Hunted and Harried Part 11

"If the King's troops are as near as they are reported to be," said Wallace, "our chances of victory are small."

"I fear ye're richt," said Black. "It becomes Ignorance to haud its tongue in the presence o' Knowledge, nae doot--an' I confess to bein' as ignorant as a bairn o' the art o' war; but common sense seems to say that haverin' aboot theology on the eve o' a fecht is no sae wise-like as disposin' yer men to advantage. The very craws might be ashamed o'

sic a noise!"

Even while he spoke a cry was raised that the enemy was in sight; and the confusion that prevailed before became redoubled as the necessity for instant action arose. In the midst of it, however, a few among the more sedate and cool-headed leaders did their best to reduce the little army to something like order, and put it in battle array. There was no lack of personal courage. Men who had, for the sake of righteousness, suffered the loss of all things, and had carried their lives in their hands for so many years, were not likely to present a timid front in the hour of battle. And leaders such as John Nisbet of Hardhill, one of the most interesting sufferers in the twenty-eight years' persecution; Clelland, who had fought with distinguished courage at Drumclog; Henry Hall of Haughhead; David Hackston of Rathillet; John Balfour of Burley; Turnbull of Bewlie; with Major Learmont and Captain John Paton of Meadowhead--two veterans who had led the Westland Covenanters in their first battle at the Pentland Hills--such men were well able to have led a band of even half-disciplined men to victory if united under a capable general. But such was not to be. The laws of G.o.d, whether relating to physics or morals, are inexorable. A divided army cannot conquer. They had a.s.sembled to fight; instead of fighting they disputed, and that so fiercely that two opposing parties were formed in the camp, and their councils of war became arenas of strife. The drilling of men had been neglected, officers were not appointed, stores of ammunition and other supplies were not provided, and no plan of battle was concerted. All this, with incapacity at the helm, resulted in overwhelming disaster and the sacrifice of a body of brave, devoted men. It afterwards intensified persecution, and postponed const.i.tutional liberty for many years.

In this state of disorganisation the Covenanters were found by the royal troops. The latter were allowed quietly to plant their guns and make arrangements for the attack.

But they were not suffered to cross Bothwell Bridge with impunity. Some of the bolder spirits, leaving the disputants to fight with tongue and eye, drew their swords and advanced to confront the foe.

"It's every man for himsel' here," remarked Andrew Black indignantly, wiping his mouth with his cuff, as he rose from the meal which he was well aware might be his last. "The Lord hae mercy on the puir Covenanters, for they're in sair straits this day. Come awa', Wull Wallace--lead us on to battle."

Our hero, who was busily forming up his men, needed no such exhortation.

Seeing that there was no one in authority to direct his movements, he resolved to act "for his own hand." He gave the word to march, and set off at a quick step for the river, where the fight had already begun.

Soon he and his small band were among those who held the bridge. Here they found Hackston, Hall, Turnbull, and the lion-like John Nisbet, each with a small band of devoted followers sternly and steadily defending what they knew to be the key to their position. Distributing his men in such a way among the coppices on the river's bank that they could a.s.sail the foe to the greatest advantage without unnecessarily exposing themselves, Wallace commenced a steady fusillade on the King's foot-guards, who were attempting to storm the bridge. The Covenanters had only one cannon and about 300 men with which to meet the a.s.sault; but the gun was effectively handled, and the men were staunch.

On the central arch of the old bridge--which was long and narrow--there stood a gate. This had been closed and barricaded with beams and trees, and the parapets on the farther side had been thrown down to prevent the enemy finding shelter behind them. These arrangements aided the defenders greatly, so that for three hours the gallant 300 held the position in spite of all that superior discipline and numerous guns could do. At last, however, the ammunition of the defenders began to fail.

"Where did ye tether my horse?" asked Will Wallace, addressing Peter, who acted the part of aide-de-camp and servant to his commander.

"Ayont the hoose there," replied Peter, who was crouching behind a tree-stump.

"Jump on its back, lad, and ride to the rear at full speed. Tell them we're running short of powder and ball. We want more men, too, at once.

Haste ye!"

"Ay, an' tell them frae me, that if we lose the brig we lose the day,"

growled Andrew Black, who, begrimed with powder, was busily loading and firing his musket from behind a thick bush, which, though an admirable screen from vision, was a poor protection from bullets, as the pa.s.sage of several leaden messengers had already proved. But our farmer was too much engrossed with present duty to notice trifles!

Without a word, except his usual "Ay," Ramblin' Peter jumped up and ran to where his commander's steed was picketed. In doing so he had to pa.s.s an open s.p.a.ce, and a ball striking his cap sent it spinning into the air; but Peter, like Black, was not easily affected by trifles. Next moment he was on the back of Will's horse--a great long-legged chestnut--and flying towards the main body of Covenanters in rear.

The bullets were whistling thickly past him. One of these, grazing some tender part of his steed's body, acted as a powerful spur, so that the alarmed creature flew over the ground at racing speed, much to its rider's satisfaction. When they reached the lines, however, and he attempted to pull up, Peter found that the great tough-mouthed animal had taken the bit in its teeth and bolted. No effort that his puny arm could make availed to check it. Through the ranks of the Covenanters he sped wildly, and in a short time was many miles from the battlefield.

How long he might have continued his involuntary retreat is uncertain, but the branch of a tree brought it to a close by sweeping him off the saddle. A quarter of an hour later an old woman found him lying on the ground insensible, and with much difficulty succeeded in dragging him to her cottage.

Meanwhile the tide of war had gone against the Covenanters. Whatever may be said of Hamilton, unquestionably he did not manage the fight well. No ammunition or reinforcements were sent to the front. The stout defenders of the bridge were forced to give way in such an unequal conflict. Yet they retired fighting for every inch of the ground.

Indeed, instead of being reinforced they were ordered to retire; and at last, when all hope was gone, they reluctantly obeyed.

"Noo this bates a'!" exclaimed Black in a tone of ineffable disgust, as he ran to the end of the bridge, clubbed his musket, and laid about him with the energy of despair. Will Wallace was at his side in a moment; so was Quentin d.i.c.k. They found Balfour and Hackston already there; and for a few moments these men even turned the tide of battle, for they made an irresistible dash across the bridge, and absolutely drove the a.s.sailants from their guns, but, being unsupported, were compelled to retire. If each had been a Hercules, the gallant five would have had to succ.u.mb before such overwhelming odds. A few minutes more and the Covenanters were driven back. The King's troops poured over the bridge and began to form on the other side.

Then it was that Graham of Claverhouse, seeing his opportunity, led his dragoons across the bridge and charged the main body of the Covenanters.

Undisciplined troops could not withstand the shock of such a charge.

They quickly broke and fled; and now the battle was changed to a regular rout.

"Kill! kill!" cried Claverhouse; "no quarter!"

His men needed no such encouragement. From that time forward they galloped about the moor, slaying remorselessly all whom they came across.

The gentle-spirited Monmouth, seeing that the victory was gained, gave orders to cease the carnage; but Claverhouse paid no attention to this.

He was like the man-eating tigers,--having once tasted blood he could not be controlled, though Monmouth galloped about the field doing his best to check the savage soldiery.

It is said that afterwards his royal father--for he was an illegitimate son of the King--found fault with him for his leniency after Bothwell.

We can well believe it; for in a letter which he had previously sent to the council Charles wrote that it was "his royal will and pleasure that they should prosecute the rebels with fire and sword, and all other extremities of war." Speaking at another time to Monmouth about his conduct, Charles said, "If I had been present there should have been no trouble about prisoners." To which Monmouth replied, "If that was your wish, you should not have sent me but a _butcher_!"

In the general flight Black, owing to his lame leg, stumbled over a bank, pitched on his head, and lay stunned. Quentin d.i.c.k, stooping to succour him, was knocked down from behind, and both were captured.

Fortunately Monmouth chanced to be near them at the time and prevented their being slaughtered on the spot, like so many of their countrymen, of whom it is estimated that upwards of four hundred were slain in the pursuit that succeeded the fight--many of them being men of the neighbourhood, who had not been present on the actual field of battle at all. Among others Wallace's uncle, David Spence, was killed. Twelve hundred, it is said, laid down their arms and surrendered at discretion.

Wallace himself, seeing that the day was lost and further resistance useless, and having been separated from his friends in the general _melee_, sought refuge in a clump of alders on the banks of the river.

Another fugitive made for the same spot about the same time. He was an old man, yet vigorous, and ran well; but the soldiers who pursued soon came up and knocked him down. Having already received several dangerous wounds in the head, the old man seemed to feel that he had reached the end of his career on earth, and calmly prepared for death. But the end had not yet come. Even among the blood-stained troops of the King there were men whose hearts were not made of flint, and who, doubtless, disapproved of the cruel work in which it was their duty to take part.

Instead of giving the old man the _coup de grace_, one of the soldiers asked his name.

"Donald Cargill," answered the wounded man.

"That name sounds familiar," said the soldier. "Are not you a minister?"

"Yea, I have the honour to be one of the Lord's servants."

Upon hearing this the soldiers let him go, and bade him get off the field as fast as possible.

Cargill was not slow to obey, and soon reached the alders, where he fell almost fainting to the ground. Here he was discovered by Wallace, and recognised as the old man whom he had met in Andrew Black's hidy-hole.

The poor man could scarcely walk; but with the a.s.sistance of his stout young friend, who carefully dressed his wounds, he managed to escape.

Wallace himself was not so fortunate. After leaving Cargill in a place of comparative safety, he had not the heart to think only of his own escape while uncertain of the fate of his friends. He was aware, indeed, of his uncle's death, but knew nothing about Andrew Black, Quentin d.i.c.k, or Ramblin' Peter. When, therefore, night had put an end to the fiendish work, he returned cautiously to search the field of battle; but, while endeavouring to clamber over a wall, was suddenly pounced upon by half a dozen soldiers and made prisoner.

At an earlier part of the evening he would certainly have been murdered on the spot, but by that time the royalists were probably tired of indiscriminate slaughter, for they merely bound his arms and led him to a spot where those Covenanters who had been taken prisoners were guarded.

The guarding was of the strangest and cruellest. The prisoners were made to lie flat down on the ground--many of them having been previously stripped nearly naked; and if any of them ventured to change their positions, or raise their heads to implore a draught of water, they were instantly shot.

Next day the survivors were tied together in couples and driven off the ground like a herd of cattle. Will Wallace stood awaiting his turn, and watching the first band of prisoners march off. Suddenly he observed Andrew Black coupled to Quentin d.i.c.k. They pa.s.sed closed to him. As they did so their eyes met.

"Losh, man, is that you?" exclaimed Black, a gleam of joy lighting up his sombre visage. "Eh, but I _am_ gled to see that yer still leevin'!"

"Not more glad than I to see that you're not dead," responded Will quickly. "Where's Peter and Bruce?"

A stern command to keep silence and move on drowned the answer, and in another minute Wallace, with an unknown comrade-in-arms, had joined the procession.

Thus they were led--or rather driven--with every species of cruel indignity, to Edinburgh; but the jails there were already full; there was no place in which to stow such noxious animals! Had Charles the Second been there, according to his own statement, he would have had no difficulty in dealing with them; but bad as the Council was, it was not quite so brutal, it would seem, as the King.

"Put them in the Greyfriars Churchyard," was the order--and to that celebrated spot they were marched.

Seated at her back window in Candlemaker Row, Mrs. Black observed, with some surprise and curiosity, the sad procession wending its way among the tombs and round the church. The news of the fight at Bothwell Bridge had only just reached the city, and she knew nothing of the details. Mrs. Wallace and Jean Black were seated beside her knitting.

"Wha'll they be, noo?" soliloquised Mrs. Black.

"Maybe prisoners taken at Bothwell Brig," suggested Mrs. Wallace.

Jean started, dropped her knitting, and said in a low, anxious voice, as she gazed earnestly at the procession, "If--if it's them, uncle Andrew an'--an'--the others may be amang them!"

The procession was not more than a hundred yards distant--near enough for sharp, loving eyes to distinguish friends.

"I see them!" cried Jean eagerly.