CHAPTER XIII.
STIRLING CASTLE—EDINBURGH.
Grand old Stirling Castle! It is situated on high ground. On one side the land is very precipitous; in fact the walls are on the actual verge of the high bluff, and there is an almost vertical fall of more than two hundred feet. In all directions is a view never excelled. There lie the quiet fields, extending from the base of the hill, while the river, like a serpent of gigantic but graceful proportions, curves across them. Here and there are charming groves and solid woodlands, and on, in the distant west, are the famed Highlands. To the north and east are the Ochil Hills, with their companions, the Campsie Hills, on the south; and on the rear lies Stirling town, naïvely antique.
How natural is it to look farther over the great landscape. As we face the town, off at our right, on a great hill,—almost a crag,—is the Wallace Monument, of which we will speak by and by. In the distance are the bewitching ruins of Cambuskenneth Abbey and the Abbey Craig, the Bridge and the Water of Allan, the Great Carse, the Valley of the Forth, the Field of Bannockburn, and a thousand points of beauty.
It is no wonder that here kings and queens have delighted to stay. The building is open to visitors, and for the small fee of a shilling one may take his fill of delight. The edifice is a thorough castle. Built of brownish stone, it has a subdued look; but its low towers and battlements, its varied outline and its great extent, all impress the beholder with reverence. It would be a work of many chapters to describe in detail the various articles on exhibition,—reminders of remarkable events. Here is the Douglas Room, where James II. assassinated the powerful and aggravating Earl of Douglas in 1440. The windows are shown from which these men leaned and conversed before the bloody work; for they remain precisely as they were more than four hundred years ago. There resided all the king Jameses, from the First to the Sixth inclusive, as did Mary Queen of Scots. The castle is used as barracks for English soldiers, though a portion of the building is fearfully vacant, and one prominent quarter is a museum of antiquities. We return through the large courtyards by which we entered, and through the great arched opening, in which is run up the ponderous portcullis, or strong lattice gateway, whose
"Massive bar had oft rolled back the tide of war."
The home of kings and of the most noted persons of the civilized world! Soil made sacred by the tread of nobility. But we were free men, unhindered observers, at liberty to examine and criticise, in unqualified republican American fashion, things once too sacred for common people to look upon. How changed! What has done this but popular education, and the growth of religious liberty,—elements underlying the Magna Charta, which has discounted royalty, and opened the great doors of civilization? Where are now the kings, the queens? Their places of habitation are our intellectual banquet-hall; their household goods form a museum of curiosities for all who are disposed to visit it.
Our next visit was to Gray Friars Church, founded by James IV. in 1594, and here a strange thing met our view. The edifice is in the usual form of a Latin cross. A large door has been made in the centre of each transept, which are used as large vestibules for the two auditoriums into which the choir and nave of the edifice have been converted. The choir, which is the oldest part and of Norman architecture, is used as a chapel for the soldiers, and the nave as one of the parish churches of the city. Both are in use, and services are held in them at the same hours. The military church is under the English government, and of course the service is Episcopalian; while the other is Scotch Presbyterian. Of course the church was originally Roman Catholic, but in the old times John Knox often preached there. How little endures! One set of people exist and build and occupy. Here their saints are made, die, and are buried, and the stones become sacred to their memory. But by-and-by other people come into possession. In a day the accumulated sanctities are despoiled, and, as it were, evaporate. Nothing but the soil stands secure from mutation and danger. In a place like this we realize the force of the statement: "One generation goeth and another cometh, but the earth abideth forever."
Near by is Guildhall. At the house adjoining we make our desires known, and the young lady attendant, key in hand, accompanies us to the old room, which is perhaps thirty feet wide, fifty feet long, and twenty feet high. The quintessence of antiquity is here. Imagination in full play could conceive nothing more fascinatingly mediæval. Dimly lighted, the heavy oak finish looked the more quaint and feudalistic. What things of interest we behold! Here are pictures which centuries have mellowed, and here, in the middle of the room, is the pulpit in which John Knox preached a memorable sermon at the coronation of the infant king, James VI., Aug. 29, 1567. It is octagonal, and made of oak; and only the upper part, or that in which the preacher stood, is left, its floor resting upon the floor of the hall. We stood in it, and, like John Knox on a certain occasion, pronounced the text, "Put not your trust in princes, nor in the son of man in whom there is no help."
Here was an old Crusader's hat, which we tried on. It is large, not much decayed, has a broad brim, and is made of soft felt; in fact it is what is now called a slouched hat. Near by is a burial-ground, unlike anything we had ever seen. It contains some two or three acres, has through the central part a romantic ravine, and in it are monuments and old statues embowered in trees. Adjoining it is a lofty elevation of natural stone, from which are charming views. There are monuments devoted to the martyrs who died in defence of principle. The gravestones are thick, and the place contains but few things that can be paralleled elsewhere. There are fine trees, thick shrubbery, and an atmosphere of romance.
Off at a distance of a mile or so, accessible by horse-cars, is the Wallace Monument, standing on Moncrief, like a lone sentinel. Moncrief is a piece of ground quite park-like in its aspect; a good avenue is graded for a quarter-mile through the woods, winding so as to make an easy ascent to the summit, which is a very small level table-land. The entire city is visible, with the castle as a background; and off to the right, in the distance, are the famed Highlands. In the near foreground is the river, with a background of woods. Here and there are villages and hamlets, and Bannockburn is seen to best advantage, and places where battles were fought by Wallace and Bruce. The monument stands at the centre of the table-land, which is 226 feet above the streets of the city. The monument is square in plan, about 40 feet on each side, and 200 feet high. It is built of brown stone, with trimmings that resemble granite. It is of a castellated design, and in appearance is hundreds of years old, though in reality it has been finished but six years. The keeper's house adjoins it, and is incorporated into the structure. Either the castle, the Wallace Monument, the old church, the Guildhall, or near burial-ground amply repay the effort required to make a visit to Stirling. The monument was erected to the memory of Wallace, as its name implies, and a few words concerning him may be of interest.
William Wallace was born in 1276. He had a fierce and warlike disposition, and, while at the high-school at Dundee, he stabbed the son of the English governor of Dundee Castle, and fled. For a long time he was an outlaw and dwelt in the fastnesses of Scotland. He had great personal accomplishments, and many persons became his followers. He organized an army, and held it in readiness for invasions. An insurrection having broken out in 1297, when he was but twenty-one years old, he attacked an English Count at Scone, took many prisoners, and killed many more. Under his direction, Sir William Douglas surprised and compelled the English garrisons of Durisdeer and Sanquhar, which were holding the castles, to surrender. So great was his intrepidity and daring, and so formidable had his army become, that Edward I.—the sovereign against whom he was fighting, and to whom the people of Scotland were opposed—sent 40,000 men and cavalry, under command of Sir Henry Percy and Sir Robert Clifford, to oppose him. Wallace made an attack on them when they arrived, but was repulsed and fell back to Irvine in Ayrshire. Soon after this, however, disputes arose among the Scottish leaders, which resulted in an agreement which Wallace and Murray did not approve; so they retired into the northern countries, quickly recruited a formidable army, and surprised and captured the English garrisons at Aberdeen, Dunnottar, Forfar, and Montrose. Wallace had also begun a siege at Dundee; but being informed of the advance of a large English force in the direction of Stirling, he abandoned the siege, and, gathering adherents as he went, reached Stirling with 40,000 foot and 180 horse. The English mustered 50,000 foot and 1,000 horse, under the Earl of Surrey. Messengers, deserters from the Scottish army, were sent to persuade Wallace to capitulate, and a free pardon was unconditionally offered, but the overtures were rejected. The English crossed the river, and the noted battle of Cambuskenneth was fought near Stirling Bridge, Sept. 10, 1297. The result was that the English were driven to Berwick, almost completely cut to pieces. Inflated by success, Wallace, by general consent,—in the absence of the lawful monarch, King John, who was then confined in the Tower of London,—was declared guardian of Scotland. A severe famine followed, and Wallace, to obtain supplies, invaded the northern counties of England. He laid waste the country, returned with his spoils, and began to reorganize Scotland. Edward, smarting under the terrible defeat, and realizing the insecurity of his possessions near the border, raised an army of 80,000 infantry and 7,000 horse. A portion of the force landed by sea on the northeast coast, and there suffered a reverse; but the main body advanced by land northward, and on July 22, 1298, met the Scottish forces at Falkirk, where a decisive battle was fought, and Wallace's army was defeated with a loss of 15,000. This was really the fall of his remarkable power. He was only 22 years old, and from this time carried on a guerilla warfare for several years, until at length he went to Paris to seek French intervention. In 1304 he was declared an outlaw, large rewards were offered by King Edward for his arrest, and he was immediately betrayed by Sir John Menteith. The day after his arrival in London, the form of a trial was gone through with at Westminster, and in derision of his pretensions he was decorated with a crown of laurel. He was condemned to death, and the same day, Aug. 23, 1305, at the age of thirty-five, he was dragged at the tails of horses to Smithfield, and there hung, drawn, and quartered; his head being sent to London bridge, where it was perched on the top of the Southwark Tower, while his other limbs were exposed to the anathemas of the populace at Newcastle, Berwick, Perth, and at Stirling, the seat of his daring deeds. It is for this patriot that this lofty monument was erected, 570 years after the close of his eventful life, which also gives a basis for Burns's "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled!"
The castle is now used for barracks; and at the time of our visit some hundreds of men were here stationed,—all of that robust nature for which English soldiers are celebrated. A sad waste of the flower of Great Britain, and the day is not far distant when the mistake will be seen. The ambition for increased territory is one of England's elements of weakness. Too much distant territory is breaking her down. Soldiers are everywhere required to maintain possession. This takes her picked men, and the people must be taxed to feed an army of drones.
We were especially interested in one thing here. The ground, within the castle walls, is paved with small cobble-stones, like our gutters. Springing up among them were knot-grass and small weeds. Three or four soldiers, with sharp-pointed case-knives, were digging up this grass, scrupulously removing every trace of it. We asked why this was being done, and were informed that it was a punishment. For infraction of some rule soldiers were sentenced to this menial work—in the presence of comrades and visitors—for a day, or perhaps a week; and some were also deprived of dinner. The misdemeanor might have been not returning at the proper time when off by permission, being drunk while away, insubordination, deceiving officers, uncleanliness, or neglect of accoutrements.
We have devoted much attention to Stirling, for it is connected with events not only in the history of Scotland, but of England as well.
At 12.30 p. m. the day after arrival, Tuesday, June 4, we took train for Edinburgh, the chief city of Scotland, and in many respects one of the finest cities in the world. The ride from Stirling is through a pleasant country, much like that between Worcester and Springfield. It is but an hour and a half before we see the spreading smoke-cloud, and we know from experience that there is the city. The suburbs remind one of an approach to Baltimore, Washington, and other Southern cities. Most of the houses are brick, and two stories high. All are dingy, though not very ancient or peculiar in design. We are at a central point in Scotland, but we see nothing intensely outlandish.
American tourists mistake in supposing everything to be unlike home. Most things are such as are familiar, or not sufficiently eccentric to arouse astonishment. The press, pictures, and travel compel interchange of ideas and methods. They are common levellers, producing wonderful uniformity in buildings, dress, and habits. All these tend to oneness, and help to make "the whole world kin." Strange objects are exceptional. They belong to other days, and are interesting to their possessors and the present generation—as they are to us, who have come from a longer distance to see them—as curiosities. History is common property. Bunker Hill has an interest to the intelligent Scotchman, that Bannockburn has to us.
But we are at Edinburgh, and ready to say, as was said of Jerusalem of old: "Beautiful for situation is Mount Zion, the joy of the whole earth."