After the battle of Bannockburn the whole of Scotland regained its ancient freedom, saving only the border town and fortress of Berwick, the security of which was zealously guarded by the unfortunate son of the terrible “Hammer of Scotland.”

The severe and even harsh discipline to which the burghers were subjected by the commandant of the fortress caused much dissatisfaction, and one of the inhabitants, a burgess named Spalding, proposed, in the bitterness of his heart, to betray the place into the hands of the Scottish monarch. King Robert eagerly entered into negotiations which were placed before him by the Earl of March, and deputed the conducting of the somewhat hazardous enterprise to his favourite captains, Douglas and Randolph. The project was duly carried to a successful termination, a body of troops scaling the walls under cover of a dark night, being materially assisted by Spalding, who went the rounds that night. Some confusion occurred, the governor of the castle made a desperate sally into the town, and bloody fighting followed before Douglas, Randolph, and Sir William Keith of Galston succeeded in forcing the stubborn Southrons back to the shelter of their works. Soon after the King appeared upon the scene, and, further resistance obviously being futile, the castle was surrendered. For Spalding it may be said that his action was probably more patriotic than treacherous, as he was married to a Scottish woman, and was, doubtless, himself of the same nationality.

This loss was severely felt by the English, and was bitterly resented by King Edward. It was followed by a dreadful invasion of the northern provinces of England, when Northallerton, Boroughbridge, and Skipton-in-Craven were committed to the flames, and Ripon only secured immunity from a similar visitation by the payment of a ransom of one thousand marks. The unhappy people were utterly without protection, and the Scots leisurely returned to their own country, driving their miserable captives before them “like flocks of sheep.”

Involved with his barons in those wretched complications which embittered his reign, Edward the II. was so mortified by the loss of Berwick, that he hastily came to an arrangement with the malcontents, and raising his banner prepared to invade Scotland, and attempt the recovery of the town and fortress which had so suddenly passed out of his possession.

The royal army assembled at Newcastle in the month of July, and, being very strong, Edward was hopeful of bringing the expedition to a successful termination. No measure was omitted for the securing of the object in view, and a powerful fleet from the Cinque ports followed the army with supplies of stores and warlike material. The walls of the fortress being so low that the warriors at the base could exchange stroke of lance with the defenders of the ramparts, Edward prepared to carry the place by assault, no doubt remembering the feat of his great sire in 1296, when he rode his good steed Bayard over ditch and wall, and commenced the work of pitiless slaughter with his own strong right hand.

Bruce, equally determined to retain the place, had appointed his gallant son-in-law, Walter, the high-steward of Scotland, to the command of the town and castle. The garrison was reinforced by 500 volunteers, all gentlemen, friends and relations of the steward. Provisions to serve for a year having been laid up, the gallant Scots awaited the course of events.

However sanguine Edward of CÆrnarvon may have been, he certainly exhibited all reasonable prudence before Berwick, and, before commencing active operations, caused his camp to be strongly fortified. When the hour of attack arrived, the valiant Scots who manned the walls of Berwick found they had a double danger to meet, as the English mariners were bringing up one of their largest ships, which was crowded with soldiers, who clung to the masts, rigging, and spars, ready to leap upon the ramparts, as soon as the sailors brought up alongside the walls, and got the vessel in position with their grappling irons. As the vessel drew near, gleaming with steel, and presenting a most formidable appearance, she suddenly took the ground, and in a moment all was confusion, the mariners straining every nerve to get her off into deep water again. All these attempts proving in vain, and as the vessel lay stranded at ebb-tide, she was set on fire by the Scots, and consumed, to the great elation of the garrison, and equally to the disgust of the English.

While this exciting incident was being enacted, Edward was furiously assaulting the town from the land, sending his fierce stormers, who were abundantly supplied with scaling ladders, to the attack by thousands, and covering their advance by the incessant discharge of his archers, whose long and deadly shafts swept the ramparts like a hail-storm. But the Scots met the storm with indomitable bravery, fringing their walls with glittering pikes, hurling down showers of missiles upon the enemy, casting down their ladders, and sending their heavy axes through the iron skull-caps of the stormers before they could make good their foot-hold upon the ramparts. After long hours of stubborn and sanguinary toil, Edward withdrew his troops to the shelter of their entrenchments, and both parties rested after their severe and exhausting toil: but at the base of the walls, and upon the bloody ramparts many brave men slept their long death-sleep.

Untamed by their repulse, the English soldiers prepared to renew their efforts, and set to work upon the construction of a huge military machine called a “Sow”: this was framed of solid timber, and moved upon heavy rollers, the roof sloping and affording an efficient protection to the soldiers who toiled with pick and spade beneath its cover, intent upon undermining the walls of the beleaguered hold. The “Sow” was especially dangerous to the Scots in the present case, for the whole length of the walls being exposed to repeated assaults, they were so completely outnumbered that they were unable to spare any considerable number of men to guard against its action, and should once a breach be effected in the walls it would be impossible to arrest the pressure of Edward’s stormers, who kept the hardy Scots fully employed even while their ramparts were intact.

When the English engineers levelled the ground, and wheeled the heavy machine against the walls, and the miners were waiting, pick in hand, to fall to work, the contending warriors awaited the result with equal anxiety and interest. Berwick was indebted for its safety to the labours of a Flemish engineer named John Crab, who had prepared a huge catapult for the purpose of hurling heavy missiles against the terrible “Sow,” and, as it approached the wall, he discharged a huge mass of rock against it. The flight of the missile was regarded with the utmost interest by both parties, but it failed to strike the machine, and a second discharge was equally inoperative, and the “Sow” now drew near the walls, amid the exulting shouts of the besiegers; but Crab had now obtained a better idea of the power of his catapult, and, calculating the distance to a nicety, sent a large piece of rock upon the mid-roof of the doomed “Sow.” The massive stone went thundering and crashing through the solid timber, and, as cries of rage and dismay burst from the English troops, the miners came rushing wildly from the ruined machine, and sought to gain the trenches, while the Scots sent their arrows and missiles after them, exclaiming, in grim mockery and exultation, “Behold, the English sow has farrowed!”

The Scots were inspired by their success, the English aggravated by repeated disappointments and repulses, and the conflict necessarily waxed fiercer, Crab working his military engines with great vigour, hurling showers of missiles upon the assailants, and giving the unlucky “Sow” its coup de grace in the form of a quantity of blazing and highly inflammable material, which quickly set it on fire. Amid the tumult of the assault it continued to burn, sending up showers of sparks and dense volumes of smoke, until it was reduced to ashes.

The English fleet was brought up to second the efforts of the stormers, but John Crab had so many cranes and springals in position, and hurled his huge copper-winged darts, heavy iron chains, and grappling hooks, and bundles of ignited tow, saturated with pitch, with such unfailing precision that the commanders were fairly daunted, and, fearing to involve the fleet in utter destruction, drew off, and the Scots, thus opportunely relieved, directed their undivided attention to the repeated assaults of the enemy.

During those hours of murderous strife the grand steward was passing from point to point with a reserve of 100 men, and wherever he found the garrison hardly pressed he succoured them with a few men, and animated them by his example and exhortations; and where the slaughter had been especially heavy he made good the loss from his fast diminishing reserves. The conflict was at its height, and the steward had done all that he could to strengthen the sorely-pressed garrison, only one soldier remaining in attendance upon him, when the startling news was brought that Edward’s warriors had destroyed the barriers at St. Mary’s gate, which they were endeavouring to burn down.

Hastily collecting a band of warriors, he pressed forward to the threatened point, passing numbers of young lads and fearless women busily engaged in collecting the missiles thrown over the walls by the enemy, and on approaching the scene of peril, he commanded the gate to be thrown open, and charging through the flame and smoke at the head of his brave followers he fell upon the assailants, sword in hand, and after a fierce conflict drove them off, restored the defences, and made fast the door again. The conflict ended in the utter repulse of the English forces, nevertheless the garrison was sorely thinned and exhausted, so that unless it was augmented by reinforcements, or some diversion was made in its favour, but little prospect of maintaining the fortress remained.

It was the policy of Robert Bruce never to risk a battle with his powerful enemies, and although sorely tried by the dangerous state to which Berwick was reduced, he maintained his resolution, but attempted a diversion by despatching Douglas and Randolph with 15,000 men to make a raid upon the northern shires of England, and, if possible, to fall upon York, and carry off Queen Isabella, who there awaited the issue of the campaign, imagining that she was secured from all peril by her distance from the theatre of war and by the strong walls of the city.

The Scots were not slow in carrying out the instructions of King Robert, but crossed the Solway, and made a rapid march upon York, only to find that their project had been discovered, and the Queen’s escape secured. It appears that a Scottish spy had fallen into the hands of the English, and confessed, “how our enemy, James Douglas, with a chosen band of men, would come to these parts in order to carry off the Queen, and those whom he should find resisting should be killed at the same time.” The danger of Queen Isabella, whose character was then unimpeached, aroused all the loyal energies of the Archbishop and Mayor of York, and hastily collecting a body of armed men, they made a rapid march to secure her majesty’s safety, and caused her to be conveyed by water to Nottingham.

The attempt to draw Edward from the siege of Berwick by threatening the safety of his queen having failed, the Scottish captains proceeded to carry out the second part of their programme with the utmost energy, and giving loose to their wild passion for burning and plundering, they wrought terrible mischief upon the northern towns and villages, as though determined to extort from King Edward the heaviest price for the fortress of Berwick, should he decide to maintain the siege, in spite of every obstacle, until it fell into his hands.

Deeply touched by the distress of the peasantry, the Archbishop of York, William de Melton, and the Mayor, Nicholas Fleming, attempted to organise an army, and check the depredations of the Scots, who had carried their wild riders to the gates of York, and set the suburbs on fire.

Perhaps history can furnish no more rash undertaking than this: Randolph and Douglas were cool and experienced captains, and ferocious soldiers; the troops they commanded were veterans, accustomed to victory, and experienced in the hardships and toils of the field; men who could only be approached by tried and steady soldiers, and who were not likely to yield the palm to the flower of the English army. To meet these, the Archbishop had to rely upon burghers and peasants, men little accustomed to the use of arms, and entirely deficient in military training, and for whom no competent leaders could be found. No lack of energy was shown by the Archbishop and Mayor, and the hasty and untried levies responded to their exhortations with equal zeal. There was no time to prepare the volunteers for the ordeal, no opportunities for testing their courage in skirmishes, for training them to advance upon such dangerous enemies as the Scots, or to retire before them in good order if they found them too strongly posted to be attacked with any prospect of success.

As though to compensate all physical defects by an extraordinary weight of spiritual influence, the numbers of the army were augmented by many priests, who are supposed to have been brought together at York for the celebration of the feast of St. Matthew.

Ten thousand men were all that the Archbishop could bring into the field, and with these he marched after the Scots, who prepared to receive his attack at “Myton Meadow, near the Swale water,” supposed to be a large field, at that time unenclosed, and situate some three miles east of Boroughbridge, just above the confluence of the rivers Ure and Swale, and in the immediate locality of the obscure village of Myton.

Half the army of Douglas and Randolph would probably have sufficed to worst the English in fair and open field, but the Scots commanders had been long accustomed to foil the English by ambuscades and surprises, the fatal English archers, and their usual superiority in numbers, necessitating the utmost caution on the part of the Scots when engaging with their formidable Southern foes; and on this unfortunate day the Scots prepared an ambush, which was certain to foil the onset of the English, and to cast them into that confusion which ends in panic where undisciplined troops are concerned.

On the English approaching the bridge across the Swale, the Scots, or more probably an advanced division of them, feigned a retreat, drawing the Englishmen within the toils of an ambush, that was prepared for their destruction. To ensure their more complete defeat, they were permitted to cross the bridge, and while pushing on, no doubt in some uncertainty, they were suddenly involved in dense clouds of smoke, which, drifting before the wind, veiled the movements of the enemy. The Scots had fired three haystacks, and were coming furiously down upon their enemies under cover of the smoke, having concentrated their forces “after the manner of a shield.” Before the onset was delivered, the Scottish army separated into two divisions, and uttering their dreadful battle-cry, one division threw itself between the English and the bridge, cutting off every prospect of retreat, while the other charged full upon the Archbishop’s troops.

Confused by the drifting smoke, the dreadful war-cries of Douglas and Randolph, the English troops were so completely taken by surprise that they were half-beaten before a blow was struck. With no regular troops to maintain the van and rear, and give them steadiness by example, and without leaders to form them in the best way to meet the charging enemy into whose hand they were so rashly delivered, the confused mass of Englishmen were held at utter disadvantage. With steady charge the Scottish spearmen bore down upon them, the billmen and swordmen rushed upon their ranks like a tempest, and the men-at-arms taking them in the rear, a bloody massacre ensued. Utterly unable to maintain their ranks, hurled upon each other by the furious charges of the enemy, smitten, broken, trampled under foot, the English, after a vain attempt at defence, broke, and sought to secure their safety by a headlong flight. Beset on every side, followed close by the victors, cut off from the bridge, the wretched troops lost all heart, and, seized with panic, thought not of attempting to make a stand against their enemies, but turned all their energies to secure their escape. A scene of dreadful carnage followed: the Scots were pitiless in their triumph, and cut down the fugitives with remorseless activity. The English vainly attempted to cross the Swale, and dreadful and tragic scenes took place on the bank and in the waters of the river. The fugitives who hesitated to cast themselves into the water fell by the sword of the pursuer, and of those who attempted to pass the river about a thousand were drowned. The approach of night alone saved the army from utter destruction, and the total loss was computed at nearly 4,000 men, of whom 300 were priests, arrayed in full canonicals, but who were put to the sword with merciless severity by the Scots, who lost few men themselves, and treating the slaughter of the churchmen as a pleasant joke referred to the battle as the Chapter of Mitton. It was fought on the 13th, September, 1319.

Sir Nicholas Fleming, who was serving as Mayor of York for the seventh year, was slain on the field. The pursuit was close, but the Archbishop of York and the Bishop of Ely, although hardly pushed, succeeded in effecting their escape. The Archbishop’s cross was among the missing, however, the cross-bearer having secreted it in the hope of preserving it from the Scots; but a peasant finding it by chance was tempted to conceal it in his hut for some days, when the pricking of his conscience becoming too severe he penitently restored it to the rightful owner.

The loss of the Scots was insignificant, but the churchyard of Myton received a huge and ghastly burthen of slain Yorkshiremen. The corpse of Sir Nicholas Fleming was tenderly cared for, and buried in the church of St. Wilfred, York, the citizens deeply lamenting the loss of their patriotic mayor, for the repose of whose soul special provisions were made by the Archbishop.

From the bloody field of Myton the hardy Scots pursued their way triumphantly to Castleford, where they crossed the river Aire, and proceeding through Airedale, Wharfedale, and Craven, bore off many captives and much plunder, entering Scotland in safety.