Margaret Fuller

Jane Porter was born at Durham in 1776, but at the age of four she went to Edinburgh with her family, was brought up in Scotland, and had the privilege of knowing Sir Walter Scott. Her first romance, "Thaddeus of Warsaw," was published in 1803, soon after she had removed from Edinburgh to London. Her next romance, "The Scottish Chiefs," did not appear until 1810. It won an immediate popularity, which survived even the formidable rivalry of the "Waverley Novels," and the book remained a favourite, especially in Scotland, during most of the last century. The story abounds in historical inaccuracies, and the characters are addicted to conversing in the dialect of melodrama-but these blemishes did not abate the vogue of this exciting and spirited work with the reading public. Miss Porter remained a prominent figure in London literary society until her death on May 24, 1850.

I.--The Lady Marion

Sir William Wallace made his way swiftly along the crags and across the river to the cliffs which overlooked the garden of Ellerslie. As he approached he saw his newly-wedded wife, the Lady Marion, leaning over the couch of a wounded man. She looked up, and, with a cry of joy, threw herself into his arms. Blood dropped from his forehead upon her bosom.

"O my Wallace, my Wallace!" cried she in agony.

"Fear not, my love, it is a mere scratch. How is the wounded stranger?"

It was Wallace who had saved the stranger's life. That day he had been summoned to Douglas Castle, where he had received in secret from Sir John Monteith an iron box entrusted to him by Lord Douglas, then imprisoned in England; he had been charged to cherish the box in strictness, and not to suffer it to be opened until Scotland was again free. Returning with his treasure through Lanark, he had seen a fellow countryman wounded, and in deadly peril at the hands of a party of English. Telling two of his attendants to carry the injured man to Ellerslie, he had beaten off the English and slain their leader--Arthur Heselrigge, nephew of the Governor of Lanark.

"Gallant Wallace!" said the stranger, "it is Donald, Earl of Mar, who owes you his life."

"Then blest be my arm," exclaimed Wallace, "that has preserved a life so precious to my country!"

"Armed men are approaching!" cried Lady Marion. "Wallace, you must fly. But oh! whither?"

"Not far, my love; I must seek the recesses of the Cartlane Crags. But the Earl of Mar--we must conceal him."

They found a hiding-place for the wounded earl, and Wallace went away, promising to be near at hand. Hardly had he gone when the door was burst open by a band of soldiers, and Lady Wallace was confronted by the governor of Lanark.

"Woman!" cried he, "on your allegiance to King Edward, answer me--where is Sir William Wallace, the murderer of my nephew?"

She was silent.

"I can reward you richly," he went on, "if you speak the truth. Refuse, and you die!"

She stretched her hands to heaven.

"Blessed Virgin, to thee I commit myself."

"Speak!" cried the governor, drawing his sword. She sank to the ground. "Kneel not to me for mercy!"

"I kneel to heaven alone," she said firmly, "and may it ever preserve my Wallace!"

"Blasphemous wretch!" cried the governor, and he plunged the sword through her heart.

A shudder of horror ran through the English soldiers.

"My friends," said Heselrigge, "I reward your services with the plunder of Ellerslie."

"Cursed be he who first carries a stick from its walls!" exclaimed a veteran.

"Amen!" murmured all the soldiers.

But next day the governor, with a body of soldiers who had not witnessed his infamous deed, plundered Ellerslie and burnt it to the ground. During the day Lord Mar was brought from his hiding-place, and taken to Bothwell Castle; but the English seized him and his wife, and they were placed in strict confinement among the English garrison on the Rock of Dumbarton.

An aged retainer carried the awful news of the murder to Wallace in his concealment. For long he was overpowered with agony. Then a desperate determination arose in his mind. "The sun must not again rise upon Heselrigge!" was his thought. He called his followers, and told them of the deed. "From this hour," he cried, "may Scotland date her liberty, or Wallace return no more!"

"Vengeance! vengeance!" was the cry.

That night the English garrison of Lanark was surprised, and Wallace's sword was buried in the body of his wife's murderer.

"So fall the enemies of Sir William Wallace!" shouted his men exultantly.

"Rather so fall the enemies of Scotland!" cried he. "Henceforth Wallace has neither love nor resentment but for her. From now onwards I devote myself to the winning of my country's freedom, or to death in her cause."

II.--Wallace the Liberator

Band after band of Scottish patriots flocked to the banner of Wallace--the banner that bore the legend "God armeth the patriot," and in which was embroidered a tress of Lady Marion's hair. The making of it had been the labour of Lady Helen Mar, daughter of the earl; admiration for Wallace's prowess, and sympathy with his misfortune had aroused in her--although she had never seen him--an eager devotion to him as the man who had dared to strike at tyranny and fight for his country's freedom.

When her parents had been seized, Helen had escaped to the Priory of St. Fillans. But she was persuaded to leave the priory by a trick of the traitor Scottish Lord Soulis, whom she hated, and whose quest of her hand had the secret approval of Lady Mar. When the ruffian laid hold upon her, he carried her away with threats and violence; but as Soulis and his band were crossing the Leadhill moors, a small party of men fell suddenly upon them. Soulis was forced to relinquish his prey, and was carried away by his men covered with wounds; while Helen found herself in the presence of a gentle and courteous Scottish warrior, who conveyed her to a hermit's cell near at hand. Without revealing his name he passed on his way, declaring that he went to arouse a few brave spirits to arms. Brief as the interview had been, Helen knew when it was ended that she had given her heart to the unknown knight.

As her father and mother lay one dark night in Dumbarton Castle, a fearful uproar arose without their prison--the clashing of swords, the thud of falling bodies, the groans of wounded.

"There is an attack," cried the earl.

"Nay, who would venture to attack such a fortress as this?" answered Lady Mar.

"Hark! it is the slogan of Sir William Wallace. Oh, for a sword!" exclaimed the earl.

A voice was heard begging for mercy--the voice of De Valence, the governor.

"You shall die!" was the stern answer.

"Nay, Kirkpatrick, I give him life." The accents were Wallace's.

A battering-ram broke down the prison-door. There stood Wallace and his men, their weapons and armour covered with blood. De Valence, evading the clutch of Kirkpatrick, thrust his dagger into Wallace's side and fled.

"It is nothing," said Wallace, as he staunched the wound with his scarf.

"So is your mercy rewarded," muttered the grim Kirkpatrick.

"So am I true to my duty," returned Wallace, "though De Valence is a traitor to his."

The Countess of Mar looked for the first time upon Wallace's countenance. He was the enemy of her kinsmen of the house of Cummin; unknown to her husband, she had sought to betray him to one of these kinsmen; and now, as this beautiful woman beheld the man she had tried to injure, a sense of shame, accompanied by a strange fascination, entered her bosom.

"How does my soul seem to pour itself out to this man!" she said to herself. "Hardly have I seen this William Wallace, and yet my very being is lost in his!"

Love mingled with ambition in her uneasy mind. Her husband was old and wounded; his life would not be long. Wallace had the genius of a conqueror. Might he not be proclaimed king of Scotland? She threw herself assiduously into his company during the days that followed. At last, with tears in eyes, she confessed her love, thinking, in her folly, that she could move the heart of one who had consecrated himself to the service of Scotland and the memory of Marion.

"Your husband, Lady Mar," he said with gentleness, "is my friend; had I even a heart to give to women, not one sigh should arise in it to his dishonour. But I am deaf to women, and the voice of love sounds like the funeral knell of her who will never breathe it to me more."

He rose, and ere the countess could reply, a messenger entered with news from Ayr. Eighteen Scottish chiefs had been treacherously put to death, and others were imprisoned and awaiting execution. Wallace and his men marched straight to the castle of Ayr, surprised it while the English lords were feasting within, and set it afire. Those who escaped the flames either fell by Scottish steel, or yielded themselves prisoners.

Castle and fortalice opened their gates before Wallace as he marched from Ayr to Berwick; but at Berwick he encountered stout resistance from a noble foeman, the Earl of Gloucester, who with his garrison yielded only to starvation. Wallace, touched with their valour, permitted them to march out with all the honours of war, and with the chivalrous earl he formed a friendship that was never dimmed by the enmity of the nations to which they belonged.

Soon there came a summons to Stirling. By a dishonourable stratagem of De Valence's, Lord and Lady Mar and Helen had been seized and carried to Stirling Castle, where Lord Mar was in danger of immediate death. Helen was in the power of De Valence, who pressed his hateful suit upon her. Wallace and his men marched hastily, and captured the town; once more De Valence begged Wallace's mercy, and once more, unworthy as he was, obtained it. But the ruthless Cressingham, commanding the castle, placed Lord Mar on the battlements with a rope round his neck, and declared that unless the attack ceased the earl and his whole family would instantly die. Wallace's reply was to bring forward De Valence, pale and trembling. "The moment Lord Mar dies, De Valence shall instantly perish," he declared.

Cressingham agreed to an armistice, hoping to gain time until De Warenne, with the mighty English host then advancing from the border, had reached Stirling. Next morning this great army in its pride poured across the bridge of the Forth; but the Scottish warriors, rushing down from the hillsides, with Wallace at their head, swept all before them. It was rather a carnage than a battle. Those who escaped the steel of Wallace's men were thrust into the river, and land and water were burdened with English dead.

That evening Stirling Castle surrendered, the Scottish prisoners were released, and their places were taken by the commanders of the enemy's host.

III.--Wallace the Regent

When the victorious chiefs were gathering in the hall of the castle, Helen looked upon each one with anxious eyes. Would the gentle knight who rescued her be in Wallace's train? Lady Mar turned a restless glance upon her step-daughter. "Wallace will behold these charms," she cried to herself, "and then, where am I?"

Amid a crowd of knights in armour the conqueror entered; and as Helen raised her eyes she saw that the knight of her dream, the man who had saved her from worse than death, was Wallace himself!

"Scots, behold the Lord's anointed!" cried the patriot Bishop of Dunkeld, drawing from his breast a silver dove of sacred oil, and pouring it upon Wallace's head.

Every knee was bent, and every voice cried "Long live King William!"

"Rise, lords!" exclaimed Wallace. "Kneel not to me--I am but your fellow soldier. Bruce lives; God has yet preserved to you a lawful monarch."

Eagerly they sought to persuade him, but in vain. He consented to hold the kingdom for the rightful sovereign, under the name of regent, but the crown he would not accept. He found a nation waiting on his nod--the hearts of half a million people offered to his hand.

On the night before the English prisoners were to start on their journey southwards to be exchanged with Scottish nobles--an exchange after which, by England's will, the war was to continue--Lady Mar, whose husband was now governor of Stirling Castle, gave a banquet in honour of the departing knights. The entertainment was conducted with that chivalric courtesy which a noble conqueror always pays to the vanquished.

But the spirit of Wallace was sad amid the gaiety; seeking quiet, he wandered along a darkened passage that led to the chapel, unobserved save by his watchful enemy De Valence--whose hatred had been intensified by the knowledge that Helen, whose hand he had again demanded in vain, loved the regent. He had guessed her secret, and she had guessed his--the design he had of murdering the foe who had twice spared his life.

As Wallace entered the chapel and advanced towards the altar, he saw a woman kneeling in prayer. "Defend him, Heavenly Father!" she cried. "Guard his unshielded breast from treachery!" It was Helen's voice.

Wallace stepped from the shadow; Helen was transfixed and silent. "Continue to offer up these prayers for me," he said gently, "and I shall yet think, holy maid, that I have a Marion to pray for me on earth, as well as in heaven."

"They are for your life," she said in agitation, "for it is menaced."

"I will inquire by whom," answered he, "when I have first paid my duty at this altar. Pray with me, Lady Helen, for the liberty of Scotland."

As they were praying together, Helen rose with a shriek and flung her arms around Wallace. He felt an assassin's steel in his back, and she fell senseless on his breast. Her arm was bleeding; she had partly warded off the blow aimed at him, and had saved his life. He took her up in his arms, and bore her from the chapel to the hall.

"Who has done this?" cried Mar, in anguish.

"I know not," replied Wallace, "but I believe some villain who aimed at my life." With a gasp he sank back unconscious on the bench.

Helen was the first to recover, and while they were staunching the blood that flowed from Wallace's wound, Lady Mar turned to her step-daughter.

"Will you satisfy this anxious company," said she sneeringly, "how it happened that you should be alone with the regent? May I ask our noble friends to withdraw, and leave this delicate investigation to my own family?"

Wallace, recovering his senses, rose hastily.

"Do not leave this place, my lords, till I explain how I came to disturb the devotions of Lady Helen;" Straightforwardly and with dignity, he told the story of what had happened, and the jealous Lady Mar was silenced.

"But who was the assassin?" they asked.

"I shall name him to Sir William Wallace alone," said Helen.

But the dagger, found in the chapel, revealed the truth. The chiefs clamoured for De Valence's death, Wallace again granted him life. Next morning, as the cavalcade of southern knights was starting, Wallace rode up and handed the dagger to De Valence.

"The next time that you draw this dagger," said he, "let it be with a more knightly aim than assassination."

De Valence, careless of the looks of horror and contempt cast upon him by his fellow countrymen, broke it asunder, and, throwing the fragments in the air, said to the shivered weapon, "You shall not betray me again!"

"Nor you betray our honours, Lord de Valence," said De Warenne sternly. "As lord warden of this realm, I order you under arrest until we pass the Scottish lines."

After the exchange of prisoners had been effected, Wallace invaded the enemy's country, and brought rich stores from the barns of Northumberland to the starving people of desolated Scotland. The reduction followed of all the fortresses held by the English in Northern Scotland. King Edward himself was now advancing; but a greater peril menaced the regent than that of the invader.

Many of the nobles, headed by the Earls of Athol, Buchan, and March, were bitterly jealous of the ascendancy of a low-born usurper--for so they called Scotland's deliverer--and conspired to restore the sovereignty of Edward. Their chance of treachery came when Wallace faced the English host at Falkirk. When the battle was joined, Athol, Buchan, and all the Cummins, crying, "Long live King Edward!" joined the English, and flung themselves upon their fellow-countrymen. Grievous was the havoc of Scot on Scot; and beside the English king throughout the battle stood Bruce, the rightful monarch, aiding in the destruction of his nation's liberties.

But on the night of that disastrous day, a young stranger in splendid armour came secretly to Wallace. It was Robert Bruce, seeking to offer his services to his country and to wipe out the stigma that his father had cast upon his name.

IV.--The Traitors

None fought more fiercely than Robert Bruce in the attack made by Wallace's men upon the English on the banks of the Carron, and the traitor, Earl of March, fell by the young warrior's own hand. But treason, smitten on the field of battle, was rampant at Stirling; and when Wallace returned there, bowed with grief at the death of Lord Mar, he found the Cummin faction--Lady Mar's kinsmen--in furious revolt against the "upstart." His resolution was quickly made; he would not be a cause of civil strife to his country.

"Should I remain your regent," said he to the assembled people, "the country would be involved in ruinous dissensions. I therefore quit the regency; and I bequeath your liberty to the care of the chieftains. But should it be again in danger, remember that, while life breathes in this heart, the spirit of Wallace will be with you still!" With these words he mounted his horse, and rode away, amidst the cries and tears of the populace.

Lady Mar, whose secret hopes had been stirred afresh by the death of her husband, heard with consternation of Wallace's departure. But he went away without a thought of her; his mission was the rescue of Helen, to which he had pledged himself by the death-bed of Lord Mar. Helen had been kidnapped by De Valence, and carried off by him to his castle in Guienne.

Wallace disguised himself as a minstrel, and travelled to Durham, where King Edward held his court, and where young Bruce, taken captive, was now confined. By making himself known to the Earl of Gloucester, Wallace was able to gain access to Bruce, whose father was now dead, and to lay his plans before him. These were that Bruce should escape from Durham, that the two should travel to Guienne and rescue Helen, and that they should then, as unknown strangers, offer their services to Scotland.

The plans were fulfilled. Bruce escaped, De Valence was once more deprived of his prey--he did not suspect the identity of the two knights until after Helen had been delivered from his clutches--and the pair fought as Frenchmen in the wars of Scotland. To few was the truth revealed, and only one discovered it--a knight wearing a green plume, who refused to divulge his name until Wallace proclaimed his own on the day of victory.

But the secret could not be kept for ever, and it was Wallace himself who cast off the disguise. At the battle of Rosslyn the day seemed lost; an overwhelming mass of English bore down the Scots; men were turning to fly. The fate of Wallace's country hung on an instant. Taking off his helmet, he waved it in the air with a shout, and, having thus drawn all eyes upon him, exclaimed: "Scots, follow William Wallace to victory!" The cry of "Wallace!" turned the fugitives; new courage was diffused in every breast; defeat was straightway changed into triumph.

Soon after this declaration the knight of the green plume came to Wallace, tore off the disguise of knighthood, and stood before him the bold and unblushing Countess of Mar. It was unconquerable love, she said, that had induced her to act thus. Wallace told her once more that his love was buried in the grave, and entreated her to refrain from guilty passion. Angered, she thrust a dagger at his breast; he wrenched the weapon from her hand, and bade her go in peace.

Ere sunset next evening he heard that he had been accused of treason to Scotland, and that his accuser was the Countess of Mar.

He faced the false charge, and repudiated it. But such was the hatred of the Cummins and their supporters that it was plainly impossible for him to serve Scotland, now that his name was known, without causing distraction in the country's ranks. He wandered forth, alone save for his ever-faithful follower, Edwin Ruthven, a price set upon his head by the relentless Edward, leaving his enemies to rejoice, and his friends to despair of Scotland's liberty.

V.--Tragedy and Triumph

As Wallace journeyed in the regions made sacred to him by Marion's memory, he was met by Sir John Monteith, who offered to conduct him to Newark-on-the-Clyde, where he might embark on a vessel about to sail. Wallace gladly accepted the offer, little guessing that his old and trusted friend Monteith was in the pay of England.

As he and Edwin reposed in a barn near Newark, a force of savages from the Irish island of Rathlin burst in upon them. Wallace, with a giant's strength, dispersed them as they advanced. But a shout was heard from the door. Monteith himself appeared, and an arrow pierced Edwin's heart. Wallace threw himself on his knees beside the dying boy. They sprang upon him, and bound him. Wallace was Edward's prisoner.

As he lay in the Tower of London awaiting death, a page-boy entered nervously, and turned pale when he cast his eyes upon him. He started; he recognised the features of her who alone had ever shared his meditations with Marion.

"Lady Helen," he cried, "has God sent you hither to be His harbinger of consolation?"

"Will you not abhor me for this act of madness?" said Helen, in deep agitation. "And yet, where should I live or die but at the feet of my benefactor?"

"Oh, Helen," exclaimed Wallace, "thy soul and Marion's are indeed one; and as one I love ye!"

At that moment the Earl of Gloucester entered, and to this true friend Wallace expressed his wish that he and Helen should be united by the sacred rites of the church. Gloucester retired, and returned with a priest; the pair were joined as man and wife.

Two days later Wallace stood on the scaffold. The executioner approached to throw the rope over the neck of his victim. Helen, with a cry, rushed to his bosom. Clasping her to him, he exclaimed in a low voice: "Helen, we shall next meet to part no more. May God preserve my country, and--" He stopped--he fell. Gloucester bent to his friend and spoke, but all was silent. He had died unsullied by the rope of Edward.

"There," said Gloucester, in deepest grief, "there broke the noblest heart that ever beat in the breast of man."

It was the evening after Bannockburn. The English hosts were in panic-stricken flight; Scotland at last was free. Robert Bruce, king and conquerer, entered the Abbey of Cambuskenneth with his betrothed, Isabella, and stood before the bier of Wallace.

Helen, wan and fragile, was borne on a litter from the adjoining nunnery. In her presence Bruce and Isabella were wedded; her trembling hands were held over them in blessing; then she threw herself prostrate on the coffin.

At the foot of Wallace's bier stood the iron box that the dead chieftain had so faithfully cherished. "Let this mysterious coffer be opened," said the Abbot of Inchaffray, "to reward the deliverer of Scotland according to its intent" Bruce unclasped the lock, and the regalia of Scotland was discovered!

"And thus Wallace crowns thee!" said the Bishop of Dunkeld, taking the diadem from its coffer and setting it on Brace's head.

But Helen lay motionless. They raised her, and looked upon a clay-cold face. Her soul had fled.