The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

  Chapter XLIV.

  The Cheviots.

  As Wallace pursued his march along the once fertile and well-peopledvalleys of Clydesdale, their present appearance affected him like thesight of a friend whom he had seen depart in all the graces of youthand prosperity, but met again overcome with disease and wretchedness.

  The pastures of Carstairs on the east of the river, which used at thisseason to be whitened with sheep, and sending forth the lowings ofabundant cattle; and the vales, which had teemed with reapers rejoicingin the harvest, were now laid waste and silent. The plain presentedone wide flat of desolation. Where once was the enameled meadow, adreary swamp extended its vapory surface; and the road which a happypeasantry no longer trod, lay choked up with thistles and rank grass;while birds and animals of chase would spring from its thickets, on thelonely traveler, to tell him by their wild astonishment that he wasdistant from even the haunts of men. The remains of villages werevisible; but the blackness of ashes marked the walls of the ruineddwellings.

  Wallace felt that he was passing through the country in which hisMarion had been rifled of her life; and as he moved along, nature allaround seemed to have partaken of her death. As he rode over the moorswhich led toward the district of Crawford Lammington, those hillsamidst which the beloved of his soul first drew breath, he becametotally silent. Time rolled back; he was no longer the Regent ofScotland, but the fond lover of Marion Braidfoot. His heart beat as itwas wont to do in turning his horse down the defile which led direct toLammington; but the scene was completely changed; the groves in whichhe had so often wandered with her were gone; they had been cut down forthe very purpose of destroying that place, which had once been theabode of beauty and innocence, and of all the tender charities.

  One shattered tower alone remained of the house of Lammington. Thescathing of fire embrowned its sides, and the uprooted garden markedwhere the ravager had been. While his army marched before him alongthe heights of Crawford, Wallace slowly moved forward, musing on thescene. In turning the angle of a shattered wall, his horse started;and the next moment he perceived an aged figure, with a beard white assnow, and wrapped in a dark plaid, emerging from the ground. At sightof the apparition, Murray, who accompanied his friend, and had hithertokept silent, suddenly exclaimed, "I conjure you, honest Scot, ghost orman, give us a subject for conversation! and, as a beginning, pray tellme to whom this ruined tower belonged?"

  The sight of two warriors in the Scottish garb encouraged the old man;and stepping out on the ground, he drew near to Murray. "Ruined,indeed, sir," replied he; "and its story is very sad. When theSouthrons, who hold Annandale, heard of the brave acts of Sir WilliamWallace, they sent an army to destroy this castle and domains, whichare his, in right of the Lady Marion of Lammington. Sweet creature! Ihear they foully murdered her in Lanark."

  Murray was smitten speechless at this information; for had he suspectedthere was any private reason with Wallace for his silent lingeringabout this desolate spot, he would rather have drawn him away than havestopped to ask questions.

  "And did you know Lady Marion, venerable old man?" inquired Wallace, ina voice so descriptive of what was passing in his heart, that the oldman turned toward him; and struck with his noble mien, he pulled offhis bonnet, and bowing, answered, "Did I know her? She was nursed onthese knees. And my wife, who cherished her sweet infancy, is nowwithin yon brae. It is our only home, for the Southrons burnt us outof the castle, where our young lady left us, when she went to bemarried to the brave young Wallace. He was as handsome a youth as everthe sun shone upon, and he loved my lady from a boy. I never shallforget the day when she stood on the top of that rock, and let agarland he had made for her fall into the Clyde. Without more ado,never caring because it is the deepest here of any part of the river,he jumps in after it, and I after him; and well I did, for when Icaught him by his bonny golden locks, he was insensible. His head hadstruck against a stone in the plunge, and a great cut was over hisforehead. God bless him, a sorry scar it left! but many, I warrant,have the Southrons now made on his comely countenance. I have neverseen him since he grew a man."

  Gregory, the honest steward of Lammington, was now recognized in thisold man's narration; but time and hardship had so altered hisappearance, that Wallace could not have otherwise recollected the ruddyface and active figure of his well-remembered companion, in the shakinglimbs and pallid visage of the hoary speaker. When he ended, the chiefthrew himself from his horse. He approached the old man; with one handhe took off his helmet, and with the other putting back the same goldenlocks, he said, "Was the scar you speak of anything like this?" Hisface was now close to the eye of Gregory, who in the action, the words,and the mark, immediately recognizing the young playmate of hishappiest days, with an almost shriek of joy, threw himself on his neckand wept; then looking up, with tears rolling over his cheeks, heexclaimed, "O Power of Mercy, take me to thyself, since my eyes haveseen the deliverer of Scotland!"

  "Not so, my venerable friend," returned Wallace; "you must make thesedesolated regions bloom anew! Decorate them, Gregory, as you would dothe tomb of your mistress. I give them to you and yours. Marion and Ihave no posterity! Let her foster-brother, if he still live--let him benow the Laird of Lammington."

  "He does live," replied the old man, "but the shadow of what he was.In attempting, with a few resolute lads, to defend these domains, hewas severely wounded. His companions were slain, and I found him onthe other side of my lady's garden left for dead. We fled with him tothe woods, and there remained till all about here was laid in ashes.Finding the cruel Southrons had made a general waste, yet fearful offresh incursions, we and others who had been driven from their homes,dug us subterraneous dwellings, and ever since have lived like fairiesin the green hillside. My son and his young wife and babes are now inour cavern, but reduced by sickness and want, for famine is here.Alas, the Southrons, in conquering Scotland, have not gained a kingdom,but made a desert!"

  "And there is a God who marks," returned Wallace; "I go to reap theharvests of Northumberland. What our enemies have ravished hence inpart they shall refund; a few days, and your granaries shall overflow.Meanwhile, I leave you with my friend," said he, pointing to Murray,"at the head of five hundred men. To-morrow he may commence thereduction of every English fortress that yet casts a shade on thestream of our native Clyde; for when the sun next rises, the Southronswill have passed the Scottish borders and then the truce expires."

  Gregory fell at his feet, and begged that he be allowed to bring hisNannie to see the husband of her once dear child.

  "Not now," replied Wallace, "I could not bear the interview--she shallsee me when I return."

  He then spoke apart to Murray, who cheerfully acquiesced in acommission that promised him not only the glory of being a conqueror,but the private satisfaction, he hoped, of driving the Southrongarrison out of his own paternal castle. To send such news to hisnoble father at Stirling, would indeed be a wreath of honor to his agedand yet warlike brow. It was then arranged between the young chief andhis commander that watchtowers should be thrown up on every conspicuouseminence which skirted the Scottish borders; whence concerted signalsof victories, or other information, might be severally interchanged.These preliminaries adjusted, the regent's bugle brought Ker and SirJohn Graham to his side. The appointed number of men was left withMurray; and Wallace, joining his other chieftains, bade his friend andhonest servant adieu.

  He now awakened to a sense of the present scene, and speeded hislegions over his and dale, till they entered on the once luxuriantbanks of the Annan--this territory of some of the noblest in Scotland,till Bruce, their chief, deserted them. It lay in more terrific ruinthan even the tracts he had left. There reigned the silence of thetomb; there existed the expiring agonies of men left to perish. Recentmarks of devastation smoked from the blood-stained earth; and in themidst of a barren waste, a few houseless wretches rushed forward at thesight of the regent, threw themselves before his horse, and begg
ed amorsel of food for their famishing selves and dying infants. "Look,"cried an almost frantic mother, holding toward him the living skeletonof a child; "my husband was slain by the Southrons, who hold LochmabenCastle; my subsistence was carried away, and myself turned forth, togive birth to this child on the rocks. We have fed till this hour onthe wild berries; but I die, and my child expires before me!" A secondgroup, with shrieks of despair, cried aloud, "Here are our young onesexposed to equal miseries. Give us bread, Regent of Scotland, or weperish!"

  Wallace turned to his troops: "Fast for a day, my brave friends," criedhe; "lay the provisions you have brought with you before these haplesspeople. To-morrow you shall feed largely on Southron tables."

  He was instantly obeyed. As his men marched on, they threw theirloaded wallets amongst the famishing groups; and, followed by theirblessings, descended with augmented speed the ravaged hills ofAnnandale. Dawn was brightening the dark head of Brunswark, as theyadvanced toward the Scottish boundary. At a distance, like a wreath ofwhite vapors, lay the English camp, along the southern bank of the Esk.At this sight, Wallace ordered his bugles to sound. They wereimmediately answered by those of the opposite host. The heralds ofboth armies advanced, and the sun rising from behind the eastern hills,shone full upon the legions of Scotland, winding down the romanticprecipices of Wauchope.

  Two hours arranged every preliminary to the exchange of prisoners; andwhen the clarion of the trumpet announced that each party was to passover the river to the side of its respective country, Wallace stood inthe midst of his chieftains to receive the last adieus of hisillustrious captives. When De Warenne approached, the regent took offhis helmet; the Southron had already his in his hand. "Farewell,gallant Scot," said he, "if aught could imbitter this moment ofrecovered freedom, it is that I leave a man I so revere, stillconfident in a finally hopeless cause!"

  "It would not be the less just were it indeed desparate," repliedWallace; "but had not Heaven shown on which side it fought, I shouldnot now have the honor of thus bidding the brave De Warenne farewell."

  The earl passed on, and the other lords, with grateful and respectfullooks, paid their obeisance. The litter of Montgomery drew near--thecurtains were thrown open-Wallace stretched out his hand to him: "Theprayers of sainted innocence are thine!"

  "Never more shall her angel spirit behold me here, as you now beholdme," returned Montgomery; "I must be a traitor to virtue, before I everagain bear arms against Sir William Wallace!"

  Wallace pressed his hand, and they parted.

  The escort which guarded De Valence advanced; and the proud earl,seeing where his enemy stood, took off his gauntlet, and throwing itfiercely toward him, exclaimed, "Carry that to your minion Ruthven, andtell him the hand that wore it will yet be tremendously revenged!"

  As the Southron ranks filed off toward Carlisle, those of the returningScottish prisoners approached their deliverer. Now it was that thefull clangor of joy burst from every breast and triumph-breathinginstrument in the Scottish legions; now it was that the echoes rungwith loud huzzas of "Long live the valiant Wallace, who brings ournobles out of captivity! Long live our matchless regent!"

  As these shouts rent the air, the Lords Badenoch and Athol drew near.The princely head of the former bent with proud acknowledgement to themild dignity of Wallace. Badenoch's penetrating eye saw that it wasindeed the patriotic guardian of his country to whom he bowed, and notthe vain affector of regal power. At his approach, Wallace alightedform his horse, and received his offered hand and thanks with everygrace inherent in his noble nature. "I am happy," returned he, "to havebeen the instrument of recalling to my country one of the princes ofher royal blood." "And while one drop of it exists in Scotland,"replied Badenoch, "its possessors must acknowledge the bravest of ourdefenders in Sir William Wallace."

  Athol next advanced, but his gloomy countenance contradicted his wordswhen he attempted to utter a similar sense of obligation. Sir JohnMonteith was eloquent in his thanks. And Sir William Maitland was notless sincere in his gratitude, than Wallace was in joy, at having givenliberty to so near a relation of Helen Mar. The rest of the captiveScots, to the number of several hundred, were ready to kiss the feet ofthe man who thus restored them to their honors, their country, andtheir friends, and Wallace bowed his happy head under a shower ofblessings which poured on him from a thousand grateful hearts.

  In pity to the wearied travelers, he ordered tents to be pitched; andfor the sake of their distant friends, he dispatched a detachment tothe top of Langholm Hill, to send forth a smoke in token to theClydesdale watch, of the armistice being ended. He had hardly seen itascend the mountain, when Graham arrived from reconnoitering, and toldhim that an English army of great strength was approaching by the footof the more southern hills, to take the reposing Scots by surprise.

  "They shall find us ready to receive them," was the prompt reply ofWallace; and his actions were ever the companions of his words.Leaving the new-arrived Scots to rest on the banks of the Esk, he puthimself at the head of five thousand men; and dispatching a thousandmore, with Sir John Graham, to pass the Cheviots, and be in ambush toattack the Southrons when he should give the signal, he marched swiftlyforward, and soon fell in with some advanced squadrons of the enemy,amongst the recesses of those hills. Little expecting such arencounter, they were marching in defiles upon the lower ridgy craigs,to avoid the swamps which occupied the broader way.

  At sight of the Scots, Lord Percy, the Southron commander, ordered aparty of his archers to discharge their arrows. The artillery of warbeing thus opened afresh, Wallace drew his bright sword, and waving itbefore him, just as the sun set, called aloud to his followers. Hisinspiring voice echoed from hill to hill; and the higher detachments ofthe Scots, pouring downward with the resistless impetuosity of theirown mountain streams, precipitated their enemies into the valley; whileWallace, with his pikemen, charging the horses in those slippery paths,drove the terrified animals into the morasses, where some sunk at once,and others, plunging, threw their riders, to perish in the swamp.

  Desperate at the confusion which now ensued, as his archers fellheadlong from the rocks, and his cavalry lay drowning before him, LordPercy called up his infantry; they appeared, but though ten thousandstrong, the determined Scots met their first ranks breast to breast;and leveling them with their companions, rushed on the rest with theforce of a thunder-storm. It was at this period, that the signal wasgiven from the horn of Wallace; and the division of Graham, meeting theretreating Southrons as they attempted to form behind the hill,completed their defeat. The slaughter became dreadful, the victorydecisive. Sir Ralph Lattimer, the second in command, was killed in thefirst onset; and Lord Percy himself, after fighting as became his bravehouse, fled, covered with wounds, toward Alnwick.