2. This country of the Swiss was really a part of the German empire, but the emperors had extended their rule over the lower parts of the country, leaving the forest cantons free. And a brave, courageous, and industrious people grew up there. No pauper-house among the Alps, for every able-bodied person worked, and no body tried to rob his neighbor of his honest earnings. They were a strong athletic race, and the monarchs of the surrounding countries were glad to secure Swiss soldiers, for it was said that the Swiss never deserted. In 1298, while Wallace was struggling for freedom in Scotland, Albert of Austria, the second of the house of Hapsburg, resolved to get possession of the free forest cantons. He observed great secrecy in carrying out his designs, and it was not until a tax-gatherer or bailiff was permanently established in the country, supported by Austrian soldiers, that the people awakened to their danger. The story that follows is one that all true Swiss delight to believe, and, though it may not be true in regard to names and details, yet as a record of the main incidents of history it is substantially correct.

3. The first Austrian bailiff was Hermann Gessler, who built a strong fortress at Kuessnacht, in Uri. At first he professed great love for the people, but when he became firmly established he threw off the mask, and showed himself to be a cruel, cowardly, mean-spirited tyrant. He was both vain and greedy, and he exacted both homage and tribute from the surrounding peasantry. Property was seized by the soldiers, and, should the owner venture to remonstrate, he was mercilessly beaten or killed on the spot. Complaints to the governor were followed by fresh outrages, until no one, even in the most secluded valleys, considered himself safe. Here tyranny as usual overstepped the bounds of safety. The free spirit, born of toil and privations in the mountain-fastnesses, would not long endure the outrages to which the people were subjected. A leader only was needed to induce a general revolt, and this leader was found in the person of William Tell.



4. William Tell, according to the received accounts, was born at Buergelen, a secluded hamlet in the canton of Uri, near the lake of Lucerne, about the year 1275; and, like his forefathers, was the proprietor of a cottage, a few small fields, a vineyard, and an orchard. When William had reached the age of twenty, his father is said to have died, bequeathing to him these humble possessions. Endowed by nature with a lofty and energetic mind, Tell was distinguished also by great physical strength and manly beauty. He was taller by a head than most of his companions; he loved to climb the rugged rocks of his native mountains in pursuit of the chamois, and to steer his boat across the lake in time of storm and of danger. The load of wood which he could bear upon his shoulders was double that which any ordinary man could support.

5. With other sources of happiness, Tell combined that of possessing an intimate friend, who dwelt amid the rocky heights separating Uri from Unterwalden. Arnold Auderhalden, of Melchthal, was this associate. Although similar in many salient points of character, there was still an essential difference between the two men. Arnold, of Melchthal, while he loved his country with an ardor equal to that of Tell, and was capable of very great actions, was not prepared for much patient suffering or long endurance of wrong. Tell, whose temperament was more calm, and whose passions were more influenced by reason than impulse, only succeeded in restraining his friend's impulsive character by the stern force of example. Meantime the two friends passed their days in the enjoyment of one another's society, visiting at intervals each other's humble residence. Tell foresaw, on the arrival of Gessler, many of the misfortunes which must inevitably follow his iron rule, and without explaining his views even to Arnold, of Melchthal, without needlessly alarming his family, endeavored to devise some means, not of bearing the yoke patiently, but of delivering his country from the galling oppression which Albert had brought upon it. The hero felt satisfied that the evil deeds of the governor would sooner or later bring just retribution upon him; for this, and many other reasons, therefore, despite his own secret wishes, when Arnold poured out his fiery wrath in the ear of his friend, he listened calmly, and, to avoid inflaming him more, avowed none of his own views, or even feelings, in return.

6. One evening, however, William Tell and his wife sat in front of their cottage, watching their son amusing himself amid the flocks, when the former grew more thoughtful and sad than usual. Presently Tell spoke, and for the first time imparted to his wife some of his most secret designs. While the conversation was still proceeding, the parents saw their son rush toward them crying for help, and shouting the name of old Melchthal. As he spoke, Arnold's father appeared in sight, led by his grand-child, and feeling his way with a stick. Tell and his wife hastened forward, and discovered, to their inconceivable horror, that their friend was blind, his eyes having been put out with hot irons. The hero of Buergelen, burning with just indignation, called on the old man to explain the fearful sight, and also the cause of Arnold's absence.

7. It appeared that that very morning the father, son, and grand-daughter were in the fields loading a couple of oxen with produce for the market-town, when an Austrian soldier presented himself, and, having examined the animals, which appeared to suit his fancy, ordered their owner to unyoke the beasts preparatory to his driving them off. Adding insolence to tyranny, he further remarked that such clod-poles might very well draw their own plows and carts. Arnold, furious at the man's daring impertinence, was only restrained by his father's earnest entreaties from sacrificing the robber on the spot; nothing, however, could prevent him from aiming a blow at the soldier, which broke two of his fingers.

8. The enraged soldier then retreated; but old Melchthal, who well knew the character of Gessler, immediately forced Arnold, much against his inclination, to go and conceal himself for some days in the Righi. Scarcely had Arnold departed in this direction, when a detachment of guards from Altorf surrounded their humble tenement, and dragged old Melchthal before Gessler, who ordered him to give up his son. Furious at the refusal which ensued, the tyrant commanded the old man's eyes to be put out, and then sent him forth blind to deplore his misfortunes.

9. Tell heard the story of Melchthal in silence, and, when he had finished, inquired the exact spot of his son's concealment. The father replied that it was in a particular cavern of Mount Righi, the desert rocks of which place are unknown to the emissaries of the governor, and there he had promised to remain until he received his parent's permission to come forth. This Tell requested might be granted immediately; and, turning to his son, ordered him to start at once for the Righi with a message to Arnold. Walter obeyed gladly; and, providing himself with food, and receiving private instructions from his father, went on his journey under cover of the night.

10. Tell himself then threw around his own person a cloak of wolf-skin, seized his quiver full of sharp arrows, and, taking his terrible bow, which few could bend, in hand, bade adieu to his wife for a few days, and took his departure in an opposite direction from that pursued by his son. It was quite dawn when Walter reached the Righi, and a slight column of blue smoke speedily directed him to the spot where Arnold lay concealed. The intrusion at first startled the fugitive; but, recognizing Tell's son, he listened eagerly to his dismal story, the conclusion of which roused in him so much fury that he would have rushed forth at once to assassinate Gessler had not Walter restrained him.

11. Schooled by Tell, he informed him that his father was engaged in preparing vengeance for the tyrant's crime, being at that moment with Werner Stauffacher concerting proper measures of resistance. "'Go,' said my father, 'and tell Arnold of this new villany of the governor's, and say that it is not rage which can give us just revenge, but the utmost exertion of courage and prudence. I leave Schwytz to bid Werner arm his canton: let Melchthal go to Stautz and prepare the men of Unterwalden for the outbreak; having done this, let him meet me, with Fuerst and Werner, in the field of Gruetli!'"

12. Arnold, scarcely taking time to refresh himself with food, sent Walter on his homeward journey, while he started for Stautz. Walter, when alone, turned his steps toward Altorf, where unfortunately, and unknown to himself, he came into the presence of Gessler, to whom he uttered somewhat hard things about the state of the country, being led to commit himself by the artful questions of the tyrant, who immediately ordered the lad into confinement, with strict injunctions to the guards to seize whomsoever should claim him.

13. Meanwhile, certain doubts and fears, from he knew not what cause, arose in the mind of Gessler, and struck him with a presentiment that all was not right. He imagined that the people wore in their looks less abject submission to his authority, and, the better to satisfy himself of the correctness or erroneousness of this view, he commanded Berenger to erect at dawn of day, in the market-place of Altorf, a pole, on the point of which he was to place the ducal cap of Austria. An order was further promulgated, to the effect that every one passing near or within sight of it should make obeisance, in proof of his honor and fealty to the duke.

14. Numerous soldiers under arms were directed to surround the place, to keep the avenues, and to compel the passers-by to bend with proper respect to the emblem of the governing power of the three cantons. Gessler likewise determined that whoever should disobey the mandate should be accused of disaffection, and treated accordingly; a measure which promised both to discover the discontented, and furnish sufficient grounds for their punishment. Numerous detachments of troops, among whom money had been previously distributed, were then placed around to see that his commands were scrupulously obeyed. History scarcely records another instance of tyranny so galling and humiliating to the oppressed, and so insolent on the part of its author.

15. The proceedings of Tell in the interval were of the deepest concern to the country. Having arrived within the territory of Schwytz, and at the village of Stainea, he called at the house of Werner, and, being admitted, threw at his feet a heavy bundle of lances, arrows, cross-bows, and swords. "Werner Stauffacher," cried Tell, "the time is come for action!" and without a moment's delay he informed his friend of all that had passed, dwelling minutely on every detail. And, when he had at length finished, the cautious Werner could restrain his wrath no longer, but exclaimed, clasping the hero's hand, "Friend, let us begin; I am ready!" After further brief conference, they, by separate ways, carried round arms to their friends in the town and neighboring villages. Many hours were thus consumed; and, when their weapons were at last distributed, they both returned to Stauffacher's house, snatched some slight refreshment, and then sped on their way to Gruetli, accompanied by ten of their most tried adherents.

16. The lake of Lucerne was soon reached, and a boat procured. Werner, perceiving the furious tempest, inquired of Tell if his skill would enable him to struggle against the storm. "Arnold awaits us!" cried William; "and the fate of our country depends on this interview!" With these words he leaped into the boat, Werner jumped after him, and the rest followed. Tell cast loose the agitated vessel, seized the tiller, and, hoisting sail, the little craft flew along the waves.

17. Presently, it is said, the wind moderated, and ere they reached the opposite side had ceased altogether—a phenomenon common in these mountain lakes. The boat was now made fast, and the conspirators hastened to the field of Gruetli, where, at the mouth of a cavern of the same name, Arnold and Walter Fuerst awaited them, each with ten other companions. Tell allowed no consideration of natural feeling to silence the calls of duty, but at once came to the point. He first gave a brief sketch of the state of the country under the Austrian bailiffs, and, having shown to the satisfaction of his companions the necessity for immediate and combined action, is related to have added: "We may have our plans frustrated by delay, and the time has come for action. I ask only a few days for preparation. Unterwalden and Schwytz are armed. Three hundred and fifty warriors are, I am assured, ready. I will remain in Altorf, and, as soon as I receive tidings from Fuerst, will fire a huge pile of wood near my house. At this signal let all march to the rendezvous, and, when united, we will pour down upon Altorf, where I will then strive to rouse the people!"

18. This plan of the campaign was agreed to; and it was further resolved that, in the enterprise upon which they were now embarked, no one should be guided by his own private opinion, nor ever forsake his friends; that they should jointly live or jointly die in defense of the common cause; that each should in his own vicinity promote the object in view, trusting that the whole nation would one day have cause to bless their friendly union; that the Count of Hapsburg should be deprived of none of his lands, vassals, or prerogatives; that the freedom which they had inherited from their fathers they were determined to assert, and to hand down to their children untainted and undiminished. Then Stauffacher, Fuerst, and Melcthal, and the other conspirators, stepped forward, and, raising their hands, swore that they would die in defense of that freedom. After this solemn oath, and after an agreement that New Year's Day should be chosen for the outbreak, unless, in the meantime, a signal fire should arouse the inhabitants on some sudden emergency, the heroes separated. Arnold returned to Stautz, Werner to Schwytz, while Tell and Fuerst took their way to Altorf. The sun already shone brightly as Tell entered the town, and he at once advanced into the public place, where the first object which caught his eye was a handsome cap embroidered with gold stuck upon the end of a long pole. Soldiers walked around it in respectful silence, and the people of Altorf, as they passed, bowed their heads profoundly to the symbol of power.

19. Tell was much surprised at this new and strange manifestation of servility, and, leaning on his cross-bow, gazed contemptuously both on the people and the soldiers. Berenger, captain of the guard, at length observed this man, who alone, amid a cringing populace, carried his head erect. He went to him, and fiercely asked why he neglected to pay obedience to the orders of Hermann Gessler? Tell replied that he saw no reason why he should bow to a hat, or even to the one which the hat represented. This bold language surprised Berenger, who ordered Tell to be disarmed, and then, surrounded by guards, he was carried before the governor. "Wherefore," demanded the incensed bailiff, "Hast thou disobeyed my orders, and failed in thy respect to the emperor? Why hast thou dared to pass before the sacred badge of thy sovereign without the evidence of homage required of thee?" "Verily," answered Tell, with mock humility, "how this happened I know not; 'tis an accident, and no mark of contempt. Suffer me, therefore, in thy clemency to depart."

20. Gessler was irritated at this reply, feeling assured that there was something beneath the tranquil and bitter smile of the prisoner which he could not fathom. Suddenly he was struck by the resemblance which existed between him and the boy Walter, whom he had met the previous day, and immediately ordered him to be brought forward.

21. Gessler now inquired the prisoner's name, which he no sooner learned than he recognized as that of the archer so celebrated throughout the canton. As soon as the youth arrived, the governor turned to Tell and told him that he had heard of his extraordinary dexterity, and was accordingly determined to put it to proof. "While beholding justice done, the people of Altorf shall also admire thy skill. Thy son shall be placed a hundred yards distant, with an apple on his head; if thou hast the good fortune to carry off the apple in triumph with one of thy arrows, I pardon both, and restore your liberty. If thou refusest this trial, thy son shall die before thine eyes!"

22. Tell implored Gessler to spare him so cruel an experiment, but, finding the governor inexorable, the hero submitted to the trial. He was conducted into the public place, where the required distance was measured by Berenger—a double row of soldiers shutting up three sides of the square. The people, awe-stricken and trembling, pressed behind. Walter stood with his back to a linden tree, patiently awaiting the exciting moment. Hermann Gessler, some distance behind, watched every motion. His cross-bow and belt were handed to Tell; he tried the point, broke the weapon, and demanded his quiver. It was brought to him, and emptied at his feet. William stooped down, and, taking a long time to choose one, managed to hide a second in his girdle; the other he held in his hand, and proceeded to string his bow, while Berenger cleared away the remaining arrows. After hesitating, he drew the bow, aimed, shot, and the apple, struck through the core, was carried away by the arrow.

23. The market-place was filled by loud cries of admiration. Walter flew to embrace his father, who, overcome by the excess of his emotions, fell insensible to the ground, thus exposing the second arrow to view. Gessler stood over him awaiting his recovery, which speedily took place. Tell rose, and turned away from the governor, who, however, thus addressed him: "Incomparable archer! I will keep my promise; but," added he, "tell me what needed you with that second arrow which you have, I see, secreted in your girdle? One was surely enough." "The second shaft," replied Tell, "was to pierce thy heart, tyrant, if I had chanced to harm my son!" At these words the terrified governor retired behind his guards, revoked his promise of pardon, commanding him further to be placed in irons, and to be reconducted to the fort. He was obeyed, and, as slight murmurs rose among the people, double patrols of Austrian soldiers paraded the streets, and forced the citizens to retire to their houses. Walter, released, fled to join Arnold, of Melchthal, according to a whispered order from his father.

24. Gessler, reflecting on the aspect of the people, and fearful that some plot was in progress, which his accidental shortness of provisions rendered more unfortunate, determined to rid his citadel of the object which might induce an attack. With this in view, he summoned Berenger, and said to him: "I am about to leave Altorf, and you shall command during my absence. I leave my brave soldiers, who will readily obey your voice; and soon, returning with supplies and reinforcements, we will crush this vile people, and punish them for their insolent murmurings. Prepare me a large boat, in which thirty men, picked from my guard, may depart with me. As soon as night comes on, load this audacious Tell with chains, and send him on board. I will myself take him where he can expiate his crimes!"

25. The evening was fine and promising; the boat danced along the placid waters. The air was pure, the waves tranquil, the stars shone brightly in the sky. A light southern breeze aided the efforts of the oarsmen, and tempered the rigor of the cold, which night in that season rendered almost insupportable so near the glaciers. All appeared in Gessler's favor. The extent of the first section of the lake was soon passed, and the boat headed for Brunnen. Tell, meantime, loaded with irons, gazed with eager eye on the desert rocks of Gruetli, where the day before he had planned with his friends for the deliverance of his country. While painful thoughts crossed his mind, his looks were attracted by a dim light which burst forth near his own house. Presently this light increased, and before long a blaze arose visible all over Uri. The heart of the prisoner beat with joy, for he felt that all efforts were making to rescue him. Gessler observed the flame, which in reality was a signal-fire to arouse the cantons, but supposed it some Swiss peasant's house accidentally in flames.

26. Suddenly, however, between Fluelen and Sissigen, when in deep water, intermingled with shoals, the south wind ceased to blow, and one of those storms which are common on the lake commenced. A north wind burst upon them, raised the waves to a great height, and dashed them over the gunwale of the boat, which, giving way to the fury of the storm, flew toward the shore that, rocky and precipitous, menaced their lives. The bleak wind brought also frost, snow, and sleet, which spread darkness over the waters, and covered the hands and faces of the rowers with ice. The soldiers, inert and panic-stricken, prayed for life, while Gessler, but ill prepared for death, was profuse in his offers of money and other rewards if they would rouse themselves to save him.

27. In this emergency the Austrian bailiff was reminded by one of his attendants that the prisoner Tell was no less skillful in the management of a boat than in the exercise of the bow. "And, see, my lord," said one of the men, representing to Gessler the imminent peril they were all incurring, "all are paralyzed with terror, and even the pilot is unable to manage the helm!"

28. Gessler's fear of Tell induced him at first to hesitate, but, the prayers of the soldiers becoming pressing, he told the prisoner that if he could take them safely through the storm he should be at once unbound. Tell having replied that, by the grace of God, he could still save them, was instantly freed from his shackles and placed at the helm, when the boat, answering to a master-hand, kept its course steadily through the bellowing surge, as if conscious of the free spirit which had now taken the command.

29. Guiding the obedient tiller at his will, Tell pointed the head of the boat in the direction whence they came, which he knew to be the only safe course; and, encouraging and cheering the rowers, made rapid and steady progress through the water. The darkness which now wrapped them round prevented Gessler from discovering that he had turned his back on his destination. Tell continued on his way nearly the whole night, the dying light of the signal-fire on the mountain serving as a beacon in enabling him to approach the shores of Schwytz, and to avoid the shoals.

30. Between Sissigen and Fluelen are two mountains, the greater and the lesser Achsenberg, whose sides, hemmed in and rising perpendicularly from the bed of the lake, offer not a single platform where human foot can stand. When near this place dawn broke in the eastern sky, and Gessler—the danger appearing to decrease—scowled upon Tell in sullen silence. As the prow of the vessel was driven inland, Tell perceived a solitary table-rock, and called to the rowers to redouble their efforts till they should have passed the precipice ahead, observing with ominous truth that it was the most dangerous point on the whole lake.

31. The soldiers here recognized their position, and pointed it out to Gessler, who demanded of Tell what he meant by taking them back to Altorf. William, without answering him, brought the bow suddenly close upon the rock, seized his bow, and, with an effort which sent the unguided craft back into the lake, sprang on shore, scaled the rocks, and took the direction of Schwytz.

32. Having thus escaped the clutches of the governor, he made for the main road between Art and Kuessnacht, and there hid himself until such a time as the bailiff should pass that way. Gessler and his attendants having, with great difficulty, effected a landing at Brunnen, proceeded toward Kuessnacht. In the spot still known as "the hollow way," and marked by a chapel, Tell overheard the threats pronounced against himself should he once more be caught, and, in default of his apprehension, vengeance was vowed against his family. Tell felt that the safety of himself and his wife and children, to say nothing of the duty he owed to his country, required the tyrant's death; and, seizing an arrow, he pierced Gessler to the heart.

33. The bold deed accomplished, the hero effected his escape to Stemen, where he found Werner Stauffacher preparing to march. Immediate action was now necessary, but the original decision of the conspirators remained unchanged. Accordingly, on the morning of New Year's Day, 1308, the castle of Rostberg, in Obwalden, was taken possession of, its keeper, Berenger, of Landasberg, made prisoner, and compelled to promise that he would never again set foot within the territory of the three cantons, after which he was allowed to retire to Lucerne.

34. Stauffacher, the same morning, at the head of the men of Schwytz, destroyed the fortress of Schwanan, while Tell and the men of Uri took possession of Altorf. On the following Sunday the deputies of Uri, Schwytz, and Unterwalden met, and renewed that fraternal league which has endured to this day.

35. In 1315 Leopold, second son of Albert, determined to punish the confederate cantons for their revolt, and accordingly marched against them at the head of a considerable army, accompanied by a numerous retinue of nobles. Count Otho, of Strasberg, one of his ablest generals, crossed the Brunig with a body of four thousand men, intending to attack Upper Unterwalden. The bailiffs of Willisan, of Wodhausen, and of Lucerne meantime armed a fourth of that number to make a descent on the lower division of the same canton, while the emperor in person, at the head of his army of reserve, poured down from Egerson on Mogarten, in the country of Schwytz, ostentatiously displaying an extensive supply of rope where with to hang the chiefs of the rebels.

36. The confederates, in order to oppose this formidable invasion, occupied a position in the mountains bordering on the convent of Our Lady of the Hermits. Four hundred men of Uri, and three hundred of Unterwalden, had effected a junction with the warriors of Schwytz, who formed the principal force of the little army. Fifty men, banished from this latter canton, offered themselves to combat beneath their banner, intending to efface by their valor the remembrance of past faults. Early on the morning of November 15, 1315, some thousands of well-armed Austrian knights slowly ascended the hill on which the Swiss were posted, with the hope of dislodging them; the latter, however, advanced to meet their enemies, uttering the most terrific cries. The band of banished men, having precipitated large stones and fragments of rocks from the hillsides and from overhanging cliffs, rushed from behind the sheltering influence of a thick fog and threw the advancing columns into confusion. The Austrians immediately broke their ranks, and presently a complete rout, with terrible slaughter, ensued. The flower of the Austrian chivalry perished on the field of Morgarten, beneath the halberts, arrows, and iron-headed clubs of the shepherds. Leopold, himself, though he succeeded in gaining the shattered remnant of his forces, had a narrow escape, while the Swiss, animated by victory, hastened to Unterwalden, where they defeated another body of Austrians. In this instance Count Otho had as narrow an escape as the emperor.

37. After these two well-fought fields, the confederates hastened to renew their ancient alliance, which was solemnly sworn to in an assembly held at Brunnen on the eighth day of December.

38. After the battle of Morgarten one canton after another threw off the Austrian yoke, and joined the forest cantons, until nearly all Switzerland was joined in a confederacy. A later war waged by Albert proved disastrous to the Austrian cause, and ended by a further consolidation of the Swiss cantons. In 1356, seventy years after Morgarten, the Austrians made another attempt to bring the brave mountaineers into subjection. An army of nine thousand men, the best trained soldiers of the empire, under the lead of the Archduke Leopold, invaded the country. To these the confederates opposed a force of fourteen hundred. They met in a valley near the lake of Sempach. The Austrians had learned something of Swiss warfare, and knew that they stood no chance in a hand-to-hand conflict with the Swiss, and so they formed their men into squares, with a wall of bristling spears on every side. Upon this solid mass of men the Swiss could make no impression. In vain they charged with the fiery courage which had so often gained them the victory; they could find no vulnerable point in the serried columns, and it seemed that the brave mountaineers must all perish, and leave their homes again to the mercy of the Austrian soldiers. But, when almost in despair, the tide of battle was turned by the acts of a single Swiss soldier, Arnold Winkelried, of Unterwalden. He communicated his plan to his immediate neighbors, and then, rushing forward, he grasped as many of the Austrian spears as he could reach; and, gathering them together, he bowed to the ground with the spears buried in his breast. Into the breach his companions rushed, and with their powerful swords they soon widened the space, so that the whole Swiss force had room for action. The Austrians were almost annihilated, Leopold himself being slain. The poet Montgomery has given the following version of this event:

ARNOLD WINKELRIED.

39. "Make way for liberty!" he cried; "Make way for liberty!" and died.

40. In arms the Austrian phalanx stood, A living wall, a human wood! A wall where every conscious stone Seemed to its kindred thousands grown; A rampart all assaults to bear, Till time to dust their frames should wear! A wood, like that enchanted grove In which with fiends Rinaldo strove, Where every silent tree possessed A spirit prisoned in its breast, Which the first stroke of coming strife Would startle into hideous life; So dense, so still, the Austrians stood, A living wall, a human wood! Impregnable their front appears, All horrent with projected spears, Whose polished points before them shine, From flank to flank, one brilliant line, Bright as the breakers' splendors run Along the billows, to the sun.

41. Opposed to these, a hovering band Contended for their native land; Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke From manly necks the ignoble yoke, And forged their fetters into swords, On equal terms to fight their lords And what insurgent rage had gained, In many a mortal fray maintained! Marshaled at morn at Freedom's call, They come to conquer or to fall, Where he who conquered, he who fell, Was deemed a dead, or living Tell! Such virtue had that patriot breathed, So to the soil his soul bequeathed, That wheresoe'er his arrows flew, Heroes in his own likeness grew, And warriors sprang from every sod Which his awakening footstep trod.

42. And now the work of life and death Hung on the passing of a breath; The fire of conflict burnt within, The battle trembled to begin; Yet, while the Austrians held their ground, Point for attack was nowhere found. Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed, The unbroken line of lances blazed; That line 'twere suicide to meet, And perish at their tyrant's feet How could they rest within their graves, And leave their homes the homes of slaves? Would they not feel their children tread With clanging chains above their head?

43. It must not! This day, this hour, Annihilates the oppressor's power; All Switzerland is in the field, She will not fly, she can not yield— She must not fall; her better fate Here gives her an immortal date. Few were the numbers she could boast; But every freeman was a host, And felt as though himself were he On whose sole arm hung victory!

44. It did depend on one, indeed, Behold him—Arnold Winkelried There sounds not to the tramp of fame The echo of a nobler name. Unmarked he stood amid the throng, In rumination deep and long, Till you might see, with sudden grace, The very thought come o'er his face, And by the motion of his form Anticipate the coming storm; And by the uplifting of his brow Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.

45. But 'twas no sooner thought and done, The field was in a moment won.

46. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried; Then ran with arms extended wide As if his dearest friend to clasp; Ten spears he swept within his grasp. "Make way for Liberty!" he cried: Their keen points met from side to side; He bowed among them like a tree, And thus made way for Liberty!

47. Swift to the breach his comrades fly; "Make way for Liberty!" they cry. And through the Austrian phalanx dart, As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart! While instantaneous as his fall, Rout, ruin, panic, scattered all An earthquake could not overthrow A city with a surer blow.

48. Thus Switzerland again was free, Thus death made way for Liberty!

49. In the next fifty years the Swiss were engaged in a war with Austria and another with France, and in both cases they were victorious. But, while they were exhausted by the incessant wars that had been urged upon them, they were threatened with a more formidable invasion than ever. Charles the Bold, Duke of Burgundy, resolved to attach Switzerland to his domain. Crossing the Jura, the duke found himself in possession of Yverdun, it having been betrayed into his hands; but the citadel still held out. Charles, irritated that his progress should be stayed by such a handful of men, offered to let them retire home if they would surrender, but if they still held out he would hang them all! The Swiss, knowing prolonged defense was useless, surrendered. As they marched out of the citadel they were seized, by order of the duke, and all murdered.

50. Aroused by these horrors, an army of twenty thousand advanced to meet the duke at the head of three times that number. In the battle that ensued the Burgundians were entirely defeated, and Charles narrowly escaped with his life. Writhing under his disgrace, and vowing revenge, the duke raised a much more numerous army, and again invaded Switzerland.

51. He advanced by the way of the lake of Neufchatel, and paused a few days to capture the fortress on the banks of Lake Morat. While the siege was going on the Swiss army concentrated, and marched to meet their foes. Thirty thousand men were to fight the battle of freedom against one hundred thousand. It was on Saturday, June 22, 1476. The weather was threatening, the sky overcast, and rain fell in torrents. A vanguard was formed, commanded by John Hallwyl, who knelt and besought a blessing from on high. While they yet prayed the sun broke through the clouds, upon which the Swiss commander rose, sword in hand, crying: "Up, up, Heaven smiles on our victory!" The artillery thundered forth as he spoke, and the whole plain, from the lake to the rocky heights, became one vast battle-field! Toward the main body of the Burgundians the Swiss army poured down with irresistible force and courage; and, clearing all difficulties, they reached the line of the enemy. A fearful slaughter now ensued. The Burgundians were utterly vanquished. The haughty duke, pale and dispirited, fled with a few followers, and never stopped till he reached the banks of Lake Leman. The rout was so complete that many of the Burgundians, in terror and despair, threw themselves into the Lake of Morat, the banks of which were strewed with the bodies of the slain.

52. The battle of Morat lives in history with the victories of Marathon and Bannockburn. In each, freedom for the nation was secured, and liberty for man was preserved and transmitted. As a deed, the Swiss victory for ever freed a people from a grasping foreign tyrant; and it is a matter of rejoicing to all who love liberty till to-day, and, like other great events, it is the subject of national traditions.

53. According to one of these, a young native of Friburg, who had been engaged in the battle, keenly desirous of being the first to carry home tidings of the victory, ran the whole way—a distance of ten or twelve miles—and with such overhaste that on his arrival at the market-place he dropped with fatigue, and, barely able to shout that the Swiss were victorious, immediately expired. A twig of lime-tree, which he carried in his hand, was planted on the spot in commemoration of this event; and till the present day are seen, in the market-place of Friburg, the aged and propped-up remains of the venerable tree which grew from this twig. In most of the towns of Switzerland a "tree of Liberty" is preserved, which came from scions of the original tree at Friburg.



CHAPTER IV.

BRUCE AND BANNOCKBURN.

1. Six hundred years ago the duty of defending freedom fell to King Robert Bruce and the Scotch. And this is how it happened. The time was during the crusades, when all Europe was marching to the East, and engaging in battle with the Moslems. Scotland had been an independent country for many years, but some of her princes were too weak for those troublous times. The witches that deceived Macbeth seem to have cast a spell upon the prosperity of the country. Clan was at enmity with clan, and one great chieftain waged relentless war with another. The fierce nobles paid little heed to the king, and showed no regard for the rights of the people. It seemed that peace and liberty had departed forever.

2. Alexander III died, leaving no direct heir. The Scottish nobles assembled to elect who should be their king. The choice lay between Robert Bruce and John Balliol. As the nobles could not agree, the matter was referred to King Edward I, of England, who decided in favor of Balliol. The new prince was weak, and, when he resented the interference of King Edward in some of his affairs, he was easily defeated and driven from the kingdom. Scotland was now regarded as a conquered country, and the people were terribly oppressed. The nobles were deprived of their estates, and the poor people were taxed to the verge of starvation. For fifteen years King Edward held on to his usurped power, while the weak king Balliol was wandering in foreign lands, paying no attention to the distracted state of his country.

3. At last the oppression became so great that conflicts took place almost daily between the Scotch peasants and the English soldiery. On one occasion, a young man named William Wallace was out a-fishing with a boy to carry the fish. Two or three English soldiers came along and insisted on taking the fish. Wallace offered to divide with them, but they insisted on taking the whole, when he flew in a rage, killed one with his fishing-pole, and, seizing a sword, put the others to flight. He then fled, and concealed himself in the mountains until the matter blew over. On another occasion he killed an Englishman who insulted him at a fair, and fled to his home, where he was pursued by the soldiers. He escaped by the back door, but the cruel English leader, Hazelrigg, put his wife and servants to death. From that time Wallace devoted himself to fighting the English. He soon collected a band of outlaws and attacked the English whereever he found a favorable opportunity. He soon had the satisfaction of killing Hazelrigg, and of capturing many important places.

4. The Scotch rose everywhere and joined Wallace, who soon found himself at the head of a formidable army. With this lie captured the English fortresses, and finally defeated the chief English army under Earl Warren. Scotland was now free, but the English king hastened back from Flanders to punish the Scotch. The battle of Falkirk was fought July 22, 1298, and the Scotch were entirely defeated. Wallace again became a fugitive, but was betrayed into the hands of Edward, and was beheaded and quartered, according to the barbarous custom of the times.

5. The eyes of all Scotland were now turned to Robert Bruce as the only remaining champion who would be likely to make head against the English, and he accepted the proffered leadership. His principal rival was a powerful noble called the Red Comyn, and with this rival Bruce sought to make friends. The two met in a church, and Comyn flatly refused to join the Scottish cause, but openly proclaimed his adherence to the English. A quarrel arose, and, in the excitement, Bruce stabbed Comyn. Almost paralyzed at his act, he rushed out of the house and called for his horse. His friends eagerly inquired what was the matter. "I doubt," said Bruce, "that I have slain the Red Comyn." "Do not leave the matter in doubt," said Kirkpatrick; "I will make it certain." He and his companions then rushed into the church and soon dispatched Comyn with their daggers.

6. This deed is the one great blot upon the name of Bruce, and bitterly did he repent of his rashness. It called down upon his devoted head the anathema of the church for sacrilege in committing violence before the holy altar. It arrayed against him the kinsmen and friends of the Red Comyn, and it produced distrust in the minds of many true friends of Scotland, who could never have confidence in such an impetuous leader. Bruce made a vow that, if he succeeded in securing the freedom of Scotland, he would do penance for his crime by entering upon a crusade and fighting for the holy sepulchre.

7. On the 29th of March, 1306, Bruce was crowned king. His enemies immediately attacked and defeated him, and he was obliged to take refuge in the mountains of the Highlands. Here he was hunted like a wild animal, and was obliged to flee from one fastness to another. One of the most malignant of his enemies was Lord Lorn, a kinsman of the Red Comyn. At one time Bruce and his few followers were retreating through a narrow pass, when he was set upon by Lorn and a much superior force. Sending his followers ahead, he stopped his horse in the narrow way, and covered their retreat. Upon seeing the king thus alone, three powerful highlandmen—a father and two sons—set upon him, determined to kill him or take him prisoner for their master, Lord Lorn. Bruce struck the first man who came up and seized his bridle such a blow with his sword as to cut off his hand and free the bridle. The man bled to death. The other brother seized him by the leg and attempted to throw him from his horse. The king, setting spurs to the horse, made the animal spring forward so that the Highlander fell under the horse's feet, and, as he endeavored to rise, the king cleft his head in two with his sword. The father, seeing his two sons thus slain, flew at Bruce and grasped him in his mantle so close to his body that he could not have room to wield his long sword. But with an iron hammer which hung at his saddle-bow, Bruce dashed out the brains of this new assailant. The dying man still clung to the king's mantle, so that, to get free, Bruce was obliged to undo the brooch by which it was fastened, and leave it with the mantle behind. This brooch fell into the hands of Lorn, and was kept in the family for many generations as a memorial of Bruce.

8. But Bruce was soon reduced to greater straits, and, without followers, was obliged to conceal himself in stables and caves. In all his misfortunes he never gave up the cause of his country, and he sacredly devoted his life to the freedom of Scotland. After one of his defeats he was lying one night on a wretched bed in a rude hut, while debating in his own mind whether it were not best to enlist in a crusade, when his attention was directed to a spider on the rafters overhead. He saw that the little spinner was trying to swing from one rafter to another, so as to fix his thread across the space. Time and again it tried and failed. Admiring the perseverance of the creature, Bruce began to count the number of times he tried. One, two, three, four, five, six. It suddenly occurred to Bruce that this was just the number of times he had failed in his attempts against the enemy. He then made up his mind that if the spider succeeded in the next trial he would make one more endeavor to recover his kingdom, but if it failed he would start at once for Palestine. The spider sprang into the air, and this time succeeded, so the king resolved upon another trial, and never after met with a defeat.



9. Many a wild story is told of his feats of arms and hairbreadth escapes while he wandered about without a country. Sir Walter Scott, in his poem, "The Lord of the Isles," records one of these legends. It is reported that, on one occasion, with his brother Edward and sister Isabel in a boat, he was driven by stress of weather to take refuge in one of the Hebrides upon the western coast, the home of Roland, the Lord of the Isles. It happened to be a festive occasion, a large assembly having met to celebrate the marriage of the Lord of the Isles with the sister of the Lord of Lorn. As Bruce entered the banquet-hall, Lorn recognized him:

10. "Now, by Columba's shrine I swear, And every saint that's buried there, 'Tis he himself!" Lorn sternly cries; "And for my kinsman's death he dies!" As loudly Roland calls, "Forbear! Not in my sight while brand I wear, O'ermatched by odds shall warrior fall, Or blood of stranger stain my hall! This ancient fortress of my race Shall be misfortune's resting-place, Shelter or shield of the distressed, No slaughter-house of shipwrecked guest!"

11. "Talk not to me," fierce Lorn replied, "Of odds or match! When Comyn died, Three daggers clashed within his side! Talk not to me of sheltering hall, The church of God saw Comyn fall! On God's own altar streamed his blood, While o'er my prostrate kinsman stood The ruthless murderer—e'en as now— With armed hand and scornful brow! Up, all who love me! blow on blow, And lay the outlawed felons low!"

* * * * *

12. Then waked the wild debate again, With brawling threat and clamor vain, Vassals and menials thronging in, Lent their brute rage to swell the din; When far and wide a bugle clang From the dark, ocean upward rang. "The abbot comes!" they cried at once, "The holy man whose favored glance Hath sainted visions known; Angels have met him on the way, Beside the blessed martyr's bay, And by Columba's stone. He comes our feuds to reconcile, A sainted man from sainted isle; We will his holy will abide, The abbot shall our strife decide!"

13. The abbot on the threshold stood, And in his hands the holy rood; Back on his shoulders flowed his hood, The torch's glaring ray Showed, in its red and flashing light, His withered cheek and amice white, His blue eye glistening cold and bright, His tresses scant and gray. "Fair lords," he said, "our lady's love, And peace be with you from above, And benedicite! But what means this? no peace is here! Do dirks unsheathed suit bridal cheer? Or are these naked brands A seemly show for churchman's sight, When he comes summoned to unite Betrothed hearts and hands?" Then, cloaking hate with fiery zeal, Proud Lorn answered the appeal: "Thou comest, O holy man, True sons of blessed church to greet, But little deeming here to meet A wretch, beneath the ban Of pope and church, for murder done Even on the sacred altar-stone! Well may'st thou wonder we should know Such miscreant here, nor lay him low, Or dream of greeting, peace, or truce, With excommunicated Bruce! Yet will I grant, to end debate, Thy sainted voice decide his fate."

14. Then Roland pled the stranger's cause And knighthood's oath and honor's laws; And Isabel on bended knee Brought prayers and tears to back her plea; And Edith lent her generous aid, And wept, and Lorn for mercy prayed.

15. Then Argentine, in England's name, So highly urged his sovereign's claim, He waked a spark, that, long suppressed, Had smoldered in Lord Roland's breast; And now, as from the flint the fire, Flashed forth at once his generous ire. "Enough of noble blood," he said, "By English Edward had been shed, Since matchless Wallace first had been In mockery crowned with wreaths of green, And done to death by felon hand, For guarding well his native land. Where's Nigel Bruce? and De la Haye, And valiant Seaton—where are they? Where Somerville, the kind and free? And Fraser, flower of chivalry? Have they not been on gibbet bound, Their quarters flung to hawk and hound, And hold we here a cold debate To yield more victims to their fate? What! can the English leopard's mood Never be gorged with Northern blood? Was not the life of Athole shed To soothe the tyrant's sickened bed? Nor must his word, till dying day, Be nought but quarter, hang, and slay?"

16. "Nor deem," said Dunnegan's knight, "That thou shalt brave alone the fight! By saints of isle and mainland both, By woden wild—my grandsire's oath— Let Rome and England do their worst; Rowe'er attainted and accursed, If Bruce shall e'er find friends again, Once more to brave a battle-plain, If Douglas couch again his lance, Or Randolph dare another chance, Old Torquil will not be to lack With twice a thousand at his back; Nay, chafe not at my bearing bold, Good abbot! for thou knowest of old, Torquil's rude thought and stubborn will Smack of the wild Norwegian still Nor will I barter freedom's cause For England's wealth or Rome's applause!"

17. The abbot seemed with eye severe, The hardy chieftain's speech to hear; Then on King Robert turned the monk, But twice his courage came and sunk, Confronted with the hero's look; Twice fell his eye, his accents shook; At length resolved in tone and brow, Sternly he questioned him, "And thou Unhappy, what hast thou to plead, Why I denounce not on thy deed That awful doom which canons tell Shuts paradise and opens hell? Anathema of power so dread, It blends the living with the dead, Bids each good angel soar away, And every ill one claim his prey; Expels thee from the church's care, And deafens Heaven against thy prayer; Arms every hand against thy life, Bans all who aid thee in the strife; Nay, each whose succor, cold and scant, With meanest alms relieves thy want; Haunts thee when living; and, when dead, Dwells on thy yet devoted head, Rends honor's 'scutcheon from thy hearse, Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, And spurns thy corpse from hallowed ground Flung like vile carrion to the hound; Such is the dire and desperate doom For sacrilege, decreed by Rome; And such the well-deserved meed Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed."

18. "Abbot!" the Bruce replied, "thy charge It boots me not to dispute at large; This much, howe'er, I bid thee know, No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, For Comyn died his country's foe. Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed Fulfilled my soon-repented deed, Nor censure those from whose stern tongue The dire anathema has rung. I only blame my own wild ire, By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fire. Heaven knows my purpose to atone, Far as I may, the evil done, And bears a penitent's appeal, From papal curse and prelate zeal. My first and dearest task achieved, Fair Scotland from her thrall relieved, Shall many a priest in cope and stole Say requiem for Red Comyn's soul, While I the blessed cross advance, And expiate this unhappy chance In Palestine, with sword and lance. But, while content the church should know My conscience owns the debt I owe, Unto de Argentine and Lorn The name of traitor I return, Bid them defiance, stern and high, And give them in their throats the lie! These brief words spoke, I speak no more, Do as thou wilt; my shrift is o'er."

19. Like man by prodigy amazed, Upon the king the abbot gazed; Then o'er his pallid features glance Convulsions of ecstatic trance. His breathing came more thick and fast, And from his pale-blue eyes were cast Strange rays of wild and wandering light; Uprise his locks of silver white, Flushed is his brow, through every vein In azure tides the currents strain, And undistinguished accents broke The awful silence e'er he spoke.

20. "De Bruce, I rose with purpose dread To speak my curse upon thy head, And give thee as an outcast o'er To him who burns to shed thy gore; But like the Midianite of old Who stood on Zophin, heaven-controlled, I feel within my aged breast A power that can not be repressed. It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, It burns, it maddens, it constrains! De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow Hath at God's altar slain thy foe; O'ermastered, yet by high behest, I bless thee, and thou shalt be blest!" He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng Was silence, awful, deep and long. Again that light has fired his eye, Again his form swells bold and high, The broken voice of age is gone, 'Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone "Thrice vanquished on the battle-plain, Thy followers slaughtered, fled, or ta'en, A hunted wanderer on the wild, On foreign shores a man exiled, Disowned, deserted, and distressed, I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed Blessed in the hall and in the field, Under the mantle as the shield. Avenger of thy country's shame, Restorer of her injured name, Blessed in thy scepter and thy sword, De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord, Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame, What lengthened honors wait thy name! In distant ages, sire to son Shall tell the tale of freedom won, And teach his infants, in the use Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. Go then, triumphant! sweep along Thy course, the theme of many a song! The power, whose dictates swell my breast, Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be blessed!"

21. With the faithful islanders Bruce remained for some months, while his friends were making preparations for a rising upon the mainland. At last the time came, and Bruce, at the head of a little force, landed in the night and surprised and captured a castle held by the Lord of Lorn. Holding this as a basis of operations, the king and his principal followers, Douglas and Randolph, went out in different directions to arouse the people against their English oppressors, and to raise forces of sufficient strength to risk their cause in battle. This was a matter of great hazard, as every movement of the Scotch was closely watched by the enemy, and, when any one was suspected of opposing the English rule, he was at once imprisoned and probably executed. The patriots were obliged to move with great caution, and often to secrete themselves in the fastnesses of the mountains or in the lonely huts of the peasants. Blood-hounds were employed to track the fugitives, and it is related that Lorn at one time followed Bruce with a blood-hound that had once been his own. The king, seeing that he was followed by a large body of soldiers, divided his men into three separate parties, hoping to throw the hound off the track. The blood-hound, when he came to the point of separation, would not even notice the two other divisions, but followed that of the king. Finding his last expedient had failed, Bruce ordered his whole party to disperse, keeping with him only his foster-brother as an attendant. When Lorn discovered the party had broken up, he sent five of his men who were speedy on foot to follow the king and put him to death. They ran so fast that they soon gained sight of Bruce and his companion. The two turned upon the five men of Lorn, who came up one by one, exhausted with running, and put them all to death.

22. By this time Bruce was much fatigued, but he dared not stop to rest, for he could hear every moment the deep bay of the hound. At length they came to a wood through which ran a small stream of water. Into the stream they waded and followed it for a long distance; the blood-hound followed the track to the water, but he could trace the scent no farther, and Lorn gave up the chase. But Bruce's adventures were not at an end. After resting themselves in the woods, the two set out to find some human habitation, or to fall in with some party of their friends. In the midst of the forest they met three men who looked like ruffians. "They were well armed, and one of them bore a sheep on his back, which it seemed he had just stolen. They saluted the king civilly, and he, replying to their salutation, asked them where they were going. The men answered that they were seeking for Robert Bruce, for they intended to join him. The king answered that, if they would go with him, he would conduct them where they could find the Scottish king. Then the man who had spoken changed color, and Bruce, who looked sharply at him, began to suspect that the ruffian guessed who he was, and that he and his companions had some design against his person, in order to gain the reward which had been offered for his life.

23. "So he said to them, 'My good friends, as we are not well acquainted with each other, you must go before us, and we will follow near to you.' 'You have no occasion to suspect any harm from us,' said the man. 'Neither do I suspect any,' said Bruce, I but this is the way it, which I choose to travel.'

24. "The men did as he commanded, and thus they traveled till they came to a waste and ruinous cottage, where the men proposed to dress down part of the sheep which they were carrying. The king was glad to hear of food, but he insisted that two fires should be kindled, one for himself and foster-brother at one end of the cottage, the other at the other end for the three companions. The men did as he desired. They broiled a quarter of the mutton for themselves, and gave another to the king and his attendant. They were obliged to eat it without bread or salt; but, as they were very hungry, they were glad to get food in any shape, and partook of it heartily.

25. "Then so heavy a drowsiness fell on King Robert that he greatly desired to sleep. But, first, he desired his foster-brother to watch as he slept, for he had great suspicion of his new acquaintances. His foster-brother promised to keep awake, and did his best to so keep his word. But the king had not been long asleep ere his foster-brother fell into a deep slumber also, for he had under-gone as much fatigue as the king.

26. "When the three villains saw the king and his attendant were asleep, they made signs to each other, and, rising up, at once drew their swords with the purpose to kill them both. But the king slept but lightly, and, as little noise as the traitors made in rising, he was awakened by it, and, starting up, drew his sword and went to meet them. At the same moment he pushed his foster-brother with his foot to awaken him, and he started up; but, ere he got his eyes cleared to see what was about him, one of the ruffians that were advancing to slay the king killed him with the stroke of a sword. The king was now alone—one man against three, and in the greatest danger of his life; but his amazing strength, and the good armor which he wore, freed him from this great danger, and he killed the men one by one.

21. "King Robert was now alone, and he left the cottage very sorrowful for the death of his foster-brother, and took himself in the direction toward where he had directed his men to ensemble after their dispersion. It was now near night, and, the place of meeting being a farm-house, he went boldly into it, where he found the mistress, an old true-hearted Scotchwoman, sitting alone. Upon seeing a stranger enter, she asked him who and what he was. The king answered that he was a traveler, who was journeying through the country. 'All travelers,' answered the good woman, 'are welcome here for the sake of one.' 'and who is that one,' said the king, 'for whose sake you make all travelers welcome?' 'It is our lawful King Robert the Bruce,' answered the mistress, 'who is the rightful lord of this country; and, although he is now pursued and hunted after with hounds and horns, I hope to live to see him king over all Scotland.'

28. "'Since you love him so well, dame,' said the king, 'know that you see him before you. I am Robert the Bruce.' 'You!' said the good woman in great surprise; 'and wherefore are you thus alone? Where are all your men?' 'I have none with me at this moment,' answered the Bruce, 'and therefore I must travel alone.' 'But that shall not be,' said the brave old dame, 'for I have two stout sons, gallant and trusty men, who shall be your servants for life and death!' So she brought her sons, and, though she well knew the danger to which she exposed them, she made them swear fealty to the king; and they afterward became high officers in his service." Now the loyal old woman was getting everything ready for the king's supper, when suddenly there was a trampling of horse heard around the house. They thought it must be some of the English or John of Lorn's men, and the good wife called upon her sons to fight to the last for King Robert. But, shortly after, the voices of James of Douglas and of Edward Brute, the king's brother, were heard, who had come with a hundred and fifty horsemen to this farm-house, according to the instructions of the king when they parted.

"Robert the Bruce was right joyful to meet his brother and faithful friend Lord James, and had no sooner found himself at the head of such a considerable body of followers, than, forgetting hunger and weariness he began to inquire where the enemy who had pursued him so long had taken up their quarters; 'for,' said he, 'as they must suppose we are totally scattered and fled, it is likely they will think themselves quite secure, and disperse themselves into distant quarters, and keep careless watch.'

"'That is very true,' answered James of Douglas; 'for I passed a village where there are two hundred of them quartered who had placed no sentinels; and, if you have a mind to make haste, we may surprise them this very night.' Then there was nothing but mount and ride; and, as the Scots came by surprise on the body of the English whom Douglas had mentioned, and rushed suddenly into the village where they were quartered, they easily dispersed and cut them to pieces; thus doing their pursuers more injury than they themselves had received during the long and severe pursuit of the preceding day."

On another occasion Bruce, with sixty men, was wandering in the county of Galloway, awaiting the gathering of forces. Now the people of Galloway are mostly friendly to the Lord of Lorn, and a large number of them collected, determined to capture him. They felt sure of the success of their enterprise, as they had a blood-hound to track the king, and had such superior numbers.

33. "Now Bruce, who was always watchful and vigilant, had received some information of this party to come upon him suddenly in the night. Accordingly, he quartered his party of sixty men on the farther side of a deep and swift-running river, that had very steep and rocky banks. There was but one ford by which this river could be crossed in the neighborhood, and that ford was deep and narrow, so that two men could scarcely get through abreast; the bank on which they were to land on the other side was steep, and the path that led upward from the water's edge extremely narrow and difficult.

34. "Bruce caused his men to lie down and sleep, at a place about half a mile distant from the river, while he, with two attendants, went down to watch the ford, and thinking how easy the enemy might be kept from passing there, providing it was bravely defended—when he heard the distant baying of a hound, which was always coming nearer and nearer. This was the blood-hound which was tracing the king's steps to the ford where he had crossed, and the two hundred Galloway men were along with the animal and guided by it. Bruce thought of going back to awaken his men; but then he thought it might be some shepherd's dog. 'My men,' said he, 'are sorely tired; I will not disturb them by the barking of a cur till I know something more of the matter.'

35. "So he stood and listened; and, by and by, as the cry of the hound came nearer, he began to hear the trampling of horses, and the voices of men, and the ringing and clattering of armor; and then he was sure the enemy were coming to the river-side. Then the king thought, 'If I go back to give my men the alarm, these Galloway men will get through the ford without opposition, and that would be a pity, since it is a place so advantageous to make a defense against them.' So he looked again at the steep path and the deep river, and he thought it gave him so much advantage that he could defend the passage with his own hand until his men came to assist him. His armor was so good and strong that he had no fears of their arrows, and therefore the combat was not so very unequal as it must have otherwise seemed. He therefore sent his followers to waken his men, and remained alone on the bank of the river.

36. "In the meanwhile the noise and the trampling of the horses increased, and, the moon being bright, Bruce saw the glancing arms of about two hundred men, who came down to the opposite bank of the river. The men of Galloway, on their part, saw but one solitary figure guarding the ford, and the foremost of them plunged into the river without minding him. Bruce, who stood high above them on the bank where they were to land, killed the foremost man with a thrust of his long spear, and with a second thrust stabbed the horse, which fell down, kicking and plunging in his agonies, on the narrow path, and so preventing the others from getting out of the river. In the confusion five or six of the enemy were slain, or, having been borne down the current, were drowned in the river. The rest were terrified, and drew back.

37. "But, when they looked again and saw only one man, they themselves being so many, they cried out that their honor would be lost forever if they did not force their way; and encouraged each other with loud cries to plunge in and assault him. But by this time the king's soldiers came up to his assistance, and the Galloway men retreated and gave up their enterprise."

38. These successes of Bruce inspired great confidence, and he soon found himself at the head of a formidable force. With this he marched up and down the country, and compelled the English to keep strictly within their castles and fortified places; and even several of these were captured. King Edward I, of England, heard of these successes of Bruce with astonishment and rage. Though old and sorely diseased, he raised a large army and marched for the north; but he had scarcely crossed the Scottish border when his physician informed him that he had but a few hours to live. He immediately called his son to his bed-side, and made him swear that he would push forward this expedition against the Bruce; and he died cursing the whole Scotch people. He even gave direction that his body should be boiled, and that his bones, wrapped in a bull's hide, should be carried at the head of the army as often as the Scots attempted to recover their freedom.

39. Edward II was a weak prince, neither so wise nor so brave as his father. He marched a little way on to Scotland, but, having no great liking for war, he turned and marched back into England. He disregarded his father's injunction about the disposition of his bones, but took them back to London, and deposited them in Westminster Abbey.

40. From this time the cause of Bruce was a succession of victories. During the winter and spring one English fortress after another surrendered, until there only remained the strong castle of Stirling held by the English power. This castle was besieged, and Sir Philip Mowbray, the commander, agreed to surrender it if it was not reinforced by the English before midsummer. Then came a cessation of hostilities, and a period of rest for the Scots. King Edward had made no arrangement to again interfere in Scottish affairs. But now, when Sir Philip Mowbray, the governor of Stirling, came to London to tell the king that Stirling, the last Scottish town of importance which remained in possession of the English, was to be surrendered if it were not relieved by force of arms before midsummer, then all the English nobles called out, it would be a sin and shame to permit the fair conquest which Edward I had made to be forfeited to the Scots for want of fighting. It was, therefore, resolved that the king should go himself to Scotland with as great forces as he could possibly muster.

41. King Edward II, therefore, assembled one of the greatest armies which a king of England ever commanded. There were troops brought from all his dominions. Many brave soldiers from the French provinces which the king of England enjoyed in France; many Irish, many Welsh, and all the great English nobles and barons, with their followers, were assembled in one great army. The number was not less than one hundred thousand men.

42. King Robert the Bruce summoned all his nobles and barons to join him, when he heard of the great preparation which the king of England was making. They were not so numerous as the English by many thousand men. In fact, his whole army did not very much exceed thirty thousand men, and they were much worse armed than the wealthy Englishmen; but then Robert, who was at their head, was one of the most expert generals of the time, and the officers he had under him were his brother Edward, his nephew Randolph, his faithful follower the Douglas, and other brave and experienced leaders, who commanded the same men that had been accustomed to fight and gain victories under every disadvantage of situation and numbers.

43. The king, on his part, studied how he might supply, by address and stratagem, what he wanted in numbers and strength. He knew the superiority of the English both in their heavy-armed cavalry, which were much better mounted and armed than those of the Scots, and in the archery, in which art the English were better than any people in the world. Both these advantages he resolved to provide against. With this purpose, Bruce led his army down into a plain, near Stirling, called the Park, near which, and beneath it, the English army must needs pass through a boggy country, broken with water-courses, while the Scots occupied hard, dry ground. He then caused all the hard ground upon the front of his line of battle, where cavalry were likely to act, to be dug full of holes, about as deep as a man's knee. They were filled with light brushwood, and the turf was laid on the top, so that it appeared a plain field, while in reality it was all as full of these pits as a honeycomb is of holes. He also, it is said, caused steel spikes, called calthrops, to be scattered up and down in the plain, where the English cavalry were most likely to advance, trusting to lame and destroy their horses.

44. When his army was drawn, the line stretched north and south. On the south it was terminated by the banks of the brook called Bannockburn, which are so rocky that no troops could come on them there. On the left the Scottish line extended near to the town of Stirling. Bruce reviewed his troops very carefully; all the useless servants and drivers of carts, and such like, of whom there were very many, he ordered to go behind a height called the Gillies' Hill—that is, the Servants' Hill. He then spoke to the soldiers, and expressed his determination to gain the victory or to lose his life on the field of battle. He desired that all those who did not propose to fight to the last would leave the field before the battle began, and that none would remain except those who were determined to take the issue of victory or death, as God should send it.

45. Burns has expressed Bruce's sentiments in his fiery poem.

BRUCE'S ADDRESS.

46. Scots who have with Wallace bled, Scots whom Bruce has often led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victory! Now's the day, and now's the hour; See the front of battle lower; See approach proud Edward's power, Chains, and slavery!

47. Who would be a traitor knave, Who would fill a coward's grave, Who so base as be a slave, Let him turn and flee! Who for Scotland's king and law, Freedom's sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand, or freeman fa', Let him follow me!

48. By oppressions, woes, and pains, By our sons in servile chains, We will drain our dearest veins, But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurper low Tyrants fall in every foe— Liberty at every blow; Let us do or die!

49. When the main body of his army was thus placed in order, the king posted Randolph, with a body of horse, near to the church of St. Mirau's, commanding him to use the utmost diligence to prevent any succorers from being thrown into Stirling Castle. He then dismissed James of Douglas and Sir Robert Keith, the marshal of the Scottish army, in order that they might survey, as nearly as they could, the English force, which was now approaching from Falkirk. They returned with information that the approach of that vast host was one of the most beautiful and terrible sights which could be seen; that the whole country seemed covered with men-at-arms on horse and foot; that the number of standard banners and pennants made so gallant a show, that the bravest and most numerous host in Christendom might be alarmed to see King Edward moving against them.

50. It was upon the 23d of June, 1314, that the King of Scotland heard the news that the English army were approaching Stirling. He drew out his army, therefore, in the order which he had before resolved upon. After a short time, Bruce, who was looking out anxiously for the enemy, saw a body of English cavalry trying to get into Stirling from the eastward. This was the Lord Clifford, who, with a chosen body of eight hundred horse, had been detached to relieve the castle.

51. "See, Randolph," said the king to his nephew, "there is a rose fallen from your chaplet." By this be meant that Randolph has lost some honor by suffering the enemy to pass where he had been commanded to follow them. Randolph made no reply, but rushed against Clifford with little more than half his number. The Scots were on foot. The English turned to charge them with their lances, and Randolph drew up his men in close order to receive them. He seemed to be in so much danger that Douglas asked leave of the king to go and assist him. The king refused permission.

52. "Let Randolph," he said, "redeem his own fault. I can not break the order of battle for his sake." Still the danger appeared greater, and the English horse seemed entirely to encompass the small handful of Scottish infantry. "To please you," said Douglas to the king, "my heart will not suffer me to stand idle and see Randolph perish. I must go to his assistance." He rode off accordingly, but long before they had reached the place of combat they saw the English horses galloping off, many with their empty saddles.

53. "Halt!" said Douglas to his men. "Randolph has gained the day. Since we were not soon enough to help him in the battle, do not let us lessen his glory by approaching the field." Now, that was nobly done, especially as Douglas and Randolph were always contending which should rise highest in the good opinion of the king and the nation.

54. The van of the English army now came in sight, and a number of their bravest knights drew near to see what the Scottish were doing. They saw King Robert dressed in his armor, and distinguished by a gold crown which he wore over his helmet. He was not mounted on his great war horse, because he did not expect to fight that evening. But he rode on a little pony up and down the ranks of his army, putting his men in order, and carried in his hand a short battle-axe made of steel. When the king saw the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little before his own men, that he might look at them more nearly.

55. There was a knight among the English called Sir Henry de Bohun, who thought this would be a good opportunity to gain great fame to himself and put an end to the war by killing King Robert. The king being poorly mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on him suddenly and furiously, thinking, with his long spear and his big strong horse, easily to bear him down to the ground. King Robert saw him and permitted him to come very near, then suddenly turned his pony a little to one side, so that Sir Henry missed him with the lance point, and was in the act of being carried past him by the career of his horse. But as he passed, King Robert rose up in his stirrups and struck Sir Henry on the head with his battle-axe so terrible a blow that it broke to pieces his iron helmet, as if it had been a nut-shell, and hurled him from his saddle. He was dead before he reached the ground. This gallant action was blamed by the Scottish leaders, who thought Bruce ought not to have exposed himself to so much danger when the safety of the whole army depended on him. The king only kept looking at his weapon, which was injured by the force of the blow, and said, "I have broken my good battle-axe." This is the way Scott describes this incident in the "Lord of the Isles":

56. O gay yet fearful to behold, Flashing with steel and rough with gold, And bristled o'er with balls and spears, With plumes and pennons waving fair, Was that bright battle front! for there Rode England's king and peers.

57. And who that saw that monarch ride, His kingdom battling by his side, Could then his direful doom foretell; Fair was his seat in knightly selle, And in his sprightly eye was set Some sparks of the Plantagenet. Though bright and wandering was his glance, It flashed at sight of shield and lance. "Knowest thou," he said, "De Argentine, Yon knight who marshals thus their line?"

58. "The tokens on his helmet tell The Bruce, my liege; I know him well." "And shall the audacious traitor brave The presence where our banners wave?" "So please my liege," said Argentine, "Were he but horsed on steed like mine, To give him fair and knightly chance, I would adventure forth my lance."

59. "In battle-day," the king replied, "Nice tourne rules are set aside; Still must the rebel dare our wrath! Set on him—sweep him from our path!" And, at King Edward's signal, soon Dashed from the ranks Sir Edward Bohun!

60. Of Hereford's high blood he came, A race renowned for knightly fame; He burned before his monarch's eye To do some deed of chivalry. He spurred his steed, he couched his lance, And darted on the Bruce at once. As motionless as rocks, that bide The wrath of the advancing tide, The Bruce stood fast; each breast beat high, And dazzled was each gazing eye; The heart had hardly time to think, The eyelid scarce had time to wink, While on the king, like flash of flame, Spurred to full speed, the war-horse came! The partridge may the falcon mock, If that slight palfrey stand the shock; But, swerving from the knight's career, Just as they met, Bruce shunned the spear; Onward the baffled warrior bore His course—but soon his course was o'er! High in his stirrups stood the king, And gave his battle-axe the swing. Right on De Bohun, the whiles he passed, Fell that stern dint—the first—the last! Such strength upon the blow was put, The helmet crushed like hazel-nut, The axe-shaft, with its brazen clasp, Was shivered to the gauntlet grasp. Springs from the blow the startled horse, Drops on the plain the lifeless corse; First of that fatal field, how soon, How sudden fell the fierce De Bohun!

61. One pitying glance the monarch shed Where on the field his foe lay dead; Then gently turned his palfrey's head, And, pacing back his sober way, Slowly he gained his own array. There round their king the leaders crowd And blame his recklessness aloud, That risked 'gainst each adventurous spear A life so valued and so dear. His broken weapon's shaft surveyed The king, and careless answer made "My loss must pay my folly's tax— I've broke my trusty battle-axe"

62. The next morning, being the 24th of June, at break of day the battle began in terrible earnest. The English as they advanced saw the Scots getting into lines. The Abbot of Inchaffray walked through their ranks barefooted, and exhorted them to fight for their freedom. They kneeled down as he passed, and prayed to heaven for victory. King Edward, who saw this, called out: "They kneel down; they are asking forgiveness." "Yes," said a celebrated English baron, called Ingelram de Umphraville, "but they ask it from God, not from us; these men will conquer, or die upon the field." The English king ordered his men to begin the battle. The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot so closely together that the arrows fell like flakes of snow on a Christmas-day.

63. Upon the right, behind the wood, Each by his steed, dismounted, stood The Scottish chivalry; With foot in stirrup, hand on mane, Fierce Edward Bruce can scarce restrain His own keen heart, his eager train, Until the archers gain the plain; Then "Mount ye gallants free!" He cried; and, vaulting from the ground, His saddle every horseman found. On high their glittering crests they toss, As springs the wild-fire from the moss; The shield hangs down on every breast, Each ready lance is in the rest, And loud shouts Edward Bruce: "Forth, marshal! on the peasant foe We'll tame the terrors of their bow, And cut the bow-string loose!"

64. Then spurs were dashed in chargers' flanks, They rushed among the archer ranks. No spears were there the shock to let, No stakes to turn the charge were set, And bow shall yeoman's armor slight, Stand the long lance and mace of might? Or what may their short swords avail, 'Gainst barbed horse and shirt of mail? Amid their ranks the chargers spring, High o'er their heads the weapons swing, And shriek and groan and vengeful shout Give note of triumph and of rout! Awhile, with stubborn hardihood, Their English hearts the strife made good; Borne down at length on every side, Compelled to flight, they scatter wide. Let stags of Sherwood leap for glee, And bound the deer of Dallorn-Lee! The broken bows of Bannock's shore Shall in the greenwood ring no more! Round Wakefield's merry May-pole now, The maids may twine the summer bough, May northward look with longing glance For those that went to lead the dance, For the blithe archers look in vain! Broken, dispersed, in flight o'erta'en, Pierced through, trod down, by thousands slain, They cumber Bannock's bloody plain!

65. The fine English cavalry then advanced to support their archers, and to attack the Scottish line. But coming over the ground which was dug full of pits the horses fell into these holes, and the riders lay tumbling about, without any means of defense, and unable to rise, from the weight of their armor. The Englishmen began to fall into general disorder; and the Scottish king, bringing up more of his forces, attacked and pressed them still more closely.

66. On a sudden an event happened which decided the victory. The servants and attendants on the Scottish camp bad been sent behind the army to a place called Gillies' Hill; but now, when they saw that their masters were like to gain the day, they rushed from their place of concealment with such weapons as they could get, that they might have their share in the victory and in the spoil. The English, seeing them come suddenly over the hill, mistook the disorderly rabble for a new army coming up to sustain the Scots; and, losing all heart, began to shift every man for himself. Edward himself left the field as fast as he could ride, and was closely pursued by Douglas, with a party of horse, who followed him as far as Dunbar, where the English had still a friend in the governor, Patrick, Earl of Mans. The earl received Edward in his forlorn condition, and furnished him with a fishing skiff, or small ship, in which he escaped to England, having entirely lost his fine army, and a great number of his bravest nobles.

67. The English never before or afterward lost so dreadful a battle as that of Bannockburn, nor did the Scots ever gain one of the same importance. Many of the best and bravest of the English nobility and gentry lay dead on the field; a great many more were made prisoners, and the whole of King Edward's immense army was dispersed or destroyed.

68. Thus did Robert Bruce arise from the condition of an exile, hunted with blood-bounds like a stag or beast of prey, to the rank of an independent sovereign, universally acknowledged to be one of the wisest and bravest kings who then lived. The nation of Scotland was also raised once more from the state of a distressed and conquered province to that of a free and independent state, governed by its own laws, and subject to its own princes; and although the country was, after the Bruce's death, often subjected to great loss and distress, both by the hostility of the English and by the unhappy civil wars among the Scots themselves, yet they never afterward lost the freedom for which Wallace had laid down his life, and which King Robert had recovered no less by his wisdom than by his weapons. And therefore most just it is that, while the country of Scotland retains any recollection of its history, the memory of these brave warriors and faithful patriots ought to be remembered with honor and gratitude.

69. In 1328, fourteen years after the battle of Bannockburn, peace was concluded between England and Scotland, in which the English surrendered all pretension to the Scottish crown. King Robert was now fifty-four years old, and he prepared to enter upon a crusade in accordance with his vow, and in expiation of his offense of slaying the Red Comyn. But, being smitten with a fatal disease, he directed Lord James, of Douglas, upon his death, to take his heart and carry it to Palestine, in fulfillment of his vow. Douglas accepted the sacred trust, and encased the heart in silver, and hung it about his neck. On his way to the Holy Land he turned aside to help the Spaniard in a campaign against the Moors. In one battle, being sorely beset, he flung the heart of Bruce into the midst of the enemy, and followed it up with the war-cry of the Douglas, which had so often cheered to victory among his native hills. At every step a Moslem bit the dust until he reached the spot where his master's heart had fallen. Here he was slain by the numbers which pressed in on every side, and he was found with his body still in the attitude of guarding the heart. The body of Lord James, together with the heart, were returned to Scotland The precious relic—the last that remained of the Bruce, the greatest of Scottish kings—was deposited in Melrose Abbey, where it remains to-day a sacred shrine for every Scotchman, and for every lover of liberty. Rarely in the history of man has the prediction of the old abbot been so literally fulfilled:

"I bless thee, and thou shalt be blest!"



CHAPTER V.

COLUMBUS AND THE NEW WORLD.

THE TIME.

1. Columbus lived in a stirring age. Everywhere light was breaking in after centuries of darkness, and all Europe was restless with suggestions and beginnings of new life. Great men were plenty; rulers, like the Medici of Florence; artists, like Raphael and Angelo; preachers, like Savonarola, whose fiery prophecies brought him to fiery death; reformers, chief among diem Luther, just beginning to think the thoughts that later set the world agog. Great inventions were spreading; gun-powder, invented before, now becoming terribly effective through the improvement in guns; printing, suddenly opening knowledge to every class; the little compass, with which mariners were just beginning to trust themselves boldly on the seas, in spite of the popular impression that it was a sort of infernal machine presided over by the devil himself.



2. And to this age had been bequeathed the fascinating stories of Sir John Mandeville and Marco Polo, stories to make every boy crazy to be off to seek his fortune. From their travels in Asia these men had brought back the most remarkable accounts of the eastern lands. A country was there, they said, called Cathay, bordering on the sea. It was ruled by an emperor, the Kubla Khan, or Great Khan, who lighted his bedroom with a bright jewel half a foot long, set upon golden pillars, and decorated his walls with wrought gold and hundreds of precious stones. The rivers of the land were crossed by marble bridges, and the houses were roofed and paved with gold. The seas were full of islands where spices grew and countless strange creatures lived: one-eyed men; men with a lip long enough to cover their whole face; men with only one foot, but that so large that they held it over them like an umbrella when they lay down in the sun to rest; two-headed men and men with no heads at all; men whose only food was snakes, and others whose favorite beverage was human blood; dragons and unicorns; woolly hens and sheep that grew on trees; and in one island a valley where only devils dwelt. But there were besides great hills of gold, cities with towers of silver and gold, precious stones of all kinds, and rose-tinted pearls, big and round.

3. There was trade between Europe and certain parts of Asia which they called the Indies, and reached by going east and south by land; but this marvelous country of the Grand Khan lay beyond, and its riches remained a golden dream, known only by the travelers' reports. That was what was known of Asia. Of Africa, even less; for, fifty years before Columbus was born, only a strip across the northern part of it was known, and south of that lay "nothing," said the people. And of America, our wide-stretching America, they never dreamed.

4. Some fifty years before the birth of Columbus, Prince Henry of Portugal, studying the matter, came to the conclusion that the world did not necessarily end at "Cape Nothing," on the African coast, as people said, but perhaps extended a long way farther; and, having an abundance of time and money, he began to send out ships to sail along beyond the cape and see what they could find. And they found a long, long coast. Year after year, until the prince was a gray-haired old man, he sent out vessel after vessel; and, though often storm-driven and wrecked, and unsuccessful, they many times came back with accounts of new discoveries. One by one they brought the numerous islands lying off the northwest coast of Africa to the notice of the people of Europe. And after they once got past that mysterious "Cape Nothing," they sailed along the coast, going farther and farther on successive voyages, until, in 1487, long after Prince Henry's death, and just before Columbus's great voyage, the most southern point was rounded, the African continent was known, and the long-sought water-way to the Indies was established.

THE IDEA.

5. As to the date of Columbus's birth, historians can not agree within some ten years. It was doubtless some where between 1435 and 1446. They also give different accounts as to his birthplace; but it seems most probable that he was born in Genoa, on the Mediterranean, the son of a wool-carder, and that he went to school in Pavia. At fourteen he became a sailor.

6. Up and down the seas, first in the sunny Mediterranean, later along the stormy Atlantic coast, sailed the lad, the young man, in the small sailing vessels of the time, and learned well the ocean which he afterward so boldly trusted.



7. He was a daring, quick-witted, handsome, bronzed young man when he went to Lisbon, where his brother Bartholomew was established as a cosmographer, making charts for seamen; and with all his enthusiasm for his sea-faring life, he had enough interest in ordinary pursuits to fall in love most romantically. It happened on account of his being so regular at church. Every day he must attend service, and every day to church came Donna Philippa Palestrello, who lived in a convent near by. Across the seats flitted involuntary glances between the cloistered maiden and the handsome brown sailor—with a dimple in his chin, some pictures have him; something besides prayers were read between the lines of the prayer-book, and the marriage which closed this churchly wooing proved the wisdom of both parties.