Part 22 (1/2)

And so, taking courage, they set out in the darkness, and attacked the town, and took it with great slaughter.

”In such afray they bode that night Till in the morn, that day was bright, And then ceased partly The noise, the slaughter, and the cry.”

Thus once again the fierce struggle was begun. But this time the Bruce was successful. From town after town, from castle after castle the enemy was driven out, till only Stirling was left to the English. It was near this town, on the field of Bannockburn, that the last great struggle took place. Brave King Edward I was dead by this time, but his son, Edward II, led the army. It was the greatest army that had ever entered Scotland, but the Scots won the day and won freedom at the same time. I cannot tell you of this great battle, nor of all the adventures which led up to it. These you must read in other books, one day, I hope, in Barbour's Bruce itself.

From the day of Bannockburn, Barbour tells us, Robert the Bruce grew great.

”His men were rich, and his country Abounded well with corn and cattle, And of all kind other richness; Mirth, solace, and eke blithness Was in the land all commonly, For ilk man blith was and jolly.”

And here Barbour ends the first part of his poem. In the second part he goes on to tell us of how the Bruces carried war into Ireland, of how they overran Northumberland, and of how at length true peace was made. Then King Robert's little son David, who was but five, was married to Joan, the seven-year-old sister of King Edward III. Thus, after war, came rest and ease to both countries.

But King Robert did not live long to enjoy his well-earned rest.

He died, and all the land was filled with mourning and sorrow.

”'All our defense,' they said, 'alas!

And he that all our comfort was, Our wit and all our governing, Is brought, alas, here to ending; . . . . .

Alas! what shall we do or say?

For in life while he lasted, aye By all our foes dred were we, And in many a far country Of our wors.h.i.+p ran the renown, And that was all for his person.'”

Barbour ends his book by telling of how the Douglas set out to carry the heart of the Bruce to Palestine, and of how he fell fighting in Spain, and of how his dead body and the King's heart were brought back to Scotland.

Barbour was born about six years after the battle of Bannockburn.

As a boy he must have heard many stories of these stirring times from those who had taken part in them. He must have known many a woman who had lost husband or father in the great struggle. He may even have met King Robert himself. And as a boy he must have shared in the sorrow that fell upon the land when its hero died.

He must have remembered, when he grew up, how the people mourned when the dead body of the Douglas and the heart of the gallant Bruce were brought home from Spain. But in spite of Barbour's prayer to be kept from saying ”ought but soothfast thing,” we must not take The Bruce too seriously. If King Robert was a true King he was also a true hero of romance. We must not take all The Bruce as serious history, but while allowing for the truth of much, we must also allow something for the poet's wors.h.i.+p of his hero, a hero, too, who lived so near the time in which he wrote.

We must allow something for the feelings of a poet who so pa.s.sionately loved the freedom for which that hero fought.

BOOKS TO READ

There is, so far as I know, no modernized version of The Bruce, but there are many books ill.u.s.trative of the text. In this connection may be read Robert the Bruce (Children's heroes Series), by Jeannie Lang; Chapters XXIV to XLIV. Scotland's Story, by H. E. Marshall; The Lord of the Isles, by Sir Walter Scott; Castle Dangerous, by Sir Walter Scott; ”The Heart of the Bruce” in Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers, by Aytoun. The most available version of The Bruce in old ”Inglis,” edited by W. M.

Mackenzie.

Chapter XXVIII A POET KING

The Bruce is a book which is the outcome of the history of the times. It is the outcome of the quarrels between England and Scotland, and of Scotland's struggle for freedom. Now we come to another poet, and another poem which was the outcome of the quarrels between England and Scotland. For although Scotland's freedom was never again in danger, the quarrels between the two countries were, unhappily, not over.

In 1399, as we know, Henry IV wrested the crown of England from Richard II. The new King proved no friend to Scotland, for he desired, as those before him had desired, to rule both countries.

Henry lost no chance, therefore, by which he might gain his end.

So when in 1405 the King of Scotland sent his little son James to be educated in France, the English attacked the s.h.i.+p in which he sailed and took him prisoner. Instead, then, of going as a guest to the court of France, the Prince was carried as a prisoner to the court of England. When the old King heard the sad news he died, and James, captive though he was, became King of Scotland.

Those were again troublous times in Scotland. The captive King's uncle was chosen as Regent to rule in his absence. But he, wis.h.i.+ng to rule himself, had no desire that his nephew should be set free. So through the reigns of Henry IV and of Henry V James remained a prisoner. But although a prisoner he was not harshly treated, and the Kings of England took care that he should receive an education worthy of a prince. James was taught to read and write English, French, and Latin. He was taught to fence and wrestle, and indeed to do everything as a knight should. Prince James was a willing pupil; he loved his books, and looked forward to the coming of his teachers, who lightened the loneliness of his prison.

”But,” says a Frenchman who has written a beautiful little book about this captive King, ”'stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage': the soul of the child, who grew to be a youth, was never a prisoner. Behind the thick walls of the Tower, built long ago by the Conqueror, he studied. Guards watched over him, but his spirit was far away voyaging in the realms of poetry.

And in these thought journeys, sitting at his little window, with a big book upon his knee, he visited the famous places which the Gesta Romanorum unrolled before him. . . . The 'n.o.ble senator'