The Scottish Chiefs by Jane Porter (good romance books to read TXT) 📕

his side. Wallace's hand was upon the hilt of the dagger which the ungrateful De Valence had left in his breast. "You are wounded! you are slain!" cried Murray in a voice of consternation. Edwin stood motionless with horror.

"That dagger!" exclaimed Scrymgeour.

"Has done nothing," replied Wallace, "but let a little more blood." As he spoke he drew it out, and thrusting the corner of his scarf into his bosom, staunched the wound.

"So is your mercy rewarded!" exclaimed Kirkpatrick.

"So am I true to a soldier's duty," returned Wallace, "though De
Valence is a traitor to his!"

"You treated him as a man," replied Kirkpatrick, "but now you find him a treacherous fiend!"

"Your eagerness, my brave friend," returned Wallace, "has lost him as a prisoner. If not for humanity or honor, for policy's sake, we ought to have spared his life, and detained him as an hostage for our countrymen in England."

Kirkpatrick remembered how his violence had released the earl, and he looked down abashed. Wallace, perceiving it, continued, "But let us not abuse our time discoursing on a coward. He is gone, the fortress is ours, and our first measure must be to guard if from surprise."

As he spoke, his eyes fell upon Edwin, who, having recovered from the shock of Murray's exclamation, had brought forward the surgeon of their little band. A few minutes bound up the wounds of their chief, even while beckoning the anxious boy towards him. "Brave youth," cried he, "you, at the imminent risk of your own life, explored these heights, that you might render our ascent more sure; you who have fought like a young lion in this unequal contest! here, in the face of all your valiant comrades, receive that knighthood which rather derives luster from your virtues than gives additional consequence to your name."

With a bounding heart Edwin bent his knee, and Wallace giving him the hallowed accolade,** the young knight rose from his position with all the roses of his springing fame glowing in his countenance. Scrymgeour presented him the knightly girdle, which he unbraced from his own loins, and while the happy boy received the sword to which it was attached, he exclaimed, with animation, "While I follow the example before my eyes, I shall never draw this in an unjust cause, nor ever sheath it in a just one."

**Accolade, the three strokes of the sword given in knighting.

"Go, then," returned Wallace, smiling his approval of this sentiment, "while work is to be done I will keep my knight to the toil; go, and with twenty men of Lanark, guard the wall by which we ascended."

Edwin disappeared, and Wallace, having dispatched detachments to occupy other parts of the garrison, took a torch in his hand and, turning to Murray, proposed seeking the Earl of Mar. Lord Andrew was soon at the iron door which led from the hall to the principal stairs.

"We must have our friendly battering-ram here," cried he; "a close prisoner do they indeed keep my uncle when even the inner doors are bolted on him."

The men dragged the tree forward, and striking it against the iron, it burst open with the noise of thunder. Shrieks from within followed the sound. The women of Lady Mar, not knowing what to suppose during the uproar of the conflict, now hearing the door forced, expected nothing less than that some new enemies were advancing; and, giving themselves up to despair, they flew into the room where the countess sat in equal though less clamorous terror.

At the shouts of the Scots, when they began the attack, the earl had started from his couch. "That is not peace!" said he; "there is some surprise!"

"Alas, from whom?" returned Lady Mar; "who would venture to attack a fortress like this, garrisoned with thousands?"

The cry was repeated.

"It is the slogan of Sir William Wallace!" cried he; "I shall be free!
O, for a sword! Hear, hear!"

As the shouts redoubled, and, mingled with the various clangors of battle, drew nearer the tower, the impatience of the earl could not be restrained. Hope and eagerness seemed to have dried up his wounds and new-strung every nerve, while unarmed as he was, he rushed from the apartment, and hurried down the stairs which led to the iron door. He found it so firmly fastened by bars and padlocks, he could not move it. Again he ascended to his terrified wife, who, conscious how little obligation Wallace owed to her, perhaps dreaded even more to see her husband's hopes realized than to find herself yet more rigidly the prisoner of the haughty De Valence.

"Joanna!" cried he, "the arm of God is with us. My prayers are heard. Scotland will yet be free. Hear those groans—those shouts. Victory! victory!"

As he thus echoed the cry of triumph uttered by the Scots when bursting open the outer gate of the tower, the foundations of the building shook, and Lady Mar, almost insensible with terror, received the exhausted body of her husband into her arms; he fainted from the transport his weakened frame was unable to hear. Soon after this the stair-door was forced, and the panic-struck women ran shrieking into the room to their mistress.

The countess could not speak, but sat pale and motionless, supporting his head on her bosom. Guided by the noise, Lord Andrew flew into the room, and rushing toward his uncle, fell at his feet. "Liberty! Liberty!" was all he could say. His words pierced the ear of the earl like a voice from heaven, and looking up, without a word, he threw his arms round the neck of his nephew.

Tears relieved the contending feelings of the countess; and the women, recognizing the young Lord of Bothwell, retired into a distant corner, well assured they had now no cause for fear.

The earl rested but a moment on the panting breast of his nephew; when, gazing round, to seek the mighty leader of the band, he saw Wallace enter, with the step of security and triumph in his eyes.

"Ever my deliverer!" cried the venerable Mar, stretching forth his arms. The next instant he held Wallace to his breast; and remembering all that he had lost for his sake since they parted, a soldier's heart melted, and he burst into tears. "Wallace, my preserver; thou victim for Scotland, and for me—or rather, thou chosen of Heaven; who, by the sacrifice of all thou didst hold dear on earth, art made a blessing to thy country!-receive my thanks, and my heart."

Wallace felt all in his soul which the earl meant to imply; but recovered the calmed tone of his mind before he was released from the embrace of his friend; and when he raised him self, and replied to the acknowledgments of the countess, it was with a serene, though glowing countenance.

She, when she had glanced from the eager entrance and action of her nephew to the advancing hero, looked as Venus did when she beheld the god of war rise from a field of blood. She started at the appearance of Wallace; but it was not his garments dropping gore, nor the blood-stained falchion in his hand, that caused the new sensation; it was the figure breathing youth and manhood; it was the face, where every noble passion of the heart had stamped themselves on his perfect features; it was his air, where majesty and sweet entrancing grace mingled in manly union. They were all these that struck at once upon the sight of Lady Mar and made her exclaim within herself, "This is a wonder of man! This is the hero that is to humble Edward!-to bless—whom?" was her thought. "Oh, no woman! Let him be a creature enshrined and holy, for no female heart to dare to love!"

This passed through the mind of the countess in less time than it has been repeated, and when she saw him clasped in her husband's arms, she exclaimed to herself, "Helen, thou wert right; thy gratitude was prophetic of a matchless object, while I, wretch that I was, even whispered the wish to my traitorous heart, while I gave information against my husband, that this man, the cause of all, might be secured or slain!"

Just as the last idea struck her, Wallace rose from the embrace of his venerable friend and met the riveted eye of the countess. She stammered forth a few expressions of obligation; he attributed her confusion to the surprise of the moment, and, replying to her respectfully, turned again to the earl.

The joy of the venerable chief was unbounded, when he found that a handful of Scots had put two thousand Southrons to flight, and gained entire possession of the castle. Wallace, having satisfied the anxious questions of his noble auditor, gladly perceived the morning light. He rose from his seat. "I shall take a temporary leave of you, my lord," said he to the earl; "I must now visit my brave comrades at their posts, and see the colors of Scotland planted on the citadel."

Chapter XXIV.

The Great Tower.

When Wallace withdrew, Lady Mar, who had detained Murray, whispered to him, while a blush stained her cheek, that she should like to be present at the planting of the standard. Lord Mar declared his willingness to accompany her to the spot, and added, "I can be supported thither by the arm of Andrew." Murray hesitated. "It will be impossible for my aunt to go; the hall below, and the ground before the tower, are covered with slain."

"Let them be cleared away!" cried she; "for I cannot consent to be deprived of a spectacle so honorable to my country."

Murray regarded the pitiless indifference with which she gave this order with amazement. "To do that, madam," said he, "is beyond my power; the whole ceremony of the colors would be completed long before I could clear the earth of half its bleeding load. I will seek a passage for you by some other way."

Before the earl could make a remark, Murray had disappeared; and after exploring the lower part of the tower in unavailing search for a way, he met Sir Roger Kirkpatrick issuing from a small door, which, being in shadow, he had hitherto overlooked. It led through the ballium, to the platform before the citadel. Lord Andrew returned to his uncle and aunt, and informing them of this discovery, gave his arm to Lord Mar, while Kirkpatrick led forward the agitated countess. At this moment the sun rose behind the purple summit of Ben Lomond.

When they approached the citadel, Wallace and Sir Alexander Scrymgeour had just gained its summit. The standard of Edward was yet flying. Wallace looked at it for a moment; then laying his hand on the staff, "Down, thou red dragon," cried he, "and learn to bow before the Giver of all victory!" Even while speaking, he rent it from the roof; and casting it over the battlements, planted the lion of Scotland in its stead.

As its vast evolvements floated on the air, the cry of triumph, the loud clarion of honest triumph, burst from every heart, horn, and trumpet below. It was a shout that pierced the skies, and entered the soul of Wallace with a bliss which seemed a promise of immortality.

"O God!" cried he, still grasping the staff, and looking up to heaven; "we got not this in possession through our own might, but thy right hand and the light of thy countenance overthrew the enemy! Thine the conquest, thine the glory!"

"Thus we consecrate the day to thee, Power of Heaven!" rejoined Scrymgeour. "And let this standard be thine own; and whithersoever we bear it, may we ever find it as the ark of our God!"

Wallace, feeling as if no eye looked on them but that of Heaven, dropped on his knee; and rising again, took Sir Alexander by the hand; "My brave friend," said he, "we have here planted the tree of freedom in Scotland. Should I die in its defense, swear to bury me under its branches; swear that no enslaved grounds shall cover my remains."

"I swear," cried Scrymgeour, laying his crossed hands upon the arm of Wallace; "I swear with a double vow; by the blood of my brave ancestors, whose valor gave me the name I bear; by the cross of St. Andrew; and by your valiant self, never to sheath my sword,