Chapter XI: Appendix: 347 (10)

We now know, by the sad fate of Edward II., how well‐founded were his father’s apprehensions. We see, too, how great was Gaveston’s ascendancy, and his consequent audacity, in that he appears very quickly to have stolen back again into the prince’s society. For we find an ordinance for his banishment, dated “Lanercost, Feb. 26, 1307,” in which he is commanded to swear that he will not return; and the prince, that he will not recal him. And so strong was the conviction which had fastened on the king’s mind, of the fatal tendency of this friendship, that one of his last injunctions to the prince, just before his death, was, _never to recal Gaveston_. That injunction, however, like all others, was disregarded; and the loss of his throne, and of his life, was young Edward’s well‐merited punishment.

Footnotes:

[110] Matthew of Westminster.

[111] And not only so; but we find writs of the date of May, 1300,
appointing three justices in Leicestershire, and the like in
other counties, “to hear and determine, in a summary manner, all
complaints of transgressions against the charters.”

[112] See Appendix.

[113] “History of Lichfield Cathedral,” p. 57.

[114] Thus Mr. Tytler tells us of Brace’s conduct in 1297;—that
“Bruce went to Carlisle with a numerous attendance of his friends,
and was compelled to make oath on the consecrated host, that he
would continue faithful to Edward. To give a proof of his fidelity,
he ravaged the estates of Sir W. Douglas, then with Wallace, seized
his wife and children, and carried them to Annandale. Having thus
defeated suspicion, and saved his lands, he privately assembled his
father’s retainers, talked lightly of an extorted oath, _from which
the pope would absolve him_, and urged them to follow him against
the English.” (Vol. i., p. 129.)

[115] In these remarkable words, occurring in a statute of the
realm, and dictated, we cannot doubt, by Edward’s own lips, we
seem to have a glimpse of his earnest and sincere character.
Believing, as all men in his day believed, that there was a Pontiff
at Rome who had full power “to bind and to loose,” he had applied
to that authority, and had been loosed, so he was assured, from
an engagement which was mischievous in itself, and which had been
improperly extorted from him. Yet, with this dispensation in his
possession, what follows? He himself tells us: “sleepless nights.”
What occasioned them? Evidently that first principle of all his
conduct of which Mr. Pearson takes notice: “He never broke his
word.” No papal bull, no external decision of any kind, could
thoroughly reconcile him to an infraction of the Scriptural rule:
“He sweareth to his neighbour, and disappointeth him not, though it
were to his own hurt.”

[116] Caxton’s Chronicle, Matthew of Westminster, Fabyan, Holinshed.

XII.

THE SETTLEMENT OF SCOTLAND, A.D. 1303-1305.

Some historians, in recounting the events of Edward’s reign, have spoken of three, or even of four conquests of Scotland. But, strictly speaking, the term can only be applied to his first march through the kingdom, in 1296; and his last great expedition, in 1303-4. On both of these occasions the land was thoroughly possessed and quieted; and when Edward returned to England, he left not behind him, in all Scotland, in the open field, one declared foe. Our present chapter will be given to the description of the second of these two progresses.

In the spring of the year 1303 it began to be apparent that both the pope and the king of France, having no real care or concern for the Scots, would at last withdraw that support which they had hitherto given to the discontented in that country. Philip was anxious to be at liberty to devote his whole attention to the affairs of Flanders; and he readily agreed to a treaty which was made in the course of this spring, by which Edward was restored to the possession of Gascony, without any proviso or stipulation on behalf of the Scotch. No such treaty was required in the case of the pope. Boniface had already done all that he had promised or intended to do in behalf of that people. He had interfered in their favour, and had gained them a respite of one or two years—but permanently to quarrel with such a prince as Edward, in favour of a poor and distant nation like Scotland, was altogether foreign to his interest, as well as to his inclination.

The pope, then, having manifested his views, by addressing a letter to the Scotch bishops, enjoining on them a peaceful and dutiful demeanour towards the king of England, and the treaty with Philip having been fully agreed upon, Edward felt himself, at last, at liberty to turn his undivided attention to the affairs of Scotland; and, with his wonted decision of character, he resolved to bring all questions, in that country, to a termination by one sufficient and well‐considered effort. On the 20th of January he wrote from his castle at Guildford, to more than twenty of his chief barons, desiring them to proceed, with their whole power, to the aid of John de Segrave, the governor of Scotland, who was about to march from Berwick to Edinburgh, and whom he, the king, intended shortly to join.

Before Edward, however, could reach Scotland, Segrave, like earl Warenne at Stirling, had allowed himself, by carelessness and over‐confidence, to be surprised and defeated. He had commenced his march towards Edinburgh with a force of about 20,000 men. But these he had formed into three divisions; and these divisions marched on at a considerable distance from each other, and without keeping up any proper communication. Comyn, one of the so‐called “regents,” and Sir Simon Fraser, lay between Segrave’s force and Edinburgh, with about 8,000 men. They doubtless had good intelligence of Segrave’s movements, and of the disposition of his forces. Very naturally, and very judiciously, they made a night‐march, and took the first division of Segrave’s force by surprise, at the dawn of day; routing and dispersing it, and taking many prisoners. Shortly afterwards the second division came in sight, and the Scotch, still superior in numbers, and exulting in success, attacked and defeated it also. The third division, under Sir Robert Neville, had met with the fugitives from the first two engagements, and were thus warned in time; and they repulsed the Scotch, and recovered some of the prisoners.[117] Still, on the whole, “the battle of Roslyn” was a serious defeat for the English, and hastened Edward’s journey into Scotland, which he reached soon after Easter.

In this engagement at Roslyn, one of the king’s officers, called “Ralph the Cofferer,” was taken prisoner by Sir Simon Fraser. He offered a large ransom; but Fraser himself “first struck off the hands of the unhappy priest, and then severed his head from his body.”[118]

This same Fraser afterwards craved Edward’s mercy, and received it, on condition of leaving the country. This promise, like almost every other engagement made at that time by Scotchmen, was unblushingly violated, and Fraser was again found in arms against that sovereign who had already granted him his life. He was taken and executed as a traitor, and his execution is one of those which are said to “brand Edward’s memory with the charge of cruelty.” The position, in fact, which is taken by most Scottish writers, seems to be this: that these men, because they were in arms for “independence,” were entitled to commit any atrocity that they pleased; but that, when the fortune of war went against them, it was Edward’s duty to grant them, at least, a free pardon, and in some cases a reward!

The momentary advantage gained by the Scotch at Roslyn had no influence on the fate of the campaign. Edward arrived in Scotland soon after Easter, having summoned his military tenants to meet him at Roxburgh by Whitsuntide. He then passed on to Edinburgh “without challenge or interruption,” in the early part of June. He himself marched up the eastern side of the kingdom, having given his son the command of a division which proceeded along the western coast. Having been warned, by the experience of the last four years, of the difficulties created by the devastating system, the king had now made ample provision, and his fleets accompanied his march with abundant supplies. From Edinburgh he proceeded, by Linlithgow and Clackmannan, to Perth. But this march involved the passage of the Forth—the attempt to pass which river had occasioned earl Warenne’s defeat at Stirling. Lord Hailes and Mr. Tytler differ as to Edward’s plans. Hailes says—“The Scotch fondly imagined that Edward would attempt to force the passage” of the narrow bridge, as Cressingham had done. “But the prudence of Edward frustrated their expectations. Having discovered a ford at some distance, he crossed the river at the head of his whole cavalry.”[119] This ford, it will be remembered, had been mentioned to earl Warenne in 1297, by Sir Richard Lundin. Mr. Tytler, however, thinks that “Edward did intend to pass the river by the bridge; which, on his arrival, he found had been destroyed by the Scots.” He observes that, “had the leaders profited by the lesson taught them by Wallace, they would have kept up the bridge, and attacked the English when defiling over it.”[120]

A singular notion Mr. Tytler must have had of the sagacity of a commander of whose military skill he often speaks with admiration, to suppose it possible that he could have repeated the folly and misconduct of Cressingham and Warenne, with the lamentable results of which he was so well acquainted. It is true, indeed, that Edward, prepared for all contingencies, would have passed the river by _a_ bridge, if the fords had been found impracticable. Peter Langtoft explains the whole transaction:—

“Counsel he had of one, a bridge he should wrihte (erect),
Boats and barges ilkon, with flukes to make them tighte,
The Scottish sea to pass, _if that he had neede;_
That passage never was, he rode over on his steede.
The Scots they saw him coming, and fleeand fast they did,
Moors and mountains over, away they drive for dread.”

This plan of a pontoon‐bridge was not new to the king. The strong rings and bolts by which he proposed to make fast a bridge over the Menai Strait, twenty years before this period, are even now to be traced on the banks of that water.[121] He doubtless, therefore, was prepared to take a similar course again, if it should be needful; but he could scarcely have been left in ignorance of Sir Richard Lundin’s suggestion. And a ford having been pointed out, “the king,” says Mr. Tytler, “forded the river in person, at the head of his cavalry, and routed or dispersed the last remnant of a Scottish army.” Langtoft’s description, however, is the more picturesque of the two; it was written at the time, and it corresponds exactly with the flight—admitted on all hands—of the Scottish cavalry at Falkirk. To repeat his words:—

“The Scots they saw him coming, and fleeand fast they did,
Moors and mountains over, away they drive for dread.”

This was the last attempt at opposition in the open field. From Perth the king proceeded to Dundee, and Brechin, and Aberdeen. The castle of Brechin delayed him three weeks. It was naturally strong, and it had a stout commander—Sir Thomas Maule. But he was struck down by a stone from one of the king’s engines; and on his death the garrison at once capitulated.

From Aberdeen Edward marched on to Kinloss in Moray. Some English writers of the time assert him to have even reached Caithness. He may have embarked in some vessel of his fleet, and in that way have visited the coast; but lord Hailes’ remark seems a rational one, that in those days the country to the north of Ross‐shire was of small account, and it seems improbable that the king should have carried an army into those remote districts. But having thus traversed the land, and found no enemy to abide the push of lance, Edward returned, in the autumn, to Dunfermline, where he took up his quarters for the winter. The Scots were now pretty generally satisfied of the hopelessness of any further resistance. Wallace, indeed, was somewhere hidden; but we hear nothing of a single valorous deed done by him; and none of the Scotch appear to have expected anything from his sword. The barons and other proprietors were now rapidly making their submissions, and being “received to the king’s grace;” and, in the course of his residence at Dunfermline, this pacification became almost universal. Peter Langtoft says—

“The towns, and the counties, and the people all aboute,
To the king fell on knees, his power did them loute.
Unto his peace they yield; fealty to him did sweare;
Truly with him to hold; no arms against him beare.”

Matthew of Westminster says—“The nobles of Scotland, their error having met with stern defeat, submitted themselves to the will of the king of England, and he admitted them to his favour, treating them with great mercy, inflicting merely certain fines, and allowing them time for payment.”

Christmas arrived, and Edward, as his manner was, gathered his family round him. Langtoft says—

“To Dunfermline he went; for rest will he there:
For the queen he sent, and she did dight her chare: (cheerfully.)
From Cawood she glent (passed) to Dunfermline to fare.”

Two or three of the rebel leaders, besides Wallace, still held out, but they were now reduced to great extremities. Langtoft says—

“The lord of Badenoch, Fraser, and Waleis,
Lived at theeves’ law, and robband always.
They had no sustenance, the war to maintaine;
But skulked upon chance, and robbed all betwene.”

The few nobles, however, who yet stood out, could not allow themselves to sink to the level to which Wallace had fallen. They saw the necessity for an absolute and final termination of this great struggle. Accordingly, on the 9th of February, 1304, “the earls of Pembroke and Ulster, with Sir Henry Percy, met Comyn at Strathorde, in Fife, and a negotiation took place, in which the late regent and his followers, after stipulating for the preservation of their lives, liberties, and lands, delivered themselves up, and agreed to the infliction of any pecuniary fine which the conqueror should think right. The castles and the strengths of Scotland were to remain in the hands of Edward, and the government was to be administered at his pleasure.”[122]

Those who thus made their peace with the king, saving both their lives and their estates, probably performed their part, of entire submission, honestly. But there was a single instance of obstinate resistance, which, in its result, places in a strong light Edward’s patient forbearance and his clemency: and yet, like many other actions of his life, it is perverted by some writers into a proof of his want of generosity.

The treaty made by Comyn and his coadjutors was the final submission of that which assumed to be the Scottish government. Peace was to be restored; and the castles and all the powers of government were in future to be Edward’s. It followed of necessity, that any one who chose, after this, to maintain war against the king, took the position of a rebel. This has been an admitted law, in all nations, and in all times. We can easily call to mind the period, when it was suspected that Soult had fought the battle of Toulouse after receiving the intelligence of Napoleon’s abdication; and when it was generally felt, that if such were really the case, death would be his fate, or, at least, his desert. And, unquestionably, after Napoleon’s departure, and the establishment of Louis XVIII., any one of Napoleon’s commanders who had chosen to hold a fortress against the king, would have found the punishment of a rebel awaiting him.

But in Scotland, although the late regent and his coadjutors had agreed to deliver up the castles to the king, there was one commander who resolutely refused so to surrender his charge.

The castle of Stirling, during one of Edward’s absences in England, had been invested by the Scottish forces, and starved into a surrender. The regents had garrisoned it with three hundred men, and had placed it under the command of Sir William Oliphant.

By the treaty recently made, this castle became Edward’s, and any man holding it against him was as justly liable to suffer the death of a rebel, as if he had held against the king the Tower of London. In fact, all men who continued a fruitless resistance, had been formally declared outlaws in a Scottish parliament held at St. Andrew’s.[123]

Yet Oliphant refused to submit. He at first tried the device of asking for time to send to Sir John Soulis, one of the late regents, who had fled to France. But the castle was not Soulis’s, nor had Oliphant received the charge of it from Soulis in his private capacity, but as one of the regents; and the regents and all the lords of Scotland had now abandoned their resistance. This transparent device, therefore, could not deceive Edward, who indignantly exclaimed, “Am _I_ to wait for _his_ pleasure? No; if you will not surrender the castle, defend it if you will, and abide the consequences.”

There surely cannot be the smallest question, that if the king, with the treaty in his hand which promised him quiet possession of all the castles of Scotland, and with the declaration of the parliament of St. Andrew’s before him, had given the garrison of Stirling notice, that unless the castle was surrendered within three days, he would hang every one of them as rebels, he would have been fully justified. Yet, instead of this, he patiently submitted to the toils and perils of a long siege, in which many of his men were killed, and in which his own life was repeatedly endangered.

The castle was exceedingly strong, and the battering artillery of modern days was entirely unknown. It is probable that Oliphant, confident in the natural strength of the place, hoped that he might weary out Edward and his army, and so win for himself a lasting fame. “The siege,” says Mr. Tytler, “had continued from the 22nd of April to the 20th of May, without much impression having been made. But determination was a marked feature in the powerful character of the king. He wrote to the sheriffs of York, Lincoln, and London, commanding them to purchase and send instantly to him, at Stirling, all the balistæ, quarrells, and bows and arrows, which they could collect; and to the governor of the Tower, requiring a similar supply.”[124]

Two months more elapsed before these engines could be collected and brought to bear upon the castle. Meanwhile the king exposed himself in the siege as freely as any of his men. On one occasion a javelin struck him on the breast, and lodged itself between the steel plates of his armour. The king plucked it out, and shaking it in the air, called out to the besieged, that he would hang the man who had aimed it. On another day, a great stone, discharged from one of the engines in the castle, struck his horse such a blow, that he backed and fell. His soldiers rushed forward, and carried the king off—crying out against his rashness; to which he only replied, “We have undertaken a just war in the name of the Lord, and we will not fear what man can do unto us.”[125]

At last, in July, a considerable breach was effected, and the ditch was nearly filled up with the rubbish and faggots thrown into it. A general assault would now have carried the castle; but, seeing their imminent peril, the besieged sent to beg for terms of surrender. They asked for “security of life and limb,”—a request which the king would, doubtless, have granted readily, if preferred at the beginning of the siege, instead of at the end of it. But it was now too late. They had forfeited their lives, by all the military laws that ever were known. They had been making war for three months past, not in behalf of the king of Scotland, for there was no king except Edward; nor yet in behalf of the regency of Scotland, for the regents had submitted, and made their peace with the king. They had made war with their lawful sovereign, simply to gratify their own feelings of animosity; in a word, they were rebels, taken in the act. Hence Edward’s stern reply was a just and proper one: “I will not receive you to my _grace_, but only to my _will_.”

“Sir John de Mowbray and Sir Eustace le Poer accordingly proceeded to the castle‐gate, and summoned the governor. Oliphant, with his kinsman Dupplin and a squire, met the English knights, and proceeded with them to an interview with the earls of Gloucester and Ulster. At this meeting they consented, for themselves and their companions, to surrender unconditionally to the king of England; and they earnestly requested that he would permit them to make this surrender in his own presence, and would himself witness their contrition.”[126]

It is quite evident that, like David of Snowdon, who, in 1283, prayed to be allowed to see the king, they understood Edward’s character; and that their best or only hope lay in the real kindness of his heart. They came, accordingly, before the king, in the attitude and garb of criminals. Doubtless, if in the present century, such an act had been done, the doers of it, either by martial or criminal law, would have been declared rebels, and would have been condemned to die. They said, “My lord, we submit ourselves to your will” The king answered, “My will is to hang you all; and if you dislike that, you may return to the castle.” But they still had faith in his mercy; and they persisted in leaving themselves wholly at his disposal; kneeling before him in the attitude of criminals. At last, after a pause, “the king being moved, turned away his face for a time; and those who stood round broke into tears.” He then ordered them to be sent to certain English castles, adding, “Do not chain them.”[127] Not a man suffered any punishment beyond a temporary confinement; except one Englishman, who had aided the Scots in getting possession of the castle. He, dragged forth and hanged, died for his treason.

Yet Edward’s noble acknowledgment of their soldierly bearing, even in a cause in itself wholly unjustifiable, which was implied in his orders to put no fetters on them, is thus ungraciously noticed by Lord Hailes: “This was the only hope of pardon indulged to men whose valour would have been revered by _a more generous conqueror_.”

Why, such a conqueror as Wallace, of whom the Scots are so proud, would have butchered every man upon the spot! This, indeed, as his own eulogists admit, was his constant practice. A monarch of the ordinary kind, after having been put to so much trouble and loss by a defence which was wholly contrary to the law of nations, would have hanged up the commander, as the chief offender, and have thrown the rest of the garrison into a dungeon. The third Edward, provoked by the long but far more justifiable defence of Calais, actually ordered six of its defenders to execution; only recalling that order at the earnest entreaty of his queen. But the king now before us, after seeing many of his men killed before his eyes, and after having had his own life twice endangered, in a warfare which he knew to be wholly unjustifiable, still so far honours soldierly firmness and tenacity, that he spares all their lives, and commands that no fetters shall be put on them. And yet, after this, he is reproached as “ungenerous!” Such is the sort of justice which this great king commonly receives at the hands of Scotchmen.

Scotland was now once more quieted and at rest. The entire surrender made by Baliol in 1296, to a superior lord who justly claimed a fief forfeited by rebellion, had now been a second time confirmed by the voluntary homage and oath of fealty of every baron, knight, or landed proprietor in Scotland. There remained but one man still contumacious, the once terrible, but now despised William Wallace. And he, at last, wearied of the vagrant, outlaw life of the last six years, “prayed his friends that they would beseech Edward that he might yield himself on terms.”[128]

The rebel leader, as we have already observed, was, for some reason or other, entirely deserted by the whole Scottish nation. We have already cited Mr. Tytler’s admission—that during all the years which elapsed between his defeat at Falkirk in 1298, and his apprehension in 1305, “his name does not occur as bearing _even a secondary command_ in the wars against Edward.” Sir James Mackintosh endeavours to account for this, by saying that “the jealousy of the nobles, or the unpopularity of a signal reverse, _hide Wallace from our search_ for several years.” But “the jealousy of the nobles” had not hindered Wallace from gathering an army in 1297, and another in 1298; nor did “the unpopularity of ‘several’ signal reverses,” in 1306, prevent Bruce from bringing fresh forces into the field in 1307. How it happened that, after 1298, not even a score of “men of desperate fortunes” could be got to follow Wallace, must remain a mystery. One suspicion has occurred to us, grounded upon the known facts, of his delight in cruelty, a trait which is seldom found in the truly brave; and of the absence of the slightest record of any deed of daring, either at Stirling or at Falkirk. These two circumstances seem to point to the conclusion—that Wallace was taken to be, by his countrymen, during all these years, something very much the reverse of “a hero.” One trifling incident in his life is briefly mentioned as occurring during this period. Blind Harry, in his romance, sends Wallace to France, where Philip makes him “Duke of Guyenne.” But the real truth of this part of his story is briefly told us in the “Chronicle of St. Albans” (Cotton MSS.), in the following terms:—

“About this time William Waleis, with five soldiers, went to the French country, to ask aid from the king of France. And when he had arrived at Amiens, it was told to the king, who gave orders that he should be apprehended. The king then wrote to the king of England, offering to send Waleis to him.”

Apparently, however, Philip, on further consideration, felt that it might not redound much to his honour to give up a man who had voluntarily taken refuge with him; and he therefore devised a middle course, by which he might get rid of the Scotch leader without putting him into the hands of his pursuers. He gave to Wallace a brief note, addressed to his representatives at Rome, recommending the rebel chief to their good offices, and through them to the pope. This note, strange to say, is now preserved among the ancient records in our national collection. A copy of it is given in the “Wallace Documents” (Edinb. 1841); and it is argued by the learned editor of that collection, that this note proves that Wallace went to Rome, and saw the pope. But surely it rather leads to an opposite conclusion. Had Wallace travelled into Italy, and seen the pope, we should probably have found some traces of him by the way, or in Rome itself. But no such foot‐marks have ever been found. And again—had Wallace actually reached Rome, and delivered that note to Philip’s agents, how should ever it have found its way to the Tower of London? Obviously, the more rational conclusion is, that the said note was a mere pretext on Philip’s part—a device for getting rid of Wallace; and that the Scotch leader, having no money, and knowing it to be useless to go to Rome without money, took the note, put it into his pouch, escaped back into Scotland, and was, at last, taken with the paper in his possession. So found, the document would naturally be sent to Edward, and thus it would find its way into the usual receptacle for the state‐papers of the time.

At all events, Wallace soon returned from France, and again betook himself to his forest‐haunts in Scotland. And now, seeing all Scotland once more quietly at rest under Edward’s authority, the obduracy of this violent man began to give way. For more than five years he had lived the life of an outlaw, “having no sustenance” but “robbing always.” He now approaches as near to the king as he may venture—still hiding in the forest, and he begs his friends to apply to the king on his behalf. But the application was made in a wrong spirit. Langtoft thus describes it:—

“Turn we now other ways, unto our own geste; (affairs)
And speke of the Waleys, that lies in the foreste;
In the forest he lendes, of Dumfermelyn:
He prayed all his frendes, and other of his kin,—
After that Yole (Christmas) they will beseke Edward;
That he might yield till him, in a forward (covenant)
That were honorable to kepe wod or beste;
And with his scrit full stable, and seled at the lest;
To him and all his, to have in heritage;
And non otherwise, als terme, tyme and stage.
But als a propise thing, that were conquest tille him.”

This assuredly was one of the most audacious demands ever made. The outlaw knew full well that he had sinned in no ordinary manner and degree, and that, not against Edward only, or chiefly, but against all England. His name was heard throughout the realm with rage and horror. Mr. Tytler justly describes his position in a few plain words:—“Wallace was too well aware of the _unpardonable injuries_ which he had inflicted _on the English_” to conceive it possible for Edward to spare his life. And it is with wonder, therefore, that we read, in the treaty made with Comyn in 1304, the distinct inclusion of Wallace:—“As to William Walleys, if he thinks fit to surrender himself, it must be unconditionally, to the will and mercy of our lord the king.”[129] In another place it is said, that “William Walleys might put himself on the grace and mercy of the king, if he thought proper.”[130] Now, as to the meaning of such language in Edward’s mouth, there can be no doubt whatever. We have just seen one instance in the case of the garrison of Stirling; to whom he had refused the least promise of grace or mercy. In fact, to be allowed to surrender, was tantamount to a grant of life at least. As we have recently seen, when his judges reminded him that “he might show mercy,” to a certain criminal, his exclamation was, “_May_ show mercy! why I will do that for a dog, if he seeks my grace!” On the other hand, when any one had sinned past forgiveness, like Bruce in 1306, _then_ he was “not to be received;” and the young prince was rebuked for holding any communication with him. As to Wallace, it is evident that the king viewed him in the same light as he had viewed the garrison of Stirling. He would enter into no engagement with them: if they chose to surrender, it must be unconditionally, to the king’s absolute will.

Wallace, as Mr. Tytler tells us, “was too well aware of the unpardonable injuries which he had inflicted on the English” to be able to believe it possible for the king to show him mercy; and thus he threw away the only chance that remained to him. His demand, which we have just given in Langtoft’s words—that he should have, under the king’s hand, not only assurance of his life, but also an estate secured to him and to his heirs for ever,—was just the surest way of raising the king’s indignation. Obviously no pretension could have been more preposterous. He was an outlaw, liable to be taken and brought to justice; he was poor and wretched; and his offences, as he well knew, were such as it must be difficult for the king to pardon. Yet, instead of grasping at the single chance which was now offered him, he must needs give the king fresh provocation. And thus his doom was sealed. His demand was made known to the king, and Langtoft tells us the result:—

“When they brought that tiding, Edward was fulle grim:
He belauht him the fiende; als his traitore in lond.
And ever ilkon his frende, that him susteynd or fonde.
Three hundred marke he hette unto his warison; (reward)
That with him so mette, or bring his hedde to town.
Now flies William Waleis, of pese nouht he spedis:
In moores and mareis with robberie him fedis.”

Obviously no other course could be taken. Edward had already stretched his prerogative of mercy to an extraordinary extent, by expressing his willingness to “receive” the outlaw if he made an immediate and unconditional submission. Had he so submitted and received mercy, it cannot be doubted that such lenity would have caused great dissatisfaction among the English people. But Wallace preferred to remain still in his hiding‐places, and justice was not long in overtaking him. As two Scottish earls had guided the king to his camp at Falkirk, so now a Scottish knight soon claimed the reward offered for the outlaw’s apprehension. Sir John Menteith surprised him in bed, bound him, and delivered him to the English authorities.[131]

He was carried through England a chained prisoner to his doom. He arrived in London on the 22nd of August, 1305, “great numbers of men and women,” says Stowe, “wondering upon him.” He was not lodged in any prison, nor was any lengthened proceeding entered into. His chief crime—the savage desolation of the northern counties, was a matter of universal notoriety; nor did he for a moment deny it. He was therefore lodged for one night “at the house of William Dilect, a citizen of London, in Fenchurch‐street;” and “on the morrow he was brought on horseback to Westminster,—Segrave and Geoffrey, knights, and the mayor and sheriffs of the city, escorting him. He was placed on a bench in Westminster Hall,” and his indictment was read by Sir Percy Malorie, chief justice. It charged him—not, as the Scottish historians would represent—chiefly or solely with rebellion, or with levying war, but with those special barbarities which under the name of war, he had perpetrated.

Some writers lay great stress upon the circumstance, which appears in only one chronicle, that the criminal repudiated the charge of treason—saying, “Traitor was I never, for I never gave my allegiance to the king of England.” The fact may have been so, but it is wholly immaterial. No doubt more than half the persons who have died for treason since Wallace’s days might have pleaded the same excuse. It is most probable that none of the Jesuit priests executed in Elizabeth’s days had ever sworn allegiance; and we may be sure that Thistlewood and his gang, who died in 1820, had never taken any such oath. But no one ever imagined that such a fact made the slightest difference in their guilt, or in their position.

Treason, however, or mere rebellion, would never have brought Wallace from Scotland to Westminster Hall. Comyn, Fraser, and scores of other distinguished men in Scotland, had been guilty of treason and rebellion, and had received the king’s pardon. The great difference between their case and that of Wallace consisted in those “unpardonable injuries” which, as Mr. Tytler admits, “he had inflicted on the English,” and which Edward, as the king and defender of the English, found it to be now his duty to punish. And, accordingly, his indictment justly describes him as “Willelmus Waleis, captus pro seditione, homicidiis, deprædacionibus, incendiis, et aliis diversis feloniis.”

And so it runs throughout. It says little of his treason and rebellion—it dwells more on his murders and his other cruelties. It speaks of his murder of the sheriff of Lanark, “whose body he cut in pieces,” reminding us of the fate of Cressingham at Stirling. Passing on to his invasion of the northern counties, it charges, that “with certain of his accomplices, he invaded the realm of England, and all whom he there found, subjects of the king of England, he slew by various kinds of deaths—men of religion, and monks devoted to God, he feloniously massacred; sparing none who spake the English tongue; but all, old men and young, brides and widows, infants and children at the breast, he murdered in a manner more terrible than could have been imagined.” No denial was given to these charges; in fact, none could be given: “He pleaded no defence,” says Mr. Tytler, “_the facts were notorious_.” His ravage of Northumberland and Cumberland, “leaving nothing behind him but _blood and ashes_,” was as well known and as certain a fact as the comparatively insignificant “massacre of Cawnpore” in our own day.

His sentence was therefore read. It was precisely such a sentence as would have been passed upon any doer of the like acts in the reign of William III., or in that of George III. It pronounced—

“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.”

In a few days after this, the king issued _Forma pacis Scotiæ_—the Form of the peace of Scotland, in which he recounts—

“That the people of Scotland, after they were bound to us by oath of fealty, and by their written engagements, did by evil advice make war upon us, committing murders, robberies, burnings, etc., not only in Scotland, but in parts of England also; but that afterwards many of them returned and were received into our peace and favour; and now John Comyn of Badenoch, and others of his party, desire to be so received: now we, willing to do them special grace, have granted, and do hereby grant, that their lives and liberties shall be safe, and that they shall not be disinherited. And we also pardon the crimes aforesaid, and remit the anger we had against them, they being bound to pay the fines hereinafter mentioned.” Then follows a schedule of one, two, or three years’ fines, on the principal persons concerned in the rebellion.

And so, apparently, was Scotland a second time pacified and brought under regular government. Not a voice was now heard to disturb the general tranquillity. One execution only, as in the case of Wales, had been found necessary. One man in each of the two countries had gone beyond the bounds of legitimate warfare, and had by special crimes called down upon himself a special punishment. But towards Scotland itself, as towards Wales, the conduct of Edward, both in 1296 and in 1305, was generous, wise, and thoroughly noble. Still, these excellences could not protect him from treachery, perjury, and a third rebellion. These closing troubles, however, of the king’s life must be reserved for our concluding chapter.

Footnotes:

[117] The Scottish historians, who wrote _a century after_, claim
the victory in all three engagements; but Hemingford and Trivet,
who wrote _at the time_, distinctly declare that Neville repulsed
the Scotch, and recovered many of the prisoners. Hume and Tytler,
as Scotchmen, give credit to their own chroniclers; and yet
they are uncandid enough to profess to take their accounts from
Hemingford and Trivet. But these latter writers, who are the only
contemporary witnesses, plainly assert that the advantage, in the
third engagement, rested with the English.

[118] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 186.

[119] Hailes’ Annals, vol. i., p. 304.

[120] Tytler, vol. i., p. 191.

[121] Archæological Journal, No. 27.

[122] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 191.

[123] Tytler, vol. i., p. 192.

[124] Tytler, vol. i., p. 196.

[125] Matthew of Westminster, 1304.

[126] Tytler, vol. i., p. 197.

[127] Matthew of Westminster, 1304.

[128] Langtoft.

[129] “Endroit de Will. de Walleys, le Roi entent, qu il soit receu
a sa volute ’t a son ordainement.” (Palgrave.)

[130] Rymer’s “Placita,” p. 370.

[131] Langtoft says,—

“Sir John of Menetest followed William so nigh,
He toke him when he feared least, one night his leman by.”

[132] History of England, vol. v., p. 97.

[133] History of England, vol. ii., p. 428.

[134] History of England, vol. ii., p. 424.

[135] “They spared none, but slew all down.”—WYNTOUN.

[136] Blind Harry.

[137] Encyclo. Britan.

[138] Sir Walter Scott.

XIII.

BRUCE’S REBELLION: THE WAR WHICH FOLLOWED.—THE DEATH OF EDWARD: HIS CHARACTER.

Properly to understand the portion of history to which we are now coming, it is necessary to bear in mind that the Bruces with whom Edward had dealings, were three—the father, the son, and the grandson. The first was the competitor for the crown in 1291, 1292. This Robert de Brus, or Bruce, died in 1295; leaving a son, also Robert de Brus, who was through life Edward’s faithful and familiar friend. This, the second of the three, died in 1304, and was followed by his son, the third of the same name, who raised the standard of rebellion in 1306, and finally became king of Scotland.[139]

Of the Brus, or Bruce, family, we may adopt lord Campbell’s account. He tells us, that—

“Robert de Brus, or Bruis (in modern times spelt Bruce), was one of the companions of the conqueror, and having distinguished himself in the battle of Hastings, his prowess was rewarded with no fewer than ninety‐four lordships, of which Skelton, in Yorkshire, was the principal.” “Robert, the son of the first Robert de Brus, became a widower while a young man, and to assuage his grief, paid a visit to Alexander I., king of Scotland, who was keeping his court at Stirling. There the heiress of Annandale fell in love with him, and in due time he led her to the altar.” “The fourth in succession married Isabel, the second daughter of David, earl of Huntingdon, grandson of David I. Robert de Brus, afterwards the competitor, was their eldest son.” This de Brus “practised in Westminster Hall from 1245 to 1250. In the latter year he took his seat as a puisne judge; and in the 46th year of Henry III. he had a grant of forty pounds a year salary.” He married a daughter of the earl of Gloucester, and his son (the second of the three), was, in all probability, born in or near Westminster; where the judge must have dwelt. In 1268 he was appointed chief justice, and remained in that post until the end of Henry’s reign. Not being re‐appointed, he retired to his castle of Lochmaben. Here (in 1289) he became one of the commissioners for negociating the marriage of the heiress of Scotland with the young prince of Wales. On the death of the youthful Margaret, he advanced his own claim, as the son of David of Huntingdon’s second daughter; but the superior claim of John Baliol was preferred, he being the grandson of David’s _eldest_ daughter. De Brus, disappointed, and resolving not to pay homage to Baliol, “retired,” says Sir Walter Scott, “to his great Yorkshire estates,” where he died in 1295, the year preceding Edward’s first entrance into Scotland. He had been, through life, ranked among the barons of England, and had been always a steady supporter of the crown. We find him on Henry’s side at the battle of Lewes in 1264. We find him also acting as sheriff of Cumberland; and he was buried in 1295, at Guisborough in Yorkshire, where his tomb still remains.

His son, the second Robert de Brus of these three, was an intimate friend of Edward’s. He accompanied him in his visit to Palestine; he was on such terms of familiarity with him (as we have seen in a former page) as to apply to him for a loan of money; and we observe that in 1300, when the king returned from Scotland, he took up his abode “at Holme Cultram, on the border.” Now Holme Cultram is the place where _this_ Robert de Brus lies buried. He was governor of Carlisle, and we have no doubt that it was by his invitation that Edward determined to spend some time in this home on the border. This de Brus married the countess of Carrick, and thus added another Scottish estate to his large English inheritance. He was always loyal to the English crown; and, accordingly, when the Scottish parliament of 1294-5 occupied itself in confiscating the estates of all who adhered to Edward, the lordship of Annandale was taken from de Brus. “During the contest of 1295-6, this Bruce, son to the competitor, possessed of large estates in England, continued faithful to Edward.”[140] And when Baliol resigned the crown, and Edward took possession of Scotland, he nominated “his dear and faithful Robert de Brus, earl of Carrick, _and his son_, to receive to his peace the inhabitants of Annandale.” A year or two later, we find him fighting in the English army, against Wallace, at Falkirk.[141] This, the second Robert de Brus of the three, seems to have lived and died governor of Carlisle, and sheriff of Cumberland, sitting in the English parliaments; and his grave, like his father’s, was made on English soil.