Part 36 (1/2)

”Then onward!” cried Montgomery; and, spurring his steed, he led the way to the bridge; his eager soldiers followed, and the whole of his center ranks pa.s.sed over. The flanks advanced, and the bridge, from end to end, was filled with archers, cavalry, men-at-arms, and war-carriages. Cressingham, in the midst, was hallooing in proud triumph to those who occupied the rear of the straining beams, when the blast of a trumpet sounded from the till now silent and immovable Scottish phalanx. It was re-echoed by shouts from behind the pa.s.sing enemy, and in that moment the supporting piers of the bridge** were pulled away, and the whole of its mailed throng was precipitated into the stream.

**This historical fact relating to the bridge is yet exultantly repeated on the spot, and the number of the Southrons who fell beneath the arms of so small a band of Scots, is not less the theme of triumph.-(1809.)

The cries of the maimed and the drowning were joined by the terrific slogan of two bands of Scots. The one with Wallace toward the head of the river, while the other, under the command of Sir John Graham, rushed from its ambuscade on the opposite bank upon the rear of the dismayed troops; and both divisions sweeping all before them, drove those who fought on land into the river, and those who had just escaped the flood, to meet its waves again, a bleeding host.

In the midst of this conflict, which rather seemed a carnage than a battle, Kirkpatrick, having heard the proud shouts of Cressingham on the bridge, now sought him amidst its shattered timbers. With the ferocity of a tiger hunting its prey, he ran from man to man, and as the struggling wretches emerged from the water, he plucked them from the surge; but even while his glaring eye-b.a.l.l.s and uplifted ax threatened destruction, he only looked on them; and with imprecations of disapointment, rushed forward on his chase. Almost in despair that the waves had cheated his revenge, he was hurrying on in another direction, when he perceived a body moving through a hollow on his right. He turned, and saw the object of his search crawling amongst the mud and sedges.

”Ha!” cried Kirkpatrick, with a triumphant yell, ”art thou yet mine?

d.a.m.ned, d.a.m.ned villain!” cried he, springing upon his breast: ”Behold the man you dishonored!-behold the hot cheek your dastard hand defiled!

Thy blood shall obliterate the stain; and then Kirkpatrick may again front the proudest in Scotland!”

”For mercy!” cried the horror-struck Cressingham, struggling with preternatural strength to extricate himself.

”h.e.l.l would be my portion did I grant any to thee,” cried Kirkpatrick; and with one stroke of the ax he severed the head from its body. ”I am a man again!” shouted he, as he held its bleeding veins in his hand, and placed it on the point of his sword. ”Thou ruthless priest of Moloch and of Mammon, thou shalt have thine own blood to drink, while I show my general how proudly I am avenged!” As he spoke, he dashed amongst the victorious ranks, and reached Wallace at the very moment he was freeing himself from his fallen horse, which a random arrow had shot under him. Murray, at the same instant, was bringing up the wounded Montgomery, who came to surrender his sword, and to beg quarter for his men. The earl turned deadly pale; for the first object that struck his sight was the fierce knight of Torthorald, walking under the stream of blood which continued to flow from the ghastly head of Cressingham, as he held it exultingly in the air.

”If that be your chief,” cried Montgomery, ”I have mistaken him much--I cannot yield my sword to him.”

Murray understood him: ”If cruelty be an evil spirit,” returned he, ”it has fled every breast in this army to shelter with Sir Roger Kirkpatrick; and its name is Legion! That is my chief!” added he, pointing to Wallace, with an evident consciousness of deriving honor from his command. The chief rose from the ground dyed in the same ensanguined hue which had excited the abhorrence of Montgomery, though it had been drawn from his own veins, and those of his horse. All, indeed, of blood about him seemed to be on his garment; none was in his eyes, none in his heart but what warmed it to mercy and to benevolence for all mankind. His eyes momentarily fell on the approaching figure of Kirkpatrick, who, waving the head in the air, blew from his bugle the triumphal notes of the Pryse, and then cried to his chief: ”I have slain the wolf of Scotland! My brave clansmen are now casing my target with his skin,** which, when I strike its bossy sides, will cry aloud.

So, perishes thy dishonor! So perish all the enemies of Scotland!”

**It is recorded that the memory of Cressingham was so odious to the Scots, they did indeed flay his dead body, and made saddles and girths and other things of his skin.-(1809.)

”And with the extinction of that breath, Kirkpatrick,” cried Wallace, looking serenely from the head to him, ”let your fell revenge perish also. For your own honor commit no indignities on the body you have slain.”

”'Tis for you to conquer like a G.o.d!” cried Kirkpatrick; ”I have felt as a man, and like a man I revenge. This head shall destroy in death; it shall vanquish its friends for me; for I will wear it like a Gorgon on my sword, to turn to stone every Southron who looks on it.” While speaking, he disappeared amongst the thickening ranks; and as the victorious Scots hailed him in pa.s.sing, Montgomery, thinking of his peris.h.i.+ng men, suffered Murray to lead him to the scene of his humility.

The ever-comprehensive eye of Wallace perceived him as he advanced; and guessing by his armor and dignified demeanor who he was, with a n.o.ble grace he raised his helmed bonnet from his head when the earl approached him. Montgomery looked on him; he felt his soul, even more than his arms, subdued; but still there was something about a soldier's heart that shrunk from yielding his power of resistance. The blood mounted into his before pale cheeks; he held out his sword in silence to the victor; for he could not bring his tongue to p.r.o.nounce the word ”surrender.”

Wallace understood the sign, and holding up his hand to a herald, the trumpet of peace was raised. It sounded--and where, the moment before, were the horrid clas.h.i.+ng of arms, the yell of savage conquest, and direful cries for mercy, all was hushed as death. Not that death which had pa.s.sed, but that which is approaching.--None spoke, not a sound was heard, but the low groans of the dying, who lay, overwhelmed and peris.h.i.+ng, beneath the bodies of the slain, and the feet of the living.

The voice of Wallace rose from this awful pause. Its sound was ever the harbinger of glory, or of ”good will to men.” ”Soldiers!” cried he, ”G.o.d has given victory--let us show our grat.i.tude by moderation and mercy. Gather the wounded into quarters and bury the dead.”

Wallace then turned to the extended sword of the earl; he put it gently back with his hand: ”Ever wear what you honor,” said he; ”but, gallant Montgomery, when you draw it next, let it be in a better cause. Learn, brave earl, to discriminate between a warrior's glory and his shame; between the defender of his country, and the unprovoked ravager of other lands.”

Montgomery blushed scarlet at these words; but it was not with resentment. He looked down for a moment: ”Ah!” thought he, ”perhaps I ought never to have drawn it here!” Then raising his eyes to Wallace, he said: ”Were you not the enemy of my king, who, though a conqueror, sanctions none of the cruelties that have been committed in his name, I would give you my hand, before the remnant of his brave troops, whose lives you grant. But you have my heart: a heart that knows no difference between friend or foe, when the bonds of virtue would unite what only civil dissensions hold separate.”

”Had your king possessed the virtues you believe he does,” replied Wallace, ”my sword might have now been a pruning-hook. But that is past! We are in arms for injuries received, and to drive out a tyrant.

For believe me, n.o.ble Montgomery, that monarch has little pretensions to virtue, who suffers the oppressors of his people, or of his conquests, to go unpunished. To connive at cruelty, is to practice it.

And has Edward ever frowned on one of those despots, who, in his name, have for these two years past laid Scotland in blood and ashes?”

The appeal was too strong for Montgomery to answer; he felt its truth, and bowed, with an expression in his face that told more than, as a subject of England, he dared declare.

The late respectful silence was turned into the clamorous activity of eager obedience. The prisoners were conducted to the rear of Stirling; while the major part of the Scots (leaving a detachment to unburden the earth of its bleeding load), returned in front to the gates, just as De Warenne's division appeared on the horizon, like a moving cloud gilded by the now setting sun. At this sight Wallace sent Edwin into the town with Lord Montgomery, and marshaling his line, prepared to bear down upon the approaching earl.

But the lord warden had received information which fought better for the Scots than a host of swords. When advanced a very little onward on the Ca.r.s.e of Stirling, one of his scouts brought intelligence that having approached the south side of the Forth, he had seen that river floating with dead bodies; and soon after met Southron horns blowing the notes of victory. From what he learned from the fugitives, he also informed his lord, ”that not only the town and citadel of Stirling were in the possession of Sir William Wallace, but the two detachments under Montgomery and Hilton had both been discomfited, and their leaders slain or taken.”

At this intelligence, Earl de Warenne stood aghast; and while he was still doubting that such disgrace to King Edward's arms could be possible, two or three fugitives came up, and witnessed to its truth.