by Jane Porter
Produced by Carrie
The Scottish Chiefsby Miss Jane Porter
Chapter I.
Scotland.
Bright was the summer of 1296. The war which had desolated Scotlandwas then at an end. Ambition seemed satiated; and the vanquished,after having passed under the yoke of their enemy, concluded they mightwear their chains in peace. Such were the hopes of those Scottishnoblemen who, early in the preceding spring, had signed the bond ofsubmission to a ruthless conqueror, purchasing life at the price of allthat makes life estimable-liberty and honor.
Prior to this act of vassalage, Edward I., King of England, had enteredScotland at the head of an immense army. He seized Berwick bystratagem; laid the country in ashes; and, on the field of Dunbar,forced the Scottish king and his nobles to acknowledge him their liegelord.
But while the courts of Edward, or of his representatives, were crowdedby the humbled Scots, the spirit of one brave man remained unsubdued.Disgusted alike at the facility with which the sovereign of a warlikenation could resign his people and his crown into the hands of atreacherous invader, and at the pusillanimity of the nobles who hadratified the sacrifice, William Wallace retired to the glen ofEllerslie. Withdrawn from the world, he hoped to avoid the sight ofoppressions he could not redress, and the endurance of injuries beyondhis power to avenge.
Thus checked at the opening of life in the career of glory that was hispassion-secluded in the bloom of manhood from the social haunts ofmen--he repressed the eager aspirations of his mind, and strove toacquire that resignation to inevitable evils which alone couldreconcile him to forego the promises of his youth, and enable him toview with patience a humiliation of Scotland, which blighted her honor,menaced her existence, and consigned her sons to degradation orobscurity. The latter was the choice of Wallace. Too noble to bendhis spirit to the usurper, too honest to affect submission, he resignedhimself to the only way left of maintaining the independence of a trueScot; and giving up the world at once, all the ambitions of youthbecame extinguished in his breast, since nothing was preserved in hiscountry to sanctify their fires. Scotland seemed proud of her chains.Not to share in such debasement, appeared all that was now in hispower; and within the shades of Ellerslie he found a retreat and ahome, whose sweets beguiling him of every care, made him sometimesforget the wrongs of his country in the tranquil enjoyments of weddedlove.
During the happy mouths of the preceding autumn, while Scotland was yetfree, and the path of honorable distinction still open before her youngnobility, Wallace married Marion Braidfoot, the beautiful heiress ofLammington. Nearly of the same age, and brought up from childhoodtogether, reciprocal affection had grown with their growth; andsympathy of tastes and virtues, and mutual tenderness, made them soentirely one, that when at the age of twenty-two the enraptured loverwas allowed to pledge that faith publicly at the altar, which he had sooften vowed in secret to his Marion, he clasped her to his heart, andsoftly whispered: "Dearer than life! part of my being! blessed is thisunion, that mingles thy soul with mine, now, and forever!"
Edward's invasion of Scotland broke in upon their innocent joys.Wallace threw aside the wedding garment for the cuirass and the sword.But he was not permitted long to use either--Scotland submitted to herenemies; and he had no alternative but to bow to her oppressors, or tobecome an exile from man, amid the deep glens of his country.
The tower of Ellerslie was henceforth the lonely abode of himself andhis bride. The neighboring nobles avoided him, because the principleshe declared were a tacit reproach on their proceedings; and in thecourse of a short time, as he forbore to seek them, they even forgotthat he was in existence. Indeed, all occasions of mixing with societyhe now rejected. The hunting-spear with which he had delighted tofollow the flying roebuck from glade to glade, the arrows with which heused to bring down the heavy ptarmigan or the towering eagle, all werelaid aside. Scottish liberty was no more; and Wallace would haveblushed to have shown himself to the free-born deer of his nativehills, in communion of sports with the spoilers of his country. Had hepursued his once favorite exercises, he must have mingled with theEnglish, now garrisoned in every town, and who passed their hours ofleisure in the chase.
Being resigned to bury his youth--since its strength could no longer beserviceable to his country-books, his harp, and the sweet converse ofhis tender Marion, became the occupations of his days. Ellerslie washis hermitage; and there, closed from the world, with an angel hiscompanion, he might have forgotten Edward was lord in Scotland, had notthat which was without his little paradise made a way to its gates, andshowed him the slavery of the nobles and the wretchedness of thepeople. In these cases, his generous hand gave succor where it couldnot bring redress. Those whom the lawless plunderer had driven fromtheir houses or stripped of their covering, found shelter, clothing,and food at the house of Sir William Wallace.
Ellerslie was the refuge of the friendless, and the comfort of theunhappy. Wherever Lady Wallace moved--whether looking out from herwindow on the accidental passenger, or taking her morning or moonlightwalks through the glen, leaning on the arm of her husband--she had therapture of hearing his steps greeted and followed by the blessings ofthe poor destitute, and the prayers of them who were ready to perish.It was then that this happy woman would raise her husband's hands toher lips, and in silent adoration, thank God for blessing her with abeing made so truly in his own image.
Several months of this blissful and uninterrupted solitude had elapsed,when Lady Wallace saw a chieftain at her gate. He inquired for itsmaster--requested a private conference--and retired with him into aremote room. They remained together for an hour. Wallace then cameforth, and ordering his horse, with four followers, to be in readiness,said he meant to accompany his guest to Douglas Castle. When heembraced his wife at parting, he told her that as Douglas was only afew miles distant, he should be at home again before the moon rose.
She passed the tedious hours of his absence with tranquillity, till theappointed signal of his return appeared from behind the summits of theopposite mountains. So bright were its beams, that Marion did not needany other light to show her the stealing sands of her hour-glass, asthey numbered the prolonged hours of her husband's stay. She dismissedher servants to their rest; all, excepting Halbert, the gray-hairedharper of Wallace; and he, like herself, was too unaccustomed to theabsence of his master to find sleep visit his eyes while Ellerslie wasbereft of its joy and its guard.
As the night advanced, Lady Wallace sat in the window of herbed-chamber, which looked toward the west. She watched the windingpathway that led from Lanark down the opposite heights, eager to catcha glimpse of the waving plumes of her husband when he should emergefrom behind the hill, and pass under the thicket which overhung theroad. How often, as a cloud obscured for an instant the moon's light,and threw a transitory shade across the path, did her heart bound withthe thought that her watching was at an end! It was he whom she hadseen start from the abrupt rock! They were the folds of his tartanthat darkened the white cliff! But the moon again rolled through hertrain of clouds and threw her light around. Where then was herWallace? Alas! it was only a shadow she had seen! the hill was stilllonely, and he whom she sought was yet far away! Overcome withwatching, expectation, and disappointment, unable to say whence aroseher fears, she sat down again to look; but her eyes were blinded withtears, and in a voice interrupted by sighs she exclaimed, "Not yet, notyet! Ah, my Wallace, what evil hath betided thee?"
Trembling with a nameless terror, she knew not what to dread. Shebelieved that all hostile recounters had ceased, when Scotland nolonger contended with Edward. The nobles, without remonstrance, hadsurrendered their castles into the hands of the usurper; and thepeasantry, following the example of their lords
, had allowed theirhomes to be ravaged without lifting an arm in their defense.Opposition being over, nothing could then threaten her husband from theenemy; and was not the person who had taken him from Ellerslie a friend?
Before Wallace's departure he had spoken to Marion alone; he told herthat the stranger was Sir John Monteith, the youngest son of the braveWalter Lord Monteith,** who had been treacherously put to death by theEnglish in the early part of the foregoing year. This young man wasbequeathed by his dying father to the particular charge of his friendWilliam Lord Douglas, at that time governor of Berwick. After the fallof that place and the captivity of its defender, Sir Jon Monteith hadretired to Douglas Castle, in the vicinity of Lanark, and was now thesole master of that princely residence: James Douglas, the only son ofits veteran lord, being still at Paris, whither he had been dispatched,before the defeat at Dunbar, to negotiate a league between the Frenchmonarch and the then King of Scots.
**Walter Stewart, the father of Sir John Monteith, assumed the name andearldom of Monteith in right of his wife, the daughter and heiress ofthe preceding earl. When his wife died he married an Englishwoman ofrank, who, finding him ardently attached to the liberties of hiscountry, cut him off by poison, and was rewarded by the enemies ofScotland for this murder with the hand of a British nobleman.-(1809.)
Informed of the privacy in which Wallace wished to live, Monteith hadnever ventured to disturb it until this day; but knowing the steadyhonor of his old school-companion, he came to entreat him, by therespect he entertained for the brave Douglas, and by his love for hiscountry, that he would not refuse to accompany him to the brave exile'scastle.
"I have a secret to disclose to you," said he, "which cannot bedivulged on any other spot."
Unwilling to deny so small a favor, Wallace, as has been said before,consented; and accordingly was conducted by Monteith toward Douglas.
While descending the heights which led to the castle, Monteith kept aprofound silence; and when crossing the drawbridge toward it, he puthis finger to his lips, in token to the servants for equal caution.This was explained as they entered the gate and looked around. It wasguarded by English soldiers. Wallace would have drawn back; butMonteith laid his hand on his arm, and whispered, "For your country!"At these words, a spell to the ear of Wallace, he proceeded; and hisattendants followed into the courtyard.
The sun was just setting as Monteith led his friend into the absentearl's room. Its glowing reflection on the distant hills remindedWallace of the stretch he had to retread to reach his home beforemidnight; and thinking of his anxious Marion, he awaited withimpatience the development of the object of his journey.
Monteith closed the door, looked fearfully around for some time; then,trembling at every step, approached Wallace. When drawn quite near, ina low voice he said, "You must swear upon the cross that you will keepinviolate the secret I am going to reveal."
Wallace put aside the hilt of the sword which Monteith presented toreceive his oath. "No," said he, with a smile; "in these times I willnot bind my conscience on subjects I do not know. If you dare trustthe word of a Scotsman and a friend, speak out; and if the matter behonest, my honor is your pledge."
"You will not swear?"
"No."
"Then I must not trust you."
"Then our business is at an end," returned Wallace, rising, "and I mayreturn home."
"Stop!" cried Monteith. "Forgive me, my old companion, that I havedared to hesitate. These are, indeed, times of such treason to honor,that I do not wonder you should be careful how you swear; but thenature of the confidence reposed in me will. I hope, convince you thatI ought not to share it rashly. Of any one but you, whose truth standsunsullied, amidst the faithlessness of the best, I would exact oaths onoaths; but your words is given, and on that I rely. Await me here."
Monteith unlocked a door which had been concealed by the tapestry, andafter a short absence re-entered with a small iron box. He set it onthe table near his friend, then went to the great door, which he hadbefore so carefully closed, tried that the bolts were secure, andreturned, with a still more pallid countenance, toward the table.Wallace, surprised at so much actions, awaited with wonder the promisedexplanation. Monteith sat down with his hand on the box, and fixinghis eyes on it, began:
"I am going to mention a name, which you may hear with patience, sinceits power is no more. The successful rival of Bruce, and the enemy ofyour family, is now a prisoner in the Tower of London."
"Baliol?"
"Yes," answered Monteith; "and his present sufferings will, perhaps,avenge to you his vindictive resentment of the injury he received fromSir Ronald Crawford."
"My grandfather never injured him, nor any man!" interrupted Wallace:"Sir Ronald Crawford was as incapable of injustice as of flattering theminions of his country's enemy. But Baliol is fallen, and I forgivehim."
"Did you witness his degradation," returned Monteith, "you would evenpity him."
"I always pity the wicked," continued Wallace; "and as you seemignorant of the cause of his enmity against Sir Ronald and myself, injustice to the character of that most venerable of men, I will explainit. I first saw Baliol four years ago, when I accompanied mygrandfather to witness the arbitration of the King of Scotland betweenthe two contending claimants for the Scottish crown. Sir Ronald cameon the part of Bruce. I was deemed too young to have a voice in thecouncil; but I was old enough to understand what was passing there, andto perceive, that it was the price for which he sold his country.However, as Scotland acknowledged him sovereign, and as Brucesubmitted, my grandfather silently acquiesced. But Baliol did notforget former opposition. His behavior to Sir Ronald and myself at thebeginning of this year, when, according to the privilege of our birth,we appeared in the field against the public enemy, fully demonstratedwhat was the injury Baliol complains of, and how unjustly he drove usfrom the standard of Scotland. 'None,' said he, 'shall serve under me,who presumed to declare themselves the friends of Bruce.' Poor weakman. The purchased vassal of England; yet so vain of his ideal throne,he hated all who had opposed his elevation, even while his owntreachery sapped its foundation! Edward having made use of him, allthese sacrifices of honor and of conscience are insufficient to retainhis favor; and Baliol is removed from his kingdom to an English prison!Can I feel anything so honoring as indignation against a wretch soabject? No! I do indeed pity him. And now that I have cleared mygrandfather's name of such calumny, I am ready to hear you further."
Monteith, after remarking on the well-known honor of Sir RonaldCrawford, resumed.
"During the massacre at the capture of Berwick, Lord Douglas, wounded,and nearly insensible, was taken by a trusty band of Scots out of thecitadel and town. I followed him to Dunbar, and witnessed with himthat dreadful day's conflict, which completed the triumph of theEnglish. When the few nobles who survived the battle dispersed,Douglas took the road to Forfar, hoping to meet King Baliol there, andto concert with him new plans of resistance. When we arrived, we foundhis majesty in close conversation with the Earl of Athol, who hadpersuaded him the disaster at Dunbar was decisive, and that if hewished to save his life, he must immediately go to the King of England,then at Montrose, and surrender himself to his mercy.**
**This treacherous Scot, who persuaded Baliol to his ruin, was JohnCummin of Strathbogie, Earl of Athol in right of his wife, the heiressof that earldom.-(1809.)
"Douglas tried to alter Baliol's resolution, but without effect. Theking could not return any reasonable answers to the arguments whichwere offered to induce him to remain, but continued to repeat, withgroans and tears. 'It is my fate.' Athol sat knitting his black browsduring this conversation; and at last throwing out some sullen remarksto Lord Douglas on exhorting the king to defy his liege lord, heabruptly left the room.
"As soon as he was gone, Baliol rose from his seat with a very anxiouscountenance, and taking my patron into an adjoining room, theycontinued there a few minutes, and then reentered. Doublas broughtwith him this iron
box. 'Monteith,' said he, 'I confide this to yourcare.' Putting the box under my arm and concealing it with mycloak--'Carry it,' continued he, 'directly to my castle in Lanarkshire.I will rejoin you there, in four-and-twenty hours after your arrival.Meanwhile, by your affection for me and fidelity to your king, breathenot a word of what has passed.'
"'Look on that, and be faithful!' said Baliol, putting this ruby ringon my finger. I withdrew, with the haste his look dictated; and as Icrossed the outward hall, was met by Athol. He eyed me sternly, andinquired whither I was going. I replied, 'To Douglas, to prepare forthe coming of its lord.' The hall was full of armed men in Athol'scolors. Not one of the remnant who had followed my patron from thebloody field of Dunbar was visible. Athol looked round on hismyrmidons: 'Here,' cried he, 'see that you speed this fellow on hisjourney. We shall provide lodgings for his master.' I foresaw dangerto Lord Douglas, but I durst not attempt to warn him of it; and, tosecure my charge, which a return to the room might have hazarded, Ihastened into the courtyard, and being permitted to mount my horse, setoff at full speed.
"On arriving at this place, I remembered the secret closet, andcarefully deposited the box within it. A week passed, without anytidings of Lord Douglas. At last a pilgrim appeared at the gate, andrequested to see me alone; fearing nothing from a man in so sacred ahabit, I admitted him. Presenting me with a packet which had beenintrusted to him by Lord Douglas, he told me my patron had beenforcibly carried on board a vessel at Montrose, to be conveyed with theunhappy Baliol to the Tower of London. Douglas, on this outrage, sentto the monastery at Aberbrothick, and under the pretense of making areligious confession before he sailed, begged a visit from thesub-prior. 'I am that prior,' continued the pilgrim; 'and having beenborn on the Douglas lands, he well knew the claim he had to myfidelity. He gave me this packet, and conjured me to lose no time inconveying it to you. The task was difficult; and, as in thesecalamitous seasons we hardly know whom to trust, I determined toexecute it myself.'
"I inquired whether Lord Douglas had actually sailed. 'Yes,' repliedthe father; 'I stood on the beach till the ship disappeared.'"
A half-stifled groan burst from the indignant breast of Wallace. Itinterrupted Monteith for an instant, but without noticing it heproceeded:
"Not only the brave Douglas was then wrested from his country, with ourking, but also that holy pillar of Jacob** which prophets have declaredto be the palladium of Scotland!"
**The tradition respecting this stone is as follows: Hiber, or Iber,the Phoenician, who came from the Holy Land to inhabit the coast ofSpain, brought this sacred relic along with him. From Spain hetransplanted it with the colony he sent to people the south of Ireland;and from Ireland it was brought into Scotland by the great Fergus, theson of Ferchard. He placed it in Argyleshire; but MacAlpine removed itto Scone, and fixed it in the royal chair in which all the succeedingkings of Scotland were inaugurated. Edward I. of England caused it tobe carried to Westminster Abbey, where it now stands. The traditionis, that empire abides where it stays.-(1809.)
"What!" inquired Wallace, with a yet darker frown, "has Baliol robbedScotland of that trophy of one of her best kings? Is the sacred gift ofFergus to be made the spoil of a coward?"
"Baliol is not the robber," rejoined Monteith; "the halloed pillar wastaken from Scone by the command of the King of England, and, with thesackings of Iona, was carried on board the same vessel with thebetrayed Douglas. The archives of the kingdom have also been torn fromtheir sanctuary, and were thrown by Edward's own hands into the fire."
"Tyrant!" murmured Wallace, "thou mayest fill the cup too full."
"His depredations," continued Monteith, "the good monk told me, havebeen wide as destructive. He has not left a parchment, either ofpublic records or of private annals, in any of the monasteries orcastles round Montrose; all have been searched and plundered. Andbesides, the faithless Earl of March and Lord Sculis are suchparricides of their country, as to have performed the like robberies,in his name, from the eastern shores of the Highlands to the furthiestof the Western Isles."
"Do the traitors think," cried Wallace, "that by robbing Scotland ofher annals and of that stone they really deprive her of her palladium?Scotland's history is in the memories of her sons; her palladium is intheir hearts; and Edward may one day find that she remembers thevictory of Largs,** and needs not talismans to give her freedom."
**This battle was fought by Alexander III, on the 1st of August, 1263,against Acho, King of Norway. That monarch invaded Scotland with alarge army, and drew up his forces before Largs, a town in Ayrshire.He met with a great defeat, and, covered with disgrace, retired to hisown country. Wallace's father signalized himself on that field.-(1809.)
"Alas! not in our time!" answered Monteith. "The spear is at ourbreasts, and we must submit. You see this castle is full of Edward'ssoldiers. Every house is a garrison for England--but more of this byand by; I have yet to tell you the contents of the packet which themonk brought. It contained two others. One directed to Sir JamesDouglas, at Paris, and the other to me. I read as follows:
"'Athol has persuaded Baliol to his ruin, and betrayed me into thehands of Edward. I shall see Scotland no more. Send the inclosed tomy son at Paris; it will inform him what is the last wish of WilliamDouglas for his country. The iron box I confided to you, guard as yourlife, until you can deposit it with my son. But should he remainabroad, and you ever be in extremity, commit the box in strict chargeto the worthiest Scot you know; and tell him that it will be at theperil of his soul, who dares to open it, till Scotland be again free!When that hour comes, then let the man by whose valor God restores herrights, receive the box as his own; for by him only it is to be opened.Douglas.'"
Monteith finished reading the letter, and remained silent. Wallace,who had listened to it with increasing indignation against the enemiesof Scotland, spoke first: "Tell me in what I can assist you: or howserve these last wishes of the imprisoned Douglas."
Monteith replied by reading over again this sentence-"'Should my sonremain abroad, and you ever be in extremity, commit the box in strictcharge to the worthiest Scot you know.' I am in that extremity now.Edward determined on desolation, when he placed English governorsthroughout our towns; and the rapacious Heselrigge, his representativein Lanark, not backward to execute the despot's will, has just issuedan order, for the houses of all the absent chiefs to be searched forrecords and secret correspondence. Two or three, in the neighborhoodhave already gone through this ordeal; but the even has proved that itwas not papers they sought, but plunder, and an excuse for dismantlingthe castles, or occupying them with English officers.
"The soldiers you saw were sent, by daybreak this morning, to guardthis castle until Heselrigge could in person be present at theexamination. This ceremony is to take place to-morrow; and as LordDouglas is considered a traitor to Edward, I am told the place will besacked to its walls. In such an extremity, to you, noble Wallace, asto the worthiest Scot I know, I apply to take charge of this box.Within the remote cliffs of Ellerslie it must be safe; and when JamesDouglas arrives from Paris, to him you will resign it. Meanwhile, as Icannot resist the plunderers, after delivering the keys of the stateapartments to Heselrigge to-morrow, I shall submit to necessity, andbeg his permission to retire to my lodge on Ben Venu."
Wallace made no difficulty in granting Monteith's request; and, therebeing two iron rings on each side of his charge, the young chief tookoff his leathern belt, and putting it through them, swung the boxeasily under his left arm, while covering it with his plaid.
Monteith's eyes now brightened--the paleness left his cheek--and with afirmer step, as if suddenly relieved of a heavy load, he called aservant to prepare Sir William Wallace's attendants.
While Wallace shook him by the hand, Monteith, in a low and solemnvoice, exhorted him to caution respecting the box. "Remember," addedhe, "the penalty that hangs over him who looks into it."
"Be not afraid," answered Wallace; "even the outside shall n
ever beseen by other eyes than my own, unless the same circumstance which nowinduces you, mortal extremity, should force me to confide it to saferhands."
"Beware of that!" exclaimed Monteith; "for who is there that wouldadhere to the prohibition as I have done--as you will do? and besides,as I have no doubt it contains holy relics, who knows what newcalamities a sacrilegious look might bring upon our already devotedcountry?"
"Relics or no relics," replied Wallace, "it would be an equal sinagainst good faith to invade what is forbidden: but from the weight Iam rather inclined to suspect it contains gold; probably a treasure,with which the sordid Baliol thinks to compensate the hero who may freehis country from all the miseries a traitor king and a treacheroususurper have brought upon it."
"A treasure!" repeated Monteith; "I never thought of that;-it is indeedheavy!-and, as we are responsible for the contents of the box, I wishwe were certain of what it contains; let us consider that!"
"It is no consideration of ours," returned Wallace. "With what is inthe box we have no concern; all we have to do is, to preserve thecontents unviolated by even our own eyes; and to that, as you have nowtransferred the charge to me, I pledge myself--farewell."
"But why this haste?" rejoined Monteith, "indeed, I wish I hadthought--stay only a little."
"I thank you," returned Wallace, proceeding to the courtyard; "but itis now dark, and I promised to be at home before the moon rises. Ifyou wish me to serve you further, I shall be happy to see you atEllerslie to-morrow. My Marion will have pleasure in entertaining, fordays or weeks, the friend of her husband."
While Wallace spoke, he advanced to his horse, to which he was lightedby the servants of the castle. A few English soldiers lingered aboutin idle curiosity. As he put his foot in the stirrup, he held thesword in his hand, which he had unbuckled from his side to leave spacefor his charge. Monteith, whose dread of detection was ever awake,whispered: "Your loosened weapon may excite suspicion!" Fear incurredwhat it sought to avoid. He hastily pulled aside Wallace's plaid tothrow it over the glittering hilt of the sword, and thus exposed theiron box. The light of the torches striking upon the polished rivets,displayed it to all lookers on, but no remark was made. Wallace, notobserving what was done, again shook hands with Monteith, and callinghis servants about him, galloped away. A murmur was heard, as if ofsome intention to follow him; but deeming it prudent to leave the openand direct road, because of the English marauders who swarmed there, hewas presently lost amid the thick shades of Clydesdale.
