Profound as was the rest of Wallace, yet the first clarion of the lark awakened him. The rosy dawn shone in at the window, and a fresh breeze wooed him with its inspiring breath to rise and meet it. But the impulse was in his own mind; he needed nothing outward to call him to action. Rising immediately, he put on his glittering hauberk; and issuing from the tower, raised his bugle to his lips, and blew so rousing a blast, that in an instant the whole rock was covered with soldiers.
Wallace placed his helmet on his head, and advanced toward them, just as Edwin had joined him, and Sir Roger Kirkpatrick appeared from the tower. “Blessed be this morn!” cried the old knight. “My sword springs from its scabbard to meet it; and ere its good steel be sheathed again,” continued he, shaking it sternly, “what deaths may dye its point!”
Wallace shuddered at the ferocity with which his colleague contemplated this feature of war from which every humane soldier would seek to turn his thoughts, that he might encounter it with the steadiness of a man, and not the irresolution of a woman. To hail the field of blood with the fierceness of a hatred eager for the slaughter of its victim-to know any joy in combat but that each contest might render another less necessary-did not enter into the imagination of Wallace until he had heard and seen the infuriate Kirkpatrick. He talked of the coming battle with horrid rapture, and told the young Edwin he should that day see Loch Lomond red with English blood.
Offended at such savageness, but without answering him, Wallace drew toward Murray, and calling to Edwin, ordered him to march at his side. The youth seemed glad of the summons, and Wallace was pleased to observe it, as he thought that a longer stay with one who so grossly overcharged the feelings of honest patriotism, might breed disgust in his innocent mind against a cause which had so furious and therefore unjust a defender.
“Justice and mercy ever dwell together,” said he to Edwin, who now drew near him; “for universal love is the parent of justice, as well as of mercy. But implacable Revenge! whence did she spring, but from the head of Satan himself?”
Though their cause appeared the same, never were two spirits more discordant than those of Wallace and Kirkpatrick. But Kirkpatrick did not so soon discover the dissimilarity; as it is easier for purity to descry its opposite, than for foulness to apprehend that anything can be purer than itself.
The forces being marshaled according to the preconcerted order, the three commanders, with Wallace at their head, led forward.
They passed through the forest of Glenfinlass; and morning and evening still found them threading its unsuspected solitudes in unmolested security; night, too, watched their onward march.
The sun had just risen as the little band of patriots, the hope of freedom, emerged upon the eastern bank of Loch Lomond. The bases of the mountains were yet covered with the dispersing mist of the morning, and hardly distinguishable from the blue waters of the lake, which lashed the shore. The newly-awakened sheep bleated from the hills, and the umbrageous herbage, dropping dew, seemed glittering with a thousand fairy gems.
“Where is the man who would not fight for such a country?” exclaimed Murray, as he stepped over a bridge of interwoven trees, which crossed one of the mountain streams. “This land was not made for slaves. Look at these bulwarks of nature! Every mountain-head which forms this chain of hills is an impregnable rampart against invasion. If Baliol had possessed but half a heart, Edward might have returned even worse than Caesar-without a cockle to decorate his helmet.”
“Baliol has found the oblivion he incurred,” returned Wallace; “his son, perhaps, may better deserve the scepter of such a country. Let us cut the way, and he who merits the crown will soon appear to claim it.”
“Then it will not be Edward Baliol!” rejoined Scrymgeour. “During the inconsistent reign of his father, I once carried a despatch to him from Scotland. He was then banqueting in all the luxuries of the English court; and such a voluptuary I never beheld! I left the scene of folly, only praying that so effeminate a prince might never disgrace the throne of our manly race of kings.”
“If such be the tuition of our lords in the court of Edward-and wise is the policy for his own views!” observed Ker, “what can we expect from even the Bruce? They were ever a nobler race than the Baliol; but bad education and luxury will debase the most princely minds.”
“I saw neither of the Bruce when I visited London,” replied Scrymgeour; “the Earl of Carrick was at his house in Cleveland, and Robert Bruce, his eldest son, with the English army in Guienne. But they bore a manly character, particularly young Robert, to whom the troubadours of Aquitaine have given the flattering appellation of Prince of Chivalry.”
“It would be more to his honor,” interrupted Murray, “if he compelled the English to acknowledge him as Prince of Scotland. With so much bravery, how can he allow such a civetcat as Edward Baliol to bear away the title, which is his by the double right of blood and virtue?”
“Perhaps,” said Wallace, “the young lion only sleeps! The time may come, when both he and his father will rise from their lethargy, and throw themselves at once into the arms of Scotland. To stimulate the dormant patriotism of t............