The Scottish Chiefs, etc

Front matter

" ' Wallace ! '— ' Bruce ! ' "—P. 361. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS BY MISS JANE PORTER AUTHORESS OF ' THADDEUS OF WARSAW ' ' THE PASTOR'S FIRESIDE ' ETC. 1 There omti a voice that awakes my soul. It is the voice of years that arc gone ; they roll before me with iheir deeds.*— Ossian. COMPLETE EDIT/ON London george routledge and sons Broadway, Ludgate Hill NEW YORK; 416 BROOME STREET JANE PORTER'S NOVELS. In crown Svo., cloth gilt, y. 6d. each. With Illustrations. THE SCOTTISH CHIEFS. THADDEUS OF WARSAW. THE PASTOR'S FIRESIDE.

Preface

. To paint the portrait of one of the most complete heroes that ever filled the page of history, may be a bold, though I hope not a vain design. The contemplation of virtue is an improving, as well as a delightful employment ; and however inadequate this picture may be to represent its original — William Wallace of Scotland — yet, that it is a copy of such excellence, will be merit in the eyes of those who so love virtue as to venerate its shade. I have spared no pains in consulting almost every writing extant which treats of the sister kingdoms during the period of my narra tive. It would be tedious to swell this page with a list of these authorities ; but all who are intimate with our old British his torians must perceive, on reading the ' Scottish Chiefs,' that in the sketch which history would have laid down for the biography of my principal hero, I have made no addition, excepting where, time having made some erasure, a stroke was necessary to fill the space and unite the outline.

Tradition has been a great assistance to me in this respect. And for much valuable information on the sub ject, I am indebted to the bard oj Hope, my friend Mr. Thomas Campbell ; he who has so nobly mingled the poet's bays with the laurels of his clan. While tracing the characters of my personages in the Scottish annals, it was with infinite pleasure I recognised those virtues in the fathers which had attached me to their posterity. Delighted with this most dear proof of kindred, I have fondly lingered over my work ; re-enjoying, in its visionary scenes, hours fled to heaven. I have again discoursed, and mingled my soul, with friends whose nobility of spirit honoured the illustrious stems from which they sprang ; but, like the blossomed bough torn from its branch, they are gone, and spread fragrance in my path no more.

It is now too common to contemn as nonsense even an honest pride in ancestry. But where is the Englishman who is not proud of being the countryman of Nelson ? Where the British sailor that does not thirst to emulate his fame ? Where the worthy citizen who does not respect himself in the honourable memories of Wil liam Walworth and Sir Thomas Gresham? fKEFACE. If this sentiment be right, respect for noble progenitors cannot be wrong, for it proceeds from the same source — the principle of kindred, of inheritance, and of virtue. Let the race of Douglas, or the brave line of the Percy, bear witness whether the name they hold be not as a mirror to show them what they ought to be, and to kindle in their hearts the flame which burnt in their fathers. Happy is it for this realm that the destiny which now unites the once contending arms of those brave families has also consolidated their rival nations into one, and by planting the heir of Plantagenet and of Bruce upon one throne, hath redeemed the peace of Britain, and fixed it on lasting foundations.

From the nature of my story, more agents have been used in its conduct than I should have adopted had it been a work of mere imagination. But very few persons wholly imaginary have been introduced ; and wishing to keep as near historical truth as couid be consistent with my plan, no intentional injustice has been committed against the characters of the individuals who were real actors with the chief hero of the tale. The melancholy circumstance which first excited him to draw his sword for Scotland, though it may be thought too much like the creation of modern romance, is recorded as a fact in the old poem of ' Blind Harrie.' Other private events have been interwoven with the public subjects of the^e volumes, that the monotony of a continued series of warlike a:hievements might in some measure be lessened.

Some notes are added, to confirm the historical incidents ; but finding that were they all marked, such a plan would swell each volume beyond its proper size ; in one word, I assure the reader, that I seldom lead him to any spot in Scotland whither some written or oral testimony respecting.my hero had not previously conducted myself. In the same spirit, being careful to keep to the line of chronologv, I have not strayed from it in any instance, until my chief personages return from France ; and then, my history being intended to°be within the bounds of modern romance rather tlian measured by the folios of Scudery, I found myself obliged to take some liberties with time and circumstance ; for both of which offences, and par ticularly for the management of mv catastrophe, I hope the his torical, if he be also a gentle reader, will find no difficulty in forgiving me. J. P.

PREFACE.

TO A SUBSEQUENT EDITION, In dismissing this edition of the ' Scottish Chiefs ' from the press, after so many of its predecessors, its author will not deny herself the genuine pleasure of expressing her grateful sense of the can dour with which so adventurous a work from a female pen has been generally received. That among these liberal approvers are the people of her hero's nation — the country in which she first drew the aliments of her intellectual life — cannot but afford a peculiar gratification to her heart ; and she expresses her delight on this occasion with the feelings of a child rejoicing in the approbation of indulgent parents ; for England, the land of her birth, has not been less kind in its reception. While thus fondly recording the favourable sentiments of her own country, she has the satisfaction of adding similar suffrages from foreign lands ; while, indeed, the immediate result from such an approval in one of those lands was quite unexpected by her — giving her the honour of sharing the distinction of a literary banishment along with the great name of Madame de Stael.

The 'Scottish Chiefs' was translated into the languages of the Continent. She received from Vienna, Berlin, Wirtemberg, Petersburgh, and Moscow, and even far distant India, letters of generous criticism from persons of the highest names in rank and literature. But when the work was ready for publication in France, it was de nounced by the order of Napoleon, as dangerous to the state, and commanded to be withheld or destroyed. The widow of the brave and unfortunate General Moreau was the first that mentioned this prohibition to the writer. There are many interesting events connected in the author's mind with that communication. It was made to her in the morning of a most remarkable day ; for a very few hours after Madame Moreau had been talking with her, and the young and lovely widow's full heart had drawn a sad parallel between her own lost hero and those commemorated by her friend, the author saw her on the platform of the balcony of the Pulteney Hotel, to witness, along with the imperial family of Russia^ thep resident there, the VI

PREFACE.

. public entry into London of Louis XVIII. on his restoration as King of France. The writer of this recollection, though she had not the honour of being on the same balcony, was so situated as to be able to observe all that passed there. The Grand-Duchess Catharine of Russia,, and the Princess Charlotte of England, stood together, after having embraced each other on their meet ing, amidst the welcoming shouts of the throng of people in the street. Both were simply but elegantly dressed ; both were in the bloom of youth, and full of joyous gaiety. Near them stood another Russian princess, also in the summer of her life, and equally animated. On the opposite side of the balcony sat our true British princess, Elizabeth, looking all kind-hearted glad someness for the happy pageant about to pass.

The Duke of Oldenberg, a pretty child, the son of the young grand-duchess, was on her royal highness's knee. Madame Moreau, in her deep widow's weeds, stood not far from her, leaning against the balus trade. When the procession came forward, and the open'carriage which contained Louis stopped an instant under the balcony to ieceive the gratulations of the imperial and royal party above, all waved their handkerchiefs ; the grand-duchess and the Princess Charlotte kissing their hands to the gratefully bowing head of the Duchess d'Angouleme, whose pale cheek and emaciated form bore too evident marks of her trying destiny up to that hour. She smiled — all smiled excepting the recently desolated widow of Moreau ; and she indeed leaned over the railing towards the carriage, and waved her white handkerchief too ; but the writer of this saw the heavy tears rolling down her cheeks in actual showers, and fall upon the top of the balustrade in large drops, leaving it wet with them.

But a sadder memorial hangs over that scene. In the course of a very few years afterwards, not one of those young and blooming persons, royal and noble, who stood there, the hope and admiration of many loyal and attached hearts, was existing on this earth ! The Grand-Duchess Catherine died at Wirtemberg, then its queen ; the other Russian princess followed the same early call at St. Petersburgh. Madame Moreau closed her widowed sorrows at Paris ; and our own Princess Charlotte — all England knows how it lost her. Even the boy Duke of Oldenberg is no more ! And the sole remaining one who looked in that extraordinary moment from that balcony, filled with youth and beauty, and tenderly beating hearts, is our Princess Elizabeth, the most senior of them all, who, after becoming the Landgravine of Hesse Homburg, has herself returned a widow to her country, which is indeed happy to receive back the honoured mourner.

But the awful events ended not there ; the royal object of that great day's pageant is himself gone to another world ; and the Duchess d'Angouleme, again driven from the throne of her ancestors, hag

PREFACE.

. VII once more become a hopeless exile ! Thus then is it proved that death and sorrow know no respect of persons. Madame Moreau's information had gone further to me than communicating the interdiction of this work by the Emperor Napoleon. She told me of its immediate publication in Paris on the recall of the Bourbons ; and soon after receiving a copy from France, I found the translator's account of the prohibition in his preface. It seems hardly credible that the same victor, who when he came forward (with pretensions at least) to redeem Poland to independence, quoted the words of her hero Sobieski, by way of a noble excitement, should, not many years afterwards, put an inter dict on the very same sentiments, when expressed by the ' Scottish Chiefs,' in his own empire of France. But the difference in his language may be read in his relative circumstances.

He wished, as a pretended umpire and benefactor, to impose his last ing sceptre on the one people, and to hold in unreflecting subjection the other. We know that with conquerors, who usually fight for power rather than justice, the use of certain sentiments springs more from expediency than principle. Real principle is proved in the result ; a true patriot establishes the liberty of his country without infringing on the rights of others ; a pretender first founds a despotic empire over his own countrymen, and then leads them to put similar chains on their neighbours. To draw the line between such characters, to place high chivalric loyalty and the spirit of patriotic freedom on just prin ciples, whether in the breast of prince or peasant, the writer of this tale has studied the page of many a history — has studied the lesson in many a noble heart.

With humility as to the execution of her task, but with due confidence in its matter and object, she proceeded from ' Thaddeus of Warsaw' to ' The Scottish Chiefs.' And so would do henceforward on whatever ground she might take her stand to labour in the cause. Sir Philip Sidney, a true hero of her own country, early gave her this text, " Let who may make the laws of a people, allow me to write their ballads and I'll guide them at my will !' What ballads were to the sixteenth century, romances are to ours, — the constant companions of young people's leisure hours ; biassing them to virtue or misleading them to vice. And to inspire the most susceptible period of man's existence, his youth, with the principles which are to be his future staff, and their effects his ' exceeding great reward,' is the motive of my pen.

Hence, in proportion to the great view of the aim must be the satisfaction derived, when the approbation of the wise and of the good has pronounced the attempt not unworthy its intention. J. P. CONTENTS. PAGE

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Chapter I. Scotland

Bright was the summer of 1295. The war which had desolated Scot land was then at an end. Ambition seemed satiated ; and the vanquished, after having passed under the yoke of their enemy, concluded they might wear their chains in peace. Such were the hopes of those Scottish noble men who, early in the preceding spring, had signed the bond of submission to a ruthless conqueror, purchasing life at the price of all that makes life estimable, — liberty and honour. Prior to this act of vassalage, Edward I., king of England, had entered Scotland at the head of an immense army. He seized Berwick by strata gem ; laid the countiy in ashes ; and, on the field of Dunbar, forced the Scottish king and his nobles to acknowledge him their liege lord. But while the courts of Edward, or of his representatives, were crowded by the humbled Scots, the spirit of one brave man remained unsubdued.

Disgusted alike at the facility with which the sovereign of a warlike nation could resign his people and his crown into the hands of a treacherous in vader, and at the pusillanimity of the nobles who had ratified the sacri fice, William Wallace retired to the glen of Ellerslie. Withdrawn from the world, he hoped to avoid the sight of oppressions he could not redress, and the endurace of injuries beyond his power to avenge. Thus checked at the opening of life in the career of glory that was his passion, — secluded in the bloom of manhood from the social haunts of men, — he repressed ihe ea^er aspirations of his mind, and si rove to acquire that res gnation to inevitable evils which alone could reconcile him to fo.e go the promises of his youth, and enable him to view with patience a humiliation of Scotland which blighted her honour, menaced her existence, and consigned her sons to degredation or obscurity.

The latter was the choice of Wallace. Too noble to bend his spirit to the usurper, too honest to affect submission, he resigned himself to the only wny left of maintaining the independence of a true Scot ; and giving up the world at once, all the ambitions of youth became extinguished in his breast, since nothing was preserved in his country to sanctify their fires, Scotland seemed proud of her chains. Not to share in such debasement, appeared all that was now in his power ; and within the shades of Ellershe he found a retreat and a home, whose sweets, beguiling him of ever)' care, made him sometimes forget the wrongs of his country in the tranquil enjoyments of wedded love. During the happy months of the preceding autumn, while Scotland was yet free, and the path of honourable distinction still open before her young nobility, Wallace married Marion Braidfoot, the beautiful heiress of Lammington.

Nearly of the same age, and brought up from childhood together, reciprocal affection had grown with their growth ; and sympathy of taste and virtues, and mutual tenderness, made them so entirely one, that when at the age of twenty-two the enraptured lover was allowed to pledge that faith publicly at the altar, which he had so often vowed in secret to his Marion, he clasped her to his heart, and softly whispered,— ' Dearer than life ! part of my being 1 blessed is this union that mingles thy soul with mine, now, and for ever !' Edward's invasion of Scotland broke in upon their innocent joys. Wallace threw aside the wedding garment for the cuirass and the sword. But he was not permitted long to use either : — Scotland submitted to her enemies ; and he had no alternative but to bow to her oppressors, or to become an exile from man, amid the deep glens of his country.

The tower of Ellerslie was henceforth the lonely abode of himself and his bride. The neighbouring nobles avoided him, because the principles he declared were a tacit reproach on their proceedings ; and in the course of a short time, as he forbore to seek them, they even forgot that he was in existence. Indeed, all occasions of mixing with society he now rejected. The hunting-spear with which he had delighted to follow the dying roebuck from glade to glade, the arrows with which he used to bring down the heavy ptarmigan or the towering eagle, all were laid aside. Scottish liberty was no more ; and Wallace would have blushed to have shown himself to the free-born deer of his native hills, in communion of sports with the spoilers of his country. Had he pursued his once favourite exercises, he must have mingled with the English, now garrisoned in every town, and who passed their hours of leisure in the chase.

Being resigned to bury his youth — since -its strength could no longer be serviceable to his country, — books, his harp, and the sweet converse of his tenler Marion, became the occupations of his days. Ellerslie was his hermitage ; and there, closed from the world, with an angel his companion, he might have forgotten Edward was lord in Scotland, had not that which was without his little paradise made a way to its gates, and showed him the slavery of the nobles and the wretchedness of the people. In these cases, his generous hand gave succour where it could not bring redress. Those whom the lawless plunderer had driven from their houses or stripped of their covering, found shelter, clothing and food at the house of Sir William Wallace. Ellerslie was the refuge of the friendless, and the comfort of the un happy.

Wherever Lady Wallace moved, whether looking out from her window on the accidental passenger, or taking her morning or moonlight walks through the glen, leaning on the arm of her husband, — she had the rapture of hearing his steps greeted and followed by the blessing of the poor destitute, and the prayers of them who were ready to perish. It was then that this happy woman would raise her husband's hand to her lips SCOTLAND. 15 and, in silent adoration, thank God for blessing her with a being made so truly in His own image. Several months of this blissful and uninterrupted solitude had elapsed, when Lady Wallace saw a chieftain at her gate. He inquired for its master — requested a private conference — and retired with him into a remote room. They remained together for an hour. Wallace then came forth, and ordering his horse, with four followers, to be in readiness, said he meant to accompany his guest to Douglas Castle.

When he embraced his wife at parting, he told her that as Douglas was only a few miles distant, he should be at home again before the moon rose. She passed the tedious hours of his absence with tranquillity, till the appointed signal of his return appeared from behind the summits of the opposite mountains. So bright were its beams, that Marion did not need any other light to show her the stealing sands of her hour-glass, as they numbered the prolonged hours of her husband's stay. She dismissed her servants to their rest; all, excepting Ilalbert, the grey-haired harper of Wallace ; and he, like herself, was too unaccustomed to the absence of his master to find sleep visit his eyes while Ellerslie was bereft of its joy and its guard. As the night advanced, Lady Wallace sat in the window of her bed chamber, which looked towards the west.

She watched the winding pathway that led from Lanark down the opposite heights, eager to catch a glimpse of the waving plumes of her husband when he should emerge from behind the hill, and pass under the thicket which overhung the road. How often, as a cloud obscured for an instant the moon's light, and threw a transitory shade across the path, did her heart bound with the thought that her watching was at an end ! It was he whom she had seen start from the abrupt rock ! They were the folds of his tartan that darkened the white cliff ! But the moon again rolled through her train of clouds, and threw her light around. Where then was her Wallace ? Alas ! it was only a shadow she had seen ! the hill was still lonely, and he whom she sought was still far away ! Overcome with watching, ex pectation, and disappointment, unable to say whence arose her fears, she sat down again to look ; but her eyes were blinded with tears, and in a voice interrupted by sighs she exclaimed, ' Not yet, not yet ! — Ah my Wallace, what evil hath betided thee ?' Trembling with a nameless terror, she knew not what to dread.

She believed that all hostile rencontres had ceased, when Scotland no longer contended with Edward. The nobles, without remonstrance, had sur rendered their castles into the hands of the usurper ; and the peasantry, following the example of their lords, had allowed their homes to be ravaged without lifting an arm in their defence. Opposition being over, nothing could then threaten her husband from the enemy : and was not the person who had taken him from. Ellerslie a friend ? Before Wallace's departure he had spoken to Marion alone ; he told hir that the stranger was Sir John Monteith, the 'youngest son of the brave Walter Lord Monteith,* who had been treacherously put to death by ihc English in the early part of the foregoing year. This young man was ue- * Walter Stewart, the father of Sir John Monteith, assumed the name and earldom of Monteith in right of his wife, the daughter and heiress of the preceding earl.

When his wife died, he married an Englishwoman of rank, who, finding him ardently attached to the liberties of his country, cut him off by poison, and was rewarded by the enemies of Scotland for this murder with the hand of a British nobleman. — (1809.) queathed by his dying father to the particular charge of his friend William Lord Douglas, at that time governor of Berwick. After the fall of that place and the captivity of its defender, Sir John Monteith had retired to Douglas Castle, in the vicinity of Lanark, and was now the sole master of that princely residence ; James Douglas, the only son of its veteran lord,' being still at Paris, whither he had been despatched, before the defeat at Dunbar, to negotiate a league between the French monarch and the then king of Scots. Informed of the privacy in which Wallace wished to live, Monteith had never ventured to disturb it until this day ; but knowing the steady honour of his old school-companion, he came to entreat him, by the respect he entertained for the brave Douglas, and by his love fur his country, that he would not refuse to accompany him to the brave exile's castle. ' I have a secret to disclose to you,' said he, ' which cannot be divulged on any oilier spot.' Unwilling to deny so small a favour, Wallace, as his been said before, consented ; and accordingly was conducted by Monteith towards Douglas.

While descending the heights which led to the castle, Monteith kept a profound silence ; and when crossing the drawbridge towards it, he put his finger to his lips, in token to the servants for equal caution. This was explained as ihey entered the gate and looked around. It was guarded by English soldiers. Wallace would have drawn back ; but Monteith laid his hand on his arm, and whispered, ' For your com 'y !' At these words, a spell to the ear of Wallace, he proceeded ; a d his attendants followed into the courtyard. The sun was just sating as Monteith led his friend into the absent earl's room. Its glowing redaction on the distant hills reminded Wallace of the stretch he had to retread to reach his home before midnight ; and thinking of his anxious Marion, he awaited with impatience the development of the object of his journey.

Monteith closed the door, looked fearfully around for some time ; then, trembling at every step, approached Wallace. When drawn quite near, in a low voice he said, ' You must swoar upon the cross that you will keep inviolate the secret I am going to reveal.' Wallace put aside the hilt of the sword which Monteith presented to receive his oath : ' No,' said he, with a smile ; 'in these times I will not bind my conscience on subjects I do not know. If you dare trust the word of a Scotsman and a friend, speak out ; and if the matter be honest, my honour is your pledge.' ' You will not swear ?' 'No.' ' T.ien I must not trust you.' 'Then our budiuss is at an end,' returned Wallace, risine, 'and I may return home ' Stop!' cried Monteilh. 'Forgive me, my old companion, that I have dared to hesitate.

These are. indeed, limcs of such treason to honour, that I do not wonder you should be careful how you swear ; but the nature ol the conhdence reposed in me will, 1 hope, convince you that I our-ht nmi, « ii " r u. ! y' ?f ,anyone but you' whose trulh stands unsullied amidst the faithlessness of the best, I would exact oaths on oaths • but your word is given, and c-.i that 1 rely. Await me here.' SCOTLAND. 17 Monteith unlocked a door which had been concealed by the tapestry, and after a short absence re-entered with a small iron box. He set it on the table near his friend, then went to the great door, which he had before so carefully closed, tried that the bolts were secure, and returned, with a still more pallid countenance, towards the table. Wallace, surprised at so much precaution, and at the extreme apprehension visible in these actions, awaited with wonder the promised explanation.

Monteith sat down with his hand on the box, and fixing his eyes on it, began : ' I am going to mention a name, which you may hear with patience, since its power is no more. The successful rival of Bruce, and the enemy of your family, is now a prisoner in the Tower of London.' 'Baliol?' 'Yes,' answered Monteith ; 'and his present sufferings will, perhaps, avenge to you his vindictive resentment of the injury he received from Sir Ronald Crawford.' 'My grandfather never injured him, nor any man !' interrupted Wallace. ' Sir Ronald Crawford was as incapable of injustice as of flattering the minions of his country's enemy. But Baliol is fallen, and I forgive him.' _ 'Did you witness his degradation,' returned Monteith, 'you would even pity him.' 'I always pity the wicked,' continued Wallace; 'and as you seem ignorant of the cause of his enmity against Sir Ronald and myself, in justice to the character of that most venerable of men, I will explain it.

I first saw Baliol four years ago, when I accompanied my grandfather to witness the arbitration of the king of England between the two contendingclaimants for the Scottish crown. Sir Ronald came on the part of Bruce. I was deemed too young to have a voice in the council ; but I was old enough to understand what was passing there, and to perceive, in the crouching demeanour with which Baliol received the crown, that it was the price for which he sold his country. ilowever, as Scotland acknowledged him sovereign and as Bruce submitted, my grandfather silently acquiesced. But Baliol did not forget former opposition. His behaviour to Sir Ronald and myself at the beginning of this year, when, according to the privilege of our birth, we appeared in the field against the public enemy, fully demonstrated what was the injury Baliol complains of, and how unjustly he drove us from the standard of Scotland.

" None," said he, "shall serve under me, who presumed to declare themselves the friends of Bruce." Poor weak man ! The purchased vassal of England ; yet so vain of his ideal throne, he hated all who had opposed his elevation, even while his own treachery sapped Its foundation ! Edward having made use of him, all these sacrifices of honour and of conscience are insufficient to retain his favour ; and Baliol is removed from his kingdom to an English prison ! Can I feel anything so honouring as indignation against a wretch so abject? No! I do indeed pity him. And now that I have cleared my grandfather's name of such calumny, I am ready to hear you further.' Monteith, after remarking on the well-known honour of Sir Ronald Crawford, resumed. ' During the massacre at the capture of Berwick, Lord Douglas, wounded, and nearly insensible, was taken by a trusty band of Scots out of the citadel and town.