Chapter VIII: Appendix: 347 (7)

That Major was quite right in “giving only partial credit” to the itinerant minstrel, will be evident enough to any one who reads a page of “Blind Harry.” The book, composed two centuries after the time of which it treats, bears the same relation to real history as did the “Iliad,” or king Arthur’s “Romaunt.” It extends Wallace’s military career, which began in A.D. 1297 and ended in 1298, over more than twenty years. It multiplies the two battles which he really fought into seven. It brings a queen of England to his feet—there being no queen of England at that time in existence. It makes him “duke of Guienne,” and places him under the patronage of the archbishop of Canterbury; in short, it is a romance, having no more resemblance to real history than is possessed by “The Seven Champions of Christendom.”

Yet out of this very unpromising sort of document there have been fabricated, in modern times, a score or two of “historical tales,” both in prose and verse. Some of our best female writers—such as Joanna Baillie and Felicia Hemans, have delighted in extolling “the noblest of Scotia’s sons.” Yet, a strange subject is this for a female pen! Of Wallace’s personal character we have scarcely an outline traceable to any Scottish origin, except we receive as true the legends of “Blind Harry.” And this writer’s descriptions convey no other idea than that of a being of extraordinary ferocity.

The minstrel thus introduces him to our notice:—

“He of age was but eighteen year old;
Weapons he bore, either good sword or knife.”

And these weapons were meant for use against the English; of whom—

“If he found one without another’s presence [_i.e._, alone]
After, to Scots they did no more grievance;
To cut his throat, or stick him suddenly
He cared nought, found he them anerly” [alone].

And so we find at page 8—

“Without rescue he stickit him to death.”

At page 13—

“Three slew he there, two fled with all their might.”

At page 15—

“It was his life, and most part of his food,
To see them shed the burning Southron blood.”

At page 16—

“Wallas, with that, upon the back him gave
Till his back‐bone he all in sunder drave.”

At page 17—

“Five slew he there, before he left the town.”

At page 18—

“A cruel knife fast through his heart struck he.”

And again—

“Out through the body stickit him to death.”

And again—

“Through buckler, hand, and brainpan also,
To the shoulders, the sharp sword gert he go.”

And again—

“Wallas commanded they suld no man save;
Twenty and two they stickit in that steid.”

In fact the “Book of Wallace” reads like the chronicle of a slaughter‐house. That our lady poets never studied it, we may be sure; they derived their idea of the Scottish insurgent from modern historians, who had magnified the feats of arms, and had said nothing of the deeds of blood.

But let us turn from the mere legend‐writer and panegyrist, and endeavour to ascertain, as far as we are able, the real truth of Wallace’s acts and of his character. And probably the safest course to take, on the whole, will be to draw our information chiefly from those Scottish historians of our own day who have seen the error of indiscriminate eulogy, and have endeavoured to present a narrative of a more credible and trustworthy kind. The only other course to take would be to accept the account of the English chroniclers, ten or twelve in number, who lived in Wallace’s own day. These, however, write under the influence of a strong prejudice. Some of them, like the Chronicler of Lanercost in Cumberland, had actually seen something of the Scottish leader, and they cannot speak of him but as “a man of blood,” “a leader of banditti.”

Let us try, then, to glean something of this history from the narratives of those more recent Scottish writers, who have shown some degree of moderation. William Walays was the younger son of a small proprietor in Renfrewshire. “Malcolm (the father) got the five‐pound land of Elderslie” (Wallace Documents). “The name Walleys or Waleis,” says the editor of that collection, “simply designates any native of the ancient kingdom of Wales.” Such persons were often met with in England. There was a sheriff of London named Waleys, or Waleis, in 1272, and about the same time a Waleys or Walays in Wilts, and another in Essex, and a third in Somerset. These, like William Walays of Elderslie, were natives of Wales, or sons of natives who had migrated into England or into the northern parts of the island.

“The family,” says Mr. Tytler, “was neither rich nor noble.”[85] Allowing for the altered value of money, we may deem the father to be equal to a yeoman of the present day, who holds a copyhold farm of the value of £80 or £100 per annum; and of such a man, William was the second son. He is described as a frequenter of fairs and markets, and as often engaged in brawls. “His make,” says Mr. Tytler, “approached the gigantic; his passions were violent; and a strong hatred of the English began to show itself.” The vehement irascibility and enduring animosity of the Welsh character had not been much abated by a change of abode.

Wallace had, we can easily perceive, many of the qualities which go to form a guerilla leader. He had great bodily strength and “violent passions;” he had learned, by frequent exercise, expertness in the use of both sword and cudgel; and such a gallant as this was sure to be followed by multitudes of young admirers. So prepared for the fray, he seems to have entered the arena of public life just at that critical period when the conquest of Scotland had been accomplished, and the English rule of Scotland had but just been begun. This English rule was, to one of his feelings, intolerable. We may look with some degree of allowance on prejudices of this kind; but our indulgence can hardly be extended so far as to justify the young Scotch‐Welshman in the course which his eulogist describes him to have adopted;—of killing every Englishman that fell in his way, so soon as he could find an opportunity.

After several homicides of this kind, it was inevitable that Wallace should be under the necessity of disappearing from the neighbourhood of his abode. He had been able, repeatedly, when an Englishman came in his way,

“To cut his throat, or stick him suddenly;”

but to such amusements there is always a natural limit. Mr. Tytler says, “He was driven to seek safety in the wilds and fastnesses. Here he collected, by degrees, a little band of men of desperate fortunes.” “In his attacks on straggling parties of the English, he was generally successful. Confidence came with success, and multitudes flocked round the standard of revolt.”[86] “Wallace and his men lived by plunder; retreating, when pursued, to the woods and fastnesses, whence they again issued forth to attack the English convoys. All the soldiers who fell into their hands were instantly put to death.” “Great numbers of the English were openly massacred in almost every district beyond the Frith of Forth.”[87] Mr. Tytler adds: “It was not uncommon for them, at these times, to drive before them troops of aged priests and nuns, whose hands were tied behind their backs; and while the brutal soldiery and their hard‐hearted leaders sat on the bridges, these unhappy wretches were cast down headlong, or compelled to precipitate themselves into the stream, while their drowning agonies were the subject of savage derision.”[88] These atrocities are recorded by Knighton and Trivet, two historians who lived at the time; and Knighton adds that he had received the description from the lips of a priest, who himself had been present at, and managed to escape from, one of these massacres.

Thus establishing a reign of terror, Wallace and his followers were rapidly clearing the country of the English; those who could not find safety in some fortified place, naturally taking to flight. News of these troubles reached England in June and July; but Edward had pledged himself to his allies to join them in Flanders; and to turn northwards instead, would have been a dishonourable abandonment of his friends, and a breach of his deliberate engagements. He could, therefore, only write to earl Warenne, urgently and repeatedly, to collect a force, and to put down these disturbances—spending, if needful, the whole revenues of Scotland in this duty. But Cressingham, the treasurer of Scotland, an arrogant and supercilious man, despised the insurgents, and thus brought on a terrible defeat and loss. The forces of Wallace continued to increase, and towards the end of the summer, one name of note was added to his array. Sir William Douglas, who had been governor of Berwick, and who had, on the surrender of that place, been readily admitted to the king’s peace—receiving his liberty and a new grant of his estates, and swearing fealty to the king—was the first man in Scotland to set the evil example of a disregard of a solemn oath. This perfidy and treachery subsequently spread, and became so common in Scotland as to drive the king, towards the end of his life, into a state of absolute exasperation; leading him to abandon that mild and generous policy, which, for the first thirty years of his reign, he had followed.

We have been describing the occurrences of the former half of the year 1297. The insurgent leader must be assumed to have been gradually becoming more obnoxious for weeks and months before his name occurs on any historic records. The date of his public appearance is not a matter of any doubt. One Scottish publication tells us that “he first appears in May, 1297.”[89] Another says that “he first began his operations in May, 1297.”[90] A third states that “he is first mentioned in May, 1297.”[91] It is evident, therefore, that after divers market brawls in the opening months of 1297, Wallace had arrived, in the May of that year, at the dignity of a known partizan leader.

Success, in such a quarrel, naturally begets success. All who disliked the English intruders, and had a delight in guerilla warfare, would eagerly gather themselves around this rising champion. He soon found himself at the head of a force to which the English authorities could oppose no similar array. The open country was in his hands; but he had none of the nobility on his side. Still, he had the only visible power in Scotland. The earl Warenne, however, had, in a few weeks, assembled a force of some 40,000 or 50,000 men in the southern counties and on the border, and was marching northwards in quest of Wallace and his followers. The rebel leader had about an equal power. About the beginning of September the two armies approached each other in the neighbourhood of Stirling. An overweening confidence was, as it is often found, a precursor of defeat. Lord Henry Percy brought to the earl a reinforcement of 8,000 men; but Cressingham, the treasurer, deeming this an unnecessary increase of the expenditure, dismissed them to their homes.

The English army came in sight of that under Wallace on the 11th of September. The Scotch force occupied a good position on the northern bank of the river, awaiting, as policy evidently suggested, the English attack. A narrow bridge spanned the river at that point, and offered the only visible means of crossing to the opposite bank. A Scottish knight, Sir Richard Lundin, who knew the country, and rode by the earl’s side, exclaimed to him: “If you attempt to cross the bridge, you throw away your lives! The men can only pass over by twos, and the Scotch command our flank, and will be instantly upon us. I will show you a ford, where you may pass by sixty at a time; give me five hundred horse, and I will secure it.”

Nothing else than fatuity could have disregarded such counsel. But Cressingham, contemptuous and overweening, exclaimed to the earl, “Why do we waste time? Let us pass on as becomes us, and do our duty!” The earl, nettled at this imputation of backwardness, gave the order to advance. As might have been expected, the result was disastrous. The Scotch allowed a considerable body of the English to pass, and then, while they were thus separated from the main force, and endeavouring to form, a fierce attack was made, and in an instant all was in confusion. One part of the Scotch army seized the bridge, while another part was engaged in the slaughter of the disordered English. Many of these leaped into the river and were drowned. Cressingham was among those who had crossed. “His body,” says Mr. Tytler, “was mangled, the skin torn from the limbs, and in savage triumph cut to pieces.” Wallace himself ordered as much to be reserved for him as would make a sword‐belt.

The English were thus sacrificed to the folly of one man, who did not survive to bear the blame. One knight only is recorded to have distinguished himself. Sir Marmaduke Twenge, one of those who had crossed the river, was urged by a companion to throw himself into the stream in order to escape. “What!” exclaimed he, “volunteer to drown myself when I can cut my way through them all! Never let such foul slander rest on us!” “But alas for me!” said his friend, who was on foot, and saw no such possibility of escape. “Leap up behind me,” said Twenge, and so burdened he gave his horse the spur, drove him through the midst of the enemy, and rejoined his friends in safety.

Earl Warenne, though brave and inured to arms, seems to have been an impulsive man, who under defeat lost all self‐control. At Lewes, in A.D. 1264, so soon as the ranks were broken, the earl was one of the first to take to flight; and now, in like manner, horrified at the massacre which he beheld on the opposite bank of the river, and unable to remedy his fault, he gave the command of the retreat to Sir Marmaduke Twenge, and rode off to Berwick. This sort of panic was even more disastrous than his previous rashness, for in those days the flight of the general implied the dissolution of the army.

The English chroniclers state the loss of the English at five thousand infantry and one hundred horse, but in effect, when the earl left it, the army was disbanded; and so soon as the fate of the day was decided, but not before, “the earl of Lennox and the steward of Scotland,” says Mr. Tytler, “_threw off the mask_, and led a body of followers to destroy and plunder the flying English.”

Sir Walter Scott, with his usual talent and perspicuity, thus describes the battle of Stirling: “The earl, an experienced warrior, hesitated to engage his troops in the defile of a wooden bridge, where scarce two horsemen could ride abreast; but urged by the imprudent vehemence of Cressingham, he advanced, _contrary to common sense_, as well as to his own judgment. The vanguard of the English was attacked before they could get into order, the bridge was broken down, and thousands perished in the river and by the sword.”[92]

Such was the battle of Stirling, the only victory which gives lustre to Wallace’s name; and this, it is quite evident, was, it may be said, laid at his feet; there being probably scarcely a man in his army who did not see the English general’s blunder, or who would not, if in command, have taken the same advantage of it.

At the head of a victorious army, Wallace was now obviously the ruler of Scotland, and he instantly and without hesitation took this place. No legal or constitutional delegation seemed to him to be necessary. His dictatorship was established, probably by the “acclamation” of his army, as in the days of imperial Rome. We do not feel entitled to blame this step. Moments of exigency, as in France in our own day, often call for unusual remedies; but as no one can point to any public or national choice of Wallace as regent or dictator, we leave it as, in all probability, the act of the army, such as it was; and we shall presently see that between this “regent” and the lords and people of Scotland, there was very little sympathy.

Of this crisis, October, 1297, Mr. Tytler thus speaks:—“The majority of the nobles being still against him, Wallace found it difficult to procure new levies, and was constrained to adopt severe measures against all who were _refractory_. Gibbets were erected in each barony or county town, and some burgesses of Aberdeen who had disobeyed the summons were _hanged_. After this example, he soon found himself at the head of a numerous army.”[93]

A force such as now followed the insurgent leader was obviously well suited for a plundering expedition, or, to use the common phrase, “a border raid.” Wallace led his force into England in October, 1297, and for the peculiar character of that inroad he must be held personally responsible. Plunder would doubtless have satisfied most of his followers, but he imparted to the war a character of unusual ferocity. Again we will avoid using the bitter language of the English chroniclers, and will draw our descriptions from Scottish writers only.

Fordun tells us, that “he wasted all the land of Allerdale with fire.” Wyntoun adds;—

“All Allerdale as man of warre,
That time he brent with all his powre.

* * * * *

Wharever thai overtook the Inglis men,
Thai spared none, but slewe all down.”

Hector Boece says: “He brent and harried all Northumberland and Newcastle.” “He took Dunotter and slewe all personnes found in it.”

The blind minstrel glories in the details of these deeds, telling us “how Wallace burnt four thousand Englishmen in the kirk of Dunotter:—

“Some hung on crags right dolefully to die,
Some leapt, some fell, some fluttered in the sea;
No Southron was left in all that hold,
And all within they burnt to powder cold.”

And in his eighth book he tells us a similar tale of a castle or mansion in Yorkshire, which Wallace blocked up and set on fire:—

“Five hundred men that were into that place.
Got none away, but died withouten grace.”

The numbers of the sufferers in these two cases are doubtless augmented by the license of the bard; but the important fact to be remarked is this, that the narrations of the English chroniclers, and the charges afterwards brought against Wallace by Edward himself, are substantially confirmed and gloried in by these old Scottish traditions.

If we opened the English chronicles of the time, we should find them teeming with horrid details of how Wallace “forced men and women to dance naked before him, pricking them with lances and swords;” of how he “slew infants at their mothers’ breasts”; of how he “burnt alive a whole school full of boys.” “The Chronicle of Rochester” even displays on its margin pictorial illustrations of these horrors. We allude to them merely to observe that when his sentence, in 1305, ordered “that his bowels should be taken out and burnt, even as he himself had burnt a church full of men and women,” the judges only set forth, judicially, a fact which was well known and entirely believed throughout all Scotland and all England.

Nor do modern Scotch historians attempt to deny the ruthless character of this inroad. The “Encyclopædia Britannica” frankly says: “He proceeded as far as Newcastle, wasting with fire and sword, and _sparing neither age nor sex_.” And Sir Walter Scott thus pithily describes this march: “Increasing his forces that he might gratify them with plunder, he led them across the English border, and sweeping it lengthwise from Newcastle to the gates of Carlisle, _he left nothing behind him but blood and ashes_.”

History from the earliest period, through all the ravages of Huns and Vandals, down to the cruelties of a Tamerlane or a Nana Sahib, records few, if any, deeds of greater savageness than this one great exploit of Wallace’s life. And it was the main feature of his brief career. The victory of Stirling was thrown into his lap; at Falkirk he was merely beaten and annihilated, but in this march through northern England he showed his whole character. His panegyrist says:—

“The host
Began at Tweed and spared nought they found.

* * * * *

All Durham town they burnt up in a gleed.

* * * * *

For prisoners they liked not to keep;
Whom they o’ertook, they made their friends to weep.”

Sir Walter’s pithy sentence expresses the whole. The horde of miscreants whom Wallace led, must have come upon many aged, many infants, many sick—upon schools and nunneries. “They left nothing behind them but blood and ashes.” And yet English writers, not a few, have been found, who, after reading these facts, have actually expressed surprise and indignation that the leader of this inroad, when at last apprehended, should have been put to death on the scaffold![94]

This terrible inroad occupied Wallace and his followers during several weeks. But the enjoyment was incautiously prolonged. Before any arrangements had been made for a return to Scotland, “winter set in with great severity. The frost was so intense and the scarcity of provision so grievous, that multitudes of the Scots perished from cold and famine, and Wallace ordered a retreat.”[95]

In useless revenge for this inroad, lord Robert Clifford collected a force in Cumberland and invaded Annandale. A few villages and hamlets were burned, and about three hundred Scots were slain. It was to put an end to this wretched state of things, by making England and Scotland one people, that Edward had been labouring for several years past.

Wallace had now returned to Scotland; and in Scotland, in spite of all “the great lords,” he continued to be the ruling spirit for all the first half of the year 1298. Probably it is to the opening months of this year that we must assign a circumstance narrated by Mr. Tytler, who says: “Soon after his return from this expedition into England, Wallace, in an assembly held at the Forest Kirk in Selkirkshire, which was attended by the earl of Lennox, William Douglas, and others of the principal nobility, was elected “governor of Scotland.”[96]

The place chosen was one more adapted to secrecy than to the transaction of any important affair;[97] the persons present, whose names are produced, _are but two_. The phrase added: “and others of the principal nobility,” refutes itself. The support of the principal nobility was what Wallace most needed; and it is quite certain that, if any other of this class had been present, his name would have been carefully recorded. There is no fact on which all the Scottish historians are more entirely agreed than this: that, “through envy, the lords and great men of Scotland kept aloof from Wallace.” Could any numerous gathering of them have taken place at this time, it is quite certain that they would never have chosen the second son of a Renfrewshire yeoman to be “governor of Scotland.”

Wallace, however, having an armed force at his back, and a vehement will in his bosom, accepted this alleged “choice” and appointment, and readily assumed and exercised despotic power. The weight of his right arm is fully admitted by all Scottish writers. Fordun, one of the earliest, says: “If any of the great men would not, of his own accord, obey his mandates, him he held and confined until he wholly submitted to his pleasure.” Wyntoun writes:

“The grettest lordes of our lande
To him he gert them be bowand;
Ild thai, wald thai, all gert he
Bowsum to his bidding be:
And to his bidding who was not bown,
He took and put tham in prisoun.”[98]

Nor was imprisonment the sole means of persuasion to which he had recourse. Hector Boece tells us that “he made sic punition on tham whilk war repugnant to his proclamation, that the remanent pepil, for fear thairof, assisted to his purpose.” And again—

“That samin time thair was that made imploy,
Men in the north that would not him obey;

* * * * *

Thairfore Wallace, without any demand,

* * * * *

Syne for thair treasoun hangit tham ilkane” [every one].

We know not whether words could more plainly express the fact that a tyranny was established in Scotland in this earlier portion of the year 1298. And the most singular feature of the case is, that a man who, in April, 1297, was utterly unknown, establishes, before a twelvemonth had passed over, such a despotic power that “the greatest lordes in the land” were forced to bow down to him, or else to go to the prison or the gallows!

But now the end of this extraordinary kind of rule was approaching. It had been, from first to last, an empire of the sword; and when that sword was broken, it instantly collapsed and disappeared. Edward was duly informed, in October, of the disastrous affair of Stirling; and, relying on the speedy termination of the war with France, he sent over, in November, a summons for a military rendezvous at York, on the 14th of the coming January. Such a summons, to be answered at such a period of the year, was no ordinary one. To call men, by tens of thousands, to leave Kent, and Devon, and Warwickshire, in the very middle of the winter, and to march to York, with the declared intention of thence proceeding to Scotland, was of itself a proof of the depth and earnestness of the king’s purpose. But the manner in which this call was answered, showed that the people of England sympathized with their sovereign. The story of Wallace’s invasion, with all its horrors, had been carried through the length and breadth of the land; and the feeling which it had aroused was shown in the astonishing fact, that, in the short dark days of January, there marched into York no fewer than 100,000 foot‐soldiers and 4,000 cavalry. England has now six times the population it had then; but who would expect that, if our government were, in the present day, to call for a voluntary armament, and to issue that call in November, the result would be the appearance at York, on the 14th of January, of a force of 600,000 infantry, and of 24,000 horse? And yet the means of locomotion known in our day would make it far easier to do this now than it was in 1298, to send the smaller number. But could such a mighty gathering be seen, in England’s northern metropolis, on the 14th of the coming January, would not the natural, the reasonable exclamation be, “England is stirred to its very depths”?

The king, however, found it impossible to leave the Flemish coast so soon as he had intended. He learned, too, that the Scottish invasion was over, and that Wallace and his followers had returned to Scotland. He would not run the risk of a second “battle of Stirling,” and he therefore sent orders to his generals at York to engage in no important action till he returned. Hence, they contented themselves with relieving the castles of Kelso, Roxburgh, and Berwick, which had been threatened by Wallace, and then, keeping a small force in Scotland, dismissed the remainder to their homes. Of the movements of the Scottish leader himself at this period, we hear nothing.

It was not until the spring was opening, that Edward was able to get clear of his continental entanglements. On the 21st of March he landed at Sandwich, where he was received with great acclamations;—all men feeling that on his sagacity, judgment, and military skill, the peace and safety of the realm of England at that moment greatly depended. His first thought on landing, was, to remember his governing principle, _Pactum serva_. He had promised his people, when he left them in the preceding autumn, that for any wrongs done, or goods taken, by his officers or purveyors for the service of the war, he would make them full amends. At once, therefore, immediately on landing, he directed commissions to issue to two knights and two churchmen in each county—one to be named by the crown and the other by the people, who were to inquire in each district what goods had been taken by the royal purveyors for victualling the king’s fleet or army. These commissions were issued in the first week in April; that is, in a very few days after the king’s landing.

The next step was, to issue summonses, on the 10th of the same month, for a parliament to be held at York in Whitsun week. These summonses were promptly obeyed. A great meeting took place, and thither came the two earls, Hereford and Norfolk, as they had done the year before; not to help forward the great question, of how Scotland should be quieted, but to prefer, as they had preferred in the preceding year, their demands for a fresh confirmation of the charters. Their own personal grievances had precedence in their minds over all the pressing exigencies of the state. The king, after reigning with perfect justice and equity for twenty years, had recently been forced to make “requisitions” for the carrying on of the war. The validity of such demands seemed to these two great lords a matter of more importance than French aggressions or Scottish inroads.

The king refused to enter upon such discussions at that moment, but he authorized the earls of Gloucester, Warenne, and Warwick, and the bishop of Durham, to pledge his honour and their own, that so soon as Scotland had been quieted, he, the king, would do all in his power to give them satisfaction. This sort of mediation succeeded, and the two discontented earls agreed to postpone the charter‐question till the rebellion should have been suppressed. It was agreed, therefore, to fix the 25th of June for a military rendezvous, on which day all the earls and barons engaged to bring their forces to Roxburgh, the appointed place of meeting.

Wallace had now been lost sight of in England for nearly half a year. The ravaged districts of the north were beginning to resume their accustomed appearance, and the fierce resentment of the English people had found time to subside. Yet, when Midsummer came, a great army assembled around the king. The infantry were eighty thousand, but the cavalry had augmented its numbers to seven thousand, of whom three thousand were in full armour. Bearing in mind that the approaching harvest would require most of the available hands in the kingdom, this muster of men taken from the field and farmyard was quite as remarkable as that of the previous January.

This powerful army was now in Scotland. But where was Wallace? The Scottish writers all confess that “the great majority of the nobles were against him.”[99] Force of all kinds he had employed—setting up gibbets, and throwing into prisons all “who would not him obey.” But even the strongest measures of this kind were not sufficient to gather round him an army with which he could venture to march against the English. He took, therefore, the more prudent course of retiring as Edward advanced, wasting the country in his retreat. The English army was thus forced to rely wholly on its own resources; while, as no living thing crossed its path, its commanders were unable to learn anything of the movements of the insurgent leader. Edward marched on through Berwickshire to Lauder and Temple Liston. The castle of Dirleston was taken, and two smaller forts; but provisions grew scarce, and the Welsh troops seemed about to mutiny. “Let them go over to the enemy if they will,” said Edward, with his usual intrepidity. “I hope to see the day when I shall chastise them both.” But the prospect darkened; means of subsistence became more and more unattainable, and a retreat began to be seriously contemplated. Just then, however, Wallace’s unpopularity with his own countrymen saved the English army from an impending failure. The earl of Dunbar and the earl of Angus, hating the so‐called “governor of Scotland,” but fearing to take an open part against him, sent an emissary to acquaint the king that Wallace and his army were concealed in the forest of Falkirk, and that they were watching his movements, in the hope of surprising the English army by a night attack.

Edward heard these tidings with the utmost joy. “Thanks be to God!” he exclaimed, “who has hitherto extricated me from every danger! They shall not need to follow me; for I will instantly go to meet them!” Without a moment’s delay, orders were given for the march. Very soon the whole army was in motion, wondering at the sudden change. It was late before a heath near Linlithgow was reached, on which the army encamped for the night. “Each soldier,” says Hemingford, “slept on the ground, using his shield for his pillow; each horseman had his horse beside him; and the horses tasted nothing but cold iron, champing their bridles.” The king fared like the rest. In the night a cry was heard. The page who held the king’s horse had been sleepy, and the horse, in changing his position, had trodden upon and hurt the king. Some confusion ensued, but Edward had not been fatally injured; and soon, as the morning was near, he gave orders for the march. They passed through Linlithgow a little before sunrise, and on a ridge of a hill, a little before them, they saw a number of men with lances. It was a portion of Wallace’s army. He now could no longer adhere to his policy of retreat; the pursuit of the English cavalry would evidently render such a course disastrous. He was thus brought to a stand, and had no choice but to accept the battle. As the English troops ascended the hill, they came in sight of the whole Scottish army, hastily preparing for the expected attack.

Wallace made the best arrangement, perhaps, that was in his power. His men were, for the most part, armed with the long Scottish lance; and he drew up the main body of his infantry in four squares, called in those days “schiltrons.” Between these squares were posted the archers; while a thousand horse waited in the rear, for any opportunity which might arise for an onset.

The king, equally energetic and prudent, having now made an engagement secure, proposed to give his army time for rest and refreshment; but the cry of the troops, officers, and men, was for an immediate attack. “In God’s name, then,” said the king, “be it so;” and at once the earl marshal, and the earls of Hereford and Lincoln, led their troops forward. But they soon found that the Scotch had availed themselves of a marsh in their front, and the attacking force was thus forced to diverge to the left. The second line, under Anthony Beck, inclined to the right; he wished to wait for the king, who brought up the third line, but the eagerness of the men could not be restrained. They pressed forward, and soon came to close quarters with one wing of the Scots, while the earl marshal’s force confronted the other.

And now a singular event occurred—a fact which can only be explained by that secret dislike which all the Scotch writers admit to have been felt by “the great men” for Wallace. The whole body of the Scottish cavalry rode off the field without striking a blow. All the Scottish historians agree as to this circumstance; and it can only be rendered intelligible by our previous knowledge that Wallace had recruited his army by strong coercive measures.

The main body of the Scottish army, however, had no such power of flight. Their leader, several histories tell us, exclaimed, “I have brought you to the ring; now dance as ye can!” It was evident as to the thirty thousand or forty thousand of the Scottish infantry, that their only hope was to stand their ground, and fight to the last. And this they did, as for centuries since then they have always done. To break their phalanx, or in any way to overcome them, was, evidently, no easy task. But the king was prepared for all the exigencies of war. He ordered up his bowmen, every one of whom was accustomed to boast that he carried twelve Scottish lives in his quiver. Under their ceaseless and destructive discharge, the Scottish “schiltrons” soon quivered and shook. Their firmness and obstinacy was of no avail; the English arrows filled the air, until their squares were crowded with the dead and dying. Soon all was confusion and distress, and then, when their ranks became unsteady, the terrible onset of the armour‐clad horse of Edward’s army followed; the squares were broken up, and only a crowd of wretched fugitives remained. Stewart and Macduff had fallen, but Wallace himself had escaped. The Scottish historians confess a loss of fifteen thousand men. The English report, as we find it in a dozen contemporary writers, was, that the Scots lost thirty‐two thousand men, while the whole loss of the English was twenty‐eight! This, at first sight, appears wholly absurd and incredible; but when we remember that the Scottish cavalry had fled the field; that the “schiltrons” were shaken and broken up by the English bowmen, and then, that in their retreat they were followed, trodden down, and slaughtered by seven thousand English horsemen—it is not difficult to understand, that the loss of the victors must have been very small, while the havoc made among the flying Scots must have been of the most fearful description.

The Scottish army of revolt was, in fact, annihilated. Some of its leaders fled to Stirling, and, adhering to the settled plan of the campaign, they burned the town before they evacuated it. A Dominican convent, however, was left standing, and here Edward remained for more than a fortnight, to recover from the effects of the hurt in his side. Some of the chroniclers aver, that two ribs had been broken by the horse’s tread. If this was indeed the case, it would furnish another proof of the ascendancy of a strong will over merely physical hindrances. This period of rest having terminated, the king put his forces in motion, and proceeded to St. Andrew’s and Perth. But no enemy was to be found. The power of Wallace had been annihilated. He again betook himself to his “recesses and hiding‐places.” The king marched onwards, through Fife and Clydesdale, and Lanark, and Galloway, and, finding no enemy to be encountered, he returned in the autumn through Selkirkshire to Carlisle, where he dismissed his army. The earl marshal and the constable were again discontented, because the king had granted the isle of Arran to a Scottish nobleman without consulting them. To meet these complaints, the king held another council or parliament at Durham in the autumn, in which he granted to some of his nobles the estates of those Scottish proprietors who had taken part in the late disturbances. And thus the strife or civil war of 1298 seems to have reached its termination.

As to the chief promoter of these disturbances, it is clear beyond all dispute, that the battle of Falkirk, in July, 1298, put a final end to his brief career. His first appearance on the page of history, was in May, 1297, and he vanishes from it in August, 1298. “Wallace,” says Mr. Tytler, “soon after the defeat of Falkirk, resigned the office of guardian of Scotland.” “The Comyns threatened to impeach him for treason, for his conduct during the war; and the Bruces united with their rivals to put him down.”[100] “His name does not occur in any authentic record, as bearing even a secondary command; nor do we meet with him in any public transaction” until his trial and execution seven years afterwards. So agree “the Wallace Documents” of the Maitland Club, in which we are told that “immediately after the defeat which he sustained at Falkirk in 1298, _he disappears from history_, and no traces of him are found until a very short time before the execution in 1305.” It is, therefore, a fact quite beyond any dispute, that the whole history of this greatly‐lauded leader is comprised within a period of fourteen months. The representations of Hume and others, that “through a course of many years”[101] he fought the battle of Scottish independence, are wholly at variance with the known facts.

Still, however, Wallace, though in obscurity, continued to exist in or near to Scotland, for all those seven years. At one time we hear, that he escaped over to France with a following of “five soldiers.” Some time after that, Langtoft tells us that “in moors and marshes with robbers he feedes.” During a large portion of these seven years, Scotland was in revolt against England. But not once, in all that time, do we hear of so much as a proposal to entrust any command to William Wallace. Nor does he appear to have been able, in all those years, to induce even a score of men to follow him in his fortunes. Never was there a more total collapse of suddenly‐acquired power. In modern times, indeed, we are often told of his having been “idolized by the people of Scotland.” But such eulogists close their eyes to many unquestionable facts which lead to a very different conclusion.

It is from the pages of the earliest Scottish histories that we learn of the prisons and the gibbets by which his power, at its zenith, was supported. At Falkirk he is first betrayed by two Scottish leaders, who reveal his plans to the king, and then he is deserted by the whole body of his cavalry. And, finally, it was by a Scotchman that he was at last given into his pursuers’ hands, and so consigned to the scaffold. But, though these circumstances show, undoubtedly, that many of his countrymen had no fondness for him, we confess that what weighs most with us is this, that after his discomfiture at Falkirk he continued to live the life of an outcast and fugitive for seven long years, in the mountain recesses of Scotland, without ever being asked, so far as history knows, to take the command of so much as a skirmishing party. Assuredly, there is no token to be anywhere discovered, that at this period, at least, there was any “idolatry” of Wallace on the part of the Scottish people; or any consciousness in their minds, that they had one of “the greatest of heroes” among them.

Footnotes:

[82] That the name was, in his own day, _William Walays_, is a fact
concerning which there is no room for doubt. The _Scalachronica_
(recently printed by the Maitland Club of Glasgow), was written by
one who personally knew the Insurgent leader, and he always writes
the name _Walays_. Hemingford and Langtoft, two of the best English
historians of that day, always write it _Walays_. In the “Wallace
Documents,” printed by the Maitland Club, a Charter is given,
granted by the Insurgent leader himself, and there the name stands
_Walays_. A century later, Andrew Wyntoun, one of the earliest and
best of the Scottish historians, writing about A.D. 1420, always
speaks of _Walays_. Other writers, following the sound only, write
of _Walais_, or _Waleis_. But when many other names suffered
change—Botteville into Botfield, and De Moleyns into Mullins—Walays
also was corrupted into “Wallace.” So entirely has this corruption
rooted itself in our English literature, that we shall feel
compelled to yield to it, and shall use, in the following pages,
the customary name of “Wallace.”

[83] Lewis on “Roman History,” p. 16.

[84] Hemingford, Trivet, Matthew of Westminster, Wykes, Rishanger,
Langtoft, Knighton, the Chronicles of Lanercost, Rochester, St.
Alban’s, Abingdon, etc.

[85] Tytler’s History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 134.

[86] History of Scotland, vol. i., pp. 126, 127.

[87] Tytler’s Scottish Worthies, pp. 172, 184.

[88] Tytler’s Scottish Worthies, p. 186.

[89] “Wallace Documents,” p. 30.

[90] Chalmers’ Caledonia, vol. i., p. 659.

[91] Macfarlane’s History of England, vol. iv., p. 54.

[92] History of Scotland, vol. i., p. 72.

[93] Hist. of Scotland, vol. i., p. 142.

[94] A recent writer, Mr. Pearson, expresses a doubt whether
these acts of unusual cruelty are sufficiently established by
evidence. This incredulity is hardly reasonable. Several English
writers who lived at the time assert the facts; all Scottish
historians, Fordun, Wyntoun, Boece, and Blind Harry, confirm the
statement,—some in general, others in specific terms; and the
charges deliberately read to the prisoner in Westminster Hall, with
the sentence passed, surely may be regarded as leaving no room for
doubt.

[95] Tytler, Hist. Scotl., vol. i., p. 143.

[96] Ibid, p. 146.

[97] Selkirkshire, at the present, has about 9,800 people in the
whole county. In 1298 it probably had not 2,000.

[98] Cronykyl, viii. 13.

[99] Tytler, vol. i., p. 142-147.

[100] Tytler, vol. i., p. 163.

[101] Hume, chap. xiii.

X.

PROLONGATION OF TROUBLES IN SCOTLAND—PARLIAMENTARY DISCUSSIONS IN ENGLAND, A.D. 1299-1302.

The rebellion commenced by Wallace had now been crushed, and that leader had been consigned to the obscurity from which he only emerged to ascend the scaffold; but the pacification of Scotland did not immediately follow. Edward had lost much of the elasticity of youth; the bloody fields of Stirling and Falkirk, and the ravage of Cumberland, in 1297, were not likely to make either Scotchmen or Englishmen more placable or friendly; and the disturbing elements introduced into the question by France, by the Papacy, and by a few discontented men at home, postponed for several years the final settlement of this now re‐opened question. We speak of it as “re‐opened,” for it was not long before two of the greatest lords in Scotland, who had submitted themselves and done homage to Edward in 1296, actually craved and obtained an audience, that they might entreat him to restore John Baliol to the throne again!—thus resigning, without any cause, all the results of the toils and conflicts of the past four years. Of all men living, Edward was one of the last to whom so irrational a proposal could, with any hope of success, be made.

But although the king’s mind could not thus easily be changed, a real obstacle to a restored and settled peace had been created by the late rebellion. It had been shown that by bringing together a few thousand men, all the English found in country parts and in open towns could be slain or driven away, many castles surprised or captured, and thus the hold of England upon Scotland reduced to the occupation of a few strong places. It had been shown also by the campaign of 1298, that even a mighty army, encouraged by a great victory, might find itself unable to re‐establish peace in Scotland. Edward had marched through the land, had found no enemy, and yet, as his army was not what in modern times we call a “standing army,” he could only, when the autumn appeared, disband his forces, leaving the kingdom still unsubdued.

The “great lords” of Scotland could not fail to discern in all this some hope of yet “preserving their independence.” We now know from experience that such an independence as they preserved, leaving room for frequent wars between Scotland and England (in which Scotland gained one victory and suffered seven defeats), was equally injurious to both countries; but the Scottish leaders had no such experience. Nor could the principal leader among them regard the question without being sensible of a deep personal interest in it.[102] If Scotland remained a separate kingdom, and if the Baliol family, now in exile, were set aside, then the next heir would be John Comyn. It was impossible that this fact could ever be absent from the minds of the Comyn family, then the most potent family in Scotland, or that it could fail to exert an influence on all their movements and decisions. Accordingly we hear, in 1299 and 1300, of a regency set up in Scotland, of which Comyn and Soulis were the principal members, and of embassies sent to both the king of France and the Pope, to ask their aid against the aggressions of the English.

Nor was this the only difficulty in Edward’s path. The two great earls, Hereford and Norfolk, still led what we now term “a parliamentary opposition,” and Edward could not call his “lords and commons” together, without being certain of meeting them, prepared to advance fresh claims, objections, and propositions. Hume, and, following him, Hallam also, have, somewhat hastily, given to this opposition of the two earls the praise of “patriotism;” but surely it was patriotism of a very equivocal character.

The earl of Norfolk was the high marshal, and the earl of Hereford the high constable of England. Very naturally, therefore, the king had looked to these two potent peers for support in any just quarrel. Had not Philip of France, by his seizure of Gascony, a great and important province, done to England an unquestionable and grievous injury? Would England in the present day submit to such a fraud and wrong? Would not the nation exclaim with one voice that such an aggression must be repelled? How, then, can we regard with anything like approval the conduct of the two earls in refusing to assist their sovereign in this his dire extremity?

Refuse, however, they did; and not only so, they withstood and obstructed him in every stage of the controversy. And now, when the troubles in Scotland were not yet over, and the dispute with France was still undecided, the two earls attended every parliament, not to assist their sovereign, but to advance and urge against him new demands.

Hume, and, following him, several other historians, have represented Edward as striving to escape from the obligations of Magna Charta, and the two earls as “patriotically” insisting on its maintenance. Scarcely could misrepresentation be carried further than this.

From the very commencement of his reign, Edward, far from manifesting any desire to withdraw from the provisions of “Magna Charta,” had shown a willingness and a desire to go far beyond it. De Lolme justly remarks of that great document, that “it had only one article calculated for the interest of that body which was the most numerous in the kingdom.” It was, in fact, nothing more than an agreement between the great barons and the crown, for the future regulation of their respective rights and immunities. But Edward’s legislation, from the outset, had taken a far wider range. “The whole commonalty of the realm” was never absent from his thoughts. His statutes were made, and made most freely and voluntarily, “for the common weal, and for the remedy of all that were aggrieved.” In every statute passed in Edward’s reign, the purpose is manifest: not to evade or limit the operation of “Magna Charta,” but to go far beyond it.

What was the drift and meaning, then, of these contentions between the two earls and the king, which extended over three or four years, and which perplexed and harassed Edward during a very difficult period of his reign? It may be described in a very few words. Disliking the war with France in 1297, the earls withdrew themselves from any participation in it. But they wished also to withhold all aid either in money or in stores; and therefore they objected to the “prises and talliages” which the king’s officers had made. They desired “the charters” to be so confirmed and enlarged, as to deprive the king of the power of making “requisitions,” except under the express authority of parliament. Now, this limitation has been, doubtless, one of great value to the people, and for insisting upon it, the earls have been extolled as “patriots.” But if we reflect on the matter for a few moments, we shall see that the concession required of Edward was one which it might well seem difficult for him to make.