“That for the robberies, murders, and felonies, of which he had been guilty, he should be hanged by the neck: That, as being an outlaw, and not having come to the king’s peace, he should be cut down and beheaded as a traitor: That, for the profanations and sacrileges committed by him, he should be disembowelled and his entrails burnt: And that as a warning to others, his head should be affixed to London Bridge, and his quarters in the towns of Berwick, Newcastle, Stirling, and Perth.” This judgment was carried into effect immediately.
This “barbarous sentence” is exclaimed against by most of the Scotch historians; but their protests are strangely inconsistent and forgetful. In Edward’s day, and for centuries afterwards, it was thought right and necessary to visit great crimes with great punishments. These complex sentences did not begin—we have already remarked—in Edward’s day, but long before; and they were continued for many centuries afterward. In Elizabeth’s day, when Walsingham and Burleigh, Jewell and Hooker, flourished, many Jesuit priests were sentenced to the same death which Wallace suffered, for merely conspiring against the queen. Later still, we find Montrose sentenced, by a very religious government in Scotland, to nearly the same death. And in England we find William, lord Russell, the Christian patriot, in 1680, protesting against the omission of the hanging and quartering in the case of lord Stafford. In fact, the refinement of feeling which, in our day, revolts against these disgusting details, had no existence in the fourteenth century, nor for several hundred years after it; and to censure Edward for the cruelty of this sentence, is as irrational as if we were to blame him for wearing armour, or for not using gunpowder. For more than four hundred years after Wallace’s death, no Englishman ever dreamed that there had been any peculiar cruelty in the mode of his execution. But since Hume’s days it has been the fashion to regard Wallace as a martyr, and to charge Edward with cruelty, for permitting his execution. And even some of our best and most recent historians continue to write in this strain. Thus, Sharon Turner says, “Edward obtained the wretched gratification of destroying his noble enemy; but his cruelty has only increased the celebrity of Wallace, and indelibly blotted his own.”[132] And Mr. Pearson, still more recently, talks of “new refinement of cruelty,” and of “this atrocious sentence,” and of Edward’s “barbarity.”[133]
But might not a very opposite view be taken with quite as much reason? Might we not blame the king, not so much for undue severity as for a blameable lenity. He offered Wallace his life, if he chose “to put himself on the grace and mercy of the king.” So confesses Mr. Pearson, who says, “The words, I think, clearly imply that the king will admit Wallace to mercy, though he will not promise him terms.”[134] In fact, if the king’s words do not mean this, they mean nothing. Any criminal, at any time or place, may give himself up to punishment, without any royal proclamation allowing him to do so. But could Edward, in this case, with any propriety, show mercy? That may at least be questioned.
Try it by a similar case in our own day:—A massacre of English women and children was committed, a dozen years ago, at Cawnpore. Would the Indian government have dared to grant a pardon, on any conditions whatever, to the perpetrator of that crime? Assuredly not.
The same question might arise next year in Ireland. There are many men in that country who feel precisely as Wallace felt, and who detest the English rule as heartily as he did. One of these, if he could obtain, a success or two, might gather round him a few thousands of men, and might begin a civil war. If he conducted this war in the usual manner, and failed in it, he might surrender and be pardoned. This lenity was experienced by Comyn and many others in Scotland; and the same lenity might Wallace have found, supposing, we repeat, that he had carried on the war in the usual manner.
But supposing the Fenian chief to prefer a kind of warfare resembling that of Wallace in 1297, and that of the Irish rebels in 1798; how would the case stand then? Suppose him to adopt Wallace’s system of “no quarter”;[135] to burn schools and churches with all the people in them;[136] to “spare neither age nor sex;”[137] to leave behind him, in his march, “nothing but blood and ashes”[138]—would it be easy to pardon him then? Even in this day of universal lenity, would not the general feeling be, “No, if this ruthless destroyer of men, women, and children is not brought to the scaffold, it will be quite impossible hereafter to hang any human being!
One victim, then, and one only, had fallen on the scaffold; and even that one, had he thrown himself on Edward’s mercy, would have been spared. But when, especially in those hard and iron days, was so great a change effected at so small a cost? When was a kingdom in insurrection restored to peace with so little of bloodshed, or even of minor punishment?
And now, there being “neither adversary nor evil occurrent,” the king determined once more to attempt a thoroughly friendly and conciliatory settlement of affairs in Scotland. In his usual frank and manly way, he resolved to throw himself into the hands of the Scotch, and to allow them to advise him as to the best plan for the government of the country. He called upon Wishart, the bishop of Glasgow, who had already been twice or thrice in arms against him; upon Robert Bruce, who, though an Englishman, was earl of Carrick; and upon John Mowbray—to consult together, and to agree among themselves as to time, place, and other arrangements, for holding a parliament specially about the state and affairs of Scotland; so that all things should be settled to the full content of the whole Scottish people. At their suggestion a parliament was held at Perth, in which ten commissioners were appointed to confer with the king in London upon Scottish affairs. To these Edward added ten Englishmen, with several of the judges. All these were sworn to give the best advice in their power, without suffering themselves to be biassed by friendship or interest. The result of their deliberations was, that John of Bretagne, the king’s nephew, should be appointed governor of Scotland, with the assistance of the present chancellor and chamberlain: that for the administration of justice, Scotland should be divided into four districts—Lothian, Galloway, the country between the Forth and the mountains, and the highlands; to each of which districts two justiciaries, an Englishman and a Scotchman, should be appointed: that sheriffs and escheators should be named for the several counties: and that the laws of David king of Scots should be read in an assembly of the people of Scotland, for revision and amendment.
On the 16th of September, 1305, a great council met on the affairs of Scotland, at the New Temple in London. There were present the bishops of Glasgow and St. Andrew’s, two Scotch earls, and several barons; and the sitting lasted for about twenty days. A variety of points were discussed and settled, and at last the commissioners came before the king, at his manor of Sheen in Surrey, and read the ordinances which they had made; which he then approved and confirmed. They then all swore upon the Holy Gospels, “Robert Bruce,” says Mr. Tytler, “acting a principal part,” for themselves and their heirs, and for the whole people of Scotland, that they would faithfully keep and observe the said ordinances. “They then took leave of the king, and returned home, with great appearance of joy and satisfaction.”