 CHAPTER XXIX While the little bark bounded over the waves towards the mainland, the poor pilgrims of earth who were its freightage, with heavy hearts bent toward each other, intent on the further information they were to receive. Here is a list of the murdered chiefs, and of those who are in the dungeons, and of those who are in the dungeons expecting the light treatment, continued Graham, holding out a parchment, it was given to me by my faithful servant. Wallace took it, but seeing his grandfather's name at the top, he could look no further. Closing the scroll, Gallant Graham, said he, I want no stimulus to urge me to the extirpation I meditate. If the sword of heaven be with us, not one perpetrator of this horrid massacre shall be alive to-morrow to repeat the deed. What massacre! Edwin ventured to inquire. Wallace put the parchment into his hand. A list of the Scottish chiefs murdered on the eighteenth of June, 1297, in the judgment hall of the English barons at air. His cheek, paled by the suspense of his mind, now reddened with the hue of indignation, but when the venerated name of his general's grandfather met his sight, his horror struck eye south of face of Wallace. It was dark as before, and he was now in earnest discourse with Graham. For bearing to interrupt him, Edwin continued to read over the blood-registered names. In turning the page, his eye glanced to the opposite side, and he saw at the head of a list of prisoners in the dungeons of air the name of Lord Dundoff, and immediately afterward that of Lord Ruthfyn. He uttered a piercing cry, and extending his arms to Wallace, who turned round at so unusual a sound. The terror struck boy exclaimed, My father is in their hands. Oh, if you are indeed my brother, fly to air and save him. Wallace took up the list which Edwin had dropped. He saw the name of Lord Ruthfyn amongst the prisoners, and folding his arms round this affectionate son, compose yourself, said he. It is to air I am going, and if the God of justice be our speed your father and Lord Dundoff shall not see another day in prison. Edwin threw himself on the neck of his friend. My benefactor was all he could utter. Wallace pressed him silently to his bosom. Who is this youth, inquired Graham, to which of the noble companions of my captive father is he son? To William Ruthfyn, answered Wallace, the valiant lord of the Carse of Galerie. And it is a noble sign from that glorious root. He it was that enabled me to win Dumbarton. Look up, my brother, cried Wallace, trying to regain so tender a mind from the paralyzing terrors which had seized it. Look up, and hear me recount the first freaks of your maiden arms to our gallant friend. Covered with blushes, arising from anxious emotion, as well as from a happy consciousness of having want the praises of his general, Edwin rose from his breast, and bowing to Sir John, still leaned his head upon the shoulder of Wallace. That amiable being, who, when seeking to wipe the tear of affliction from the cheek of others, minded not the drops of blood which were distilling in secret from his own heart, began the recital of his first acquaintance with his young Sir Edwin. He enumerated every particular, his bringing the detachment from Bothwell, through the enemy encircled mountains, to Glenfinless, his scaling the walls of Dumbarton to make the way smooth for the Scots to ascend, and his after prowess in that well-defended fortress. As Wallace proceeded, the wonder of Graham was raised to a pitch, only to be equaled by his admiration, and taking the hand of Edwin, Receive me, brave youth, said he, as your second brother. Sir William Wallace is your first, but this night we shall fight side by side for our fathers, and let that be our bond of kindred. Edwin pressed the young chief's cheek with his innocent lips. Let us together free them, cried he, and then we shall be born twins in happiness. So be it, cried Graham, and Sir William Wallace be the sponsor of that hour. Wallace smiled on them, and turning his head toward the shore, when the vessel doubled a certain point, he saw the beach covered with armed men. To be sure they were his own, he drew his sword and waved it in the air. At that moment a hundred falchions flashed in the sunbeams, and the shouts of Wallace came loudly on the breeze. The seamen Edwin started on their feet, the seamen plied their oars, the boat dashed into the breakers, and Wallace, sleeping on shore, was received with acclamations by his eager soldiers. He no sooner landed than he commenced his march. Murray joined him on the banks of the Irwin, and as air was no very great distance from the river, at two hours before midnight the little army entered Lag Lane Wood, where they halted, while Wallace, with his chieftains, proceeded to reconnoiter the town. The winds swept in gust through the trees, and seemed by his dismal yellings to utter warnings of the dreadful retribution he was about to inflict. He had already declared his plan of destruction, and Graham, as a first measure, went to the spot he had fixed on with MacDougall, his servant, as a place of rendezvous. He returned with the men, who informed Wallace that in honour of the sequestrated lands of the murdered chiefs, having been that day partitioned by devalance amongst southern lords, a grand feast was going on in the Governor's Palace. Under the very roof where they had shed the blood of the trusting Scots, they were now keeping this carousel. Now, then, is our time to strike, cried Wallace, and ordering detachments of his men to take possession of the avenues to the town, he set forth with others to reach the front of the Castle Gates, by less frequenting path than the main street. The darkness being so great that no object could be distinctly seen, they had not gone far, before MacDougall, who had undertaken to be their guide, discovered by the projection of a hill on the right that he had lost the road. Our swords will find one, exclaimed Kirk Patrick. Unwilling to miss any advantage in a situation where so much was at stake, Wallace gladly hailed a twinkling light, which gleamed from what he supposed the window of a distant cottage. Kirk Patrick, with MacDougall, offered to go forward and explore what it might be. In a few minutes they arrived at a thatched building, from which, to their surprise, issued the wailing strains of the Koranach. Kirk Patrick paused. Its melancholy notes were sung by female voices. Hence, there being no danger in applying to such harmless inhabitants to learn the way to the citadel, he proceeded to the door, when, intending to knock, the weight of his male arm burst open at Slender Latch, and discovered two poor women in an inner apartment, wringing their hands over a shrouded corpse. While the chief entered, his friends came up. Murray and Graham, struck with sounds never breathed over the vulgar dead, lingered at the porch wondering what noble Scott could be the subject of lamentation in so lowly and abode. The stopping of these two chieftains impeded the steps of Wallace, who was pressing forward, without eye or ear for anything but the object of his search. Kirk Patrick, at that moment, appeared on the threshold, and without a word, putting forth his hand, seized the arm of his commander, and pulled him into the cottage. Before Wallace could ask the reason of this, he saw a woman run forward with a light in her hand, the beams of which falling on the face of the night of Ellersley, with a shriek of joy she rushed toward him and threw herself upon his neck. He instantly recognized Elsba, his nurse, the faithful attendant on his grandfather's declining years, the happy matron who had decked the bridal bed of his marion, and, with an anguish of recollections that almost unmanned him, he returned her affectionate embrace. Here he lies, cried the old woman, drawing him toward the rushy beer, and before he had time to demand who, she pulled down the shroud and disclosed the body of Sir Ronald Crawford. Wallace gazed on it, with a look of such dreadful import that Edwin, whose anxious eyes then sought his countenance, trembled with a nameless horror. Oh! thought he, to what is this noble soul reserved? Is he alone doomed to extirpate the enemies of Scotland that every ill falls direct upon his head? Sorry, sorry, beer, for the good Lord Ronald, cried the old woman, a poor wake to mourn the loss of him who was the benefactor of all the country round. But had I not brought him here, the salt sea must have been his grave. Here Sobs prevented her utterance, but after a short pause, with many vehement lamentations over the virtues of the dead, and implications on his murderers, she related that, as soon as the woeful tidings were brought to Monctown Kirk, and brought to by the Southernern, who was to take it in possession, she and the clansfolk would not swear fidelity to the new Lord, were driven from the house. She hastened to the bloody theatre of Massacre, and there beheld the bodies of the murdered chiefs drawn on sledges to the seashore. Elsba knew that of her master by the scar on his breast which he had received in the battle of Largs. When she saw corpse after corpse thrown with a careless hand into the waves, and the man approached who was to cast the honoured chief of Monctown to the same unhallowed burial, she threw herself frantically on the body, and so moved the man's compassion, that taking advantage of the time when his comrades were out of sight, he permitted her to wrap the dead Sir Ronald in her plaid, and so carry him away between her sister and herself. But ere she had raised her sacred burden, the man directed her to seek the venerable head from amongst the others, which lay mingled in a sack. Drawing it forth she placed it beside the body, and then hastily retired with both, to the hovel where Wallace had found her. It was a shepherd's hut, from which the desolation of the times, having long ago driven away its former inhabitant, she had hoped that in so lonely an obscurity she might have performed without notice a chieftain's rites, till the remains of the murdered Lord of the very lands on which she wept him. These over she meant he should be interred in secret by the fathers of a neighbouring church, which he had once richly endowed. With these intentions she and her sister were chanting over him the sad dirge of their country when Sir Roger Kirkpatrick burst open the door. Ah! cried she as she closed the dismal narrative, though two lonely women were all they had left of the lately thronged household of Sir Ronald Crawford, to raise the last lament over his reverend body. Yet in that and midnight hour our earthly voices were not alone. The weightful spirits of his daughters hovered in the air and joined the deep coronok. Wallace sighed heavily as he looked on the animated face of the aged mourner. Attachment to the venerable dead seemed to have inspired her with thoughts beyond her station, but the heart is an able teacher, and he saw that true affection speaks but one language. As her ardent eyes withdrew from their heavenward gaze they fell upon the shrouded face of her master. A napkin concealed the wound of decapitation. Chiefs cried she in a burst of recollection, you have not seen all the cruelty of these murderers. At these words she suddenly withdrew the linen and lifting up the pale head held it woefully toward Wallace. Here, cried she, once more kiss these lips. They have often kissed yours when you were a babe and as insensible to his love as he is now to your sorrow. Wallace received the head in his arms, the long silver beard thick with gouts of blood hung over his hands. He gazed on it intently for some minutes. An awful silence pervaded the room. Every eye was riveted upon him. Looking round on his friends, with accountants whose deadly hue gave a sepulchre fire to the gloomy denunciation of his eyes, was it necessary, said he, to turn my heart to iron, that I was brought to see this sight? All the tremendous purpose of his soul was read in his face, while he laid the head back upon the beer. His lips again moved, but none heard what he said. He rushed from the hut and with rapid strides proceeded in profound silence toward the palace. He well knew that no honest scot could be under that roof. The building, though magnificent, was altogether a structure of wood. To fire it, then, was his determination. To destroy all at once in the theatre of their cruelty. To make an execution, not engage in a warfare of man to man, was his resolution, for they were not soldiers he was seeking but assassins, and to pitch his brave scots in the open field against such unmanly wretches would be to dishonour his men, to give criminals a chance for the lives they had forfeited. All being quiet in the streets through which he passed, and having set strong bodies of men at the mouth of every sallyport of the citadel, he made a bold attack upon the guard at the Barbican gate, and ere they could give the alarm, all being slain, he and his chosen troop entered the portal and made direct to the palace. The lights which blazed through the windows of the banqueting-hall showed him to the spot, and having detached Graham and Edwin to storm the keep, where their fathers were confined, he took the half-intoxicated sentinels at the palace gates by surprise, and striking them into a sleep from which they would wait no more, he fastened the doors upon the assassins. His men surrounded the building with hurdles filled with combustibles, which they had prepared according to his directions, and when all was ready, Wallace, with the mighty spirit of retribution nerving every limb, mounted to the roof, and tearing off the shingles, with a flaming brand in his hand, showed himself to the affrighted revelers beneath, and as he threw it blazing among them he cried aloud, The blood of the murdered calls for vengeance, and it comes. At that instant the matches were put to the faggots which surrounded the building, and the party within, springing from their seats, hastened toward the doors. All were fastened on them, and retreating into the midst of the room, they fearfully looked toward the tremendous figure above, which like a supernatural being seemed indeed to rain fire upon their guilty heads. Some shook with superstitious dread. Others, driven to atheistical despair, with horrible excretions, again strove to force a passage through the doors. A second glance told the valence whose was the hand which had launched the thunderbolt at his feet, and, turning to Sir Richard Arnolf, he cried, in a voice of horror, my arch-enemy is there. Thick smoke rising from within and without the building now obscured his terrific form. The shouts of the scots as the fire covered its walls, and the streaming flames leaking from the windows and pouring into every opening of the building, raised such a terror in the breasts of the wretches within, that with the most horrible cries they again and again flew to the doors to escape. Not an avenue appeared, almost suffocated with smoke, and scorched by the blazing rafters which fell from the burning roof, they at last made a desperate attempt to break a passage through the great portal. Arnolf was at their head, and sunk to abjectness by his despair. In a voice which terror rendered piercing, he called aloud for mercy. The words reached the ear of Sir Roger Kirk Patrick, who stood near to the door. In a voice of thunder he replied, That ye gave, ye shall receive. Where was mercy when our fathers and our brothers fell beneath your murderous axes? Chamber de Valence came up at this moment with a wooden pillar, which he and his strongest men in the company had torn from under the gallery that surrounded the room, and with all their strength dashing it against the great door, they at last drove it from its bolts. But now a wall of men opposed them. Desperate at the sight, and with a burning furnace in the rear, it was not the might of men that could prevent their escape, and with the determination of despair rushing forward, the foremost rank of Scots fell. But ere the exulting Southerns could press out into the open space, Wallace himself had closed upon them, and Arnolf, the merciless Arnolf, whose voice had pronounced the sentence of death upon Sir Ronald Crawford, died beneath his hand. Wallace was not aware that he had killed the governor of ere till the terror struck exclamations of his enemies informed him that the ruthless instigator of the massacre was slain. This event was welcome news to the Scots, and hoping that the next death would be that of devalence, they pressed on with redoubled energy. Aroused by so extraordinary a noise, and alarmed by the flames of the palace, the soldiers quartered near hastened half-armed to the spot. But their presence rather added to the confusion than gave assistance to the besieged. They were without leaders, and not daring to put themselves to action, for fear of being afterwards punished, in the case of a mischance, for having presumed to move without their officers, they stood dismayed and irresolute, while those very officers, who had been all at the banquet, were falling in heaps under the swords of the exterminating Scots. Meanwhile the men who guarded the prisoners in the Keep, having their commanders with them, made a stout resistance there, and one of the officers, seeing a possible advantage, stole out, and gathering a company of the scattered garrison, suddenly taking Graham in flank, made no inconsiderable havoc amongst that part of his division. Edwin blew the signal for assistance. Wallace heard the blast, and seeing the day was won at the palace, he left the finishing of the affair to Kirkpatrick and Murray. Drawing off a small party to reinforce Graham, he took the southern officer by surprise. The enemy's ranks fell around him like corn beneath the sickle, and grasping a huge battering-gram which his men had found, he burst open the door of the Keep. Graham and Edwin rushed in, and Wallace, sounding his own bugle with the notes of victory, his reserves, whom he had placed at the ends of the streets, entered in every direction, and received the flying soldiers of devalence upon their pikes. Dreadful was now the carnage, for the Sutherans, forgetting all discipline, fought every man for his life, which the furious Scots driving them into the far-spreading flames, what escaped the sword would have perished in the fire, had not the relenting heart of Wallace pleaded for bleeding humanity, and he ordered the trumpet to sound a parley. He was obeyed, and standing on an adjacent mound in an awful voice he proclaimed that, whoever had not been accomplices in the horrible massacre of the Scottish Chiefs, if they would ground their arms and take an oath never to serve again against Scotland, their lives should be spared. Hundreds of swords fell to the ground, and their late holders, kneeling at his feet, took the oath prescribed. At the head of those who surrendered appeared the captain who had commanded at the prison. He was the only officer of all the late garrison who survived. All else had fallen in the conflict or perished in the flames, and when he saw that not one of his late numerous companions existed to go through the same humiliating ceremony, within a gassed countenance he said to Wallace, as he presented his sword, then I must believe that, with this weapon I am surrendering to Sir William Wallace the possession of this castle and the Government of Air. I see not one of my late commanders, all must be slain, and for me to hold out longer would be to sacrifice my men, not to redeem that which has been so completely rested from us. But I serve severe ex- actors, and I hope that your testimony, my conqueror, will assure my king that I fought as became his standard. Wallace gave him a gracious answer, and committing him to the generous care of Murray he turned to give orders to Curr respecting the surrendered and the slain. During these momentous events Graham had deemed it prudent that, exhausted by anxiety and privations, the noble captives should not come forth to join in the battle, and not until the sound of victory echoed through the arches of their dungeons would he suffer the eager done doth to see and thank his deliverer. Meanwhile the young Edwin appeared before the eyes of his father, like the angel who opened the prison gates to Peter. After embracing him with all his son's fondness, in which for the moment he lost the repressing idea that he might have offended by his truancy, after recounting in a few hasty sentences the events which had brought him to be a companion of Sir William Wallace, and to avenge the injuries of Scotland in air, he knocked off the chains of his amazed father. Eager to perform the like service to all who had suffered in like manner, and accompanied by the happy Lord Ruthven, who gazed with delight on his son, treading so early the path of glory, he hastened around to the other dungeons, and gladly proclaimed the astonish inmates freedom and safety. Having rid them all of their shackles, he had just entered with his noble company into the vaulted chamber, which contained the released Lord Dundot, when the peaceful Clarion sounded. At the joyful tidings Graham started on his feet. Now, my father, you shall see the bravest of men. CHAPTER XXXXXX, the barns of air. Morning was spreading in pale light over the heavens, and condensing with its cold breath the lurid smoke which still ascended in volumes from the burning ruins, when Wallace, turning round at the glad voice of Edwin, beheld the released nobles. This was the first time he had ever seen the Lords Dundot and Ruthven, but several of the others he remembered having met at the fatal decision of the Crown. And while welcoming to his friendship those to whom his valor had given freedom, how great was his surprise to see, in the person of a prisoner suddenly brought before him, Sir John Monteev, the young chieftain whom he had parted with a few months ago at Douglas, and from whose fatal invitation to that castle he might date the ruin of his dearest happiness, and all the succeeding catastrophe. We found Sir John Monteev amongst the slain before the palace, said Kerr. He of the whole party alone breathed. I knew him instantly. How he came there I know not, but I have brought him hither to explain it himself. Kerr withdrew to finish the interment of the dead. Monteev, still leaning on the arm of a soldier, grasped Wallace's hand. My brave friend, cried he, to owe my liberty to you as a twofold pleasure. For, added he, in a lowered voice, I see before me the man who is to verify the words of Valiol, and be not only the guardian but the possessor of the treasure he committed to our care. Wallace, who had never thought on the coffer since he knew it was under the protection of St. Philan, shook his head. A far different need do I seek, my friend, said he, to behold these happy countenances of my liberated countrymen, is greater reward to me than would be the development of all the splendid mysteries which the head of Valiol could devise. I, cried Dundalf, who overheard this part of the conversation. We invited the usurpation of a tyrant by the facility with which we submitted to his minion. Had we rejected Valiol we had never been ridden by Edward. But the Raul has gored the flanks of us all, and who amongst us will not lay himself and fortune at the foot of him who plucks away the tyrant's heel. If all held our cause in the life that you do, returned Wallace, the blood which these Southerns have sown would raise up in ten thousand legions to overwhelm the murderers. But how, inquired he, turning to Monteith, did you happen to be in air at this period? And how, above all, amongst the slaughtered Southerns at the palace? Sir John Monteith readily replied. My adverse fate accounts for all. He then proceeded to inform Wallace that on the very night in which they parted at Douglas Sir Arthur Heselrig was told a story of the bots, and accordingly sent to have Monteith brought prisoner to Lannark. He lay in the dungeons of the Citadel at the very time Wallace entered that town and destroyed the Governor. Though the Scots did not pursue the advantage offered by the transient panic into which the retribution threw their enemies, care was immediately taken by the English Lieutenant to prevent the repetition of the same disasters. And in consequence every suspected person was seized, and those already in confinement loaded with chains. Monteith, being known as a friend of Wallace, was sent under a strong guard toward Stirling, there to stand his trial before Cressingham and the English Justiciary, Ormsby. By a lucky chance said he, I made my escape, but I was soon retaken by another party and conveyed to air, where the Lieutenant Governor Arnolf, discovering my talents for music, compelled me to sing at his entertainments. For this purpose he last night confined me in the banqueting room at the palace, and thus, when the flames surrounded that building, I found myself exposed to die the death of a traitor, though then as much oppressed as any other scot. Snatching up a sword and striving to join my brave countrymen, the Southerns impeded my passage and I fell under their arms. Happy to have rescued his old acquaintance from further indignities, Wallace committed him to Edwin to lead into the citadel. Then taking the colours of Edward from the ground, where the Southern officer had laid them, he gave them to Sir Alexander's Grimgeor, with orders to fill their former station on the citadel with the standard of Scotland. This action he considered as the seal of each victory, as the beacon which, seen from afar, would show the desolate scots where to find a protector, and from what ground to start when courage should prompt them to assert their rights. The standard was no sooner raised than the proud clarion of triumph was blown from every warlike instrument in the garrison, and the Southern captain, placing himself at the head of his disarmed troops, under the escort of Murray, marched out of the castle. He announced his design to proceed immediately to Newcastle, and thence embark with his men to join their king at Flanders. Not more than two hundred followed their officer in this expedition, for not more were English. The rest, to nearly double that number, being like the garrison of Dumbarton, Irish and Welsh, were glad to escape enforced servitude. Some parted off in divisions to return to their respective countries, while a few, whose energetic spirits preferred a life of warfare in the cause of a country struggling for freedom, before returning to submit to the oppressors of their own, enlisted under the banners of Wallace. Some other necessary regulations being then made he dismissed his gallant scots to find refreshment in the well-stored barracks of the disbursed Southerns, and retired himself to join his friends in the citadel. CHAPTER XXXI In the course of an hour Murray returned from having seen the departing Southerns beyond the barriers of the township. But he did not come alone. He was accompanied by Lord Aucklandlech, the son of one of the betrayed barons who had fallen in the Palace of Air. 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 recognized 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 to the whole aspect of that 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, through 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 victims of, perhaps, the next requisition for blood, and in the other the hapless prey of passions, more felt 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 ere, 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 honors 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 corpse to its earthly rest. 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 Elspah 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 vulnerable 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 Auckland-Lake, he with his brave followers being the first to hail the burning of the accursed barns of air. After this solemnity and these dispositions, Wallace called a review of his troops, and found that he could leave five hundred men at air, 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 southern garrisons more certain and easy. On the third morning after the conflagration of the palace, Wallace quitted air, 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 southern governors fled at the distant view of his standards, the flames of air seemed to menace them all, and castle and fortileests, from Murkirk 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 harbor. He found among his own troops many men who had been used to a seafaring life. These he disguised as fugitive Southerns from the late defeats, and sent in boats to the enemy's vessels which lay in the roads. The faint took, and by these means getting possession of those nearest 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 maneuver the situation of the besiege 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 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 encounter, 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 missile-weapons from the towers and spring-gulls 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 inextinguishable 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 of 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 alternative. Crushed 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 Barwick Castle was his resolution. Crush was the state of his mind when his officers appeared with the petition from his men. In proportion as they had felt the extremities into which they were driven, the offence he had committed glared with tenfold enormity in his eyes, and in a wild despair he told him 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. Inside 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 direction of the tower where he stood. He concluded what was their design, and ordering a counter-mind 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, sprung from the tower upon the wall, and at being almost deserted by its late guards, who had quitted their posts 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 the last, Wallace found his admiration and 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 southern 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, in that moment when the disconfited knight exclaimed, in mercy strike and redeem the honour of Ralph de Murtimer, Wallace raised his bugle and sounded the note of peace. Every sword was arrested, and the universal clanger of battle was hushed in expecting silence. Footnote. Ralph de Murtimer, a noble knight who married Jane of Acre, the daughter of King Edward I, he was created Earl of Gloucester on his marriage with that princess. End footnote. Rise, brave Earl, cried Wallace to the governor, I revere virtue too sincerely to take an unworthy advantage of my fortune. The valor of this garrison commands my respect, and as 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 toward 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 Murtimer 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 and 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 Murtimer gave way to noble or feelings, and while a big tear stood in each eye he turned to Wallace and stretching out his hand to him. Noble Scott 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 aired. 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 overhosts 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 Englishman, 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 on this spot extinguished that burning antipathy with which the outraged heart of William Wallace had vowed to extirpate every southern from off this ravaged land. Honor, 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 or renown, but to restore Scotland to her rights, and then resign his sword to peace. I shall remember you, Sir William Wallace, returned to Morthimer, 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 rested 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 that 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 toward London, and the Scots returned to their victorious general. CHAPTER XXXII. The happy effects of these rapid conquests were soon apparent. The fall of Barrick excited such a confidence in the minds of the neighbouring chieftains that every hour brought fresh recruits to Wallace. Every mouth was full of the praises of the young conqueror, every eye was eager to catch a glimpse of his person, and while the men were emulous to share his glory, the women and their secret bowers put up prayers for the preservation of one so handsome and so brave. Amongst the many of every rank and age who hastened to pay their respects to the deliverer of Barrick was Sir Richard Maitland, of Thurlustain, the stalwart knight of Lauderdale. Sir Richard Maitland, of the castle of Thurlustain on the leader, is noted in Scottish tradition for his bravery. His valiant defence of his castle against the English in his extreme old age is still the subject of enthusiasm amongst the people of Lauderdale. Wallace was no sooner told of the approach of the venerable chief than he set forth to bid him welcome. At side of the champion of Scotland, Sir Richard threw himself off his horse with a military grace that might have become even youthful years, and hastening toward Wallace clasped him in his arms. Let me look on thee, cried the old knight. Let me feast my eyes on the true scot, who again raises this hoary head, so long bent in shame for its dishonoured country. While he spoke he viewed Wallace from head to foot. I knew Sir Ronald Crawford and thy valiant father continued he. Oh, had they lived to see this day! But the base murder of the one thou hast nobly avenged, and the honourable grave of the other, on Lauderdale Hill, thou wilt cover with a monument of thine own glories. Low are laid my own children in this land of strife, but in thee I see a son of Scotland that is to dry all our tears. Sir Malcolm Wallace, the father of Sir William Wallace, was killed in the year 1295 on Lauderdale Hill in a battle with the English. He embraced Wallace again and again, and as the veteran's overflowing heart rendered him garrulous he expatiated on the energy with which the young victor had pursued his conquests, and paralleled them with the brilliant actions he had seen in his youth. While he thus discoursed, Wallace drew himself toward the castle, and there presented to him the two nephews of the Earl of Marr. He paid some warm compliments to Edwin on his early success in the career of glory, and then turning to Murray, I, said he, it is joy to me to see the valiant house of Bothwell in the third generation. Thy grandfather and myself were boys together at the coronation of Alexander II, and that is eighty years ago. Since then what I have not seen, the death of two noble Scottish kings, our blooming princes ravished from us by untimely fates, the throne sold to a coward, and at last seized by a foreign power. Then in my own person I have been the father of his brave and beauteous family as ever blessed to parents I, but they are all torn from me. Two of my sons sleep on the plains of Dunbar, my third, my dauntless William, since that fatal day has been kept a prisoner in England. And my daughters, the tender blossoms of my aged years, they grew around me, the fairest lilies of the land, but they too are passed away. The one, scorning the mere charms of youth, and preferring a union with a soul that had long conversed with superior regions, loved the sage of Ursildam. But my friend lost this rose of his bosom, and I the child of my heart ere she had been a year his wife. Then was my last and only daughter married to the Lord Mar, and in giving birth to my dear Isabella she too died. Ah, my good young knight! Were it not for that sweet child, the living image of her mother, who in the very spring of youth was cropped and fell, I should be alone, my hoary head would descend to the grave, unwept, unrecreated. The joy of the old man, having recalled such melancholy remembrances, he wept upon the shoulder of Edwin, who had drawn so near that the story, was begun to Murray, was ended to him. To give the morning father time to recover himself, Wallace was moving away, when he was met by Kerr, bringing information that a youth had just arrived in breathless haste from Sterling, with a sealed packet, which he would not deliver into any hands but those of Sir William Wallace. Wallace requested his friends to show every attention to the Lord of Thurlustain, and then withdrew to meet the messenger. On his entering the anti-room, the youth sprung forward, but suddenly checking himself, he stood as if irresolute whom to address. This is Sir William Wallace, young man, said Kerr, deliver your embassy. At these words the youth pulled a packet from his bosom, and putting it into the chief's hand, retired in confusion. Wallace gave orders to Kerr to take care of him, and then turned to inspect its contents. He wondered from whom it would come, care of no Scott in Sterling who would dare to write him while that town was possessed by the enemy. But not losing a moment in conjecture he broke the seal. How was he startled at the first words? And how was every energy of his heart roused to a doubled action when he turned to the signature? The first words in the letter were these. A daughter, trembling for the life of her father, presumes to address Sir William Wallace. The signature was Helen Marr. He began the letter again. A daughter, trembling for the life of her father, presumes to address Sir William Wallace. Alas, it will be a long letter, for it is to tell of our countless distresses. You have been his deliverer from the sword, from chains, and from the waves. Refuse not to save him again to whom you have so often given life, and hasten, brave Wallace, to preserve the Earl of Marr from the scaffold. A cruel deception brought him from the Isle of Bute, where you imagined you had left him in security. Lord Amor de Valens, escaping a second time from your sword, fled under rapacious robber of all our castles, found in him an apt co-ajuter. They concerted how to avenge your late successes, and crescing him, eager to enrich himself while he flattered the resentments of his commander, suggested that you, Sir William Wallace, our deliverer, and our enemy's scourge, would most easily be made to feel through the bosoms of your friends. These cruel men have therefore determined, by a mock trial, to condemn my father to death, and thus while they distress you, put themselves in possession of his lands, with the semblance of justice. The substance of this most unrighteous debate was communicated to me by de Valens himself, thinking to excuse his part in the affair by proving to me how insensible he is to the principles which move alike a patriot and a man of honor. Having learned from some too well-informed spy that Lord Marr had retired in peaceful obscurity to Bute, these arch enemies to our country sent to body of men disguised as scots to Gurek. There they dispatched a messenger into the island to inform Lord Marr that Sir William Wallace was on the banks of the Frith, waiting to converse with him. My noble father, unsuspicious of treachery, hurried to the summons. Lady Marr accompanied him, and so both fell into the snare. They were brought prisoners to Stirling, where another affliction awaited him. He was to see his daughter and his sister in captivity. After I had been betrayed from Sir Filian's monastery by the falsehoods of one Scottish knight, and were rescued from his power by the gallantry of another, I sought the protection of my aunt, Lady Ruthven, who then dwelt at Aloha, on the banks of the Frith. Her husband had been invited to air by some treacherous requisition of the Governor, Arnouth, and with many other lords was thrown into prison. Report says, bravest of men, that you have given freedom to my betrayed uncle. The moment Lord Ruthven's person was secured, his estates were seized, and my aunt and myself being found at Aloha were carried prisoners to this city. Alas, we had then no valiant arm to preserve us from our enemies. Lady Ruthven's firstborn son was slain on the fatal day of Dunbar, and in terror of the like fate she placed her eldest surviving boy in a convent. Some days after our arrival my dear father was brought to Sterling. Though a captive in the town, I was not then confined to any closer durance than the walls. While he was yet passing through the streets, rumour told my aunt that the Scottish Lord then leading to prison was her beloved brother. She flew to me in agony to tell me the dreadful tidings. I heard no more, saw no more, till having rushed into the streets and bursting through every obstacle of crowd and soldiers, I found myself clasped in my father's arms, in his shackled arms. What a moment was that! Where was Sir William Wallace in that hour? Where are the brave unknown knight who had sworn to me to seek my father and defend him with his life? Both were absent and he was in chains. My grief and destruction baffled the attempts of the guards to part us, and what became of me I know not until I found myself lying on a couch, attended by many women, and supported by my aunt. When I had recovered to lamentation and to tears, my aunt told me I was in the apartments of the Deputy Warden. He with Cressingham, having gone out to meet the man they had so basely drawn into their toils, de Valence himself saw the struggles of paternal affection contending against the men who would have torn a senseless daughter from his arms, and yet merciless man he separated us and sent me, with my aunt, a prisoner to his house. The next day a packet was put into my aunt's hands, containing a few precious lines from my father to me, also a letter from the Countess to Liddy Ruthven, full of your goodness to her and to my father, and narrating the cruel manner in which they had been ravished from the asylum in which you had placed them. She then said that could she find means of apprising you of the danger to which she and her husband are now involved, she would be sure of a second rescue. Whether she has blessedly found these means I know not, for all communication between us, since the delivery of that letter, has been rendered impracticable. The messenger that brought the packet was a good southern, who had been won by Lady Mars and Treaties, but on his quitting hour apartments he was seized by a servant of de Valence, and on the same day put publicly to death, to intimidate all others from the light compassion to the sufferings of unhappy Scotland. Oh, Sir William Wallace, will not your sword reach these men of blood? Earl de Valence compelled my aunt to yield the packet to him. We had already read it, therefore did not regret it on that head, but feared the information it might give relative to you. In consequence of this circumstance I was made a closer prisoner. But captivity could have no terrors for me, did it not divide me from my father? And, grief on grief, what words have I to write it? They have condemned him to die. That fateful letter of my step-mothers was brought out against him, and as your adherents, Sir William Wallace, they have sentenced him to lose his head. I have knelt to Earl de Valence, I have implored my father's life at his hands but to no purpose. He tells me that cresting him at his side, and orms me by letters from scone, declare it necessary that an execution of consequence should be made to appall all the discontented Scots, and that as no Lord is more esteemed in Scotland than the Earl of Marr, he must be the sacrifice. Hason, then, my father's preserver and friend, hasten to save him. Oh, fly, for the sake of the country he loves, for the sake of the hapless beings dependent on his protection. I shall be on my knees till I hear your trumpet before the walls, for in you and heaven now rest all the hopes of Helen Marr. A cold dew stood on the limbs of Wallace as he closed the letter. It might be too late. The sentence was passed on the Earl, and his executioners were prompt as cruel. The acts might already have fallen. He called to Kerr for the messenger to be brought in. He entered. Wallace inquired how long he had been from Stirling. Only thirty-four hours replied the youth, adding that he had traveled night and day for fear the news of the risings in Anondale, and the taking of Barrick, should precipitate the Earl's death. I accompany you this instant, cried Wallace. Kerr, see that the troops get under arms. As he spoke, he turned into the room where he had left the night of Thirlistane. Sir Richard Maitland, said he, willing to avoid exciting his alarm. There is more work for us at Stirling. Lord Amor de Valence has again escaped the death we thought had overtaken him, and is now in that citadel. I have just received a summons thither which I must obey. At these words Sir Roger Kirkpatrick gave a shout and rushed from the apartment. Wallace looked after him for a moment and then continued, Follow us with your prayers, Sir Richard, and I shall not despair of sending blessed tidings to the banks of the lauder. What has happened, inquired Murray, who saw that something more than the escape of de Valence had been imparted to his general. We must spare this good old man, returned he, and have him conducted to his home before I declare it publicly, but the Earl of Mar is again a prisoner and in Stirling. Murray, who instantly comprehended his uncle's dangers, beaded the departure of Sir Richard, and as Wallace held his stirrup, the chief laid his hand on his head and blessed him. The seer of Erseldown is too ill to bring his benediction himself, but I breathe it now over this heroic brow. Wallace bowed his head in silence, and the bridal being in the hand of Lord Andrew, he led the horse out of the eastern gate of the town, where, taking leave of the veteran knight, he soon rejoined his commander, whom he found in the midst of his chieftains. He had informed them of the Earl of Mar's danger, and the policy as well as justice of rescuing so powerful and patriotic a nobleman from the threatened execution. Lord Rathvin needed no arguments to precipitate him to the assistance of his brother and his wife, and the anxieties of the affectionate Edwin were all awake, when he knew that his mother was a prisoner. Lord Andrew smiled proudly when he returned his cousin's letter to Wallace. We shall have the rogue on the nail yet, cried he. My uncle's brave head is not ordained to fall by the stroke of such a coward. So I believe, replied Wallace, and then, turning to Lord Dundoff, my Lord, said he, I leave you Governor of Barrick. The veteran warrior grasped Wallace's hand. To be your representative in this fortress is the proudest station this War I frame hath ever filled. My son must be my representative with you in the field. He waved Sir Don Graham toward him. The young knight advanced, and Lord Dundoff, placing his son's hands upon his target, continued, Swear that as this defends the body you will ever strive to cover Scotland from her enemies, and that from this hour you will be the faithful friend and follower of Sir William Wallace. I swear, returned Graham, kissing the shield. Wallace pressed his hand. I have brothers around me, rather than what the world calls friends. And with such valor, such fidelity to aid me, how can I be otherwise than a victor? Heaven's anointed sword is with such fellowship. Edwin, who stood near this rite of generous enthusiasm, softly whispered to Wallace as he turned toward his troops. But amongst all these brothers ceased not to remember Edwin the youngest and the least. Ah, my beloved general, what Jonathan was to David I would be to thee. Wallace looked on him with penetrating tenderness. His heart was suddenly wrung by a recollection which the words of Edwin had recalled. But thy love, Edwin, passes not the love of woman. But it equals it, replied he, what has been done for thee I would do, only love me as David did Jonathan, and I shall be the happiest of the happy. Be happy, then, dear boy, answered Wallace, for all that ever beat in human breast, for friend or brother, lives in my heart for thee. At that moment Sir John Graham rejoined them, and some other captains coming up. Wallace made the proper military dispositions, and every man took his station at the head of his division. Until the men had marched far beyond the chance of rumors reaching Thurlustane, they were not informed of the Earl of Mars danger. They conceived their present errand was the recapture of devalance. But at a proper moment, said Wallace, they shall know the whole truth. For, added he, it is, as a law of equity, that what concerns all should be approved by all, and that common dangers should be repelled by united efforts. The people who follow our standards, not as hirelings, but with willing spirits, ought to know our reasons for requiring their services. They who follow you, said Graham, have too much confidence in their leader to require any reasons for his movements. It is to place that confidence on a sure foundation, my brave friends, returned Wallace, that I explained what there is no just reason to conceal. Should policy ever compel me to strike a blow without previously telling my agents wherefore, I should then draw on their faith, and expect that confidence in my honor and arms which I now place on their discretion and fidelity. Exordiums were not requisite to nerve every limb, and to strengthen every heart in the Toilsome journey. Mountains were climbed, vast plains traversed, rivers forded, and precipices crossed, without one man in the ranks lingering on its steps, or dropping his head upon his pike to catch a moment slumber. Those who had fought with Wallace longed to redouble their fame under his command, and they who had recently embraced his standard, panted with a virtuous ambition to rival those firstborn in arms. Sir Roger Kirkpatrick had been the first to fly to arms, on the march to Sterling being mentioned, and when Wallace stood forward to declare that rest should be dispensed with till Sterling fell, full of a fierce joy, the hardened knight darted over every obstacle to reach his aim. He flew to the van of his troops, and, hailing them forward, come on, cried he, and in the blood of Cresingham let us forever sink, King Edward Scottish Crown. The shouts of the men, who seemed to drink in the spirit that blazed from Kirkpatrick's eyes, made the echoes of Lommermer ring with a long estranged noise. It was the voice of liberty. Leaping every bound, the eager van led the way, and with prodigious perseverance, dragging their war-machines in the rear, the rest pressed on, till they reached the Karen side. At the moment the foaming steed of Wallace, smoking with the labours of a long and rapid march, was plunging into the stream to take the form, Kirk snatched the bridle of the horse. My Lord, cried he, a man on full speed from Douglas Castle has brought this packet. In his march to air Wallace had left Sir Eustace Maxwell, Governor of that castle, and Monteith as his lieutenant. Wallace opened the packet and read as follows. The patriots in Anondale have been beaten by Lord D'Warren. Sir John Monteith, who volunteered to head them, is taken prisoner, with twelve hundred men. Earl D'Warren comes to resume his arrogant title of Lord Warden of Scotland, and thereby to relieve his deputy, Amor de Valence, who is recalled to take possession of the Lordship of Pembroke. In pursuance of his usurping commission, the Earl is now marching rapidly toward the Lothians, in the hope of intercepting you in your progress. Thanks to the constant information you send us of your movements for being able to surprise you of this danger. I should have attempted to have checked the Southeren by annoying his flanks, had not his numbers rendered such an enterprise on my part hopeless. But his aim being to come up with you if you meet him in the van, we shall have him in the rear, and so surrounded he must be cut to pieces. Surely the tree you planted in Dumbarton is not now to be blasted. Ever your generals and Scotland's truest servant, Eustace Maxwell. What answer, inquired Kerr? Wallace hastily engraved with his daggers point upon his gauntlet, River Esco, our son is above, and desiring it to be given to the messenger to carry to Sir Eustace Maxwell, he refixed himself in his saddle and spurred over the Caron. River Esco means, I but again. This encouraging word is now the Ruto of the Maxwell arms. The moon was near her meridian as the wearied troops halted on the deep shadows of the cars of Lling. All around them was desolation. The sword and the fire had been there, not in open declared warfare, but under the darkness of midnight, and impelled by rapacity and wantonness, hence from the base of the rock even to the foot of the clack men and hills, all lay a smoking wilderness. An hour's rest was sufficient to restore every exhausted power to the limbs of the determined followers of Wallace, and as the morning dawned the sentinels on the ramparts of the town were not only surprised to see a host below, but that, by the most indefatagable labor and a silence like death, had not merely past the ditch, but having gained the counter-scarp had fixed their movable towers, and were at that instant overlooking the highest bastions. The mangonelles and patraries and other implements for battering walls and the ballista, with every efficient means of throwing missive weapons, were ready to discharge their artillery upon the heads of the beseeched. At a sight so unexpected which seemed to have arisen out of the earth like an exhalation, with such muteness and expedition had the Scottish operations been carried on, the Southerlands struck with dread, fled a moment from the walls, but immediately recovering their presence of mind, they returned, and discharged a cloud of arrows upon their assailants. A messenger, meanwhile, was sent into the citadel to apprise de Valence and the Governor Cressingham of the assault. The interior gates now sent forth thousands to the walls, but in proportion to the numbers which approached, the greater was the harvest of death prepared for the terrible arm of Wallace, whose tremendous war-wolves throwing prodigious stones and lighter spring-alls, casting forth brazen darts, swept away file after file of the reinforcements. It grieved the noble heart of the Scottish commander to see so many valiant men urged to inevitable destruction, but still they advanced, and that his own might be preserved they must fall. To shorten the bloody contest his direful weapons were worked with redoubled energy, and so mortal a shower fell that the heavens seemed to rain iron. The crushed and stricken enemy shrinking under the mighty tempest foresook their ground. The ramparts deserted, Wallace sprung from his tower upon the walls. At that moment de Valence opened one of the gates, and at the head of a formidable body charged the nearest Scots. A good soldier is never taken unawares, and Murray and Graham were prepared to receive him. Furiously driving him to a retrograde motion they forced him back into the town. But there all was confusion. Wallace, with his resolute followers, had already put Cressingham and his legions to flight, and closely pursued by Kirk Patrick they threw themselves into the castle. Meanwhile the victorious Wallace surrounded the Emmaus de Valence, who, caught in double-toils, called to his men to fight for their king, and neither give nor take quarter. The brave fellows too strictly obeyed, and while they fell on all sides he supported them with a courage which horror of Wallace's vengeance for his grandfather's death, and the attempt on his life in the hall at Dumbarton rendered desperate. At last he encountered the conquering chief arm to arm. Great was the dismay of de Valence at this meeting, but as death was now all he saw before him he resolved, if he must die, that the soul of his enemies should attend him to the other world. He fought not with the steady valor of a warrior determined to vanquish or die, but with the fury of despair, with the violence of a hyena thirsting for the blood of his opponent. Drunk with rage he made a desperate plunge at the heart of Wallace, a plunge armed with execrations and all his strength, but his sword missed its aim and entered the side of a youth who at that moment had thrown himself before his general. Wallace saw where the deadly blow fell, and instantly closing on the earl with a vengeance in his eyes which reminded his now determined victim of the horrid vision he had seen in the burning barns of air. With one grasp of his arm the incensed chief hurled him to the ground, and setting his foot upon his breast would have buried his dagger there, had not de Valence dropped his uplifted sword, and with horror in every feature raised his clasped hands in speechless supplication. Wallace suspended the blow, and de Valence exclaimed, My life, this once again, gallant Wallace, by your hopes of heaven grant me mercy. Wallace looked on the trembling recreate with a glare, which had he possessed the soul of a man would have made him grasp at death, rather than deserve a second. And hast thou escaped me again? cried Wallace. Then turning his indignant eyes from the abject earl to his bleeding friend, I yield him his life, Edwin, and you perhaps are slain. Forget not our own bright principle to avenge me, said Edwin, whilst brightly smiling, he has only wounded me. But you are safe, and I hardly feel a smart. Wallace replaced his dagger in his girdle. Rise, Lord de Valence, it is my honor, not my will, that grants your life. You threw away your arms. I cannot strike even a murderer who bears his breast. I give you that mercy you denied to nineteen unoffending defenseless old men, whose hoary heads your ruthless axe brought with blood to the ground. Let memory be the sword I have withheld. While he spoke de Valence had risen, and stood conscience-stricken before the majestic mean of Wallace. There was something in this denunciation that sounded like the irreversible decree of a divinity, and the condemned wretch quaked beneath the threat, while he panted for revenge. The whole of the survivors in de Valence's train having surrendered themselves when their leader fell, in a few minutes Wallace was surrounded by his chieftains, bringing in the colors and the swords of their prisoners. Sir Alexander Ramsey said he, to a brave and courteous night, who with his kinsman William Blair had joined him in the Lothians, I confide earl de Valence to your care, see that he is strongly guarded, and has every respect according to the honor of him to whom I commit this charge. The town was now in possession of the Scots, and Wallace, having sent off the rest of his prisoners to save quarters, reiterated his persuasions to Edwin, to have the ground and submit his wounds to the surgeon. No, no, replied he, the same hand that gave me this inflicted a worse on my general at Dumbarton. He kept the field then, and shall I retire now and disgrace my example? No, my brother, you would not have me so disprove my kindred. Do as you will, answered Wallace with a grateful smile, so that you preserve a life that must never again be risked to save mine. While it is necessary for me to live, my almighty captain will shield me, but when his word goes forth that I shall be recalled, it will not be in the power of friendship, nor of hosts, to turn the steel from my breast. Therefore, dearest Edwin, throw not yourself away, in defending what is in the hands of heaven, to be lent or to be withdrawn at will. Edwin bowed his modest head, having suffered a balsam to be poured into his wound, braced his brigandine over his breast, and was again at the side of his friend, just as he had joined Kirkpatrick before the citadel. The gates were firmly closed, and the dismayed Crescingham was panting behind its walls, as Wallace commanded the parley to be sounded. Afraid of trusting himself with an arrow shot of an enemy who he believed had conquered by witchcraft, the terrified governor sent his lieutenant up on the walls to answer the summons. The Herald of the Scots demanded the immediate surrender of the Crescingham was at that instant informed by a messenger who had arrived too late the preceding night to be allowed to disturb his slumbers, that D'Warren was approaching with an immense army. Inflated with new confidence, he mounted the wall himself, and in haughty language returned for answer that he would fall under the towers of the citadel before he would surrender to a Scottish rebel. And as an example of the fate which such a delinquent merits continued he, I will change the milder sentence passed on Lord Marr, and immediately hang him and all his family on these ramparts, in sight of your insurgent army. Then cried the Herald, thus says Sir William Wallace, if even one hair on the heads of the Earl of Marr and his family falls with violence to the ground, every southern soul who has this day surrendered to the Scottish arms shall lose his head by the axe. We are used to the blood of traitors, cried Crescingham, and mind not its scent. But the army of Earl D'Warren is at hand, and it is at the peril of all your necks for the rebel, your master, to put his thread in execution. Withdraw, or you shall see the dead bodies of Donald Marr and his family fringing these battlements, for no terms do we keep with man, woman, or child who is linked with treason. At these words an arrow, winged from a hand behind Crescingham, flew directly to the unvisored face of Wallace, but it struck too high, and ringing against his helmet fell to the ground. Treachery, resounded from every Scottish lip, while indignant at so villainous a rupture of the parley, every bow was drawn to the head, and a flight of arrows, armed with retribution, flew toward the battlements. All hands were now at work to bring the towers to the wall, and mounting on them, while the archers by their rapid showers drove the men from their ramparts, soldiers below with pickaxes dug into the wall to make a breach. Crescingham began to fear that his boasted auxiliaries might arrive too late, but determining to gain time at least, he shot flights of darts and large stones from a thousand engines, also discharged burning combustibles over the ramparts, in hopes of setting fire to the enemy's attacking machines. But all his promptitude proved of no effect. The walls were giving way in parts, and Wallace was mounting by scaling ladders, and clasping the parapets with bridges from his towers. Driven to extremity, Crescingham resolved to try the attachment of the Scots for Lord Mar, and even at the moment when their chief had seized the Barbican and Atterballyum, this sanguinary politician ordered the imprisoned Earl to be brought out upon the wall of the Interballya. A rope was around his neck, which was instantly run through a groove, that projected from the nearest tower. At this site, horror froze the ardent blood of Wallace, but the intrepid Earl, describing his friend on the ladder which might soon carry him to the summit of the battlement, said, forward, let not my span of life stand between my country in this glorious day for Scotland's freedom. Execute the sentence, cried the infuriate, Crescingham. At these words Murray and Edwin precipitated themselves upon the ramparts, and mowed down all before them in a direction toward their uncle. The lieutenant who held a cord, aware of the impolicy of the cruel mandate, hesitated to fulfill it, and now, fearing a rescue from the impetuous Scots, hurried his victim off the works, back to his prison. Meanwhile, Crescingham, perceiving that all would be lost, should he suffer the enemy to gain this wall also, sent such numbers upon the brave Scots who had followed the cousins, that overcoming some and repelling others, they threw Murray with a sudden shock over the ramparts. Edwin was surrounded, and his successful adversaries were bearing him off, struggling and bleeding, when Wallace, springing like a lioness on hunters carrying away her young, rushed in singly amongst them. He seized Edwin, and while his foul chin flashed terrible threatenings in their eyes, with a backward step he fought his passage to one of the wooden towers he had fastened to the wall. Crescingham, being wounded in the head, commanded a parley to be sounded. We have already taken Lord DeValence and his host prisoners, returned Wallace, and we grant you no cessation of hostilities till you deliver up the Earl of Mar and his family, and surrender the castle into our hands. Think not, Proud Boester, cried the herald of Crescingham, that we ask a parley to conciliate. It was to tell you that if you do not draw off directly, not only the Earl of Mar and his family, but every Scottish prisoner within these walls shall perish in your sight. While he yet spoke, the Southerens uttered a great shout, and the Scots, looking up, beheld several high poles erected on the roof of the keep, and the Earl of Mar as before was led forward. But he seemed no longer the bold and tranquil patriot. He was surrounded by shrieking female forms clinging to his knees, and his trembling hands were lifted to heaven as if imploring its pity. Stop! cried Wallace, in a voice whose thundering mandate rung from tower to tower. The instant he dies, Lord Amor DeValence shall perish. He had only to make the sign, and in a few minutes that nobleman appeared between Ramsay and Kirk Patrick. Earl exclaimed Wallace, though I granted your life in the field with reluctance, yet here I am ashamed to put it to danger. But your own people compel me. Look at that spectacle! A venerable father in the midst of his family, he and they doomed to an ignomious and instant death, unless I betray my country and abandon these walls. Where I weak enough to purchase their lives at such an expense, they could not survive that disgrace. But that they shall not die, while I have the power to preserve them, is my resolve and my duty. Life then for life, yours for this family. Wallace, directing his voice toward the keep. The moment, cried he, in which that vile cord presses too closely on the neck of the Earl of Marr, or any of his blood, the axe shall sever the head of Lord DeValence from his body. DeValence was now seen on the top of one of the besieging towers. He was pale as death. He trembled, but not with dismay only. Ten thousand varying emotions tore his breast. To be thus set up as a monument of his own defeat, to be threatened with execution by an enemy he had contempted, to be exposed to such indignities by the unthinking ferocity of his colleague, filled him with such contending passions of revenge against friends and foes, that he forgot the present fear of death and turbulent wishes to deprive of life, all by whom he suffered. Cresingham became alarmed on seeing the retaliating menace of Wallace brought so directly before his view, and, dreading the vengeance of DeValence's powerful family, he ordered a herald to say that if Wallace would draw off his troops to the Outer Ballium, and the English chief along with them, the Lord Marr and his family should be taken from their perilous situation, and he would consider on terms of surrender. Aware that Cresingham only wanted to gain time until DeWarren should arrive, Wallace determined to foil him with his own weapons, and make the gaining of the castle the consequence of vanquishing the Earl. He told the now-perplexed Governor that he should consider Lord DeValence as the hostage of safety for Lord Marr and his family, and therefore he consented to withdraw his men from the Inner Ballium till the setting of the sun, at which hour he should expect a herald with the surrender of the fortress. Thinking that he had caught the Scottish chief in a snare, and that the Lord Warden's army would be upon him long before the expiration of the armistice, Cresingham congratulated himself upon this maneuver, and resolving that the moment Earl DeWarren should appear, Lord Marr should be secretly destroyed in the dungeons. He ordered them to their security again. Wallace fully comprehended what were his enemy's views, and what ought to be his own measures, as soon as he saw the unhappy group disappear from the battlements of the keep. He then recalled his men from the Inner Ballium Wall, and stationing several detachments along the ramparts and in the towers of the Outer Wall, committed to valence to the strong hold of the Barbican under the especial charge of Lord Ruthven, who was, indeed, eager to hold the means in his own hand that were to check the threatened danger of relatives so dear to him as were the prisoners in the castle. Having secured the advantages he had gained in the town and on the works of the castle, by manning all the strong places, Wallace said forward with his chosen troops to intercept Dewarren. He took his position on a commanding ground about half a mile from Sterling, near to the Abbey of Cambus Kenneth, the fourth lay before him, crossed by a wooden bridge, over which the enemy must pass to reach him, the river not being affordable in that part. He ordered the timbers which supported the bridge to be soared at the bottom, but not displaced in the least, that they might stand perfectly firm for as long as he should deem it necessary. With these timbers were fastened strong cords, all of which he entrusted to the sturdiest of his lannock men, who were to lie concealed amongst the flags. These preparations being made he dropped his troops in order of battle. Kirkpatrick and Murray commanded the flanks. In the centre stood Wallace himself, with Ramsey on one side of him, and Edwin with Scrimgore on the other, awaiting with steady expectation the approach of the enemy who, by this time, could not be far distant. Cresingham was not less well-informed of the advance of Doreen, and burning the revenge against Wallace, and earnest to redeem the favour of de Valance by some act in his behalf. He first gave secret orders to his lieutenant, then set forth alone to seek an avenue of escape. Never divulged to any but to the commanders of the fortress. He soon discovered it, and by the light of a torch, making his way through a passageboard in the rock, emerged at its western base, screamed some sight by the surrounding bushes. He had disguised himself in a shepherd's bonnet and plaid, in case of being observed by the enemy, but fortune favoured him, and unseen he crept along through the thickets, till he described the advance of Doreen's army on the skirts of Tor Wood. Having missed Wallace in West Lothian, Doreen divided his army into three divisions to enter Stirlingshire by different routes, and so he hoped certainly to intercept him in one of them. The Earl of Montgomery led the first of twenty thousand men, the Barons Hilton and Blenkinsop, the second of ten thousand, and Doreen himself the third of thirty thousand. It was the first of these divisions as Cressingham encountered in Tor Wood, and revealing himself to Montgomery, he recounted how rapidly Wallace had gained the town, and in what jeopardy the citadel would be if he were not instantly attacked. The Earl advised waiting for a junking with Hilton or the Lord Warden, which said he must happen in the course of a few hours. In the course of a few hours returned Cressingham you will have no sterling castle to defend. The enemy will seize it at sunset in pursuance of the very agreement by which I warded him off, to give us time to annihilate him before that hour. Therefore no hesitation, if we would not see him lock the gates of the north of Scotland upon us, even when we have the power to hurl him to perdition. By arguments such as these, the young Earl was induced to give up his judgment, and accompanied by Cressingham, whose courage revived amid such a host, he proceeded to the southern bank of the Forth. The bands of Wallace were drawn up on the opposite shore, hardly five thousand strong, but so disposed the enemy could not calculate their numbers, though the narrowness of their front suggested to Cressingham they could not be numerous. And he recollected that many must have been left to occupy the outworks of the town and the citadel. It will be easy to surround the rebel, cried he, and that we may effect our enterprise before the arrival of the warden, robs us of the honour. Let us about it directly and cross the bridge. Montgomery proposed a herald being sent to inform Wallace that, besides the long line of troops he saw, Dwarren was advancing with double hosts, and if he would now surrender a warden should be granted to him and his in the king's name for all their late rebellions. Cressingham was vehement against this measure, but Montgomery being resolute the messenger was dispatched. In a few minutes he returned and repeated to the southern commanders the words of Wallace, Go said he, Tell your masters we came not here to treat for a pardon of what we shall never allow to be an offence, we came to assert our rights to assess Scotland free, till that is effected or negotiation is vain. Let them advance, they will find us prepared. Then onward cried Montgomery, and spurting his steed he led the way to the bridge, his eager soldiers followed, and the whole of his centre ranks passed over. The flanks advanced, and the bridge from end to end was filled with archers, cavalry, men at arms, and war carriages. William in the midst was hallowing in proud triumph to those who occupied the rear of the straining beams when the blast of a trumpet sounded from the till now silent and immovable Scottish phalanx. It was re-echoed by shouts from behind the passing enemy, and in that moment the supporting piers of the bridge were pulled away, and the whole of its male throng was precipitated into the stream. This historical fact relating to the bridge is yet exultantly repeated on the spot, and the number of the Southerns who fell beneath the arms of so smaller band of Scots is not less the theme of triumph. The cries of the maimed and the drowning were joined by the terrific slogan of two bands of Scots, the one with Wallace toward the head of the river, while the other, under the command of Sir John Graham, rushed from its ambuscade on the opposite bank upon the rear of the dismayed troops, and both divisions sweeping all before them drove those who fought on land into the river, and those who had just escaped the flood to meet its waves again, a bleeding host. In the midst of this conflict, which rather seemed a carnage than a battle, Kirk Patrick, having heard the proud shouts of Cressingham on the bridge, now sought him amidst its shattered timbers. With the ferocity of a tiger hunting its prey, he ran from man to man, and as the struggling wretches emerged from the water he plucked them from the surge. But even while his glaring eyeballs and uplifted acts threatened destruction, he only looked on them, and with implications of disappointment rushed forward on his chase. Almost in despair that the waves had cheated his revenge, he was hurrying on in another direction, when he perceived a body moving through a hollow on his right. He turned, and saw the object of his search crawling among the mud and sedges. Ha! cried Kirk Patrick, with a triumphant yell. Art thou yet mine, damned, damned villain! cried he, springing upon his breast. Behold the man you dishonored! Behold the hot cheek you are dastard hand defiled! Thy blood shall obliterate the stay-in, and then Kirk Patrick may again front the proudest in Scotland. For mercy! cried the horror-struck Cressingham, struggling with preternatural strength to extricate himself. Hell would be my portion, did I grant any to thee, cried Kirk Patrick. And with one stroke of the axe he severed the head from its body. I am a man again, shouted he, as he held its bleeding veins in his hand, and placed it on the point of his sword. Thou, roostless priest of Mollock and of Mammon, thou shalt have thine own blood to drink, while I show my general how proudly I am avenged. As he spoke he dashed among the victorious ranks, and reached Wallace at the very moment he was freeing himself from his fallen horse, which a random arrow had shot under him. Murray, the same instant, was bringing up the wounded Montgomery, who came to surrender his sword into beg quarter for his men. The Earl turned deadly pale, for the first object that struck his sight was the fierce night of Thor Thorald, walking under the stream of blood, which continued to flow from the ghastly head of Cressingham, as he held it exultingly in the air. If that be your chief, cried Montgomery, I have mistaken him much. I cannot yield my sword to him. Murray understood him. If cruelty be an evil spirit, returned he. It has fled every breast in his army to shelter with Sir Roger Kirkpatrick, and its name is Legion. That is my chief, added he, pointing to Wallace, with an evident consciousness of deriving honour from his command. The chief rose from the ground, dying in the same ensanguine hue which had excited the abhorrence of Montgomery, though it had been drawn from his own veins and those of his horse. All, indeed, of blood about him seemed to be on his garment, none was in his eyes, none in his heart, but what warmed it to mercy and to benevolence, for all mankind. His eyes momentarily fell on the approaching figure of Kirkpatrick, who, waving the head in the air, blew from his bugle the triumphal notes of the prize, and then cried to his chief, I have slain the wolf of Scotland. My brave clansmen are now casing my target with his skin, which, when I strike its body-side, will cry aloud, so perish is thy dishonour, so perish all the enemies of Scotland. Footnote. It is recorded that the memory of Cresingham was so odious to the Scots, they did indeed flay his dead body, and made saddles and girths and other things of his skin. 1809. End footnote. And with the extinction of that breath Kirkpatrick cried Wallace, looking serenely from the head to him, let your fel revenge perish also, for your own honour commit no indignities on the body you have slain. Tis for you to conquer like a god, cried Kirkpatrick. I have felt as a man and like a man I revenge. This head shall destroy in death. It shall vanquish its friends for me, for I will wear it like a gorgon on my sword to turn to stone every southern who looks on it. While speaking he disappeared amongst the thickening ranks, and as the victorious Scots hailed him in passing, Montgomery, thinking of his perishing men, suffered worry to lead him to the scene of his humility. The ever comprehensive eye of Wallace perceived him as he advanced, and guessing by his armour and dignified demeanor who he was. With a noble grace he raised his helm to bonnet from his head when the Earl approached him. Montgomery looked on him. He felt his soul even more than his arms subdued. But still there was something about a soldier's heart that shrunk from yielding his power of resistance. The blood mounted into his before pale cheeks. He held out his sword in silence to the victor, for he could not bring his tongue to pronounce the word surrender. Wallace understood the sign, and holding up his hand to a herald, the trumpet of peace was raised. It sounded, and where, the moment before, were the horrid clashing of arms, the yell of savage conquest and direful cries for mercy. All was hushed his death. Not that death which had passed, but that which is approaching, non-spoke, not a sound was heard, but the low groans of the dying, who lay, overwhelmed in perishing, beneath the bodies of the slain, and the feet of the living. The voice of Wallace rose from this awful pause. Its sound was ever the harbinger of glory, or of goodwill to men. Soldiers cried he, God has given victory. Let us show our gratitude by moderation and mercy. Gather the wounded into quarters, and bury the dead. Wallace then turned to the extended sword of the earl. He put it gently back with his hand. Ever wear what you honour, said he. But gallant Montgomery, when you draw it next, let it be in a better cause. Learn, brave earl, to discriminate between a warrior's glory and his shame, between the defender of his country, and the unprovoked ravager over the lands. Montgomery blushed scarlet at these words, but he was not with resentment. He looked down for a moment. Ah, thought he. Perhaps I ought never to have drawn it here. Then, raising his eyes to Wallace, he said, Were you not the any of my king, who, though a conqueror, sanctions none of the cruelties that have been committed in his name, I would give you my hand before the remnant of his brave troops, whose lives you grant. But you have a heart, a heart that knows though difference between friend or foe, when the bonds of virtue would unite what only civil dissensions hold separate. Had your king possessed the virtues you believe he does, replied Wallace, my sword might have become a pruning hook. But that is past. We are in arms for injuries received and to drive out a tyrant. For believe me, noble Montgomery, that monarch has little pretensions to virtue, who suffers the oppressors of his people or of his conquests, to go unpunished, to connive at cruelty is to practice it, and as Edward ever found on one of those despots, who in his name have for these two years past laid Scotland in blood and ashes. The appeal was too strong for Montgomery to answer. He felt its truth, and bowed, with an expression in his face that told more than as a subject of England, he dared declare. The late respectful silence was turned into the clamorous activity of eager obedience. The prisoners were conducted to the rear of Stirling, while the major part of the Scots, leaving a detachment to unburden the earth of its bleeding load, returned in front to the gates, just as Del Warren's division appeared on the horizon, like a moving cloud gilded by the now setting sun. At this Wallace sent Edward into the town with Lord Montgomery, and marshalled his lion, prepared to bear down upon the approaching earl. But the Lord Warden had received information, which fought better for the Scots than a host of swords. When advanced a very little onward on the cast of Stirling, one of his Scouts brought intelligence that having approached the south side of the forth, he had seen that river floating with dead bodies, and soon after met southern horns blowing the notes of victory. From what he learned from the fugitives, he also informed his Lord that not only the town and citadel of Stirling were in the possession of Sir William Wallace, but the two detachments under Montgomery and Hilton had both been discomfited and their leaders slain or taken. At this intelligence Earl Del Warren's stood aghast, for a while he was still doubting that such disgrace to King Edward's arms could be possible. Two or three fugitives came up and witnessed to its truth. One had seen Kirk Patrick, with the bloody head of the Governor of Stirling on his sword. Another had been near Cressingham in the wood, when he told Montgomery of the capture of De Valance, and concluding that he meant the leader of the Third Division, he corroborated the Scouts' information of the two defeats, adding, for terror magnified the object's sphere, that the Scots' army was in Calcut Blvd. But were so disposed by Sir William Wallace as to be inconsiderable that he might ensnare his enemies by filling them with hopes of an easy conquest? These accounts persuaded Del Warren to make a retreat, and intimidated by the exaggerated representations of those who had fled, his men, with no little precipitation, turned to obey. Wallace perceived the retrograde motion of his enemy's lines, and while a stream of arrows from his arches poured upon them like hail, he bore down upon the rear-guard with his cavalry and men-at-arms, and sent Graham round by the wood to surprise the flanks. All was executed with promptitude, and the tremendous slogan shouting from side to side, the terrified Southerens, before in confusion, now threw away their arms to lighten themselves for escape. Sensible that it was not the number of the dead, but the terror of the living, which gives the finishing stroke to conquest, Del Warren saw the effects of this panic in the total disregard of his orders, and dreadful would have been the carnage of his troops had he not sounded a parley. The bugle of Wallace instantly answered it. Del Warren sent forward his herald. He offered to lay down his arms, provided he might be exempted from relinquishing the royal standard, and that he and his men might be permitted to return without delay to England. Wallace accepted the first article, granted the second, but with regard to the third, it must be on condition that he, the Lord Del Warren, and the officers taken in his army, or in other engagements lately fought in Scotland, should be immediately exchanged for the light number of noble Scots, Wallace should name, who were prisoners in England, and that the common men of the army, now about to surrender their arms, should take an oath never to serve again against Scotland. These preliminaries being agreed to, their very boldness arguing the conscious advantage which seemed to compel the assent. The Lord Warren advanced at the head his thirty thousand troops, and first laying down his sword, which Wallace immediately returned to him. The officers and soldiers marched by with their heads uncovered, throwing down their weapons as they approached their contra. Wallace extended his lion while the procession moved, for he had too much policy to show his enemies that thirty thousand men had yielded, almost without a blow, to scarce five thousand. The oath was afterward administered to each regiment by heralds, sent for that purpose into the Strath of Monteith, with which Wallace had directed the captured legions to assemble and refresh themselves, previous to their departure next morning for England. The privates thus disposed of, to release himself from the commanders also, Wallace told Del Warren that duty called him away, but every respect would be paid to them by the Scottish officers. He then gave directions to Sir Alexander Ramsey, to escort Del Warren, and the rest of the noble prisoners to Stirling. Wallace himself turned with his veteran band to give a conqueror's greeting to the Baron of Hilton, and so ended the famous battles of Cambus Kenneth and the cast of Stirling.