The answer returned was evidently intended to exasperate the English, and bring them on headlong to the fray. After a bold declaration of independence, a taunting allusion was made to the conquerors of England. “We came not here,” said the intrepid assertor of Scotland’s rights, “to negociate, but to fight; and were even your masters to come and attack us, we are ready to meet them at our swords’ point, and show them that our country is free.” Enraged at this stern and provoking defiance, the English became clamorous to be led on.
A council of war being called, it was proposed by Cressingham that the army should instantly cross the river and attack the Scots. In this he was opposed by Sir Richard Lundin, who pointed out the many difficulties they would have to encounter in attempting to defile along a bridge, so narrow, in presence of so wary an enemy; and offered to guide them to a ford not far distant, where they could pass with less hazard. Cressingham,—either displeased at being contradicted,—or not placing full reliance on the fidelity of Lundin, who had but recently joined the English, told Warren,—who appeared to hesitate, that, as treasurer of the King of England, he (Cressingham) could not be answerable for squandering the money of his master in protracted warfare with a handful of enemies, who,—in order to be defeated, had only to be attacked, and would always be formidable,—provided they were never brought to an engagement. Stung by the reproach conveyed in these remarks, Warren gave orders for the troops to move onwards.
Sir Marmaduke Twenge, a knight belonging to the North-Riding of Yorkshire, of much experience and distinguished personal prowess, assisted Cressingham in leading the van. When nearly one half of the English had cleared the bridge without opposition, an attempt was made to dislodge the Scots from the ground they had chosen; and for that purpose, Sir Marmaduke rather impatiently charged up-hill with a body of heavy-armed cavalry. The consequence was, however, fatal to the assailants, as the enemy, from their vantage-ground, drove them headlong before them with their long spears. In the mean time, the communication between the bridge and the van of the English army was cut off by a masterly movement of a division of the Scots, who afterwards kept up such an incessant discharge of arrows, darts,[116] “gavelocks,” and other missiles, as completely interrupted the progress of the enemy. Wallace contemplated, for a moment, the success of his plan, and instantly rushed down to the attack with an impetuosity which the scarcely formed battalions of the English were ill prepared to withstand. Giving way to the shock, they fell into irretrievable confusion, while the repeated charges of the compact bodies of the Scottish spearmen were fast covering the ground with the splendid wreck of the chivalry of England. The scene now became animating beyond measure; and many of those who had defended the bridge forsook their companions to join in the desperate mêleé. The passage being thus left comparatively open, the royal standard of England, displaying “Three gold leopards courant, set on red,” was advanced to the cry of—“For God and St George!” attended by a strong body of knights, who, with their triangular shields, defending themselves from the missiles which still showered thick upon the bridge, rushed forward to aid their fellow-combatants. The banner of Warren next appeared, chequered with gold and azure, and followed by his numerous vassals. The day, however, was too far gone to be retrieved, even by this powerful assistance. Finding no room to form, they only increased the confusion, and swelled the slaughter made by the Scottish spearmen, before whose steady and overwhelming charges thousands were either borne down or driven into the river.
While Warren, with inexpressible anxiety, beheld from the opposite bank the destruction of the flower of his army, the Steward of Scotland and the Earl of Lennox were seen approaching with a strong body of horse; but, as might be expected, instead of joining the English, they assisted their countrymen in pursuing and killing those who were attempting to save themselves. Sir Marmaduke Twenge gallantly cut his way to the bridge, and escaped.[117]
The panic now became general, and the face of the country was soon covered with a confused mass of terrified fugitives, hurrying on to avoid the swords of their conquerors, and increasing, as they fled, the disorder of their retreat, by throwing away their arms and their standards, in order to facilitate their flight.
Wallace having crossed the ford alluded to by Lundin, the pursuit was followed up with the most destructive perseverance. The day of retribution had arrived;—the butcheries of Berwick, the carnage of Dunbar, with a long list of national indignities and personal sufferings had now to be atoned for. Conscious of the provocation which had roused to frenzy the vengeance of an infuriated people, Warren turned with dismay from the scene of havoc, leaving twenty thousand of his soldiers to manure the fields of those they had so lately oppressed. Cressingham, the most detested of all the tools of Edward, was among the number of the slain;—and when Wallace came up, a party were employed in flaying the body. According to the MS. Chronicle of Lanercost, he is said to have ordered only as much of the skin to be taken off as would make a sword-belt; and his men, perhaps, imitating his example, might have appropriated the rest. This, says a respectable author,[118] is no doubt the origin of the tale told by Abercromby and some other historians, of the Scots having used it as girths to their horses. An order of this kind, given in the heat of the pursuit, was perhaps never thought of afterwards; at least, we have no account of Wallace ever wearing such an appendage. The circumstance, however, shows the deep-rooted detestation with which the individual was regarded.
Warren, who fled rapidly to Berwick, was most probably, like another English general of more modern times, the first herald of his own discomfiture. The consternation which his disaster occasioned among his countrymen in Scotland was so great, that few or none would venture to wait the approach of the enemy; but, abandoning their strongholds, they hurried southward with the greatest precipitation, justly conceiving that the terms they were likely to obtain from one who followed up his victories with so much energy, were hardly worth staying for. The loss on the part of the Scots was comparatively small; none of note having fallen, save the brave Sir Andrew Murray of Bothwell.[119]
In this manner was Scotland once more restored to that liberty of which she had been so unjustly deprived. Nor was the benefit conferred on the country less, than the glory which redounded to her gallant liberator. The brilliant and decisive victory at Stirling Bridge was gained on the 11th September 1297, exactly twelve months and eleven days from the return of Edward to Berwick, after what he conceived to be the final subjugation of the kingdom.
The state of Scotland in the early part of 1297, was such as might well have extinguished the ardour of any mind possessed of less energy than that of Wallace. He saw his country humbled and debased at the feet of a tyrant, whose talents and power forbade every hope of emancipation, while the boldest of her nobles dared not express a wish to be free. His own indignant feelings blazed forth, and, with his kindling enthusiasm, he breathed into his torpid and enslaved countrymen, the breath as it were of a new existence. The regenerating influence of his heroic example, was quickly caught by those whose bosoms still beat responsive to the call of honour; and in the short space we have mentioned, those banners which had lately waved over hecatombs of butchered Scots, and had been paraded through the land with all the triumphant arrogance of conquest, were now trampled under foot, and the colossal power by which they were sustained, overthrown before the virtuous indignation of a people determined to be free. When we contemplate the might and the resources of Edward, who, in addition to those of his own kingdom, had Ireland, Wales, and his Continental possessions to depend upon; it is impossible not to feel impressed with admiration at the greatness of that mind, which, with the fractions of a divided and dispirited people, could form the idea of braving a force so overwhelming: But when we find those plans which he had conceived in the deep recesses of his woodland retreats, not only perseveringly carried on against a tide of adverse circumstances—in defiance of the aristocracy of his own country, and the opposition of secret and avowed enemies—it may with truth be said, that, however highly he may have been extolled, a tythe of his greatness has not yet been appreciated. Much has been said of romance being mixed up with the accounts given of him; but it would be difficult for any of those who delight in nibbling at great names, to point out any tradition respecting Wallace, sufficiently romantic to outstrip the simple facts that stand recorded of him in the authentic annals of British history.
Deserted by the barons at a time when he conceived he had united in the sacred cause all that was noble, and all that was high minded in the land, it required no common intrepidity to bear up against their heartless and unseemly defection; and to recruit his ranks after so serious a diminution, required talents of the highest order, and exertions beyond the reach of ordinary men. This, however, he not only accomplished, but also recovered a number of fortresses,—drove the enemy from the North, and, with a numerous and gallant army, sat down in a well-chosen position, to await the advance of the legions of England,—all within two months of the disgraceful negociation at Irvine.