Bruce, having placed his array, disposed the supernumeraries of his army, the families of his soldiers, and other apparently useless followers of the camp, in the rear of an adjoining hill.
By daybreak the whole of the Southron army came in view. The van, consisting of archers and men-at-arms, displayed the banner of Earl de Warenne; the main body was led on by Edward himself, supported by a train of his most redoubted generals. As they approached, the bishop of Dunkeld stood on the face of the opposite hill between the abbots of Cambus-Keneth and Inchaffray, celebrating mass in the sight of the opposing armies. He passed along in front of the Scottish lines barefoot, with the crucifix in his hand, and in few but forcible words exhorted them by every sacred hope, to fight with an unreceding step for their rights, their king, and the corpse of William Wallace! At this abjuration, which seemed the call of Heaven itself, the Scots fell on their knees, to confirm their resolution with a vow. The sudden humiliation of their posture excited an instant triumph in the haughty mind of Edward, and spurring forward, he shouted aloud, "They yield! They cry for mercy!"
"They cry for mercy!" returned Percy, trying to withhold his majesty, "but not from us. On that ground on which they kneel, they will be victorious or find their graves."
The king contemned this opinion of the earl, and inwardly believing that, now Wallace was dead, he need fear no other opponent (for he knew not that even his cold remains were risen in array against him), he ordered his men to charge. The horsemen, to the number of thirty thousand, obeyed; and, rushing forward, with the hope of overwhelming the Scots ere they could rise from their knees, met a different destiny. They found destruction amid the trenches and on the pikes in the way, and with broken ranks and fearful confusion, fell or fled under the missive weapons which poured on them from a neighboring hill. De Valence was overthrown and severely wounded, and being carried off the field, filled the rear ranks with dismay; while the king's division was struck with consternation at so disastrous a commencement of an action in which they had promised themselves so easy a victory. Bruce seized the moment of confusion, and seeing his little army distressed by the arrows of the English, he sent Bothwell round with a resolute body of men to drive those destroying archers from the heights which they occupied. This was effected; and Bruce coming up with his reserve, the battle in the center became close, obstinate, and decisive. Many fell before the determined arm of the youthful king; but it was the fortune of Bothwell to encounter the false Monteith in the train of Edward. The Scottish earl was then at the head of his intrepid Lanarkmen.
"Fiend of the most damned treason," cried he, "vengeance is come!" and with an iron grasp, throwing the traitor into the midst of the faithful clan, they dragged him to the hearse of their chief, and there, on the skirts of its pall, the wretched villain breathed out his treacherous breath, under the strokes of a hundred swords.
"So," cried the veteran Ireland, "perish the murderers of William
Wallace!"
"So," shouted the rest, "perish the enemies of the bravest, the most loyal of Scots, the benefactor of his country!"
At this crisis the women and followers of the Scottish camp, hearing such triumphant exclamations from their friends, impatiently quitted their station behind the hill, and ran to the summit, waving their scarfs and plaids in exultation of the supposed victory. The English, mistaking these people for a new army, had not the power to recover from the increasing confusion which had seized them on King Edward himself receiving a wound, and panic-struck with the sight of their generals falling around them, they flung down their arms and fled. The king narrowly escaped; but being mounted on a stout and fleet horse, he put him to the speed and reached Dunbar, whence the young Earl of March, being as much attached to the cause of England as his father had been, instantly gave him a passage to England.
The Southron camp, with all its riches, fell into the hands of Bruce. But while his chieftains pursued their gallant chase, he turned his steps from warlike triumph, to pay his heart's honors to the remains of the hero whose blood had so often bathed Scotland's fields of victory. His vigils were again beneath that sacred pall—for so long had been the conflict, that night closed in before the last squadrons left the banks of Bannockburn.
At the dewy hour of morn Bruce reappeared upon the field. His helmet was royally plumed, and the golden lion of Scotland gleamed from under his sable surcoat. Bothwell rode at his side. The troops he had retained from the pursuit were drawn out in array. In a brief address he unfolded to them the solemn duty to which he had called them—to see the bosom of their native land receive the remains of Sir William Wallace.