CHAPTER XII.

TRIAL, EXECUTION, AND CHARACTER OF WALLACE.

As the capture of Wallace was an event wholly unexpected by the English, the news of it, which spread with the rapidity of lightning, produced, in every part of the kingdom, a deep and universal sensation. Labour of every kind was abandoned, and people of all ranks flocked to those points of the road where it was expected the illustrious captive would pass. At Carlisle the escort halted for a night; and the tower in which he was secured, long afterwards retained his name. As the _cortège_ approached London, the crowds became more numerous; and, on entering the capital, his conductors found their progress retarded by the multitudes that were collected;--while every elevation or projection, however perilous, from which he could be seen, was occupied with, or clung to, by anxious spectators, eager to behold a man who had filled England with terror, and the fame of whose achievements had resounded through every country in Europe. After much exertion, the cavalcade at length reached the house of William Delect, a citizen in Fenchurch Street, where their prisoner was lodged for the night. From the circumstance of his having been taken to a private house, rather than to a place of greater security, it has been imagined by some, that Edward intended to make a last effort to gain Wallace over to his interest. This conjecture, however, is not sufficiently supported by subsequent proceedings, to entitle it to any degree of credit; and we are more inclined to believe, that the difficulty which the party encountered in making their way through the dense multitudes who had blocked up the streets and lanes leading to the Tower, may, with greater probability, be assigned as the cause for taking him to the house of Delect.

The thirst for revenge existed too keenly in the ruthless mind of Edward, to admit of much delay in the sacrifice of his victim. Though a consideration for the opinion of the more enlightened of his subjects, and the manner in which his conduct might be viewed at foreign courts, obliged him to have recourse at least to the formality of a trial--the indecent haste with which it was brought on, made the mockery of judicial procedure but too apparent. The day after his arrival, he was conducted on horseback, from the house which his brief residence had made the scene of universal attraction, to take his trial in Westminster Hall. His progress from Fenchurch Street, according to Stowe, appears to have been a sort of procession, Lord John de Segrave, the fugitive of Roslin, acting as Grand Marshal of England, and armed cap-à-pè, rode on one side, while Geoffrey de Hartlepool, Recorder of London, equipped in a similar manner, rode on the other. The Mayor, Sheriffs, and Aldermen followed, attended by a number of official characters on horseback and on foot, arranged according to their respective grades.[70]

On reaching the spot where the solemn farce was to be performed, he was placed on the south bench of the great hall; and, in consequence of an absurd report,[71] which had been circulated in England, of his having said that he deserved to wear a crown in that place, a crown of laurel was put upon his head. The noble appearance of the man, joined to his calm and unruffled demeanour, entirely disarmed this silly attempt at ridicule of its intended effect.[72]

Sir Peter Malory, the King’s Justice, then rose, and read the indictment, wherein the prisoner was charged with treason against the King of England, burning of towns, and slaying of the subjects of his Majesty. To the first of these counts Wallace answered, that, as he had never been the subject of the King of England, he owed him no allegiance, and consequently could be no traitor. As to the other offences, he frankly admitted, that, in the discharge of his duty to his country, he had done all that was stated. On this admission, the following atrocious sentence was pronounced:--

For treason, he was to be first dragged to the place of execution. For murder and robbery, he was to be then hung a certain time by the neck; and, because he had burned abbeys and religious houses, he was to be taken down alive from the gibbet, his entrails torn out, and burnt before him, his body to be quartered, and the parts afterwards to be disposed of as the clemency of Majesty might suggest.[73]

When the necessary preparations were made for carrying this sentence into execution, the late champion of Scottish independence was brought forth from the place where he had been kept in confinement, heavily ironed, and chained to a bench of oak. He was then placed on a hurdle, and, surrounded by a strong guard of soldiers, ignominiously dragged to the Elms, in Smithfield. That self-possession and undaunted demeanour which he evinced during the trial, appeared equally conspicuous on the scaffold. Looking round with undisturbed composure on the assembled multitude, he addressed himself to a person near him, and asked for a priest to whom he might make confession. This request, on being made known to Edward, he is said to have sternly refused; and the rancorous old man forbad _any clergyman to retard the execution_ for such a purpose. On hearing this undignified command of his sovereign, Winchelsea, Archbishop of Canterbury, the same individual who so faithfully discharged his duty at Carlaverock, stepped boldly forward, and, after earnestly remonstrating with Edward, declared his determination to officiate himself. When the ceremony usual on such occasions was finished, Wallace rose from his knees, and the Archbishop having taken leave of him, instantly departed for Westminster, thus declining to witness the sequel of an act so revolting to humanity, and which he no doubt considered as fixing a deep stain on the character of his country.

The spectacle which was now exhibited to the gaze of the inhabitants of the metropolis of England, was such as perhaps has never before been presented to the populace of any land. The _LAST FREEMAN_ of an ANCIENT PEOPLE, not less renowned for their bravery, than for their love of independence, stood a calm and unshrinking victim, ready to be immolated at the shrine of despotism. That powerful arm which had long contended for liberty was now to be unstrung beneath the knife of the executioner; and that heart, replete with every ennobling virtue, which never quailed in the sternest hour of danger, was doomed to quiver in the purifying flames of martyrdom.

During the pause which preceded the unhallowed operations, Wallace turned to Lord Clifford, and requested that a Psalter,[74] which had been taken from his person, might be returned. His desire being complied with, he asked a priest to hold it open before him. This book had been his constant companion from his early years, and was perhaps the gift of his mother or his uncle, the parson of Dunipace.

After hanging for a certain time, the sufferer was taken down, while yet in an evident state of sensibility. He was then disembowelled; and the heart, wrung from its place, was committed to the flames in his presence. During this dreadful process, his eyes still continued to linger on the Psalter, till, overpowered by his sufferings, he expired among their hands with all that passive heroism which may be supposed to belong to so elevated a character. The body was afterwards dismembered; the head fixed on London bridge, the right arm on the bridge of Newcastle-upon-Tyne, the left at Berwick, the right leg at Perth, and the left at Aberdeen.

Thus fell this great and exemplary patriot, a martyr to the rights and independence of his country, than whom, if we consider his extraordinary personal and mental endowments,--joined to his inextinguishable and disinterested love of liberty, a greater hero is not to be found in the annals of any people. Born to a slender inheritance, and unconnected by birth with the opulent families of his country, he derived no advantage from those circumstances which often assisted other distinguished characters in attaining that place in the temple of fame to which their ambition was directed. To his own genius he was indebted for a system of tactics eminently calculated for the contest he had in view; and with his own arm he gave the first impulse to the cause of freedom, which afterwards, on the field of Bannockburn, was crowned with such glorious and decisive success under a kindred spirit--on whom the inspiring mantle of our patriot descended, as he winged his flight to the regions of immortality.

In person, Wallace was admirably fitted to grace that elevated station among mankind, for which his genius and talents so eminently qualified him. His visage was long, well proportioned, and exquisitely beautiful; his eyes were bright and piercing; the hair of his head and beard auburn, and inclined to curl: that on his brows and eye-lashes was of a lighter shade; his lips were round and full. Under the chin, on the left side, was a scar,[75] the only one visible, although many were to be found on his person;[76] his stature was lofty and majestic, rising the head and shoulders above the tallest men in the country. Yet his form, though gigantic, possessed the most perfect symmetry; and with a degree of strength almost incredible, there was combined such an agility of body and fleetness in running, that no one, except when mounted on horseback, could outstrip, or escape from him, when he happened to pursue. All-powerful as a swordsman, and unrivalled as an archer, his blows were fatal, and his shafts unerring: as an equestrian, he was a model of dexterity and grace; while the hardships he experienced in his youth, made him view with indifference the severest privations incident to a military life. In common intercourse, his accents were mild, and his manners grave and urbane. In the field, when addressing his soldiers, his discourse was brief and animating, and the sound of his voice thrilled through their hearts like the spirit-stirring notes of the clarion.[77] Great and varied, however, as were the accomplishments nature had lavished on his person, the graces with which she had enriched his mind threw a radiance over all the rest of her gifts. Untaught himself in the military art, he became the instructor of his countrymen, and his first efforts were worthy of the greatest captain of the age.

If we may judge from his regard to the sanctity of an oath, his ideas of morality appear to have been much at variance with the corrupt practice of the age. Uncontaminated by the pernicious example of the great men of the country, he rather chose to bear hunger and every other privation the unsheltered outlaw might be exposed to, than purchase the advantage so much prized by others, at the expense of taking an oath he had no intention of holding sacred:--still, this inflexible rectitude of soul could not shame the aristocracy from their convenient perjuries; for the bands by which he strove to unite them together, became like ropes of sand in the hour of trial. Notwithstanding, however, all the difficulties that were thrown in his way, the vigour of his own character, and the wisdom of his measures, enabled him to achieve the deliverance of his native land. To the charges of ambition and usurpation that were brought against him, he gave the noblest refutation, by resigning the bauble of power into the hands of those little spirits, who would otherwise have betrayed the cause of national independence, or involved their country in all the horrors of civil war. Thus, his virtuous self-denial preserved the people whom his valour had set free.

In the biographical notices that have been submitted, the reader will perceive the formidable array of talent and power with which Wallace had to contend. To an aristocracy, at that time perhaps unrivalled in Europe, and headed by a monarch as distinguished for ambition, sternness of purpose, and warlike propensities, as he was notorious for the absence of those virtues which constitute the redeeming traits in the character of a soldier--the magnanimous patriot had at first little to oppose, save the innate energies of his own invincible heart, and the resources of a genius which Heaven seems peculiarly to have fitted for the task. That Scotland, distracted by faction, and deprived of all foreign aid, should, under the guidance of one who ranked among the humblest of her nobles, have again advanced herself to the dignity of an independent state, in defiance of the power of England, backed by the resources of Ireland and Wales, was considered by her adversaries as too humiliating to their national character to admit of their relinquishing the contest.[78] The renewal of every invasion was, however, met by an increasing stubbornness of opposition; and the chivalrous conqueror in Palestine, the “high-souled” Plantagenet, at last condescended to _steal_ away the enemy he could neither bribe nor subdue, and thus purchase the brief and delusive semblance of a victory, at the price of everlasting dishonour.

The mind of Wallace was imbued with the most exalted ideas of independence; and the stern and inflexible spirit with which he guarded his own and his country’s honour, could only be equalled by the scrupulous delicacy he exercised towards the feelings of others. Loving freedom for her own sake, he considered her sanctuary, wherever placed, as too sacred to be violated. Among the many proofs of this elevation of mind, the following may be mentioned:--On the surrender of de Longueville, the high-spirited Frenchman was anxious to know the name and the character of his conqueror. On the name of Wallace being announced to him, he fell on his knees, and thanked God that so worthy an enemy had been his victor; and, according to the custom of the age, he tendered his service, along with his sword. “Service from you, Sir Thomas,” said the gallant Scot, with an accent of kind familiarity, “I cannot accept; your friendship is what I desire.” On another occasion, in the heat of an engagement, having, as he conceived, given orders to Sir John Graham in a manner too peremptory--after the victory had been secured, he came up to his brave friend, and surprised him with a humble apology for any thing like harshness he might have displayed in his manner of expressing himself. Graham, however, was quite unconscious of hearing any thing that he had reason to take amiss; and expressed a hope that he would always act towards him and others in the same manner, when the interest of their country was at stake.

In the division of spoil, the portion that fell to the share of Wallace he set apart as a fund from which those were rewarded who had distinguished themselves by their valour or good conduct, while contending for the liberty of their country--thus stimulating their efforts in their own cause, by the sacrifice of his personal advantage. The delicacy, also, which he evinced, in excluding his relations from any participation in those grants and emoluments with which he rewarded the services of others, showed him exempt from any selfish or mercenary feeling, and decidedly averse to the aggrandizement of his family[79] at the national expense. In those times, when driven to the woods and natural fastnesses of the country, where his little party were exposed, from the scarcity of provisions, to the greatest distress, the expedients he had recourse to for their relief, and the self-denial he exercised in order to husband the slender supplies for their use, impressed his followers with sentiments of admiration and gratitude. The system which he introduced, during the short period of his regency, of disciplining and subdividing the nation, evinced the clear and comprehensive views he entertained of the true interests of the country; and had his successors in power followed up the same measure, it would doubtless have been productive of incalculable benefit to the kingdom; as, independent of the great force the Legislature might thus have been enabled to bring into the field in cases of emergency, it would have undermined, and eventually overthrown, the feudal superiority of the barons, and those petty confederations among clans, which have been for so many ages the bane and curse of Scotland. His views, however, for the immediate and permanent prosperity of the country, took even a more extensive range than what is embraced by the above wise and salutary measure. Aware of the benefit which Scotland had formerly derived from her commercial intercourse with the Continent, we find his attention, within a month after the battle of Stirling, seriously turned towards the re-establishment of this important object; and while the nation was mustering at Roslin for the invasion of England, her leader was actively engaged in despatching intimation to the different Hanse-towns, that the ports of Scotland were again open to the trade of all friendly powers.[80] The plan which he pursued in his invasions, was the most efficient for exhausting the enemy’s country, enriching his own, and encouraging his countrymen to flock to his standard. Though often severe in his retaliations, yet, towards women and children, he always exercised the greatest humanity.

During his Guardianship, the country was beginning to feel the return of her former prosperity. With the spoil of the enemy he had diffused plenty over the land; the poor were protected; thieves were promptly and severely punished; cheats and liars were discouraged; and good men met the reward of their virtues. The vigilance with which he watched over the public weal was unremitting, and never for a moment gave place to any object of personal consideration. Even those duties which are often considered paramount to every other, were with him secondary to the interest of his country; for, on the death of his mother, his presence being required elsewhere, he intrusted the performance of her obsequies to his friend John Blair and a confidential servant;--which duty they discharged with becoming solemnity in the cathedral of Dunfermline. To this cemetery, it is conjectured, the fragments of his own body were secretly collated by his companions, after the barbarous and impolitic exposure had taken place. At his execution, that self-command and nobleness of soul, which formed such luminous traits in his character, never for a moment forsook him. Without deigning to breathe a murmur, either at the injustice of the tyrant who condemned, or the unhappy man who betrayed him,[81] he submitted to his fate with that becoming dignity which extorted even from his enemies expressions of unqualified admiration.

A revulsion, the natural consequence of the inhuman cruelty of Edward, and the undaunted demeanour of his victim, took place in the minds of the people of England immediately after his execution; and the story of an English[82] monk who pretended to have seen a vision of angels conducting Wallace out of purgatory with much honour, was quickly circulated, and received with pleasure, all over Britain.

The following lines, translated from the original Latin by Hume of Godscroft, are understood to have been composed some time after the execution of our illustrious patriot, by his afflicted friend and chaplain John Blair; and with this elegant and pathetic tribute of genius at the shrine of departed greatness, we shall close the present chapter:--

“Envious death, who ruins all, Hath wrought the sad lamented fall Of Wallace; and no more remains Of him--than what an urn contains! Ashes for our hero we have-- He, for his armour, a cold grave. He left the earth--too low a state! And by his acts o’ercame his fate. His soul Death had not power to kill, His noble deeds the world do fill With lasting trophies of his name. O! hadst thou virtue loved, or fame, Thou could’st not have insulted so Over a brave, betrayed, dead foe, Edward, nor seen those limbs expos’d To public shame--fit to be clos’d As relics in an holy shrine. But now the infamy is thine. His end crowns him with glorious bays, And stains the brightest of thy praise.”