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IN the course of an hour,
Murray returned from having seen the departing Southrons beyond the
barriers of the township. But he did not come alone; he was accompanied by
Lord Auckinleck, the son of one of the betrayed barons who had fallen in
the palace of Ayr. This young chieftain, at the head of his vassals,
hastened 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
recognised 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.
While Lord Andrew and his new colleague,
were making the range of the suburbs, the glad progress of the victor
Scots had turned the whole aspect of that lately gloomy city. Doors and
windows, so recently closed in deep mourning, for the sanguinary deeds
done in the palace, now opened teeming with smiling inhabitants. The
general joy penetrated to the most remote recesses. Mothers now threw
their fond arms around the necks of the children, whom, just before, they
had regarded with the averted eyes of despair; in the one sex, they then
beheld the devoted victims of, perhaps, the 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
offspring as if restored from the grave, implored a thousand blessings on
the head of Wallace, the gifted agent of all this good.
Sons who, in secret, had lamented the
treacherous death of their fathers; and brothers of their brothers, now
opened their gates, and joined the valiant troops in the streets. Widowed
wives, and fatherless daughters, almost forgot they had been bereaved of
their natural protectors, when they saw Scotland rescued from her enemies;
and her armed sons, once more walking in the broad day, masters of
themselves, and of their country’s liberties.
Thus, then, with every
heart rejoicing; every house teeming with numbers to swell the ranks of
Wallace; did he, the day after he had entered Ayr, see all arranged for
its peaceful establishment. But ere he bade that town adieu, in which he
had been educated; and where almost every man, remembering its preserver’s
boyish years, thronged round him with recollections of former days; one
duty yet demanded his stay: to pay funeral honours to the remains of his
beloved grandfather.
Accordingly, the time was
fixed; and with every solemnity due to his virtues and his rank, Sir
Ronald Crawford was buried in the chapel of the citadel. It was not a
scene of mere ceremonious 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, of every degree; a
procession long, and full of lamentation, conducted his shrouded corse to
its earthly rest.
[This scene of a true
British landholder, carried to his last earthly bed, was realized a few
weeks ago to the writer’s eyes, while these pages were passing through
the press, in the funeral obsequies of the venerable Sir Charles
Throckmorton; whom she mentions in the 46th page of her Recollective
Preface to this work, as her then oldest existing friend. She was his
guest at Coughton Court, when he died, December 3rd, in the just expired
year. And she beheld the mourning array: not of escutchioned hearse, and
dark-plumed equipages; for it needed none: the distance from his ancient
homestead portal, to that of the "House of God," where he was to
he "gathered to his people," being (as of olden time was the
use) in the park; and their grey towers were within shadow of each other.
But she saw from the window of her room, the avenues which led to the
mansion, and to the sacred building, blackened with long trains of
heart-mourners ;—a vast population of tenantry, and
of labourers of every degree, lamenting their "benefactor - their
father, gone!" These are scenes which preach to them who look on! —and
have ever been repeated, when any one of the true-patriot baronets of
Throckmorton, have been borne to their graves.—(1841)]
The mourning families of
the chiefs who had fallen in the same bloody theatre with himself, closed
the sad 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.
While Wallace confided the aged
Elspa and her sister to the care of Sir Reginald Crawford, to whom he also
resigned the lands of his grandfather; "Cousin," said he
"you are a valiant, and a humane 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 his people, and the defender of the town.
The citadel is under the command of the Baron of Auchinleck; he, with his
brave followers, being the first to hail the burning of the accursed Barns
of Ayr.
After this solemnity, and
these dispositions, Wallace called a review of his troops; and found that
he could leave five hundred men 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 not only
bulwark Scotland against any further inroads from its enemies, but render
the subjugation of the interior Southron garrisons more certain and easy.
On the third morning after
the conflagration of the palace, Wallace quitted Ayr; and marching over
its far-stretching hills, manned every watch-tower on their summits. For
now, whithersoever he moved, he found his victories had preceded him; and
all, from hall to hovel, turned out to greet, and offer him their
services. Thus, heralded by fame, the panic-struck Southron governors fled
at the distant view of his standards; the flames of Ayr, seemed to menace
them all; and castle and fortalice, from
Muir-kirk, to the walls of Berwick, opened their gates before him.
Arrived under those blood-stained towers,
which had so often been the objects 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 to the invaded
kingdom, but a point whence, by their ships, they commanded the whole of
the eastern coast of Scotland; Wallace expected that a desperate stand
would be made here to stop the progress of his arms. But being aware that
the most expeditious mode of warfare, was the best adapted to promote his
cause, he first took the town by assault; and then, having driven the
garrison into the citadel, assailed it by a vigorous siege.
After ten days’ hard duty before the
walls, Wallace devised a plan to obtain possession of the English ships
which commanded the harbour. He found among his own troops many men who
had been used to a seafaring life: these he disguised as fugitive
Southrons from the late defeats, and sent in boats to the enemy’s
vessels which lay in the roads. The feint took; and by these means getting
possession of those nearest to the town, he manned them with his 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
rendered so hopeless, that no mode of escape was left, but by desperate
sallies. They made them; but without other effect, than weakening their
strength, and increasing their miseries. Wallace was aware of all their
resolutions; for knowing what would be best for them to do in their
situation, he needed 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
different essays; and losing men at every rencontre, their governor
stood without resource. Without provisions, without aid of any kind for
his wounded men; and hourly annoyed by the victorious Scots, who
continued, day and night, to throw showers of arrows, and other missiles
weapons, from the towers and springalls with which they had overtopped the
walls; the unhappy Earl of Gloucester seemed ready to rush on death, to
avoid the disgrace of surrendering the fortress. Every soul in the
garrison was reduced to similar despair. Wallace even found means to dam
up the spring which had supplied the citadel with water. The common men,
famished with hunger, smarting with wounds, and now perishing with
unextinguishable thirst, threw themselves at the feet of their officers;
imploring them to represent to their royal governor, that if he held out
longer, he must defend the place alone; for they could not exist another
day under their present sufferings.
The Earl indeed repented 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 on the town, his evil genius
then suggested that it was best to take the second, unbroken, into the
citadel; and there await the arrival of a reinforcement by sea. But he
thence beheld the ships which had defended the harbour, seized by Wallace
before his eyes! Hope was then crushed; and nothing but death, or
dishonour, seemed to be his alternatives. Cut to the soul at the
consequences of his want of judgment, he determined to retrieve his fame,
by washing out that error with his blood. To fall under the ruins of
Berwick castle, was his resolution. Such was the state of his mind, when
his officers appeared with the petition from his men. In proportion as
they felt the extremeties into which they were driven, the offence he had
committed, glared with tenfold enormity in his eyes; and in a 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 of King 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, as a last effort, proposed making 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 might storm the citadel.
As Wallace gave his orders from this
commanding station, he observed the besieged passing in numbers behind a
mound, in a direction to the tower where he stood: he concluded what was
their design; and ordering a counter-mine to be made ;—what he
anticipated happened; and Murray, at the head of his miners, encountered
those of the castle, at the very moment they would have set fire to the
combustibles laid to consume the tower. The instant struggle, was violent,
but short; for the impetuous Scots drove their amazed and enfeebled
adversaries, through the aperture, back into the citadel. At this crisis,
Wallace, with a band of resolute men, sprang from the tower, upon the
wall; and it being almost deserted by its late guards, (who had quitted
their post, to assist in repelling the foe below), he leaped into the
midst of the conflict; and the battle became general. It was decisive; for
beholding the undaunted resolution, with which the weakened and dying were
supporting the cause their governor was determined to defend to the last,
Wallace found his admiration, and his pity, alike excited; and even while
his followers seemed to have each his foe’s life in his hands, when one
instant more would make him the undisputed master of the castle, (for not
a Southron would then 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, now lay disarmed under him; at that moment,
when the discomfited knight exclaimed, "In mercy strike, and redeem
the honour of Ralph de Monthermer !" Wallace raised his bugle, and
sounded the note of. peace. Every sword was arrested; and the universal
clangour of battle was hushed in expecting silence.
"Rise, brave
Earl," cried Wallace, to the governor; "I revere virtue, too
sincerely, to take an unworthy advantage of my fortune. The valour of this
garrison, commands my respect; and, as a proof of my sincerity, I grant to
it, what I have never yet done to any: That yourself, and these dauntless
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 free and
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 said, 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 in neither we may be 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 resistless: and
to it, do I surrender that pride of soul, which made existence
insufferable under the consciousness of having 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."
"You live, illustrious
and virtuous Englishmen," returned Wallace, "to redeem that
honour, of which too many rapacious sons of England have robbed their
country. Go forth, therefore, as my conqueror; for you have in this spot,
extinguished 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 brethren; and, as a
brother, I open these gates for you, to repass into your country. When
there, if you ever remember William Wallace, let it be as a man, who
fights, not for conquest, nor renown; but to restore Scotland to her
rights; and then resign his sword to peace."
"I shall remember you,
Sir William Wallace !" returned De Monthermer; "and as a pledge
of it, you shall never see me again in this country, till I come an
ambassador of that peace for which you fight But, meanwhile, in the moment
of 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. Had I not believed that
Scotland was unworthy of freedom, I should never have appeared upon her
borders; but now that I see she has brave hearts within her, who not only
resist oppression, but know how to wield power, I detest the zeal with
which I volunteered to rivet her chains. 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 leader, treated them with every kindness. After
dispensing amongst them provisions, and appointing means to convey the
wounded in comfort, Wallace bade a cordial farewell to the Earl of
Gloucester, and his men conducted their reconciled enemies over the Tweed.
There they parted. The English bent their course towards London, and the
Scots returned to their victorious general.
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