Murray, at the same instant, was bringing up the
wounded Montgomery, who came to surrender his sword, and to beg quarter
for his men. The earl turned deadly pale; for the first object that
struck his sight was the fierce knight of Torthorald, walking under the
stream of blood which continued to flow from the ghastly head of
Cressingham, as he held it exultingly in the air.
"If that be your chief," cried Montgomery, "I have mistaken him much-I
cannot yield my sword to him."
Murray understood him: "If cruelty be an evil spirit," returned he, "it
has fled every breast in this army to shelter with Sir Roger
Kirkpatrick; and its name is Legion! That is my chief!" added he,
pointing to Wallace, with an evident consciousness of deriving honor
from his command. The chief rose from the ground dyed in the same
ensanguined hue which had excited the abhorrence of Montgomery, though
it had been drawn from his own veins, and those of his horse. All,
indeed, of blood about him seemed to be on his garment; none was in his
eyes, none in his heart but what warmed it to mercy and to benevolence
for all mankind. His eyes momentarily fell on the approaching figure
of Kirkpatrick, who, waving the head in the air, blew from his bugle
the triumphal notes of the Pryse, and then cried to his chief: "I have
slain the wolf of Scotland! My brave clansmen are now casing my target
with his skin,** which, when I strike its bossy sides, will cry aloud.
Pages:
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479