40. In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood! A wall where every conscious stone Seemed to its kindred thousands grown; A rampart all assaults to bear, Till time to dust their frames should wear! A wood, like that enchanted grove In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, Where every silent tree possessed A spirit prisoned in its breast, Which the first stroke of coming strife Would startle into hideous life; So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, A living wall, a human wood! Impregnable their front appears, All horrent with projected spears, Whose polished points before them shine, From flank to flank, one brilliant line, Bright as the breakers' splendors run Along the billows, to the sun.
41. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land; Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords And what insurgent rage had gained, In many a mortal fray maintained! Marshaled at morn at Freedom's call, They come to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquered, he who fell, Was deemed a dead, or living Tell! Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew, Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod.
42. And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath; The fire of conflict burnt within, The battle trembled to begin; Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was nowhere found.
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed; That line 'twere suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrant's feet How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes the homes of slaves? Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head?
43. It must not! This day, this hour, Annihilates the oppressor's power; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she can not yield-- She must not fall; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast; But every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he On whose sole arm hung victory!
44. It did depend on one, indeed, Behold him--Arnold Winkelried There sounds not to the tramp of fame The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked he stood amid the throng, In rumination deep and long, Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face, And by the motion of his form Anticipate the coming storm; And by the uplifting of his brow Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
45. But 'twas no sooner thought and done, The field was in a moment won.
46. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; Then ran with arms extended wide As if his dearest friend to clasp; Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for Liberty!" he cried: Their keen points met from side to side; He bowed among them like a tree, And thus made way for Liberty!
47. Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for Liberty!" they cry.
And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart! While instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.
48. Thus Switzerland again was free, Thus death made way for Liberty!
49. In the next fifty years the Swiss were engaged in a war with Austria and another with France, and in both cases they were victorious. But, while they were exhausted by the incessant wars that had been urged upon them, they were threatened with a more formidable invasion than ever. Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, resolved to attach Switzerland to his domain. Crossing the Jura, the duke found himself in possession of Yverdun, it having been betrayed into his hands; but the citadel still held out. Charles, irritated that his progress should be stayed by such a handful of men, offered to let them retire home if they would surrender, but if they still held out he would hang them all! The Swiss, knowing prolonged defense was useless, surrendered. As they marched out of the citadel they were seized, by order of the duke, and all murdered.
50. Aroused by these horrors, an army of twenty thousand advanced to meet the duke at the head of three times that number. In the battle that ensued the Burgundians were entirely defeated, and Charles narrowly escaped with his life. Writhing under his disgrace, and vowing revenge, the duke raised a much more numerous army, and again invaded Switzerland.
51. He advanced by the way of the lake of Neufchatel, and paused a few days to capture the fortress on the banks of Lake Morat. While the siege was going on the Swiss army concentrated, and marched to meet their foes. Thirty thousand men were to fight the battle of freedom against one hundred thousand. It was on Saturday, June 22, 1476. The weather was threatening, the sky overcast, and rain fell in torrents.
A vanguard was formed, commanded by John Hallwyl, who knelt and besought a blessing from on high. While they yet prayed the sun broke through the clouds, upon which the Swiss commander rose, sword in hand, crying: "Up, up, Heaven smiles on our victory!" The artillery thundered forth as he spoke, and the whole plain, from the lake to the rocky heights, became one vast battle-field! Toward the main body of the Burgundians the Swiss army poured down with irresistible force and courage; and, clearing all difficulties, they reached the line of the enemy. A fearful slaughter now ensued. The Burgundians were utterly vanquished. The haughty duke, pale and dispirited, fled with a few followers, and never stopped till he reached the banks of Lake Leman.
The rout was so complete that many of the Burgundians, in terror and despair, threw themselves into the Lake of Morat, the banks of which were strewed with the bodies of the slain.
52. The battle of Morat lives in history with the victories of Marathon and Bannockburn. In each, freedom for the nation was secured, and liberty for man was preserved and transmitted. As a deed, the Swiss victory for ever freed a people from a grasping foreign tyrant; and it is a matter of rejoicing to all who love liberty till to-day, and, like other great events, it is the subject of national traditions.
53. According to one of these, a young native of Friburg, who had been engaged in the battle, keenly desirous of being the first to carry home tidings of the victory, ran the whole way--a distance of ten or twelve miles--and with such overhaste that on his arrival at the market-place he dropped with fatigue, and, barely able to shout that the Swiss were victorious, immediately expired. A twig of lime-tree, which he carried in his hand, was planted on the spot in commemoration of this event; and till the present day are seen, in the market-place of Friburg, the aged and propped-up remains of the venerable tree which grew from this twig. In most of the towns of Switzerland a "tree of Liberty" is preserved, which came from scions of the original tree at Friburg.
CHAPTER IV.
BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN.
1. Six hundred years ago the duty of defending freedom fell to King Robert Bruce and the Scotch. And this is how it happened. The time was during the crusades, when all Europe was marching to the East, and engaging in battle with the Moslems. Scotland had been an independent country for many years, but some of her princes were too weak for those troublous times. The witches that deceived Macbeth seem to have cast a spell upon the prosperity of the country. Clan was at enmity with clan, and one great chieftain waged relentless war with another.
The fierce nobles paid little heed to the king, and showed no regard for the rights of the people. It seemed that peace and liberty had departed forever.
2. Alexander III died, leaving no direct heir. The Scottish nobles assembled to elect who should be their king. The choice lay between Robert Bruce and John Balliol. As the nobles could not agree, the matter was referred to King Edward I, of England, who decided in favor of Balliol. The new prince was weak, and, when he resented the interference of King Edward in some of his affairs, he was easily defeated and driven from the kingdom. Scotland was now regarded as a conquered country, and the people were terribly oppressed. The nobles were deprived of their estates, and the poor people were taxed to the verge of starvation. For fifteen years King Edward held on to hi
s usurped power, while the weak king Balliol was wandering in foreign lands, paying no attention to the distracted state of his country.
3. At last the oppression became so great that conflicts took place almost daily between the Scotch peasants and the English soldiery. On one occasion, a young man named William Wallace was out a-fishing with a boy to carry the fish. Two or three English soldiers came along and insisted on taking the fish. Wallace offered to divide with them, but they insisted on taking the whole, when he flew in a rage, killed one with his fishing-pole, and, seizing a sword, put the others to flight.
He then fled, and concealed himself in the mountains until the matter blew over. On another occasion he killed an Englishman who insulted him at a fair, and fled to his home, where he was pursued by the soldiers. He escaped by the back door, but the cruel English leader, Hazelrigg, put his wife and servants to death. From that time Wallace devoted himself to fighting the English. He soon collected a band of outlaws and attacked the English whereever he found a favorable opportunity. He soon had the satisfaction of killing Hazelrigg, and of capturing many important places.
4. The Scotch rose everywhere and joined Wallace, who soon found himself at the head of a formidable army. With this lie captured the English fortresses, and finally defeated the chief English army under Earl Warren. Scotland was now free, but the English king hastened back from Flanders to punish the Scotch. The battle of Falkirk was fought July 22, 1298, and the Scotch were entirely defeated. Wallace again became a fugitive, but was betrayed into the hands of Edward, and was beheaded and quartered, according to the barbarous custom of the times.
5. The eyes of all Scotland were now turned to Robert Bruce as the only remaining champion who would be likely to make head against the English, and he accepted the proffered leadership. His principal rival was a powerful noble called the Red Comyn, and with this rival Bruce sought to make friends. The two met in a church, and Comyn flatly refused to join the Scottish cause, but openly proclaimed his adherence to the English. A quarrel arose, and, in the excitement, Bruce stabbed Comyn. Almost paralyzed at his act, he rushed out of the house and called for his horse. His friends eagerly inquired what was the matter. "I doubt," said Bruce, "that I have slain the Red Comyn." "Do not leave the matter in doubt," said Kirkpatrick; "I will make it certain." He and his companions then rushed into the church and soon dispatched Comyn with their daggers.
6. This deed is the one great blot upon the name of Bruce, and bitterly did he repent of his rashness. It called down upon his devoted head the anathema of the church for sacrilege in committing violence before the holy altar. It arrayed against him the kinsmen and friends of the Red Comyn, and it produced distrust in the minds of many true friends of Scotland, who could never have confidence in such an impetuous leader. Bruce made a vow that, if he succeeded in securing the freedom of Scotland, he would do penance for his crime by entering upon a crusade and fighting for the holy sepulchre.
7. On the 29th of March, 1306, Bruce was crowned king. His enemies immediately attacked and defeated him, and he was obliged to take refuge in the mountains of the Highlands. Here he was hunted like a wild animal, and was obliged to flee from one fastness to another. One of the most malignant of his enemies was Lord Lorn, a kinsman of the Red Comyn. At one time Bruce and his few followers were retreating through a narrow pass, when he was set upon by Lorn and a much superior force. Sending his followers ahead, he stopped his horse in the narrow way, and covered their retreat. Upon seeing the king thus alone, three powerful highlandmen--a father and two sons--set upon him, determined to kill him or take him prisoner for their master, Lord Lorn. Bruce struck the first man who came up and seized his bridle such a blow with his sword as to cut off his hand and free the bridle. The man bled to death. The other brother seized him by the leg and attempted to throw him from his horse. The king, setting spurs to the horse, made the animal spring forward so that the Highlander fell under the horse's feet, and, as he endeavored to rise, the king cleft his head in two with his sword. The father, seeing his two sons thus slain, flew at Bruce and grasped him in his mantle so close to his body that he could not have room to wield his long sword. But with an iron hammer which hung at his saddle-bow, Bruce dashed out the brains of this new assailant. The dying man still clung to the king's mantle, so that, to get free, Bruce was obliged to undo the brooch by which it was fastened, and leave it with the mantle behind. This brooch fell into the hands of Lorn, and was kept in the family for many generations as a memorial of Bruce.
8. But Bruce was soon reduced to greater straits, and, without followers, was obliged to conceal himself in stables and caves. In all his misfortunes he never gave up the cause of his country, and he sacredly devoted his life to the freedom of Scotland. After one of his defeats he was lying one night on a wretched bed in a rude hut, while debating in his own mind whether it were not best to enlist in a crusade, when his attention was directed to a spider on the rafters overhead. He saw that the little spinner was trying to swing from one rafter to another, so as to fix his thread across the space. Time and again it tried and failed. Admiring the perseverance of the creature, Bruce began to count the number of times he tried. One, two, three, four, five, six. It suddenly occurred to Bruce that this was just the number of times he had failed in his attempts against the enemy. He then made up his mind that if the spider succeeded in the next trial he would make one more endeavor to recover his kingdom, but if it failed he would start at once for Palestine. The spider sprang into the air, and this time succeeded, so the king resolved upon another trial, and never after met with a defeat.
[Illustration: Edinburgh Castle]
9. Many a wild story is told of his feats of arms and hairbreadth escapes while he wandered about without a country. Sir Walter Scott, in his poem, "The Lord of the Isles," records one of these legends. It is reported that, on one occasion, with his brother Edward and sister Isabel in a boat, he was driven by stress of weather to take refuge in one of the Hebrides upon the western coast, the home of Roland, the Lord of the Isles. It happened to be a festive occasion, a large assembly having met to celebrate the marriage of the Lord of the Isles with the sister of the Lord of Lorn. As Bruce entered the banquet-hall, Lorn recognized him:
10. "Now, by Columba's shrine I swear, And every saint that's buried there, 'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries; "And for my kinsman's death he dies!" As loudly Roland calls, "Forbear! Not in my sight while brand I wear, O'ermatched by odds shall warrior fall, Or blood of stranger stain my hall! This ancient fortress of my race Shall be misfortune's resting-place, Shelter or shield of the distressed, No slaughter-house of shipwrecked guest!"
11. "Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied, "Of odds or match! When Comyn died, Three daggers clashed within his side! Talk not to me of sheltering hall, The church of God saw Comyn fall! On God's own altar streamed his blood, While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood The ruthless murderer--e'en as now-- With armèd hand and scornful brow! Up, all who love me! blow on blow, And lay the outlawed felons low!"
* * * * *
12. Then waked the wild debate again, With brawling threat and clamor vain, Vassals and menials thronging in, Lent their brute rage to swell the din; When far and wide a bugle clang From the dark, ocean upward rang.
"The abbot comes!" they cried at once, "The holy man whose favored glance Hath sainted visions known; Angels have met him on the way, Beside the blessed martyr's bay, And by Columba's stone.
He comes our feuds to reconcile, A sainted man from sainted isle; We will his holy will abide, The abbot shall our strife decide!"
13. The abbot on the threshold stood, And in his hands the holy rood; Back on his shoulders flowed his hood, The torch's glaring ray Showed, in its red and flashing light, His withered cheek and amice white, His blue eye glistening cold and bright, His tresses scant and gray.
"Fair lords," he said, "our lady's love, And peace be with you from above, And benedicite! But what means this? no peace is here! Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal
cheer? Or are these naked brands A seemly show for churchman's sight, When he comes summoned to unite Betrothed hearts and hands?" Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal, Proud Lorn answered the appeal: "Thou comest, O holy man, True sons of blessed church to greet, But little deeming here to meet A wretch, beneath the ban Of pope and church, for murder done Even on the sacred altar-stone! Well may'st thou wonder we should know Such miscreant here, nor lay him low, Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, With excommunicated Bruce! Yet will I grant, to end debate, Thy sainted voice decide his fate."
14. Then Roland pled the stranger's cause And knighthood's oath and honor's laws; And Isabel on bended knee Brought prayers and tears to back her plea; And Edith lent her generous aid, And wept, and Lorn for mercy prayed.
15. Then Argentine, in England's name, So highly urged his sovereign's claim, He waked a spark, that, long suppressed, Had smoldered in Lord Roland's breast; And now, as from the flint the fire, Flashed forth at once his generous ire.
"Enough of noble blood," he said, "By English Edward had been shed, Since matchless Wallace first had been In mockery crowned with wreaths of green, And done to death by felon hand, For guarding well his native land.
Where's Nigel Bruce? and De la Haye, And valiant Seaton--where are they? Where Somerville, the kind and free? And Fraser, flower of chivalry? Have they not been on gibbet bound, Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, And hold we here a cold debate To yield more victims to their fate? What! can the English leopard's mood Never be gorged with Northern blood? Was not the life of Athole shed To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed? Nor must his word, till dying day, Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay?"
16. "Nor deem," said Dunnegan's knight, "That thou shalt brave alone the fight! By saints of isle and mainland both, By woden wild--my grandsire's oath-- Let Rome and England do their worst; Rowe'er attainted and accursed, If Bruce shall e'er find friends again, Once more to brave a battle-plain, If Douglas couch again his lance, Or Randolph dare another chance, Old Torquil will not be to lack With twice a thousand at his back; Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, Good abbot! for thou knowest of old, Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will Smack of the wild Norwegian still Nor will I barter freedom's cause For England's wealth or Rome's applause!"
Ten Great Events in History by James Johonnot Page 7