Montgomery looked on him; he felt his soul, even more
than his arms, subdued; but still there was something about a soldier's
heart that shrunk from yielding his power of resistance. The blood
mounted into his before pale cheeks; he held out his sword in silence
to the victor; for he could not bring his tongue to pronounce the word
"surrender."
Wallace understood the sign, and holding up his hand to a herald, the
trumpet of peace was raised. It sounded-and where, the moment before,
were the horrid clashing of arms, the yell of savage conquest, and
direful cries for mercy, all was hushed as death. Not that death which
had passed, but that which is approaching. none spoke, not a sound was
heard, but the low groans of the dying, who lay, overwhelmed and
perishing, beneath the bodies of the slain , and the feet of the living.
The voice of Wallace rose from this awful pause. Its sound was ever
the harbinger of glory, or of "good will to men." "Soldiers!" cried
he, "God has given victory-let us show our gratitude by moderation and
mercy. Gather the wounded into quarters and bury the dead."
Wallace then turned to the extended sword of the earl; he put it gently
back with his hand: "Ever wear what you honor," said he; "but, gallant
Montgomery, when you draw it next, let it be in a better cause.
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