The Scottish monarch timed his movements, and organised his plans to check the English advance, with his customary foresight and energy; and although the cruel slaughter of so many of his nearest relatives and dearest friends might well have steeled his heart against the English, we are bound to admit that his repeated devastations of the Northumbrian provinces were of incalculable service in protecting Scotland from hostile attacks, although they might and did excite the English to cross the border in expeditions organised for the purpose of revenge.
Bruce never wanted for an army to invade England—an army that repaid its toils by the plunder of the enemy, and this is clearly illustrated by the campaign that ended with the battle of Byland Abbey; while Edward was spending months in raising an army, taxing the people, and making forced levies, drawing supplies of men and munitions from his continental provinces, Bruce had but to raise his standard, when a numerous army followed him, to win the reguerdon of their toil with sword and spear from the fertile English provinces.
King Robert dared not risk the liberties of Scotland by meeting the powerful hosts of England, with their deadly archers, in the open field, and his plan of defence was therefore to devastate the English borders with fire and sword, to the farthest practicable limit, and to drive all the flocks and herds on the Scottish border far inland, wasting the country as far as the Firth of Forth.
As soon as Moray had performed his raid on the West marches, he was instructed to join his forces with those of Douglas, and cross the borders in a more easterly direction, while King Robert penetrated into Lancashire through the Western marches. The expedition commenced on the 1st of July, and was concluded on the 24th, when the Scotch army re-entered Scotland in triumph, with numerous waggons heavily laden with the plunder of the English. The vale of Furness had been the scene of their triumphant march, and they left it utterly desolated; barns, stacks and ricks, and fields of ripening grain had been given to the flames, or trampled under foot.
The unhappy peasantry, abandoning their rude cots, sought such refuge as the woods and wilds afforded, or haply took shelter in the nearest walled town. Men-at-arms and burghers took spear and bow in hand, made fast their gates, and kept careful watch lest the enemy should burst upon them with fire and sword some dreadful night. The wasted country gleamed with the light of burning villages, and many a rude border-fortress was taken by assault before King Edward headed his warriors and marched northward with his mail-clad barons and stout yeomen.
The wary Scots waited not for the approach of the splendid army that marched behind the banners of the unfortunate Edward of Cærnarvon; although the English warriors were animated by an intense desire to avenge their wrongs, and not a monarch in Christendom but might have quailed at the prospect of joining battle with them, yet all their high courage and warlike accomplishments failed to serve them in their contest with the Bruce.
Pressing onward, rank after rank, squadron after squadron, with the glitter of thousands of lances, pikes, and bills, and with hundreds of banners floating on the breeze, the warriors of King Edward found neither foes to fight nor plunder to repay their toil, but “a land of desolation, which famine seemed to guard.” The transport of stores for so large an army was attended with extreme toil and difficulty, for the wasted soil would not even afford forage for the English horses. The English captains, hoping that by some chance the enemy might be brought to an engagement, resolutely maintained their advance, and the patient soldiers held on their way, in spite of increasing difficulties and dangers. It was the month of August, and the fatigue of the heavily armed troops must have been excessive. At length the toil-worn army reached the capital, but without any amelioration of their condition, or the prospect of an engagement. The sole spoil between England and Edinburgh was one lame bull. Well might Earl Warenne declare, “By my faith, I never saw dearer beef.” A fleet with supplies was expected in the firth, but it was detained by adverse winds, and after vainly waiting for three days, during which the troops began to experience the pangs of hunger, Edward reluctantly commanded the retreat to commence. They knew that Bruce had massed his army at Culross, and was keeping them under observation, but it was impossible to get within sight of the Scottish army, or to force an engagement. In their retreat the suffering and enraged soldiery burst into the convents of Dryburgh and Melrose, from which all but a few aged and infirm monks had retired: these unfortunates they put to the sword, defiled the sanctuaries, and carried off the consecrated vessels.
Bruce was now following hard and fast on the track of the retreating army, alert to seize every advantage, and anxious to secure the safety of his kingdom by inflicting a crushing blow upon his enemy. The English soldiery were harassed by being kept continually on the alert, and by the scarcity of provisions, but their greatest disaster awaited them on their native soil. Travel-wasted and famine-stricken they entered England, and were liberally supplied with food from the principal magazines in the north. Partaking with the impatient avidity of starving men, they sickened in great numbers, and in a few days 16,000 were carried off by inflammation of the bowels; and of the sick who recovered, few were ever again fit for service in the field.
To avert further disasters, and renew the strength and spirit of the survivors, the King formed a camp at Byland Abbey, some fourteen miles from York; and there the sorely-tried and weary soldiers found a temporary rest, and again enjoyed sufficient supplies of wholesome food.