The spring of 1297 had scarcely set in before the _guerrilla_-parties thus formed began to molest the invaders; and so persevering and successful were their attacks, that in a very short time, throughout the whole range of the forest of Clydesdale, Wallace and his followers held undisputed sway; and, emerging from parts least expected by the enemy, surprised and cut off their convoys. The English garrison which occupied Bothwell Castle made several attempts to drive them from their concealments in the woods, but all their efforts had ended in discomfiture and disgrace; while the prisoners left in the hands of the Scots were hung up at different parts, along the skirts of the forest, as a warning to all hostile intruders. These proceedings of the insurgents alarmed and perplexed the English, as it kept them in profound ignorance of the numbers they had to cope with. Left to their own conjectures, their heated imaginations peopled the impenetrable recesses of the woods with swarms of fierce and merciless enemies, headed by a chief against whose sword the strongest of their armour afforded but a feeble protection. While the Scots were thus engaged, their leader received advice that a strong convoy was on its way from England for the supply of the garrison of Ayr, under the command of Fenwick, the person who headed the attack so fatal to Sir Malcolm Wallace. Roused by the hopes of avenging the death of his father, our hero determined to way-lay the party. For this purpose he selected fifty of those on whose strength and courage he could place the greatest reliance; and thus attended, he set forward to occupy a position on the road the enemy had to pass. It was night when the little band of patriots reached the spot from whence they meant to make their attack; but hearing nothing of the advance of Fenwick, he ordered his men to take shelter for the night in a neighbouring wood. The morning was pretty far advanced, when two scouts, whom Wallace had sent forward at day-break, returned with the intelligence that the enemy was at hand. Having arranged his men for the onset, his friend, John Blair, offered up prayers for their success, which were scarcely over before the English came in sight. Fenwick, on observing the small body of Scots that awaited his approach, felt perfectly assured of taking them, and the far-famed chieftain, whom he suspected to be their leader, prisoners with him to Ayr; and congratulated himself on the satisfaction which the capture of the bold outlaw would afford to his superiors. This pleasing reverie was, however, disturbed by a rapid movement of the Scots, who, charging with their long spears, threw his advance into confusion, and, following up their advantage with the most daring intrepidity, carried disorder to the very centre of his squadron; where, undismayed by the superior numbers that surrounded them, Wallace and his brave companions fought with all the fury of exasperated lions. The repeated