BATTLE OF BANNOCKBURN. 173 



A detachment of eiglit hundred horse had been despatched by the EngHsh king, 

 in order to turn the flank of tlie Scottish army and throw itself into Stirling. 

 This manoeuvre was entrusted to Sir Robert CHfFord ; but the eagle eye of 

 Bruce observing a hne of dust, with the glancing of spears and flashing of armour, 

 in the direction of Stirling, pointed them out to Randolph^ — " There," said he, 

 " thus the enemy pass where you keep ward. Ah, Randolph, a rose has fallen 

 from your chaplet !" Wounded by the reproach, and supported only by a few 

 scores of spearmen on foot, Randolph advanced against Clifford with the resolution 

 to retrieve his error, or forfeit his life in the attempt. He speedily overtook 

 the furtive squadron, and throwing his men into a circle, the front kneehng, 

 the second stooping, the third standing erect, and all presenting their spears 

 like a wall of steel, received the charge of the cavalry. To those who viewed it 

 from the main body of the army, the combat appeared so unequal, and Randolph 

 so inevitably lost, that Douglas exclaimed, " Ah, noble king, my heart cannot 

 suflTer me to see Randolph perish for lack of aid — command me to fetch him off." 

 " It may not be," said Bruce, sternly ; " Randolph must pay the penalty of 

 his indiscretion." Douglas, however, knew the heart of his sovereign, and 

 resuming his suit, obtained a tacit permission to carry relief to Randolph and his 

 intrepid band. But instead of wanting relief, they stood like a rock in the waves, 

 from which the enemy's cavalry, like a repelled tide, were recoiling broken and 

 discomfited. " Halt!" exclaimed Douglas— inspired by a sentiment which, 

 remembering that Douglas and Randolph were rivals in fame, forms one of the 

 bright touches which illuminate an age in which blood and devastation are the 

 predominant character — " halt! we are come too late! Let us not lessen the 

 victory they have won by affecting to claim a share in it.-' 



The same evening was rendered memorable by another event no less ominous 

 of the next day's engagement. While Bruce, mounted on a small horse, and dis- 

 tinguishable alike to friend and enemy by the golden coronet he wore on his 

 helmet, was attentively marshalHng his army, Su- Henry de Bohun, a knight 

 of the English vanguard, that now made its appearance, recognised the king's 

 person. Thinking the present a favourable occasion for gaining immortal distinc- 

 tion by ridding his master of a rival, and laying the spoils of Scotland at his feet, 

 he couched his lance, and trusting by the strength of his charger and the length 

 of his weapon to bear him to the earth, spurred his steed furiously to the spot 

 where Bruce, as if calmly expecting the shock, stood to receive him. But the 

 instant before the apparent contact, the king, suddenly moving his palfrey to the 

 left, eluded the unequal rencontre, and, with a well-timed stroke of his battle-axe, 

 shivered his helmet, and laid the gallant knight dead at his feet. The few minutes 



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