general to lead you to the board of my beauteous aunt;
else we shall most grievously sin against the only lady in the
castle.
Lord Lennox understood from this address, that it was the
brave Murray who spoke to him ; for he had heard sufficient
from Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, to explain to him how the
countess of Mar and her patriot husband came within its
walls. .
The countess, who impatiently expected her deliverer;
and who, after the business of her toilet, had counted every
moment in each passing hour as so many ages, with an emo-
tion at fier heart which made it bound against her bosom,
saw the object of her wishes advancing along the platform.
- All others were losttöher as in a mist; and hastily rising from
the window as they entered the porch, she crossed the room
to meet them at the door. The earl of Mar observing her
hurried step, enquired whether they were their bravefriends
who approached. The countess in her haste returned no an-
swer, but entering the anti-room, met Wallace and his par-
ty just as they had ascended the stairs.
The earl of Lennox stopped at the sight of so much beauty
and splendor in such a scene. Lady Mar had hardly attain-
ed her thirty-fifth year; but ºm the graces of her person,
5
210. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
and the address with which she set forth all her charms, there
was a dazzling fascination about her which so bewildered the
faculties of the gazer, that he found it impossible to suppose
that she was more than three or four and twenty. Thus
happily formed by nature, and habited in a suit of green vel-
vet, blazing with jewels, Lennox rather thought it was some
triumphant queen he was going to salute, than a wife who
had so lately shared captivity with her wounded husband.
Murray started at such unexpected magnificence in his aunt.
But Wallace, having his mind fully possessed with more
weighty matters, scarcely observed that it was anything
unusual ; and bowing to her as he advanced, presented the
earl of Lennox. She smiled, and saying a few words of
welcome to the earl, gave her hand to Wallace to lead her
back to the room.
Lord Mar had risen from his seat; and leaning on his
sword (for his warlike arm refused any other staff) he stood
up on their entrance. At the sight of Lord Lennox he ut-
tered an exclamation of glad surprise. Lennox embraced
him —“I too am come to enlist under the banners of this
young Leonidas.”
Thank God! thank God was all the reply that Mar could
make, as the big tears rolled over his cheek, and he shook
him by the hand. I have four hundred stout Lennox-men,
continued the earl, who by to-morrow’s eve shall be ready
to follow our leader to the very borders.
Not so soon : interrupted the countess; our deliverer
needs repose. His men are wounded and weary, and he
cannot stir till all be recovered.
I thank your benevolence, Lady Mar; returned Wallace,
but the issue of last night, and the sight of Lord Lennox this
day, with the promise of so great a support, are the best ali-
ments for me. My men I can leave in comfort in this garri-
son ; and to-morrow, or next day, I must march hence.
Aye, to be sure ; rejoined Kirkpatrick, Dumbarton was
not taken during a sleep:—And if we stay loitering here, the
devil that holds Stirling castle may get a scent of De Val-
ence’s track; make his escape, and so I lose my revenge |
What? said the countess, and are my lord and I to be left
here alone, again to fall into the hands of our enemies? Sir
* *
... William Wallace I should have thought—
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 21 1
Every, thing, madam, rejoined he, that is demonstrative of
my devotion to your venerable lord –-I quit not this, nor
any other place, whilst the danger of himself, or of any dear
to him, requires my stay. But with a strong garrison, I
should have hoped you would have considered yourself safe
until a wider range of security were won, to enable you to
retire to Mar or to Drumlanrig.
As the apostrophe addressed to Wallace in the latter part
of the countess’ speech had been said to himself in rather a
low voice, his reply was made in a similar tone ; so that
Lord Mar who was discoursing with the earl of Lennox, did
not hear any part of the answer but the concluding words.
What said he, is my ever fearful Joanna making objections
to keeping garrisons here
I confess, replied Wallace, that an armed citadel is not the
most pleasant abode for a lady: but at present, excepting
perhaps the protection of the church, it is the safest: and I
would not advise her ladyship to remove any where else,
till the plain be made as clear of the foe as this mouns
tain.
The servants now announced that the board was spread in
another apartment, and the countess leading, the way relug-
tantly gave her hand to the earl of Lennox; while Lord Mäf,
leaning on the arm of Wallace, proceeded into the room
followed by Edwin and the other chieftains. * : *
CHAP. XXIII.
DURING the repast, the countess fixed her insatiate eyes
on the youthful, yet manly countenance of the heroic Wal-
lace. His plumed bonnet was now laid aside ; and the hea-
vy corslet unbuckled from his breast, disclosed the symme-
try of his fine form, and left its graceful movements to be
displayed with advantage by the flexible folds of his simple
tartan vest. It was a warrior she looked on : the formidable
Wallace, bathed in the blood of Heselrigge, and breathing
vengeance against the adherents of the tyrant Edward It
was the enemy, then, of her kinsmen of the house of Cum
*
º:º
312. THE scortish chiers.
min' It was the man for whom her husband had embraced
so many dangers! It was the man whom she had denounced
to one of those kinsmen, and whom she had betrayed to the
házard of an ignominious death ! Where now was the fierce
rebel, the ruiner of hèr, peace, the outlaw whom she had
wished in his grave :- ... "
The idea was distraction :--She could have fallen at fis
feet, and bathing them with her tears have implored his for-
giveness. Even as the thought passed through her mind, she
asked herself, did he know all, could he pardon such a weighſ.
of injuries She cast her eyes with a wild expression upon
his face. The mildness of heaven was there; and the peace
too, she might have thought, had not his eye, which was
turned to the discourse of Lord Mar, carried a chastened
sadness in its look, which told that something dire and sor-
rowful was buried deep within. It was a look that dissolved
the soul which gazed on it. The countess felt her heart
throb violently. At that moment Wallace addressed a few
words to her, but she knew not what they were; her soul
was in tumults, and a mist passed over her sight, which for
“a moment seemed to wrap all her senses in a trance,
ºthe unconscious object of these emotions bowed to her
ifiarticulate reply, supposing that the mingling voices of
ºthers had made him hear her’s indistinctly ; and not ob-
serving her changing complexion, he again turned to the
conversation of the earls.
Lady Mar found her situation so strange, and her agita- "
tion so inexplicable, that feeling it impossible to remain long-
er without giving way to a burst of tears, for which she could
not have accounted, she rose from her seat, and forcing a
smile, courtseyed to the company and left the room.
* When she gained the saloon, she threw herself along the
nearest couch, and striking her breast with a strong emotion,
exclaimed. “What is this that is within me How does my
floul seem to pour itself out to this man Oh! how does it
extend itself, as if it would absorb his, even at my eyes!
Qnly twelve hours—hardly twelve hours, have I seen this
William Wallace, and yet my very being is now lost in his "
As she spoke, she covered her face with her handkerchief;
but no tears now started to be wiped away. The turbulence
in her veins dried their source; and with beating temples
*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 2 13
and burning blushesshe rose from her seat. Fatal, fatal hour !
Why didst thou come here, too lovely Wallace; to rob me
of my peace Oh yºdid I ever look on that face —or
rather, blessed saints! cried she, clasping her hands in a wild
passion, why did I ever shackle this hand by giving it to a
man old enough to have been my father—why did I ever
render such a sacrifice necessary 2, Wallace is now free; had.
I been free Powers of heaven, cried she, grant me pagºsé
to bear all that is pressing on this heart! . She gasfied for
breath, and again seating herself, reclined her head against
the tapestry.
She was now silent; but thoughts, not less intense, not
less fraught with self-reproach and anguish, occupied her
mind. Should this god of her idolatry ever discover that it
was her information which had sent Earl De Valence’s men
to surround him in the mountains ; should he ever learn that
at Bothwell she had betrayed the cause on which he had set
his life; she felt that moment would be her last. For now,'
to sate her eyes with gazing on him, to hear the sound of
his voice, to receive his smiles, seemed to her a joy which
she could only surrender with her existence. What then
was the prospect of so soon loosing him, even to crown him.
self with honour, but to her a living death ! . . . . . .
To defer this departure was all her study, all her hope; . . . .
and fearful that his restless valor might urge him, as he seemiº
ed bent on new encounters, to accompany Murray in his in- ºf
tended convoy of Helen into the Tweed dale, she determin-
ed to pursuade her nephew to set off without the knowledge
of his general. She did not allow that it was the youthful,
beauty and more lovely mind of her daughter in-law which
she feared; she cloaked her alarm under the plausible excuse
even to herself, of care for the chieftain’s safety. More come
posed by this arrangement, her disturbed features were
smoothed; and having adjusted her disordered tresses at the . .
mirror, she was ready to receive her lord, and his brave
friends, who entered the room. . .
Neither Wallace nor Lord Lennox were with him. He .
had taken the earl to show him the dispositions of the for- .
tress ; but had promised his veteran friend that he would re-
turn in the course of an hour. III satisfied as the countess
was with this prolonged absence, she yet determined to turn
*
•.s*.º,

".
r. º
|-
214 THE scorrish chiefs.
i.
;
g
f.
it to advantage, and employ that time in drawing Murray to
her purpose. While her lord and his friends sat examining
a map of the most commanding º in Scotland, which
Wallace had sketched since she left the banqueting-room,
she took Lord Andrew aside and conversed with him on the
subject nearest her heart. Murray granted the cogency of
her reasoning against betraying their deliverer into sharing
the danger of so domestic an affair.
It certainly belongs to me alone, as her kinsman and her
friend, said he, but my good Lady Countess, I cannot com-
prehend why I am to lead my fair cousin such a pilgrimage
over the mountains. I assure you she is not afraid of he-
roes; you are safe in Dumbarton, and why not bring her
here also
Not for worlds ! exclaimed the countess, for a moment
thrown off her guard. Murray looked at her with surprise.
It recalled her to self-possession, and she resumed So love-
* ly a creature in this castle would be a dangerous magnet.
You must have known that it was the hope of obtaining her,
which attracted the Lord Soulis and Earl De Valence to
#Bothwell. The whole castle rung with the quarrel of these
"two lords upon her account, when you so fortunately effected
her escape. Should she be known to be here, the same fierce
gºdesire of obtaining her, would add double fire to the arms
* * *
of De Valence in attempting the recovery of this place; and
so perhaps her father and this brave garrison might fall a
sacrifice to our imprudence in bringing her hither.
Murray was persuaded by this argument to reli, quish the
idea of conveying her to Dumbarton; but remembering
what Wallace had said respecting the safety of a religious
sanctuary, he told his aunt that he never would seriously
consent to expose his cousin to the present perils of a jour-
ney to the banks of the Leeder; and therefore he advised
that she should be left in quiet at St. Fillans till the cause
of Scotland was more firmly established : Send a messenger
to inform her of the ri scue of Dumbarton, and of your and
my uncle’s health ; continued he, and that will be sufficient
to make her h ppy
That she was not to be thrown in Wallace’s way, satisfied
Lady Mar, and indifferent whether Holen’s seclusion were
under the Eildon tree (cc) of her uncle of Ercildoun, or the
The scottish chiefs. ' 215
Holy-rood, she approved Murray’s decision, and dismissed
the subject. Relieved from apprehension, her face was again
dressed in smiles, and with a bounding heart she welcomed
the re-entrance of Wallace with the earl of Lennox.
Absorbed in one wish, every charm she possessed was di-
rected to the same point. She played finely on the lute, and
sung with all the native grace of her country. What gentle
heart was not to be affected by music She determined that
it should be one of the spells by which she meant to attract
Wallace to think on her, and to bind him to the castle. She
took up one of the lutes which, with other musical instru-
ments, decorated the apartments of the luxurious De Wah-
ence, and touching it with exquisite delicacy, breathed the
most pathetic air her memory could dictate.
“If on the heath she mov’d, her breast was whiter than the
down of Cana;
If on the sea-beat shore, than the foam of the rolling ocean.
Her eyes were two stars of light. Her face was heaven's bow
in showers.
Her dark hair flowed round it, like the streaming clouds.
Thou wert the dweller of Souls, white-handed Strinadonal”
Wallace rose from his chair, which she had placed near
her. She had designed that these tender words of the bard
of Morven, should suggest to her hearer, the observation of
her own resembling beauties. But he saw in them only the
lovely dweller of his own soul; and walking towards a win-
dow, stood there, with his eye fixed on the deseending sun -
“So has set all my joys: so is life to me, a world without a
sun ; cold, cold and charmless.”
The countess, who vainly believed that some sensibility
advantageous to her new passion, had caused the agita-
tion with which she saw him depart from her side, ran
through many a melodious descant, till touching on the first
strains of Thusa ha measg na reultan mor: she saw Wallace
start from his contemplative position, and With a pale coun-
tenance leave the room. There was something in his coun-
tenance which excited the alarm of the earl of Lennox, whe
had been listening attentively to the songs : he rose instant-
ly, and overtaking the chief at the threshhold, enquired
2 I 6 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
*.
what was the matter Nothing, answered Wallace, forcing
a smile, in which the agony of his mind was too truly im-
printed : only I cannot bear music. With this reply he dis-
appeared. The excuse seemed strange, but it was true;
for her, whose notes were to him sweeter than the thrush ;
whose angel strains used to greet his morning and evening
hours, was silent in the grave He should no more see her
white hand upon the lute . He should no more behold that
bosom, brighter thrn foam upon the wave, heave, in tender
transport at his applause. What then was music to him ;
A soul-less sound, or a direful knell, to recal the remem-
brance of all he had lost.
Such were his thoughts, when the words of Thusa ha
measg rung from Lady Mar’s voice. Those were the strains
which Halbert used to make speak from his harp to call his
Marion to her nightly slumbers:—those were the strains
with which that faithful servant had announced that she slept
to wake no more *
What wonder then that Wallace fled from the apartment,
and buried himself, and his arousing grief, in the solitude of
the Beacon-hill. **
Edwin, while looking over the shoulder of his uncle on
the station which Stirling held amid the Oichel-hill and so
many noble rivers, had at intervals cast a sidelong glance
upon the changing complexion of his general; and no soon-
er saw him hurry from the room, than fearful of some dis-
aster having happened in the garrison, which Wallace
did not choose to mention publicly, he stole out of the apart-
IT, CInt.
After seeking the object of bis anxiety for a long time
without avail, he was returning on his steps, when, attract.
ed by the splendors of the rising moon which silvered the
Beacon-hull, he ascended ; once at least to tread that accliv-
ity in light, which he had so miraculously passed in darkness.
Scarce a breeze seemed to fan the sleeping air;-He bound-
ed on with a flying step till a deep sigh arrested him. He
stopped and listened : It was repeated again and again. He
approached the spot, and by the side of a stone he saw a hu-
man figure reclined. The head of the apparent mourner was
unbonneteil, and the brightness of the moon shone on his pol-
ished forehead. Edwin thought that the sound of those sighs
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 217
was the same that he had often heard from the breast of
Wallace; and seeing a man before him, he no longer doubt-
ed having found the object of his search. He walked for-
ward. Again the figure sighed; but with a depth so full of
piercing woe that Edwin hesitated. $
A cloud passed over the moon; and sailing off again, dis-
played to the anxious boy that he had unconsciously drawn
too near. He stood directly before his friend. Who goes
there? exclaimed Wallace, starting on his feet."
Your Edwin, returned the youth. I feared something
wronghad happened, when I saw you look so sad and leave
the room abruptly.
Wallace pressed his hand in silence and stood looking on
the ground. Then some evil has befallen you ? enquired
Edwin in an agitated voice: you do not speak.
Wallace reseated himself on the stone, and leaned his
head upon the hilt of his sword. . No new evil has befallen
me, Edwin. But there is such a thing as remembrance, that
stabs deeper than the dagger’s point.
What remembrance can wound you, my general —The
Abbot of St. Columba has often told me that memory is a
balm to all ills with the good : and have not you been good
to all? the benefactor, the preserver of thousands !—surely,
if man can be happy, it must be Sir William Wallace.
And so I am, my Edwin, when I contemplate the end.
But in the interval, with all thy sweet philosophy, is it not
written here, “that man was made to mourn ?” he pressed
his hand to his breast, and after a short pause resumed :-
Doubly I mourn; doubly am I bereaved; for, had it not
been for enemies more fell than those which beguiled Adam
of Paradise, I might have been a father; I might have lived
to have gloried in a son like thee; I might have seen my
wedded angel clasp such a blesssng to her bosom; but now.
both are cold in clay. These are the recollections, which
sometimes draw tears down thy general’s cheeks. And do
not believe, sweet brother of my soul, (said he, pressing the
now weeping Edwin to his breast) that they disgrace his
manhood. The Son of God wept over the tomb of his friend;
and shall Ideny a few tears dropped in stealth over the grave
of my wife and child
Edwin sobbed aloud:—No son could love you dearer than
T

218 The Scottish chiefs.
I do—Ah, let my duty, my affection, teach you to forget you
have lost a child. I will replace all to you, but your Mari-
on ; and she, the pitying son of Mary will restore to you in
the kingdom,of heaven.
Wallace looked stedfastly at the young preacher. Out of
the mouths of babes we shall hear wisdom Thine, dear Ed-
win, I will lay to heart. Thou shall comfort me when my
hermit soul shuts out all the world.
Then I am indeed your brother ; cried the happy youth :
admit me but to your heart, and no fraternal, no filial tie
shall be more strongly bound than mine.
What tender affections I can spare from those resplendent
regions, answered Wallace, pointing to the skies, are thine.
The fervors of my once ardent soul, are-Scotland’s, or I die
—But thou art too young, my brothee, added he, interrupt-
ing himself, to understand all the feelings, all the seeming
contradictions of my contending heart.
Not so, answered Edwin with a modest blush : what was
Lady Marion’s, you now devote to Scotland. The blaze of
those affections which were her’s, would consume your be-
ing did you not pour it forth on your country. Were you
not a patriot, you would die.
You have read me, Edwin; replied Wallace. and that you -
may never love to idolatry, learn this also. Though Scot.
land lay in ruin, I was happy;—I felt not captivity in Mari-
on’s arms: Even oppression was forgotten when she made
the sufferer’s tears cease to flow. She absorbed my wishes,
thoughts and life; and she was wrested from me that I
might feel myself a slave; that the iron might enter into my
soul, with which I was to pull down tyranny and free my
cGuntry. Mark my sacrifice, young man; cried Wallace,
starting on his feet ; it even now smokes—and the flames are
here inextinguishable. He struck his hand upon his breast.
Never love as I have loved; and you may be a patriot with-
out tasteing of my bitter cup.
Edwin trembled : his tears were checked. “I can love
none better than I do you, my general and is there any
crime in that P”
Wallace in a moment recovered from the transient wild-
ness that had possessed him : none, my Edwin; replied he,
the affections are never criminal but when by their excess
*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 2 19
they blind us to superior duties. The offence of mine is
judged, and I bow to the penality. It will not be long, I
trust, before the expiation is made; then the tears of rescued
Scotland will bedev my ashes; and the seraph spirits of my
wife and infant waft me in their arms to parãdise. Edwin
wept afresh. Cease, dear boy, said he these presages are
very comforting a they whisper that the path of glory leads
thy brother to his home. As he spoke, he put the arm of the
silent Edwin (whose sensibility locked up the powers of
speech) through his; and drawing him gently forward, they
descended the hill together.
On the platform before the Black Tower they were met
by Murray. I come to seek you, cried he we have had
woe on woe in thºgitadel since you left it.
Nothing very calºitous, returned Wallace, if we may
guess by the merry Visage of our ambassador.
Only a little whirlwind of my aunt’s, in which we have had
airs and showers enough to wet us through and blow us dry
€galileº -
ë. conduct of the lady was even more extravagant than
her nephew chose fully to describe. On Wallace quitting
Lennox at the room door, the Earl, instead of returning to
the side of the countess, sat down by Lord Mar at the table.
After a little conversation with the chiefs who surrounded
it, he took occasion to mention that while Wallace and he
were going through the posts, they had sent off Ker with
credentials into Lennox to collect and bring to the castle
four hundred fighting men. When they arrive, said he,
which we expect will be to-morrow, it is our commander’s
intention to march immediately for Stirling, whither he sup-
poses Amyr de Valence may have fled. I shall be left here
to ease your lordship of the severer duties attendant on be-
ing governor of this place. º
No sooner did these words reach the ears of the count-
tess, (whose vanity had received a most disappointing mor-
tification in the avowal of Wallace, that so far from being
wrapt in her music, he was running from it,) than she was
struck with despair; and hastened towards her husband, she
exclaimed—“you will not suffer this *
No returned the earl, mistaking her meaning ; not be-
ing able to perform the duties attendant on the station with



.*
*
220 THE SCOTTISH C H (EFS,
which Wallace would honour me, I shall relinquish them al-
together to Lord Lennox, and be happy to find myself un-
der his protection.
Ah, where is there protection without Sir William Wal-
lace exclaimed she ; if he go, the enemy will return ; who
then will repel him from these walls Who will defend my-
self and your only son from falling again into the hands of
our doubly incensed foes?
Mar observed Lord Lennox color at this imputation on
his bravery,; and shocked at the pain which his unreflect-
ing wife gave to so gallant an officer, he hastily replied :
though I cannot be very strong in your defence, yet the
earl of Lennox is an able representative of our chief.
I will die, madam, interrupted Lennºx, before any thing
hostile approaches you or your chi
..She attended slightly to his assurance, only bowing her
head; and again addressed her lord with fresh arguments
for the detention of Wallace. Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, who
heard her with hardly suppressed impatience, at last abrupt-
ly said, our Samson was not brought into the world to keep
uard over ladies; and I hope he will be wiser than to al-
ow himself to be tied to the apron of any woman living. He
has got many a Philistine yet to make bite the ground, and
the gates of many a proud Gaza to carry away on his shoul-
ders, before he can obey even your behests, my Lady Mar.
The brave old earl was offended with this roughness; but
ere he could so excess himself, her ladyship darted on Kirk-
patrick an angry glance, and giving him a severe retort,
turned again to her husband, and with two or three hyster-
ical sobs, exclaimed—it is well seen what will be my fate
when Wallace is gone ! Would he have stood by, and be-
held me thus insulted
Lord Mar was distressed with shame at her conduct: and
anxious to remove her absurb fears, he softly whispered,
her and threw his arm about her waist. She thrust if off
again, “You care not what may become of me; a rº, when
Dumbarton falls you will have the pleasure of steşºg your
wife buried in the ruins.” l
Lennox, who ceased to be offended with the wonºgh whose
unreasonable pertinacity he despised, rose in silence and
walked to the other end of the room. Sir Roger Ki. i. pat-
THE scott ISH, CHIEFS.* 221
*.
rick followed him, muttering pretty audibly, his thanks to
St. Andrew that he had never been yoked with a wife.
Scrymgeour and Murray tried to allay the storm in her bo-
som, by circumstantially describing to her how the fortress
would be as safe under the care of Lennox as of Wallace;
but they discoursed in vain: she was obstinate, and at last
left the room in a passion of tears,
On the re-entrance of Wallace into the apartment where
he had left the now dispersed party, Lord Lennox advanc-
ed to meet him;—What shall we do, general said he, with-
out you have the power of Hercules, and can divide your-
self, and be in two places at once ; I fear must either
leave the rest of Scotland to fight for itself, of never restore
peace to this casti
Wallace Smiled *** he could answer, her lady-
ship, who had heard ºffs voice ascending the stairs, and who
had recovered her presence of mind, suddenly entered the
room. She held her infant son in her arms,. Her air was
composed, but her eyes yet shone in tears. At this sight,
Lord Lennox taking Murray by the arm, withdrew with
him out of the apartment. -
She approached Wallace : “You are come, my deliverer,
to speak comfort to the mother of this poor babe- My cruel
lord here, and the earl of Lennox say you mean to abandon
us in this castle *
It cannot be abandoned, returned the chief, while they are
in it. But if so warlike a scene alarms you, would not a re-
ligious sanctuary–
Not for worlds, cried she, interrupting him; what altar is
held sacred by the enemies of our country —No ;—wonder
not, added she, putting her face to that of her child, that I
should wish this innocent babe never to be from under the
wing of such a protector. &
But that is impossible, Joanna, rejoined the ear); Sir Wil.
liam Wallace has duties superior to that of keeping guard
over any private family. His presence is wanted in the field;
and we should be traitors to the cause did we detain him. 2
Unfeeling Mar, cried she, weeping bitterly, thus to echo
the words of the barbarian Kirkpatrick, thus to condemºn us
to die. You will see another tragedy; your own wife and
T 2 +
222 THE SCOTTISH C IIIEF 3.
child seized by the returning Southrons, and laid bleeding
at your feet.
Wallace walked from her much agitated.
IRather inhuman Joanna, whispered Lord Mar to her in
an angry voice ; to make such a reference in the presence
of our protector—I cannot stay to listen to a pertinacity
that is as insulting to the rest of our brave coadjutors, as it
is oppressive to Sir William Wallace. Edwin, you will
come for me when your aunt has consented to be guided by
right reason. As he spoke he entered the passage that led
to his own apartment. $
Lady Mar sat a few minutes silent. She was not to be
warned from her determination by the displeasure of a hus-
band, whom she now regarded with theiºpatience of a bond-
woman towards her task-master: an solicitous to com-
pass the detention of Sir William Wºlace for at least a suf.
ficient length of time to make some impression on his heart :
an impression which she did not despair of effecting, (as she
believed that sensibility like his could not belong of reawak-
ing to a new tenderness;) she resolved, if he would not re-
main at the castle, to persuade him to conduct her to her hus-
band’s territories in the isle of Bute. The journey she would
contrive, should occupy more than one day; and for holding
him longer she would trust to chance and her own inventions.
With these resolutions, she looked up. Edwin was speak-
ing to Wallace. What does he tell you ? said she, that my
lord has left me in displeasure ? Alas! he comprehends not
a mother’s anxiety for her sole remaining child. One of my
sweet twins, my dear daughter, died on my being brought a
prisoner to this horrid fortress; and to lose this also, would
be more than I could bear. Look at this babe, cried she,
rising, and holding it up to him ; let it plead to you for its
life —guard it, noble Wallace, whatever may become of me!
The appeal of a mother made instant way to Sir William's
heart, even her weaknesses, did they point to a too tender
anxiety respecting her offspring, were sacred with him :—
“What would you have me to do, ny dear madam -If you
fear to remain here, tell me where you think you would be
safer, and I will be your conductor.”
She paused for a moment to repress the triumph with
* which this proposal filled her, and then with downcast eyes,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 223
replied; In the sea-girt Bute stands Rothsay, a rude but
strong castle of my lord’s : it possesses nothing to attract the
notice of the enemy; and there I might remain, amongst the
poor fishermen of the isles, in perfect safety. Lord Mar
may keep his station here, until a general victory sends you,
noble Wallace, to restore my child to his father.
Wallace bowed his assent to her proposal; and Edwin, re-
membering the earl’s injunction, enquired if he might go and
inform him of what was decided. As he left the room, Lady
Mar rose from her seat, and suddenly putting the child into
the arms of Wallace;—“Let his sweet caresses thank you.”
Wallace trembled violently as she pressed its little mouth to
his ; and then, mistranslating this emotion, as he held him
she leaned her own face upon the infant’s, and so, while she
affected to kiss him, rºsted her head upon the bosom of the
chief. There was something in this action more than mater-
nal. It surprised and disconcerted Wallace. Madam, said
he, drawing back, and relinquishing the child, I do not re-
quire any thanks for serving the wife and son of Lord Mar.
At that moment his lordship entered. Lady Mar flattered
herself that the repelling action of Wallace, and his cold an-
swer had arisen from the unexpected entrance of the earl; and
seating herself, though covered with the crimson hue of
something like disappointment, in a few words she informed
her husband that Bute was to be her future sanctuary.
Lord Mar approved it: but declared his determination to
accompany her: in my state I can be of little use here, said
he ; you will require some protection even in that seclusion ;
and therefore, leaving Lord Lennox sole governor of Dum-
barton, I shall unquestionably attend you to Rothsay.
The countess aware that this would break in upon the
lonely conversations which she meditated to have with Wal-
lace, objected to the proposal. But none of her arguments
being admitted by her husband, and as Wallace did not sup-
port them by a word, she was obliged to make a merit of
necessity, and consent to Lord Mar’s being the guardian of
her new abode.
224 ‘I’HE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
CHAP. XXIV.
LATE in the next day, Ker not only returned with the
earl of Lennox's men, but brought with him Sir Eustace
Maxwell of Calraveroch, a brave knight, who having been
in the neighbourhood the night that De Valence fled before
the arms of Wallace across the Clyde, no sooner saw the
Scottish colours on the walls of Dumbarton, than finding out
who was their planter, his soul took fire; and stung with a
generous ambition of equalling in glory his equal in years,
he determined to assist while he emulated the victor.
To this end he went into the town of Dumbarton, and
along the shore, striving to lighten the understandings of
the deceived, and to excite the disconsented to rise. With
most he failed. Some took upon them to lecture him on
jishing in troubled waters, and warned him if he would keep
his head on his shoulders, to wear his yoke in peace. Others
thought the project too arduous for men of small means;
they wished well to the arms of Sir William Wallace : and
would watch the moment, should he continue successful, to
aid him with all their little power. Those who had any
property remaining, feared to risque the loss of all, by em.
bracing a doubtful struggle for the rest. Some were too
great cowards to fight for the rights they would gladly re-
gain by the exertions of others. And others again, who had
families, shrunk from taking part in a cause, which, should
it fail, would not only put their lives in danger, but expose
their offspring to the revenge of a resentful enemy. This
was the best apology of any that had been offered; a natural
affection pleaded its excuse; and though blinded even to its
jnterest, the weakness had an amiable source, and so was
ardoned. But the pleas of the others were so basely self.
fsh, so undeserving any thing but scorn, that Sir Eustace
Maxwell could not forbear expressing it. “When Sir Wil-
liam Wallace is entering port full sail, you will send your
birlings to tow him in but if a plank could save him now,
you would not throw it to him : " I understand you sirs, and
shall trouble your patriotism no more.”
In short, none but about a hundred poor fellows; whom
outrages had rendered desperate; and a few brave spirits
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 225
who would put all to the hazard for so good a cause, could
be prevailed upon to hold themselves in readiness to obey
Sir Eustace, when he should see the moment to conduct
them to Sir William Wallace. He was trying his eloquence
amongst the clan of Lennox, when Ker arriving, above five-
hundred arranged themselves under their lord’s standard. .
Maxwell gladly explained himself to Wallace’s lieutenant,
and summoning his little reserve, they marched with flying
pennons through the town of Dumbarton. At sight of so
much larger a power than they expected would venture to
appear in arms, and sanctioned by the example of the earl
of Lennox, (whose name held a great influence in those
parts) several who before had held back from doubting their
own judgment now came forward; and nearly eight hun-
dred well appointed men marched into the fortress.
So large a reinforcement was gladly received by Wallace;
and he welcomed Maxwell with a cordiality which inspired
that young knight with as much affection for his command-
er as he had before zeal for the cause. *
A council being held in the chapel of the citadel respect-
ing the disposal of the new troops, all of whom wished to
follow Wallace to the field, it was decided that, as the for-
tress must be maintained, a division should be made. The
five hundred Lennox men should remain with their Earl in
garrison ; and the three hundred from Dumbarton, under
the command of Maxwell, should follow Wallace in the pros-
ecution of his conquests. -
These preliminaries being arranged the remainder of the
day was dedicated to more mature deliberations; to the un-
folding of the plan of warfare which Wallace had laid down.
As he first sketched the general outline of his design, and
then descended to the more minute particulars of each mi-
litary proceeding, he displayed such comprehensiveness of
mind, such depth of penetration, clearness of apprehension,
facility in expedients, promptitude in perceiving and fixing
on the most favourable points of attack, explaining their
bearings upon the power of the enemy, and where the pos-
session of such a castle would compel the neighbouring ones
to surrender, and where the occupying of the flat country
with a strong wall of troops, would be a more efficient bul-
226- THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
wark than a thousand towers, that Maxwell gazed on him
with admiration, and Lennox with wonder.
Mar had seen the power of his arms; Murray had often
drank the experience of a veteran from his genius, which
with a sort of supernatural cognizance, darted into the views
of men, and turned their devices to his own advantage:
hence they were not surprized at hearing what filled stran-
gers with amazement.
Lennoxgazed on his youthful countenance, doubting whe-
ther he really were listening to military plans as great as
general ever formed ; or were visited in vision by a hero,
who often to his sleeping fancy designs far vaster than his
walking faculties could have conceived. He had thought
that the young Wallace might have won Dumbarton by a
bold stroke : and that when his invincible courage should
be steered by graver heads, every success might be expect-
ed from his arm. But now that he heard him informing ve-
iterans on the arts of war; and saw that when turned to any
cause of policy, the gordian énot of it he did unloose, familiar
as his garter ; he marvelled, and said within himself, surely
this man is born to be a sovereign
Maxwell, though equally astonished, was not so wrapped.
You have made arms the study of your life enquired he.
It was the study of my earliest days' returned Wallace.
Iłut when Scotland lost her freedom, as the sword was not
drawn in her defence, I looked not where it lay. I then stu-
died the arts of peaee : that is over; and now the passion
of my soul returns. When the mind is bent on one object
only, all becomes clear that leads to it:—zeal in these cases
is almost genius.
Soon after these observations the conference broke up ;
and Wallace, who had been too much occupied to see Lady
Mar during the day, returned an answer by one of her mes-
sengers, that according to Lord Mar’s arrangement, he
would be ready to attend her on the morrow at sun-rise,
when the Earl had decided to commence his journey.
According to this engagement, when the dawn broke, Sir
William arose from his hether bed in the Black Tower; and
calling forth twenty brave Bothwellers to be the guard of
Lord Mar; he told Ireland that he should expect to have a
cheering account of the wounded when he returned,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 227
And that I may assure the poor fellows, rejoined the honest
soldier that something of yourself still keeps watch over
their slumbers, leave me the sturdy sword with which you
won Dumbarton. It shall be hung up in their sight; (dd)
and a good soldier's wounds will heal by looking on it.
Wallace smiled : “Were it the holy King David’s we
might expect such a miracle. But you are welcome to it;
and there let it remain till I take it hence. Meanwhile lend
me yours, Stephen, for a truer never fought for Scotland.”
A glow of conscious valor flushed the cheek of the veter-
an. There, my dear lord, said he, presenting it, it will not
dishonour your hand, for it has cut down many a proud Nor-
wegian, and wounded Prince Magnus himself, when our
great Alexander drove King Acho from the field.
Wallace took the sword, and meeting Murray with Edwin
in the outward portal, by the time they had reached the
platform before the citadel, Lennox and all the officers in
the garrison were assembled to bid their chief a short adieu.
Wallace spoke to each separately; and then approaching
the countess, who appeared at the gate, led her down the
rock towards the horses which were to convey them to the
shores of the frith of Clyde. Lord Mar, between Murray
and Edwin, followed; “and the servants, with twenty Both-
wellers, completed the suit.
Being well mounted, they pleasantly pursued their way,
avoiding all inhabited places, and resting in the deepest re-
cesses of the hills. Lord Mar had proposed travelling all
night; but at the close of the evening, his countess com-
plained of fatigue, and declared she could not advance far-
ther than the eastern bank of the river Cart. No shelter ap-
peared in sight, excepting a thick and extensive wood of ha-
zles; but the kady being obstinate, and the air mild, Lord
Mar at last became reconciled to his wife and child passing
the night with no other canopy than the trees. Wallace
finding how it was decided ordered cloaks to be spread on
the ground for the countess and her women; and seeing
. laid to rest, planted his men to keep guard around the
Cll'Cie.
The moon had sunk in the west before the whole of his
little camp were asleep; but seeing that all were composed,
he wandered forth by the dim light of the stars to view the
228 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
surrounding country; a country he had so often traversed in
boyish excursions from his maternal Ayr, and in which lay
many of the lands of his aucestors. He was leaning over
the shattered stump of an old tree, and looking towards the
south, with his eyes fixed on the far-stretching plain which
alone seemed to divide him from the venerable Sir Roland
Crawford, when he heard a sigh behind him. He turned
round, and beheld a figure in white disappear amongst the
trees. He stood motionless; again it met his view : it seem-
ed to approach. A strange emotion awoke in his heart.—
When he last past these borders it was with his Marion,
bringing her a bride from Ayr. What then was this ethe-
real visitant The silver light of the stars seemed not bright-
er than the airy robes which floated in the wind. His heart
paused—it beat violently—still the figure advanced., Lost
at once in the wildness of his imagination, he exclaimed
IMarion / and darted forward as if to rush in her embrace.
But it fled, and again vanished. He dropped upon the
ground in speechless disappointment. e
'Tis false! said he, recovering from his first expectation;
'tis a phantom of my own creating. The pure spirit of Ma-
rion would never fly me: I loved her too well. She would
not thus have overwhelmed me in grief. But I shall go to
thee, sweet wife of my soul! cried he, and that is comfort.
Such were his words, such were his thoughts, till the cold-
ness of the hour, and the exhaustion of nature, putting a
friendly seal upon his disturbed senses, he sunk upon the
bank, and fell into a profound sleep.
When he awoke, i. lark was carolling her joyous matin
above his head, and to his surprise he found that a plaid was
laid over him. He threw. it off, and beheld Edwin seated
at his feet. This has been your doing, my kind brother,
said he, but how came you to discover me *
“I missed you when the dawn broke; and at last found
you here, sleeping under the dew.” tº
And has none else been astir enquired Wallace, think-
ing of the figure he had seen.
“None that I know of; all were fast asleep when I left
the circle.”
Wallace began to fancy that he had been labouring under
the impressions of some powerful dream, and saying no more,
THE SCOTTISH . CHIEFS, 229
#e returned to the wood. Having paid his respects to the
countess, and shaken hands with Murray and the earl, they
set forth, and proceeded cheerfully, though slowly, through
the delightful vallies of Barochan. By sun-set the same
evening they arrived at the point where they were to em-
bark. The journey ought to have been performed in half the
time; but the countess complaining of weakness, had peti-
tioned for long rests: a compliance of gallantry, which the
younger part of the cavalcade rather reluctantly yielded.
At Gourock Murray engaged two small vessels; the one
for the earl and countess with her retinue, and Wallace for
their escort; and the other for himself and Edwin to follow .
with the men. ~ *
It was a fine evening; and they embarked with a brisk
gale in their favour. The mariners calculated on reaching
Bute in a few hours; but ere they had been half an hour at
sea, the wind began to veer about, and obliged them to woo
its breezes by a traversing motion, which, though it length-
ened their voyage, increased its pleasantness, as it carried
them often within near views of the ever-varying shores.
As they moved under a side wind, they behold the huge ir-
regular rocks of Dunoon overhanging the ocean; their deep
ravines were strewn with shells, and green weeds of the sea;
and from their projecting brows hung every shrub which
lives in that saline atmosphere.
There, said Lady Mar, gently inclining towards Wallace,
as they sat upon the deck, might the beautiful mermaid of.
Corrie-Wrekin (ee) keep her court! Observe how magnifi-
cently those arching cliffs overhang the hollows; and how
richly they are studded with shells and sea-flowers :
No flower of the field, or of the ocean, that ever came
within the ken of Wallace, wasted its sweetness unadmired.
He assented to the remarks of Lady Mar, as she eloquently
expatiated on the beauties of the shores which they passed ;
and the hours fled pleasantly away, till turning the southern
point of the Cowal mountains, the scene suddenly changed.
The wind which had gradually arisen, blew a violent gale.
from that part of the eoast: and the sea being pent between
the two ranges of rock which skirted the continent and the
northern side of Bute, became so boisterous that the mari-
ners began to thiuk they should be driven upon the rocks of
Y 0 H, I, U
-º-º:
230 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
:
º
the island, instead of reaching its bay. Wallace perceived
their alarm; and seeing that it had cause, tore down the sails,
and laid his nervous arm to the oar to keep the vessel off the
breakers against which the wind and waves were driving
her. The sky collected in a gloom; and while the teeming
clouds seemed descending even to rest upon the cracking
masts, the swelling of the ocean appeared to threaten heav-
ing her up into their very bosoms.
Lady Mar looked with affright at the gathering tempest;
and with difficulty was persuaded to retire with her maids
below. The earl seemed to forget his debility in the general
terror, and tried to reassure the dismayed mariners; but a
tremendous sweep of wind drove the vessel far across the
isle of Bute, and shot it past the mouth of Loch-Fyne, to
within sight of the perilous rocks of Arran.—Here, our des-
truction is certain cried the commander of the ship.
Lord Mar, perceiving that the crew were ignorant of the
navigation of this side of the island, called to Wallace, who,
having observed that the steer's man was going to run her on
a sand-bank, had seized the helm.—While you keep the
men to their duty in clearing the vessel of water, and in
rowing, cried he, as the less laborious task, I will steer.
The earl being perfectly acquainted with the coast, Wal-
lace resigned the helm to him —but scarcely had he stepped
forward, when a heavy sea broke over the deck, and carried
two of the seamen overboard. Wallace on the instant threw
over a plank, and casting out a rope, called to the men to
seize the one or the other:—Amidst a spray so blinding, that
the vessel appeared in a cloud; and buffeted on each side by
the raging waves, that seemed contending to tear her to pie-
ces, she lay to for a few minutes to rescue the sailors from
the yawning gulph :—one poor creature caught by the rope,
and was saved; but the other was seen no more.
Again the ship was let loose to the current.—Wallace with
two men only, applied their strength to the oars; or start-
ing from their benches, struck forward long poles to prevent
the rushing vessel from striking against the rocks. The
rest of the crew were employed in the anceasing toil of
emptying the hold of the water which otherwise would cer-
tainly have sunk her. -,
Even while Wallace tugged at the oar, or stood at the
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 23 1
head of the ship watching the thousand embattled cliffs
which threatened their destruction, his eye looked for the
vessel which contained his friends—But the liquid mountains
which rolled around him prevented all view ; and with hard-
ly a hope of seeing them more, he pursued his attempt to
preserve the lives of those committed to his care.
All this while Lady Mar lay in the little cabin in a state
of stupefaction. Having fainted at the first alarm of danger,
she had fallen from swoon to swoon ; and now remained al-
most insensible upon the bosoms of her maids. In a moment
the vessel struck with a great shock, and the next instant it
seemed to move with a velocity incredible. The whirlpool
the whirlpool resounded from the desk. . But the next in-
stant the rapid motion seemed suddenly checked, and the
women fancying they had struck again, shrieked aloud. The
cry, and the terrified words which accompanied it, aroused
Lady Mar. She started from her trance, and while the con-
fusion redoubled above, rushed upon the deck.
The mountainous waves and lowering clouds, borne for-
ward by the blast, anticipated the dreariness of night. The
last rays of the setting sun had long past away; and the deep
shadows of the driving heavens cast the whole into a gloom
even more terrific than absolute darkness, as it partially show-
ed the horrid instruments of destruction. The high and beet-
ling rocks, towering aloft in precipitous walls, mocked the
hopes of the seabeaten mariner, should he even buffet the
waters to reach their base. And the jagged shingles, deeply
shelving beneath the waye, projecting their pointed summits
above showed the crew where the rugged death would
meet them.
A little onward a rough pediment of rocks bedded the base
of immense cliffs which faced the cause of their present
alarm ; (a vast hollow at the bottom of the sea, which at over-
flowing tides, and in stormy weather, formed a whirlpool al-
most as terrific as that of Scarba.) The moment the power.
ful blast, against which the weak arm of the Earl in vain
contended, drove the vessel on the outward edge of the first
circle of the vortex, Wallace, with the same rope in his hand
with which he had saved the life of the seaman, leaped from
the deck on the opposite rocks; and calling part of the men
to follow him with similar ropes, fastened like his own to the
232 THE SCO’l”I ISH C li: E F S.
head and stern of the vessel; he strove, by towing it along,
to stem the suction of the whirlpool.
It was at this instant that Lady Mar rushed upgn deck.
The Earl perceived her the moment she appeared. Down,
for your life, Joanna cried he. She answered him not,
but looked wildly around her. No where could she see Wal-
lace, Have I drowned him cried she, in a voice of phren-
zy, and striking the women from her who would have held
her back: Let me clasp him, even in the deep waters!
Drowned who exclaimed the Earl, who happily had lost
the last sentence in the roaring of the storm.
Wallace, Wallace cried she, wringing her hands, and
still struggling with%her women. At that moment a huge
wave sinking before her, discovered the object of her fears
standing on the centre of a rock; or rather, followed by the
men in the same laborious task, tugging forward the rope to
which the bark was attached. She gazed at them with won-
der and affright, for notwithstsnding the beating of the ele-
ments (which seemed to find their breasts of iron, and their
feet armed with some preternatural adhesive property, when
the surges, would have swept them from the cliff;) they con-
tinued to bear along the vessel. Fortunately they now went,
not against the wind, though against the waves. Sometimes
they pressed forward for a few minutes on the level edge of
the rock; then a chasm yawning between, forced them to
leap from cliff to cliff, or to spring on some more elevated
projection. Thus contending with the vortex and the storm,
they at last arrived at the doubling of Guthon-rock; (f)
the point that was to clear them of this minor Corie-Wrekin ;
when the rope which Wallace held, broke, and with the
shock he feil backwards into the sea. The fore mast man,
who saw the fatal plunge, uttered a dreadful cry; but ere it
was cchoed by his fellows, Wallace had riseſ above the
waves, and beating their whelming waters with his invinci-
ble arm, soon gained the vessel and jumped upon the deck;
the point was doubled, and the next instant the vessel struck.
The men on the rocks cried. “There is no hope of getting
her off. All must take to the water or perish.”
Again Lady Mar (who in the fortner case her husbanºl
had forced to go below) appeared. At sight of Wallace
she forgot every thing but him; . .and perhaps would have
&
The scottish chiefs. 233
r)
* ,
thrown herself into his arms, had not the Earl supposing
she was so eagerly advancing to himself, caught her in his.
Are we to die? cried she to Wallace, in a voice of pierc-
ing horror. ºf
I trust that God has decreed otherwise, was his reply;
compose yourself; and all may be well.
As Lord Mar, from his yet unhealed wounds, could not
swim, a raft was soon constructed by Wallace, on which he
placed the Earl and Countess, with the nurse and child;
The moment it was launched, while the men were towing
it through the breakers, he jumped into the sea to swim by
its side, and to be in readiness in case of any accident hap-
pening to those upon it. Another raft followed with the
rest of the women; and was dragged along by the remain-
der of the crew, who in emulation of the chief, bravely took
to the waves *3.
Having gained the shore, or rather the broken rocks, that
He at the foot of the stupendous craigs which surround the
isle of Arran, Wallace and his sturdy assistants conveyed the
Countess and her terrified women up their rugged acclivi-
ties. Where it was possible to climb with such a burthen, they
carried them ; and where it was not, they assisted them to
scramble up alone. Fortunately for the ship-wrecked voy-
agers, at this period, though the wind raged, its violence
was of some advantage, for it nearly cleared the heavens of
clouds, and allowed the moon to send forth her guiding
light. By her lamp one of the men, who had gone a little
to the right of the rest, discovered the mouth of a huge cave.
His communication was instantly made to Wallace, who
glad of such a shelter for his dripping charges, soon had the
- comfort of seeing them seated in safety on its rocky floor.—
The child, whom he had guarded in his own arms during the
difficult ascent, he now laid on the bosom of its mother.—
Lady Mar, in a transport of mingled feelings, kissed the hand
that relinquished it, and gave way to a flood of grateful tears.
The Earl, as he dropped almost powerless against the side
of the cave, yet had strength enough to press Wallace to his
heart:—Ever preserver of me and mine ! cried he, How
must 1 bless thee!—My wife, my child—
Have been saved to you, my friend, interrupted Wallace,
by the presiding care of Him who walked the waves!—
- U 2
234 Ti’HE SCOTTISH C H IE. F. S.
Without his especial arm, we must all have perished in this
awful night; therefore let our thanksgivings be directed to
him alone.
So be it! returned the Earl ; and dropping on his knees,
he breathed forth so pathetic and sublime a prayer of thanks,
that the Countess, whose unhappy infatuation saw no higher
power in this great preservation than the hand of the man
she adored, trembled and bent her head upon the bosom of
her child. She could not utter the solemn Jimen which, at
its close, was repeated by every voice in the cave. She felt
that guilt was cherished in her heart; and she could not lift
her eyes to join with those who, with the boldhess of inno-
cence, called on heaven to attest the sanctity of their vows.
Sleep soon sealed every weary eye excepting those of
Wallace. A racking anxiety respecting the fate of the other
vessel, in which were the brave Bothwellers and his two
dear friends, filled his mind with dreadful pictures of what
might have been their distress, with sad forebodings, that they
had not out-lived the storm. Sometimes when wearied na-
ture for a few minutes sunk into slumber, he would start
grief-struck, from the body of Edwin floating on the briny
flood : and as he awoke, a cold despondence would tell him
that his dream was perhaps too true. Oh I love thee, Ed-
win, exclaimed he to himself, and I fear my hermit-heart,
was to be separated from all but a patriot’s love . So is Heav-
en’s will ; and why then did I think of loving thee!—must
thou too die, that Scotland may have no rival, that Wallace
may feel himself quite alone
Thus he sat musing, and listening with many a sigh to the
dying gusts of wind and fainter dashing of the water; at last
the former gradually subsided, and the latter obeying the
retreating tide, sunk away in lioarse murmurs.
Morning began to dawn, and spreading upon the moun-
tains of the opposite shore, shed a soft light over their misty
sides. All was tranquil and full of beauty. That element
which had lately in its rage threatened to ingulph them all,
now flowed by the rocks at the foot of the cave in gentle un-
dulations; and where the spiral cliffs gave a little resistance,
the rays of the rising sun, striking on the bursting waves,
turned their vapory showers into dropping gems.
As his companions were yet wrapped in profound sleep,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 235
he stole away to learn on what spot of the Isle of Arran they
were cast. Close by the mouth of the cave he saw a cleft
in the rock into which he turned, and finding the footing suf-
ficiently secure, soon gained the summit. Looking around,
he found himself at the skirts of a chain of high hills which
seemed to stretch from side to side of the island, while their
tops rose in alpine successions in a thousand grotesque and
towering forms. The ptarmigan and capperkaily were
screaming from the upper regions; while the nimble roes
with their fawns were bounding through the green defiles.
No trace of human habitation appeared. But from the size
and population of the island, he knew that he could not be
very far from inhabitants; and thinking it best to return to
the cave, and send the sailors in search of them, he retraced
his steps. The vapors were now rolling in snowy wreaths
down the opposite mountains, whose heads shining in res-
plendent parºle, seemed to view themselves in the bright
reflections in the now smooth sea. Nature, like a proud
conqueror, appeared to have put on a triumphal garb, in
exultation of the devastation she had committed the night
before. Wallace shuddered as the parallel occurred to his
mind, and turned away from the scene. *.
As soon as he re-entered the cave, at the mouth of which
lay the * he awoke them and sent them off on his
mission. An flour had hardly elapsed, during which time he
watched by the sides of his still sleeping friends, before the
men returned, bringing with them a large boat and its pro-
prietor; but alas ! no tidings of Murray and Edwin, whom
he had hoped might have been driven somewhere on the
island. In bringing the boat round to the creek under the
rock, the men discovered that a strong wave of the sea had
seized their wreck, and driven it between two projecting
rocks, where it now lay wedged. Though ruined as a ves-
sel, yet sufficient seemed to have held together to warrant
their exertions to save the property. Accordingly they en-
tered it, and drew thence most of the valuables which be-
longed to Lord Mar.
While this was doing, Wallace reascended to the cave, and
found the earl awake. He told him that a boat was ready
for their re-embarkation. But where, my friend, are my
236 "THE SCOTTISH CHI EFS.
§
**
$
nephews enquired his lordship; alas, that this fatal expedi-
tion has rôbbed me of them --
Wallace tried to inspire him with a hope he hardly dare
credit himself; that they had been saved on some ſhore
distant shore. The voices of the chiefs awakened most of
the women: the rest they aroused ; but the countess still
slept, Mar, suggesting the probability that were she awake,
she would resist trusting herself to the waves again, desired
that she might be taken on board without disturbing her.
This was readily done, as the men had only to take up the
two extremities of the plaid on which she lay, and so carry
her with an imperceptible motion to the boat. The earl, who
was already in, received her head on his bosom ; and all be-
ing on board, the rowers struck their oars, and once more
they launched upon the sea.
While they were yet midway between the isles, with a
bright sun playing its beams upon the gently rippling waves,
the countess heaving a deep sigh, slowly opened her eyes.
All around glared with the light of day; she felt the motion
of the boat, and raising her head, saw that she was again
embarked on the treacherous. element on which she had.
… lately experienced so many terrors. She grew deadly pale,
and grasped her husband’s hand. My dear Joanna, cried
he, be not alarmed ; we are all safe.
And Sir William Wallace has left us demanded she,
No madam ; answered a voice from the steerage; not till
this party be safe at Bute, do I quit it.
She looked round at him with a grateful smile, “Evergen-
erous ! How could I for a moment doubt my preserver !”
Wallace bowed, but remained silent. And her ladyship
sitting up and noticing her child, they passed calmly along
till the vessel came in sight of a little birling (gg) which
bounding over the waves, was presently so near the earl’s
boat that the figures in each could be distinctly seen, and
Wallace to his rapturous surprise beheld Murray and Edwin.
That moment the latter, with a cry of joy, leaped into the
sea, and in the next instant was over the boat-side and clasp-
ed in the arms of Wallace. Real transport, true happiness,
now dilated the heart of the before desponding chief. He
pressed the dear boy again and again to his bosom, and kiss-
ed his white forehead with all the rapture of the fondest
t
rhE scortish chiefs. 237
*
brother. Thank God! thank God! was all that Edwin
could say , while, at every effort he made to tear himself
away from Wallace to congratulate his uncle on his safety,
his heart overflowing towards his friend, opened afresh, and
he clung the closer to his breast; till at last, exhausted with
happiness, the little hero of Dumbarton gave way to the sen-
sibility of his tender age, and the chief felt his bosom wet
with the joy drawn tears of his youthful knight.
While this was passing, the birling had drawn close to the
boat, and Murray shook hands with his uncle and aunt, cry-
ing to Wallace, “That urchin is such a monopolizer, that I
see you have not a greeting for any body else I’’ Edwin on
this raised his April face, and turped to the affectionate wel-
comes of Lord Mar. Wallace stretched out his hand to the
ever gay Lord Andrew, and inviting him into the boat, soon
learnt, that on the fearful night of the storm, the vessel in
which Murray and his company were, (being appointed with
a more efficient helmsman than he who steered Lord Mar’s
into such troubled waters) made direct to the nearest creek
in Bute ; not doing as the other did, who, until danger stop-
ped him, foolishly continued to aim for Rothsay. By this
prudence, without having been in much peril, or sustained
any fatigue. the whole party landed safely. The night com-
ing on dark and tremendous; and as the seamen not doubt-
ing that the earl’s rowers had carried him into a similar ha-
ven, Murray and his young companion kept themselves very
easy in a fisher's hut till morning. At an early hour, how-
ever, they determined to set out: and having rewarded the
boatmen, put themselves at the head of their Bothwellers,
and expecting they should come up with the earl and his
party at Rothsay, walked over to the castle. Their conster-
nation was unutterable when they found that Lord Mar was
not there, neither had he been heard of. Full of terror,
Murray and Edwin immediately threw themselves into a
biſhing, resolved to seek their friends upon the seas. And
when they did espy them, the rapture of Edwin was so
great, that not even the unfathomable gulph could stop him
from flying to the embrace of his friend. 4.
While mutual felicitations passed, the boats now nearly
side by side, reached the shore ; and the seamen, jumping
on the rocks, moored their vessels under the projecting tow-
238 T H E SCOTTISH C HIE FS,
ers of Rothsay. The old steward, in hope of the barque's
preservation, and in expectation of its arrival, having prepa-
red every thing for the reception of his Lord and Lady, on
perceiving the boats draw near the land, hastened down to
receive a master, who had not blest his aged eyes for many
a year. At sight of him he expressed his exultation with..a
vehemence that was quite clamorous: and when he took the
infant in his arms that was to be the future representative
of the house of Mar, he wept aloud. The earl spoke to him
affectionately, and then walked on with Edwin, whom he
called to support him up the bank. Murray led the Coun-
tess out of the boat, while the Bothwellers so thronged about
Wallace, congratulating themselves on his safety, that she
saw there was no hope of his yielding to her his arm.
Having entered the castle, the steward led them into a
room in which he had spread a plentiful repast. Here, Mur-
ray (having before recounted the adventures of his sail) call-
ed for a history of what had be fallen his friends. The Earl,
happy to pour forth the grateful feelings of his heart, gladly
took up the tale; and with many a glance of gratitude to
Wallace, narrated the perilous events of their shipwreck,
and their providential preservation on the isle of Arran.
Happiness now seemed to have shed her heavenly influence
over every bosom present. All hearts owned the grateful ef.
fects of the late rescue. The rapturous joy of Edwin burst
forth inte a thousand sallies of ardent and luxuriant imagina-
tion. The high spirits of Murray turned every transient sub-
ject which might excite thoughtfulness, at least into a mirth-
amoving jest. The veteran Earl seemed restored to health and
to youth again. And Wallace felt the sun of consolation ex-
panding in his bosom ; he had met a heart though a young
one, on which his soul might repose : That dear selected bro-
ther of his affection was saved from the whelming waves;
and all his superstitious dreams of a mysterious doom, van-
isned before this manifestation of heavenly goodness. His
friend too, the gallant Murray, was spared How many
subjects had he for unmurmuring gratitude and with an
unclouded brow and happy spirit he yielded to the impulse
of the scene. He smiled : and with an endearing gracious-
ness listened to every fond speaker, while his ingenuous re-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 239
:*
plies bespoke the treasures of love which sorrow had lock-
ed in his heart. . . . .
The complacency with which he regarded every one; the
pouring out of his beneficent spirit, which seemed tâ em-
brace all as his dearest kindred, turned every eye and heart
towards him as to the source of every bliss, as to a being
who seemed made to love and be beloved by all. Lady
Mar looked at him, listened to him, with her wrapt soul
seated in her eye. . In his presence all was transport.
But when he withdrew for the night, what was then the
state of her feelings! When the happy party separated,
Murray in the joyous effervescence of his spirits, embraced
his aunt, and declared that the friendly salute should go
round. Edwin modestly pressed Lady Mar’s cheek: and it
was Wallace’s turn to touch his crimson surface. He advan-
ced to her with a look of sweetness; she trembled, he took
her hand. It is not my priyelege, dear lady, said he, to as-
cend so high, and pressing her hand gracefully to his breast,
he left the room. º 3.
She had found that his heart beat violently at the moment.
His face was pale, and his lips quivered. The agitation,
the sweetness of his voice, the unutterable expression of
his countenance, while, as he spoke, he veiled his eyes un-
der their long brown lashes, raised such vague hopes in her
bosom, that—he being gone, she hastened her adiens to the
rest; eager to retire to bed and there uninterruptedly muse
on the happiness of having at last touched the heart of the
man for whom she would resign all the world.
CHAP. XXV.
The morning would have brought annihilation to the
Countess’ new fledged hopes had not Murray been the first
to meet her, as she cáme from her chamber, and after hears
ing her describe a gay design she had just constructed, pro-
ceeded to seek his friend. ~$,
At some distance from the castle, on the cliffs, he met
Wallace and Edwin. They had already been across the val-
240 THE scortish c HIEFs.
ley to the haven, and had ordered a boat to come immedi-
ately around to convey them to Gourock, in their way back
*
to Dumbarton. Postpone your flight, for pity’s sake, cried
Murray, if you would not kill by uncourtliness what you have
preserved alive by gallantry. He then proceeded more se-
riously to relate, that Lady Mar was preparing a feast, which
was to be spread in the glen behind the castle; and if you
do not stay over noon to partake it, added he, we may ex-
pect that she will bribe all the witches in the isle to sink us
before we reach the shore. *
Wallace, though reluctant to pass an hour from the spot
where he believed his duty called him, at last was prevailed
on by the gay eloquence of Murray; and consenting to re-
main till evening, walked back to the castle. *
The meeting of the morning was not less cordial than the
separation of the night before ; and as Lady Mar withdrew
soon after breakfast, to give orders for her rural feast, time
was left to the earl for the arrangement of matters of more
consequence. In a conversation which he held with Murray
the preceding evening, he had learnt, that just before that
young lord left Dumbarton, he had, through Sir Eustace
Maxwell’s means, sent a friar from the town with a letter to
the prior of St. Fillans, enclosing one to Helen, informing
her of the taking of the castle, and of the safety of her
friends. This having satisfied the earl with regard to his
daughter, he did not mention her at all to Wallace, as he
rather avoided encumbering his occupied mind with domes-
tic subjects; and, therefore, when they met, their conversa-
tion was, generally, wholly dedicated to the one great theme.
While the earl and his friends were marshalling armies,
taking towns and storming castles; the countess, intent on
other conquests, (meaning to destroy that integrity by soft
delights, which rugged scenes might render invulnerable)
was trailing her wreaths of mingled flowers along the ver-
dant canopy of pendant birch which over-hung the spot she
had selected for her entertainment. The tables were cover-
ed with moss; and strewn with daisies, wild honey-suckles
and blue bells displayed an altar to the Sylvan deities which
wooed every sense. .
When her lord and his guests were summoned to the feast,
she met them at the mouth of the glen. IIaving before tr.
t
THE SCOTTISH chIEF3. 241
ed the effect of splendour, she now left all to the power of her
natural charms, and appeared clad in her favorite green, (hh)
(now peculiarly so because she saw it was the livery of Wal-
lace) but without other ornament than her fine dark hair
braided up and fastened with a gold pin. Moraig, the pretty
grandchild of the steward, walked beside her, like the fairy
queen of the scene; so smiling did she look, so gaily was she
decorated in all the flowers of spring. “Here is the lady of
my elfin revels, holding her little king in her arms ” as the
countess spoke, Moraig held up the infant of Lady Mar,
dressed like herself, in a tissue gathered from the field.—
The sweet babe laughed and crowed, and ifāde a spring to
leap into Wallace’s arms. The chief took him, and with an
affectionate smile pressed his little cheek to his.
I will leave you to nurse, continued the countess, while I
do the little lord’s honours to the rest of his guests. She then
said a few graceful words to each ; and putting the earl at
the top of the table by the side of the fairy queen, stationed
Murray and Edwin on each side of them; and seating her:
self at the bottom, there was no place for Wallace but that
by her side.
Though he had felt the repugnance of a delicate mind, and
the shuddering of a man who held his person consecrated to
the memory of the only woman he had ever loved, though
he had felt these sentiments mingle into an abhorrence of the
countess, when she allowed her head to drop on his breast in
the saloon at the citadel : and though, while he remained at
Dumbarton, (without absolutely charging her to himself,
with anything designedly immodest) he had certainly avoid-
ed her;-yet since the wreck, the danger she had escaped,
the general joy of all meeting again, had wiped away even
the remembrance of his former cause of dislike; and he now
sat by her, as by a sister, fondling her child; although at
every sweet caress it reminded him of what might have been
his, -of hopes lost to him forever.
The repast over, the piper of the adjacent cottagesappear-
ed; and placing himself on a projecting rock, at the blast of
his merry instrument theyoung peasants of both sexes, ready
dressed for the occasion, came forward and began the dance.
At this sight Edwin seized the little hand of Moraig, and ran
WOL. I. X
242 - THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
with her to the spot, while Lord Andrew called a pretty lass
from amongst the countess's maids, and joined the group.
The happy earl, with many a hearty laugh, enjoyed the
rustic jolity of his people; and while the steward stood at
his Lord’s back, describing whose sons and daughters passed
before him in the reel, Mar remembered their parents: their
fathers, as once his companions in the chase or on the wave;
and their mothers, as the pretty maidens whom he used to
pursue over the hills in the merry time of (ii) shealing,
Lady Mar watched the countenance of Wallace as he
looked upon the happy group : it was placid as heaven, and
a soft complacency illumined his eyes.—How different was
the expression in hers, had he marked it ! All within her
was in tumults, and the characters were but too legibly im-
printed on her face. But he did not look on her ; for the .
child, whom the perfume of the flowers overpowered, be-
gan to cry. He rose, and having resigned it to the nurse,
turned into a narrow vista of trees, and walked slowly on,
unconscious whither he went.
Lady Mar, with an eager, though almost aimless haste,
followed him with a light step till she saw him turn out of
the vista; and then she lost sight of him. To walk with him
undisturbed in so deep a seclusion; to improve the impres-
sion which she was sure she had made upon his heart, into
something more tender; to teach him to forget his Marion,
in the hope of one day possessing her All these things ran
in this vain woman’s head :-and inwardly rejoicing that the
shattered health of her husband promised her a ready free-
dorm to become the wife of the man to whom she would glad-
ly belong in honour or in dishonour; she hastened forward,
as if the accomplishment of her wishes depended upon this
meeting. Peeping through the trees at the end of the vista,
she saw him standing with folded arms, looking intently in-
to the bosom of a large lake, which was so thickly surround-
ed with willows, that she could only perceive him as the wind
to3sed aside the branches.
Having stood for some time, he walked on. Several times
she essayed to emerge and join him; but a sudden awe of
him, a conviction of that saintly purity which would shrink
from the guilty vows she was mediating to pour into his
ear; a recollection of the ejaculation with which he had ac-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 243
costed her, before her hovering figure, when she haunted
his footsteps that night on the banks of the Cart; these
thoughts made her pause. He might again mistake her for
the same dear object —This image it was not her interest
to recal. And to approach him near, to unveil her heart to
him, and to be repulsed; there was madness in the idea, and
she retreated. - * .
She had no sooner returned to the scene of festivity, than
she repented having allowed, what she deemed an idle alarm,
of over-strained delicacy, to drive her from the lake. She
would have hastened back again, still in the hope of coming
up with Wallace before he left it, had not two or three aged
female peasants surrounded her, and engaged her in spite
of her º: for extrication, in listening to long stories
respecting her Lord’s youth. She had been with these wo-
men, and by the side of the dancers, for nearly an hour be-
fore Wallace re-appeared. She smiled on him as he ap-
proached; Where truant, have you been
In a beautiful solitude, returned he, amongst a luxuriant
grove of willows:– • ? *
Aye! cried she, it is called Glenshealeach ; (#) and a sad
scene was acted there ! about ten years ago a lady of this
island drowned herself in the lake they hang over, because
the man she loved despised her.—
Unhappy woman observed Wallace.
Then you would have pitied her ? rejoined Lady Mar.
“He cannot be a man that would not pity a woman under
those circumstances.” - -
“Then you would not have consigned her to such a fate l’”
Wallace was startled by the peculiar tone in which this
simple question was asked. It recalled a recollection of her
action in the Saloon of the citadel, and unconsciously turning
a penetrating look upon her, his eyes met her’s. He need
not have heard farther to have learnt more. She hastily
looked down and coloured; and he wishing to misunderstand
a language so disgraceful to herself, so dishonouring to her
husband, with a negligent air gave some trifling answer:
and then making some observations about the earl, advanced
to him. His lordship was now tired with the scene, and
taking the arm of Wallace, they returned together into the
house. - - -
*
244 THE SCOTTISH CHIEES.
*
you all as a band of cowards'
Edwin and Murray soon followed, and arrived time enough
to see from the window the little pinnace that was come to
take them to the main land, draw up under the castle and
throw out her moorings. The countess too, saw its blue
streamers, and hastening into the room where the young
chieftains sat, (for the earl being over-wearied, had retired
to repose) enquired the reason of that boat having drawn
So near the castle.
Only that it may take as from it, replied Murray.
The Countess fixed her eyes with a powerful and unequiv.
ocal expression upon Wallace. My gratitude is ever due to
your kindness, my dear madam, said he, still wishing to be
blind to what he could not but perceive ; and that we may
ever deserve it, said he, looking at his friends, we go to
keep the enemy from your doors.
Yes, added Murray, and to keep a more insiduous foe
from our own too ; for Edwin and f feel it rather a danger-
ous spot to bask too long in these sunny bowers.
But surely your chief is not afraid said she, casting a soft
glance at Wallace. And nevertheless I must fly, returned
he, bowing to her. That you positively shall not, added she
with a fluttering joy at her heart, thinking she was about to
conquer; you stir not a step this night, else I shall brand
Call us by all the names in the poltroon's calendar, cried
Murray, seeing by the countenance of Wallace that his re-
solution was not moved; and I shall gallop off from your
black-eyed Judith, as if chased by Calypso herself—So dear
aunt, rejoined Edwin smiling, if you do not mean to play
Circe to our Ulysses, give us leave to go! Lady Mar looked
at the boy intently as he innocently uttered these words.-
Are you indeed my nephew whispered she. A strange
jealousy glanced on her heart; she had never seen Edwin
ſtuthven; the blooming cheek of this youth, his smooth skin,
his almost impassioned fondness for Wallace : all made a
wild suspicion rush upon her mind. Edwin scarcely under-
standing her question, answered gaily—I hope so, for I am
Lord Mar’s ; and besides I love to be related to all hand-
some ladies as he said so, he snatched a kiss from her hand,
and darted after Murray, who had disappeared to give some
speeding directions respecting the boat.
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 245
Left thus alone with the object of her every wish, in the
moment when she thqught she was going to lose him, perhaps
forever, she forgot all prudence, all reserve, and laying her
hand on his arm, as he with a respectful bow was also mov-
ing away, arrested his steps, She held him fast; but agita-
tion preventing her speaking, she trembled violently ; and
weeping, dropped her head upon his shoulder. He was md-
tionless—Her tears redoubled—He felt the embarrassment
of his situation: and at last extricating his tongue, which
surprise and shame for her had chained, in a gentle voice
he enquired the cause of her uneasiness.
“If for the safeties of your nephews—”
No, no, cried she interrupting him, read my fate in that
of the lady of Glenshealeach
Again he was silent; astonished, fearful of too promptly
understanding so disgraceful a truth, he found no words in
which to answer her; and her emotions became so violent,
that he expected she would have swooned in his arms.
Cruel, cruel Wallace at last cried she, clinging to his
arms; for he had once or twice attempted to disengage and
reseat her on the bench ; your heart is steeled, or it would
understand mine. It would at least pity the wretchedness it
has created. But I am despised, and I can yet find the wa-
tery grave from which you so lately rescued me.
To dissemble longer would have been folly. Wallace now
resolutely took the countess by both her arms, and seating
lier, though with gentleness, addressed her.—Your husband,
Lady Mar, is my friend: had I even a heart to give to woman,
not one sigh should arise in it to his dishonour. But I am lost
to all warmer affections than that of friendship. I may re-
gard man as my brother, woman my sister; but never more
can I look on female form with love, #
Lady Mar’s tears now flowed in a more tempereditºrrent.
But were it otherwise, cried she, only tell me, that had I
not been bound with chains which my kinsmen forced upon
me; had I not been made the property of a man who, how-
ever estimable, was of too paternal years for me to love; ah!
tell me if these tears should have flowed in vain?
Wallace seemed to hesitate what to answer.
Wrought up to agony, she threw herself on his breast, ex- .
claiming, answer! but drive me not to despair. I never loy--
Y 2
--~~~s •
246 The scortish chiefs.
ed man before—and now to be scorned —Oh, kill me, too
dear Wallace, but tell me not that you never could have
loved me !
Wallace was alarmed at her vehemence.
Lady Mar, returned he, I am incapable of saying any
thing to you that is inimical to your duty to the best of men.
I will even forget this distressing conversation, and continue
jº life to revere equal with himself, the wife of my
PIEI, Cl,
And I am to be stabbed with this 2 replied she, in a voice
of indignant anguish.
You are to be healed with it, Lady Mar, returned he, for
it is not a man, like the rest of his sex, that now addresses
you, but a being whose heart is petrified to marble. I could
feel no throb of yours; I should be insensible to all your
charms, were I even vile enough to see no evil in trampling
upon your husband’s rights. Yes, were virtue lost to me,
still memory would speak; still would she urge that the
chaste and last kiss imprinted by my Marion on these lips,
should live there in unblemished sanctity, till I again meet
her angel embraces in the world to come !
The countess awed by his solemnity, but not put from her
suit, only clasped her hands together and exclaimed, what
she was, I would be to thee—thy consoler, thine adorer —
time may set me free; Oh till then, only give me leave to
love thee, and I shall be happy
You dishonour yourself, lady, returned he, by these peti-
tions. And for what? In loving me, you love a senseless stone;
you plunge your soul in guilty wishes; you sacrifice your
peace, and your self-esteem to a phantom; for I repeat, I am
dead to woman, and the voice of love sounds like the funeral
knell of her who will never breath it to me more. He rose as
he spé. And the countess, pierced to the heart, and almost
despairing of now retaining any part of his esteem, was
devising what next to say, to deprecate the scorn she
dreaded, when Murray came into the room.
Wallace instantly observed that his countenance was
troubled. What has happened enquired he.
“A messenger from the main land has arrived with bad
news from Ayr.” *

THE stottish chiefs. 247
H Are they of a private or a public nature ? rejoined Wal-
21C6. “, *
“Of both. There has been a horrid massacre, in which
the heads of many noble families have fallen.” As he spoke,
the paleness of his countenance revealed to his friend that
part of the information, which he had found himself unable
to communicate.
I comprehend my loss, cried Wallace, Sir Ronald Craw-
ford is slain Bring the messenger in. --
Murray withdrew ; and Wallace seating himself, remain-
ed with a fixed and stern countenance gazing on the ground.
Lady Mar durst not breathe, for fear of disturbing the hor-
rid stillness which seemed to lock up his grief and indigna-
tion.
Lord Andrew re-entered with a stranger. Wallace rose to
meet him; and seeing Lady Mar, Countess, said he, these
bloody recitals are not for your ears, and waving her to with-
draw, she left the room.
This gallant stranger, said Murray, is Sir John Graham.
He has just left that new theatre of Southron treachery.
I have hastened hither, cried the knight, to call your vic-
torious arm to take a signal vengeance on the murderers of
your grandfather. He and eighteen other Scottish chiefs
have been treacherously putto death in the Barns of Ayr. (ll)
Graham then proceeded to narrate the event more cir-
cumstantially. He, and his father Lord Dundaff, having
been on the south coast of Scotland, were returning home-
wards, when his lordship not being very well, they stopped
at Ayr. They arrived the very day that Lord Aymer de
Valence entered it a fugitive from Dumbarton castle.—
Much as that earl might have wished to keep the victory of
Wallace a secret from the inhabitants of Ayr, he found it
impossible. Two or three soldiers, (who had escaped before
their lord, and now entered the town with him) whispered
the hard fighting they had endured; and thus, in half an hour
after the arrival of the English earl, every soul knew that
the recovery of Scotland was began. Elated with this intel-
ligence, the Scots went under night from house to house,
congratulating each other on so miraculous an interference
in their favour:—And many stole to Sir Ronald Crawford’s
to felicitate the venerable knight on his glorious grandson,
*
243 'I'HE SCOTTISH C.H. i.e. F$.
The good old man listened to their animated eulogiums on
Wallace with meek joy ; and when Lord Dundaff, who of.
fered his congratulations with the rest, said, but when all
Scotland lay in vassalage, where did he imbibe this royal
spirit, to tread down tyranny, and to command by virtue
alone The venerable patriarch replied:—He was always
a noble boy. In infancy he was the defender of every child
who was oppressed by boys of greater power; he was even
the champion of the brute creation, for no poor animal was
ever allowed to be tortured with impunity near him. The
old looked on him for comfort, the young for protection.—
From infancy to manhood he has been a benefactor, and
though the cruelty of our enemies has widowed his youthful
years; though he should go childless to the grave, the
brightness of his virtues will spread more glories round the
name of Wallace, than a thousand posterities.
The next morning, this venerable old man and other chiefs
of similar consequence in that quarter of the country, were
summoned by Sir Richard Arnuff, to the judgment hall in
the governor's palace, there to deliver in a schedule of their
estates, that quiet possession might be granted to them under
the great seal of Lord Mymer de Valence, the deputy Warden
of Scotland, who was just arrived at Jºyr.
The grey-headed knight, not being so active as the others
of more juvenile years, happened to be the last who entered
this tyger's den. Wrapped in a tartan plaid, with his silver
hair covered with a blue bonnet, he was walking along, sup-
ported between two of his domestics, when Sir John Graham
met him at the gate of the palace. He smiled on him as he
passed, and whispcred—it will not be long before my Wal-
ºë makes even the forms of vassalage unnecessary; and
ºthan these failing limbs may sit at home, undisturbed, under
º'the fig-tree and vine of his planting. --
} God grant it! returned Graham ; and he saw Sir Ronald
' admitted within the interior gate. The servants were order
ed to remain without the portal. Sir John walked about
some time, expecting the re-appearance of the knight, whom
he intended to assist in leading home; but after an hour’s
stay, finding no signs of any regress from the palace, he
thought his father might be wondering at his delay, and he
turned his steps towards his own lodgings. As he passed
*



THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 249
along, he met several Southron detachments hurrying across
the streets. In the midst of some of these companies he saw
one or two Scottish men of rank, whom he had known in
more distant parts of the kingdom. By their countenances,
he guessed they were prisoners ; and as he could foresee
nothing but danger should he recognize them, he passed on. .
Indeed the first he had met hinted to him this necessary pru-
dence; for as Graham, seeing an old acquaintance, under
such painful circumstances, was hastening towards him, the
noble Scot raised his manacled hand and turned away his
head. Graham instantly retreated, but the soldiers for
some time afterwards looking back, regarded him with an
air of suspicion. This was a sufficient warning to the young
knight, and soon after darting into an obscure alley which
led to the gardens of his father's lodgings, he was hurrying
forward, when he saw one of Lord Dundaff’s men running
breathlessly towards him. -
hº Sir John cried the man, if you would save your fa-
ther *.
The honest creature then briefly informed his young mas-
ter that a party of armed men had come under De Valence’s
warrant, to seize Lord Dundaff, and to take him to prison ;
there to lie with others, who, like himself, were charged
with having taken a part in a conspiracy with the grandfa-
ther of the insurgent Wallace.
The officer of the band who took Lord Dundaff, told him
in the most insulting language, that Sir Ronald his ringlead-
er, with eighteen nobles his accomplices, had all suffered the
punishment of their crime; and were lying headless trunks
in the judgment-hall.
Fly, therefore, my master; repeated the man, fly to Sir
William Wallace, and require his hand to avenge his kins.
man’s blood, and to free his countrymen from prison, These
are your father's commands: He directed me to seek you
out and to give them to you.
Graham, alarmed for the life of his father, hesitated how
to act. To leave him, seemed to be abandoning him to the
death the others had received; and yet only by obeying him,
could he have any hopes of averting his threatened fate.—
Once seeing the path he ought to pursue, he immediately
struck into it: and giving his signet to the man, to assure
250 'ſ HE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
Lord. Dundaff of his obedience, he mounted a horse, which
the faithful creature had brought to the town end : and set-
ting off full speed, allowed nothing to stay him (changing his
horses as fast as they tired) till he reachéd Dumbarton castle.
There, hearing that Wallace was gone to Bute, he threw
himself into a boat, and plying every oar, reached that island
in a shorter space of time than the voyage had ever before
been effected.
Being now brought into the presence of the chief whom
he had sought with such breathless expedition; he narrated
his dismal tale with a simplicity and pathos which would have
instantly drawn the sword of Wallace, had he had no kins-
man to avenge, no friend to release from the Southron dun-
geons. But as the case stood, his bleeding grandfather lay
before his eyes, and the axe hung over the head of the vir-
tuous nobles of his country.
Wallace heard the young chieftain to an end without
speaking, or altering the fixed determination of his counte-
nance. Butat the close, with an augmented suffusion of blood
in his face, and his brows denouncing some tremendous fate,
he rose. Sir John Graham, said he, I attend you.
Whither ? Hemanded Murray. .
To Ayr; answered Wallace; this moment I will set out
for Dumbarton to bring away the sinews of my strength ;
and then this arm shall show how I loved that good old
lſº: 11,
Your men, interrupted Graham, are already awaiting you
on the opposite shore. I presumed to command for you ; for
on entering Dumbarton, and finding you were absent; after
having briefly recounted my errand to Lord Lennox; I dared
to interpret your mind and to order Sir Alexander Scrym-
geour, and Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, with all your own force,
to follow me to the coast of Renfrew.
Thank you, my friend cried Wallace, grasping his hand,
you read my soul... We go directly. I cannot stay to bid
your uncle farewell; said he to Lord Andrew, remain and
tell him to bless me with his prayers; and then dear Mur-
ray, follow me to Ayr. •
Edwin, ignorant of what the stranger had imparied to
Hord Andrew, and of what was the object of conference
with Wallace, at the sight of the chiefs approaching from the
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 25?
castle-gate, hastened forward with the news that all was rea-
dy for their embarkation. He was hurrying out his informa-
tion, when the altered countenance of his general checked
him. He looked at the stranger; his features were agitated
and severe. He turned towards his cousin; all there was
grave and distressed. Again he glanced at Wallace, and
drew nearer to seek an explanation; but every look threat-
ened, no word was spoken; and Edwin saw him leap into the
boat, and followed by the stranger. The astonished boy,
though not noticed, would not be left behind, and stepping
in also, sat down beside his chief.
I shall be after you in an hour, exclaimed Murray. The
seamen pushed off, and giving loose to their swelling sail, in
five minutes they were wafted out of the little harbour, and
turning a point lost sight of the castle.
Here is a list of the murdered chiefs, and of those who
are now in the dungeons expecting the like treatment, said
Graham, holding out a piece of parchment: it was given to
me by my faithful servant. Wallace took it; but seeing his
grandfather’s name at the top, he could look no further;
closing the scroll, gallant Graham, said he, I want no stimu-
lus to lead me to the extirpation I meditate. If God blesses
my arms, not a perpetrator of this horrid massacreshall be
alive to-morrow in Ayr, to repeat the deed.
What massacre Edwin ventured to enquire. Read that
parchment, said Wallace, and it will tell you.
Edwin took the roll, and on seeing the words, A list of the
Scottish Chiefs murdered on the 18th of June, 1297, in the judg-
ment hall of the English barons at Ayr ; his cheek, rendered
pale by the suspense of his mind, now reddened with the hue
of indignation; but when his eye immediately afterwards,
fell on the venerated name of his general’s grandfather, his
horror-struck eye sought the face of Wallace; it was dark
i. before ; and he was now in earnest discóurse with Gra-
alºn. ** , - . -
Edwin, forbearing to interrupt him, continued to read over
the blood registered names. After Sir Ronald Crawford's
immediately followed that of Sir Bryce Blair, then, Sir JNeil
Montgomery, and those of the Baron of Auckinleck, Sir Walter
Barclay, Sir Thomas Boyd, and the chieftain of Kennedy.
(ºnm) in turning the page to read farther, his eyeglanced to
252 THE scottish chiefs.

the opposite side, and he saw at the head of A list of prison-
ers in the dungeons of Ayr, the name of Lord Dundaff, and
immediately after, that of Lord Ruthven He uttered a pier-
cing cry, and extending his arms to Wallace, who turned
round at so unusual a sound, the terror-struck boy exclaim-
ed, My father is in their hands. Oh Sir William, if you are
jj my brother, fly to Ayr and save him
Wallace rose instantly, and taking up the open list, which
Edwin had dropped, he saw the name of Lord Ruthven,
amongst the prisoners; and folding his arms around this af.
fectionate son; compose yourself; said he, “it is to Ayr I
am going ; and if the God of justice be my speed, your fa-
ther and Lord Dundaff shall not see another day in prison.”
Edwin threw himself on the neck of his friend; “My ben-
efactor P’ was all he could utter. Wallace pressed him si-
lently in his arms.
Who is this amiable youth enquired Graham, to which of
the noble companions of my captivated father, is he son
To William Ruthven, (nm) answered Wallace, the valiant
lord of the Carse of Gowrie. And it is a noble scion from so
glorious a root. He it was that efābled me to win Dumbar-
ton. Look up, my sweet brother cried Wallace, trying to
regain so tender a mind from the paralizing terrors which
had seized it; look up ; and hear me recount the first fruits
of your maiden arms, to our gallant friend
Edwin, covered with blushes, arising from anxious emo-
tion, as well as from a happy consciousness of having won
the praises of his general, rose from his breast and bowing to
Sir John, still leaned his head upon the shoulder of Wallace.
That amiable being, who, in seeking to wipe the tear of af.
fliction from the cheek of others, minded not the drops of
blood which were distilling in secret from his own heart;
began the recital of his first acquaintance with his young Sir
Edwin. He enumerated every particular of his bringing the
Bothwellers through the enemy encircled mountains, to
Glenfinlass : of his scaling the walls of Dumbárton, to make
the way smooth for the Scots to ascend; and of his after
prowess in that well-defended fortress. As Wallace pro-
ceeded, the wonder of Graham was raised to a pitch, only
to be equalled by his admiration, and taking the hand of
Fdwin, receive me, brave youth, said he, as your second
THE, scortis H CHIEFs. 253
brother : Sir William Wallace is your first: but this night we
together fight for our fathers, and let that make us indeed
brethren $
Edwin pressed his cheek with his innocent lips; let us to-
gether free them; cried he, and then we shall be born twins
in happiness. - -
So be it ! cried Graham, and Sir William Wallace shall be
the sponsor of that hour.
Wallace smiled on them ; and moving to the head of the
vessel, saw, not only that they drew near the shore, but that
the beach was covered with armed men. To be sure wheth-
er or no they were his own, he drew his sword and waved it
in the air. At that moment a hundred faulchions flashed in
the sun-beams, and the shout of “Wallace l’” came loudly
on the breeze.
Graham and Edwin started on their feet, and the rowers'
plying their oars, in the course of a few minutes Wallace
jumped on shore, and was received with acclamations by his
thronging troops.
*ºm
CHAP. XXVI.
WALLAce no sooner landed than he commenced his march.
Murray came up with him on the banks of the Irwin; and
as Ayr was not a very long journey from that river, at two
hours before midnight the little army entered Laglane
Wood, where they halted while their general proceeded to
reconnoitre the town. The wind swept in gusts through the
trees, and seemed by its dismal yellings to utter warnings of
the dreadful deeds he was come to perform. Wallace had
already declared his plan of destruction : and Graham, as a
first measure, went to the spot which he had fixed on with
Macdougal, his servant, as a place of rendezvous. Having
mentioned midnight as the most probable time of his re-
turn, Macdougal was prepared to be always there at that
hour.—Graham, after a short stay, re-appeared with the
man, who informed Wallace, that in honour of the seques-
trated lands of the murdered chiêfs, having been that day
Y
254 THE SCOTTISH CH1 EFS,
partitioned by De Valence amongst certain Southron lords,
a grand feast was now held in the governor's palace. Under
the very roof where they had shed the blood of the blindly-
trusting Scots, they were now keeping this carousal
Then is our time to strike cried Wallace. And order-
ing detachments of his men to take possession of the ave-
nues to the town, he with others, made a circuit to come in
front of the castle gates by a path that was less frequented
than the main street. The darkness being so great that no
object could be distinctly seen, they had not gone far before
Macdougal, who had undertaken to be their guide, sudden-
ly discovered, by the projection of a hill on the right, that
he had lost the road.
Never mind, answered Wallace, our swords will find us
Oil 6,
Graham, uneasy at any mistake in a situation where so
much was at stake, gladly hailed a long line of light, which
streamed from what he supposed the window of a cottage.—
in a few minutes they arrived at a thached hovel, and heard
issuing from it the wailing strains of the coronach, (oo) Gra-
ham paused. Its melancholy notes were sung by female
voices; and seeing no danger in applying to such harmless
inhabitants to know the way to the citadel, he proceeded to
the door, and intending to knock, the weight of his mailed
arm burst open its slender latch, and discovered two poor
Woºleń. .* their hands over a shrouded body that lay
on the bed. urray, whose ear had been struck with
sounds never breathed over the vulgar dead, was arrested
by curiosity, and looking in, wondered what noble Scot was
the subject of lamentation in so lowly an abode. The stop-
ping of these two chieftains impeded the steps of Wallace,
who was pressing forward without either eye or ear for any
thing but the object of his march ; when the elder of the wo-
men, alarmed at this intrusion, running forward at this mo-
... ment with a candle in her hagid to ask their errand, the
light struck upon her face ; it fell from her grasp, and ex-
sélàiming with a scream of joy, Sir William Wallace she
'rushed towards him, and threw her arms about his neck.
. He instantly recognized Elspa his nurse, the faithful at-
tendant on his grandfather's declining years, the happy ma-
tron who had decked the bridal j of his Marion; and

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 255
with a sudden anguish of recollection that almost unmanned
him, he returned her affectionate embrace.
Here he lies cried the old woman, drawing Sir William
towards the bed, which was covered with a linen cloth; and
before he'had time to demand, Who 2 she pulled down the
shroud and disclosed to the eyes of the shuddering specta-
tors, the body of Sir Ronald Crawford. Wallacé stood gaz-
ing on it with a look of such dreadful import, that Edwin,
whose anxious eyes then sought his countenance trembled
with a nameless horror. Oh, thought he, to what is this no-
ble soul reserved ! Is he doomed to extirpate the enemies
of Scotland, that every ill falls direct upon his head :
Sad, sad bier for the Lord of Loudon cried the old wo.
man; a poor wake (pp) to mourn the loss of him who was
the benefactor of all the country around ! But had I not
brought him here, the salt sea must have been his grave—
Here the sobs of the poor old creature prevented her pro-
ceeding ; but after a short pause, though interrupted with
phany vehement lamentations over the virtues of the dead,
and imprecations on his murderers, she related, that as soon
as the woful tidings were brought to Monktown Kirk, of the
death of its master; (and brought too, by the emissaries of
the Southron who was to take it in possession;) she and her
sister, and the rest of the Scots who would not swear fidelity
to the new lord, were driven from the house. She hastened
to the bloody theatre of the massacre; and there beheld the
bodies of the murdered chiefs on sledges, drawn successively
to the sea shore. Elspa presently knew that of her venerable
master, by a scar on his breast, which he had received in they
victorious battle of Largs. When she saw corse after corse
thrown with a careless hand into the splashing waves; and
that a man approached to consign the honoured chief of Lou-
don to the same unhallowed burial, she threw herself frantic-
ly on the body: and so moved the man's compassion, that
taking advantage of the time when his comrades were out of
sight, he permitted her to wrap the dead Sir Ronald in her
plaid, and so carry him away between her sister and herself.
But ere she raised her sacred burther, he directed her to seek ,
the venerable head from amongst the others which lay ming
led in a sack, and drawing it forth, she placed it beside the
body, and hastily retired with both to the hovel where Wal-
256 TH E SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
lace had found her. It was a shepherd's hut; but the deso-
lation of the times having long ago driven away its former in-
habitant, and no other abode being near, she had hoped that
in so lonely an obscurity she might have performed the last
rites to the remains of the murdered lord of the very lands
on which she wept him ; and intending to take him to the
neighboring convent, to be interred in secret by the fathers
of a church he had in life endowed: she and her sister were
chanting over him the sad dirge of their country, when Sir
John Graham burst open their door. Ah! cried she, as she
closed her dismal narrative; though two lonely women were
all they left of the once numerous household of Sir Ronald
Crawford, to sigh the last lament over his once revered bo-
dy; yet in that sad midnight hour, our earthly voices were
not alone, for the wakeful spirits of his daughters hovered
in the air, and joined the deep coronach !
Wallace sighed heavily as he looked on the animated face
of the aged mourner. Attachment to the venerable dead,
seemed to have inspired her with thoughts beyond her sta-
tion; but the heart is an able teacher, and he saw that true
affection speaks but one language.
As her ardent eyes dropped from their heaven-ward gaze,
they fell upon the shrouded face of her master. A napkin
had been thrown across the wound of decapitation. Lords,
cried she, in a burst of recollection, ye have not seen all the
cruelty of these ruthless murderers . At these words she sud-
denly withdrew the linen, and lifting up the pale head, held
it wofully towards Wallace : Here, cried she, oncé more
Kiss these lips they have often kissed yours when you were
a babe, and as insensible to his love, as he is now to your
SOFI"O.W.
Wallace received the head in his arms: the long silver
Beard, thick with gouts of blood, hung over his hands. He
fixed his eyes on it intently for some minutes. An awful si-
lence pervaded the room ; every eye was rivetted upon him.
Looking round on his friends with a countenance whose
deadly hue gave a sepulchral fire to the gloomy denunciation
of his eyes. Was it necessary, said he, to turn my heart to
iron, that I was brought to see this sight? All the tremend-
ous purpose of his soul was read in his countenance, while
he laid the head back upon the bed and added, “I obey thy
THE SC QTTISH CHIEFS. 257
signal, Almighty Power of justicel and deep shall Ayr's
street flow in blood for this!” As he spake, he rushed from
the hut, and with rapid strides proceeded in profound si-
lence towards the palace. (qq) ~ * ,
He well knew that no honest Scot could be under that
roof. To fire it then was his determination. To destroy all
at once irsthe theatre of their cruelty; to make an execu-
tion, not engage in a warfare of man to man, was his resolu-
tion: for, they were not soldiers he was seeking, but assas-
sins; and to pitch his brave Scots in the open field against
such unmanly wretches, would be to dishonour his men, and
to give their unworthy opponents a chancefer the lives they .
had forfeited. t
All being quiet in the few streets through which he pass-
ed; and having set strong bodies of men at the mouth of eve-
rysally port of the citadel, he turned at once upon the guard
at the Barbican-gate, and slaying them before they could give
the least alarm, he and his chosen troop entered the portal
and made direct to the palace. The lights which blazed
through the windows of the banqueting-hall, showed him to
the spot: and having detached Graham and Edwin to his
right, to storm the Keep where their fathers were confined,
he took the half-intoxicated sentinels at the palace gatesty
surprise, and striking them into a sleep from which they
would wake no more : he fastened the doors upon the assas-
sins. The palace was built of huge beams of wood,' and
therefore the fitter for his purpose. His men now surround-
ed the building with hurdles filled with combustibles, which:
they had prepared according to his directions; and when all
was ready, Wallace, with the mighty spirit of retribution
ſº limb, mounted to the roof, and tearing off
part of the tileing, with a flaming brand in his hand, showed
himself, glittering in arms, to the affrighted revellers be-
meath; and as he threw it blazing amongst them, he cried,
aloud, “The blood of the murdered calls for vengeance and
it comes P’ . * . . . . tº
At that instant the matches were put to the faggots which
surrounded the building; and the whole party springing from
their seats hastened towards the doors: all were fastened on
them; and retreating again into the midst of the room, they
fearfully looked up to the tremendous figure above, which
Y 2 - -
258 THE scottish chie Fs.
*
like a supernatural being, seemed "come to avenge their
crimes and to rain down fire upon their guilty heads. Some
shook with superstitious dread; and others, driven to athe-
istical despair, with horrible execrations strove again to force
a passage through the doors. A second glance told De Va-
lence whose was the hand which had launched the thunder.
bolt at his feet; and turning to Sir Richard Arnulf, he cried
in a voice of horror, “My arch enemy is there !”
The rising smoke from within and without the building,
now obscured his terrific form. The shouts of the Scots as
the fire covered its walls; and the streaming flames licking
the windows, and pouring into every opening in the build-
ing, raised such a terror in the breasts of the wretches with-
in, that with the most horrible cries, they again and again
flew to the doors to escape. Not an avenue appeared: al-
Inost suffocated with smoke, and scorched by the blazing
rafters which fell from the burning roof, they at last made a
despérate attempt to break a passage through the great por.
tal. Arnulf was at their head; and sunk to abjectness by
his despair, in a voice, which terror rendered piercing, he
called aloud for mercy The words reached the ear of Sir
Roger Kirkpatrick, who stood nearest to the door : in a
voice of thunder he replied—“That ye gave ye shall re-
ceive Where was mercy when our fathers and our bro-
thers fell beneath your swords?”
Aymer De Valence came up at this moment with a wood-
en pillar which he and the strongest men in the company
had torn from under the gallery that surrounded the room;
and with all their strength dashing it against the door, they
at last drove it from its bolts. But now a wall of men oppo-
sed thern Desperate at the sight, and with a burning far-
jace in their rear, it was not the might of man that should
prevent their escape; and with a determination of despair,
they rushed forward and the foremost rank of the Scots fell.
But ere the exulting Southrons, who began to hope, could
press into the opened space, Wallace himself had closed
tºpon them : and Arnulf, the merciless Arnulf, whose voice
had pronourced the sentence of death upon Sir Ronald
Crawford, died beneath his hand. . -
Wallace was not aware that he had killed the governor of
Ayr, till his enemies, by their terror-struck exclamations,
* . -
• *-
THE scottish chiIFs. 259
informed him that the ruthless instigator of the passacre
was slain. This event was welcome news to the Scots; and
hoping that the next death would be that of De Valence,
they pressed on with redoubled energy. .
The soldiers of the garrison, aroused by such extraordina-
ry noise, and alarmed by the flames of the palace, hastened,
half dressed, though with arms in their hands, to the spot.—
But their presence rather added to the confusion, than gave
assistancé to the besieged party. The men were without
leaders; and not daring to put themselves in action for fear
of being afterwards punished in the case of a mischance for
having presumed to move without their officers, they stood
dismayed and irresolute, while those very officers, who had
been all at the banquet, were falling in heaps under the
swords of the resistless Scots. -- ... w
The men who guarded the prisoners having their com-
manders with them, made a stout resistance; and one of
them stealing off, gathered a few companies of the scattered
forces of the garrison, and suddenly taking Graham in flank,
made no inconsiderable havoc amongst that part of his divi-
sion. Edwin, fearful that his friend would be overpowered,
blew the signal for assistance. Wallace seeing that the day
was won at the palace, left the finishing of the affair, and he
hoped the seizure of De Valence, to Kirkpatrick and Mur-
ray; and drawing off a small party to reinforce, Graham, he
in his turn took the Southron officer by surprise. The ene-
my’s ranks fell around him like corn beneath the sickle;
and grasping a huge battering Eäm which his men had found,
he burst, open the door of the Keep. Graham and Edwin
with shouts of triumph immediately rushed in ; and Wallace
sounding his own bugle with the notes of victóry, his re-
serves, whom he had placed at the sally-ports, entered in
every direction, and received the flying soldiers of De Val-
ence upon their pikes. - , *
Dreadful was now the carnage; for the Southrons forget-
ting all discipline, fought every man for his life; and the
furious Scots driving them into the far spreading flames;
what escaped the sword would have perished in the fire, had
not the relenting heart of Wallace pleaded for bleeding hu-
manity, and he ordered the trumpet to sound a parley. He
was obeyed; and standing on an adjacent mound, in an ay-


260 THE SCOATTISH CHIEFS,
ful voice he proclaimed, that whoever had not been accomplic-
es in the horrible massacre of the Scottish Chiefs, if they would
&round their arms, and take an oath never again to serve against
Scotland, their lives should be spared.
At that blessed word of mercy, hundreds of swords fell to
the ground ; and their late holders, kneeling at his feet, took
the oath prescribed. Amongst those who surrendered was
he captain who had commanded at the prison he was the
only officer of all the late garrison who survived to do so; all
else had fallen in the conflict or had perished in the flames.
When he saw that this was the case, aud not one of his late
numerous complaints existed, to go through the same humi-
liating ceremony: with an aghast countenance he said to
Wallace, as he put his sword into his hand: “Then with
this, now to me, useless weapon, I must believe that I am
Surrendering into your hands, Sir William Wallace, the pos-
session of this castle, and the government of Ayr'—I see
not one of my late commanders; all must be slain; and for
me to hold out longer, would be to sacrifice my men; not
to redeem what has been so completely wrested from us.-
But I serve severe exactors; and I hope that your testimo-
my, if need be, my noble conqueror, will not be withheld,
to assure my king, that I fought as became his standard.”
Wallace gave him a gracious answer; and committing him
to the generous care of Murray, he turned to welcome the
approach of the Lords Dundaff and Ruthven, who, with a no-
ble train of other Scottish nobles, brothers in captivity, now
appeared from the Keep. Graham had deemed it most pru-
deit, that exhausted by anxiety and privations, they should
not come forth and join in the battle; and therefore, not till
the sound of victory echoed through the arches of their dun-
geons, would he suffer the eager Dundaff to see and thank
his deliverer. Meanwhile the young Edwin, after appearing
before the eyes of his amazed father, like the angel who
opened the prison gates to Peter: after embracing him with
all a son’s fondness, which for a moment lost the repressing
awe of filial respect in the joy of releasing so beloved a pa"
rent; after recounting in a few hasty sentences, the events
which had brought him to be a companion of Sir William
Wallace, and to avenge the injuries of Scotland in Ayr; he
knocked off the chains of his father; and eager to perform
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 26 I
the like service to all who had suffered in the like manner,
accompanied by the happy Ruthven (who gazed with delight
on his son, treading so young the path of glory) he hastened
around to the other dungeons, and gladly proclaimed to the
astonished inmates freedom and safety. Having rid them of
their shackles, he had just entered with his noble company
into the vaulted chamber which contained Lord Dundaff,
when the peaceful clarion sounded. At the happy tidings,
Graham started on his feet; “Now, my father, you shall
see the bravest of men.”
Remember we are tauins in happiness cried Edwin with a
congratulatory smile, our fathers must meet him together.—
So saying, he bounded forward : and the chiefs following
him they entered on the platform, just as Wallace stood in
the midst of the Southrons receiving their vows of honour.
Morning was spreading her pale light over the heavens,
and condensing with her cold breath the grey smoke which
still ascended in volumes from the burning ruins, when Wal-
lace, turning round at the glad voice of Edwin, beheld the
released nobles. This was the first time that he had ever
seen the Lords Dundaff and Ruthven ; btit several of the oth-
ers he remembered having met at the decision of the crowns,
when Baliol was elected to the woe of Scotland. While he
was cordially welcoming, and receiving to his friendship the
men to whom his valour had given freedom, how great was
his surprise to see in one, who now appeared between Ker
and a soldier, Sir John Monteith, the young chieftain whom
he had parted with a few months ago at Douglas; and from
whose fatal invitation to that place, he might well date the
ruih of his dearest happiness!
We found Sir John Monteith amongst the slain before the
palace, said Ker. In obeying your commands to seek for
the survivors, we discovered him; he of the whole party
alone breathed; I knew him instantly. How he came there
I know not ; but I brought him hither to explain to yourself,
while I accomplish my task. Ker withdrew to finish the in-
terment of the dead. And Sir John still leaning on the sol-
dier, grasped Wallace’s hand with joy; my brave friend
cried he, to owe my liberty to you is two-fold pleasure ;
for, added he, in a lowered voice, I see before me the man
who is to verify the words of Baliol, and be not only the guar.
*-
262 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
dian, but the possessor of the treasure he committed to our
care :
Wallace who had never east a thought on the box, since
the moment he knew that it was safe under the protection of
St. Fillan, shook his head :—A far different meed do I seek,
my friend said he, to behold the happy countenances of my
liberated countrymen, is greater reward to me, than would
be the developement of all the splendid mysteries which ere
the head of Baliol could devise; and the brave addition
which your rescued selves make to the Scots in arms, is
worth all the mines of India with which he might think to
repay their valour.
Aye! cried Dundaff, who overheard this part of the con.
versation ; we invited the usurpation of a tyrant by the do-
cility with which we submitted to his minion. Had we re-
jected Baliol, we had never been ridden of Edward. But
it seems the Scots must be goaded to the quick before they
feel they have a task master. That has now been done; the
rowel has entered all our sides; and who is there amongst us,
that will not lay ourselves and our fortunes at the command
of Sir William Wallace 2
If all held our cause in the light that yourself and your
brave son do, returned Wallace, the blood of our fathers
which these Southrons have sown, would rise up in ten
thousand armed legions to overwhelm them.
But how, enquired he, turning to Monteith, did you hap-
pen to be in Ayr at this period? and how, above all, amongst
the slaughtered Southrons at the palace gate
Sir John Monteith readily replied. My adverse fate ac-
counts for all. He then proceeded to inform Wallace that
on the very night in which they had parted at Douglas, Sir
Arthur Heselrigge was told the story of the box; and that
he accordingly sent to have Monteith brought prisoner to
Lanerk. He lay in the dungeons of the citadel at the very
time Wallace entered that town and destroyed the governor.
As no advantage was taken by the Scots of the transient pan-
ic which this retribution threw over their enemies, every ex-
ertion was made by the English lieutenant to preventa repe-
tition of the same disaster; and in consequence every sus-
pected person was taken up, and those who were already in
confinement loaded with double chains, Monteith being
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 263
known to have been a friend to Sir William Wallace, was
sent under a strong guard towards Stirling, there to stand
his trial before Cressingham and the Justicary Ormesby;
but by a lucky chance, said he, I made my escape while my
guards slept. However, I was soon retaken by another par-
ty and conveyed to Ayr; where the lieutenant governor
Arnulf, being fond of music, and discovering my talents
in that art, he showed me what he esteemed indulgences,
but I regarded as insults; and with no other alternative
than death, he compelled me to sing at his entertainments.
For this purpose, he last night confined me in the banquet-
ing room at the palace : and thus when the flames surround-
ed that building, I found myself exposed to die the death of
a traitor, though then the most oppressed of all the Scots—
Snatching up a sword, and striving to join my brave coun-
trymen, the Southrons impeded my passage, and I fell un-
der their arms. # *
Sir William Wallace, happy to have rescued his old ac-
quaintance from further mortifications committed him to
Edwin to lead into the citadel. As he gave these directions
he took the colours of Edward from the ground, where the
Southron officer had laid them, and giving them to Sir Alex-
ander Scrymgeour, ordered him to fill their former station,
the top of the citadel, with the standard of Scotland. This
action he considered as the seal of each victory; as the badge
which, seen from afar, showed to the desolate Scots where
to find a protector; and from what ground to start when
they found courage to rise in their own defence. The stan-
dard was no sooner raised, than the proud clarion of triumph
was blown from every warlike instrument in the garrison;
and the Southron captain repledging his faith to Wallace,
that his men would adhere to their oath of never re-enter-
ing Scotland as foes, placed himself at the head of his dis-
armed troops, and under the direction of Murray, marched
out of the castle. His design was to proceed immediately
to Newcastle, and there embark with his men to join their
king in his Guienne wars. Not more than two hundred fol.
lowed their officer in this expedition; for not more were
English ; the rest, to nearly double that number, being like
the garrison of Dumbarton, Irish and Welsh, were glad to
escape from enforced servitude. Some parted off in divi.
264. THE scottish chiefs.
sions to return to their respective countries; , and a few,
whose energetic spirits preferred a life of warfare in the
cause of a country struggling for freedom, before returning
to submit to the oppressors of their own, enlisted under the
banners of Wallace. These recruits, amounting to about
one hundred strong fighting men, he put under the com-
mand of Sir John Graham.
Some other necessary regulations being made, he dismiss-
ed the victorious Scots to find refreshment in the well stored
barracks of the dispersed Southrons; and retired himself to
rejoin his friends in the citadel.
A CHAP. XXVII.
{
IN the course of an hour Murray returned, with the in-
formation that he had seen the departing Southrons safely
beyond the barriers of the town. But he approached not
Wallace alone; he was accompanied by Lord Aukinleck,
the son of one of the betrayed barons who had fallen in the
palace of Ayr. This young chieftain brought a large force
with him to support the man whose dauntless hand had thus
satisfied his revenge; and when he met Murray at the north
gate of the town, and recognized in his flying banners a
friend of Scotland, he was happy to make himself known to
an officer of Wallace, and to be conducted to that chief.
As Lord Andrew and his new colleague made the range of
the suburbs, by his general’s direction, he gave priers that
the different detachments of troops which had been left to
guard their avenues, should march towards the citadel. The
glad progress of the victor Scots through the streets, turned
the whole aspect of that late gloomy city. Doors and win-
dows which were so lately closed in deep mourning for the
sanguinary deeds just done in the palace, now opened, teem-
ing with gay inhabitants. The general joy penetrated to
the most remote recesses. Mothers now threw their fond
arms around the necks of those children whom they had late-
ly regarded with the averted eyes of despair; in the one sex
they thought they beheld the devoted victims of perhaps the
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 265
next requisition for blood; and in the other, the hapless prey
of passions more fell than the horrid rage of the beast of the
field. But now all was secure again. These terrific tyrants
were driven hence; and the happy parent embracing her
children, as if restored to her from the grave, implored a
thousand blessings on the head of Wallace, the dispenser,
of such a world of good. $
Sons who in secret had lamented the treacherous death of
their fathers, and brothers of their brothers, now opened
their gates, and ready armed joined the valiant troops in the
streets. Widowed wives, and fatherless daughters, almost
forgot that they had been bereaved of their natural protec-
tors, when they saw Scotland rescued from their enemies,
and her armed sons once more walking in the broad day,
masters of themselves and their liberties.
Thus then, with every heart rejoicing, every house teem-
ing with numbers to swell the ranks of Wallace, did he, the
day after he had entered Ayr, see all arranged for its peace-
ful establishment. Having placed formidable garrisons in
the citadel, and suburbs, composed of its own youth and the
adjacent peasantry and commanded by Lord Auckinleck,
he prepared to proceed on his march. But ere he bade that
town adieu in which he had been educated; and where al-
most every man remembered his boyish years, and thronged
to him with recollection of former days; one duty demanded
his stay: To pay funeral honours to the remains of his belov-
ed grandfather.
Accordingly the time was fixed upon ; and with every so-
lemnity due to his virtues and his rank, he was buried in the
chapel of the citadel. It was not a scene of mere ceremoni-
ous mourning: as he had been the father of the fatherless,
he was followed to the grave by many an orphan’s tears;
and as he had been the protector of the distressed in every
degree, and the beneficent friend of all human kind; a pro-
cession long and full of lamentation conducted his shrouded
corse, to its earthly rest. The mourning families of those
who had fallen in the same bloody theatre with himself, clos-
ed the said retinue ; and while the holy rites committed his
body to the ground, the sacred mass was extended to those
who had been plunged into the weltering element.
Several of the name of Crawford, and of the kindred of
• W OI. I. Z.
266 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS.
*.
Wallace, were present. To these he resigned the lands he
inherited from his (rr) grandfather; and while he confided
the aged Elspa and her sister to the care of Sir Reginald
Crawford, to whom he gave Loudon and Monktown Kirk,
he said, Cousin, you are a valiant man I leave you to be
the representative of your venerable uncle : to cherish these
poor women whom he loved; to be the protector of the peo-
ple of Ayr and the defender of the suburbs. The garrison is
under the command of the baron of Auckinleck, who with
his brave followers, was the first to hail the burning of the
accursed barns of Ayr. #
After this solemnity, and these dispositions; and that
Wallace saw that the town and citadel was in a state of stout
resistance, should any attempt be made by the enemy; he
resolved to pursue a similar plan at this part of the kingdom,
to that which he intended to have pursued had his operations
been confined to the north of the Clyde. *
He called a review of his troops ; and found that he could
leave five hundred inen at Ayr, and march an army of at
least two thousand out of it. His present design was to take
his course to Berwick, and by seizing every castle of strength
in his way, form a chain of works across the country, which
would bulwark Scotland against any further inroads from its
enemies; and render the subjugation of the interior South-
ron garrisons more certain and easy. While he was thus
employed, it would not be difficult for his troops, (thus plant-
ed as a south wall) by excursions, to clear Annandale and
Roxburgshire of the enemy, and so make the Cheviot hills
and the ocean the boundaries of Edward’s conquests.
With this design, Wallace on the third morning after he
had entered Ayr, marched over the green bosoms of his na-
tive hills; and manning every watch-tower on their summits,
(for now, whethersoever he moved, he found his victories
had preceded him, and that all from hall or hovel, turned
out to greet and offer him their services) he crossed by
Muirkirk to Douglas castle.
He no sooner appeared, and summoned it to surrender,
than the Southton governor, (who had been apprised by fil-
gitives of the late events at Ayr) hearing from the herski
who brought the requisition, that he was called upon to re-
sign the keys of Douglas to Sir William Wallace, beheld in
FHE SCOTTHS li CHIEFS, 267
.#
liis panic-struck fancy the castle stormed around him and in
flames. Believing that all would be sacrificed to the young
warrior's vengeance, should he offer the slightest resistance,
he consented to surrender; and laying down his arms be-
fore Wallace, the castle was relinquished into his hands,
This advantage gained, he did not stay longer than to
take the usual oaths of the troops; and as a hostage for the
performance of their engagement, he detained the governor
in his possession. Sir Eustace Maxwell took the eommand
of Douglas and its environs, with Monteith (whose late
wounds demanded rest) as his lieutenant. The little garri-
son being fixed, Wallace was well satisfied with the zeal of
Yooth his officers, and proceeding thence across Couthboan-
law to the Pentland bills, possessed himself, after a littlere-
sistance, of the castles of Peebles, Nidpath, and of Traquair,
in Tweed-dale; and though he met firmer opposition as he
approathed the coast, he compelled every strong hold to
surrender to him, which lay between the western borders
of the Merse and the walls of Berwick.
Arrived before these blood-stained towers, which had so
often been the subjects of dispute between the powers of
England and of Scotland, he prepared for their immediate
attack. Berwick being a valuable fortress to the enemy,
not only as a key * the invaded kingdom, but a point
whence, by his ships, he commanded the whole of the east-
ern coast of Scotland; Wallace expected that a desperate
stand would here be made to stop the progress of his arms.
But being aware that the most expeditious mode of wańre
was the best adapted to promote his cause, he first took théº,
town by assault, and having driven the garrison into the cit- "
adel, assailed them by a vigorous siege. It had lasted not
more than ten days, when Wallace, foreseeing that his ene-
mies might be reinforced with little difficulty, should their
ships continue to command the harbour, resolved upon a
stratagem to gain them also into his possession. According-
ly, he found among his own troops many men who had been
used to a sea-faring life. These he sent, disguised as fugi-
tive Southrons, in boats to the ships which lay off in the
roads. The feint took; and by these means seizing upon
the vessels nearest to the town, he manned them with his
*268 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
*
hi
*
own people; and going out with them himself, in three days
made himself master of every ship on the coast.
By this manoeuvre the situation of the besieged was ren-
dered so hopeless, that no mode of escape was left but by des-
perate sallies. They made them, but without other effect
than weakening their strength and encreasing their miseries.
Wallace was aware of all their resolutions; for knowing
what would be best for them to do in their situation, he need-
ed no better spy over their actions than his own judgment.—
Foiled in every attempt; as their opponent, guessing their
intentions, was prepared at every point to meet their differ-
ent essays; and loosing men at every rencountre, their gov-
ernor was quite at his wit’s end. Without provisions, with-
out aid of any kind for his wounded men, and hourly an-
noyed by the victorious Scots, (who by showers of arrows
and other missile weapons, which they continued to throw
from the towers and springalls with which they overtopped
the walls, suffered not the besieged to rest day or night) the
unhappy Southron was ready to rush upon death to avoid the
disgrace of surrendering the fortress. Every soul in the gar-
rison was reduced to similar despair. Wallace had found
means to dam up the spring, which by running under a par-
ticular tract of land, usually supplied the citadel with water.
The common men, famished with hunger, smarting with their
wounds, and now perishing with unextinguishable thirst
threw themselves at the feet of their officers, imploring them
to represent to the governor, that if he longer held out he,
must defend the place alone, for that they could not exist
twenty-four hours under their present sufferings.
The governor now repented of the rashness with which he
had thrown himself unprovisioned into the citadel. He now
saw that expectation was no apology for want of precaution.
When his first division had been overpowered in the assault of
the town, his evil genius suggested to him that it was best to
take the second unbroken into the citadel, and there await
the arrival of a reinforcement by sea, for which he had imme-
diately sent. But he had beheld the ships which defended
the harbour seized by Wallace before his eyes! Hope was
then crushed, and nothing but death or dishonour seemed to
be his alternative. Cut to the soul at the recollection of his
own want of judgment in so hastily throwing himself into the
THE SeoTTISH chiefs. 269
*
castle, when he was sensible he might have maintained the
town longer, he determined to retrieve his fame by washing
out his error with his blood. To fall then under the ruins of
Berwick Castle was his resolution. Such was the state of
his mind, when the officers appeared with the petition of his
men. In proportion as they felt the extremities into which
they were driven, the offence he had committed, glared with
tenfold enormity in his eyes; and with wild despair he told
them, “they might do as they would, but for his part, the
moment they opened the gates to the enemy, that moment
should be the last of his life. He, that was the son-in-law
ofº Edward, would never yield his sword to a Scottish
rebel.” *
Terrified at these threats on himself, the soldiers, who
loved their general, declared themselves willing to die with
him; and therefore, as a last effort, determined to make a
mine under the principal tower of the Scots; and by setting
fire to it, at least destroy the means by which they feared
their enemies would storm the citadel.
Wallace as he kept his station on the tower, observing
numbers of the besieged passing behind a mound in a direc-
tion to the part of the wall where the tower stood, conclu-
déd what was their design; and ordering a countermine to
be made—what he anticipated, happened; and Murray, at
the head of the miners, encountered those of the castle at
the very moment they were setting fire to the combustibles
which were to consume the tower. The conflict was violent,
but short, for theimpetuous Scots drove their amazed and en-
feebled adversaries through the aperture into the centre of
the citadel. At this instant, Wallace, with a band of resolute
men, sprung from the tower upon the walls, and while they
were almost deserted by their late guardians, who had quit-
ted them to assist their fellow-sufferers in repelling the foe
below, he leaped down amidst them, and the battle became
general. It was decisive. For Wallace, beholding the un-
daunted resolution with which the weakened and dying
men supported the cause their governor was so determined
to defend, found his admiration and his pity alike excited;
and even while his men seemed to have every man’s life in
his hands, and one instant more would make him the undis-
puted master of the castle, (for not a Southron would then

7, 2
-
270 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS.
breathe to dispute it) he resolved to stop the carnage. At
the moment when a gallant officer, who, having assaulted
him with the vehemence of despair, and wounded him in
several places, now lay disarmed and under him; at that mo-
ment when the discomfitted knight exclaimed, “In mercy
strike and redeem the honor of Ralph de Monthermer" (ss)
Wallace raised his bugle and sounded the note of peace.—
Every sword was arrested ; and the universal clangor of bat-
tle was lost in expecting silence. *
Rise, brave Earl; cried he, to the governor : I revere
your virtue too sincerely to take an unworthy advantage of
my fortune. The valour of this garrison commands my res-
*pect; and as a proof of my sincerity, I grant to it what I
never yet have done to any : That yourself and those daunt-
less men march out with the honours of war; and without any
bonds on your future conduct towards us. We leave it to
your own hearts to decide whether you will ever again be
made instruments to enchain a brave people.
While he was speaking, De Monthermer leaned gloomily
on the sword he had returned to him, with his eyes fixed on
his men. They answered his glance with looks that seemed
to say they understood him : and passing a few words in
whispers to each other, one at last spoke aloud —“ Decide
for us Earl. We are as ready to die as to live, so that we
may be in neither divided from you.”
At this generous declaration, the proud despair of De
Monthermer gave way to nobler feelings; and while a big
tear stood in each eye, he turned to Wallace, and stretching
out his hand to him, Noble Scot, said he, your unexampled
generosity, and the invincible fidelity of these heroic men,
have compelled me to accept the life I had resolved to lose
under these walls rather than resign them. But virtue is re-
sistless : and to it do I surrender that pride of soul which
made existence insufferable under the consciousness of hav-
ing erred. When I became the husband of King Edward's
daughter, I believed myself pledged-to victories or to death.
But there is a conquest, and I feel it, greater than over hosts
in the field;—and here taught to make it, the husband of the
Princess of England, the proud Earl of Gloucester, consents
to live to be a monument of Scottish nobleness and of the
inflexible fidelity of English soldiers, t
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 27 1
You live, illustrious and virtuous Englishman, returned
Wallace, to redeem that honour of which the rapacious sons
of England had robbed their country. Go forth, therefore, as.
Iny conqueror; for you have, at least in this spot, extinguish-
ed that burning antipathy with which the outraged heart of
William Wallace had vowed to extirpate every Southron
from off this ravaged land. Honour, brave Earl, makes all
men berthren; and as a brother I open these gates for you.
to repass into your country. When there, if you ever re-
member William Wallace, let it be as a man who fights not
for conquest or renown; but to restore Scotland to her rights,
and then to resign his sword in peace. . *
I shall, remember you, Sir William Wallace returned De
Monthermer; and as a pledge of it, you shall never see me
more in this country till I come an ambassador of that peace
for which you fight. But meanwhile, in the moment of your
hot contention for the rights which you believe wrested from
you, do you remember that they have not been so much the
spoil of my royal father’s ambition, as the traffic of your
own venal nobles, and of the king who purchased a throne
at the expense of his country. Had I not believed that
Scotland was unworthy of freedom, I should never have ap-
peared upon her borders; But now that I see she has brave
hearts within her, who not only resist oppression, but knew
how to wield power, I shrink from the zeal I showed to rivet
her chains, (for I even volunteered to occupy this station,
so unworthy my rank;) and I repeat, that never again shall
my hostile foot impress this land. $
. These sentiments were answered in the same spirit by his
soldiers. And the Scots, following the example of their lead-
er, treated them with every kindness. After dispensing
amongst them provisions, and appointing horses and other
means to convey the wounded away in comfort, Wallace bade
a cordial farewell to the earl of Gloucester; and his men
conducted their reconciled enemies safe over the Tweed.—
There they parted. The English bent their course towards
London, and the Scots returned to their victorious general,
gº
272 THE SCOTTISH c HIEFs.
CHAP. XXVIII.
THE happy effects of these rapid conquests were soon ap-
parent. The fall of Berwick excited such a confidence in
the minds of the neighbouring chieftains, that every hour
brought fresh recruits to Wallace. Every mouth was full of
the praises of the young conqueror; every eye was eager to
catch a glimpse of his person: and while the men were em-
ulous to share his glory, the women in their secret bowers
put up prayers for the preservation of one so handsome and
so brave.
Amongst the many who, of every rank and age hastened
to pay their respects to the deliverer of Berwick, was Sir
Richard Maitland of Thirlestane, a veteran of such celebri-
ty, that he went by the title of the Stalworth Auld Knight of
Lauderdale. (tt), Hearing of Wallace’s mighty deeds, Sir
Richard determined to see the brave grandson of his old
friend, the treacherously murdered Sir Ronald Crawford.
He sought him, not only in this light, but as an object fraught
with every cause of interest: as the champion of Scotland,
as the benefactor of mankind. Months ago he had been
informed of Lord Mar’s obligations to Wallace and of the
subsequent imprisonment of the earl. But now, when he
found that the resistless chief had not only freed Lord Mar,
but had seized the fetters of Scotland at Dumbarton; and
that after forming a wall across his country, stronger than
those of Agricola, and Adrian, a rampart of determined
Scots; he had gained possessson of the Eastern sea.—When
Maitland heard all this, new blood seemed to flow in his aged
veins! and he who had not mounted a horse for twenty years,
now bestrode a proud charger, to go as became a knight to
pay his duty to the hope of his country.
Wallace was no sooner told of the approach of the vener-
able knight of Thirlestane, than he set forth accompanied
by his chief officers, to bid him welcome. At sight of the
deliverer of Scotland, Sir Richard threw himself off his
horse with a military grace that would have become even
}. years; and hastening towards Wallace’ clasped
im in his arms.
Let me look on thee! cried the old knight; let me feast
THE SCOTTISH C H H EFS, 273
my eyes on the brave Scot who again raises this hoary head
which has so long bent in shame for its dishonoured country !
As he spoke he viewed allace from head to foot. I knew
Sir Ronald Crawford and thy valiant father : continued he,
Oh! had they lived to see this day ! but the base murder of
the one thou hast nobly avenged: and the honourable grave
of the other in the field of Loudon-hill, (uu) thou wilt cover
with the monument of thine own glories. Low are laid my
own children in this land of strife; but in thee I see a son
of Scotland that is to dry all our tears.
He embraced Wallace again and again. And as the vener-
able chieftain’s overflowing heart rendered him garrulous,
he expatiated on the energy with which the young victor
had pursued his conquest: and paralleled them with the bril-
fiant actions he had seen in his youth. While he thus dis-
coursed, Wallace drew him towards the castle, and there
presented to him the two nephews of the earl of Mar.
He paid some warm compliments to Edwin on his early
success in the career of glory ; and then turning to Murray,
Aye! said he, it is joy to me to see the valiant house of
Bothwell in the third generation. Thy grandfather and my-
self were boys together at the coronation of Alexander the
second ; and that is eighty years ago. Since then, what
have I not seen The death of two noble Scottish kings:
our blooming princes ravished from us by untimely fates :
The throne sold to a coward ; and at last seized by a foreign
power And in my own person I have been the father of
as brave and beauteous a family as ever blessed a parent’s
eye :—But they are all torn from me. Two of my sons sleep
on the plain of Dunbar; my third, my dauntless William,
since that fatal day, has been kept a prisoner in England.
And my daughters, the tender blossoms of my aged years;
they grew around me the fairest lillies of the land:—But
they too are passed away. The one, scorning the mere
charms of youth, and preferring a union with a soul that had
long conversed with superior regions, loved Thomas Lord
Learmont the sage of Ercildoune. But my friend lost this
sweet rose of his bosom, and I the dearest child of my heart,
ere she had been a year his wife. Then was my last and
only daughter married to the Lord Mar: and in giving birth
to my dear lsabella, she too died.—Ah, my good young
274 The scorTISH c HIEFs."
º
knight, were it not for that sweet child, the living image of
her mother, who in the very spring of youth was cropt and
fell; I should be alone;—And my hoary-head would descend
to the grave unwept, unregretted:
The joy of the old man having recalled such melancholy
remembrances, he wept upon the shoulder of Edwin, who,
interested in the sad detail, had drawn so near, that the story
which was begun to Murray, was ended to him. Wallace,
to give the mourning father time to recover his composure,
walked towards the other lords who were conversing in a
opposite part of the room. At that moment Ker entered,
and told him that a youth was in the anti-chamber, who had
just arrived from Stirling with a sealed packet which he
would deliver into no hands but those of Sir William W.;
lace. At this intimation, Wallace turning to Ruthven an
Dundaff, requested them to showevery attention to the Lord
of Thirlestane during his absence, and left the apartment.
On his entering the anti-room, the messenger sprung for-
ward; but suddenly checking himself, he stood as if irreso-
lute what to say.
This is Sir William Wallace, young man; said Ker, de.
liver your embassy to him.
At these words the youth pulled a packet from his bosom,
and putting it into the chief’s hand, retired in confusion.—
Wallace gave orders to Ker to take care of him; and then
prepared to inspect its contents. He wondered from whom
in Stirling it could come ; as he knew no Scot there, who
would dare to write to him while it was possessed by the
enemy. But not losing a moment in conjecture, he broke
the seal.
How was he startled at the first words ! and how was eve-
ry energy of his heart roused to redoubled action when he
i. to the signature | The first words in the letter were
the Sé 3. .'
“A daughter trembling for the life of her father condemn-
ed to die, presumes to address Sir William Wallace.”—
The signature was “Helen Mar.”—He began the letter
again.
“A daughter trembling for the life of her father condemn-
ed to die, presumes to address Sir William Wallace. You
have been his deliverer from the sword, from chains, and
f
THE 30 OTTISH CHIEFS, 275
from the waves. Refuse not then again to save him to whom
you have so often given life; and hasten, brave Wallace, to
preserve the earl of Mar from the scaffold.
“A cruel deception brought him from the isle of Bute,
where you imagined you had left him in security. Lord
Amyer De Valence, in escaping a second time from your
sword, fled under covert of the night from Ayr to Stirling.
Cressingham, the rapacious robber of all our castles, found
in him an apt coadjutor. They concerted how to avenge the
late disgraces of Earl De Valence ; and Cressingham, eager
tu enrich himself while he flattered the resentments of his
commander, suggested to him that you, Sir William Wallace,
our deliverer, and their scourge, would most easily be made
to feel through the bosoms of your friends. They therefore
determined, as the first victim, after a mock trial, to con-
demn my father to death; and thus, while they distress you,
put themselves in possession of his lands and wealth with
the semblance of justice.
“The substance of this most unrighteous debate was com-
municated to me by Lord Aymer De Valence himself: He
thought to excuse his part in the affair, by proving to me how
insensible he is to the principles which move a patriot and
a man of honour.
“To this end, these arch enemies of our country, (having
learnt from some too well-informed spy, that Lord Mar, in-
stead of being within the strong hold of Dumbarton, had re-
tired in peaceful obscurity to Bute) sent a body of men, dis-
guised as Scots, to Gourock. There they stopped and dis-
patched a messender into the island to inform Lord Mar that
Sir William Wallace, having driven the Southrons out ºf
Ayr, was waiting to converse with him on the banks of the
Frith. My noble father, unsuspicious of treachery; and
thinking he was going to meet the friend in whom he glori-
ed, hurried to obey the summons. Lady Mar accompanied
him ; and so both fell into the snare.
“He was brought a close prisoner to Stirling, where an-
other affliction awaited him:-He was to see his daughter
and sister in captivity.
“After I had been betrayed from St. Fillan’s monastery,
by the falshoods of one Scottish knight; and rescued from
His power by the gallantry of another; I sought the protec-
++
*
276 THE SCOTTISH C IIIEFS,
tion of my aunt, Lady Ruthven, who then dwelt at Alloa, on
the banks of the Forth, (ww.) Her husband had been invi-
ted to Ayr by some treacherous requisition of the governor
Arnulf; and with many other lords was thrown into prison:
Report says, bravest of men that you have given freedom
to my betrayed uncle—I speak from report alone; for we
are too closely watched in this citadel to be able to receive
any messenger he might have sent.
“According to the plan of our tyrants, the moment Lord
Ruthven’s person was secured, his estates in the Highlands,
with those around Stirling, were seized; and my aunt and
myself being found at Alloa, a castle which she had brought
to him in dowry, we were carried prisoners to this city.—
Alas! we had no valiant arm to preserve us from our ene-
mies Lady Ruthven’s first-born son was slain in the fatal
day of Dunbar: and in terror of the like fate, she has placed
her eldest surviving boy in a convent. Some days after our
arrival, my dear father was brought in and taken to the
dungeons, where they loaded him with double chains.—
Though a captive in the town, I was not then confined to
any closer imprisonment than the walls. While he was yet
passing through the streets, rumour told my aunt, that the
Scottish lord who was then leading to prison, was her belov.
ed brother. She flew to me in an agony to tell me the dread-
ful tidings. I heard no more, saw no more, till having rush-
ed into the streets, and bursting through every obstacle of
crowd, and soldiers, I found myself clasped in my father’s
arms—in his shackled arms —Oh ! my God, what a moment
was that! When was Sir William Wallace in that hour 2–
Where the brave unknown knight, who had sworn to me to
die in my father’s defence 2 Both were absent, and he was
in chains.
“My grief and distraction baffled the attempts of the
guards to part us ; and what became of me I know not, till
I found myself lying on a couch, attended by many women,
and supported by my aunt. When I had recovered to la-
mentation and to tears, the women withdrew, and my aunt
told me I was in the apartments of the deputy warden. He,
with Cressingham, having gone out to meet the man they
had so basely drawn into their tolls. De Valence himseif
saw the struggles of paternal affection, coutending against
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 277
the men who would have torn a senseless daughter from his
arms; and yet he, merciless man separated us, and sent
me, with my aunt, a prisoner to his house.
“The next day a packet was put into my aunt’s hands, con-
taining a few precious lines from my father to me, and a letter
from the countess to Lady Ruthven, telling her of the con-
quest of Dumbarton, and of all your goodness to her and to
my father; and at last narrating the cruel manner in which
they had been ravished from the asylum in which you had
placed them. She then said, that could she find means of ap-
prising you of the danger in whichsheand her husband were
now involved, she was sure you would fly to their rescue.
Whether she has ever found these means, I know not, for
all communication between us was immediately rendered
impracticable. The messenger who brought my aunt the
packet, was a good Southron soldier who had been won by
Lady. Mar’s entreaties. But on his quitting the apartments
where we were confined, he was seized by a servant of De
Valence, who having descried the soldier slip rather myste- . .
riously into my aunt’s chamber, by listening found his er-
rand, and made him prisoner the moment he appeared from
the door. The poor soldier was the same day put publicly
to death, in order to intimidate all others from the like com-
passion on the sufferings of unhappy Scotland. Oh Sir
William Wallace, will not your sword at last reach these
men of blood |
“But to return. Earl De Valence compelled my aunt to
give up the packet to him. We had already read it, there-
fore did not regret it on that head; but we feared the infor-
mation it might give relative to you, our benefactor. In
consequence of this circumstance, I was made a closer pris-
oner than before. . But captivity could have no terrors for
me, did it not divide me from my father. And grief on
grief! what words have I to writeit * They have condemned
him to die / That fatal letter of my step-mother’s was brought
out against him ; and as your adherent, Sir William Wallace,
they have sentenced him to lose his head,
“I have knelt to Earl de Valence; I have implored my
father’s life at his hands; but to no purpose. He tells me
that Cressingham at his side, and the justiciary Ormesby, by
letters from Scone, declare itMºssary that some execution
3. -
* 278 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
of consequence should be made to appal the discontented
Scots; and that as no lord is esteemed greater in Scotland,
than the earl of Mar, he mu’t die /
* Hasten then, my father’s preserver and friend hasten to
save him —Oh, fly for the sake of the gountry he loves; for
the sake of the hapless beings dependent on his protection :
—I shall be on my knees till I hear your trumpet before the
walls; for in you and heaven now rest all the hopes of Helen
Mar.” &
A cold dew stood on the limbs of Wallace as he closed the
letter. It might be too late Even his arms might not now
be able to rescue his friend from the sentence that had been
passed on him; the axe may already have fallen -
Struck with this terror, he called to Ker, and ordered that
the messenger should be brought in. He entered. Wallace
enquired how long he had been in bringing the packet from
Stirling. The youth replied, only twenty-four hours; ad-
ding, that he had travelled night and day, for fear the news
of the risings in Annandale, and the taking of Berwick,
which had reached Stirling, should precipitate the Earl’s
death.
I accompany you this instant, cried Wallace. And giving
orders to Ker, that the troops should immediately get under
arms; he desired the messenger to keep with his own par-
ticular train: and then returned into the room where he
had left the venerable knight of Thirlestane.
Sir Richard Maitland, said he, willing to avoid exciting his
alarm ; there is more work for me at Stirling. Lord Aymer
de Valence has again escaped the death we thought had
overtaken him; and he is now there. I have just received
a summons thither which I must obey. At these last words,
Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, who had hastened forward at the
word Stirling, gave a loud shout, and rushing from the apart-
ment. Wallace looked after him for a moment, and then
continued—follow us with your prayers, Sir Richard; and I
shall not despair of sending blessed tidings to the banks of
the Leeder. -
- What has happened enquired Murray, who saw that
something more than the escape of De Valence had been
imparted to his general. -
We must spare this good old man, returned hº, and have
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 279
him conducted to his home before I declare it publicly; but
the earl of Mar is again a prisoner, and in Stirling. . .
Murray who instantly comprehended his uncle’s danger,
speeded the departure of Sir Richard ; and as Wallace held
his stirrup, the chief laid his hand on his head and blessed
him. “The prophet of Ercildoune is too ill to bring his ben-
ediction himself, but I breatheit over our preserver’s head!”
The bridle being in the hand of Lord Andrew, he led the
horse out of the eastern gate of the town; and there taking
leave of the veteran knight and his train, turned on his way;
and soon rejoined Wallace in the midst of his officers.
He had informed them of the earl of Mar’s danger; and
of the policy, as well as justice, of rescuing so powerful and
patriotic a nobleman from the death his enemies threatened.
Lord Ruthven needed no arguments to precipitate him for-
ward in the service of the beloved brother of his wife; and
the anxieties of the affectionate Edwin were all awake when
he knew that his mother was a prisoner. Lord Andrew
smiled when he returned his cousin’s letter to Wallace: we
shall have the rogues on the nail yet, said he, and if we do
not this time pin the light heels of De Valence to the rock of
Stirling, we shall deserve to be brained for ignorance of
slight of hand. My uncle’s brave head is not ordained to
fall by the stroke of such cowards !
So I believe, replied Wallace, and then turning to Lord
Dundaff; my lord, said he, I leave you governor of Ber-
wick. "
The veteran warrior grasped Wallace’s hand. “To be
your representative in this fortress, is the proudest station
this war-worn frame hath ever filled. My son must be my
representative with you in the field.” He waved Sir John
Graham towards him; the young knight advanced; and
Lord Dundaff, placing his hand upon his shield, said, swear
that as this defends the body, you will ever strive to cover
Scotland from her enemies; and that from this hour, as Acha-
tes was to HEneas, you will be the faithful friend and follow-
er of Sir William Wallace :
I swear, returned Graham, kissing the (ca.) shield. Wal-
lace pressed his hand: “I have brothers aroënd me rather
than what the world calls friends ! And with such valor, such
fidelity to aid me, can I be otherwise than a victor ; , -
280 ‘H’HE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
-
.
Edwin, who stood near at this rite of generous enthusiasm,
softly whispered to Wallace as he turned towards his
troops; but amongst all these brothers, cease not to remem-
ber that Edwin was your first.—Ah, my beloved general,
what Jonathan was to David I would be to thee!
Walläce looked on him with penetrating tenderness; his
heart was suddenly wrung by a recollection which the words
of Edwin had recalled. But thy love, passes not the love of
women, Edwin —No, but it equals it, replied he, what has
been done for thee, I would do; only love me as David did
Jonathan, and I shall be the happiest of the happy. Be hap-
py then : sweet boy answered Wallace, for all that ever
beat in heathen or in christian breast for friend or brother,
lives in my heart for thee. -
At that moment Sir John Graham rejoined them; and
some other captains coming up, Wallace made the proper
military dispositions, and every man took his station at the
head of his division. w
. Until the men had marched far out of the chance of ru-
mors from their reaching Thirlestane, they were not inform-
ed of the earl of Mar’s danger. They conceived that their
present errand was the re-capture of De Valence.—But at
a proper moment, Wallace said they should know the whole
truth; for, added he, as it is a law of equity that what con-
cerns all should be approved by all; and that common dan-
gers should be repelled by united efforts; the people who
p
follow our standards not as hirelings, but with willing spirits,
ought to know our reasons for requiring their services.
They who follow you, said Graham, have too much con-
fidence in their leader to require any reasons for his move-
finents,
It is to place that confidence on a sure foundation, my
brave friend, returned Wallace, that I explain what there is
no just reason to conceal. Should policy ever compel me
to strike a blow without previously telling my agents, where-
fore, I should then draw upon their ; and expect that
confidence in my honour and arms, which I now place on
their discretion and fidelity.
It was noon when they set forth. The veteran band which
Wallace had brought from Dumbarton led the way; while
an army of above five thousand men, officered by the bravest
THE scortish chiefs. 281
chieftains of the Merse, Tweedale, and the Lothians, follow-
ed, and with streaming banners crossed Lauderdale to Lam-
mermuir. At the top of Soutra-hill Wallace halted, and there
informed his soldiers of Lord Mar’s perilous situation; and
of the necessity of forced marches, if they would save Scot-
land from the disgrace of allowing one of her bravest nobles
to die by the hand of the executioner -
Exordiums were not requisite to nerve every limb, aná to
strengthen every heart in the toilsome journey. Mountains
were climbed, vast plains traversed, rivers forded, and pre-
cipices crossed, without one man in the ranks lingering on
his steps, or dropping his head upon his pike to catch a mo-
ment’s slumber. Those who had fought with Wallace, long-
ed to redouble their fame under his command ; and they
who had recently embraced his standard, panted with a vir-
tuous ambition to rival these first-born in arms. Every eye
was awake, every spirit on fire to seize the monsters in their
den; and to snatch away the noble prey even in the mo-
ment they believed it ready to bleed beneath theis fangs.
Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, who having rushed out from the
group in the citadel of Berwick, as soon as the march to Stir-
ling was mentioned, and had been one of the first to call forth
the soldiers to the expedition; now when Wallace stood for-
ward to declare that rest should be dispensed with till Stir-
ling fell; his ardent soul, full of a fierce joy, that seemed to
see his revenge and redeemed honour at once in his grasp,
darted over every obstacle to reach his aim. He flew to the
van of his troops, and hailing them forward : Come on cried
hc, and in the blood of Cressingham let us forever sink king
Edward’s Scottish crown -
The shouts of the men, who seemed to drink in the spirit
that blazed from Kirkpatrick’s eyes, made the echoes of
Lammermuir ring with a strange noise. It was the voice
of liberty. And leaping every bound, thus did they pursue
their way till they reached the Carron side. At the moment
the foaming steed of Wallace, smoaking with the labours of
a long and rapid march, was plunging into the stream to
take the ford, Ker, who was the avenue through which eve-
ry despatch reached his general, took the horse by the bri-
die: my Lord, said he, a man on full gallop from Douglas
Castle has brought this packet.
A a


282 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
*#
Wallace opened and read as follows:—“The patriots in
Annandale have been beaten by Lord de Warrenne; and Sir
John Monteith (who volunteered to head them,) is taken
prisoner with twelve hundred men.
“Earl de Warreme, as Lord Warden.of Scotland, comes
to assume his power and to relieve his deputy, Lord Aymer
de Valence, who is recalled to take possession of the earldom
of Pembroke. In pursuance of his supposed duty, Earl de
Warrenne is now marching rapidly towards the Lothians in
the hope of intercepting you in your conquests.
“Thanks to the regular information which you send us of
your movements, that we can thus transmit accounts of what
11:ay arise to impede your progress I should have attempted
to have checked the Southrons by ännoying their rear, had
not De Warrenne’s numbers, amounting to sixty thousand
strong, rendered such an enterprize so hopeless as to endan-
ger the safety of this fortress. As it is, his whole aim being
to come up with you ; if you beat him in the van, we shall
have him in the rear; and he must be surrounded and cut to
pieces. Let us take heart, and success is ours.-Ever my
General’s and Scotland’s true servant,
Eustace Maxwell.”
What answer enquired Ker.
Wallace hastily engraved with his dagger’s point upon his
gauntlet “Reviresco' (y)—God is with us,” and desiring
that it might be given to the messenger to carry to Sir Eus-
tace Maxwell, he refixed himself in his saddle, and spurred
over the Carron.
The moon was at her meridian just as the wearied troops
halted on the deep shadows of the carse of Stirling. All
around them lay in wide desolation; the sword and the fire
had been there; not in declared warfare, but under the
darkness of midnight, and impelled by rapacity or wanton-
ness; and from the base of the rock even to the foot of the
Clackmannan hills, all lay a smoking wilderness.
An hour's rest was sufficient to restore every exhausted
power to the limbs of the determined followers of Wallace.
And as the morning dawned, the sentinels on the ramparts
of the town were surprised to find that the Scots by the most
indefatigable labor, had not only passed the ditch, but having
gained the counterscrap, had fixed their moveable towers,
* THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 283
*
and were at that instant overlooking the highest bastions.—
The mangonels and petraries, and other implements of bat-
tering walls; and the balista, with every-efficient means of
throwing missive weapons, were ready to discharge their
arrows and stony showers upon the heads of the besieged.
At a sight so unexpected, which seemed to have arisen out
of the earth by some enchantment, (with such silence, and
expedition had the Scottish operations been commenced).
the Southrons, struck with dread, fled from the walls: but
instantly recovering their presence of mind, they returned
and discharged a cloud of arrows against their opponents :
whilst a summons was sent to the citadel to call De Valence
and the governor Cressingham to their assistance. The in-
terior gates now sent forth thousands to the walls: but in
proportion to the numbers who approached, the greater was
the harvest of death prepared for the terrible arm of Wal-
lace; who, with his tremendous war-wolfs throwing prodi-
gious stones, and his springalls casting forth brazen-winged
darts, swept away file after file of the reinforcement. It
grieved the noble heart of the Scottish commander to see so
many valiant men urged on to inevitable destruction; but
still they advanced ; and that his own might be preserved,
they must fall. To shorten the bloody contest, his direful
weapons were worked with redoubled energy; and so mortal
a shower fell, that the heavens seemed to rain iron. The
crushed and striken enemy, shrinking under the mighty
tempest, left their ground. *
The ramparts deserted, Wallace immediately sprung from
his tower upon the walls. At that moment De Valence, who
had suggested the idea of diverting the hot assault of the be-
seigers, by a sally, opened one of the gates, and at the head
of a formidable body charged the nearest Scots. Murray
and Graham were prepared to receive him, (for a good sol-
dier is never taken unawares) and furiously driving him to a
retrogade motion, forced him to fall back upon the troops in
the town. But there all was confusion. Wallace, with his
resolute followers, had already put Cressingham and his le-
gions to flight: and while they, though closely pursued by
Kirkpatrick, threw themselves into the castle; the victorious
commander in chief surrounded the amazed De Valence,
who, finding himself caught in double toils, called to his
284. THE SGoTTISH, ch iEFs.
**
men to fight for Saint George and their king to their latest
p.
The brave fellows too strictly obeyed him; and while they
fell on all sides, pierced.and overwhelmed by their deter.
mined opponents: he at last, fighting with a courage which
horror of Wallace’s vengeance for his grandfather's death,
and his attempt on his life in the hall of Dumbarton, render.
ed desperate, encountered the conquering chieftain arm to
arm., Great was the dread of De Valence at this meeting;
but death was now all he saw before him, and he resolved,
if he must die that the soul of his enemy should attend him
to the other world.
He fought, not with the steady valour of a warrior deter.
mined to vanquish or to die; but with the fury of despair,
with the violence of a hyena thirsting for the blood of the
man with whom he contended. Drunk with rage, he made
a desperath plunge at the heart of Wallace; a plunge, arm-
•ed with execration and all his strength: but his sword missed
its aim and entered the side of a youth who at that moment
had thrown himself before his general. Wallace saw where
the deadly blow fell; and instantly closing on him with a
vengeance in his eyes which his now determined victim had
never seen blaze there before, with one grasp of his arm he
hurled him to the ground, and setting his foot upon his breast
would have buried his dagger in his heart, had not De Val-
ence dropped his uplifted sword, and with horror in every
feature, exclaimed, “Mercy!”
Wallace removed his hold; and De Valence, overpower-
ed with terror, held up his clasped hands before him. “My
life this once again, gallant Wallace . In the name of the
God of mercy I ask it!”
Wallace looked on the trembling recreant as he sunk be-
neath him, with a glance which, had he had a soul, would
have made him crawl to death to avoid a second. And hast
thou escaped me again cried Wallace: then turning his
indignant eyes from the abject earl to his bleeding friend,
who was leaning on his sword: I yield him his life, Edwin,
and you perhaps are slain s
Forget not mercy, to avenge me; said Edwin, gently
smiling; he has only wounded me. But you are safe, and I
hardly feel a smart,



t
*.
THE SCOTTISH Cºſi BFS. * 335
* ~} .

Wallace replaced his dagger in his girdle. Rise, Lord de
Valence, It is my honour, not my will, that grants your life.
You threw away your arms! That action, and your cry, ar-
rested mine. I cannot strike even a finurderer who opens his
breast. I give you that mercy you denied to the hoary heads
of nineteen unoffending, defenceleśs old men, whom your
ruthless axes made fall in the barns of Ayr. Let memory
inflict the sword on you which I have withheld !
While he spoke, De Valence, who had risen, stood con-
science-struck before the majestic mien of Wallace : There
was something in his denunciation that sounded like the ir-
reversible decree of a divinity; and the condemned wretch
quaked beneath the threat, while he panted for revenge.
The whole of the survivors in De Valence’s train, having
surrendered the moment they saw their leader fall; in a few
minutes Wallace was surrounded by his officers, bringing in
the colours and the swords of the prisoners.
Sir Alexander Ramsay, said he to a brave and courteous
knight who had joined him in the Lothians; I confide earl
De Valence to your care. See that he is strongly guarded;
and that he has every respect, ačcording to the honour of him
to whom I commit him.
Ramsay conveyed his prisoner into an adjacent tower; and
placing a double guard over him ; stationed himself in an
outward apartment, there to watch that the Proteus arts of
the earl should not again find a mode of escape.
Meanwhile, as the town was now entirely in the posses-
sion of the Scots, Wallace having sent off the captive South-
rons to safe quarters, reiterated his persuasions to Edwin to
leave the ground and have his wound dressed. No, no, re-
plied he, the same hand that gave me this, inflicted a worse
on my general at Dumbarton : He kept the field then ; and
shall I retire now, and disgrace my example No, my bro-
ther; you would not have me so disprove my kindred
Do as you will, answered Wallace, with a grateful smile,
so that you preserve a life that must never again be risked to
save mine. As long as it is necessary for me to live, God
will shield me; But when his word goes forth, that I shall be
recalled ; it will not be in the power of friendship nor of
hosts to turn the steel from my breast. Therefore, dearest
t
286 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
Edwin, throw not yourself away in defending what is in the
hands of Heaven, to be lent, or to be withdrawn at will.
Edwin bowed his modest head, and having suffered a bal-
sam to be poured into his wound, braced his brigantine over
his breast; and was again at the side of his friend, just as he
had joined Kirkpatrick before the citadel. The gates were
firmly closed : and the dismayed Cressingham, with his
troops, were panting behind its walls, as Wallace command-
ed the parley to be sounded. Cressingham, afraid of trusting
himself within arrow-shot of an enemy who he believed con-
quered by witchcraft, sent his lieutenant upon the walls to
answer the summons.
The herald of the Scots demanded the immediate surren-
der of the place. Cressingham was at that instant informed
by a messenger, who had arrived too late the night preceding
to disturb his slumbers, that De Warrenne was approaching
with an immense army. Inflated with new confidence, the
lately panick-struck governor mounted the wall himself, and
in the most haughty language returned for answer, That he
would fall under the towers ºf the citadel before he would ºur-
render it to a Scottish rebel." And as an example of the fate
which such a delinquent merits; continued he, I will change
the milder sentence passed on Lord Mar, and immediately
hang him and all his family on these walls, in sight of your
insurgent army.
Then, cried the herald, who received his answer from his
general; thus says Sir William Wallace : If even one hair
on the heads of the earl of Mar and his family, fall with vio-
lence to the ground, every Southron soul in the Scottish
camp, who has this day been taken prisoner, shall lose his
head by the axe.
We are used to the blood of traitors: cried Cressingham,
and mind not its scent. The army of Earl De Warrenne is
at hººd: and it is at the peril of all your necks for the rebel
your master to put his threat in execution. Withdraw, or
you shall see the dead bodies of Donald Mar and his family,
fringing these battlements; for no terms do we keep with
man, woman or child, who is linked with treason :
At these words, an arrow winged from a hand behind
Cressingham, flew directly to the un-visored face of Wal-
"THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 287
lace; But it struck too high, and ringing against his helmet,
fell to the ground.
“Treachery "resounded from every Scottish lip; and in-
dignant at so villainous a rupture of the parley, every bow
was drawn to the head, and a flight of arrows armed with
retribution flew towards the battlements. All hands were
now at work to bring the towers to the wall; and mounting
on them; while the archers, by their rapid showers drove
the men from the ramparts, soldiers below with pick-axes
destroyed the wall to make a breach.
Cressingham, who began to fear that his boasted auxilia-
ries might arrive too late, made every effort to gain time;
and determining on a stouter resistance fººtfiat he had.

maintained in the town, opposed for his defence, flights of
darts and large stones shot from a thousand engines, besides
arrows and quarrels from the cross-bows of his men. Ingimi-
dated from making a sally, as he concluded De Valence had
fallen in his, he adapted every other method of repulsion,'
and discharged burning combustibles over the ramparts, in
hopes of setting fire to the enemy’s attacking machines.
But all his promptitude and energy proved of no effect.
The walls were giving way in parts; and Wallace was
mounting by scaling ladders, and clasping the pārapets, with
the bridges from his towers. Driven to extremity, Cressing-
ham resolved to try the attachment of the Scots for Lord
Mar; and even at the moment when Wallace, by the first as-
sault, had seized the barbican and the outer ballium, this san-
guinary politician ordered the imprisoned earl to be brought
out upon the wall of the inner ballia. A rope was round his
neck, with one end run through a groove Which projected
from the nearest tower. \
At this sight a chill horror seized upon the ardent blood
of Wallace. But the intrepid earl, descrying his friend on
the ladder which would carry him to the top of the wall,
exclaimed, “Hesitate not Let not my span of life stand be-
tween my country and this glorious victory !”
Run him up ! cried the infurious Cressingham.
At these words, Murray and Edwin precipated themselves
from their tower, upon the battlements, and mowed down all
before them in a direction towards their uncle. The lieuten-
ant of Cressingham, who held the cord, aware of the impoli-
288 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
*
f
cy of the cruel mandate, hesitated to fulfil it ; and now fear-
ing a rescue from the impetuous Scots, hurried his victim off
the works back to his prison Meanwhile, Cressingham, per-
ceiving that all would be lost should he suffer the enemy to
gain this wall also, sent such numbers upon the men at arms
who had followed the cousins, that overcoming some and re-
pelling others, they threw Murray with a sudden violence
over the zamparts; and surrounding Edwin, were bearing
him off, struggling and bleeding, when Wallace, springing
like a lioness on the hunters carrying away her 3. rush-
ed in singly amongst them; and while his falchion ãashed
terrible threatenings in their eyes, he seized Edwin ; and
with a backward step, fought his passage to one of the wood-
en towers which were brought close to the wall.
Cressingham, who was wounded in the head, desired that
a parley should be sounded.
We have already taken Lord de Valence and his host pris-
oners, returned Wallace; and we grant you no cessation of
hostilities, unless you deliver up the earl of Mar and his fam-
ily, and surrender the castle into our hands.
Think not, proud boaster, cried the herald of Cressingham,
that we ask a parley to conciliate. It was to tell you, that if
you do not draw off directly, not only the earl of Mar, and
his family, but every Scottish prisoner within these walls
shall perish in your sight.
While he yet spoke, the Southrons uttered a great shout.
And the Scots, looking up, beheld several high poles erect-
ed on the roof of the Keep, the lofty towers of which were
seen at a little distance overtopping the interior of the cas-
tle; and the earl of Mar, as before was led forward. But
he seemed no longer the bold and tranquil patriot. He was
surrounded by shrieking female forms clinging to his knees,
and his aged hands were lifted to heaven, as if imploring itspity.
Stop! cried Wallace, in a voice whose thundering man-
date rung from tower to tower. The instant he dies, Lord
Aymer de Valence shall perish.
He had only to make the sign; and in a few minutes that
nobleman appeared between Ramsay and Kirkpatrick. Wal-
lace when he saw him, blushed : “Earl, though I granted
your lite in the field with reluctance, yet here I am ashamed
to put it in danger. But your own people compel me, Look
“THE scottish chiefs. 289
on that spectacle ! A venerable father in the midst of his fam-
ily; he and they doomed to an ignominious and instant death,
unless I betray my country and abandon these walls | Were
I weak enough to purchase their lives at such an expense,
they could not survive that disgrace. But that they shall
not die while I have power to preserve them is my resolve
and my duty —Life then for life; , yours for this family
The moment, cried Wallace, directing his voice towards
the Keep; in which that vile cord presses too closely the
neck of the earl of Mar, or of any of his blood; the axe shall
sever the head of Lord de Valence from his body.
De Valence was now seen on the top of one of the besieg.
ing towers. He was pale as death. He trembled; but not with
dismay only; ten thousand varying emotions tore his breast.
To be thus set up as a monument of his own defeat; to be
threatened with execution by an enemy he had contemned ;
to be exposed to such indignities by the unthinking ferocity
of his coadjutor; filled him with such contending passions of
revenge, both against friends and foes, that he forgot the
present fear of his own death, in the turbulent wishes of his
soul to deprive of life, them by whom he suffered.
Cressingham became alarmed at seeing the retaliating me-
nace of Wallace brought so directly into execution; and
dreading the future vengeance of De Valence for much that
he had done against his designs; he ordered a herald to say,
that if Wallace would draw off his troops to within the outer
ballium until evening, the earl of Mar and his family should
be taken down from their perilous situation ; and he would
consider on terms of surrender.
Wallace well aware that the intentions of Cressingham
were only to gain time until De Warrenne should arrive, de
termined to foil him with his own weapons, and make the
gaining of the castle the natural consequence of vanquishing
the earl. He told the now perplexed governor, that he
should consider Lord De Valence as the hostage of safety for
Mar and his family ; and therefore he consented to with 'raw
his men from the inner ballium till the setting of the sun;
at which hour he should expect a herald with the surrender
of the fortress.
Cressingham, thinking that he had caught the Scottish
chief in a snare, and that without his suspicion of its being so
WOL., I, 13 b
290 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
near, the Lord Warden’s army would be upon him long be
fore the expiration of the armistice; congratulated himself
upon his manoeuvre; and determined that the moment Earl
De Warrenne should appear, he would destroy Lord Marse-
cretly in the dungeons; though he knew that such an act
would be in opposition to the deeper policy of De Valence,
who, outwardly denouncing the immediate death of that no-
bleman, had, while in the castle, expressed his design to de-
lay the execution, and perhaps finally grant him pardon. Ac-
cordingly, with his head full of these ideas he ordered Lord
Mar back to prison; and while he meditated a second offence
to De Valence he hoped to make his peace with him by the
eagerness he would show to set him at liberty.
Wallace, meanwhile, who fully comprehended what were
his enemy’s views, and what ought to be his own measures,
as soon as he saw the unhappy groupe disappear from the
battlements of the Keep, recalled his men from the inner
ballium wall; and stationing several detachments along the
ramparts and in the towers of the outer wall; left De Valence
in the guard-room of the barbican, under the charge of Lord
Ruthven ; who was eager himself, to hold the means that
were to check the threatened danger of relatives so dear to
him as were the prisoners in the castle.
CHAP. XXIX.
WAI LA, E, having disposed part of his men in commanding
posts around the town, went forward with his closen troops
towards the place where, from the information of his scouts,
he deemed it most likely he should intercept De Warrenne.
He took his position upon an advantageous ground about
half a mile from Stirling, near to the abbey of Cambusken-
neth. The Forth lay before him, crossed by a wooden
bridge, over wiich the enemy must pass to reach him, as
the river was not in that part fordable, and some late rains
had rendered it at present particularly swollen.
The beams v.hich supported this bridge, he ordered to be
sawed at the bottom , but not moved in the least, that they
THE scortish chiefs. 29 |
might stand perfectly firm for as long as he should deem it
necessary. To each beam were fastened strong ropes; all
of which were held by some of his sturdiest Lanerkers who
lay concealed amongst the rushes. These preparations being
made he drew up his troops in order of battle.—Kirkpatrick
and Murray commanded the flanks. In the centre stood
Wallace himself, with Ramsay on one side of him, and Ed-
win with Scrymgeour on the other, awaiting with steady
expectation the approach of the enemy, who, by this time,
he knew could not be far distant.
Cressingham, from the information he had received, was
also as well aware of the proximity of De Warrenne; and
burning with malice against Wallace, and earnest to redeem
the favor of De Valence by some act in his behalf, (having
left certain orders with his lieutenant) he went alone to an
avenue of escape that was never divulged to any but to the
commanders of the fortress; and there, by the light of a
torch, making his way through a passage that was bored in
the rock, he emerged at its western base, amongst a thicket
of obscuring bushes. He had wisely arrayed himself in a
shepherd’s dress in case of being observed by any passing
Scot; but fortune favoured him, and unseen he crept along
through the underwood and furze on the ground, till he came
ºp with the advance of De Warrenne’s army on the skirts
of Torwood.
Having missed Wallace in West Lothian, where he ex-
pected to find him, De Warrenne divided his army into three
divisions, to enter Stirlingshire by different routes, hoping
by that means certainly to intercept him in one of them. The
earl of Montgomery led the first, of twenty thousand men;
Baron Hilton the second, often thousand; and De Warrenne
himself, the third, of thirty thousand.
It was the first of these divisions that Cressingham encoun-
tered in Torwood; and immediately revealing himself, he was
conducted to Lord Montgomery, to whom he recounted how
rapidly Wallace had gained the town, and in what jeopardy
stood the citadel if he were not instantly attacked. The earl
advised waiting for a junction with Hilton or the Lord War-
den, which, said he, must happen in the course of a few hours.
In the course of a few hours, returned Cressingham, you
will have no Stirling castle to defend. The enemy will seize

292 THE scorris H chIEFs.
it at sun-set in pursuance of the very agreement by which I
warded him off, to give us time to annihilate him before that
hour. Therefore no hesitation, if we would not see him lock
the gates of the north of Scotland upon us, even when we
have the power to hurl him to perdition.
By arguments, such as these, the young earl was induced
to give up his judgment; and accompanied by Créssingham,
who felt himself brave amidst such a host, he proceeded to
the southern bank of the Forth.
The troops of Wallace were drawn up on the opposite
shore, hardly five thousand strong; but so disposed that the
enemy could not calculate their numbers: yet, the narrow-
ness of their front suggested to Cressingham the idea that
they could not be very numerous as he must have left forces
to occupy the outworks of the town and the citadel. It will
be easy to surround the rebel, cried he, and that we may ef-
fect our enterprise, and rescue De Valence, before the ar-
rival of our Warden robs us of the honour, let us about it
directly, and cross the bridge 3
Montgomery replied, that he thought a herald ought to
be sent to inform Wallace, that besides the long #. of
troops he saw, De Warrenne was advancing with a double

host: and therefore if he would now surrender a pardon
should be granted to him in the king's name, for all his late
rebellions. Cressingham was vehement against this measure,
but Montgomery being resolute, the messenger was sent.
In a few minutes he returned, and repeated to the two
Southron comman'ſers the words of Wallace :-Go, said he,
tell your masters we came not here to treat for a pardon of
what we shall never allow to be an offence : We came to as-
sert our rights, and to set Scotland free. Till that is effect-
ed, all negociation is vain. Let them advance, they will find
us prepared. -
Then onward! cried Montgomery; and spurring his steed,
he led the way to the bridge : his eager soldiers followed,
and the whole of his centre ranks passed over. The flanks
. . advanced, and the bridge from end to end was filled with
archers, cavalry, gens d’armes, and war carriages; and
Cressingham in the midst, was hallooing in proud triumph
to those who occupied the rear of the straining archers;
when the blast of a trumpet sounded from the till nºw si-
&
; " ſº
"THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS, 293
lent and immoveable Scottish phalanx : It was re-echoed by
loud shouts from behind the passing enemy.—And in that
moment the supporting beams of the bridge (zz) were pul-
led away, and the whole of its mailed throng fell into the
roaring stream.
The cries of the maimed and the drowning, were joined by
the terrific slogen of the two bands of Scots; the one with
Wallace on the north of the river; and the other under the
command of Sir John Graham, who had lain in ambuscade
on the south, ready to assail the rear of the enemy the flo-
ment the bridge should fall. Both parties rushing down upon
the dismayed troops, attacked them with ā’sweeping impetu-
osity which drove those who fought on land, into the river;
and those who had escaped the flood, to meet its waves
again, a bleeding host.
In the midst of this conflict, which ratherseemed a carnage
than a battle, Kirkpatrick, having heard the proud shouts of
Cressingham on the bridge, now sought him amidst its ruined
arches with a ferocity which seemed to transmute his own
nature into that of a fiend thirsting for blood, as he ran from
man to man of those who emerged from the water. But even
while his glaring eyeballs and uplifted axe threatened their
destruction he only looked on them, and with imprecations
of disappointment, rushed forward on the same chase. Al-
most in despair that the waves had stolen from him his re-
venge, he was hurrying on in another direction, when he
perceived a body moving through some sedges in a hollow
on his right. He turned, and saw the object of his search -
crawling amongst the mud which lay on that spot.
Ha! cried Kirkpatrick with a voice of thunder: Art thou
yet mine :-Damned, damned villain cried he, springing
upon his breast; “Behold the man you dishonoured-be.
hold the hôt cheek which your dastard hand dared pollute
—Thy blood shall obliterate the stain –and then Kirkpat-
rick may again front the proudest in Scotland P’
For mercy! cried the horror-struck Cressingham; strug
gling with almost preternatural strength to extricate himself.
Hell would be my portion, did I grant any to thee, cried
Kirkpatrick; and with one stroke of his axe, he severed his
head from his body. I am a man again! shouted he, as he
held its bleeding veins in º, º, and placed it on the
B
2.
294 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS.
º
point of his sword. Thou ruthless priest of Moloch and of
Mammon, thou shalt have thine own blood to drink, while I
show my general how proudly I am avenged As he spoke,
he dashed again amongst the victorious ranks of his less san-
guinary brethren in arms; and came up with Wallace at the
very moment he was extricating himself from his fallen horse
which a random arrow from the opposite shore had killed.
Murray at the same instant was bringing towards him the
wounded Montgomery, who came to surrender his sword,
afid to beg quarter for his men. The earl turned deadly
pale, as the first object that struck his sight was the fierce
knight of Torthorald walking under astream of blood, which
continued to flow from the ghastly head of Cressingham, as
he held it triumphantly in the air.
If that be your chief, cried Montgomery, I have mistaken
him much—I cannot yield my sword to him.
Murray understood him —lf cruelty be an evil spirit, re-
turned he, it has fled every breast in this army to shelter
with Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, and its name is legion' That
is my chief! added he, pointing to Wallace with an evident
consciousness of deriving honour from his command. The
chieftain rose from the ground, and though dyed in the same
ensanguined hue that had excited the abhorrence of Mont-
.ggmery, yet it had been drawn from his own veins and those
..of his horse, and all of blood about him seemed to be on his
garments;ºngne was in his eyes; none in his heart, but
whätawangieś it to mercy, and to benevolence, for all man-
kind. Histèye rhomentarily fell on the approaching figure
of Kº: who, waving the head in the air, blew the tri.
umphai nètes of the Pryse (aaa) from his bugle, and then
cried aloud: I have slain the tiger of Scotland I I have sent
my brave Loch-Doiners to case my target with his skin :
(b5b) and when I strike its bossy side, I will exclaim as I
do now, “So perishes any dishonour ! So perish all the enemies
of Scotland * 4.
And with the extinction of that breath, Kirkpatrick; cri-
ed Wallace, looking sternly from the head to him : “ let
your fell revenge perish also. For your own honour, com-
mit no indignities on the body you have slain.—Let us sub-
due our enemies, but not riot in their fall !” $
*Tis for you, my general, to conquer like a god cried
J THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 295
Kirkpatrick; I have felt as a man, and like a man I revenge.
This head shall destroy even in death : It shall vanquish its
friends for me; for I will wear it like a Gorgon on my sword
to turn to stone every Southron who looks on it. As he
spoke, he disappeared among the thickening ranks, towards
the shattered bridge; and as the rejoicing Scots hailed him
as he passed, Montgomery, struck to the heart by every
shout of triumph, suffered Murray to lead him forwards to
the scene of his humility.
The ever comprehensive eye of Wallace perceived him as
he advanced; and guessing, by his armor and dignified de-
meanor, who he was ; with a noble grace he raised his hel-
met from his head as the earl approached him. Montgom-
ery looked on him; he felt his soul even more subdued than
his arms; but still there was something about a soldier's
heart that shrunk from yielding his power of resistance. The
hlood mounted into his before pale cheek - he held out his
sword in silence to the victor, for he could not bring his
tongue to pronounce the word “surrender.”
Wallace put it gently back with his hand : Ever wear what
you honour, said he ; but, gallant Montgomery, when you
next draw it, let it be in a better cause. Learn, brave earl, to
discriminate between a warrior’s glory and his shame : be.
tween being the defender of his own country, and the un-
provoked ravager of another’s.
Montgomery blushed scarlet deep at these words; but it .
was not with resentment. He looked down for a moment:
Ah! thought he to himself, perhaps I ought never to have
drawn it here ! Then raising his eyes to Wallace, he said—
“Were you not the enemy of my king, who, though a con-
queror, sanctions none of the cruelties that have been com-
mitted in his name ; I would give you my hand before the
remnant of his brave troops whose lives you grant. But you
have my heart: a heart that knows no difference between
friend or foe, when the bonds of virtue would unite what on-
ly civil dissensions divide.”
Had your king possessed the virtues you believe he does,
replied Wallace, my sword might now have been a pruning
hook. But that is past! We are in arms for injuries receiv.
ed, and to drive out a tyrant: for, believe me, noble Mont-
gomery, that monarch has little pretensions to virtue, who
296 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
suffers the oppressors of his people, or his conquests to go
unpunished. To connive at cruelty is to practise it. And
has Edward ever frowned on one of those despots, who in his
name, have, for these two years past, laid Scotland in blood
and ashes :
The appeal was too strong for Montgomery to answer: he
felt its truth ; and bowed, with an expression in his face that
told more than as a subject of England, he dared declare.
Wallace now turned to a herald, and commanded him to
sound the notes of peace. He sounded:—and where the
moment before was the horrid clash of arms, the yell of
savage conquest, and the piercing cries for mercy, all was
still as death. Not that death which has past; but that
which is approaching :-None spoke ; mot a sound was heard
but the low groans of the dying, who lay overwhelmed and
Hºng under the bodies of the slain, and the feet of the
IVlnº. *
#. voice of Wallace rose from this dreary pause. Its
sound was ever the harbinger of glory or of goodwill to men.
Soldiers' cried he, God has given us victory.—Let us show
our gratitude, by healing those images of himself which we
have broken —Gather the wounded into quarters and bury
the dead.
The late silence was now turned into a buz of busy heads
and hands, all eager to obey their commander. The prison-
ers were conducted to the rear of the town, while the major
part of the troops, to allow the appointed detachment to un-
burthen the earth of its bleeding load, crossed the river at the
ford, and came in front of Stirling just as De Warrenne’s di-
vision appeared on the horizon like a moving cloud gilded
by the now setting sun. At this sight, Wallace sent Edwin
into the town with Lord Montgomery, and extending his
line, prepared to bear down upon the approaching earl.
But the Lord Warden had received information, which
fought better for the Scots than a host of swords. When he
had advanced a very little onward on the carse of Stirling, a
scout, whom he had previously sent out, (and who had ap-
proached the south border of the Forth at the very moment
Kirkpatrick came forward waving the bloody head of Cres-
singham on his sword) met him; and related that he had
seen the remains of the slaughtered governor of Stirling, the
-,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 297
*
river floating with dead bodies, and Southron soldiers flying
on all sides while the Scottish horns were blowing the notes
of victory. From what he had learnt from the fugitives, he
also informed his lord, that he had found it necessary to fly,
for fear of being impeded in his return to him, as the town
and citadel of Stirling bad not only been taken by Sir Wil-
liam Wallace, but the two detachments under Montgomery
and Hilton were both discomfitted, and their leaders slain or
taken.
At this intelligence, Earl de Warrenne stood aghast; and
while he was still doubting that such disgrace to King Ed-
ward’s arms could be possible, two or three fugitiyes came
up and witnessed to its truth : for one of them having been
near Cressingham in the wood, when he told Montgomery
of the capture of De Valence, concluded that he meant the
leader of the other detachment; and corroborating the
scout’s information of the two defeats, and of the town and
citadel being entirely in the possession of the Scots, he ad-
ded, (for terror had multiplied objects in his vision;) that
their army was incalculable; and was so disposed by Sir
William Wallace, as to appear few ; that he might ensnare
his enemies by filling them with hopes of an easy conquest.
These accounts had already persuaded Warrenne to make
a retreat : but Wallace perceiving a sort of confusion in his
enemy’s flanks, and that they seemed making a retrogade
motion in no very good order, called his men to the attack:
and with fixed pikes bearing down upon them, while a
stream of arrows from his archers behind, poured upon them
with such thickness as to darken the air, he sent Graham
round by the wood to take the enemy in flank. , All was ex-
ecuted with promptitude; and the tremendous slogen of vic-
tory sounding from side to side, the terrified Southpons, be-
fore panick-struck, now threw away their arms to lighten
themselves for escape; and jºi would have been the
slaughter, had not be Warrenne, sensible that it is not the
number of the dead, but the terror cf the living which gives
the finishing stroke to conquest, and believing that now all
was lost, to put an end to the useless carnage of his troops,
sounded a parley. . *
The bugie of Wallace instantly answered it. De War-
renue sent forward his herald. He offered to lay down his
298 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
arms at the feet of Sir William Wallace, provided that he
might b - exempted from relinquishing the royal standard,
and tſ-at he and i. men might be permitted to return un-
molested into England.
Wallace accepted the first article; granted the second ;
but added, that with regard to the third, he would accord
with it on condition, that he, the Lord De Warrenne, and
the officers taken in his army, or in other engagements late-
ly fought in Scotland, should be immediately exchanged for
the like number of Scots he should name, who were prison-
ers in England; and that the common men of the army now
about to surrender their arms, should take an oath never to
serve again against Scotland.
These preliminaries being agreed to, the Lord Warden
advanced at the head of his thirty thousand troops; and first
laying down his sword, which Wallace immediately returned
to him, the officers and soldiers marched by with their heads
uncovered, throwing dowif their pikes, bows, arrows, and
swords, as they approached their conqueror.
Wallace extended his line as the procession moved ; for
he had too much policy to show his enemies that thirty thou-
sand men, had yielded almost without striking a blow, to
hardly five thousand. The oath was administered to each
regiment by heralds sent for that purpose round into the
strath of Monteith, whither he directed the captured legions
to assemble, and refresh themselves by sleep, previous to
their march the next morning for England. The privates
thus disposed of, Wallace hoping that Hilton might also fall
into his hands, resolved to pass the night in Torwood under
arms; and therefore to release himself from the command-
ers also, he told De Warrenne that duty kept him from re-
turning with him into the town; but that he should receive
every respect from the ...; officers.
He then gave directidis to Sir Alexander Ramsay ; who
with a small detachment, escorted De Warrenne and the
rest of the noble prisoners to Stirling,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 299
CHAP. XXX.
*
The first prisoners being lodged behind the town, and the
wounded Southrons carried into the abbey of Cambusken-
neth, while those of the Scots were brought into Stirling ;
Edwin was pleased to hear that all had been done according
to his general’s orders. But even while he was listening to
the returns of the subalterns who had been on these duties,
he perceived that Montgomery became faint from fatigue
and loss of blood : and contriving that he should be carried
in a litter, as he could no longer sit a horse, he conducted
him to Sawndoun ; the ancient palace of the kings of Scot-
land in Stirling, but which had lately been inhabited by
Cressingham. The priests, who in Wallace’s army not only
exercised the Levitical but the good Samaritan functions,
soon obeyed Edwin’s orders; and he had the pleasure of
seeing the earl’s wounds drest, and himself laid without pain,
and composedly on a couch. g
Messengers had arrived from Wallace to his young knight
and to the other captains in and about Stirling, to acquaint
them with the surrender of De Warrenne’s army. Hence
no surprise was created in the breast of Montgomery, when
he saw his commander enter the room as the prisoner of
the illustrious Scot. *
Montgomery held out his hand to the lord warden in si-
Hence and with a flushed cheek.
Blush not, my noble friend cried De Warrenne, these
wounds speak more eloquently than a thousand tongues the
gallantry with which you maintained the sword that fate com-
pelled you to surrender. But I, without a scratch how can
I meet the unconquered Edward And yet it was not for
myself I feared : my brave and confiding soldiers were in all
my thoughts. For, I saw that it was not to meet an army I
led them; but against a whirlwind, a storm of war with
which no strength that I commanded could contend.
While the English generals thus conversed, Edwin, whose
impatient heart yearned to be again at the side of its bro-
ther, gladly resigned the charge of his noble prisoner to Sir
Alexander Ramsay, whose gentle courtesy of manners, he
knew, would well supply the place of his divided spirits. As
W
300 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
soon as he found a cessation in the conversation of the two
earls he drew near Montgomery to take his leave.
Farávell, till we meet again! said the young learl, pressing
his hand , you have been a brother rather than an enemy
to me.
Because, returned Edwin, smiling, I follow the example
of my general, who would willingly be no man’s enemy, but
the brother of all mankind.
Warrenne looked at him with surprise; “And who are
you, who, in that stripling form, utter sentiments which
might grace the maturest years ”
Edwin blushed, but with a sweet dignity replied—“I am
#. Ruthven, the adopted brother of Sir William Wal-
ace.”
And the son of him, asked De Warrenne, who with Sir
William Wallace, was the first to mount Dumbarton walls
At these words of the lord warden, the glowing blush on
the cheek of Edwin, was suffused with a more animated
bloom. . At the moment when his courage was distinguished
on the heights of Dumbarton by the vowed friendship of
Wallace, he found his heart expand with a new emotion; he
loved, and was beloved by the bravest and most amiable of
beings, and in his light be felt both warmth and brightness.
But this question of De Warrenne conveyed to him that he
had found fame himself; that he was then acknowledged to
be an object not unworthy of being called the brother of Sir
William Wallace —and casting down his eyes beaming with
exultation, from the fixed gaze of De Warrenne, he answer-
ed:—l am that happy Ruthven, who had the honour to
mount Dumbarton rock by the side of my general; and
from his hand, there received the stroke of knighthood:
De Warrenne rose much agitated; “If such be the boys
of Scotland, need we wonder when the spirit of resistance
is roused in the nation, that our strength should wither be-
fore its men º’”
At least, said Montgomery, whose admiration of what had
passed seemed to re-animate his before languid faculties;
it deprives defeat of its sting, when we are conscious that
we yielded to a power that was irresistible. But, my lord,
added he, if the courage of this youth amazes you ; what
will you say ought to be the fate of this country, ought to b :
T II E SCOTTISH C HIEFS, 30 I
the crown of Sir William Wallace’s career, when you know
by what a chain of brave hearts he is surrounded ?...All that
approach him, seem to partake of his invincible sotſk; even
tender woman loses the weakness of her sex when she be-
longs to him. Earl De Warrenne, surprised at the energy
with which he spoke, looked at him with an expression that
told him so. Yes, continued he, I witnessed the dauntless
heroism of the loveliest of human beings when in the midst
of an armed host she defended the character of her husband,
and preserved the secret of his retreat inviolate ; I saw that
matchless woman whom Sir Arthur Heselrigge so basely
slew. *,
Surely, cried Edwin, with indignant vehemence, you were
not a spectator of that bloody deed If you were, retire from
this house : go to Cambuskenneth, any where ; but leave
this town before the injured Wallace arrives; and blast not
his eyes with a second sight of one who could have beheld
his wife murdered.
Every eye was now fixed on the commanding figure of the
young Edwin, who stood with the determination of being
obeyed breathing in every look. De Warrenne then at once
saw the possibility of so gentle a creature being transformed
into the soul of enterprise, into the fearless' and effective
soldier.
Lord Montgomery held out his hand to Edwin. “By this
right arm, I swear, noble youth, that had I been on the spot
when Heselrigge lifted his sword against the breast of Lady
Wallace; though he was then my commanding officer, and
an ignominious death might have awaited me, I would have
sheathed my sword in his It was not then that I saw Lady
Wallace. Heselrigge offended with my want of severity in
the scrutiny I had made at Ellerslie a few hours before ; sent
me under an arrest to Ayr. Arnulf quarrelled with me on the
same subject; and I retired in disgust to England.
Then how —you ought to be Sir Gilbert Hambledon :
said Edwin, but whoever you are, as you were kind to the
Łady Marion, I cannot but regret my late hasty charge; and
for which I beg your pardon :
Montgomery took his hand and pressed it: , “Generous
Ruthven, your warmth is too honourable to need forgiveness.
I am that Sir Gilbert Hambledon; and had Î remained so,
WQI. I. C C
302 THE SCO ITISH C H [EFS.
I should not now be in Scotland. But, in consequence of all
uncle’s death, a few weeks ago I became earl of Montgom-
ery; and in my first interview with the prince of Wales, he
told me that it had been rumored I was disloyal in my heart
to my king ; and to prove, said he to me, the falsehoods of your
calumniators, I appoint you second in command to Earl De
Warrenne in the new expedition against Scotland. To have
refused to fight against Sir William Wallace, would have
been to have accused myself of treason. And while I res-
pected the husband of the murdered Lady Wallace, Iyet re-
garded him as an insurgent; and with the same spirit you
follow him to the field, I obeyed the commands of my
prince.”
Justiče is justice, Lord Montgomery ! returned Edwin, let
princes say what they will. But I am rejoiced to meet one
who proves to me, what my general, wronged as he has been.
yet always inculcates—that all the Southrons are not base
and cruel. When he knows who is indeed his prisoner,
what recollections will it not awaken . But gratitude to you,
will be at least an assuasive to the rest. To-morrow morn-
ing you will see him. Till then I shall not intimate to him the
melancholy satisfaction he is to enjoy; for with the remem-
brances it will arouse your presence must bring the antidote.
Young Edwin then telling Ramsay in what parts of the
palace the rest of the lords were to be lodged, took his leave
of the party; and with recovered composure descended to
the court-yard to mount his horse to rejoin Wallace. He
was galloping along under the bright light of the moon;
when he heard a squadron on full speed approaching, and
presently Murray appeared at the head of the troop. Edwin,
cried he, I was coming to you. We are sent to demand the
instant surrender of the citadel. Hilton’s division has struck,
and we are complete masters of the field.
He then proceeded to relate that the baron came up about
half an hour after Earl De Warrenne had marched towards
the town. Sir William Wallace immediately sent forward
his heralds with the colors of De Valence and Montgomery,
with the personal banner of De Warrenne, and required him
to lay down his arms. The sight of these standards was suf-
ficient to assure Hilton that there was no de left in the em-
bassy ; and not seeing any reason for ten thousand men dis-

'I' 11E, $COTTISH C H IEFS, 303
#
y
puting the day with a power to whom fifty thousand had just
surrendered, he directly grounded his arms, and very quiet-
ly submitted to the terms proposed. .
Wallace, impatient to apprize Lord Mar and his family of
their safety; as the castle must be his, since he had discom-
fitted all who would have maintained it against him ; and
thinking it prudent to lodge the noble prisonershe had taken
in a stronger hold than the town: while he was inspecting
the secure disposition of his new conquest, in the shelter of
the wood, he sent off Murray with a considerable number
of men, to demand the immediate surrender of the citadel.
Murray gladly obeyed this mission; and now-aceompanied
by Edwin, with the banners of Cressingham and Dé War-
renne trailing in the dust as Scrymgeour held the royal lion
over them, the trumpet of the herald summoned the lieuten-
ant to the walls. He feared to appear, well aware of what
was going to happen; for he had seen from the battlements
of the Keep the dreadful conflict on the banks of the Forth ;
He had seen the thousands of De Warrenne pass before the
conqueror: and he now believed that in punishment for the
treachery of Cressingham in stealing out under the armis-
tice, and breaking his word to surrender the citadel at sun-
set, that Wallace was sending to inform him that the whole
garrison should be put to the sword.
Even at the moment when the trumpet blew, driven to the
direst extremity he had forced himself to consult with his en-
emy; and had just entered Lord Mar’s room, to offer him
his liberty if he would go to Wallace and treat with him to
spare the lives of the garrison. He had scarcely delivered
his wishes to the overjoyed earl, (who closed up in a solita-
ty dungeon, knew nought of what had happened without :
and who expected that his present re-entrance was to lead
him to the death that had been twice averted) before he an-
swered for Wallace in the most gracious manner. Indeed,
the pale and trembling lieutenant had no sooner spoken the
first word than Mar discerned that it was a supplicant, not
an executioner, he saw before him; and he was even pro-
mising that clemency from Wallace which he knew dwelt
in his heart, when the trumpet sounded. .
The lieutenant started horror-struck on his feet: “It is
now too late : I have not made the first overture; and there
304 r;
THE SCO'I’ſ IS II C H R E F S,
sounds the death-bell of this garrison –I saved your life,
earl; said he, turning more confidently to Mar; when th:
enraged Cressingham commanded me to pull the cord which
would have launched you into eternity –I disobeyed him
—For my sake, then, seek to preserve this garrison, and ac-
company me to the ramparts.
The chains were immediately knocked off the limbs of
Mar; and the lieutenant presenting him with a sword, they,
together, approached the battlements. As the declining
moon shone on their backs, Murray did not discern that it
was his uncle who mounted the wall. But calling to him in
a voice which declared there was no appeal, pointed to the
humbled colours of Edward, and demanded the instant Sur-
render of the citadel.
Let it be then with the pledge of Sir William Wallace’s
mercy: cried the venerable earl.
With every pledge, Lord Mar, returned Murray, now joy-
fully recognizing his uncle, which you think safe to give.
Then the keys of the citadel are yours : cried the lieuten-
ant, I only ask the lives of my garrison.
This was granted : and immediate preparations made for
the admission of the Scots. As the enraptured Edwin heard
the heavy chains of the portcullis drawing up, and the mas-
sy bolts of the huge doors grating in their guards, he thought
of his mother’s liberty, of his father's joy in pressing her
again in his arms: and hastening to the tower where that
lord, with an anxious heart held watch over the now sleep-
ing De Valence, he told him all that had happened: Go, my
father; added he, enter with Murray, and be the first to
open the prison doors of my dearest mother. "
Lord Ruthven embraced his son.—“My dear ºdwin this
sacrifice to my feelings is worthy of you. But I have a duty
to perform superior to even the tenderest private ones. I
am planted here by my commander, and shall 1 quit my sta-
tion for any gratification, till he gives me leave No, dear
boy.—Be you my representative to your mother; and while
my example teaches you, above all earthly. considerations,
to obey your general, your tender embraces will show her
what I sacrifice to duty.” We
Edwin no longer urged his father, but acquiescing in his
orders, left his apartment, and flew to the gate of the inner
THE SCOTTISH C H K E F$. 305
*
ballium. It was open ; and Murray already stood on the
platform before the Keep, receiving the keys of the garrison.
The business of the surrender being over, now, said he to
the lieutenant, lead me to the ladies Mar and Ruthven, that
I may assuye them they are free. *
Blessed sight! whispered the earl to his nephew; little
could I expect even under my most sanguine expectations,
when at Bothwell I put the banner of Mar into your un-
practised hand, that in the course of four months, I should
see my brave boy receive the keys of proud Stirling from
its commander
But so it is! returned Murray, with a gay. Smile ; and you
may think yourself well off if you do not ºne pull Ed-
ward himself by the beard, before four moons silver my ra-
ven locks. t ſ
The gates of the Keep were now unclosed to them : and
the lieutenant leading the way, conducted them along a
głoorny passage to a low door, studded with knobs of iron.
As he drew an outward bolt, he said to Lord Mar with a
flushed cheek, these severities are not to be laid to my ac-
count—They are the hard policy of governor Cressingham.
He pushed the door slowly open, and discovered a small
miserable cell, whose walls of rugged stone had no other cov-.
ering than the incrustations which time and many a dripping
winter had strewn over its vaulted sides. On the ground,
on a pallet of straw, lay a female figure in a profound sleep.
But the light which the lieutenant held, streaming full upon
the uncurtained slumberer, she started, and with a shriek of
terror at sight of so many armed men, discoyered the palid
features of the countess of Mar. The earl, with an anguish
which hardly the freedom he was going to bestow could
ameliorate, rushed forward, and throwing himself beside
her, caught her in his arms.
Are we then to die 2 cried she in a voice of horror, and
thrusting him from her; has Wallace abandoned us – Are
we to perish —Heartless, heartless man.
The earl, overcome by the violence of his emotions, could
only strain her tº his breast in speechless agitation. Edwin
who saw a picture of his mother’s sufferings in the present
distraction of the countess, felt his powers of utterance lock-
ed up : But Lord Andrew, whose ever-light heart was gay,
C c 2
306 THE SCOTTISH C IIIEFS.
5.
the moment he was no longer unhappy, jocosely answered ;
“The world is not to be so relieved, my fair aunt. There are
many hearts to die beneath my uncle’s sword and your eyes,
before the Lady ſates think fit to snip your threads; and
meanwhile I come with the shears of Sir William Wallace
to clip your chains,”
The name of Wallace, and the intimation that he had sent
to set her free, drove every former thought of death and mis-
ery from her mind: Again the ambrosial gales of love seem-
ed to breath around her : she saw not her prison walls; she
felt herself again in his presence; and in a blissful trance in
which the words of Murray had involved her, she rather en-
dured than participated the warm congratulations of her
husband on their mutual safety.
Let us leave my uncle and aunt together, whispered Mur-
ray to his cousin, while we go and open the cages of our oth-
er pretty'birds; I know, my little one, you want to nestle
to your mother; and I promise you I shall have no objec-
tion to hear again the soft cooing of the sweet dove of Mar.
Edwin eagerly acquiesced ; and the lieutenant, who pre-
ceded them a few paces along the same gallery, said, “La-
dy Ruthven's habitation is not better than the Countess’s.”
As he spoke he threw open the door, and discovered its sad
inmate asleep. But when the glad voice of Edwin pierced
her ear, when his fond embraces clung to her bosom, her
surprise and emotions were almost insupportable. Hardly
crediting her senses, that he whom she had believed was safe
in the cloisters of St. Columba, could be within the danger-
ous walls of Stirling; that it was his mailed breast that press-
ed against her bosom ; that it was his voice she heard ex-
claiming, “Mother we come to give you freedom P' all ap-
peared to her like a dream of madness.
She listened, she felt him, she even found her cheek wet
with his rapturous tears : Am I in my right mind 2 cried she,
looking at him with a fearful yet overjoyed countenance,
am I not mad Oh! tell me, cried she, turning round upon
Murray and the lieutenant, is this my son that I see, or has
terror turned my poor brain
It is indeed your son, your Edwin, my very self, cried he,
alarmed at the expression of her voice and countenance.
Murray now advanced, and kneeling down by her, gently
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 307
took her hand. He speaks truth, my dear Madam. It is
your son Edwin. He left his convent to be a volunteer with
Sir William Wallace. He has covered himself with honour
on the walls of Dumbarton, and here also, a sharer in his
leader's victories, he is come to set you free.
At this explanation, which being given in the sober lan-
guage of reason, Lady Ruthven believed, she gave way to
the full happiness of her soul, and falling on the neck of her
son, embraced him with a flood of tears: “And thy father,
Edwin' where is he * Did not the noble Wallace rescue
him from Ayr P”
He did, and he is here. Edwin then proceeded to relate
to his mother the affectionate embassy of his father and the
particulars of his release. Murray perceiving how happily
they would be engaged, rose from his knees, and told the
iieutenant to conduct him to Lady Helen's door.
The Lady Helen, returned the officer, lodges in the upper
apartments of the Keep,
Murray leaving the cell of Lady Ruthven, followed the
lieutenant up a winding staircase into a stone gallery, where,
throwing open a door, he let Lord Andrew into a splendid
apartment surrounded with couches on which several women
lay asteep. The lieutenant passed through this room, to an
opposite door. Within this chamber, said he, is Lady Helen.
“Open the door, returned Murray, though she seems not
to have tasted the hardships of her parents, she has shared
their misery I do not doubt, and I will not withhold from
her a moment of their happiness. •y * *
The Heutenant opened the door, but remembering the
charges he had received to treat her with particular respect,
he retreated, and Murray entered alone. It was a magnifi-
cent bed-chamber, lighted up with lamps in the most superb
style. He cautiously approached the bed, fearing too hastily
to disturb her, and gently pulling aside the curtain, beheld
vacuity. An exclamation of alarm had almost escaped him,
when observing a half-open door at the other side of the
apartment, he drew towards it, and there beheld his cousin
with her back to him, kneeling before a crucifix. She spoke
not, but the fervour of her action manifested how earnestly
she prayed. He moved behind her, but she heard him not :
her whole soul was absorbed in the success of her petition,
#
sº
308 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
and at last raising her clasped hands in a paroxism of emo-
tion, she exclaimed: “If that trumpet sounded the victory
of the Scots, then, Oh, Power of Goodness! receive thy ser-
want’s thanks. But if De Warrenne have conquered where
De Valence failed, if all whom I love be lost to me here,
take me then to thyself; and let my freed spirit fly to their
embraces in heaven P
Aye, and on earth, too, thou blessed angel ! cried Murray
throwing himself towards her. She started from her knees
and with a cry of such joy as the widow of Serepta uttered
when she embraced her son from the dead. Helen threw
herself on the bosom of her cousin, and closed her eyes in a
blissful swoon—for even while every outward sense seemed
fled, the impression of joy played about her heart, and the
animated throbbings of that of Murray, while he pressed her
in his arms, at last aroused her to recollection. Her glisten-
ing and uplifted eyes told all the happiness, all the gratitude
of her soul. My father ?—All are safe 2 cried she. All, my
best beloved answered Murray, forgetting, in the power-
ful emotions of his heart, that what he felt and what he utter-
ed were beyond even acousin’s limits—My uncle; the coun-
tess ; Lord and Lady ºuthven ; all are safe.
And Sir William Wallace cried she, you do not mention
him. I hope no ill—
No evil has happened to him, interrupted Murray, holding
her clasped hands in his, with looks of the fondest affection ;
he is conqueror here. He has subdued, every obstacle be-
tween Berwick and Stirling, and he has sent me hither to
set you and the rest of the dear prisoners free.
Helen’s heart throbbed with a new tumult as he spoke
she longed to ask him whether the unknown knight she had
parted from had at the hermit’s cell, had ever joined Sir
William Wallace she yearned to know that he yet lived.
At the thought of the probability of his having fallen in some
of these desperate conflicts, her soul seemed to gasp for ex-
istence; and dropping her head on her cousin's shoulder :
Tell me, Andrew, said she, and there she paused, with an
emotion for which she could not account to herself.
Of what would my sweet cousin enquire asked Murray,
partaking her agitation, and trembling while he pressed his
cheek on her silken hair.
!
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. SO9
Nothing particular, said she, covered with blushes, but did
you fight alone in these battles P Did no other knight but
Sir William Wallace
“Many, dearest Helen, returned he, enraptured at the
sensibility of a solicitude which he appropriated to himself,
and pressing her gently to his breast. “Many knights join-
ed our arms. All fought in a manner worthy of their lead-
er, and thanks to heaven, none have fallen.”
Thanks indeed! cried Helen, rising from her seat; and
with a hope, she dared hardly whisper to herself, of seeing
the unknown knight in the gallant train of the conqueror,
she said, now Andrew, lead me to my father. -
Murray would perhaps have required a second bidding,
had not Lord Mar, impatient to see his daughter, appeared
with the countess at the door of the apartment. Rushing
towards them, she fell on the bosom of fier father, and while
she bathed his face and hands with her glad tears, he too
wept, and mingled blessings with his caresses. No coldness
here met his paternal heart: no distracting confusions tore
her from his arms: no averted looks, by turns, alarmed and
chilled the bosom of tenderness. All was innocence and
duty in Helen's breast; and every ingenuous action showed
its affection and its joy. The estranged heart of Lady Mar
had closed against him ; and though he suspected not its
wanderings, he felt the unutterable difference between the
warm transports of his daughter, and the frigid gratulations.
forced from the lips of his wife.
Lady Margazed with a wiered frown on the lovely form
of Helen as she wound her exquisitely turned arms around
the Earl in filial tenderness: her bosom, heaving in the
snowy whiteness of virgin purity ; her face radiant with the
softest blooms of youth : all seeméâto framean object, which
malignant fiends had conjured up to blast her hopes, Wal-
lace will behold these charms! cried her distracted spirit to
herself, and then, where am I ?
As her thoughts followed each other, she unconsciously
glanced on Helen looks, which, if an evil eye had any witch-
ing power, would have withered all her beauties. At one
of these portentious moments the glad eyes of Helen met
hers: she started with horror. It made her remember how
she had been betrayed, and all she had suffered from Soulis.
310 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS.
But she could not forget that she had also been rescued :
and with the thought, the image of her preserver rose before
her. At this gentle idea her alarmed countenance took a
softer expression; but deeply sighing, both from the recol-
lection of her step-mother's perfidy, and with a fear that she
might repeat it; she turned to her father's question of
“How did she come to be with Lady Ruthven, when he had
been taught by Lord Andrew to believe that she was safe at
Saint Fillan’s .
Yes, cried Murray, throwing himself down on a seat be.
side her, I saw in your letter to Sir William Wallace that you
had been betrayed by some traitor Scot from your asylum ;
and but for the fulness of my joy at our meeting, which ab-
sorbed all the past in the present, I should have enquired
who that villain was 2
Lady Mar, who felt a deadly sickness at her heart on hear-
ing that Sir William Wallace was so far acquainted with her
daughter as to have received a letter from her, in despair
prepared to listen to what she expected would bring a death-
stroke to her hopes. They had met—They wrote to each
other Then, far indeed had proceeded that communication
of hearts which was the aim of her life—and she was un-
done.
Helen glanced at the face of Lady Mar, and observing its
changes, regarded them as corroborations of her guilt. It
was conscience accusing her of having intended to betray
her daughter to Soulis at Bothwell ; and bidding her prepare
to hear how in consequence she had afterwards fallen into
his hands !—If conscience disturb you thus, thought Helen,
let it rend your heart with shame, and perhaps remorse
may follow ! * .
As the tide of success sečined so full for the Scots, Helen no
longer feared that her cousin would rashly seek a precarious
vengeance on Soulis, when he would probably so soon have
an opportunity of making it certain at the head of an army,
and she therefore commenced her narrative from the time
of Murray's leaving her at the priory, and continued it to
the hour when she met her father a prisoner in the streets of
Stirling. As she proceeded, the indignation both of the earl
and of Murray against Soulis, was vehement; and the latter
was full of immediate personal revenge. But ille eat", with
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, * 31 I
arguments similar to those which had suggested themselves
to his daughter, calmed his rage; and saw him re-seat him-
self with repressed, though burning resentment, to listen to
the remainder of her relation.
The quakin'" conscience of Lady Mar did indeed vary her
cheeks with a ...ousand dyes, when, as Helen repeated part
of the conversation of Margery, Murray abruptly said—
Surely that woman could inform, you who was the traitor
that would have betrayed us all into the hands of our ene-
mies | Did she not hint it 2
Helen cast down her eyes, that even a glance of hers might
not overwhelm with insupportable shame the already trem-
bling countess. Lady Mar seeing by herºſanner that she
was acquainted with her guilt, and expecting no more mer-
cy, than she knew she would show to Helen were she in the
like circumstances with herself, hastily arose from her chair,
internally vowing vengeance against her triumphant daugh-
ter, and hatred of all mankind.
While all the furies raged in the breast of this guilty wo.
man, Iſclen, wishing to avoid mystery, and determined nev-
cr to accuse her step-mother, (who she hoped might have er-
red from blind affection to her husband,) simply answered—
You do not think that Lord Soulis would be so weak as to
trust a secret of that kind with a servant. And then hurry-
ing the relation of subsequentevents, the Countess, breathed
again; and almost deceiving herself with the hope that Helen
was ignorant of her treachery, listened with emotions of an-
other kind when she heard of the rescue of her daughter-in-
law. She saw Wallace in the brave act . But as Helen un-
designedly to herself, passed over the more interesting parts
of their conversations, and never named the graces of his
person; lady Marthought that ahave viewed Wallace with
so little notice would have been impossible; and therefore,
without surprise at her first suspicion being entirely remov-
ed, but at the same time glad of such a conviction that he
and her daughter had never met, she heard Helen say that
the unknown chief had promised to join his arms with those
of Hallace.
Murray looked on Helen as she spoke, with an impression
at his heart that made it pause. Something in this interview -
Whad whispered to him what he had never dreamt before, that
312 cº
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
she was dearer to him than fifty thousand cousins ; and while
the blood flushed and retreated in the complexion of Helen,
and her downcast eyes refused to show what was passing
there, as she hastily ran over the circumstances of the stran-
ger knight’s appearance on the mountain, to his disappear-
ance in the cell of the hermit; his own emotions declared
the secret of hers : and with a lip as pale as her own, he
said—But where is this brave man He cannot have yet
joined us; for surely he would have told Wallace or myself
that he came from you!
I warned him not to do so; replied she, for fear that your
indignation against my enemies, my dear cousin, might have
precipitated you into dangers inimical to the duty you owe
your country.
Then if he have joined us, replied Murray, rising from his
seat, you will probably soon know who he is. To-morrow
morning Wallace means to remove my uncle and his family
into Snawdoun. He will therefore at a very early hour º:
ter this citadel attended by his principal knights, to lodge
his prisoners of rank here; and in his train you will doubt-
less discover the man who has laid such obligations on us all
by your preservation. Glad shall I be to have an opportu-
mity of expressing my gratitude.
Murray’s feelings told him that glad should he be if that
gratitude would repay him ; if the confusion of Helen when
she mentioned him, did not arise from the conscious remem-
brance of some tenderer communion, than the mere act of
her rescue.
Helen herself knew not how to account for the agitation
which shook her whenever she adverted to her unknown pre-
server. At the time of the hermit’s friend, the good lay
brother, attending her to §. and she explained to Lady
Ruthven the cause of her strange arrival, when she came to
the mentioning of her deliverer, then, for the first time, she
felt a confusion that disordered the animation with which she
described his patriotism and his bravery. But it was natu-
ral, she thought; gratitude for a recent benefit made her
heartbeat high. It was something like the enthusiasm she
had felt for Wallace on the rescue of her father, and she was
satisfied. When a few days of quiet at the castle had comos-
ed her feelings, she proposed to her aunt to send some trus-

*
*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 3 || 3
ty messenger to find his way to the imprisoned earl at Dum-
barton, and to inform him where she had found refuge. Lady
Ruthven suggested the impropriety of such a project urging
the probability that the messenger would fie intercepted,
and so her asylum be discovered. Let it alone, continued
she, till this knight of yours, by performing his word and
giving freedom to your father, calls you to declare his hon-
ourable deeds. Till then, Lord Mar, ignorant of your dan.
ger, needs no assurance of your safety.
This casual reference to the knight, made the before tran-,
quil heart of Helen renew its throbbings; and turning from
her aunt with an acquiescing reply, she retired to her own
apartment, to quell the unusual and painful blushes she felt
burning on her cheeks. Why she should feel thūs she could
not account, unless, said she to herself, I fear that my suspi-
cion of who he is, may be guessed at. Should my words or
looks betray the royal Bruce to any harm, that moment of
undesigned ingratitude would be the last of my life.
This explanation seemed an ample apology to herself—
And henceforth avoiding all mention of her prèserver in her
conversation with Lady Ruthven, she confined the subject
to her own breast: and thinking that she thought of him
more, by her attention to speak of him less, she wondered
not that whenever she was alone his image immediately rose
in her mind; his voice seemed to sound in her ears, and
even as the summer air wafted a soft fragrance over her
a'
f
cheek, she would turn as if she felt that breath which had
so gently hushed her to repose. She would then start and
sigh, and repeat his words to herself: but all was then se-
rene in her bosom. It seemed as if the contemplation of so
much loveliness of soul in so beautiful in a form, soothed in-
stead of agitating her innocent heart. What a king will he
be thought she, with what transport would the virtuous
Wallace put the Scottish crown on so noble a brow. zº
Such were her meditations and feelings when she was
brought a prisoner to Stirling. And when she heard of the
victories of Wallace, she could not but think that the brave
arm of her knight was there, and that he, with the more re-
nowned champion of Scotland, would fly on the receipt of
her letter to Stirling, there to repeat the valiant deeds of
Dumbarton. The first blast of the Scottish trumpet under
WOL. I.
3 14 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
º
the walls, found her, as she said, upon her knees, and kept
her there; for hardly with any intermission, with fast and
prayer, did she kneel before the altar of heaven, till the
voice of Andrew Murray, at midnight, called her to freedom
and happiness. A ',
Wallace, and perhaps her nameless hero with him, had
again conquered 1–His idea dwelt in her heart and faultered
on her tongue; and yet when in reciting the narrative of her
late sufferings to her father, when she came to the mention-
ing of the stranger’s conduct to her—with surprise and em-
barrassment she felt her augmented emotions as she drew
near the object; and forced, as if by an invisible power, to
hurry over every event; she could only excuse herself for
such pertubation, by supposing that the treason of Lady Mar
in one instance, excited her alarm, for fear she would now fix
on a new object. Indeed, turning cold at the idea of endan-
gering the life of the royal Bruce, she gladly turned from a
theme so full of agitation, to speak of the civility with which
De Valence had treated herin every respect, except denying
her the sight of her parents, and maintaining the necessity
of the cruel sentence that had been passed upon her father.
Yes, cried the earl, I must suppose that, though inflexible,
he was not so barbarous in his tyranny as Cressingham. For
it was not until De Valence was taken prisoner, that Joanna
and I were divided. Till then we were lodged in decent
apartments: but on that event, Cressingham tore us from
each other, and threw us into different dungeons beneath the
Keep. My sister Janet Thave never seen since the hour we
were separated in the street of Stirling : excepting the few
awful minutes in which we met on the roof of this castle,
when I expected to see her and my wife die before my eyes.
Helen, now, for the first time, learnt the base cruelties
which had been exercised on her father and his family since
the capture of De Valence. She had been exempted from
sharing them, by the fears of Cressingham; who knowing
that the English Earl had particular views with regard to
her, durst not risk offending him by outraging one whom he
had declared himself determined to protect. Murray, du. "
ring part of this conversation, had withdrawn to seek Lady’
Ruthven and her son: and now re-entering with both; af-
ter half an hour's affectionate congratulations had unbur-




I HE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 3 5
thened the hearts of the happy circle; he left Lord and La-
dy Mar with Helen, and retired to settle the tranquility of
the castle.
Edwin and his mother accompanied Murray to the gate of
the Keep; and there taking leave of him they proceeded to
the barbican which contained Lord Ruthven ; while he re- ,
turned to the lieutenant of the castle to pursue his duty,
* *
CHAP. XXXI.
Soon after sunrise next morning Murray received a mes-
sage from Wallace, desiring him to tell the Earl of Mar that
he should have the happiness of seeing him in the course of
an hour. He was coming to the citadel to offer the palace of
Snawdoun to the ladies of Mar; and to request the Earl to
remain governor of the town and castle, and to take charge
of the illustrious prisoners he was bringing to put into his
hands.
At this intimation, Lord Mar, (whose wounds were now
healed;) felt new vigour infused into him by the idea of the
momentous trust that was to be confided to his care ; and
hastening to prepare for the reception of his brave friend,
lie sent to the apartments of his wife and daughter, and to
Lady Ruthven (who had returned from her husband) to in-
form them of his expected visitant.
They all rose to meet an interview that excited different
expectations in each different breast. Lady Mar, well satis-
fied that Helen and Wallace had never me and still hoping
what she wished, and clinging to the vague words of Mur-
ray, that he had sent him to give her liberty, called forth
every art of the toilet to embellish her still fine person. La-
dy Ruthven, with the respectable eagerness natural to a
chaste matron’s heart at the prospect of seeing the man who
had so often been the preserver of her brother, and who had
so lately delivered her husband from a loathsome dungeon,
was the first who hurryingly arrayed herself, and joined the
earl in the great saloon. Soon after, Lady Mar entered
like Juno, in all her plumage of majesty and beauty. *~
-*
f
3 l 6 THE SCOTTISH C IIIEFSo
But the trumpet of Wallace had sounded in the gate5, be
fore the trembling, half fainting Helen could leave her room
it was the herald of his appoach ; and she sunk breathless
into a seat. She was now going to see, for the first time, the
man whose woes she had so often wept ; the man who had
incurred them all for objects dear to her. Her whom she
had mourned as one stricken in sorrows; and feared for as
an outlaw, doomed to suffering and to death : was now to
appear for her, not in the garb of woe which excuses the
sympathy its wearer excites, but arrayed as a conqueror,
as the champion of Scotland, giving laws to her oppressors;
and entering in triumph over fields of their slain
Awful as this picture was to the timidity of her gentle na-
ture, it alone did not occasion that inexpressible sensation
which seemed to check the pulses of her heart. Was she, or
was she not, to see in his train, the young and noble Bruce
Was she to be assured that he still existed P Or, by seeking
him every where in vain, be ascertained that he who could
not break his word, had perished lonely and unknown
While these ideas thronged into her mind, the platform
below was filling with the triumphant Scots; and her door
suddenly opening, Edwin entered in delighted haste : come
cousin cried he, Sir William Wallace has almost finished
his business in the great hall He has made my uncle gov-
ernor of this place, and has committed nearly a thousand
prisoners of rank to his care. If you do not be expeditious,
you will allow him to enter the saloon before you.
As he spoke, hardly observing her face, fiom the happy
emotions which dazzled in his eyes, he seized her hand.—
Suminoning a sudden resolution, she obeyed its impulse ;
ind was ied by Edwin into the saloon.
iſel aunt and step mother only were there. Lady Ruth-
ven sat composedly on a long tapestried bench, awaiting the
arrival of the company. But Lady Mar was near the door,
justening inpatiently to the voices beneath. At the sight of
Helen she drew back : but she smiled exultingly when she
saw that all that splendour of beauty she had lately beheld
and so dreaded, was fled. Her unadorned garments gave
no particular attraction to the simple lines of her foim : the
effulgence of her complexion was gone : her cheek was
pale; and the tremulous motion of her step deprived her of
THE SCOTTIS H CHIEFS, 317
that elastic grace which was the peculiar charm of her nymph-
like figure.
Triumph now sat in the eyes of the Countess; and with an
air of authority she waved Helen to take a seat beside Lady
Ruthven. But Helen, fearful of what might be her emotion
when the train entered, had just placed herself behind her
aunt, when the steps of many a mailed foot sounded upon the
stone gallery. The next moment the great doors at the bot-
tom of the saloon opened, and a crowd of knights, in armour,
flashed upon her eyes. A dimness overspread her facul-
ties; and nothing appeared to her but an indistinct throng
approaching. She would have given worlds to have been re-
moved from the spot, but unable to stir; her recovering sen-
ses beheld Lady Mar, who exclaiming, Ever my preserver ?
had hastened forward, and was now leaning on the bosom
of one of the chiefs:—His head was bent as if answering her
in a low voice. By the golden locks which hung down upon
the jewelled tresses of the Countess, and obscured his face,
she judged it was indeed the deliverer of her father, the
knight of her dream. But where was he who had deliver-
ed herself from a worse fate than death Where was the
dweller of her daily thoughts—Ah, and of her dreams too,
ever since the moment of her first beholding him
Helen's sight now clearing to as keen a vision as before it
had been dulled and indistinct, with a timid and anxious gaze
glanced from face to face of the chieftains around; and with-
drawing her eyes with a sad conviction ather heart, that their
search was indeed in vain, they were arrested by a glimpse
of the features of Wallace, as he raised his head from the
Countess; he shook back his clustering hair, and her secret
was revealed,. In that godlike countenance she recognized
the object of her devoted wishes; and with a gasp of over-
whelming surprise which denied all louder utterance, she
would have fallen from her seat to the ground, had not La-
dy Ruthven, hearing a sound that burst like a sigh of death
from her niece, turned round and caught her in her arms.-
The alarmed cry of Lady Ruthven drew every eye to the
spot.—Wallace immediately relinquished the countess to her
husband, and moved towards the beautiful and senseless
form that lay on the bosom of Lady Ruthven. The earl and
his agitated wife followed. d
D d 2
3 18 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
.#3
What ails my Helen asked the affectionate father.
I know not; replied Lady Ruthven; she sat behind me.
I knew nothing of her disorder till she fell as you see :
Murray instantly supposed that she had discovered the
unknown knight; and looking from countenance to counte-
nance amongst the train, to see if he could discover the en-
vied cause of such emotions; he read in no face an answer-
ing feeling with that of Helen's : and turning away from his
unavailing scrutiny, on hearing her draw a deep sigh, his.
eyes fixed themselves on her as if they would have read her
soul. Wallace, who in the pale form before him, saw not
only the woman whom he had preserved with a brother’s
care, but the compassionate saint who had given a hallowed
grave to the remains of an angel as pure as herself, hung
over her with an anxiety so eloquent in every feature, that
the Countess would willingly at that moment have stabbed
her in every vein. -
Lady Ruthven had sprinkled her neice with water; and as
she began to recover, Wallace motioned his chieftains to
withdraw. Her eyes opened slowly : but recollection re-
turned with every re-awakened sense: she dimly perceived
a press of people around her; and fearful of again encounter-
ing that face which declared the Bruce of her secret medi-
tations and the Wallace of her declared veneration, to be
one, she buried her face in the bosom of her father. In that
short point of time, images of past, present, and to come,
rushed before her; and without confessing to herself why
she thought it necessary to make the vow, her soul seemed
to swear on the sacred altar of a parent’s heart, never more
to think on either idea. Separate it was sweet to muse on
her own deliverer; it was delightful to dwell on the virtues
of her father’s preserver. But when she saw both characters
blended in one, her feelings seemed sacrilege; and she
wished even to bury her gratitude where no eye but
Heaven’s could see its depth and fervor.
Lady Mar, trembling at what might be the consequences
of this scene, got behind the bench ; and then joyfully recol-
lecting what Helen had said of the unknown knight, whis-
pered in a soft voice, yet loud enough for Wallace to hear;
retire my dear; you will be better in your own room, wheth-
er pleasure or disappointment about the person you wished
THE Scottish chiefs. 319
to discover in Sir William's train, have occasioned these
emotions.
Helen blushed scarlet deep at this indelicate remark; and
raising her head with that modest dignity which only belongs .
to the purest mind, gently but firmly said; I obey you, mad-
am i and he whom I have seen will be too generous not to
pardon the effects of so unexpected a weight of gratitude.—
As she spoke, her turning eye met the fixed gaze of Wallace.
His countenance became agitated: and dropping on his knee
beside her; gracious lady, cried he, mine is the weight of
gratitude but it is dear and precious to me; a debt that my
life will not be able to repay. I was ignorant of it, when,
at our first meeting, I durst not confess to you an outlaw’s
name ; but had I known it, no considerations could have
prevented me from then pouring out my grateful soul to the
last friend of her who was the friend of all. The spirit of an
angel like yourself, Lady Helen, must whisper to you all her
widowed husband’s thanks. He pressed her hand fervently
between his, and rising left the room.
Helen looked on him with an immovable eye, in which the
heroic vow of her soul spoke in every beam ; but as he arose,
even then she felt its frailty; for her spirit seemed leaving
her ; and as he disappeared from the door, her world seem-
ed shut from her eyes. Not to think of him was impossible;
how to think of him was in her own power. Her heart felt
as if suddenly made a desart. But heroism was there. She
had looked upon the heaven-dedicated Wallace ; on the
widowed mourner of Marion; the saint and the hero; the
being of another world ! and as such she would regard him:
till the wall of mortality falling between them, in the realms
of purity she might acknowledge the brother of her soul!
A sacred inspiration seemed to illuminate her features
and to brace with the vigor of immortality, those limbs which
before had sunk under her. She forgot she was still of earth,
while a holy love, like that of the dove in paradise sat brood-
ing on her heart.
Lady Margazed on her without understanding the ethe-
real meaning of those looks. Judging from her own impas-
sioned feelings, she could only resolve the resplendent beau-
ty which shown from the now animated face and form of Hel.
en into the rapture of finding herself beloved. Had she not
* 320 THE Sco'ſ TIS 11 U HIEF5.
heard Wallace declare himself to be the unknown knight
who had rescued Helen She had hcard him devote his life
to her : and was not his heart included in that dedication
And then so publicly made : avowed on the fainting of Helen;
who had acknowledged that her emotions had been Öcca-
sioned by the sight of him. What could she consider all this
but as an exchange of hearts; as the dedication of that love to
another which she would have sacrificed her soul to win
Murray too was confounded; but his reflections were far
different from those of Lady Mar. He saw his newly-discov-
ered passion smothered in its first breath. At the moment in
which he found that he loved his cousin above all of women’s
mould, an unappealable voice in his bosom bade him crush
every fond desire. That heart which, with the chaste trans-
ports of a sister had throbbed so entrancingly againisthis, was,
then another's Was become the captive of Wallace’s vir-
tues; of the only man whom his judgment would have said
deserves Helen Mar. But when he had clasped her glowing
beauties in his arms the night before, his enraptured soul be-
lieved from the tender smile on her kps, that it was only the
earnest of the moment when he mighthold her thereforever.
That dream was now past.—Wellſ be it so said he to him.
self; if this new fledged passion must be clipt on the wing, I
have at least the consolation that Isoared like the bird of Jove
But, loveliest of created beings; thought he, looking on Hel-
en with an expression which, had she met it, would have
told her all that was passing in his soul; if I am not to be thy
love; I will be thy friend—and die for thee and Wallace
Lady Mar believing that she had read her sentence, in
what she thought the triumphant glances of a happy passion,
turned from her daughter-in-law with such a hatred mant-
ling in her heart, that she durst not trust her eyes to the in-
spection of any of the by-standers. But her tongue could
not be restrained longer than the moment in which the ob-
ject of her jealousy left the room. As the door closed upon
Helen, leaning on the arms of her aunt and Edwin, the Coun-
tess turned to her lord, and observed his yet fixed eyes look-
ing with doting fondness towards the point where she with--
drew. This sight augmented the angry tumults in the breast
of Lady Mar, and with a bitter smile, she said, (for she half.
*;
*
'ſ H35, S6, OTTISH CHIEFS, 32 k,
suspected what was passing in his mind;) so my lord, yout
find that the icy-bosomed Helen can be thawed'
How do you mean, Joanna! returned the Earl, doubting
her words and looks; you surely cannot blame our daugh-
ter for being sensible of gratitude.
I blame all young women, replied she, who give them-
selves airs of unnatural coldness; and then, when the proof
comes, behave in a manner as indelicate as extraordinary.
My Lady Mar ! ejaculated the Earl, with an amazed look;
what am I to think of you, from this How has my daughter
behaved indelicate She did not lay her head on Sir William
Wallace’s bosom, and weep there till he replaced her on her
natural pillow, mine ! Have a care, Lady Mar, that I do not
see more in this spleen, than it would be honourable to you
for me to discover.
The Countess fearing nothing so much as that her husband
should really suspect the passion which possessed her; for
the very idea of being removed from the side of Wallace,
which under such circumstances would certainly be the case,
recalled her to all her former duplicity and affected tender-
mess for her lord. With a surprised and uncomprehending
air, she said—I do not understand what you mean, Donald.
And then turning to Lord Ruthven, who stood tâneasily view-
ing this scene : How, cried she, can my lord discover spleen
in my maternal anxiety respecting the daughter of the man
I love and honour above all the earth. But men, however
sensible, do not properly estimate female reserve. Any wo-
man would say with me, that to faint at the sight of Sir Wil-
liam Wallace was declaring an emotion not to be revealed
before so large a campany: a something from which men
might not draw the most agreeable inferences.
It only declared surprise, madam : cried Murray, the sur-
prise of a modest and ingenuous mind, that did not expect
to recognize its mountain-friend in the person of the pro-
tector of all Scotland. Perhaps, had I been cast away on a
desart shore; been succoured by a pretty fisher's girl: and
afterwards discovered my protectress to be my Lady Mar, I
might have fainted too : and I assure you I should have
thought it a most delicate proof of my gratitude :
Pogh you are always a fool, Andrew said she with a
smile; and turning to the still silent Lord Ruthven, again
322 THE SCOTTISH CHIEF3.
addressed him. Step-mothers, my lord, said she, have hard
duties to perform; and when we think we fulfil them best,
comes our husband with a magician’s wand to turn all our
good to evil. *
Array your good in a less equivocal garb, my dear Joan-
na; answered the Earl of Mar, rather ashamed of the hasty
words which the suspicion of a moment had drawn from his
lips; judge my child by her usual conduct, and not by an
accidental appearance of inconsistency, and I shall ever be
grateful for your solicitude.—But in this instance, though
she might betray the weakness of an enfeebled constitution,
it was certainly not the frailty of a love-sick heart.
Judge me by your own rule, dear Donald ; said she, blan-
dishingly kissing his forehead; and you will not again wi-
ther the mother of your boy with such a look as I just now
received
Lord Ruthven, glad to see this reconciliation, made a sign
to Murray, and they withdrew together. Meanwhile, the
honest earl, surrendering his whole heart to the wiles of his
wife, poured into her not inattentive ear all his wishes for
Helen, all the hopes which her late meeting with Wallace-
and their present recognition, had given birth.—I had rath-
er have that man my son, said he, than see my beloved
daughter placed on an imperial throne. *~.
I do not doubt it; thought Lady Mar, for there are many
emperors, but only one William Wallace . However, her
sentiments she confined to herself: neither assenting nor
dissenting, but answering; so as to secure the confidence by
which she hoped to traverse his designs. According to the
inconsistency of the wild passion that possessed her, one mo-
ment she saw nothing but despair before her; and in the
next it seemed impossible that Wallace should in heart be
proof against her demonstrations of tenderness; or insensi-
ble to those beauties which soon after her marriage with
Lord Mar, had been the admiration of the whole court of
France. She remembered that Murray had told her he
was sent to set her free, and that re-awakened every, hope.
He had placed Lord Marin a post as dangerous as honoura-
ble. Should the Southrons return in any force into Scot-
land, Stirling would be one of the first places they would at-
tack. The earl was brave, but age had robbed him of much
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 32-
of his martial vigor: might she not then be indeed set free ?
And might not Wallace on such an event, mean to repay
her for all those sighs he now sought to repress from ideas
of virtue which she could only admire, but had not courage
to taste Might she not in the end be Wallace’s wife 2
These wicked meditations passed even at the side of her
husband : and with a view to further every wish of her in-
toxicated imagination, she determined to spare no exertion
to secure the support of her own family, which, when agree-
ing in one point, was the most powerful of any in the king-
dom—Her father, the Earl of Strathearn, was now a misan-
thropic lunatic in the Orkneys; but with this design, she
resolved on requesting Wallace to put the names of her
cousins Athol and Badenoch in the exchange of prisoners;
for by their means she expected to accomplish all she hoped.
On Mar’s probable death she had so long thought, that she
now pegarded it as a matter of certainty; and so pressed
forward to the fulfilment of her love and ambition with as
much eagerness as if he were already in his grave.
She recollected that Wallace had not this time thrown her
from his bosom, when in the transports of her joy she had,
even unrestrained by the crowd around, cast herself upon it:
he only gently whispered, beware, lady! There are present,
who may think my services, by this, too richly paid-With
these words he had relinquished her to her husband. But
in them she saw nothing inimical to her wishes; it was a
caution, not a reproof; and had not his warmer address to
Helen conjured up all the fiends of jealousy in her mind, she
would have been perfectly satisfied with her grounds of hope.
Eager, therefore, to break away from lord Mars projects
relating to his daughter, at the first decent opportunity, she
said—We will consider more of this hereafter, Donald. I
now resign you to the duties of your office and shall pay
mine to our dear Helen.
Lord Mar pressed her hand to his lips, and they parted. .
** Tºm
CHAP. XXXII.
The fame of these victories, the seizure of Stirling, the
conquest of above sixty thousand men, and the Lord War-
3.24 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
tº,
den with his late deputy taken prisoners: all spread through
the country on the wings of the wind.
Messengers were dispatched by Wallace, not only to the
nobles who had already declared for the cause by sending
him their armed followers; but to the clans who yet stoodir.
resolute. But to the chieftains who had taken the side of Ed-
ward he sent no exhortation. And when he was advised to
do so, by Lord Ruthven, his answer was, no, my lord; we
must not spread a snare under our feet.—If these men could
be affected by the interest of their country : as they have
the power to befriend her, they would not now colleague
with her enemies. They remember her happiness under
the rule of our Alexanders; they see her sufferings beneath
the sway of an usurper : and if they can know these things
and be unmoved, and require arguments to bring them to
thier duty; should they then come to it, it would not be to
fulfil, but to betray.—Ours, my dear Ruthven, is a commis-
sion from Heaven. The truth of our cause is God’s own sig-
net ; and is so clear that it need only be seen to be acknow-
ledged. And shall we seek to persuade those who err
against the evidence of their own senses, and their own true
interests. By what arguments could we turn suchpervert-
ed judgments : All honest minds will come to us of them-
selves: and those who are not so, had better be avoided,
than shown the way by which treachery may effect what
open violence cannot attain.
This simple reasoning, drawn from the experience of na-
ture; neither encumbered by the subtilities of policy, nor
the sophistry of the schools, was evident to every under-
standing, and decided the question.
Lady Mar, unknown to any one, again applied to her fatal
pen; but with other views than for the ruin of the cause, or
the destruction of Wallace. It was to strengthen his hands
with the power of all her kinsmen; and finally, by the crown
which they should place on his head, exalt her to the dignity
of a queen. She wrote first to John Cumrbin, earl of Buchan,
enforcing a thousand reasons why he should now leave a
sinking cause and join the rising fortunes of his country.
You see, said she, that the happy star of Edward is setting.
The king of France not only maintains possession of that
monarch’s territory of Guienne, but he now holds him in
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 325
check on the shores of Flanders. Baffled abroad, an insur-
rection awaits him at home; the priesthood, whom he has
robbed, cover his name with anathemas; the nobles whom
he has insulted, trample on his prerogative ; and the people,
whose privileges he has invaded, call aloud for redress. The
proud barons of England are now ready to revolt. And the
Lords Hereford and Norfolk, those two earls whom, after
madly threatening to hang, (c.cc) he sought to bribe to their
allegiance by leaving them in the full power of constable
and mareschal of England; they are conducting themselves
with such domineering consequence, that even the Prince
of Wales submits to their directions, and the throne of the
absent tyrant is shook to its centre.
“Sir William Wallace has rescued Scotland from his yoke.
The country now calls for her ancient lords: those who
made her kings, and supported them. Come then, my cou-
sin espouse the cause of right; the cause that is in power;
the cause that may aggrandize the house of Cummin and
my paternal Strathearn with still higher dignities than any
with which they have hitherto been honoured.”
With arguments such as these ; and with others which she
knew were yet more adapted to his Belial mind, she tried to
bring him to her purpose ; to awaken what ambition he pos-
sessed; and to entice his baser passions, by offering that
security in his redeemed country, which would afford him
the amplest opportunities for indulging in the gratifications
of those senses to which he had already sacrificed the best
properties of man. She dispatched her letter by a trusty
messenger, whom she bribed to secrecy; and added in her
postscript, that “the answer she should hope to receive,
would be an offer of his services to Sir William Wallace.”
While the Countess of Mar was devising her plans, (for the
gaining of Lord Buchan was only a preliminary measure :)
the dispatches of Wallace had taken effect. Their simple
details, and the voice of fame, had roused a general spirit
throughout the land; and in the course of eight and forty
hours after the different messengers had left Stirling, the
plain around the city was covered with a mixed multitude :
all Scotland seemed thronging to throw themselves at the feet
of their preserver. A large body of men, brought from Mar
by Murray, according to his uncle’s orders, were among the
WOL, I. E e

326 THE SCOTTISH chIEFs.
first encamped on the carse. And that part of Wallace’s
own particular band, which he had left at Dumbarton to re-
\cover of their wounds, now under the command of Fergus
and of Stephen Ireland, rejoined their lord at Stirling.
Neil Campbell, the brave Lord of Lochawe, and Lord
Bothwell, the father of Lord Andrew Murray, with a strong
reinforcement, arrived from Argyleshire. The chiefs of
Ross, Dundas, Gordon, Frazar, Scot, Lindsay, and of almost
every noble family in Scotland, sent their sons at the head
of detachments from their clans, to swell the victorious ranks
of Sir William Wallace. .
When this patriotic host assembled on the carse of Stir-
ling, every inmate of the city, who had not duty to confine
him within the walls, turned out to view the glorious sight.
Mounted on a rising ground, they saw the leaders of each
little army, shining in nail, and waving their gorgeous ban-
ners, which, blazoned with all the chivalry of Scotland, float-
ed afar over the lengthened ranks. Jº
At the moment when the lines which guarded the out-
works of Stirling opened from right to left, and discovered
Wallace armed cap-a-pie, and motinted on a white charger,
whose flowing main streamed to the air as his proud head
tossed up and down in conscious pride of his heroic rider;
when the conqueror of Edward’s hosts appeared; the deliv-
er of Scotland; a mighty shout from the thousands around
rent the skies, and seemed to shake the firm earth on which
they stood.
Wallace raised his helmet from his brow ; as by an in-
stinctive motion every hand bent the sword and banner it
contained.
He comes in the strength of David cried the venerable
bishop of Dunkeld, who, at the head of his church’s tenant-
ry had brought his sacred person to the field. Scots behold
the Lord’s anointed. *
The exclamation, which burst like inspiration from the
lips of the bishop, struck to every heart. Long live King
-William! was echoed with transport by every follower on
the ground; and while the reverberating heavens seemed
to ratify the voice of the people, the lords themselves, now
believing that he who won had the best right to enjoy, join-
ed in the glorious cry ; and galloping up from the front of
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 327
º
their ranks, threw themselves from their steeds; and before
Wallace could recover from the surprise into which this
unexpected salutation had thrown him, Lord Bothwell and
Lord Lochawe, followed by the rest, had bent their knees
and acknowledged him to be their sovereign. The bishop
of Dunkeld at the same moment drawing from his breast a
small chalice of sacred oil, which he ever bore about him
for holy purposes, poured it upon the unbonnetted head of
wallace —thus, Öh king cried he, do I consecrate on ...:-
earth, what has already received the unction of heaven!
Wallace at this action was awe-struck, and raising his
eyes to that heaven; his soul, in silence, breathed forth his
unutterable devotion. Then looking on the bishop : Holy
father, said he, this unction may have prepared my brows
for a crown; but it is not of this world. Rise, lords! and as
he spoke he flung himself off his horse, and taking Lord
Bothwell by the hand, as the eldest of the band; kneel not
to me, cried he, I am to you what Gideon (ddd) was to the
Israelites, your fellow soldier. I cannot assume the sceptre
you would bestow ; for he who rules us all has yet preserved
to you a lawful monarch :-Bruce lives. And were he ex-
tinct, the blood royal flows in too many noble veins in Scot-
land for me to usurp its rights.
“Surely the rights of the crown lie with the only man in
Scotland who knows how to defend them else reason is
blind, or the people abandon their own prerogative What
we have this moment vowed is not to forsworn. Baliol has
abdicated our throne; the Bruce desert it; all our nobles
slept till you awoke : and shall we bow to men who may
follow, but will not lead : No, bravest Wallace : from the
moment you drew the first sword for Scotland, you made
yourself her lawful king !”
Wallace turned to the veteran Lord of Loch-awe, who ut-
tered this with a blunt determination that meant to say that
the election which had passed, should not be recalled.
“I made myself her champion, to fight for her freedom,
not my own aggrandizement. Were I to accept the honour."
with which this too grateful nation would repay my service;’
I should not bring it that peace for which I now contend.—
Struggling for liberty, the toils of my brave countrymen
would be redoubled; for they would have to maintain the
º
&
$28 THE SCOTTISH CHIEF 5.
rights of an unallyed king, against a host of enemies. The .
simple circumstance of a man from the private stations of
life, being elevated to such a dignity, would be felt as an in-
sult by every royal house, and both foes and friends would
arm against us. Our old enemies, the monarchs of Scandi-
navia; even Philip of France, our ancient ally, the proud
descendant of a long race of kings, would then unite with
the usurper Edward to drive what they would call an inter-
loper, from the crown. On these grounds of policy, were I
not loyal to the vows of my ancestors, I should repel the mis-
chief you would bring upon yourselves by making me your
king: as it is, my conscience, as well as my judgment, com-
pels me to reject it. As your general, I may serve you glo-
riously:—As your monarch that title alone would incur,
perhaps, your ultimate destruction.”
From whom noblest of Scots' asked the lord of Bothwell.
From yourselves, my friends, answered Wallace with a
gentle smile. Could I take advantage of the generous en-
thusiasm of a grateful nation : could I forget the duty I owe
to the blood of our Alexanders, and leap into the throne ;
there are many who would soon revolt against their own
election. You cannot be ignorant that there are matures
who would endure no rule, did it not come by the right of
inheritance; a right by which they hold their own pre-em-
inence over others; and therefore will not dispute, lest they
teach their inferiors the same refractory lesson. But to
bend with voluntary subjection; to obey a power raised by
themselves, would be a sacrifice abhorrent to their pride.
After having displayed their efficiency in making a king,
they would prove their independence by striving to pull him
down the moment he made them feel his sceptre.
Such would be the fate of my election. Jealousies and re-
bellions would mark my reign, till even my closest adhe-
rents, seeing the miseries of civil war, would fall from my
side, and leave the country again open to the inroads of her
enemies.
Those, my friends and countrymen, would be my reasons
for rejecting the crown, did my ambition point that way:-
But as I have no joy in titles; no pleasure in any power that
does not spring hourly from the heart; let my reign be iº,
your bosoms, and with the appellation of your fellow-sokfier;

THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 329
your friend! I will fight for you, I will conquer for you—I
will live or die " ... º.
This man, whispered Lord Buchº
the rear of the troops on the app
ced within hearing of what might tº
more pains to repulse a crown, thāº;
exerting to obtain one.
Aye, but let us see, returned the earl of March, who ac-
companied him, whether it be not a little of Caesar’s coy-
ness; he thrice refused the purple, and yet he died empe-
ror of the Romans ! **** *
He that offers me a crown, returned Buchan, laughing, "
shall never catch me playing the coquette with its charms.
I warrant you I would embrace the lovely mischief in the
first presentation. A shout now rent the air. What is that
cried Buchan, interrupting himself. **
He has followed your advice, answered March, with a sa-
tirical smile—it is the preliminary trumpet to long live king
William the great |
Lord Buchan spurred forward, and coming up to Scrym-
geour, whom he knew, enquired where the new king was to
be crowned? we have not yet to thank him for the possession
of Scone ! *
True ; cried Sir Alexander, comprehending the drift of
this remark; but did Sir William Wallace accept the pray-
ers of Scotland to become her monarch, neither Scone nor
any other spot in the kingdom should refuse the place of his
corohation. **-* **
Not accept them replied Buchan, then why that shout
Do the changlings rejoice in being refused ?
When we cannot gain the altitude of our desires, returned
the knight, it is yet subject for thankfulness that we reach a
step towards it. Sir William Wallace has consented to be
considered as the protector of the kingdom: to hold it for
the rightful sovereign under the name of Regent.
Aye! cried March, he has only taken a mistress instead of
a wife:—And trust me, when once he has got her into his
arms, it will not be all the grey-beards in Scotland that can
wrest her thence again. I marvel to see how men can be
-bajoled, and call the deception virtue!
Scrymgeour had not waited for this reply of the insolent
（to having arrived in
f Wallace, advan-
ºld : This man takes
many are capable of



E e 2
THE SCOTTISH CHIEF S.
*
Earl and Buchan answering him, I care not, cried he, who-
ever keeps my castle gºº, my head, and my cellars full, is
welcome to reign ove. hn of Buchan. So onward, my
* Cospatrick, to e our bow to royalty in masquer.
#Clé I ū
When these scorners approached, they found Wallace
standing, uncovered, in the midst of his happy nobles. There
was not a man present to whom he had not given proofs of
his divine commission : each individual was snatched from a
state of oppression and disgrace, and placed in security and
honour. With overflowing gratitude they all thronged around
him ; and the young, the isolated Wallace, found a nation
waiting on his nod : the hearts of half a million of people
offered to his hand to turn and wind them as he pleased.—
No crown sat on his brows : but the bright hale of true
glory beamed from his god like countenance, and checked
the arrogant smiles with which the haughty March, and the
voluptuous Buchan came forward to pay him their mocking
respects. -
As the near relations of Lady Mar, he received them with
courtesy; but one glance of his eye penetrated to the hol-
Iowness of both. And then remounting his steed, the stir-
pups of which were held by Edwin and Ker, he touched the
head of the former affectionately with his hand; follow me,
my friend, I now go to pay my duty to your mother. For
you, my lords, said he, turning to the nobles around : I shall
hope to meet you at noon in the citadel, where we shall con-
sult together on future movements. Nothing with us can be
considered as won, till all is gained.
The chieftains, with bows, acquiesced in his mandate, and
fell back towards their troops. But the foremost ranks of
these brave fellows, having heard much of what had past
were so inflamed with admiration of their regent, that they
rushed forward, and collecting in crowds around his horse,
and in his path, some pressed to kiss his hand, and others his
garments; while the rest ran in his way, shouting and call.
ing down blessings upon him, till he stopped at the gate of
Snawdoun. He alighted amid the acclamations of long live
our sovereign Regent, our protector and prince " . And with
difficulty extricating himself with many a graciotis word,





'I HE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 33 l
from the throng of men, women and children, which pressed
around him, he entered the palace.
* .
+
*
*ºns
*::::
-
CHAP. XXXIII.
Owing to the multiplicity of affairs which engaged Wal-
lace’s attention after the capture of Stirling, the ladies of
lord Mar’s family had not seen him since his visit to the
citadel. The countess had passed this time in writing her
dispatches to the numerous lords of her house both in Scot-
land and in England; and by her subtile arguments she
completely persuaded her husband of the cogency of putting
the names of Lord Athol and Lord Badenoch into the list of
noble prisoners he should demand.
Wallace, when this was proposed to him, being alone with
Lord Mar, and recollecting the behaviour of Athol at Mont-
rose, made some objections against inviting him back into
the country. But the earl, who was prepared by his wife
to overcome every obstacle in the way of her kinsman’s re-
turn, answered, that he believed from the representations he
had received of the private opinions both of Badenoch and
Athol, that their treason was more against Baliol, than the
kingdom; and that he irretrievably removed, he understood
they would be glad to take a part in its recovery.
That may be the case with the earl of Badenoch, replied
Wallace ; but something less friendly to Scotland must be
in the breast of the man who could betray the brave Lord
Douglas into the hands of his enemies.
So I should have certainly thought, replied the earl, had
not the earnestness with which my wife pleads their cause,
convinced me that she knows more of their minds than she
chuses even to entrust me with ; and therefore I must sup-
pose that his conduct to Douglas arose from personal pique.
Though these explanations did not at all raise the absent
lords in his esteem, yet to appear hostile to the return of la-
dy Mar's relations, was ā violence to her, which, in propor.
tion as Wallace shrunk from the guilty affection she was so
eager to lavish upon him, he was averse to committing. He
332 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
tº.
wished, by showing her every proper respect, tolead her to
apprehend the turpitude of her conduct. By supposing that
his abhorrence of her advances had its origin rather in prin-
ciple, than from persºnal repugnance to herself, she might
see the foulness of her crime, and be recalled to a sense of
virtue. He was therefore not displeased to have this op-
portunity of obliging her; and as he concluded that amongst
so many warm friends, a few cool ones could not do him
much injury, he gave in the names of Badenoch and Athol
with those of Lord Douglas, the Earl of Ross, Sir William
Maitland, the only son of the venerable knight of Thirles-
tane, Sir John Monteith, and of many other brave Scots.
For these the Earls De Warrenne, De Valence, and Mont-
gomery, Baron Hilton, and others of note were to be ex-
changed. Those of lesser consequence, man for man were
to be returned for Scots of the same degree.
The morning after the victory, when the list of prisoners
was put into Wallace’s hand, Edwin, who stood by him at
the time, observed him as he read it over ; and when his eye
drew near the column, at the head of which was the name
of Montgomery, Edwin laid his finger upon the writing, that,
said he, is the name of a person you already esteem; but
how will you regard him when I tell you who he was ;
Wallace turned on him an enquiring look.
“You have often spoke to me of Sir Gilbert Hambledon.”
And this is he l—interrupted Wallace in a mournful voice.
Edwin now recounted the manner of the Earl discovering
himself, and how he came to bear that title. Wallace listen-
ed in silence, and as his young friend ended, sighed heavily,
I will thank him, was all he said, and rising, he proceeded
to the chamber of Montgomery, who was, even at that early
hour surrounded by several of his officers, come to enquire
after his health. Wallace advanced to the couch side, and
the Southrons drew back. The expression in his counte-
nance told the Earl that he now knew him.
Noblest of Englishmen cried Wallace in a low tone of
voice, I come to express a gratitude to you as lasting as the
mº mory of the action which gave it birth. Your generous
con iuct to all that was dearest to me on earth, was that
night in the garden of Ellerslie, witnessed by myself. I was
in the tree abºve your head, and nothing but a conviction
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 333
that I shoulêembarrass the honour of my wife’s protector,
could at that moment have prevented my springing from my
covert and declaring my gratitude on the spot.
“Receive mºthanks now, inadequate as they are, to ex-
press all I feel. But you offered me your heart on the field
of Cambuskenneth : I will take that as a generous intima-
tion of how I may best acknowledge my debt. Receive,
then, my never dying friendship as a pledge of that gratitude
which Marion herself will teach me to repay when we all
meet in the peaceful home of heaven.”
The answer of Montgomery, by presenting the tender
form of his wife and her devoted love, almost visibly before
him, nearly forced open the fountain of tears which he had
buried deep in his heart, and rising suddenly, for fear his
emotions might betray themselves; he warmly pressed the
hand of his English friend, and forafew minutes left the room.
When he returned, De Warrenne and De Valence were
there; and he immediately entered on subjects which they
laid before him, respecting the time of their removal to Eng-
land, and the general exchange of prisoners.
In the course of the same day the Southron nobles were
transported into the citadel, while the family of Mar were
removed from that fortress to take up their residence in the
palace of Snowdoun.
In arranging preliminaries to effect the speedy return of
the Scots from England, who must be known to have arrived
on the borders before the English would be permitted to
cross them; in writing dispatches on this subject, and on
others, and in sending them off, had passed the time between
the surrender of Stirling and the hour when Wallace was
called to the plain to receive the offered homage of his grate-
ful country,
Lady Mar, impatient to behold again the object of her
fond machinations, hastened to the window of her apart-
ment when the shouts in the streets informéd her of the ap-
proach of Wallace. The loud huzzas, accompanied by the
acclamations of our Protector and Prince / seemed already
to bind her brows with her anticipated diadem; and for a
moment vanity lost the image of love in the purple with
which she would have inveloped it.
Her ambitious vision was disturbed by the crowd rushing
3
34 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
•
# *
forward : the gates were thronged with people of every
age and sex, and Wallace himself appeared of his white
horse, with his helmet off, bowing and smiling upon the pop-
ulace. There was a mild effulgence in his eye; a divine be-
nevolence in his conntenance as his parted lips showed the
brightness of his smile, which seemed to speak of happiness
within, of joy to all around. She hastily threw back the
casement of her window : Wallace looked up; his bow and
his smile were then directed to her; but they were altered.
The moment he met the gratulation of her eager eyes, he
remembered what would have been the soft welcome of his
Marion’s under the like circumstance . But that tender eye
was closed ; that ear was shut, to whom he would have wish-
ed these plaudits to have given rapture, and they were now
as nothing to him. The countess saw not what was passing
in his mind, but kissing her hand to him, disappeared from
the window, and he entered the palace.
Another eye besides that of the countess had witnessed the
triumphant entry of Wallace. Triumphant in the true sense
of the word ; for he came a victor over the hearts of men;
he came not, attended by his captives won in the war, but by
the people he had blessed ; by throngs calling him preserver,
father, friend, and prince by every title which can inspire
the soul of man with the happy consciousness of fulfiling his
embassy here below.
Helen was this witness. She had passed the long interval
since she had seen Wallace in the state of one in a dream.—
The glance had been so transient, that every succeeding hour
seemed to lessen the evidence of her senses that she had re-
ally beheld him. It appeared impossible to her that the man
whom her thoughts had ever dwelt on as the widowed hus-
band of Marion, as the hero whom sorrow had wholly dedi-
cated to patriotism and to heaven, should ever awaken in her
breast feelings which would seem to break like a sacrilegious
host upon the holy consecration of his. Whenever he had
lately occupied her thoughts, she contemplated his lovely
idea with the pensive impressions of one leaning over the .
grave of a hero. She would then turn, as if emerging from *
the deep glooms of sepulchral monuments, to the upper re-
gions of day; and recalling the image of her unknown
knight, he to whom her conscious heart did indeed give the
*
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 335
*
name of Bruce, she would recollect the matchless graces of
his figure: the noble soul that breathed from his every look,
word, and action; and the sweet though thoughtful serenity
that sat on his brow. There, whispered she to herself, are
the lofty meditations of a royal mind, devising the freedom of
his people—when that is effected, how will the perfect sun-
shine break out from that face. ... Ah! how blest will Scot-
land be under his reign, when all will be light, virtue, and
joy. Bliss hovered like an angel over the one idea; and
sorrow, in mourning weeds, seemed ever dropping tears
when any circumstances presented the other.
Thus was the state of Helen's thoughts, when in the mo-
ment of her first beholding Wallace, she recognized in his
expected melancholy form the noble person and resplendent
countenance of her fancied Bruce . That two images so op-
posite should at once unite in one; that in one bosom should
be mingled all the virtues with which heaven she believed
had enriched both, struck her with an overwhelming amaze-
ment. But when she recovered, and found that the admi-
ration her gentle soul had conceived for Bruce, and the grat-
itude which such admiration had raised into a more animated
sentiment, was to be still more augmented; that all the de-
votion her heart, ever enamoured of the sublimest virtue,
used to pay to the bare idea alone, would now be attracted
to that glorious mortal in whom all human excellence ap-
peared summed up. And that to deepen the sentiment, to
fix it there with the most binding cords, pity was so blended
as to have created a sentiment which now seemed to have
robbed her of herself, and to have placed a new principle of
being within her. All seemed so extraordinary, was so un-
looked for, so amazing, so bewildering. that from the mo-
ment in which she had retired in such a paroxism of highly
wrought feelings from her first interview in the saloon with
Wallace, she was altogether like a person in a trance, and
hardly answering her aunt when she led her up stairs, she
complained she was ill, and threw herself upon a couch.
At the very time that her heart told her, in a language she
could not misunderstand, that she irrevocably loved this too
glorious, too amiable Wallace, it as powerfully denounced to
her that she had devoted herself to one who would ever be
to her as a being of air. All that was in her breast was hope-
*
336 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
X.
less: no word of sympathy would ever raise her to that
pitch of felicity which turned her head giddy to think on ;
the flame that was withifi her, which she found would be as
immortal as the vestal fires which resembled its purity,
must burn there uukº own, hidden, but not smothered.
Were this a god, cried she to herself, as she laid her
throbbing head upon her pillow, how gladly should I feel
these emotions ! For could I not fall down and worship him :
Could I not think it a world of bliss to live forever within
the influence of his virtues: Looking at him, listening to
him, rejoicing in his praises, happy it, his happiness, though
I should be invisible, and he not know that Helen Mar even
existed And I may live thus, said she, I may steal some
portion of the rare lot that was Lady Marion’s—to die for
such a man Ah, that I could be in Edwin’s place, and wait
upon his smiles, and with my bosom shield his breast! But
that may not be. I am a woman and formed to suffer in si-
lence and seclusion. But even at a distance, brave Wal-
lace, my spirit shall watch over you in the form of this Ed-
win : I will teach him a double care of the light of Scotland:
And my prayers shall follow you, so that when we meet in
heaven, the blessed virgin shall say with what hosts of angels
her intercessions, through my vigils, have surrounded you!
Thus did Helen commune with her own strangely affected
heart; sometimes doubting the evidence of her eyes; then
convinced of their fidelity; and striving to allay the tumults
in her mind. She seldom appeared from her own rooms; and
such retirement was not questioned, her father being alto-
gether engaged at the citadel; the countess absorbed in her
own speculations; and Lady Ruthven alone interrupted the
solitude of her niece by frequent visits. Little suspecting
the cause of Helen’s prolonged indisposition, she generally
selected Wallace for the subject of her conversation. She
descanted with enthusiasm on the rare perfection of his
character, told her all that Edwin had related of his actions
from the taking of Dumbarton to the present moment, and
then she bade Helen remark the miracle of such wisdom,
valour and goodness, being found in one so young and hand-
SOIſle,
Why, my dear, added she, depend on it, before he was La-
dy Marion’s husband, he must have heard sighs enough from
THE SCOTT I5 H CHIEFS, 337
the iove-sick damsels about him to have addled the brains
of half the male world. There is something in his very look,
did you meet him on a heath without better garb than a
shepherd’s plaid, sufficient to declare him the noblest of
men; and would excuse the gentlest (ece) lady in the land
for leaving hall and bower to share his sheep cote. But
alas! (and then the playful expression of her countenance
altered,) he is now for none on earth !
With these words she turned the subject to the confiden-
tial hours which he had passed with the adopted brother of
his heart. Every fond emotion seemed then centered in his
wife and child. When Lady Ruthven repeated his pathetic
words to Edwin, she wept : she even sobbed, and paused to
recover; while the deep and silent tears which flowed from
the heart to the eyes of Lady Helen, bathed the side of the
couch on which she leaned. * * *
Alas! cried Lady Ruthven, that a man so formed to grâce
every relation in life; so noble a creature in all respects; so
fond a husband, so full of parental tenderness; that he should
be deprived of the wife on whom he doated: that he should
be cut off from all hope of posterity : that when he shall die
nothing will be left of William Wallace, breaks my heart!
Ah! my aunt, cried Helen, raising her head with anima-
tion, but still covering her face with her hand, will he not
leave behind him the liberty of Scotland * That is an off-
spring worthy of his god-like soul.
True, my dear Helen : But had you ever been a parent,
you would know that no achievements, however great, can
heal the wound made in a father’s heart by the loss of a be-
loved child. And though Sir William Wallace never saw
the infant ready to bless his arms, yet it perished in the bo-
som of its mother; and that circumstance must redouble his
affliction: Horribly does it enhance the cruelty of the deed .
He has in all things been a direful sacrifice : returned Helen,
and with God alone dwells the power to wipe the tears from
his heart.
They flowed, not from his eyes, answered her aunt, but
deep, deep) is the grief that my Edwin says is settled there.
While Lady Ruthven was uttering these words, shouts in
the streets made her pause; and soon recognizing the name
of Wallace sounding from the lips of the rejoicing multitude,
WOL. I. F £
338 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
she turned to Helen : Here comes our deliverer said she,
taking her by the hand, we have not seen him since the first
day of our liberty. It will do you good, as it will me, to look
on his beneficent face
Helen obeyed the impulse of her aunt’s arm, and reached
the window just as he passed the courtyard. All the blood
in Helen’s body was now in motion ; it rushed through her
veins: it beat in her heart; it throbbed in her temples; it
burnt in her cheeks. Ah it is indeed he thought she, no
dream, no illusion, but his very self.
He looked up : but his eyes fell not on her side of the build-
ing ; it was to the opening window of Lady Mar she saw them
directed : and as he bowed, he smiled. All the charms of
that smile struck upon the soul of Helen; and hastily re-
treating from the window, she sunk breathless into a seat.
0 no that man cannot be born for the isolated state I have
just lamented. It cannot be that he is forever to be cut off
from communicating that happiness to which he would give
so much enchantment Lady Ruthven ejaculated this with
fervor; her matronly cheeks flushing with a sudden and
more forcible admiration of the person and mien of Wal-
lace.—There was something in that smile, Helen, which tells
that all is not chilled in his heart. And indeed, how should
it be otherwise That generous interest in the happiness of
all, which seems to flow in a tide of universal love, cannot
spring from a source incapable of dispensing the softest
streams of it again. I will venture my life, Helen, that Sir
William Wallace loses his heart before he is aware of it, to
some lovely creature—yourself, perhaps—and is married be-
fore the expiration of the year !
Helen, whose well poised soul was not affected by the agi-
tations of her body, agitations she was determined to con-
quer, calmly answered ; such an idea little agrees with all
you have been telling me of his conversations with Edwin.
Sir William Wallace will never love woman more. And
even to name the expectations, aunt, is an offence against
the sacredness of his sorrow that I cannot bear to hear.
Blame me not, Helen, returned Lady Ruthven, that I for-
got probability in grasping at the possibility that fate would
give me one day such a nephew as Sir William Wallace, and
you a husband worthy of your merits! I had always in my
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 339
own mind fixed on your unknown knight for your liege
lord ; and now that I find he and the deliverer of Scotland
are one, I am not to be looked grave at for wishing to reward
（i. with the most precious heart that ever beat in a female
reast.
No more of this, if you love me, my dear aunt! returned
Helen; it neither can, nor ought to be. I revere the mem-
ory of Lady Marion too much, not to be agitated by the
subject; so, no more l—She was agitated. But at that in-
stant Edwin throwing open the door, put an end to the con-
versation.
He came to apprize his mother that Sir William Wallace
was in her saloon; being come purposely to pay his respects
to her, not having even been introduced to her, when the
illness of Helen in the castle had made them part so ab-
ruptly.
I will not interrupt his introduction now, said Helen, I am
indisposed. A few days retirement may strengthen me, and
then I shall see our protector as I ought.
I will stay with you, cried Edwin, and I dare say Sir Wil-
liam Wallace will have no objection to see my mother as
soon as possible; for, as I came along, I met my aunt Mar
hastening into the saloon ; and between ourselves, my sweet
coz, I do not think my noble friend quite likes a tete-a-tete
with your good step-mother.
Lady Ruthven had withdrawn before he made this obser-
vation. º
Why, Edwin; surely she would not do any thing ungra-
cious to one to whom she has acknowledged such a weight of
obligations When Helen asked this, she remembered the
spleen Lady Mar had once cherished against him; and she
feared that it might now have shown itself. *
Ungracious ! Oh no the reverse of that. I am sure she
teazes him with her gratitude. Once or twice I thought she
would have taken my head off, for only seconding his wish to
get away from all the fooleries with which she thought to de-
tain him at Bute. And now heaven knows what is in her
fancy, but this moment I met her on the stairs flying instead
of walking, and as she passed me, she exclaimed, Is Lord
Buchan arrived / I answered, Yes. Ah then he has made
him Éing / cried she , and into the saloon she darted.

*
$40 'T H E S COTT IS 11 CHI EI S.
§
You do not mean to say, demanded Helen, turning her
eyes with an expression which seemed confident of his an-
swer; that Sir William Wallace has accepted the crown of
Scotland 2
Certainly not, replied Edwin; but as certainly it has been
offered to him, and he has refused it.
I could have sworn it! returned IIelen, rising from her
chair, all is loyal, all is great and consistent there, Edwin
He is indeed, the perfect exemplar of all nobleness, re-
joined Edwin, and, I believe, I shall even love you better,
my dear cousin, because you seem to have so clear an ap-
prehension of his real character. He then proceeded with
all the animation of the most zealous affection, to narrate to
Helen the particulars of the late scene in the castle of Stir-
ling; and while he deepened still more the profound impres-
sión the virtues of Wallace had made on her heart; he re-
opened its more tender sympathies, by repeating, with even
minuter accuracy than he had done to his mother, details of
those hours of friendship which he had passed with his adopt-
ed brother.—He spoke of the Beacon-hill; of moon-light
walks in the camp, when all but the centinels, and his gen-
eral, and himself were sunk in sleep.
These were the seasons when the suppressed feelings of
Wallace would by fits break from his lips, and at last pour
themselves out unrestrainedly to the ear of sympathy. As the
young narrator described all the endearing qualities of his
friend’s heart; the cheerful heroism with which he quelled
every tender remembrance, to do his duty in the day : For
it is only in the night, said Edwin, that my general remem-
bers Ellerslie. Helen's tears again stole silently down her
cheeks: Edwin perceived them, and throwing his arms gen-
tly around her, kissed them off Weep not, my sweet cou-
sin; for with all his sorrow, I never saw true happiness till
I beheld it in the eyes, and heard it in the voice of Sir Wil-
liam Wallace. He has talked to me of the joy he should ex-
perience in giving liberty to Scotland, and in establishing
her in peace, till his enthusiastic soul, grasping hope as if it
were in possession, he has looked on me with a consciousness
of enjoyment that seemed to say, that all bliss was summed
- up in a patriot’s breast.
“And then at other times, when after a conversation on his
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 341
gº
beloved Marion, when a few natural regrets would pass his
lips, and my tears tell him how deep was my sympathy; then
he would turn to comfort me.—Then he would show me the
world beyond this ; that world which is the aim of all his
deeds, the end of all his travails: and’lost in the rapturous
ideas of meeting his Marion there, a foretaste of all would
seem to seize his soul: and were I then called upon to point
out the most enviable felicity on earth, I should say it is that
of Sir William Wallace. It is this enthusiasm in all he be-
lieves and feels that makes him what he is. It is this eter-
nal spirit of hope, infused into him by heaven itself, that
makes him rise from sorrow like the sun from a cloud, bright-
er, and with more ardent beams. It is this that bathes his
lips in the smiles of Paradise; that throws a divine lustre
over his eyes; , and makes all dream of love and happiness
that look upon him.”
Edwin paused :-Is it not so cousin
Helen raised her down-cast and thoughtful face.—He is
not a being of this earth, Edwin. We must learn to imitate
him, as well as to—She hesitated, and then added, as well
as to revere him. I do revere him: With such a sentiment
as fills my heart when I bend before the altars of the saints.
—But not to worship; said she, interrupting herself, that
would be a crime. To look on him as a glorious example
of patient suffering, and of invincible courage against all
that militates against truth and mercy . This is the end of
my reverence of him. And this sentiment, my dear Edwin,
you partake.
It possesses me wholly, cried the energetic youth: I have
no thought, no wish ; nor even move or speak, but with the
intent to be like him. He calls me his brother and I will
bé so in soul though I cannot in blood : And then my dear
lielen, you shall have two Sir William Wallaces to love :
Sweetest, sweetest boy! cried Helen, putting her quiver-
ing lips to his forehead; you will then always remember that
Helen so dearly loves Scotland, as to be jealous, above all
earthly things, for the Lord Regent’s safety. Be his guar-
dian angeſ. Edwin, watch treason from man and woman,
from friend and kindred. It lurks, my cousin, under the
most specious forms; and as one beware of Lord Buchan :
in short, have a care of all yº any of the house of Cum-
F
342 'I HE SCOTTIS II C. H.I.E. F. S. *
min may introduce. Watch over your general’s life in the
private hour. It is not in the public field I fear for him ; his
valiant arm will there be his own guard. But in the unre-
served day of confidence, envy will point its dagger, and
then be as eyes to his too trusting soul; as a shield to his
too confidently exposed breast ! w
As she spoke, she strove to conceal her, perhaps, too elo-
quent face, in the silken ringlets of her hair.
I will be all this, cried Edwin, who saw nothing in her
tender solicitude but the ingenuous affection which glowed
in his own heart; and I will be your eyes too, my cousin;
for when I am absent with Sir William Wallace, I shall
consider myself as your representative, and so will send you
regular dispatches of all that happens to him.
Thanks would have been a poor means of imparting what
she felt at this assurance; and rising from her seat with
some of Wallace’s own resigned and enthusiastic expression
in her face, she pressed Edwin’s hand to her heart; and
bowing her head to him in token of gratitude, withdrew into
an inner apartment.

CHAP. xxxiv.
Faom the glance Wallace had caught of the countess at
the window, he anticipated her company in his visit to La-
dy Ruthven ; and on finding the saloon lonely, he dispatch-
ed Edwin for his mother, that he might not be distressed
by the unchecked advances of a woman whom he was
obliged to see, as being the wife of Lord Mar; and whose
weakness he pitied, as she belonged to that sex, for all of
whom, in consideration of the felicity one of it had once
brought him, he felt a peculiar tenderness. Respect the
, countess he could not; nor indeed could he feel any grati-
tude for a preference which seemed to him to have no
foundations in the only true basis of love, in the virtues of
the object. For as she acted against every moral law,
against his declared sentiments, it was evident that she pla-
ced little valie on his esteem ; and therefore lie despised,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 343
while he pitied, a human creature so ungovernably yield-
ing herself to the criminal sway of her passions.
In the midst of thoughts so little to her advantage, Lady
Mar entered the room. Wallace turnedº meet her, while
she, hastening towards him and droppingºon one knee, ex-
claimed, “Let me be the first woman in Scotland to ac-
knowledge its king !”
Wallace put forth his hand to raise her, and smiling, re-
plied; “Lady Mar, you do me an honour I can never claim.
I am not king of Scotland.”
IIow cried she, starting on her feet, what then was that
cry I heard ; Did they not call you prince and sovereign!’
Did not my Lord Buchan Confused, disappointed, over-
powered, she left the unfinished sentence, sunk on a seat,
and burst into tears. At that moment she saw her anticipa-
ted crown fall from her head : and having united the gaining
of Wallace with his acquisition of this dignity, all her hopes
seemed at sea again. She felt as if Wallace had eluded her
power; for it was by the ambition-serving acts of her kins-
man, that she had meant to bind him to her love; and now
all was rejected, and she wept in despair. He gazed at her
with amazement: what these emotions and his elevation had
to do with each other, he could not guess; but recollecting
her manner of mentioning Lord Buchan's name, he answer-
ed, “Lord Buchan I have just seen. He and Lord March
came upon the carse at the time I went thither to meet my
gallant countrymen; and they, though so lately the friends
of Edward, united with the rest in proclaiming me regent.”
This word dried the tears of Lady Mar. Again she saw
the shadow of royalty behind it; and summoning those
clouds of artifice, which had lately been so ready at her
command, to cover the joy of her countenance, she calmly
said, blame not this weakness; but it is not that of vain
wishes for your aggrandizement. You are the same to Jo-
anna Mar, whether as a monarch or a private man; as long
as you possess that supremacy in all excellence which first
gained her esteem. It is for Scotland’s sake alone that I
wish yon her king. You have taught me to forget all selfish
desires; to respect myself: cried she, and from this hour I
conjure you to regard me as a sister wipe from your mem-
ory all my folly-all my love—with the last word her


544 THE 3COTTISH CHIEFS.
bosom heaved tumultuously, and she rose in agitation.—
Wallace now gazed on her with redoubled wonder. She
saw it, and as she heard a foot in the passage, she turned to-
wards him, but gºvering her face with one hand, while she
put the other inſtöhis, she said in a soft and hurried tone,
“Forgive, that what is entwined with my heart should cost
me some pangs before I quite wrest it thence; only respect
me, and I am comforted " Wallace in silence pressed her
hand, and the door opened.
Lady Ruthven appeared; and the countess, (whose pres-
ent aim was to throw the virtue of Wallace off its guard,
and to take that by sap which she found resisted her open at-
tack) slid out of the room by another passage. Edwin’s gen-
tle mother was followed by the same youth who had brought
Helen’s packet to Berwick. It was Walter Hay, anxious to
be recognized by his benefactor, to whom his recovered
health had rendered his person strange. Wallace received
him with kindness, and told him to bear his grateful respects
to his lady for her care of her charge. Lord Ruthven, with
others, soon entered; and at the appointed hour they attend-
ed their chief to the citadel. The council.hall was already
filled with the lords who had brought their clans to the Scot-
tish standard. On the entrance of Wallace they all rose;
and Mar coming forward, followed by the heralds and other
officers of ceremony, saluted him with the due forms of Re-
gent, and led him to the throne. Wallace ascended, but it
was only to take thence a packet which was deposited for
him on its cushion; and coming down again, he laid the
parchment upon the council.table; I can do all things best,
said he with a smile, when I am upon a level with my friends.
He then broke the seal of the packet. It was from the
Prince of Wales; and agreed to Wallace’s proposed ex-
change of prisoners, but in severe language denounced him
as the instigator of rebellion, and bade him expect future
judgment from his incensed king for the mischief he had
wrought by his violence in the realm of Scotland. The letter
was finished by a demand,..that the town and citadel of Ber-
wick should be surrendered to England as a gage for the
quiet of the borders till Edward should return.
Kirkpatrick, as he listened to this letter, expressed vehe-
ment displeasure at the audacious threatenings of the yoting
"I HE SCO'I'''I' ISH C III EFS, 345
* -
priſce. He should come amongst us like a man, cried Sir
Roger and wé would soon show him who it is by whom
Scotland suffers: Aye, even on his back we would write the
chastisement due to the offender. • s.
Be not angry with him, my friend; returned Wallace;
these threats are merely words of course from the son of Ed-
ward. Did he not fear both our rights and our arms he
would not so readily accord with our propositions. You see
every Scottish prisoner is to be on the borders by a certain
day; and meanwhile, to satisfy that impatient valor which I
never check but when it loses itself in a furor too nearly re-
sembling that of our enemies; I intend to make your prow-
ess once again the theme of their discourse. You shall re-
take your castles in Annandale.' .
Give me but the means, cried he, to recover those stout
gates of my country, and I will warrant you to keep the keys
in my own handstill doomsday ! sooner than again give them
up. I will gripe them even in death. -
Wallace resumed : “You shall have three thousand men
under your command: and as soon as both hosts of prisoners
pass each other on the Cheviots the armistice will terminate.
You may then fall back upon Annandale, and that night light
your own fires in Torthorald; send the expelled garrisons
into Northumberland, and show this haughty prince that we
know how to replenish his depopulated towns. We return
him those men to be his bees, which he sent to be our lo-
custs.” -
But first I will set my mark on them cried Kirkpatrick,
with one of those laughs which ever preluded some savage
proposal. §
I can guess it would be no gentle one, returned Wallace.
Why, brave knight, will you ever sully the fair field of your
fame with an ensanguined tide
It is the fashion of the times: replied Kirkpatrick, rough-
ly; you only, my victorious general, who perhaps had most
cause to go with the stream, have chosen a mode of your
own. Butlook around ! see our burns, which the Southrons
made run with Scottish blood; our hillocks, swoln with the
cairns of our slain ; the highways blocked up with the graves
of the murdered ; and our lands filled with our maimed vas-
sals, who were glad to purchase, with the loss of eyes and of .
...ſº
346 THE SCOTTIS IX CHIEFS.
limbs, a miserable existence from their ruthless tyrau.9.
and shall we talk of gemtle methods with such as these ? Sir
William Wallace, you would make women of us.
Shame! shame, Kirkpatrick resounded from every voice
at once, you insult the Lord Regent!
Kirkpatrick stood proudly frowning, with his left hand on
the hilt of his swcrd. Wallace, by a motion, hushed the tu-
mult, and spoke; “No chieftain of Scotland can offer me
greater respect than frankly to trust me with his senti-
ments.”
Though we disagree in some points, cried Kirkpatrick, I
am ready to die for you at any time, for I believe a truer
Scot treads not the earth; but I repeat, why by this mincing-
mercy seek to turn your soldiers into women
I seek to make them men, replied Wallace, to be aware
that they fight with fellow-creatures with whom they may
one day be friends; and not like the furious savages of old
Scandinavia, drink the blood of eternal enmity. I would
neither have my chieftains set examples of cruelty, nor de-
grade themselves by imitating the barbarities of our ene-
mies. That Scotland bleeds at every pore, is true ; but let
peace be our aim, and we shall heal all her wounds.
Then I am not to cut off the ears of the freebooters in An-
nandale cried Kirkpatrick with a good-humoured smile ;
have it as you will ; only I believe you must new christen
me, to wash the war-stain from my hand; for my fourt was
my father's helmet; and the first pap I sucked was off the
point of his sword. (fff)
You have not shamed your nurse ! cried Murray.
Nor will I, answered Kirkpatrick, while the arm that slew
Cressingham remains unwithered.
While he spoke Ker entered to ask permission to intro-
duce a messenger from Earl De Warrenne. Wallace gave
consent. It was Sir Hugh le de Spencer, a near kinsman of
the Earl of Hereford, the tumultuary constable of England.
He was the envoy who had brought the Prince of Wales
dispatches to Stirling. Wallace was standing when he en-
tered, and so were most of the chieftains, but at his appear-
ance they all sat down. Wallace retained his position.
I come, cried the Southron knight, from the Lord Warden
of Scotland, who, with my prince, too greatly condescends
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 347
to do otherwise than command, where now he treats; I come
to the leader of this rebellion, William Wallace, to receive
his answer to the terms granted by the clemency of my
master, the son of your liege lord, to this misled kingdom.
Sir Knight, replied Sir William Wallace, when the South-
ron lords delegate a messenger to me who knows how to res.
pect the Yepresentative of the nation to which he is sent,
and the honour of his senders, I shall give them my reply.
—You may withdraw.
The Southron stood resolute to remain where he was ; do
you know, proud Scot, cried he, to whom you dare address
this imperious language 2 I am the nephew of the lord high-
constable of England. -
It is a pity, cried Murray, looking coolly up from the table,
that he is not here to take his kinsman into custody.
Le de Spencer fiercely half drew his sword; Sir, this in-
sult.—
Must be put up with, cried Wallace, interrupting him,
and motioning Edwin to lay his hand on the sword; you
have insulted the nation to which you were sent on a peace-
ful errand; and having thus invited the resentment of every
chief in the kingdom, you cannot justly complain against
their indigmation. But, in consideration of your youth and
probable ignorance of what becomes the character of an am-
bassador, l grant you the protection your behaviour has for-
feited. Sir Alexander Scrymgeour, said he, turning to him,
you will guard Sir Hugh le de Spencer to the earl of War-
renne, and tell him that I am ready to answer any proper
messenger. -,
The young Southron, frowning, followed Scrymgeour from
the hall; and Wallace turning to Murray, my friend, said
he, it is not well to stimulate insolence by repartee. This
young man's speech, though an insult to the nation, was di-
rected to me; and by me only ought it to have been answer-
ed, and that seriously. We should in all transactions, whe-
ther great or small, never give à needless irritation to our
cnemy. The haughty spirit of this man should have been
quelled, not incensed; and had you proceeded one word
farther, you would have given him an apparently just cause
of complaints against you; and of that; my friend, I am most
348 THE SCOTTISH C HIEFS,
sensibly jealous. It is not either policy or virtue to be rig-
orous to the extent of justice.
I know, returned Murray, blushing, that my wits are too
many for me, and are ever throwing me, like Phaeton’s hor-
ses into the midst of some fiery mischief or other. But par-
don me now, and I promise you I will bridle them well when
next I see this prancing knight.
Bravo, my Lord Andrew cried Kirkpatrick, in an affect-
ed whisper, I am not always to be bird alone under the whip
of our Regent; you have had a few stripes, and now look a
little of my feather!
Like as a swan to a vulture, good Roger; answered Mur-
ray; so prithee compare not my Tyrtaeeus pipe, with your
war whoop, else I shall appeal to Apollo, and have you
flayed for sacrilege against the muses.
Whenever Apollo, or any other bequivered god, or mor-
tal, catches me affecting such maudling company, returned
Kirkpatrick, he is welcome to transfix me with his sharpest
arrow. Wisdom is too dainty for me, wit too contemptible ;
and so, once for all, I glory in being known as the sturdy
knight, who swears eternal enmity against all Scotland’s
foes!—And had I had my will, that saucy -cur should have
been sent howling to his masters, instead of being dispatch-
ed in safety to laugh at clemency he cannot understand.
While these chieftains amused themselves with this badin-
age, Wallace was engaged in close discourse with the elder
nobles at the higher end of the hall. In half an hour Scrym-
geour retruned, and with him Baron Hilton. He brought
an apology from De Warrenne, for the behaviour of his am-
bassador; and added his persuasions to the demands of Eng-
land, that the regent would surrender Berwick, not only as
a pledge for the Scots keeping the truce on the borders, but
as a proof of his confidence in Prince Edward.
Wallace answered, that he had no reason to show extra-
ordinary confidence in one who manifested by such a requi-
sition that he had no faith in Scotland; and therefore, nei-
theras a proofof confidence, nor as a gage of her word should
Scotland, a victorious power, surrender to the vanquished,
the eastern door of her kingdom. Wallace declared him-
self ready to dismiss the English prisoners to the frontiers
and to maintain the armistice till they had reached the south
The scottish chiefs. 349
side of the Cheviots; but, added he, my word must be my
bond, for, by the honour of Scotland, I will gº no other.
Then, answered Baron Hilton, with an hon ush pass-
ing over his cheek, as if ashamed of what he had next to
say, I am now constrained to lay before you the last instruc-
tions of the Prince of Wales to Earl de Warrenne.
He pulled a royally sealed roll of vellum from his breast,
and read aloud :
“Thus saith Edward, Prince of Wales, to Earl de War-
renne, Lord Warden of Scotland. If that arch-rebel, Wil-
liam Wallace, who now assumeth to himself the rule of all
our royal father’s hereditary dominions north of the Chevi-
ots, refuseth to give unto us the whole possession of the town
and citadel of Berwick upon Tweed, as a pledge of his faith,
to keep the armistice on the borders from sea to sea, we
command you to tell him that we shall detain, under the
ward of our good lieutenant of the Tower in London, the
person of William the Lord Douglas, as a close captive, un-
til our prisoners, now in Scotland, arrive safely at Newcastle
upon Tyne. This mark of supremacy over a rebellious peo-
ple we owe as a pledge of their homage to our royal father;
and as a tribute of our gratitude to him for having allowed
us to treat at all with so undutiful a part of his dominions.
Baron, cried Wallace, it would be beneath the dignity of -
Scotland to retaliate this act with the like conduct. The ex-
change of prisoners shall yet be made, and the armistice
held sacred on the borders. But, as I hold the door of war
open in the interior of the country, before the Earl de War-
renne leaves this citadel, (and it shall be on the day engag-
ed for) please the Almighty Lord of Justice, the Southron
governors of all our castles on the eastern coast to the Mur-
ray Frith, shall be our hostages for the safety of Lord Douglas!
“And this is my answer, noble Wallace f*
“It is, and you see no more of me till that which I have
said, is done !”
Baron Hilton bowed and withdrew. And Wallace turn-
ing to his peers, rapidly made dispositions for a sweeping
march from Frith to Frith; and having sent those who were
to accompany him, to prepare for departure next day at
dawn light, he retired with the Lords Mar, Bothwell and
Ruthven, to arrange affairs relative to the prisoners.
WOL., I, G g
350 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
tº CHAP. XXXV.
The sun next morning rose on Wallace and his brave le-
gions as they traversed the once romantic glades of Strath-
more ; but now the scene was changed. The villages were
abandoned, and the land lay around in uncultivated wastes.
Sheep without a shepherd, fled wild from the approach of
man, and wolves ran howling from the cloisters of depopu-
lated monasteries. The army approached Dumblane ; but
the town was without inhabitants; the grass grew in the
streets and the birds which roosted in the deserted dwellings
flew scared from the windows, as the trumpet of Wallace
sounded through the town.—Loud echoes were repeated
from the hollow walls, but no other voice was heard, no hu-
man face appeared; for the ravening hand of Cressingham
had been there !—Wallace sighed as he looked around him.
IRather smile, cried Murray, that heaven hath given you the
power to say to the tyrants who have done this, Here shall
your proud waves be staid /
They proceeded over many a hill and plain, and found that
the same withering touch of desolation had burnt up and
overwhelmed the country. Wallace saw that his troops
were faint for want of food; but he promised that Ormesby
should provide them a feast in Perth ; and with reawakened
spirits they took the river Tay at its fords, and were soon be-
fore the walls of that well armed city. But it was governed
by a coward. Ormesby fled to Dundee at the first sight of
the Scottish army. His flight might have warranted the gar-
rison to surrender without a blow ; but a braver man being
his lieutenant, sharp was the conflict before Wallace could
compel that officer to abandon the ramparts and to sue for
the mercy which he had at first rejected.
After the fall of Perth, the young Regent made a rapid
progress through that part of the country; driving the South-
ron garrisons out of Scone, and all the embattled towns; ex-
pelling them from the castles of Kincairn, Elcho, Kinfaun
and Doune; and then proceeding to the more marine for-
tresses, (those avenues by which the ships of England had
poured their legions on the eastern coast) he compelled Dun-
THE scottish chiefs. . .351
#.
dee, Cowper, Glamis, Montrose, and Aberdeen, all to ac-
knowledge the power of his arms. He seized most of the
English ships in these ports, and Inanning them with Scottish
sailors, soon cleared the seas of the rest, taking some, and
putting others to flight; in one ºf the latter of which, was
the fugitive Ormesby. 3. "
This enterprise achieved, Wallace, with a host of prisoners
(amounting to several thousands) turned his steps towards
the Forth, But ere he left the banks of the Tay, he detach-
ed three thousand men, and putting them under the com-
mand of Lord Ruthven, gave him a commission to range the
country from the Carse of Gowrie to remotest Sutherland,
and in all that tract reduce every town and castle which had
admitted a Southron garrison. Wallace took leave of Lord
Ruthven at Hunting tower: and that worthy nobleman,
when he assumed with the government of Perth this exten-
sive command, said, as he grasped the Regent’s hand, I say
not, bravest of Scots, what is my gratitude for thus making
me an arm of my country, but deeds will show ! (ggg)
You shall next hear of me, my friend, returned Wallace,
from the fertile plains of Northumberland. They who have
impoverished our fields, must expect that our famishing peo-.
ple shall be carried to gather food on their’s.
Lord Ruthven bade a father's adieu to his son, counselling
him to regard Wallace as the light in his path ; and then
embracing the chief, they parted with increased affection on
all sides. *~ \
A rapid march round by Fifeshire, thrºugh which victory
followed their steps, and the hard fought battle of Black
Ironside will record forever, brought the conqueror and his
troops within sight of the towers of Stirling. It was the eve
of the day in which he had promised Earl de Warrenne that
the English prisoners should depart for the borders. No doubt
of his arriving at the appointed time was held either by the
Scots, or the Southrons in the castle. The one knew the sa-
credness of his word: and the other, having felt his prowess,
would not so far disparage their own, as to suppose that any
could withstand him by whom they were beaten.
De Warrenne, as he stood on the battlements of the Keep,
beheld from afar the long line of Scottish soldiers as they
descended the Oichil-hills. When he pointed it out to De
w
352 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
Valence, that nobleman, who in proportion as he wished to
check the arms of Wallace, had flattered himself that it
might happen, against the evidence of his eye-sight, contra-
dicted the observation of the veteran earl. *
Your sight deceives you, said he, it is only the sunbeams
playing on the cliffs.
• Then those cliffs are moving ones, which I fear have alrea-
dy ground our countrymen on the coast to powder! We
shall find Wallace here before sun-set, continued De War-
renne, to show us how he resents the affront which our ill-
advised young Prince has cast on his jealous honour.
His honour, returned De Valence, is like that of his coun-
trymen’s, an enemy alike to his own happiness and to that of
others. Had it allowed him to accept the crown of Scotland,
and to have fought Edward with the concentrating arm of
a king; or would he now offer peace to oursovereign, grant-
ing his prerogative as liege lord of the country, all would go
well; but as his honour prevents his using these means of
ending the contest, destruction must be the end of his ca-
feel".
‘And what quarrel, demanded De Warrenne, can you, my
Lord de Valence, have against this nice honour of Sir Wil-
liam Wallace, since you allow it will secure the final success
of our cause : .
His honour and himself are hateful to me !impatiently an-
swered De Valence, he crosses me in my wishes, public and
private ; and for the sake of my king and myself, I might al-
most be tempted:#He turned pale as he spoke, and met the
penetrating glance of De Warrenne. He paused.
Tempted to what? asked De Warrenne.
“To a Brutus mode of ridding the state of an enemy.”
That might be noble in a Roman citizen, 1'eturned De
Warenne, which would be villainous in an English lord, treat-
ed as you have been by a generous victor, not the usurper of
any country’s liberties, but the Brutus who has taken up
arms agamst our Caesar. Which man of us §. the
general to the meanest followerin our camps, hāśhe injured?
Lord Aymer frowned : Did he not expose me, threatened
with an ignominious death, on the walls of Stirling :
“But was it before he saw the Earl of Mar, with his hap-
less family, brought with halters round their necks to be sus-
THE scottish chiefs. 353
pended from this very tower —Ah! what a tale has the
Iovely countess told me of that direful scene !—And did he
not expose you merely to check the sanguinary Cressingham
from embrueing his hands in the blood of female and infant
innocence f : -
I care not, cried De Valence, what are, or are not the of.
fences of this domineering Wallace, but I hate him, and my
respect for his advocates cannot but be lessened. As he
spoke, that he might not be farther molested by the argu-
ments of De Warrenne, he abruptly turned away and left
the battlements.
His pride would not allow him to confess his private rea-
sons for this vehement enmity against the Scottish Chief. A
conference which De Valence had held the preceding even-
ing with the Earl of Mar, had aroused all his hatred; and
from that moment the haughty Southron vowed his destruc-
tion by open attack, or secret treachery. Ambition, and the
base counterfeit of love, those two master passions in untem-
pered minds, were the springs of this antipathy. The instant
in which he knew that the young creature whom at a dis-
tance he saw clinging round the Earl of Mar’s neck in the
streets of Stirling, was the same Lady Helen on whose ac-
count Lord Soulis had poured on him such undeserved invec-
tives in Bothwell castle, curious to have a nearer view of
one, whose transcendent beauty he had often heard cele-
brated by others, he ordered her to be immediately convey-
ed to his apartments in the citadel.
On his first interview with her, he was more struck with
her personal charms than he had ever been with any wo.
man’s although he was the most noted for gallantry of all the
lords in the English court. He could hardly understand the
nature of his feelings while discoursing with her. To all
others of her sex he declared his enamoured wishes with
as much ease as vivacity; but when he looked on Helen, the
admiration her loveliness inspired was checked by an awe
of the celestial purity which seemed to beam from every
part of her body, No werd of passion ever breathed from
his lips; but seeking to win her by a deportment consonant
with her own dignity of manners, he treated her with every
respect, and obeyed all her wishes, excepting when they
pointed to any communication with her parents. He feared
* G g
3'54 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
**
t
r'
the wary eyes of the Earl of Mar; and therefore he decided
at once, to keep him out of the way. With all this reverence
of Helen, it was not grounded on any principle within the
heart of De Valence; he had so erroneous an idea of virtue,
that he believed, by putting on its semblance, he might so
far steal on the confidence of his victim, as to induce her to
forget all the world, nay heaven itself, in his sophistry and
blandishments. To facilitate this end, he at first designed to
precipitate the condemnation of the Earl, that he might the
Sooner be rid of a father’s existence, holding in dread of his
censure, the perhaps otherwise yielding heart of his lovely
In IStreSS.
The unprincipled and impure can have no idea that virtue
or delicacy are other than vestments of disguise or ornament
to be thrown off at will; and therefore to reason with such
minds, is to talk to the winds; to tell a man who is born
blind, to decide between two colors. De Valence expected .
that the moment he could gain a sufficient interest in the
heart of Lady Helen, and convince her of the folly of living
to the world’s opinion, that she would fall at once into his
snare. But seeing the anguish of her fears for her father,
the fervor with which, even on her knees, she implored for
his life, the wily lover comprehended that the death of so en-
deared a parent would paralize every tender feeling in her
breast, and that instead of a fond beauty, he should clasp a
piece of living marble in his arms, cold and insensible to ev-
ery outward object. When aware of this, he adopted the
plan of granting the Earl reprieves from day to day; and in
spite of the remonstrances of Cressingham, he intended, af.
ter having worked upon the terrors of Helen, to grant to her
her father's life on condition of her yielding herself to be
his. He had even meditated that the accomplishment of this
device and of all his wishes, should have taken place the
very night in which Wallace’s first appearance before Stir-
ling had called its garrison to arms.
De Valence, impelled by vengeance against the man who
had driven him from Dumbarton and from Ayr, and irritated
at being delayed in the moment when his passion was ready
to seize its object, thought to end all by a coup de main, and
rushing out of the gates, was taken prisoner.
Now that the whole of the English army were in the same
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 355
-* -** -
captivity with himself, that he saw the lately prescribed Lord
Mar, governor of Stirling, and that the Scottish cause seem-
ed triumphant on every side, he changed his former illicit
views on Helen, and bethought him of making her his wife.
Ambition as well as love, impelled him to this resolution;
for he aspired to the dignity of Lörd Warden of Scotland:
and he foresaw that the vast influence which his marriage
with the daughter of Mar must give him in the country,
would be a decisive argument with the king of England.
To this purpose, not doubting the Scottish Earl’s glad ac-
ceptance of such a son-in-law, on the very day that Wallace
had marched out of the town towards the coast, De Valence
sent to request an hour's private audience of the Lord Mar.
The earl could not grant it till the next morning; but at noon
the next day they met in the governor’s apartments. * *
Being seated, the Southron, without much preface, open-
ed his wishes to Lord Mar, and proffered his hand for his
daughter. I will make her the proudest lady in Great Brit-
ain, continued he, for she shall have a court in my province .
in Wales little inferior to that of Edward’s queen.
Pomp would have no sway with my daughter, replied the
earl, it is the royal mind she values, not its pageantry—
Whom ever she prefers, the tribute will be paid to the mer-
it of the object, not to his rank; and therefore, earl, should
it be you, the greater will be your pledge of happiness. I
shall repeat to her what you have said, and to-morrow deli.
ver her answer.
De Valence, not deeming it possible that it should be
otherwise than favourable, allowed his imagination to roam
over every anticipated delight. He exulted in the pride with
which he would show this perfection of northern beauty to
the fairſof England: how would the simple graces of her se-
raphic form, which looked more like a being of air than of
earth, put to shame, the laboured beauties of the court And
when it was not only the artless charms of a wood nymph he
would present to the wondering throng, but a being whose
majesty of soul, at every step proclaimed her high descent
and peerless virtues. How did he congratulate himself, in
contemplating this unsullied temple of virgin innocence, that
he had never, by even the vapour of one impassioned sigh,
contaminated her pure ear, or broken the magic spell which
556 THE sco'ſ TISH chiefs.
seemed to him to have enshrined an angel who was fated to
crown him with happiness unknown, with honour unexam-
pled. To be so blessed, $o distinguished, so envied, was to
him a dream of triumph that waſted away all remembrance
of his late defeat; and he believed in taking Helen from
Scotland he should bear away a richer prize than any he
could leave behind. -
Full of these anticipations he attended the governor of Stir-
ling the next day, to hear his daughter’s answer. But un-
willing to give the earl that advantage over him, which a
knowledge of his views in the marriage might occasion, he
affected a composure he did not feel, and with a lofty air
entered the room, as if he were rather come to confer that
to beg a favour. This department did not lessen the satis-
faction with which the brave Scot opened his misson.
“My lord, I have just seen my daughter. She duly ap-
preciates the honour you would confer on her; she is grate-
ful for all your courtesies to her whilst she was your pris-
oner; but beyond that sentiment her heart, attached to her
native land, cannot sympathise with your wishes.”
DeValence started at this. Iſe did not expect any thing
in the shape of a denial; but supposing that perhaps a little
of his own heart was tried by the father to enhance the value
of his daughter’s yielding, he threw himself into a chair, and
affecting chagrin at a disappointment, (which in his own
mind he did not believe was seriously intended) exclaimed
with vehemence, surely, Lord Mar, this is not meant as a re-
fusal 2 I cannot receive it as such for I know Lady Helen’s
gentleness; I know the sweet tenderness of her nature would
plead for me, were she to see me at her feet, and hear me.
pour forth the most ardent passion that ever burnt in a human
breast. Oh, my gracious lord, if it be her attachment to
Scotland which alone militates against me, I will promise
that her time shall be passed between the two countries.—
Her marriage with me may faciliate that peace with Eng-
land which must be the wish of us all ; and perhaps the Lord
Wardenship, which De Warenne now holds, may be trans-
ferred to me; I have reasons for expecting that it will be so ;
and then she, as a queen in Scotland, and you as her father,
may claim every distinction from her fond husband, every in-
dulgence for the Scots which your patriot heart can dictate.
f". THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 357
$
This would be a certain benefit to Scotland; while the ignis
fatuus which you are now following, however brilliant may
be its career during Edward’s absence, must on his return,
be extinguished in disaster and infamy.
The silence of the Earl of Mar, who, willing to hear all
that was in the mind of De Valence, had let him proceed un-
interrupted, encouraged the Southron lord to speak more
than he had at first intended to reveal : but when he made
a pause, and Šeemed to expect an answer, the earl spoke –
“I am fully sensible of the honour you would bestow upon
my daughter and myself, by your alliance: but as I have said
before, her heart is toºlevoted to Scotland to marry any
man whose birth does not make it his duty to prefer the lib-
erty of her native land even before his love for her. That
* hope to see our country freed from a yoke unjustly laid upon
her : that hope, which you, not considering our rights, or
weighing the power that lies in a just cause, denominats an
ignis fatuus, is the only passion, I believe, that lives in the
gentle bosom of my Helen; and therefore, noble earl, not
even your offers can equal the measure of her wishes.”
At this speech, De Valence bit his lip with real disappoint-
ment, and starting from his chair in unaffected disorder; *
am not to be deceived Lord Mar, cried he, I am not to be
cajoled by the pretended patriotism of your daughter, I know

the sex too well to be cheated with these excuses. The ig- .
nis fatuus that leads your daughter from my arms is not the
freedom of Scotland, but the handsome rebel who conquers
in its name ! He is now fortune’s minion ; but he will fall,
Lord Mar, and then what will be the fate of his mad adhe-
rents º' .
Earl de Valence, replied the veteran, sixty winters have
, checked the tides of passion in my veins, but the indignation
of my soul against any insult offered either to my daughter's
delicacy, or to the name of the lord Regent of Scotland, is
not less powerful in my breast. But you are my prisoner,
and I pardon what I could so easily avenge. I will even
answer you, and say, that I do not knew of any exclusive af-
fection subsisting between my daughter and Sir William
Wallace ; but this I am assured of, that were it the case, she
would be more ennobled in being the wife of so true a patri-
ot, and so virtuous a man, than were she advanced to the
&
$5.
358 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
bosom of an emperor. And for myself, were he to morrow
hurled by a mysterious decree of Providence from his pres-
ent height of nobly-won elevation, I should glory in my son,
were he such, and would think him as great on a scaffold as
on a throne.
It is well that is your opinion, replied De Valence, stop-
ping in his wrathful strides, and turning on Mar with venge-
ful irony, cherish these heroics, for you will assuredly see
him so exalted, before another month passes over his head.
Then where will be his triumphs over Edward’s arm, and
Pembroke's (hhh) heart?—where your daughter's patriot
husband, your glorious son —Start not, old man for by all
the powers of hell I swear, that some eyes which now look
proudly on the Southron host shall close in blood
If they do, replied Mar, shuddering at the demoniac fire
that lightened from the countenance of De Valence, it must
indeed be by the agency of devils; and their minister, vin-
dictive earl, must soon meet the vengeance of the eternal
loh
*. dreams, cried De Valence, cannot terrify me. You
are neither a seer, nor I a fool, to be taken by such prophe-
&ies. But had you been wise enough to have embraced the
advantage I offered, you might have been a prophet of good,
greater than he of Ercildoune, to your nation: for all that
you would have promised, I would have taken care should be
fulfiled. But you have cast from you your peace and safety.
I rely not on oracles of heaven or hell, but what I devote
shall be condemned. I have pronounced the doom of my
enemies; and though you now see me a prisºner, tremble
haughty Scot, at the resentment which lies in this head and
heart This arm needs not the armies of Edward to pierce
you in your boast !
He left the room as he spoke: and Lord Mar, shaking his
venerable head as he disappeared, said to himself—Impotent
rage of passion and of youth, I pity and forgive you!
It was not, therefore, so extraordinary that De Valence,
when he saw Wallace descending the Oichill hills, with the
flying banners of new victories, should break into curses of
hisfortune, and swearinwardly the most determined revenge.
Fuel was added to this fire when at sunset the almost
measureless defiles of prisoners, marshalled under the walls
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 359
of Stirling, and taking the usual oath to Wallace, met his
View.
To-morrow we quit these dishonouring walls, cried he to
himself, but ere I leave them, if there be power in gold, or
strength in my arm, he shall die
* Lºº-
CHAP. XXXVI.
The time of the regent’s re-entrance into the citadel of
Stirling, being the evening before the day which he had
promised should see the English lords depart for their coun-
try, De Warrenne, as a mark of respect to a man whom he
could not but regard with increasing admiration, went to the
barbican gate to bid him welcome. #
Wallace appeared ; and as the cavalcade of noble South-
rons who had lately commanded beyond the Tay, followed
him, he glanced his eye around, and said with a smile to De
Warrenne, you see, my lord I keep my word; and then he
added, you leave Stirling to-morrow, but these remain till:
Lord Douglas opens their prison doors.
I cannot but acquiesce in the justice of your determina-
tion; and to comfort these gentlemen under their captivity,
I can only tell them, that if any thing can reconcile them to
the loss of lib ºrty it will be being the prisoners of Sir Wil-
liam Wallace. º
After having transferred his captives to the charge of Lord
Mar, Wallace went alone to the chamber of Montgomery,
to see whether the state of his wounds would allow him to
march on the morrow. While he was yet there, an invita-
tion was brought to him from the countess of Mar, request-
ing his presence at an entertainment which, by her husband’s
consent, she meant to give that night at Snawdoun, to the
chief of the Southron lords, before their departure for Eng-
land.
I fear you dare not expend your strength on this party
enquired Wallace, turning to Montgomery.
Certainly not, returned he, but I shall see you amidst your
noble friends at some future period. When the peace your
f
360 r THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
arms will win, is established between the two nations, I shall
then revisitScotland, and openly declare my soul's friendship
for Sir William Wallace.
As these are your sentiments, replied Wallace, I shall hope
that you will unite your influence with that of the brave Earl
of Gloucester, to persuade your king to stop this bloadshed ;
for it is no vain boast to declare, that he may bury Scotland
beneath the corses of her slaughtered sons, but they will nev-
er again consent to acknowledge any right in an usurper.
Sanguinary have been the instruments of my sovereign's
rule in Scotland; replied Montgomery; but such cruelty is
foreign from his gallant heart; and without offending that
high-souled patriotism which would make me revere its pos-
sessor, were he the lowliest man in your legions, allow me,
noblest of Scots to plead one word in vindication of him to
whom my allegiance is pledged Had he come hither con-
ducted by war alone, what would Edward have been worse
than any other conqueror But on the reveyse, was not his
right to tº supremacy of Scotland acknowledged by the
princes, who contended for the crown ; and besides, did not
all the great lords swear fealty to England the day he nom-
imated their king V.
Had you not been under these impressions, brave Montgo.
mery, I believe I never should have seen you in arms against
Scotland; but I will remove them by a simple answer. All
the princes whom you speak of, excepting Bruce of Annan-
dale, did assent to the newly offered claim of Edward on
Scotland ; but who amongst them had any probable chance
for the throne but Bruce and Baliol : Their ready acquies-
cence was meant to create them one. Bruce, conscious of
his inhei ent rights, rejected the iniquitous demand of Ed-
ward; Baliol accorded with it, and was made a king. All
who were base enough to worship the rising sun, and I may
say contemn the God of ‘ruth, swore to the falshood; others
remained gloomily sident; and the bravest of the lords re-
tired to the Highlands, where they dweltamongst their moun-
tains till the crics of Scotland called them to fight her battles.
“Thus did Edward establish himself as the liege lord of
this kingdom. And whether the oppressions which followed
were his or his agents’ immediate acts, it matters not, for he
tnade them his own by his after conduct: Wºłłęn remonstran-
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 361
ces were sent to London, he neither punished nor reprimand-
ed the delinquents, but marched an armed force into our
country to compel us to be trampled on . It was not a con-
queror, like Alexander or Charlemagne, coming in his
strength to subdue ancient enemies; or to aggrandize his
name by vanquishing nations far remote, with whom he could
have no particular affinity Terrible as such ambition was,
it is innocence to what Edward has done. He came in the
first instance to Scotland as a friend : the nation committed
its dearest interests to his virtue ; they put their hands into
his, and he bound them in shackles. Was this honour 2 was
his the right of conquest? The cheek of Alexander would
have blushed deep as his Tyrian robe, and the face of
Charlemagne turned pale as his lilies, at the bare suspicion
of being capable of such a deed. * .
“No, Lord Montgomery, it is not our gonqueror we are
opposing : it is a traitor, who, under the mask of friendship,
has attempted to usurp our rights, destroy our liberties; and
make a desert of our once happy country. This is the true
statement of the case : and though I wish not to make a sub-
ject outrage his sovereign, yet truth demands of you to say
to Edward, that to withdraw his pretensions from this ex-
hausted country is the restitution we may justly claim, is all
that we wish. Let him leave us in peace, and we shall no
longer make war upon him. But if he persist, which the
ambassadors from the prince of Wales denounce, if need be,
even as Samson drew the temple on himself to destroy his en-
emies, all Scotland will discharge itself upon the vallies of
England, and there compel them to share the fate in which
we may be doomed to perish.” -
I will think of this discourse, returned Montgomery, when
I am far distant; and rely on it, noble Wallace, that I will
assert the privilege of my birth, and counsel my king as be-
comes an honest man. ; -
Highly would he estimate such counsel, cried Wallace,
had he virtue sufficient to know that he who will not be un-
just to his sovereign’s enemies, must be of an honour which
will bind him with double fidelity to his king. Such proof
give your sovereign: and if he have one spark of that great-
ness of mind which you say he possesses, though he may not
adopt your advice, he must respect the adviser.
W. Q. L., I. H h
fºr-
362 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
As Wallace pressed the hand of his friend to leave him to
repose, a messenger entered from Lord Mar to request the
Regent's presence in his closet. He found him with Lord
i)e Warrenne.
The latter presented him with an other dispatch from the
Prince of Wales. It was to say that news had reached him
of Wallace’s design to attack the castles garrisoned by Eng:
land on the eastern coast; and that should this information
prove true, he, the prince, declared that as a punishment for
the increasing audacity of the Scots, he would put Lord
Douglas into closer confinement; and while the Southron
fleet should baffle all Wallace’s attempts against the castles,
the moment the exchange of prisoners was made on the bor-
ders, an army from England should enter Scotland and rav-
age it with fire and sword.
When Wallaceshad heard this dispatch, he smiled and said,
“ the deed is done, my Lord De Warenne. Both the cas-
tles and the fleets are taken; and what punishment must we
now expect from this terrible threatener?”,
Little from him and his headlong counsellors; replied De
Warenne, but Thomas Earl of Lancaster, the king’s nephew,
is come from abroad with a numerous army. He is to con-
duct the Scottish prisoners to the borders, and then to fall
upon Scotland, with all his strength; unless you previously
surrender, not only Berwick, but Stirling, and the whole of
the district between the Forth and Tweed into his hands.
You cannot, my Lord De Warrenne, replied Wallace, ex-
pect but one return to these absurd demands. I shall ac-
company you myself to the Scottish borders, and there make
my reply.
De Warenne, who did indeed look for this answer, repli-
ed; “I anticipated that such would be your determination.
And I have to regret that the wild counsels which surround
the young prince, precipitate him into conduct which must
draw much blood on both sides, before his royal father can
be able to regain what he has lost.”
Ah, my lord, replied Wallace, is it to be nothing but war,
war P. Have you now a strong hold of any force in all the
Highlands 2 is not the greater part of the Lowlands free ?
And before this day month, not a rood of land shall your
monarch possess in Scotland. We conquer, but it is for out
* *
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 363
own. Why then this unreceding determination to invade
us? Not a blade of grass would I disturb on the other side of
Cheviot, if we might but have peace. Let Edward yield us
that, and though he has pierced us with many a wound, we
will yet forgive him.
De Warenne shook his head: “I know my king too well
to expect pacific measures. He may die with the sword in
his hand, but he will never grant an hour's repose to this
country till it submits to his sceptre.”
Then, replied Wallace, the sword must be the portion of
him and his. Mine shall reap the harvests of his country, to
replenish the ravaged fields of Scotland. Ruthless tyrant!
If the blood of Abel called for vengeance on his murderer,
what must be the phials of wrath which are reserved for
thee! f 4.
A flush overspread the face of De Warrenne at this apos-
trophe, and then forcing a smile, this strict notion of right,
said he, is very well in declamation; but how would it crop
the wing of conquerors, and shorten the warrior's arms, did
they measure by this rule.
How would it indeed! replied Wallace. and that they
should, is most devoutly to be wished. All warfare that is
not defensive, is criminal: and he who draws his sword to
oppress, or merely to aggrandize, is a murderer and a rob-
ber. This is the plain truth, Lord De Warrenne.
I have never considered it in that light; returned the earl,
nor shall I turn philosopher now. I revere your principle,
Sir William Wallace, but it is too sublime to be mine. Nay,
nor would it be politic for one who holds his possessions in
England by the right of conquest to question the virtue of
the deed. By the sword my ancestors gained their estates,
and with the sword I have no objections to extend my ter-
ritories.
Wallace now saw that De Warrenne, though a man of hon-
our, was not one of virtue. Though his amiable nature made
him gracious in the midst of hostility, and his good disposi-
tions would not allow him to act disgracefully in any con-
cern either of public or of private life, yet duty to God seem-
ed a poet’s flight to him. Educated in the forms of religion,
without knowing its spirit, he despised them and believed
the Deity too wise to be affected by the mummeries of the
364 THE scottish chiefs.
Romish ritual : ignorant of the sublime benevolence which
disdains not to provide food even for the sparrow ere it falls,
he thought the Creator of all too great to care about the ac-
tions of men: hence being without the principles of good,
virtue as virtue was nonsense to him.
Wallace did not answer his remark, and the conference
was soon closed.
•-sº-
CHAP. XXXVII.
EART, De Valence, though burning with stifled passions,
accepted the invitation of Lady Mar. He hoped to see He-
len, to gain her ear for a few minutes, and above all to find
some opportunity during the entertainment of taking his
meditated revenge on Wallace. The dagger seemed the su-
rest way; and could he render the blow effectual, he should
not only destroy the rival of his wishes, but by ridding his
'monarch of so dreaded a foe, deserve every honour at the roy-
al hands. Love and ambition again swelled his breast; and
with recovered spirits, and a glow on his countenance which
re-awakened hope had planted there, he accompanied De
Warrenne to the palace.
The feast was spread in a superb hall, and disposed with all
the magnificence of the times. The most costly meats were
served up in silver and gold, and wines of the rarest quality
in crystal vases, sparkled on the board. Benches covered
with highly wrought velvets, surrounded the room; and in
a tapestried-hung gallery at the end, sat two choice min-
strels to sing the friendship of King Alfred of England with
Gregory the Great of Scotland. ,
fle Valence, on entering this grand apartment, (for resent-
ful in his disappointment, he had hitherto refused to accom-
pany De Warrenne in his visitstoSmawdoun) was surprised to
see such regal taste in the woman who had so lately been his
prisoner at Dumbarton; and whom, because she resembled
an English lady who had once behaved to him with scºrn, he
had treated with the most rigorous contempt. * Mar,

3.
forgetting De Valence’s indignities in her present power,
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, S65
came forward, habited in cloth of gold, and blazing with
jewels, to receive her illustrious guests. De Warrenne fol-
lowed her goddess form, as she moved from him, with his eyes
and whispered De Valence. “What a land is this, where all
the women are fair and the men brave l’” “I wish that it,
and all, were in the flat sea sunk º’ returned De Valence
in a surly tone. Lady Ruthven entering with a group of love-
ly young women, the daughters of the neighbouring chief-
tains, checked the further expression of his spleen; and he
now sought amongst them, but sought in vain for Helen.
The chieftains of the Scottish army, with the Lords Bu-
chan and March, were assembled round the Countess at the
the moment a shout from the populace without, announced
the arrival of the Regent. His noble figure was now disen-
cumbered of armour; and with no more sumptuous garb than
the simple plaid of his country, he appeared effulgent in mari-
ly beauty and the glory of his recent deeds. . De Valence
frowned heavily as he looked on him, and thanked his fortu-
nate stars that Helen was absent from sharing the admiration
which seemed to animate every breast. The eyes of Lady
Mar at once told to the libertine De Valence, who was well
read in the like expressions, what were her sentiments to-
wards the young Regent; and the blushes and the eager ci-
vilities of the ladies around, displayed how much, they were
struck with the now fully discerned, unequalled graces of his
person. Lady Mar forgot all in him. And, indeed, so much
did he seem the idol of every heart that from the two venera-
ble lords of Łochawe and Bothwell, to the youngest men in
company, all ears hung on his words, all eyes upon his coun-
tenance. es;
The entertainment was conducted with every regard to
feudal precedence, and that chivalric courtesy which a no-
ble conqueror always pays to the vanquished. Indeed from
the wit and pleasantry which passed from the opposite side
of the tables, and in which the ever gay Murray was the lead-
er, it rather appeared a convivial meeting of friends, than
the assembling together of mortal foes. During the ban-
quet, the bards sung legends of the Scottish worthies who
had brought honour to their nation in days of old, and as the
board was cleared, they struck at once into a full chorus.
Wallace caught the sound º his own name, accompanied
H h 2
366 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
º
5
*
H
with epithets of the most extravagant praise ; he rose hastiky
from his chair and motioned them with his hand to cease.
They obeyed immediately; but Lady Mar remonstrating
with him, he gaily said, that it was an ill omen to sing a
warrior's actions till he were incapable of performing any
more, and therefore he begged she would excuse him from
hearkening to his.
Then let us change their strains to a dance 2 replied the
Countess, rising.
I have no objection; answered he, and putting the hand
she presented to him into that of Lord De Warrenne, he ad-
ded, I am not of a sufficiently gay temperament to grace the
change; but this Earl may not have the same reason for de-
clining so fair a challenge!
Lady Mar blushed with mortification, for she had thought
that Wallace, would not venture to refuse before so many;
but following the impulse of De Warrenne’s arm, she pro-
ceeded to the other end of the room, where the youngerlords
of both countries, by Murray’s quick arrangement had al-
ready singled out ladies, and were marshalled for the dance.
As the hours moved on towards midnight, the spirits of
Wallace subsided from their usual tone into a sadness which
he thought might be noticed; and wishing to escape such ob-
serºon, (for he could not explain to those gay ones, who
had never felt the loneliness of a widowed heart, why scenes
like these ever made him sorrowful) and whispering to Mar,
that he would for an hour to visit Montgomery, he with-
drew unnoticed by all but his watchful enemy.
De Valence, who had before heard him enquire of Lady
Ruthven why Helen was not present ; and who hovered un-
easily about his steps was within hearing of this whisper al-
so, and with a satanic joy the dagger shook in his hand.—
He knew that Wallace had many a solitary place to pass
through between Snawdoun and the citadel; and the compa-
ny being too pleasantly absorbed to attend to who entered or
disappeared, lie took an opportunity, and stole out after him.
But for once the impetuous fury of hatred met a tempora-
ry disappointment. While De Valence was cowering, like
a thief under the eyes of the houses, and prowling along the
, lonely paths to the citadel ; while he started at every noise,
as if it came to apprehend him for his meditated deed; or
"THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 367
rushed forward at the sight of any solitary passenger, whom
his eager vengeance almost mistook for Wallace; Walkace
himself had taken a different track.
As he walked through the illuminated archways which
led from the great hall, he perceived a darkened passage.
Hoping by that avenue to get out of the palace unobserved,
he immediately struck into it; for he was aware, that should
he go the usual way, and the crowd at the gate recognise
him, he should not escape their acclamation. He followed
this passage for a considerable time, and at last was stopped
by a door. It yielded to his hand, and entering whither it
led, he found himself at the entrance of a large building.
He advanced and passing a high screen of carved oak, by a
dim light which gleamed from the waxen tapers on the al-
tar, he perceived that it was the chapel.
A happy transition, said he to himself, from the gay scene
I have now left, from the grievous scenes I have lately shar-
ed! Here, gracious God! thought he, may I, unseen by
any other eye pour out my whole soul to thee. And here
will I, before thy footstool, declare my thanksgiving for thy
mercies; and with my tears wash from my soul the stains
of the blood I have been compelled to shed
While he yet advanced with a holy composure towards the
altar, he was started by a voice which proceeded from the
duarter whither he was going, and with low and gently
breathed fervour, uttered these words; “Defend him, my
Heavenly Father " Oh, defend him by day and night from
the devises of this wicked man : and above all, during these
hours of revelry and confidence, guard his unshielded breast
ſrom treachery and death ** The voice faltered, and added
with greater agitation, “Ah, unhappy me, that I should be
the cause of danger to the hope of Scotland, and I should
pluck peril on the head of William Wallace " A figure,
which had been hidden by the rails of the altar, with these
words rose suddenly, and stretching forth her clasped hands,
fervently exclaimed, “But thou who knowest I had no blame
in this, wilt not afflict me by his danger! Thou wilt deliver
him, Oh God, out of the hand of this cruel foe!”.
Wallace was not more astonished at hearing that some one
near him was his secret enemy, than at seeing Lady Helen
in that place at that hour; and addressing heaven for him.
*
369 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
There was something so celestial in the maid as she stood in
her white robes, true emblems of her own innocence, before
the footstool of God, that although her prayers were deliver-
ed with a pathos which told they sprang from a heart more
than commonly interested in their object, yet every word and
look breathed so eloquently the virgin purity of her soul, the
hallowed purpose of her petitions, that Wallace, drawn by
the sympathy with which kindred virtues ever attract spirit
to spirit, did not hesitate to discover himself. He stepped
from the shadow which involved him : the pale light of the
tapers shone upon his advancing figure. Helen’s eyes fell
upon him as she turned round. She was transfixed and si-
lent. He moved forward. Lady Helen, said he, in a res-
pectful and even tender voice. At the sound, a fearful
rushing of shame seemed to overwhelm all her faculties;
for she knew not how long he might have been in thechurch:
and that he had not heard her beseech heaven to make him
less the object of her thoughts. She sunk on her knees be-
side the altar, and covered her face with her hands,
The action, the confusion, might have betrayed her secret
to Wallace. But he only thought of her pious invocations
for his safety; he only remembered that it was she who had
given a holy grave to the only woman he could ever love;
and full of gratitude, as a pilgrim would approach a saint,
he drew near her. Holiest of earthly maids, said he, kneel-
ing down beside her, in this lonely hour, in the sacred pres-
ence of almighty purity, receive my soul's thanks for the
prayers I have this moment heard you breathe for me ! They
are more precious to me, Lady Helen, than the generous
plaudits of my country; they are a greater reward to me,
than would have been the crown, with which Scotland sought
to endow me ; for do they not give me what all the world
cannot, the protection of heaven
I would pray for it ! softly answered Helen, but not ven-
turing to look up.
And the prayers of the virtuous, we know, availeth much /
what then may I not expect from thine Continue to offer up
that incense for me, added he, and I shall march forth to-
morrow with redoubled strength; for, I shall yet think, holy
maid, that I have a Marion to pray for me on earth as well
as in Heaven.
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 36%
Lady Helen’s heart beat at these words; but it was with
no unhallowed emotion. She withdrew her hands from her
face, and clasping them, looked up :—Marion will indeed
echo all my prayers. And He who reads my heart, will, I
trust, grant them : They are for your life, Sir William Wal-
lace, added she, turning to, him with agitation, for it is
menaced.
I will enquire by whom, answered he, when I have first
paid my duty at this altar for guarding it so long. . And dare
I, daughter of goodness, to ask you to unite the voice of your
gentle spirit with the secret one of mine? I would beseech
Heaven for pardon on my own transgressions: I would ask of
its mercy to establish the liberty of Scotland.—Pray with me,
Lady Helen, and the invocations our souls utter, will meet
the promise of him who said, Where two faithful hearts are,
there am I in the midst of them.
Helen looked on him with a holy smile, and pressing the
crucifix which she held, to her lips, bowed her head on it in
mute assent. Wallace threw himself prostrate on the steps
of the altar: and the fervour of his sighs alone, breathed to
his companion the deep devotion of his soul. IIow the time
past he knew not; so was he absorbed in the communion,
which his spirit held with the sublimest of beings. But the
bell of the palace striking the matin hour, reminded him that
he was yet on earth; and looking up, his eyes met those of
Helen. His devotional cross hung on his arm . He kissed
it—wear this, holy maid, said he, in remembrance of this
hour ! She bowed her fair neck, and he put the consecrated
chain over it: Let it bear witness to a friendship, added he,
clasping her hand in his, which will be cemmented by eternal
ties in Heaven
Helen bent her face upon his hands: He felt the sacred
tears of so pure a compact upon them ; and while he looked
up, as if he thought the spirit of his Marion hovered near to
bless a communionsoremote from all infringement of the ded-
icated sentiment he had vowed ever to maintain for her.—
Helen raised her head—and with a terrible shriek, throwing
her arms around the body of Wallace, he that moment felt
the assassin's steel in his back, and she fell senseless on his
breast. He started on his feet, and a dagger fell from his
garments to the ground, but the hand which had struck the
370 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS.
* >
blow he could no where see. To search further, he could
not then for Helen lay on his bosom like one dead. Not
doubting that she had seen his assailant, and so had fainted,
he was laying her on the steps of the altar that he might
bring some water from the bason of the chapel to recover her,
when he saw that her arm was not only stained with his
blood, but streamed with her own. The dagger had pierced
through it in reaching him.
Execrable villain! cried he, turning cold at the sight; and
instantly comprehending that it was to defend him she had
thrown her arms around him, he exclaimed in a voice of
agony, are two of the most matchless women the earth ever
saw, to die for me! Trembling with terror and with renew-
ed grief, for the terrible scene of Ellerslie was now brought
in all its horrors before him, he tore off her veil to staunch the
blood ; but the wound was too deep for his surgery; and in-
sensible as she was, losing every other consideration in fears
for her life, he took her up in his arms, and carried, her out
of the chapel. . He hasted through the dark passage, and
almost flying along the lighted galleries, entered the grand
hall. The noise of the servants, as he broke through the pres-
sing ranks at the door, alarmed the revellers, and turning
round, what was their astonishment to behold the Regent
pale and bloody, bearing in his arms a lady apparently life-
less, and covered with the same ensanguined tide :
Mar instantly recognized his daughter, and rushed towards
the bleeding groupe with a cry of horror. Wallace sunk
with his breathless load upon the nearest bench, and while
her head rested on his bosom, ordered that assistance should
be brought. Lady Mar gazed on the spectacle before her
with a benumbed dismay. None present durst ask a ques-
tion, till the priest coming in, unbound the arm of Helen, and
discovered the deep wound from which the blood now gush-
ed afresh, streaming over its polished surface, and dripping
on the hands which held her.
Who has done this 2 cried Mar, turning to Wallace, with
all the anguish of a father in his countenance.
I know not, replied he, but I believe some villain who aim-
ed at, my life.
Where is Lord De Valence exclaimed Mar, suddenly
recollecting his menaces against Wallace, }
#
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. 37 l
sº-
I am here: replied he, in a composed voice; would you
have me seek for the assassin
No, no, cried the earl, ashamed of his suspicion; but here
has been some foul work—and my daughter is slain.
Oh, not so : cried Murray, who, from her first appearance
had hurried towards her, and knelt at her side; she will not
die—so much excellence cannot die. A stifled groan from
Wallace, accompanied by a look, told Murray that he had
known the loss of similar excellence: and with this unan-
swerable appeal, the young chieftain dropped his head on the
other hand of Helen; and could any one have seen his face,
buried as it was in her robes, they would have beheld tears
of agony drawn from that ever gay heart.
The wound was closed after a few minutes, and Helen
signed convulsively. At this intimation of recovery, the
priest made all, excepting those who supported her, stand
back. But as Lady Mar, reluctant to withdraw, lingered
near Wallace, she saw the paleness of his countenance turn
of a more deadly hue, and the next moment his eyes closing
without a gasp he sunk lifeless on the couch. Her shrieks
now resounded through the hall, and falling into violent hys-
terics, she was taken into the anti-room, while the more col-
lected Lady Ruthven remained, to attend to the two victims
before her.
jord De Valence, at the instant Wallace fell, losing all
self command, caught hold of De Warrenne’s arm, aud whis-
pering, I thought it was sure —Long live king Edward
rushed out of the hall. These words revealed to De War-
renne who was the assassin; and though struck to the soul
with the turpitude of the deed, he thought the honor of Eng-
land would not allow him to accuse the perpetrator, and he
remained silent.
The inanimate body of Wallace was now drawn from un-
der that of Helen; and in the act, another priest who had ar-
rived, discovered the draperies of the couch clotted with
blood, and that the chieftain’s back was also bathed in the
same vital stream. Having found his wound, the priests
laid him on the ground, and were pouring in their balsams
when Helen opened her eyes. Her mind was too strongly
possessed with the horror which had entered it before she
became insensible, to lose the consciousness of her fears.
...A
372 THE SCOTTISH C IIIEFS.
and immediately looking round her with an aghast counte-
nance her sight met the outstretched body of Wallace. Oh!
is it so 2 cried she, throwing herself into the bosom of her
father. He understood what she meant :—“He lives, my
child ! but he is wounded like yourself. Have courage; re-
vive for his sake, and for mine !
Helen'ſ Helen dear Helen' cried Murray, clinging to
her hand, while you live, what that loves you can die
While these acclamations surrounded her couch, Edwin
in wordless apprehension supported the insensible head of
Wallace; and De Warrenne, inwardly execrating the perfi-
dy of De Valence, knelt beside him, and bathed his tem-
ples.
A few minutes longer and the staunched blood refluxing
to the chieftains heart, he too opened his eyes, and instantly
starting on his arm—What has happened to me f demanded
he, where is Lady Helen
At his voice, which aroused Helen, who believing that he
was indeed dead, was relapsing into her former state, she
could only press her father’s hand to her lips, as if he had
given the life she so valued, and bursting into a shower of
relieving tears, breathed out her rapturous thanks to God—
Her low murmurs reached the ear of Wallace, and looking
round to Edwin, whose colourless cheek told the depth of
his fears : we both live, said he, your cousin speaks; and it
restores me to hear her voice once more. Let me pour out
iny gratitude to my sweet preserver.
The dimness having left his eyes; and the blood (the ex-
treme loss of which had alone caused him to swoon) being
stopped by an embalmed bandage, he felt no further incon-
venience from his wound ; and rising proceeded with Edwin
to the side of Helen. Lord Mar softly whispered his daugh-
ter: Sir William Wallace is at your feet, my dearest child;
look on him and tell him that you will live.
I am well, my father, returned she, in a faultering voice,
and Oh! may it indeed please the Almighty to preserve him!
I am alive and well, answered Wallace, but thanks to God
and to you that 1 am so! Had not that lovely arm received
the greater part of the dagger, it must have reached my
heart.
An exclamation of horror at what might have been, burst
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 373
from the lips of Edwin. Helen could have re-echoed it, but
she now held her feelings under too severe a rein, to allow
them to speak.
Thanks to the guardian of the just, cried she, that it hap-
pened so ! for when I raised my eyes, I saw the assassin with
his gown so held before his face, that I could not discern who
he was ; but the dagger was aimed at the back of Sir Wil-
liam Wallace ; how I caught it I cannot tell, for I seemed to
die on the instant.
Lady Mar, having recovered, re-entered the hall just as
Wallace had knelt down beside Helen. Inflamed with jea-
lousy, and maddened with the sight of the man on whom her
soul doated, in such a position before her rival, she advanced
hastily, and in a voice which she vainly attempted to render
composed and gentle, sternly said, alarmed as I have been
by your apparent danger, I cannot but be uneasy at the at-
tendant circumstances; tell me, therefore, and satisfy this
good company, how it happened that vou should be with the
Regent, when I supposed you were an invalid in your own
room, and that he was gone to the citadel.
A crimson blush overspread the cheeks of Helen at this
question; for it was delivered in a tone which insinuated
that something more than accident had occasioned their
meeting; but, as innocence dictated, she answered:—I was
in the chapel at prayers—Sir William Wallace entered with
the same design ; and at the moment he desired me to min-
gle mine with his, this assassin appeared. I saw his dagger
raised against our protector, and I saw no more.
There was not a heart present that did not give credence
to this account, but the polluted one of Lady Mar. She
smiled incredulously, and turning to the company, said our
noble friends will accept my apology, if in so delicate an in-
vestigation, I should beg that my family may be left alone.
Wallace, who perceived the tendency of her words, and
doubting the impression they might make on the minds of
men ignorant of the virtues of Lady Helen, hastily rose :—
For once, cried he, I must counteract a lady's order’s. It is
my wish, lords, that you will not leave this place till I ex-
plain how I came to disturb the devotions of Lady Helen.—
Weared with the scene, the festivities of which my alienated
heart can so little share, I thought to pass an hour with Lord
WOL. I. I i
Adº
374 THE scortish chiefs.
Montgomery in the citadel; and in seeking to avoid the
crowded avenues of the palace. I entered the chapel.
To my surprise I found Lady Helen there. I heard her pray
for the happiness of Scotland, and the safety of her defend-
ers; and my mind being in the frame to join in such petitions,
I apologized for my unintentional intrusion, and begged per-
mission to mingle my devotions with hers. Nay, impressed
with the sacredness of the place in which we both stood, I
presumed still further, and before the altar of the God of pu-
rity, poured forth my gratitude to her for the duties she had
paid to the remains of my murdered wife. It was at this mo-
ment, while clasping the sweet saint’s hands in mine, that
the assassin appeared. I heard Lady Helen scream; I felt
her fall senseless on my breast, and at that instant the dag-
ger entered my back.
This is the history of our meeting: and the assassin, whom-
ever he may be, and how long soever he was in the church
before he sought to perpetrate the nefarióus deed, were he
ºak, and capable of uttering the truth, could declare no
Other.
But where is he to be found 2 intemperately demanded
Lady Mar.
If his testimony be necessary to validate my words, re-
turned Wallace with calm dignity, I believe Lady Helen can
name him.
Name him, Helen, name him my best cousin, cried Mur-
ray, that I may at least have some link with thee. Oh! let
me avenge this deed Tell me his name, and so yield me all
that thou canst now bestow on Andrew Murray !
There was something in the tone of Murray’s voice that
penetrated to the heart of Helen. I cannot name him whom
I suspect to any but Sir William Wallace. And I would not
do it to him, replied she, were it not to warn him against fli-
ture danger. I did not see the assassin's face, therefore how
can I dare to set you to take vengeance on one who per-
chance may be innocent 2–I forgive him my blood, since
heaven. has spared to Scotland its protector’s.
If he be a Southron, cried Baron Hilton, coming forward,
name him, gracious lady; and I will answer for it, that were
he the son of the king, he should meet death from our mon-
arch for this unknightly outrage.
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 375
I thank your zeal, brave chieftain; replied she, but I
would not abandon to certain death even the wicked man.—
May he repent —I will name him to Sir William Wallace
alone; and then, trusting in God, I shall hope, that when he
knows his secret enemy, he will guard against him and his
emissaries. Meanwhile, my father, I would withdraw.—
Then whispering something to him, she was lifted in his
arms and Murray’s, to be carried to her chamber.
As she moved away, she cast her eyes on Wallace. He
rose, and would have spoken, but she waved her hand to him
with an expression in her countenance of an idea so heroic,
yet so tender, that feeling as if he were parting with a be-
loved sister who had just risked her life for him, and whom
he might never see again, he uttered not a word; but turn-
ing another way, left the hall by an opposite door.
*ºns
CHAP. XXXVIII. f
DAY-BmeAK gleamed over the sky, before the wondering
spectators of the late extraordinary scene had dispersed to
their different quarters.
De Warrenne was so well convinced, by what had dropped
from De Valence, of his having been the assassin, that when
they met at sun-rise to take horse for the borders, he said
nothing more to him than that he was surprised not to find
him under an arrest for the last night’s work.
The wily Scot knew better, replied De Valence, than so
to expose the reputation of the lady. He knew that she re-
ceived the wound in his arms; and he durst not seize me,
for fear I should proclaim it. º
He cannot fear that, replied De Warrenne, for he has pro-
claimed that himself. He has told every particular of his
meeting with Lady Helen in the chapel, of her sheltering
him with her arms; and so there is nothing for you now to
declare, but your own infamy. For infamous I must call it,
Lord Aymer; and nothing but the respect I have for my
country, prevents me pointing the eyes of the indignant
Scots to you; nothing but the stigma your exposure would
376 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
. upon the English name, could make me pass over the
€6.61.
De Valence laughed heartily at this speech of De War.
renne's. Why, my lord Warden, said he, have you been
taking private lessons of heroics from this doughty Scot,
that you talk thus It was not with these sentiments that
you overthrew the princes of Wales, and made the petty
kings of Ireland fly before you ? You would tell another
‘story were your own interest in question ; and I can tell you
that my vengeance is not satisfied. I will yet see the bright-
ness of those eyes, on which the proud daughter of Mar
hangs so fondly, extinguished in death. Her voice shall
not arouse that now ready ear;-those glittering rocks shall
be strewn in the dust 1–Maid or wife, Helen shall be torn
from his arms; and if I cannot make her a virgin bride, she
shall at least be mine as his widow—for I swear not to be

disappointed :
º: shame, De Valence " I should blush to owe my
Ç e to rivalry, or my perseverance in the field to a pas-
sien-for a woman.”
Every man according to his constitution, returned De
Valence, and shrugging his shoulders he mounted his horse.
The cavalcade of Southron’s now appeared. They were
met on the plain before Stirling by the Regent, who quite
recovered from any ill effects of his wound, advanced, at
the head of ten thousand men, to escort his prisoners to the
borders. Lord Mar, by Helen’s desire, had informed Wal-
lace, what had been the threats of De Valence, and that she
suspected him to be the assassin. But this suspicion was
put beyond a doubt by the evidence of the dagger, which
Edwin sought, and found in the chapel: It bore the mart-
lets on its hilt, which are the arms of De Valence.
At sight of it, a general indignation filled the Scottish
chiefs; and assembling round their regent, with one breath
they demanded that the false earl should be detained, and
punished as became the honour of nations, for so execrable
a breach of all laws human and divine. Wallace replied,
that he believed the attack to have been instigated by a per-
sonal motive; and, therefore, as he alone was the object,
not the state of Scotland, he should merely acquaint the earl
THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS, 377
that his villainy was known; and let the shame of disgrace
be his punishment. &
Ah! observed Lord Bothwell, men who trample on con-
science, soon get over shame.
That is true, replied Wallace, but I suit my actions to my
own mind, not to my enemy’s. And if he cannot feel dis-
honour, I will not so far disparage myself as to think so worth-
less a creature deserving my resentment.
While he was quieting the re-awakened indignation of his
nobles, whose blood began to boil afresh at sight of their
Regent’s enemy, the Southron lords, conducted by Lord
Mar, approached. When that nobleman drew near, Wal-
lace’s first enquiry was for Lady Helen. The earl inform-
ed him that he had received intelligence of her having slept
without fever, and that she was not awake when the messen-
ger came off with his good tidings. That all was then like-
ly to be well with her, was great comfort to Wallace; and,
with an unruffled brow, riding up to the squadron of South-
rons, which was headed by De Warrenne and De Valence,
he immediately approached the latter, and drawing out the
dagger, held it towards him : The next time, Lord De Val-
ence, said he, that you draw this dagger, let it be with a
more honourable aim than assassination,
De Valence, surprised, took it in confusion and without a
word; but his countenance told the state of his mind. He
was humbled by the man he hated ; and while a sense of the
disgrace he had incurred, tore his proud soul, he had not dig-
nity enough to acknowledge the generosity of his enemy in
again giving him that life which his treachery had forfeited;
but taking the dagger, he wreaked the boiling vengeance of
his malice upon the senseless steel, and breaking it asunder
threw the pieces into the air, and turning from Wallace with
an affected disdain, said to the shivered weapon, “You shall
not betray me again P’
Nor you betray our honours, Lord De Valence; exclaimed
Earl De Warrenne, and, therefore, though the nobleness of
Sir William Wallace is so great as to leave you at large after
this outrage on his person, we will at least assert our inno-
cence of any connivance with the deed; and, as your com-
manding officer, I order you under an arrest, and to be kept
under a strong guard till we paſs the Scottish lines,
I l 3
378 THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS,
*Tis well, cried Baron Hilton, that such is your determin-
ation, my lord; else no honest man could have continued in
the same company with one who has so tarnished the Eng-
lish name.
De Valence, with an ironical smile, looked towards the
squadron which approached to obey De Warrenne, and said,
“Though it be dishonour to you to march with me out of
Scotland, the proudest of you all will deem it honour to be
allowed to return with me hither. I have an eye on those
who stand with cap in hand to rebellion. And for you, Sir
William Wallace, added he, turning to him as he was rein-
ing in his steed, which had been made to plunge by one of
the fragments of the dagger, as they fell, sticking in its neck;
I hold no terms with a rebel ; and deem all honour that
would rid my sovereign and the earth of such low-born ar-
rogance.”
Before Wallace could answer, he saw De Valence struck
from his horse by the Lochaber-axe of Edwin. Indignant at
the insult offered his beloved commander, he had suddenly
raised his arm, and aiming a blow with all his strength, the
earl was immediately stunned, and precipitated to the
ground. Seeing him down, he jumped on his breast, and
striking him across the head with the flat of his sword, ex-
claimed in a voice of detestation, “Wretch were I like
yourself. I would now take your wofthless life;—but let us
meet in the field, and we part no more till I have rid the
world of such a lawless ingrate P’
At sight of the fall of the Southron chieftain, the Scottish
troops aware of there being some misunderstanding between
the Regent and the English lords, uttered a shout. Wal-
lace, on the instant, to prevent accidents, sent to the lines to
appease the tumult; and immediately throwing himself off
his horse hastened to the prostrate Earl. A fearful pause
reigned throughout the whole of the Southrons. They did
not know but that every enraged Scot would now fall on
them, and that in spite of the Regent, they might all be ex-
terminated on the spot.—The troops were already running
forward, when Wallace’s messengers arrived and checked
them; and himself calling to Edwin, stopped his farther
chastisement of the recovering Earl.
Edwin, you bawe done wrong, cried he, as he approached
'I HE SCOTTISH C HIEFS • 379
him; give me that sword which you have sullied by raising
it against a prisoner totally in our power.
Edwin, with a vivid blush, resigned the weapon to his gen-
eral; yet, with his foot still on the breast of De Valence, he
said, “But have you not granted life twice to this prisoner *
and has he' not in return, raised his hand against your life
and Lady Helen You pardon him again l-And in the mo-
ment of your clemency, he insults the Lord Regent of Scot-
land in the face of both nations !—I could not hear him and
live, without making him feel that you have those about you
who will not forgive such crimes.”
Edwin, returned Wallace, had not the Lord Regent full
power to punish And if he sees right to hold his hand
back from taking vengeance, those who do it for him, in-
vade his dignity.—I should be unworthy the honour of pro-
tecting a brave nation, should I stoop to tread on every rep-
tile that stings me in my path.-Leave Lord De Valence to
the sentence his commander has pronounced. And, as an
expiation for your having offended military and moral law
this day, you must remain at Stirling till I return into Scot-
Band.
De Valence, hardly awake from the stupor which the blow
of the battle-axe had occasioned, (for indignation had given
to the young warrior the strength of manhood) was raised
from the greund; and soon after coming completely to him-
self, and being made sensible of what had happened, he was
taken foaming with rage and mortification, into the centre
of the Southron lines.
Lord Montgomery, alarmed at the confusion he saw from
the distance of the rear, ordered his litter round to the front;
and hearing all that had passed, he joined with De Warrenne
in pleading for the abashed Edwin.
His youth and zeal, cried Montgomery, are sufficient to
excese the intemperance of the deed.
No! interrupted Edwin, I have offended, and I will expi-
ate. Only my honoured lord, said he, approaching Wal-
lace, while he checked the emotion which would have flow-
ed from his eyes; when I am absent, sometimes remember
that it was your Edwin's love which hurried him into this
disgrace
My dear Edwin, returned Wallace, there are many iſ.

t
380 THE Scottish chiefs.
petuous spirits in Scotland, who need the lesson I now en-
force upon you, and they will be brought to maintain the
law of honour, when they see that their Regent spares not
its slightest violation, even when done by his best beloved
friend.-Farewell till we meet again!
Edwin kissed Wallace’s hand in silence; it was now wet
with his tears; and drawing his helmet hastily over his eyes,
he retired into the rear of Lord Mar’s party. That noble-
man soon after took leave of the Regent, who, placing him-
self at the head of his legions, the trumpets blew the signal
of march. Edwin, at the sound, which a few minutes be-
fore he would have greeted with so much joy, felt his grief-
swollen heart give way; he sobbed aloud, and galloped to
a distance to hide from all eyes the violence of his regrets.
The trampling of many horses rolled over the ground like
departing thunder. }
Edwin at last stole a look towards the plain; he beheld a
#. gººd of dust, but no more saw the squadrons of his
TICI101,
END OF WOLUME #,
NOTES
TO THE FIRST VOLUME OF THE
S C OTT IS H C H I E F S.
(a p. 9) WALTER STEwART, the father of Sir John Mon-
teith, assumed the name and Earldom of Monteith, in right
of his wife, the daughter and heiress of the preceding Earl.
When his wife died he married an English woman of rank.
, Lord Monteith being ardently attached to the liberties of his
country, his bride found means to cut him off by poison ; and
was rewarded by the enemies of Scotland for this treason,
with the hand of an ancestor of the Dukes of Bedford.
(b. p. 12) This treacherous Scot who persuaded Baliol to
his ruin, was John Cummins, of Strathbogie, Earl of Athol
in right of his wife, the heiress of that earldom.
(cp. 14.) The tradition respecting this stone is as follows
—Hiber or lbër, who came from the Holy Land to inhabit
the coasts of Spain, brought this sacred relic along with him.
From Spain he transplanted it with the colony he sent out to
people the south of Ireland: and from Ireland it was brought
into Scotland by the great Fergus the son of Ferchard. He
placed it in Argyleshire; but Mac Alpine removed it to
Scone, and fixed it in the royal chair in which all the suc-
ceeding kings of Scotland were inaugurated. Edward the
first of England caused it to be placed in Westminster Ab-
bey, where it now stands.
(d. p. 15.) It is not necessary to remind the reader of the
authorities whence these notorious facts are drawn.
(e p. 15.) This battle was fought by Alexander III. on
the first of August, 1263, against Acho, King of Norway.—
That monarch invaded Scotland with a large army, and
drew his forces up before Largs, a town in Ayrshire. He
here met with a great defeat, and retired, covered with dis-
grace, to his own country.
(fp. 19.) Claymore is an ancient Scottish word.
(g p. 22.) Southrons and Saxons were the common ap-
pellations with which the Scots used to denominate the in-
vading armys of Edward the first :—They were chiefly com-
posed of Irish, and Welch, and foreigners.
•t
$82 NOTES.
(h p. 32) Thusah ameasg na reultam mor, 85’c. are the be-
ginning words of an old Gaelic ditty, the English of which
runs thus;
Thou who art amid the stars, move to thy bed with music, &c.
(i p. 52.) The cavern which sheltered Sir William Wal-
lace near Corie Linn, is yet revered by the people.
(# p. 52. . Pibroch a martial piece of music adapted to the
Highland pipe. ſº
! p. 53.) Slogen, so the war word was termed.
(m. p. 74). Few personages are so renowned in tradition
as Thomas of Ercildoune, usually called the ryhmer. He was
a poet and a sage, and believed by his contemporaries to be
a prophet. He was born at Ercildoune, a village on the Lee-
der (or Lauder) where the ruins of his paternal castle where
he dwelt, and which was called Learmont Tower, still re-
IIlä III ,
d (n p. 77.) The standard of Edward the First was a golden
I'34:OI!.
(op. 77.) William Lord Soulis, was a powerful chief in
...the south of Scotland.—He founded pretensions to the Scot-
tish crown before it was adjudged to Baliol, on his descent
from an illegitimate daughter of Alexander II. Soulis was
ever a traitor to Scotland; and was so profligate a character,
and so notoriously cruel, that tradition endows him with the
power of the most infernal necromancy. His castle of Her-
mitage in Teviotdale is still shown as the resort of malignant
daemons.
(pp. 98.) A bull’s head presented at a feast was a sign that
some one of the company was immediately to be put to death.
[g p. 102.] It is a Scottish custom to distinguish chieftains
of the same name by the title of their estates.
[r p. 138.] At a time when Achaius, King of Scots, and
Hungas, King of the Picts, were fiercely driven by Athel-
stan, King of Northumberland, into East Lothian, Hungas,
full of terrors that the next morning would witness the
slaughter of all his troops, fell into a sleep, which presented
to him a vision which tradition tells, was verified the ensu-
ing day by the appearance of the cross of St. Andrew held
out to him from the heavens, and waving him to victory-
Under this banner he conquered the Northumberland for-
NOTES. 383
ces; and slaying their leader the scene of the battle has
henceforth been called Athelstan-ford.
[s p. 149.] The great wall of Severus, which runs be-
tween Abercorn and Rirkpatrick, being attacked by the
Scots at the time the Romans abandoned Britain, a huge
breach was made in it by Graham [or Greame, the uncle
of the young King of Scots. By this achievement he con-
quered the whole of the country as far as the Cheviots: and
the wall of Severus has hence been called Graham’s dyke.
[t p. 151.] This is the tradition respecting Craignacohelg,
Glenfinlass was the favourite chase of the Scottish monarchs.
[u p. 161.] It was a custom with turbulent Scottish chiefs,
when any feud existed between their families, to leave the
right hand of their children untouched by the holy water in
baptism, as a sign that no law, even of heaven, should pre-
vent them taking revenge. From this usuage Kirkpatrick
declares that the hands of the children in Wallace’s train
shall be left unchristened till they have taken vengeance on
their oppressors.
[w p. 165.] This Alexander Scrymgeour was the descend-.
ant of the two renowned knights of that name who signalized
themselves by similar acts of bravery in the reigns of Mal-
colm III. and Alexander I. Their name was originally Car-
rom ; and the reason of its change is thus recorded. During
a rebellion of Malcolm III's northern subjects, that monarch
was dangerously beset by them on the banks of the Spey.—
It was necessary, he should cross the river, which was not
only perilous in its current, but a strong body of the enemy
lined the opposite shore to prevent his landing. The stand-
ard bearer of the royal army, at sight of these dangers made
a halt. The king in his displeasure snatched the standard
from his hand, and gave it to Sir Alexander Carron, who im-
mediately plunged into the river, and swimming to the other
side, performed prodigies of valor amongst the rebels. For
this service Malcolm gave to him and his posterity the name
of Scrymgeour [sharp fight] and made him the royal stand-
ard bearer in the Scottish army. The post was made hered-
itary in the family by Alexander I. to reward the son of the
first of the name of Scrymgeour for an action of similar loy-
alty. Sir Alexander Scrymgeour the descendant of these
384 NOTES. sº
i.e.
&
heroes, and the friend of Sir William Wallace, proved him.
self in every way worthy of his ancestors.
; p. 165.] A lion d'or, in a field gules, is the arms of Scot-
land.
[y p. 169.] Achaius king of Scotland, having won the love
and alliance of Charlemagne and of many other christian
kings, found himself to be so mighty, that he took for his de-
vice the Thistle and Rewe, and for his motto For my defence.
The Rewe from its salutary properties denoting his wis.
dom in peace, and the Thistle by its guardian prickles, ex-
emplifying his power in war.
[z p. 178.] Albin was the ancient name of Scotland.
[aa p. 179.] Accolade, the three strokes of the sword giv-
en in knighting.
[bb p. 191. It was the custom in Scotland on investing a
knight, to present him, along with the sword and consecra-
ted spurs, a girdle of the same sanctity.
[cc p. 214.] The Eildon tree is famous in tradition. It
stood near Learmont tower on the Leeder, the seat of Tho-
mas the sage or prophet of Ercildoune. It was reported that
here he met the fairy who endowed him with many supernat-
ural gifts: and that from this spot he generally uttered his
predictions. The tree no longer exists, but the place where
it stood is marked by a large stone called the Eildon tree
Stone.
[dd p. 227.] This tower, within the fortress of Dumbar-
ton, is still called JPallace's tower ; and a sword is shown
there as the one that belonged to Wallace.
[ee p. 229.] The dangerous gulph of Corrie. Vrekin lies
between the shores of Jura and Scarba. Superstition has
tenanted its shelves and eddies with every fabulous daemon
of the Ocean; and amongst the rest, tells a thousand wildle-
gends of a beautiful mermaid who holds her marine court
beneath its whirlpool. Mr. J. Leydon has written a fine bal-
lad on this subject.
[f p. 232.] Culhon, means the mournful sound of Reaves.
[gg p. 236.j Birling is a smail boat generally used by fishers,
{hh p. 241.] Green was a color much worn by the ladies
in the early ages of Scotland.
[ii p. 242.] Shealing, the process of the shepherds ascend-
NOTES. 385
§ 4
ing into the mountains at a certain time of the year, to feed ,
their flocks.
[Åk p. 243.] Glenshealah, means valley of willow.
{ll p. 247.] The Barns of Ayr, were the barracks [or pal-
ace] built in that town by King Edward, for the occasional
residence of his viceroy the Lord Warden.
[mm p. 251.] These names, and many more, fill the list
which the poet Henry gives of this horrid massacre.
[nn. p. 252.] This William Ruthven, baron of Ruthven on
the Spey, and lord of the Castle of Hunting tower, which
stands on the Tay two miles from Perth, was the ancestor of
the Earls of Gowrie, and of the renowned Ruthven, Earl of
Forth and Brenford, who so greatly signalized himself in the
armies of Gustavus Adolphus. William Lord Ruthven, who
with his family were the fast friends of Wallace performed
services to Scotland more numerous than the disposition of
these volumes affords room to recount.
[00 p. 254.] Coronach, a national dirge sung over the bo-
dy of a dead chief.
[pp. p. 255.] Wake, is a ceremony still used by the friends
of the dead in the Highlands of Scotland. They sit up with
the body to lament over it, and during their time of mourn-
ing regale themselves with sumptuous feasts.
[qq p. 257.] The parallel scene to this in blind Harrie's
poem, is yet more horribly described; its painting might
have been too strong for a work of this kind, but the simple
and pathetic lamentations of the nurse in the old poem, are
not to be equalled by any copy in modern prose.
[rr p. 266. These were Loudon, Corsbie, Monktoune,
&c. in Ayrshire, and Auchinames, &c. in Renfrew
[ss p. 270.] Ralph de Monthermer was a noble knight,
who married Jane of Acre, the daughter of king Edward
the first. He was created Earl of Gloucester on his mar-
riage with this princess.
[tt p 2 2. Sir Richard Maitland of the castle of Thirles.
tane on the Leeder, is noted in Scottish tradition for his
bravery. His valiant defence of his castle against the Eng-
lish in his extreme old age, is still the subject of enthusiasm
amongst the people of Lauderdale. He was usually called
the stalworth aula Énight of Lauderdale, meaning the brave
old Knight. &c. He had three sons, but only one survived
"WOL. I, K k
p.
s
*itim who, from that circumstance, was surnamed burd alane,
which signifies solitary. |
- [ut, p. 273.] Sir Malcolm Wallace, the father of Sir Wil-
4 'liam Wallace. was killed in the year 1295, on Loudon-hill
in a battle with the English. º
[tow p. 276.] The remains of this ancient seat of the Mar
family are yet visible.
[xa, p. 279.] This circumstance is recorded of Sir John
Graham and his noble father, who was David Graham, lord
of Dundaff and Kincardine, and descendant of the renowned
Graham from whom the Dyke is named.
[yy p. 282.] Reviresco / is to revive, or take heart again.
This brave injunction is now the motto of the Maxwell arms.
[32 p. 293.]. This historical fact relating to Stirling bridge
is yet exultingly repeated on the spot.
[aaa p. 294.] The Pryse were the notes sounded, in hunt.
ing, at the death of the game.
|bbb p. 294.]. It is recorded that the memory of Cressing-
ham was so odious to the Scots, that they did indeed flay his
jºy. and make saddles and girths and other things of
Il S SKI tºl.
[cqc p. 325. Edward intending to send out forces to Gui-
enne under the command of Humphrey, Earl of Hereford,
the constable, and Roger Earl of Norfolk, the marshal of
England, these two powerful nobles refused to execute his
commands. A violent altercation ensued, and the king, in
the height of his passion, exclaimed to the constable, Sir
Earl, by God, you shall either go or hang. By God, Sir
King, replied Hereford, I will neither go nor hang. And
lie immediately departed with the marshal and their respect-
ave trains.
[ddd p. 327.] “The men of Israel said uuto Gideon, rule
then over us, both thou, and thy son, and thy son’s son also :
for thou hast delivered us from the hand of Midian. And
Gideon said unto them, I will not rule over you, neither shall
my son ruie over you ; the Lord shall rule over you. Judg-
cs, chap. viii.
The answer of Wallace on this occasion, is given with
great force in Henry’s poem.
; ſeee p. 337.] ...Gentlest is here used in the Scottish sense,
meaning of the noblest #90ſ... * ºr * * ~ *
! ~ r ---, -, º ºf “t
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