The forces of the King of England amounted, it is said, to nearly a hundred thousand men. While they were marching with their banners flying, the sun, which was glistening upon the armor and the lances, appeared to inundate the country with a flood of light. King Robert was concealed in the forests with an army of forty thousand men, nearly all on foot, awaiting the enemy, and preparing barriers which were intended to check the onslaught of the English troops, on the only spot open to attack. On the morning of the 23rd of June, 1313, the two armies met near Bannockburn.
The English had hastened their march, and had arrived in some disorder, in front of the Scottish army. Lord Clifford, who attempted an ambuscade, was repulsed by Randolph, earl of Moray, nephew of King Robert and one of his best knights; the king himself, with a golden crown on his helmet, was marching slowly along the line of his troops. A relative of the Earl of Hereford's, Sir Henry Bohun, sprang forward against the "Scottish traitor," reckoning upon throwing him by the weight of his horse alone, Bruce being mounted upon one of the small horses of the country.
The king did not expect the shock; he turned, however, with great skill, and Bohun's lance passed close by his side without inflicting any injury upon him. Raising himself up in his stirrups and displaying his gigantic figure, he struck the rash Englishman a terrible blow with his battle-axe: the helmet was shattered by his powerful arm, and Sir Henry Bohun, whose skull was fractured, was carried off by his horse dead. Bruce returned slowly to the spot where the greater part of his forces was concentrated. While his friends were surrounding him, reproaching him for running so great a risk, the Scottish hero was looking sorrowfully at his notched axe, and laughingly answered, "I have spoilt my good battle-axe."
Robert Bruce Regretting His Battle-axe.
The night had been passed in prayer in the Scottish camp and in feasting and debauchery by the English. King Edward had not expected a battle, and held his forces assembled in such a manner as to render any manœuvres impossible. At daybreak the young king was astonished at the good order observed in the Scottish ranks. "Do you think they will fight?" he asked of his marshal, Sir Ingeltram d'Umfreville. At the same moment the Abbot Maurice d'Inchaffray appeared before the Scottish troops holding a crucifix in his hand. All bent their knees, all uncovered their heads. "They are asking for mercy," cried Edward. Umfreville smiled bitterly. "Of God, not of us, Sire," said he; "these men will win the battle or die at their posts." "So be it!" replied the king, as he gave the signal for the attack.
The struggle was furious from the commencement; the Earls of Gloucester and Hereford sprang towards the Scottish infantry, which remained firm; their long lances withstood the onslaught of the English knights. Randolph was still advancing with his best regiment. Keith was attacking with five hundred mounted men-at-arms, the English archers, who could not fight at close quarters and were trampled under foot by the horses. Banners were torn and lances and swords were shattered to pieces; the feet of the combatants were slipping in the blood; the majority of the English began to hesitate. "They fly, they fly!" cried the Scotch. At the same moment a loud noise was heard behind them upon the hill; the camp followers and the sick and the wounded soldiers, excited by the ardor of the struggle, were descending in a mass towards the scene of action. The English imagined themselves attacked by a fresh army; a disorderly retreat had begun, when Robert Bruce, charging with his reserve, decided the fate of the day beyond the possibility of a doubt. The Earl of Gloucester was killed while attacking Edward Bruce, Robert's brother. Clifford and twenty-seven other barons fell by the king's side. The Earl of Pembroke seized the bridle of Edward's horse and dragged him away from the battlefield. Sir Giles d'Argentine accompanied him out of the crowd, then retraced his steps, exclaiming, "It is not my custom to fly!" and was killed by Bruce's soldiers.
Never had a victory been more complete: the fortress of Stirling surrendered immediately; the Earl of Hereford, who had shut himself up in Bothwell Castle, offered to capitulate, and was exchanged for the wife, the sister, and the daughter of the King of Scotland, who had been detained for several years in England. There still remained a great deal of territory to conquer, but the work of Edward the First was destroyed, and Scotland was no longer a dependency of England.
Edward Bruce's ambition was not satisfied; he had assisted his brother in conquering a kingdom, and he now wished to secure a crown for himself. On the 23rd of May, 1315, while England was beginning to feel the miseries of a famine which was soon to be followed by a plague, he landed at Carrickfergus in Ireland at the head of six thousand men. He was soon joined by a large number of Irish chiefs; and they then proceeded to ravage the territory of the English colonists there, pillaging and burning the towns. At length he caused himself to be crowned King of Ireland on the 2nd of May, 1316. His brother Robert came to his assistance, and, in spite of the resistance of the English, who held Dublin and several other important towns, the invading army overran the whole of Ireland. The northern portion of the country had been completely subjugated by Edward Bruce, when King Robert was called back to his kingdom, in consequence of the incursions of the English. Nineteen pitched battles besides numberless skirmishes had been fought, and had exhausted the resources of the rash conqueror, when, on the 5th of October, 1318, Edward Bruce was at length defeated and killed at Fagher, near Dundalk, and the little body of Scots who escaped returned to Scotland. The death of one man had sufficed to overthrow the slender edifice, which for three years he had been striving to raise. The independence of Scotland was more firmly established than the conquest of Ireland.