Scotland -- History -- War of Independence, 1285-1371 -- Fiction
It was indeed the same. On hearing the first blast of the horn, the
youthful chieftain had hastened from his bed of heath, and buckling on
his brigandine, rushed to the rock; but at the sight of the noble
figure which first gained the summit, the young hero fell back. An
indescribable awe checked his steps, and he stood at a distance, while
Kirkpatrick welcomed the chief, and introduced Lord Andrew Murray.
Wallace received the latter with a glad smile; and taking him warmly by
the hand, "Gallant Murray," said he, "with such assistance, I hope to
reinstate your brave uncle in Bothwell Castle, and soon to cut a
passage to even a mightier rescue! We must carry off Scotland from the
tyrant's arms; or," added he, in a graver tone, "we shall only rivet
her chains the closer."
"I am but a poor auxiliary," returned Murray; "my troop is a scanty
one, for it is my own gathering. It is not my father's nor my uncle's
strength, that I bring along with me. But there is one here,"
continued he, "who has preserved a party of men, sent by my cousin Lady
Helen Mar, almost double my numbers."
At this reference to the youthful warrior, Sir Roger Kirkpatrick
discerned him at a distance, and hastened toward him, while Murray
briefly related to Wallace the extraordinary conduct of this unknown.
On being told that the chief waited to receive him, the youth hastened
forward with a trepidation he had never felt before; but it was a
trepidation that did not subtract from his own worth. It was the
timidity of a noble heart, which believed it approached one of the most
perfect among mortals; and while its anxious pulse beat to emulate such
merit, a generous consciousness of measureless inferiority embarassed
him with a confusion so amiable, that Wallace, who perceived his
extreme youth and emotion, opened his arms and embraced him. "Brave
youth," cried he, "I trust that the power which blesses our cause will
enable me to return you with many a well-earned glory, to the bosom of
your family!"
Edwin was encouraged by the frank address of a hero whom he expected to
have found reserved, and wrapped in the deep glooms of the fate which
had roused him to be a thunderbolt of heaven; but when he saw a benign,
though pale countenance, hail him with smiles, he made a strong effort
to shake off the awe with which the name, and the dignity of figure and
mein of Wallace had oppressed him; and with a mantling blush he
replied: "My family are worthy of your esteem; my father is brave; but
my mother, fearing for me, her favorite son, prevailed on him to put me
into a monastery. Dreading the power of the English, even there she
allowed none but the abbot to know who I was. And as he chose to hide
my name--and I have burst from my concealment without her knowledge--till
I do something worthy of that name, and deserving her pardon, permit
me, noble Wallace, to follow your footsteps by the simple appellation
of Edwin."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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