THE word of Bruce was as
irreversible, as his spirit was determined. No temptation of indulgence
could seduce him from the one; no mischance of adversity could subdue the
other. The standard of liberty had been raised by him on the Carse of
Gowrie; and he carried it in his victorious arm, from east to west; from
the most northern point of Sutherland, to the walls of Stirling: but
there, the garrison which the treason of the late Regent had admitted into
that citadel, gave a momentary check to his career. The English governor
hesitated to surrender on the terms proposed; and while his first flag of
truce was yet in the tent of the Scottish monarch, a second arrived to
break off the negociation. Whatever were the reasons for this abrupt
determination, Bruce paid him not the compliment of asking a wherefore;
but advancing his troops to the Southron outposts, drove them in with
great loss; and approaching the lower works of the town by the road of
Ballochgeich, so alarmed the governor, as to induce him to send forth
several squadrons of horse to stop his progress. Vain was the attempt.
They shrank before the resolute prince, and his enthusiastic followers.
The governor dispatched others; and at last marched out himself, to their
support. No force seemed able to withstand the pressing valour of the
Scots. The Southron saw himself in the midst of his slain, and deserted by
half of his surviving troops. A surrender, both of himself and his
fainting companions, was now his only resource. His herald sounded a
parley. The generous victor, in the midst of triumph listened to the
offered capitulation. It was not to include the citadel of Stirling.
Bruce stopped the herald at
this clause, and at once demanded the unconditional surrender of both the
town and citadel. The governor, being aware that in his present state
there was no alternative, and knowing the noble nature of the Prince who
made the requisition, yielded to necessity, and resigned the whole into
his hands.
Next morning Bruce entered
Stirling as a conqueror, with the whole of his
kingdom at his feet: for, from the Soiway Frith to the Northern Ocean, no
Scottish town, nor castle, owned a foreign master. The acclamations of a
rescued people rent the skies; and, while prayers and blessings poured on
him, from above, below, and around, he did indeed feel himself a king, and
that he had returned to the land of his forefathers. While he sat on his
proud war-horse, in front of the great gates of the citadel, now thrown
wide asunder to admit its rightful sovereign, his noble prisoners came
forward. They bent their knees before him; and delivering their swords,
received in return his gracious assurance of mercy. At this moment, all
Scottish hearts, and wishes, seemed riveted on their youthful monarch.
Dismounting from his steed, with the grace that took captive even the
souls of his enemies, he raised his helmet from his head, as the Bishop of
Dunkeld, followed by all the ecclesiastics in the town, came forward to
wait upon the triumph of their king.
The beautiful anthem of the virgins
of Israel, on the conquests of David, was chanted forth by the nuns; who,
in this heaven-hallowed hour, like the spirits of the blest, revisited the
world to give the chosen of their land, "All hail."
The words, the scene, smote the
heart of Bothwell; he turned aside, and wept. Where were now the buoyant
feelings, with which he had followed the similar triumph of Wallace, into
these gates? "Buried, thou martyred hero, in thy bloody grave!"
New men, and new services seemed to have worn out remembrance of the past;
but in the memories of even this joyous crowd, Wallace lived; though like
a bright light, which had passed through their path, and was gone, never
more to return.
On entering the citadel,
Bruce was informed by Mowbray, the English governor, that he would find a
lady there, in a frightful state of mental derangement, and who might
need his protection. A question or two from the victorious monarch, told
him this was the Countess of Strathearn. On the revolted abthanes having
betrayed Wallace and his country to England, the joy and ambition of the
Countess knew no bounds; and hoping to eventually persuade Edward to
adjudge to her the crown, she made it apparent to the English king, how
useful would be her services in Scotland; while with a plenary, though
secret mission, she took her course through her native land, to discover
who were inimical to the foreign interest, and who likely to promote her
own: after this circuit, she fixed her mimic court at Stirling, and living
there in regal magnificence, exercised the functions of a vice-queen. At
this period, intelligence arrived, which the governor thought would fill
her with exultation; and hastening to declare it, he proclaimed to her,
that the King of England’s authority was now firmly established in
Scotland, for that on the twenty-third of August, Sir William Wallace had
been executed in London, according to all the forms of law, upon the
Tower-hill!
On the full declaration of this
event, she fell senseless on the floor. It was not until the next morning
that she recovered to perfect animation, and then her ravings were
horrible and violent. She accused herself of the murder of Sir William
Wallace. She seemed to hear him upbraid her with his fate; and her
shrieks, and tremendous ejaculations, so fearfully presented the scene of
his death before the eyes of her attendants, that her women fled; and none
others of that sex, would afterwards venture to approach her. In these
fearful moments, the dreadful confession of all her premeditated guilt; of
her infuriate, and disappointed passion for Wallace, and her vowed
revenge; were revealed, under circumstances so shocking, that the English
governor declared to the King of Scots, while he conducted him towards her
apartment, that he would rather
wear out his life in a rayless dungeon, than endure one hour of her
agonies.
There was a dead silence in
her chamber, as they approached the door. Mowbray cautiously opened it,
and discovered the object of their visit. She was seated at the further
end of the room on the floor; enveloped in a mass of scarlet velvet, she
had drawn off her bed: her hands clasped her knees; and she bent forward,
with her eyes fixed on the door, at which they entered. Her once dazzling
beauty, was now transformed to a haggard glare: the terrible lightning,
which gleamed on the face of Satan, when he sat brooding on the burning
marl of Tartarus.
She remained motionless, as they
advanced. But when Bruce stopped directly before her, contemplating with
honor, the woman whom he regarded as one of the murderers of his most
beloved friend, she sprang at once upon him, and clinging to him, with
shrieks buried her head in his bosom, "Save me! save me!" cried
she. "Mar drags me dawn to hell; I burn there, and yet I die not
!"—Then bursting from Bruce, with an imprecation that froze his
blood, she flew to the other side of the chamber, crying aloud, "Thou
hast torn out my heart !—-Fiend, I took thee for Wallace —but I
murdered him !" Her agonies, her yells, and her attempts at self
violence, were now so dreadful, that Bruce, raising her bleeding from the
hearth on which she had furiously dashed her head, put her into the arms
of the men who attended her; and then, with an awful sense of Divine
retribution, left the apartment.
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