When Wallace heard the Southron made sic din,
He garred all bide, and him alane went in;
The lave[46] remained, to hear of their tithans,[47]
He saluit them with sturdy countenance.
“Fellows,” he said, “sen I come last fra hame
In travail I was our land, and uncouth fame.
Fra south Ireland I come in this countree,
The new conquest of Scotland for to see.
Part of your drink, or some good would I have.”
The captain then a shrewish answer him gave;
“Thou seemest a Scot unlikely, us to spy;
Thou may be ane of Wallace company.
Contrar our king he is risen again,
The land of Fife he has rademyt in playne.[48]
Thou sall here bide, while we wit how it be;
Be thou of his, thou sall be hanged on high.”
Wallace then thought it was no time to stand,
His noble sword he grippit soon in hand;
Athwart his face drew that captain in tene,[49]
Strake all away that stood abowne his eyne;
Ane othir braithly in the breast he bare,
Baith brawn and bayn,[50] the burly blade through share;
The lave rushed up to Wallace in great ire;
The third he felled full fiercely in the fire.
Stenyn of Ireland and Kerle, in that thrang,
Kepyt na cherge, but entred them amang;
And othir more that to the door can press:
While they saw him, there could no man them cess,[51]
The Southron men full soon were brought to dead.
The following extract is of a more romantic character. Wallace, being closely pursued by the English, had, in a mingled fit of anger and suspicion, struck off the head of one of his followers, by name Fawdoun. At night, when he and his men had taken refuge in a tower, they heard a horn blown at hand. Two of them went out to see what the cause might be; they did not return, and the horn was again heard louder than before. Two more were sent, and so, till Wallace was left alone.
When he alane Wallace was leavit there,
The awfull blast abounded mickle mair.
Then trowed he they had his lodging seen;
His sword he drew, of noble metal keen,
Syne[52] forth he went whereat he heard the horn.
Without the door Fawdoun was them beforn,
As till his sight, his awn head in his hand.
A cross he made, when he saw him so stand.
At Wallace in the head he swaket[53] there;
And he in haste soon hynt[54] it by the hair,
Syne out again at him he couth[55] it cast;
Intil his heart he greatly was aghast.
Right well he trowed that was no sprite of man,
It was some devil, that sic malice began.
He wist no waill[56] there longer for to byde.
Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide,
Till a close stair: the boards rave in twain.
Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn.[57]
Up the water suddenly he couth fare;
Again he blent[58] what perance he saw there.
Him thought he saw Fawdoun, that hugly sir;
That haill hall he had set in a fire;
A great rafter he had intill his hand.
Wallace as then no longer would he stand.
Of his gude men full great merveill had he,
How they were lost through his fell fantasy.
In the spring of 1297 his career of victory was checked at Irvine, by the dissensions and desertion of his army; but the cloud soon passed away, for in the autumn we find him engaged in the siege of Dundee, from which he was recalled by the approach of the English, under the command of Warenne, Earl of Surrey. Wallace determined to await the enemy on the banks of the Forth, near Stirling, where the river could be crossed only by a narrow and inconvenient bridge, that scarce admitted the passage of two horsemen together. The Scottish army consisted of forty thousand foot, and one hundred and eighty horse; the English, of fifty thousand foot, and one thousand horse.
Surrey was probably aware of the strong position occupied by the Scots, and the danger of passing the bridge in face of the enemy, for he despatched two friars to propose terms to Wallace. “That robber,” says Hemingford, “replied, ‘Tell your fellows, that we come not hither for the benefit of peace, but are prepared for battle, to avenge and to free our kingdom. Let them, therefore, come up when they will, and they shall find us ready to meet them beard to beard.’ And when these tidings came to our men, they that were hot–headed said, ‘Let us go up against them, for these are but threats.’ But the wiser part added, ‘We may not yet advance, until we have well reflected what counsel to pursue.’ Then said that stout knight, Sir Richard Lundy, who had surrendered to us at Irvine,[59] ‘My lords, if it shall be that we ascend the bridge, we are dead men. For we can only pass by two and two, and the enemy are on our flank, and when they please, will form in line and charge us. But not far off there is a ford where sixty men can cross at once. Now then give me five hundred horse and a small body of foot; and we will make a circuit in the enemy’s rear and overthrow him: and meanwhile you, Lord Earl, and your company will pass the bridge in safety.’ But they would not abide by his good counsel, saying that it was unsafe to separate. So being divided in opinion, some cried out to pass the bridge, others the contrary. Among whom Cressingham, the king’s treasurer, a proud man and a child of perdition, said, ‘It is not well, my Lord Earl, to put off this matter farther, and to spend the king’s money in vain. Rather let us march up, and do our devoir as we are bound.’ The earl, therefore, being moved by his words, gave orders that they should pass the bridge. A strange thing was it, and very direful in its issue, that so many, and such wise men, who knew the enemy to be at hand, should venture on a narrow bridge, which two horsemen could hardly pass abreast. So that, as some said, who were in that battle, if they had filed over without bar or hindrance from break of day till eleven o’clock, still a large part of the rear would have remained behind. Neither was there a fitter place in all Scotland to deliver over the English to the Scots, or the many into the hands of the few. The banners of the king and earl passed over, and among the first that most valiant knight, Sir Marmaduke Twenge. And when the enemy saw that as many as they thought to overthrow had crossed, they ran down the hill, and blocked up the bridge end with their spearmen; so that from thenceforth there was neither passage nor return, but in the attempt many were cast over the bridge and drowned. As the Scots came down from the mountain, Sir Marmaduke said, ‘Is it not time, my brethren, to charge them?’ And they assented, and spurred their horses: and in the shock some of the Scots horsemen fell, and the others, to a man, ran away. As our men pursued the fugitives, one said to Sir Marmaduke, ‘Sir, we are betrayed, for our comrades do not follow, and the banners of the king and earl are not to be seen.’ Then looking back, they saw that many of our men, and among them the standard–bearers, had fallen, and said, ‘Our way to the bridge is cut off, and we are barred from our friends: it is better to make trial of the water, if it be that we may pass it, than to plunge into the columns of the enemy, and fall to no purpose. It is difficult, yea, impossible, for us to pass through the midst of the Scots.’ Then replied that valiant knight, Sir Marmaduke, ‘Surely, my dear friends, it shall never be said of me, that I drowned myself for nothing. Do not ye so either, but follow me, and I will clear a passage through them even to the bridge.’ Then spurring his charger, he plunged among the enemy, and dealing blows on either side, passed unhurt through the throng, and laid open a wide path for his followers. For he was tall, and stout of body. And as he fought thus valiantly, his nephew, who was wounded, his horse being slain, shouted after him, ‘Sir, save me.’ He replied, ‘Get up behind me.’—‘I cannot,’ he answered, ‘for my strength is gone.’ Presently his comrade, an esquire of the same Sir Marmaduke, came up, and descending from his horse, he placed the young man on it, and said to his master, ‘Sir, go where you will, I follow;’ and he followed him to the bridge, so that both were preserved. All who remained, to the number of one hundred horsemen, and five thousand foot, perished, except a few who swam the river. One knight, also, with much difficulty, passed the water upon his barded horse.”[60]
The Earl of Surrey quitted the field as soon as he was rejoined by Twenge, giving orders for the destruction of the bridge. The Scots, therefore, did not cross to pursue their success: but notwithstanding, quantities of plunder fell into their hands, and the decisive nature of the defeat is evident from the consequences which attended it. In the words of Knighton, “This awful beginning of hostilities roused the spirit of Scotland, and sunk the hearts of the English.” In a short time not a fortress of Scotland remained in Edward’s possession. The castles of Edinburgh and Roxburgh were dismantled, and Berwick, being abandoned by the English upon the advance of the Scots, was occupied by Wallace, who resolved on an immediate expedition into England, with the view of providing sustenance for his troops, and lightening the horrors of famine, which now fell severely upon Scotland.
“After that ill–omened beginning,” Hemingford continues, “the Scots were animated, and the hearts of the English troubled. Wallace overran and devastated the whole of Northumberland. In that time the praise of God ceased to be heard in all monasteries and churches from Newcastle–upon–Tyne to Carlisle. For all monks, canons, and other priests, with all the commons, fled before the face of the Scots.” Turning then westward, he passed Carlisle, which refused to surrender, ravaged Cumberland, and was advancing into Durham, when his progress was stopped by the winter’s setting in with unusual severity: a deliverance ascribed to the miraculous assistance of Cuthbert, the patron saint of the diocese. “Returning to Hexham, where stood a wealthy monastery, which the Scots had plundered on their advance, three canons of that house, who, having no fear of death, had just returned, fled into an oratory which they had rebuilt, that, if it were the Divine will, they might there be offered as a sacrifice of sweet savour. Presently the spearmen came in and shook their lances over them, saying, ‘Show us the treasures of your church, or ye shall instantly die.’ One of them replied, ‘It is not long since you and your people carried off our property, as if it had been your own, and you know where you have placed it. Since then we have sought out a few things, as you now see.’ Meanwhile Wallace appeared and rebuked his men, and bid them give way, and asked one of the monks to celebrate mass, which was done. And at the moment of elevating the host, Wallace went forth to lay aside his armour; and then, when the priest was about to take the holy sacrament, the Scots gathered round him, to snatch away the cup. And after Wallace had washed his hands, and returned from the sacristy to the altar, he found the chalice and the napkins, and other ornaments of the altar, carried off; even the book in which the mass had been begun, was gone. And while the priest was hesitating what he should do, Wallace returned, and seeing what had passed, he gave order that those sacrilegious men should be sought out, and put to death. But they were not found, inasmuch as they were not sought for in earnest. And he said to the canons, ‘Go not away from me, but keep near me, as you value your safety. For this people is ill–disposed, and may neither be excused nor punished.’”[61]
Soon after his return from this expedition, he was elected governor of Scotland, and his measures in this high office appear to have been judicious and temperate. But the haughty barons could not bear the superiority of one whose only claim was in his merit, and thus division was sown in the Scottish councils at the time when unanimity was more than ever needed. In the summer of 1298 Edward himself invaded Scotland at the head of a powerful army. The plan adopted by Wallace upon this occasion was the same as that which was afterwards so successfully executed by Bruce. He avoided a general battle, which with an army far inferior to the English must have been fought to a disadvantage,—he fell back slowly before the enemy, leaving some garrisons in the most important castles, driving off all supplies, wasting the country through which the English were to march, and waiting till the scarcity of provisions compelled them to retreat, and gave him a favourable opportunity of breaking down upon them with full effect.[62]
They advanced unopposed, therefore, but found an inhospitable desert; and Edward, unable to replace his exhausted stores, was at length compelled to issue orders for a retreat to Edinburgh, hoping to meet his fleet at Leith, and then to recommence offensive warfare. At this critical juncture, when the military skill and wisdom of the dispositions made by Wallace became apparent, and when the moment to harass and destroy the invading army in its retreat had arrived, the treachery of her nobles again betrayed Scotland to the enemy. Two Scottish lords, Patrick, Earl of Dunbar, and the Earl of Angus, at day–break privately sought the quarters of the Bishop of Durham, and informed him that the Scots were encamped not far off in the forest of Falkirk. The Scottish earls, who dreaded the resentment of Edward on account of their late renunciation of allegiance, did not venture to seek the king in person. They sent their intelligence by a page, and added, that having heard of his projected retreat, it was the intention of Wallace to surprise him by a night attack. Edward, on hearing this welcome news, could not conceal his joy. “Thanks be to God,” he exclaimed, “who hitherto hath extricated me from every danger. They shall not need to follow me, since I shall forthwith go and meet them.”[63]