|
THE tidings of the dreadful
vengeance which Edward had taken against the Scottish nation, by pouring
all his wrath upon the head of Wallace, struck like the lightning of
heaven through the souls of men. None of either country, but those in the
confidence of GIoucester, knew that Heaven had snatched him from the
dishonour of so vile a death. The English turned, blushing, from each
other; and ventured not to breathe the name of a man, whose virtues seemed
to have found a sanctuary for his fame in every honest heart. But when the
news reached Scotland, the indignation was general. All envyings, all
strifes were forgotten, in unqualified resentment of the deed. There was
not a man, even amongst the late refractory chiefs, excepting the Cummins,
and their coadjutors Soulis and Monteith, who really had believed that
Edward seriously meant to sentence the Scottish patriot to a severer fate
than what he had pronounced against his rebellious vassal, the exiled
Baliol. The execution of Wallace, whose offence could only be that of
having served his country too faithfully, was therefore so unexpected,
that on the first promulgation of it, so great an abhorrence of the
perpetrator was excited in every breast, that the whole country rose as
one man, threatening to march instantly to London, and sacrifice the
tyrant on his throne.
At this crisis, when the
mountains of the north seemed heaving from their base, to overwhelm the
blood-stained fields of England, every heart, which secretly rejoiced in
the late sanguinary event, quailed within its possessor, as it tremblingly
anticipated the consequences of the fall of Wallace. At this instant, when
the furies armed every clan in Scotland, breathing forth revenge like a
consuming fire before them, John Cummin, the Regent, stood aghast. He
foresaw his own downfall, in this reawakened enthusiasm respecting the man
whom his treachery had been the first means of betraying to his enemies.
Baffled in the aim of his ambition, by the very means he had taken to
effect it, Cummin saw no alternative, but to throw himself at once upon
the bounty of England; and, to this purpose, he bethought him of the only
chance of preserving the power of Edward,
and consequently his own, in Scotland. Knowing, by past events, that this
tempest of the soul, excited by remorse in some, and gratitude in others,
could only be maintained to any conclusive injury to England, by a royal
hand, and that that hand was expected to be Bruce’s; he determined at
once, that the prince to whom he had sworn fealty, and to whom he owed his
present elevation, should follow the fate of his friend. By the spies
which he constantly kept round Hunting-tower, he was apprised that Bruce
had set off towards London in a vessel from Dundee. On these grounds, be
sent a despatch to King Edward, informing him, that destiny had
established him supreme lord of Scotland; for now its second, and its last
hope, had put himself into his hands. With this intelligence, he gave a
particular account of all Bruce’s proceedings, from the time of his
meeting Wallace in France, to his present following that chief to London.
He then craved his Majesty’s pardon, for having been betrayed into an
union with such conspirators; and repeated his hope, that the restitution
he now made, in thus showing the royal hand where to find its last
opponent, would give full conviction of his penitence and duty. He closed
his letter, by urging the King to take instant and effectual measures to
disable Bruce from disturbing the quiet of Scotland, or ever again
disputing his regal claims!
Gloucester happened to be
in the presence, when this epistle was delivered in, and read by his
Majesty. On the suit of his daughter, Edward had been reconciled to his
son-in-law; but when he showed to him the contents of Cummin’s letter,
with a suspicious smile he said in a low voice, "In case you should
know this new rebel’s lurking-place, presume not to leave this room,
till he is brought before me. See to your obedience, Ralph, or your head
shall follow Wallace’s."
The King instantly
withdrew; and the Earl, aware that search would
be made through all his houses, sought in his own mind for some expedient
to apprise Bruce of his danger. To write in the presence-chamber, was
impossible; to deliver a message in a whisper, would be hazardous; for
most of the surrounding courtiers, seeing the frown with which the King
had left the apartment, marked the commands he gave the marshal: "Be
sure that the Earl of Gloucester quits not this room till I return."
In the confusion of his thoughts, the Earl
turned his eye on Lord Montgomery., who had only arrived that very morning
from an embassy to Spain. He had heard with unutterable horror the fate of
Wallace; and extending his interest in him to those whom he loved, had
arranged with Gloucester to accompany him that very evening to pledge his
friendship to Bruce. To Montgomery, then, as to the only man acquainted
with his secret, he turned; and taking his spurs off his feet, and pulling
out a purse of gold, he said aloud, and with as easy an air as he could
assume, "Here, my Lord Montgomery, as you are going directly to
Highgate, I will thank you to call at my lodge: —put
these spurs, and this purse, into the hands of the groom we spoke of; tell
him they do not fit me, and he will know what use to make of them:"
He then turned negligently on his heel, and Montgomery quitted the
apartment.
The apprehension of this young lord, was
not less quick than the invention of his friend. He guessed that the
Scottish prince was betrayed; and to render his escape the less likely to
be traced, (the ground being wet, and liable to retain impression,) before
he went to the lodge, he dismounted in the adjoining wood, and with his
own hands reversed the iron on the feet of the animal he had provided for
Bruce. He then proceeded to the house, and found the object of his mission
disguised as a carmelite, and in the chapel, paying his vesper adorations
to the Almighty Being on whom his whole dependence hung. Uninfluenced by
the robes he wore, his was the devotion of the soul: and not unaptly at
such an hour, came one to deliver him from a danger, which, unknown to
himself, was then within a few minutes of seizing its prey.
Montgomery entered; and
being instantly recognised by Bruce, the ingenuous prince never doubting a
noble heart, stretched out his hand to him—"I take it,"
returned the Earl, "only to give it a parting grasp. Behold these
spun and purse, sent to you by Gloucester!—You know their use. Without
further observation follow me." Montgomery was thus abrupt, because
as he left the palace, he had heard the marshals give orders for different
military detachments, to search every residence of Gloucester for the Earl
of Carrick; and he did not doubt that the party despatched to Highgate,
were now mounting the hill.
Bruce, throwing off his cassock and
cowl, again appeared in his martial garb; and after bending his knee for a
moment on the chancel-stone, which covered the remains of Wallace, he
followed his friend from the chapel; and thence, through a solitary path
in the park, to the centre of the wood. Montgomery pointed to the horse.
Bruce grasped the hand of his faithful conductor; "I go,
Montgomery," said he, "to my kingdom. But its crown shall never
clasp my brows, till the remains of Wallace return to their country. And
whether peace or the sword restore them to Scotland, still shall a
king’s, a brother’s friendship, unite my heart to Gloucester, and to
you." While speaking, he vaulted into his saddle: and, receiving the
cordial blessings of Montgomery, touched his good steed with his pointed
rowels, and was out of sight in an instant. [In
the relation of this incident, Buchanan names Montgomary as the friend who
appraised Bruce of his danger. Hollinshed attributes it to Gloucester. I
have paid due deference to both authorities.—(1809.)]
|
