"Yea, and the loss of salvation," screamed Ichabod, with a voice of a Stentor, as he brandished his bible and bloody sword. "Woe unto ye who march against God with banners displayed! Woe unto ye who would build up the walls of Jericho, which the Lord hath casten down! Take heed, ye vipers and soldiers of Jeroboam, lest the curse that fell on Kiel, the Bethelite, fall upon ye also! Woe unto ye, worshippers of the Babylonian harlot, the mother of sin, for the hour is come when it is written that ye shall perish!"
"——And escheat of goods and gear," continued the herald, "forfeiture of name and fame."
"Surrender, ye d—d loons!" cried Mersington, "or hee hee, we'll gie ye cauld kail through the reek, conform to the Acts of Estate."
"Sound trumpets for silence!" exclaimed the herald indignantly; but now the voice of Mr. Bummel was again heard.
"Oh for one moment of the hand that smote the foes of Zion!" he exclaimed, raising to heaven his sunken eyes that in the torchlight seemed to fill with a yellow glare. "Oh for God's malediction on the brats of Babel! Lo! I see a sign in the lift—they are delivered unto us, that we may dash them against the stones. On, on, and spare not! smite and slay! death to the false prophets! death to the soldiers of the idolatrous James!"
"I, the Islay Herald-at-Arms——"
"Haud your d—d yammering!" cried Captain Graham, of the trained bands, interrupting in turn; "close up, my trained men! come on, my buirdly Baxters, and couthie craftsmen—advance pikes—musqueteers, blow matches—give fire!"
"Give fire!" re-echoed the deep voice of Wallace within the groined portal. A loud discharge of musquetry took place, and the bullets of the mob rattled like a hailstorm against the walls, or whistled through the archway of the porch.
Three soldiers fell dead, but nearly forty of the rabble were shot, for every bullet fired by the "Brats of Babel" killed at second hand. Still they pressed forward with undiminished courage, and assailed the three gates of the palace at once, and pressing close to the bars of the portal, fired their musquets and pistols through with deadly precision on the little band within. Here Wallace commanded in person, with a bravery worthy of his immortal name, and encouraged by his animated exhortations, his gallant few, though falling fast on every hand, stood firm, with a resolution to die, but never surrender.
Walter Fenton and Finland commanded each about twenty musqueteers at the lesser gates, which the insurrectionists assailed pell-mell with hammers and pickaxes, and as nothing but a cruel death could be expected if this mob of infuriated madmen obtained entrance, the poor soldiers fought as much for their lives as for honour and protection of the palace and chapel royal. From a platform of planks and furniture, overlooking the south back of the Canon-gate, Walter's party poured a fire upon the mob with deadly effect; the palace wall was high, the gate strong and well secured, so they hurled ponderous stones and swung hammers against its solid front in vain.