The Scottish Chiefs

by Jane Porter

  Chapter LIV.

  Carron Banks.

  The troops of King Edward lay overpowered with wine. Elated withvictory, they had drunk largely, the royal pavilion setting them theexample; for though Edward was temperate, yet, to flatter his recoveredfriends, the inordinate Buchan and Soulis, he had allowed a greaterexcess that night than he was accustomed to sanction. The banquetover, every knight retired to his tent; every soldier to his pallet;and a deep sleep lay upon every man. The king himself, whose manythoughts had long kept him waking, now fell into a slumber.

  Guards had been placed around the camp more from military ceremony thanan idea of their necessity. The strength of Wallace they believedbroken; and that they should have nothing to do next morning but tochase him into Stirling, and take him there. But the spirit of theregent was not so easily subdued. He ever thought it shameful todespair while it was possible to make a stand. And now, leading hisdetermined followers through the lower grounds of Cumbernaul, hedetached half his force under Mar, to take the Southron camp in therear, while he should attack the front, and pierce his way to the royalpavilion.

  With soundless caution, the battalion of Mar wound round the banks ofthe Forth to reach the point of its destination; and Wallace,proceeding with as noiseless a step, gained the hill which overlookedhis sleeping enemies. His front ranks, shrouded by branches they hadtorn from the trees in Tor Wood, now stood still. Without thisprecaution, had any eye looked from the Southron line they must havebeen perceived; but now should a hundred gaze on them, their figureswere so blended with the adjoining thickets, they might easily bemistaken for a part of them. As the moon sunk in the horizon theymoved gently down the hill; and scarcely drawing breath, were within afew paces of the first outpost, when one of the sentinels starting fromhis reclining position, suddenly exclaimed, "What sound is that?"

  "Only the wind amongst the trees," returned his comrade; "I see theirbranches waving. Let me sleep; for Wallace yet lives, and we may havehot work to-morrow." Wallace did live, and the man slept--to wake nomore; for the next instant a Scottish brand was through every Southronheart on the outpost. That done, Wallace threw away his bough, leapedthe narrow dike which lay in front of the camp; and with Bruce andGraham at the head of a chosen band of brave men, cautiously proceededonward to reach the pavilion. At the moment he should blow his bugle,the divisions he had left with Lennox and Murray, and the Lord Mar,were to press forward to the same point.

  Still all lay in profound repose, and guided by the lamps which burnedaround the royal quarters, the dauntless Scots reached the tent.Wallace had already laid his hand upon the curtain that was itsentrance, when an armed man with a presented pike, demanded, "Who comeshere?" the regent's answer laid the interrogator's head at his feet;but the voice had awakened the ever watchful king. Perceiving his owndanger in the fall of the sentinel, he snatched his sword, and callingaloud on his sleeping train, sprung from his couch. He was immediatelysurrounded by half a score of knights, who started on their feet beforeWallace could reach the spot. Short, however, would have been theirprotection; they fell before his arm and that of Graham, and left avacant place, for Edward had disappeared. Foreseeing from the firstprowess of these midnight invaders, the fate of his guards, he had madea timely escape, by cutting a passage for himself through the canvas ofhis tent. Wallace perceived that his prize had eluded his grasp, buthoping to at least drive him from the field, he blew the appointedsignal to Mar and Lennox; caught one of the lamps from the monarch'stable and setting fire to the adjoining drapery, rushed from itsblazing volumes to meet his brave colleagues amongst the disorderedlines. Graham and his followers with firebrands in their hands, threwconflagration into all parts of the camp, and with the fearfulwar-cries of their country, seemed to assail the terrified enemy fromevery direction. Men half-dressed and unarmed, rushed from their tentsupon the pikes of their enemies; hundreds fell without striking a blow,and they who were stationed nearest the outposts, betook themselves toflight, scattering themselves in scared throngs over the amazed plainsof Linlithgow.

  The king in vain sought to rally his men--to remind them of their latevictory. His English alone hearkened to his call; superstition hadlaid her petrifying hand on all the rest. The Irish saw a terriblejudgment in this scene; believing it had fallen upon them for havingtaken arms against their sister people; the Welsh, as they descried thewarlike Bishop of Dunkeld issuing from the mists of the river, andcharging his foaming steed through their flying defiles, could notpersuade themselves that Merlin had not arisen to chastise theirobedience to the ravager of their country. Every superstition, everypanic created by fear took possession of the half-intoxicated, stupidwretches; and falling in bloody and unresisting heaps all around, itwas rather a slaughter than a battle. Opposition seemed everywhereabandoned, excepting on the spot still maintained by the King ofEngland and his brave countrymen. The faithless Scots who had followedthe Cummins to the field also stood there and fought with desperation.Wallace opposed the despair and valor of his adversaries with thesteadiness of his men; and Graham having seized some of thewar-engines, discharged a shower of blazing arrows upon the Southronphalanx.

  The camp was now on fire in every direction; and putting all to thehazard of one decisive blow, Edward ordered his men to make at once tothe point, where, by the light of the flaming tents, he could perceivethe waving plumes of Wallace. With his ponderous mace held terribly inthe air, the king himself bore down to the shock; and breaking throughthe intervening combatants assaulted the chief. The might of tenthousand souls was then in the arm of the Regent of Scotland. Thepuissant Edward wondered at himself as he shrunk from before hisstrokes; as he shuddered at the heroic fierceness of a countenancewhich seemed more than mortal. Was it indeed the Scottish chieftain?or some armed delegate from heaven, descended to flight the battles ofthe oppressed? Edward trembled; his mace was struck from his hand; butimmediately a glittering falchon supplied its place, and withrecovering presence of mind he renewed the combat.

  Meanwhile the young Bruce (who, in his humble armor, might have beenpassed by as an enemy for meaner swords), checking the onward speed ofMarch, pierced him at once through the heart: "Die, thou disgrace tothe name of Scot," cried he, "and with thy blood expunge my stains!"His sword now laid all opposition at his feet; and while the tempest ofdeath blew around, the groans of the dying, the shrieks of the wounded,and the outcries of those who were perishing in the flames, drove theking's ranks to distraction, and raised so great a fear in the minds ofthe Cummin clan, that, breaking from the royal line with yells ofdismay, they fled in all directions after their already fugitive allies.

  Edward saw the Earl of March fall, and finding himself wounded in manyplaces, with a backward step he received the blows of Wallace; but thatdetermined chief, following his advantage, made a stroke at the kingwhich threw him astounded into the arms of his followers. At thatmoment Lincoln raised his arm to strike his dagger into the back ofWallace; but Graham arrested the blow, and sent the young lord'smotionless body to the earth. The Southron ranks closed immediatelybefore their insensible monarch; and a contest more desperate than anywhich had preceded it, took place. Hosts seemed to fall on both sides;at last the Southrons (having stood their ground till Edward wascarried from further danger) suddenly wheeled about and fledprecipitately toward the east. Wallace pursued them on full charge;driving them across the lowlands of Linlithgow, where he learned fromsome prisoners he took, that the Earl of Carrick was in the Lothians;having retreated hither on the first tidings that the Scots hadattacked the English camp.

  "Now is your time," said Wallace to Bruce, "to rejoin your father.Bring him to Scotland, where a free crown awaits him. Your actions ofthis night must be a pledge to your country of the virtues which willsupport his throne!"

  The young warrior, throwing off his rugged hauberk in a retired glen,appeared again as a prince, and embracing the regent:

  "A messenger from myself or from my father," said he, "shall meet youa
t Stirling; meanwhile, farewell!--and give my thanks to the youngGordon whose sword armed me for Scotland!"

  Bruce mounted the horse Wallace had prepared, and spurring along thebanks of the Almond, was soon lost amidst its luxuriant shades.

  Wallace still led the pursuit of Edward, and meeting those auxiliariesfrom the adjoining counties, which his provident orders had prepared toturn out on the first appearance of this martial chase; he poured histroops through Ettrick Forest, and drove the flying host of England farinto Northumberland. There checking his triumphant squadrons, herecalled his stragglers, and returned with abated speed into his owncountry. Halting on the north bank of the Twee, he sent to theirquarters those hands which belonged to the border castles, and thenmarched leisurely forward, that his brave soldiers, who had sustainedthe weight of the battle, might recover their exhausted strength.

  At Peebles he was agreeably surprised by the sight of Edwin. Thoughignorant of the recommenced hostilities of Edward, Lord Ruthven becameso impatient to resume his duties, that as soon as he was able to move,he had set off on his return to Perth. On arriving at Huntingtower hewas told of the treachery of March, also of his fate, and that theregent had beaten the enemy on the banks of the Carron, and waspursuing him into his own dominions. Ruthven was inadequate to theexertion of following the successful troops, but Edwin, rejoicing atthis new victory, would not be detained, and crossing the Forth intoMid-Lothian, had sped his eager way until the happy moment that broughthim again to the side of his first and dearest friend.

  As they continued their route together, Edwin inquired the events ofthe past time, and heard them related with wonder, horror, andgratitude. Grateful for the preservation of Wallace, grateful for therescue of his country from the menaced destruction, for some time hecould only clasp his friend's hand with strong emotion to his heart.The death of his uncle Bothwell made that heart tremble within him atthe thought of how much severer might have been his deprivation; atlast, extricating his powers of speech from the spell of contradictoryfeelings which enchained them, he said, "But if my uncle Mar and ourbrave Graham were in the last conflict, where are they, that I do notsee them share your victory?"

  "I hope," returned Wallace, "that we shall rejoin them in safety atStirling. Our troops parted in the pursuit, and after having sent backthe Lowland chieftains, you see I have none with me now but my ownparticular followers."

  The regent's expectations that he should soon fall in with some of thechasing squadrons, were the next morning gratified. Crossing theBathgate Hills, he met the returning battalions of Lennox, with LordMar's, and also Sir John Graham's. Lord Lennox was thanked by Wallacefor his good services, and immediately dispatched to reoccupy hisstation in Dumbarton. But the captains of Mar and of Graham, couldgive no other account of their leaders, than that they saw them lastfighting valiantly in the Southron camp, and had since supposed thatduring the pursuit they must have joined the regent's squadron. A colddew fell over the limbs of Wallace at these tidings; he looked onMurray and on Edwin. The expression of the former's face told him whatwere his fears; but Edwin, ever sanguine, strove to encourage the hopethat all might yet be well: "They may not have yet returned from thepursuit; or they may be gone on to Stirling."

  But these comfortings were soon dispelled by the appearance of LordRuthven, who (having been apprised of the regent's approach) came forthto meet him. The pleasure of seeing the earl so far recovered as tohave been able to leave Huntingtower, was checked by the first glanceof his face, on which was deeply characterized some tale of grief.Edwin thought it was the recent disasters of Scotland he mourned; andwith a cheering voice he exclaimed, "Courage, my father! our regentcomes again a conqueror! Edward has once more recrossed the plains ofNorthumberland!"

  "Thanks be to God for that!" replied Ruthven! "but what have not theselast conflicts cost the country! Lord Mar is wounded unto death, andlies in a chamber next to the yet unburied corpses of Lord Bute and thedauntless Graham." Wallace turned deadly pale; a mist passed over hiseyes, and staggering, he breathlessly supported himself on the arm ofEdwin. Murray looked on him; but all was still in his heart: his ownbeloved father had fallen; and in that stroke Fate seemed to haveemptied all her quiver.

  "Lead me to their chambers!" cried Wallace; "show me where my friendslie; let me hear the last prayer for Scotland from the lips of thebravest of her veterans!"

  Ruthven turned the head of his horse; and, as he rode along, heinformed the regent that Edwin had not left Huntingtower for the Forthhalf an hour when an express arrived from Falkirk. By it he learnedthat, as soon as the inhabitants of Stirling saw the fire of theSouthron camp, they had hastened thither to enjoy the spectacle. Some,bolder than the rest, entered its deserted confines (for the retreatingsquadrons were then flying over the plain); and amidst the slaughtered,near the royal tent, one of these visitors thought he distinguishedgroans. Whether friend or foe, he stooped to render assistance to thesufferer, and soon found it to be Lord Mar. The earl begged to becarried to some shelter that he might see his wife and daughter beforehe died. The people drew him out from under his horse and many amangled corpse; and, wrapping him in their plaids, conveyed him toFalkirk, where they lodged him in the convent.

  "A messenger was instantly dispatched to me," continued Ruthven; "and,indifferent to all personal considerations, I set out immediately. Isaw my dying brother-in-law. At his request, that others might notsuffer what he had endured under the pressure of the slain, the fieldhad been sought for the wounded. Many were conveyed into theneighboring houses, while the dead were consigned to the earth. Deephave been dug the graves of mingled Scot and English on the banks ofthe Carron! Many of our fallen nobles, amongst whom was the princelyBadenoch, have been conveyed to the cemetery of their ancestors; othersare entombed in the church of Falkirk; but the bodies of Sir JohnGraham and my brother Bothwell," said he, in a lower tone, "I haveretained till your return."

  "You have done right," replied the till then, silent Wallace; andspurring forward, he saw not the ground he trod, till, ascending thehill of Falkirk, the venerable walls of its monastery presentedthemselves to his view. He threw himself off his horse and entered,preceded by Lord Ruthven.

  He stopped before the cell which contained the dying chief, and desiredthe abbot to apprise the earl of his arrival. The sound of that voice,whose heart-consoling tones could be matched by none on earth,penetrated to the ear of his almost insensible friend. Mar startedfrom his pillow, and Wallace through the half-open door heard him say:"Let him come in, Joanna! All my mortal hopes now hang on him."

  Wallace instantly stepped forward, and beheld the veteran stretched ona couch, the image of that death to which he was so rapidlyapproaching. He hastened toward him; and the dying man, stretchingforth his arms exclaimed: "Come to me, Wallace, my son, the only hopeof Scotland, the only human trust of this anxious paternal heart!"

  Wallace threw himself on his knees beside him, and taking his hand,pressed it in speechless anguish to his lips; every present grief wasthen weighing on his soul, and denied him the power of utterance. LadyMar sat by the pillow of her husband, but she bore no marks of thesorrow which convulsed the frame of Wallace. She looked serious, buther cheek wore its freshest bloom. She spoke not, and the veteranallowed the tears of enfeebled nature to fall on the bent head of hisfriend. "Mourn not for me," cried he, "nor think that these areregretful drops. I die as I have wished, in the field for Scotland.Time must have soon laid my gray hair ignobly in the grave; and toenter it thus covered with honorable wounds, in glory, has long been myprayer. But, dearest, most unwearied of friends, still the tears ofmortality will flow; for I leave my children fatherless in thisfaithless world. And my Helen! Oh, Wallace, the angel who exposed herprecious self through the dangers of that midnight walk to saveScotland, her father, and his friends, is--lost to us! Joanna, tell therest," said he, gasping, "for I cannot."

  Wallace turned to Lady Mar with an inquiring look of such wild horrorthat she found h
er tongue cleave to the roof of her mouth, and hercomplexion faded into the pallidness of his.

  "Surely," exclaimed he, "there is not to be a wreck of all that isestimable on earth. The Lady Helen is not dead?"

  "No," rejoined the earl; "but-"

  He could proceed no further, and Lady Mar forced herself to speak.

  "She has fallen into the hands of the enemy. On my lord's beingbrought to this place, he sent for myself and Lady Helen; but inpassing by Dunipacis, an armed squadron issued from behind the mound,and putting our attendants to flight, carried her off. I escapedhither. The reason for this attack was explained afterward by one ofthe Southrons, who, having been wounded by our escort, was taken, andbrought to Falkirk. He said that Lord Aymer de Valence, having beensent by his beset monarch to call Lord Carrick to his assistance, foundthe Bruce's camp deserted; but by accident learning that Lady Helen Marwas to be brought to Falkirk, he stationed himself behind Dunipacis;and springing out as soon as our cavalcade was in view, seized her.She obtained, the rest were allowed to escape, but as the Lord deValence loves Helen, I cannot doubt he will have sufficient honor notto insult the fame of her family, and so will make her his wife."

  "God forbid!" ejaculated Mar, holding up his trembling hands; "Godforbid that my blood should ever mingle with that of any one of thepeople who have wrought such woe to Scotland! Swear to me, valiantWallace, by the virtues of her virgin heart, by your own immaculatehonor, that you will move heaven and earth to rescue my Helen from thepower of his Southron lord!"

  "So help me Heaven!" answered Wallace, looking steadfastly upward. Agroan burst from the lips of Lady Mar, and her head sunk on the side ofthe couch.

  "What? Who is that?" exclaimed Mar, raising his head in alarm from hispillow.

  "Believe it your country, Donald!" replied she; "to what do you bindits only defender? Are you not throwing him into the very center ofhis enemies, by making him swear to rescue Helen? Think you that DeValence will not foresee a pursuit, and take her into the heart ofEngland? And thither must our regent follow him! Release Sir WilliamWallace from a vow that must destroy him!"

  "Wallace," cried the now soul-struck earl, "what have I done? Has afather's anxiety asked amiss? If so, pardon me! But if my daughteralso must perish for Scotland, take her, O God, uncontaminated, and letus meet in heaven! Wallace, I dare not accept your vow."

  "But I will fulfill it," cried he. "Let thy paternal heart rest inpeace; and by Jesus' help, Lady Helen shall again be in her owncountry, as free from Southron taint as she is from all mortal sin! DeValence dare not approach her heavenly innocence with violence; and herScottish heart will never consent to give him a lawful claim to herprecious self. Edward's legions are far beyond the borders! butwherever this earl may be, yet I will reach him. For there is aguiding hand above, and the demands of the morning at Falkirk are nowto be answered in the halls of Stirling."

  Lord Ruthven, followed by Edwin and Murray, entered the room. And thetwo nephews were holding each a hand of their dying uncle in theirs,when Lady Ruthven (who, exhausted with fatigue and anxiety, had retiredan hour before), reappeared at the door of the apartment. She had beeninformed of the arrival of the regent and her son, and now hastened togive them a sorrowful welcome.

  "Ah, my lord," cried she, as Wallace pressed her matron cheek to his;"this is not as your triumphs are wont to be greeted! You are still aconqueror, and yet death, dreadful death, lies all around us! And ourHelen, too--"

  "Shall be restored to you, by the blessed aid of Heaven!" returned he,"What is yet left for me to do, must be done; and then-" He paused, andadded, "The time is not far distant, then--" He paused, and added "Thetime is not far distant, Lady Ruthven, when we shall meet in the realmsto which so many of our bravest and dearest have just hastened."

  With swimming eyes Edwin drew toward his master. "My uncle wouldsleep," said he; "he is exhausted, and will recall us when he wakesfrom rest." The eyes of the veteran were at that moment closed withheavy slumber. Lady Ruthven remained with the countess to watch byhim; and Wallace, gently withdrawing, was followed by Ruthven and thetwo young men out of the apartment.

  Lord Lochawe, with the Bishop of Dunkeld, and other chiefs, lay indifferent chambers, pierced with many wounds; but none so grievous asthose of Lord Mar. Wallace visited them all, and having gone throughthe numerous places in the neighborhood, then made quarters for hiswounded men. At the gloom of evening he returned to Falkirk. He sentEdwin forward to inquire after the repose of his uncle; but on himselfre-entering the monastery, he requested the abbot to conduct him to theapartment in which the remains of Sir John Graham were deposited. Thefather obeyed; leading him along a dark passage, he opened a door, anddiscovered the slain hero lying on a bier. Two monks sat at its head,with tapers in their hands. Wallace waved them to withdraw; they setdown the lights and departed. He was then alone.

  For some time he stood with clasped hands, looking intently on the bodyas it lay extended before him. "Graham! Graham!" cried he, at last,in a voice of unutterable grief; "dost thou not rise at thy general'svoice? Oh! is this to be the tidings I am to send to the brave fatherwho intrusted to me his son? Lost in the prime of youth, in theopening of thy renown, is it thus that all which is good is to bemartyrized by the enemies of Scotland?" He sunk gradually on his kneesbeside him. "And shall I not look once more on that face," said he,"which ever turned toward mine with looks of faith and love?" Theshroud was drawn down by his hand. He started on his feet at thesight. The changing touch of death had altered every feature--haddeepened the paleness of the bloodless corpse into an ashy hue. "Whereis the countenance of my friend?" cried he. "Where the spirit whichonce moved in beauty and animating light over this face! Gone; and allI see before me is a mass of molded clay! Graham! Graham!" cried he,looking upward, "thou art not here. No more can I recognize my friendin this deserted habitation of thy soul. Thine own proper self, thineimmortal spirit, is ascended up above; and there my fond remembranceshall ever seek thee!" Again he knelt, but it was in devotion--adevotion which drew the sting from death, and opened to his view thevictory of the Lord of Life over the King of Terrors.

  Edward having learned from his father that Lord Mar still slept, andbeing told by the abbot where the regent was, followed him to theconsecrated chamber. On entering, he perceived him kneeling by thebody of his friend. The youth drew near. He loved the brave Graham,and he almost adored Wallace; the scene, therefore, smote upon hisheart. He dropped down by the side of the regent, and, throwing hisarms around his neck, in a convulsive voice exclaimed: "Our friend isgone; but I yet live, and only in your smiles, my friend and brother!"

  Wallace strained him to his breast. He was silent for some minutes,and then said: "To every dispensation of God I am resigned, my Edwin.While I bow to this stroke, I acknowledge the blessing I still hold inyou and Murray. But did we not feel these visitations from our Maker,they would not be decreed to us. To behold the dead is the penalty ofman for sin; for it is more pain to witness and to occasion death, thanfor ourselves to die. It is also a lesson which God teaches his sons;and in the moment that he shows us death he convinces us ofimmortality. Look upon that face, Edwin!" continued he, turning hiseyes on the breathless clay. His youthful auditor, awestruck, and histears checked by the solemnity of this address, looked as he directedhim. "Doth not that inanimate mold of earth testify that nothing lessthan an immortal spirit could have lighted up its marble substance withthe life and god-like actions we have seen it perform?" Edwinshuddered; and Wallace, letting the shroud fall over the face, added:"Never more will I look at it, for it no longer wears the characters ofmy friend--they are pictured on my soul; and himself, my Edwin, stilleffulgent in beauty and glowing with imperishable life, looks down onus from heaven!" He rose as he spoke, and opening the door, the monksre-entered, and placing themselves at the head of the bier, chanted thevesper requiem. When it was ended, Wallace kissed the crucifix theylaid on his friend's breast, and left th
e cell.