VII. TROUBLES WITH FRANCE—WAR IN SCOTLAND.

At the close of 1292, Edward returned to England, doubtless with much content and satisfaction, having, apparently, accomplished one great object of his life—the unification of the island of Britain. Its conquest, which is too often described as the end he had in view, was never desired by him; but to bring the whole land into unity, so far as to render internal wars impossible, had been his object from the commencement of his reign. He found Alexander, king of Scotland, and Llewellyn, prince of Wales, and neither country would ever have been disturbed by him had their rulers given their fealty and kept their pledge. But the Welsh were too fond of predatory expeditions into Herefordshire and Cheshire, and the Scotch hoped some day to possess Northumberland, and with this view were always ready to form alliances with France. These Welsh inroads and these Scotch alliances with France, always ending in an invasion of England, Edward determined to check. Therefore his language was, “Pay your homage; give me your fealty; swear, as your fathers have sworn, ‘to be my true man.’ Vow allegiance, and then keep your vow.”

Scotland had at last, without any coercion, been brought into this position; and had Scotland observed Edward’s own rule—Pactum serva—she would never have seen the fights of Stirling or Falkirk, nor the blood‐stained fields of Halidon Hill and Durham, of Dupplin Moor, or Hamildon Hill, or Flodden, or Pinkie. His great desire was peace; for that, not for conquest, he thought and planned, he laboured and contrived. Unhappily, his life was already declining, old age and death overtook him before the work was accomplished. Scotland succeeded, under Bruce, in undoing all his work; but that Scotland was the better for such undoing is, we believe, wherever entertained, a most mistaken notion.

In carrying forward the story of the arbitration without a break, we left unnoticed one or two circumstances which occurred in England during 1291 and 1292. When Edward, in August, 1291, adjourned the Scottish question until the following June, his most urgent reason for such postponement was the serious illness of his mother, queen Eleanor of Provence, who died about the end of that summer at Ambresbury, in Wiltshire, and at whose funeral he was present early in September, attended by a great assembly of prelates and nobles, especially convened for that ceremony.

But there was another matter which still more imperatively demanded the king’s attention. Two of the chief nobles of the kingdom—Gilbert earl of Gloucester and Humphrey earl of Hereford—had quarrelled, and had gone to the extremity of open war. The earl of Gloucester was the king’s son‐in‐law. Presuming probably upon this, and confident of his power, he had encroached upon the possessions of the earl of Hereford, and had begun to build a castle on the lands belonging to this earl. Bitter contentions and open violence naturally followed, and the king, hearing of the quarrel, had been obliged to send to the two earls his commands, reserving the hearing of the matter for his own court, but enjoining, meanwhile, an abstinence from all violent proceedings. But the quarrel had gone too far to be so arrested. The followers of the two earls were everywhere at enmity. Houses were burnt, churches demolished, and many persons were killed. Hence, without any delay, on the very morning after the funeral of his mother, the king sat in council at Ambresbury, whither a large assembly of the nobles had come for the religious ceremony, and there called the two earls before him.

The offence they had committed was of the highest gravity. As the king’s lieutenants, each in his own district, their first duty was “to keep the king’s peace,” and to make all other persons keep it. Instead of which, disregarding the authority of the law, they had plunged into open violence, and thus, as far as in them lay, had introduced a state of civil war and utter confusion.

Gloucester, now brought into the presence of law supported by power, put forward some pleas in justification, which required time for their establishment or rejection. The king, therefore, directed the necessary inquiries to be made, and adjourned the further hearing until January 7th, 1292. On that day it was adjudged by the king’s council at Westminster—the king himself pronouncing the sentence—that the two earls were both guilty, that the liberties of Glamorgan and Brecknock should be forfeited for their respective lives, and that they themselves should be committed to prison during the king’s pleasure. The authority of the law was thus vindicated, and two of the greatest nobles of the realm were shown to be subject to it. After a time the relaxation which was implied in the terms of the sentence took place. The earls were set at liberty, and their forfeitures were commuted for fines proportioned to their respective criminality. Hereford was ordered to pay 1000 marks, which was equal to about £10,000 of our present money; but Gloucester, who doubtless had been the aggressor, and who probably presumed with his connection with the crown, was subjected to a fine of 10,000 marks, which, according to our present value, would be equal to £100,000!

During the summer and autumn of that year, 1292, the affairs of Scotland occupied Edward’s attention. Early in 1293 we find him again at home, and soon his attention was imperatively demanded to one of the most disastrous events of his reign—an unnecessary and almost purposeless war with France. Like many similar contentions, it had one of the smallest possible beginnings.

A Norman ship and an English one had sent their boats ashore for water near Bayonne, and a contention arose as to the preference, in which blows were given, and one of the Normans was killed. Vexed at their defeat, the Normans carried a complaint to the French king, who, in a moment of incautious irritation, told them to avenge themselves. So encouraged, the Normans boarded an English ship in the Channel, and hanged up one of the sailors as a reprisal for the loss of their comrade at Bayonne. But the sailors of the Cinque Ports were not likely to submit to such treatment; fresh encounters soon took place, and the Channel became the scene of unauthorized and lawless warfare. Ships were captured and recaptured, and blood was constantly flowing. Edward at once sent the earl of Lincoln to the court of France, to desire that some means might be found to put a stop to these disorders; but Philip was a haughty prince, and disliked to make any admission of his error. But while the earl waited for his answer, the warfare on the coast came to its height. A fleet of about two hundred French ships laden with wine was met with by some sixty or eighty vessels from the Cinque Ports, and a collision taking place, the French fleet was nearly destroyed, and several thousands of the seamen killed or thrown overboard. The news soon found its way to the French court, and Philip was exceedingly enraged; the more so, doubtless, inasmuch as he could not but feel conscious that the whole mischief had sprung from his own hasty and injudicious counsel. But his wounded pride blinded his reason. He sent an angry message to Edward, demanding immediate compensation. Edward sent over the bishop of London to represent, first, that he had his own courts, in which he would see justice done at all times; secondly, that he was ready to agree to an arbitration, which should decide the whole question; or, thirdly, he would meet the king of France himself if any difficulty arose about a settlement. But Philip was too angry to listen to any reasonable proposals. The bishop had to leave the French court without an answer; the English students found it necessary to quit the university of Paris; and generally throughout France the English travellers and residents saw themselves in circumstances of peril. Commerce was entirely interrupted, and all things were falling into confusion. At last Philip cited Edward himself to appear before him in Paris, there to answer sundry charges. The king sent his brother Edmund, who had married the mother of the queen of France. He also took the precaution to send an able commander, St. John, into Gascony, with instructions to put that province into a state of defence.

Edmund was received at Paris with apparent kindness, and the queen and the queen dowager expressed great desire for the restoration of peace. But they represented to him that Philip was chiefly enraged at some insults which he had received from the Gascons; and that, if Edward would give him temporary possession of that province, so as to vindicate his honour in the sight of that people, he would engage to restore it immediately, and would accept a very easy satisfaction for all other injuries. This sort of formal and temporary possession, given to the superior lord, was not an uncommon thing in those days. We have already seen that Edward in the Scottish arbitration, had the kingdom and its castles put into his hands, on his engaging to restore them to the rightful owner; and he did so restore them. In the present case he does not seem to have supposed it possible that two crowned queens could be lending themselves to a fraud. “Therefore,” says Hume, “he sent his brother orders to sign and execute the treaty with the two queens. Philip solemnly promised to execute his part of it, and the king’s citation to appear in the court of France was accordingly recalled. But the French monarch was no sooner put into possession of Gascony than the citation was renewed; Edward was condemned for non‐appearance; and the province by a formal sentence was declared to be forfeited and annexed to the crown.”60

To a prince like Edward, this must have been a double mortification. He was himself the very soul of honour, and to find his equals and associates capable of fraud and deceit must have been grievous to him. He also prided himself on maintaining to the full all the rights and honours of the crown which he wore; and hence to be robbed of a noble province by mere chicanery and falsehood, would be doubly vexatious. But to this loss he never for a moment submitted, nor did he cease his efforts till he finally regained that territory for the British crown.

In the summer of 1294, he prepared a large armament for the recovery of the province; and appealed to the clergy at Winchester for a liberal aid, which was readily granted him. A parliament held in November gave him a tenth, which was voted and paid with more than ordinary readiness; and Edward was preparing to lead his forces in person, when a new peril called for his presence in another direction. The Welsh had felt aggrieved a year or two before, by the levy of a fifteenth, granted by parliament, and collected by English officers in a manner to which they were, as yet, unaccustomed. Hearing now that the king was about to sail for Gascony, they deemed it a favourable juncture for an attempt to throw off the English yoke. It was always their wont to act by a sudden outbreak. Accordingly, taking advantage of a fair at Carnarvon, a rendezvous was appointed, and the leaders succeeded in surprising the castle and in putting all the English to the sword. A small force, under the earls of Lancaster and Lincoln, advancing into Denbighshire, was defeated by the Welsh; and on the whole, Edward felt that it would be unwise to leave England with such a sore unhealed.

He therefore proceeded, in November, into Wales, having placed the expedition for Gascony under the orders of the earl of Richmond, who had with him de Vere, St. John, and other officers of distinction. The king kept his Christmas at Conway; but shortly afterwards, attempting to penetrate further in spite of the season, he was placed for a short time in a position of difficulty and peril. He had led the way, with the vanguard, over a mountain stream, which, rising suddenly, became impassable, and thus divided the few men who were with the king from the rest of the army, while the baggage and provisions were still in the rear. Thus separated from the main body of his forces, the king was blockaded by the Welsh, and found his little party nearly destitute of provisions. There was not bread enough for their wants, and water mixed with honey was the only drink that remained to them. A single keg of wine was discovered, which the soldiers naturally proposed to reserve for the king’s use. But Edward rejected the thought, exclaiming, “No, in a case of need all things should be in common; and we will all fare alike till God shall give us release. I, who have led you into this difficulty, will know no preference.” Happily the waters soon began to subside; the rest of the army found means to join the king; and the Welsh were quickly put to flight.61

We shall see the king, a few years later, in his sixtieth year, sleeping, the night before the battle of Falkirk, on the open heath, with his shield for his pillow, and his horse for his companion. And doubtless it was this soldierly frankness and hardihood, joined with his knightly fame, and his never‐failing success, which gave him such remarkable command over his soldiers, and made a campaign under his leadership so attractive and popular a duty.

This Welsh insurrection did not long detain the king. The leaders of the outbreak, Morgan and Madoc, were soon reduced to difficulties, and threw themselves upon Edward’s mercy. Madoc was confined for a time in the Tower of London; of Morgan we only hear that “he received mercy.”62

Meanwhile, the hostilities between the Normans and the people of the Cinque Ports raged with augmented fury. The English commanded the Channel, landed where they pleased in Normandy, and ravaged the towns and villages near the coast. They took and burnt Cherbourg. Philip equipped a fleet of three hundred ships, and this large force succeeded, for a time, in doing some injury to the Kentish coast. But the French had no great cause for triumph. The “Chronicle of London,” now in the British Museum, briefly records, under date of the year 1297, that “the Normauns came to Dovarre, and brent a great part of the towne; but they were sclayn every moder’s son; ther eschaped none.” One French ship, with three hundred soldiers on board, grounded hear Hythe, and fell into the hands of the Kentish men, ship and crew.

One part of Philip’s plan failed through the detection of one of his agents. One Thomas de Turberville, a knight of some note in Glamorganshire, being taken prisoner by the French, offered his services to Philip, holding out large expectations of aid he could render to the invaders. He represented that, if released, he could obtain from Edward the command of one of the Cinque Ports; and could thus give the French fleet and forces a secure landing‐place. He was accordingly permitted to return, and began to use his best endeavours to carry his plans into effect. But probably his anxiety to be employed on the Kentish coast awakened suspicion; his correspondence was intercepted, and letters, explanatory of his purposes, were seized. He was brought to trial; the evidence was conclusive, and he received sentence of death. And here we see what the real punishment for high treason at that time was. His guilt was more plain and more heinous than that of the Jesuit priests, who, in Elizabeth’s reign, conspired against her life and government, in obedience to their spiritual head at Rome. They were, not once or twice, but in considerable numbers, hanged, disembowelled, beheaded, and quartered. But this Turberville, who had conspired, not against his sovereign only, but against his own people, whom he was willing to sell to a foreign invader, received the milder sentence of being drawn to the gallows on a hide or hurdle, there to be hanged and left hanging in chains. In a word, the punishment actually inflicted in Edward’s time for the crime of high treason was merely that which, in our own time, has been inflicted for piracy. And yet many writers have represented again and again that the terrible punishment for high treason, which was inflicted for several centuries in England, and which remained on our statute‐book until the days of Mackintosh and Romily, was devised and appropriated to that crime in Edward’s reign.

Philip’s wrath, however, grew with his defeats, and he began to form confederacies with other powers, such as Norway and Scotland, for the invasion and humiliation of England. And this brings us to the commencement of the fearful story of the wars between England and Scotland, which, in the year 1295 began to be contemplated, and in 1296 actually broke out. These wars lasted, in the days of Edward I. and II., for more than twenty years. They again and again broke out in subsequent reigns, until the union of the two kingdoms finally terminated them. The immediate question before us is,—With whom did they at this time originate?

Hume and several other writers unhesitatingly assume that these wars were intentionally provoked by Edward, and formed a part of his plan. Hume says: “His intention plainly was to enrage Baliol by indignities, to engage him in rebellion, and so to assume the dominion of the state as the punishment of his treason and felony.”

But upon the very face of the matter, this supposition is manifestly absurd. The war with France had broken out before Edward took any hostile measures against Scotland. The Scottish quarrel evidently occurred at the most inconvenient of all periods, and could never have been desired or sought by him at that most inopportune moment.

But in proof that Edward desired to provoke the Scotch to resistance, it is said that “he encouraged all appeals to England; required king John, by six different summonses, to come to London,” and in this way “provoked him to vindicate his liberty.”

Strange to say, none of the old Scottish writers thus defend, or account for, Baliol’s rebellion. Barbour, the earliest of them, has not a word of this story; Wyntoun speaks only of one appeal, that of Macduff, the earl of Fife; Buchanan follows him; and even Mr. Tytler, the latest and best of all the Scottish historians, rests his case solely upon this appeal of the earl of Fife. No one pretends that Baliol appeared to any other appeal. The citations alluded to must have been mere legal formalities. It was the conduct of Edward on Macduff’s appeal which constituted the real grievance. Mr. Sharon Turner, who reviews the whole case with an impartial and a lawyer‐like eye, says: “Edward received an appeal against Baliol’s judgment preferred by a Scotchman to himself, as lord paramount, and summoned Baliol to his parliament to answer it, and expressed displeasure when he attempted to dispute his homage; but this, between 1292 and 1296, was the extent of his adverse conduct. Two other cases, mentioned by lord Hailes, were, the one, a complaint against Edward’s own officers; the other, an illegal imprisonment of his officers.”63

Beyond this contention about appeals, there was no quarrel between Baliol and Edward. Before any judgment was pronounced, Baliol asked for time to consult his parliament. It was granted, adjournment after adjournment followed, and, in fact, no judgment ever was pronounced. Meanwhile, Baliol’s claim to the honours and lands of Tyndale, Penrith, and Sowerby, with a third part of the manor of Huntingdon, was allowed, and he was generously exempted from a payment of £3,000 due from the estates of his mother.64

The quarrel with Scotland, then, which produced such terrible results, may be said to have taken its rise, formally, from Edward’s assertion of the right of receiving appeals. But was this any extravagant or inordinate pretension on his part?

On the contrary, it was an essential point of his prerogatives as lord paramount, and it was known to be so, by all parties from the beginning. For nearly seven years past the Scotch had been appealing to him. They had sent after him to Gascony, in 1286, to know what course they should take on their king’s death. In 1290 they had again applied to him, in the most urgent manner, to come and decide between the opposing claims of the competitors for the crown. At their request he met the nobles of Scotland, and at once told them, “I come as lord paramount; do you recognize me as such?” After some delay, and therefore without hurry or precipitation, he was so recognized. And when he had decided the question in Baliol’s favour, he again distinctly warned him of their mutual relations, counselling him “to be careful in the government of his people, lest by giving any just cause of complaint, he should call down the interference of the lord paramount.” Thus there was never the least concealment or reserve on Edward’s part. He stated, from the first, what he conceived to be his rights, and he found nothing but acquiescence on the part of the Scotch. And it was several weeks after this explicit declaration, that Baliol came to him at Newcastle, and took the oath of homage, avowing himself Edward’s liegeman “for the kingdom of Scotland and all its appurtenances.”

All questions being thus decided between the two, how was Edward to act when the earl of Fife, in the very next year, lodged an appeal against one of Baliol’s decisions? To refuse to entertain it would be to abdicate his functions as lord paramount. Such appeals were not unusual, or even of rare occurrence. Mr. Tytler himself says: “Edward, who was a vassal of the king of France, for the duchy of Aquitaine, became involved with his lord superior in a quarrel similar to that between himself and Baliol. Philip summoned Edward to appear in his court at Paris, and there to answer, as his vassal, for the injuries which he had committed.”65

But it may be replied that Edward, when so summoned, refused to go, and preferred to declare war against the king of France; and that the same right must be conceded to Baliol. Unquestionably the same right, if the cases were the same; but all turns, if we are discussing the moral aspects of the question, on the respective grounds of quarrel.

Edward, as all historians agree, had been grievously wronged by Philip, and was entitled—and, in fact, was bound, to demand redress for these wrongs. In his message to the king of France, declaring war against him, he thus states the grounds of his resistance and hostility: “The king of England did you homage conditionally—namely, according to the form of the peace made between your ancestors and his, which peace you have not kept. Moreover, that all differences between your subjects and his might be ended, a treaty was made between you and the lord Edmund, his brother, containing certain articles which you have not performed. And after that, he hath required of you, three several times, to restore his land of Guienne, and to deliver those of his subjects whom you detain in prison: all which you have refused. Wherefore it seems to him that you no longer count him your vassal, and accordingly he refuses to be so for the future.”

Now no one disputes that as Philip had sinned against Edward, so it was quite possible that Edward might have sinned against Baliol. But what are the grievances alleged? There is nothing that deserves the name; for the reception of Macduff’s appeal was, on Edward’s part, both a right and a duty. Yet, this reception constitutes the whole case against him; and upon this ground alone the Scotch threw all their oaths to the winds, and resolved upon war.

In December, 1292, at Newcastle‐on‐Tyne, John Baliol, after full warning of the intent and meaning of the homage, had taken the following oath:—

“My lord, sir Edward, king of England, sovereign lord of the realm of Scotland, I, John Baliol, king of Scotland, become your liegeman for the kingdom of Scotland and all its appurtenances and appendages; which kingdom I hold, and ought, of right and claim, to hold by inheritance, for myself and my heirs, kings of Scotland, of you and your heirs, kings of England. And faith and loyalty I will bear to you and your heirs, kings of England, of life and limb, and earthly honour, against all men that may live and die.”66

Such was Baliol’s oath, deliberately taken, with a full knowledge of its meaning, in December, 1292. The like oath was also taken by all the nobles of Scotland. Yet, in less than three years after, finding Edward involved in a war with France, they eagerly seized the opportunity of freeing themselves from all these obligations. They sent an embassy to France, and entered into a treaty, engaging to assist Philip by invading England. Such was the first step in the long and sanguinary Scottish wars. Mr. Sharon Turner justly places these wars to the account of the Scotch, remarking that—

“For four years Edward did nothing incompatible with the continuance of the Scottish royalty; and it was the wilful hostility of Scotland which forced him into the field. From 1292 to 1296, though he received an appeal against Baliol’s judgment, and summoned Baliol to his parliament, to answer it, yet this was the extent of his adverse conduct. And so far was Edward’s behaviour from being revolting to Scottish feeling, that Bruce, the competitor of Baliol, having died, his family desired Edward to receive its homage, and willingly performed it.”67

Edward, then, had done nothing to call forth the hostility of Scotland; in fact, he had simply carried out his own professions and pretensions, and expected the Scotch to do the same. Being now involved, by no fault of his own, in a war with France, he called upon Baliol and the other Scottish nobles who had sworn fealty to him, to give him their aid against the hostility of the French. This aid every leading man in Scotland had solemnly sworn to render; yet, instead of keeping their oaths, the Scottish barons instantly violated them in the most direct and flagrant manner. They had sworn “to bear faith and loyalty to Edward, against all men that may live or die;” instead of which they deliberately contracted with Philip to raise an army and to fall upon England, so as to assist the French king’s designs. What share of this treason and perfidy ought to be allotted to Baliol it is difficult to determine. The whole power in Scotland seems to have been taken out of the king’s hands and usurped by a faction of the nobles, who at first dictated to the king, and at last dethroned him. They assembled a council, or parliament, at Scone, at which they resolved to dismiss all Englishmen who were in any public employments; to seize upon all lands in Scotland which belonged to Englishmen; and even to deprive of their estates in Scotland those Scotchmen who remained faithful to Edward. “In this way Robert Bruce lost his lordship of Annandale. It was given to John Comyn, earl of Buchan, who instantly assumed the rights of a proprietor, and took possession of Lochmaben Castle.”68

But the ruling faction was not even content with wholesale confiscation. Mr. Tytler continues—“The party who then ruled in the Scottish parliament, dreading a submission on the part of their king, secluded him from all power, confined him in a mountain‐fortress, and placed the management of affairs in the hands of twelve of the leading nobles.”

Bruce, the competitor, and formerly an English judge, had lately died. His son, the earl of Carrick, whom we recently saw styled in one of Edward’s letters, “our beloved Robert Bruce,” and who was, throughout his life, faithful to Edward, would naturally keep the king acquainted with all that was going on. He would apprise him of this state of general disorder, usurpation, and confiscation; the king in prison; all power monopolized by a faction, who plundered and banished their rivals, and who were collecting a force avowedly intended for the invasion of England. This state of affairs would satisfy Edward that, before he could sail for Gascony, he must do something for the pacification of Scotland. The treaty with France was no secret; it was made by an embassy consisting of several persons, and it was discussed in the Scottish council. Its main provisions would thus inevitably become known, and Robert Bruce would be able to warn Edward that an invasion on the side of Scotland was to be anticipated.

The king was thus involved in war at once in two opposite directions. Gascony had been fraudulently seized upon, and he could not, for a moment, contemplate submission to such a wrong. He therefore prepared a fleet of three hundred and fifty‐four ships, on board of which about seven thousand men were embarked; but the state of affairs in Scotland rendered it inexpedient that he should himself accompany this force. He therefore placed it under the command of his brother, the earl of Lancaster, who, after gaining some advantages, died at Bayonne, and left the command to the earl of Lincoln.

Meanwhile, the king knew that it was absolutely necessary that he should take effectual measures to protect his northern frontier against the threatened Scottish invasion. But, although his revenues were so well managed as to suffice for all ordinary demands, the extraordinary exigencies of two wars had placed him in a position of financial difficulty. A year or two previously he had despatched one expedition into Gascony, and now another had exhausted his means, and the armament for Scotland was still to be provided for. A larger supply than usual was needed, and how should it be obtained? The consideration of this question in Edward’s mind, produced at last what Hume describes as “the real and true epoch of the House of Commons,” and the “dawn of popular government in England.”

Two earlier dates have been assigned for this great epoch; but that which is now before us may on some grounds claim the preference. Simon de Montfort, in 1265, while he held both Henry and prince Edward in his custody, summoned a kind of parliament or assembly in Westminster, to sanction some of his transactions with the king; and to this parliament he called a portion of the barons—i.e., those of his own party—some knights, and the representatives of certain borough towns. But this whole transaction was regarded, as Hume remarks, as “the act of a violent usurpation;” and no one ever dreamed in after years of treating it as a precedent.

Nearly twenty years had passed away, when Edward himself, in 1283, not wishing to determine arbitrarily the fate of David of Snowdon, called to Shrewsbury not only the barons and the knights, but also representatives from several of the larger towns; and before these representatives he placed not only the case of David, but also the great “Statute of Merchants”—the first English law, probably, to which the assent of any regularly‐appointed borough representatives was ever asked or desired.

But, in the present case, a new cause for this appeal to the people was apparent. A national peril, an exigency affecting the whole realm, had shown itself, and Edward, with his characteristic manliness, resolved to place it frankly before his people, and to ask their aid in a matter in which, as he told them, “all were equally concerned.” The writs convening this parliament of November, 1295, must be taken to speak the very language of Edward’s own noble mind.69 Those writs commence as follows: “As the rule of justice teaches us that what concerns all should be by all approved, so, it also indicates that common perils should be met by remedies provided in common.” The dangers to which the realm was exposed are then set forth, and the writ concludes: “Seeing, therefore, that your welfare, as well as that of the whole realm, is concerned, we charge you, on your loyalty and attachment to us, that on the day after the feast of St. Martin, you do attend,” etc.

These writs were addressed not only to the nobles, the prelates, and the knights or lesser barons, but also to the sheriffs or bailiffs of about one hundred and twenty cities and towns. Each sheriff was directed “to cause to be elected of his county, two knights, and of each city in their county, two burgesses.” And these were to meet, for the first time in the annals of England, “to provide against the dangers which threatened the kingdom;” and they were to be invested “with power from the communitates to do what the matter should require.”

On this 27th of November, 1295, accordingly, the outline sketched at Shrewsbury in 1283 was filled up, and there met, for the first time, a parliament like that of our own day;—a parliament “the archetype of all the representative assemblies which now meet, either in the old world or in the new.”70 And, not unnaturally, the burgesses, now for the first time consulted on an emergency of the state, met the king’s appeals and requests with even more warmth and liberality than either of the other sections of the parliament. The clergy granted to the king a tenth; the barons and knights an eleventh; but the burgesses gave him, without hesitation, a seventh. Such was the cordial response given to Edward by his people, on his frank appeal to them for support, in this, one of the great emergencies of his reign.

These “aids” granted to the king in the last month of 1295, enabled him to prepare with vigour for the important business of the following spring. To Gascony, as we have seen, he had despatched a considerable force. The coasts of Kent and Sussex had shown themselves, for two years past, able to cope with all the power of Normandy. The chief point of disquietude, therefore, was in the north. Invasions of the northern counties by Scottish armies had been seen in former reigns; and Edward had received full notice that such a step had been resolved upon by the faction which now bore sway in Scotland.

To wait in London until the Scotch had ravaged Cumberland, would not have been the course of a statesman or of a general. Whether as friend or foe, Edward was always prompt, frank, and outspoken. He directed a parliament to be summoned to meet at Newcastle on the 1st of March, 1296, and to this parliament the Comyns, Baliols, Bruces, and other Scottish leaders would, as English barons, naturally receive summonses. Baliol, especially, not only as an English baron, but also as the chief vassal of the crown, was called to this meeting, there to perform his oath, sworn at that same Newcastle only three years and three months before, in which oath he had pledged his “faith and loyalty” to stand by Edward and his successors on the throne of England, “against all men that may live or die.” Edward, as his manner was, would take care to proceed with strict regularity. But he could not feel any doubt that it was a campaign rather than a parliament that he was about to open; and he had made his arrangements accordingly.

Mr. Tytler tells us, of 1295, that “to Bruce, son of the competitor for the crown, Edward affected uncommon friendship; regretted his decision in favour of the now rebellious Baliol, and declared his determination to place him on the throne.” And, in 1296, that “Bruce reminded him of his promise to place him on the throne.” “Have I nothing to do?” said the haughty monarch, “but to conquer kingdoms for you?” Here is an important statement, which represents Edward as false and deceitful. But when did it first see the light? In Fordun, and in Bower’s history, which appeared some time after 1440, or nearly one hundred and fifty years after the period referred to! It is no wonder, then, that Hume passes it over in silence, or that sir Walter Scott reduces it to this: “Bruce, after the victory of Dunbar, conceived his turn of triumph was approaching, and hinted to Edward his hope,” etc.

The object of Fordun, as of the other Scottish historians, was to make out some legal right or title for Bruce. In order to do this, they scruple not to invent. Thus, as we have already seen, they tell us that, before the arbitration was decided, Edward offered to decide in favour of Bruce if he would own him as his superior lord, and that Bruce refused to do so. Whereas we know, from documents which are still extant, that Bruce had at that very time actually applied to Edward as his superior lord!

The present fiction is refuted by many well‐known facts. Had Edward deceived and disappointed this Bruce (the son of the competitor), it must have followed that the party so deceived would have become bitterly hostile. Instead of which, we immediately find this very Bruce employed by Edward, as “his dear and trusty friend,” to receive to his peace the inhabitants of Annandale; and three times after this does Mr. Tytler distinctly recognize this Bruce as being always loyal and faithful to Edward; a thing most improbable, if he had been—as represented by Fordun a century after—grossly deceived and wronged by the king.

The king of Scotland, as Mr. Tytler remarks, was at this time “confined in a mountain fortress,” and the Scottish barons who had assumed the management of affairs were busily engaged in the collection and organization of an army. All this would be known to Edward, and accordingly, finding that neither the king nor the barons made their appearance at Newcastle, he put his own forces in motion, and began to approach the Tweed.

Before, however, he could reach the frontier, tidings came that the Scotch had already, without any public warning, complaint, or declaration of war, actually invaded England. On the 26th of March, the earls of Buchan, Menteith, Strathern, Lennox, Rosse, Athol, and Mar, with a force of about forty thousand men, broke into Cumberland, and ravaged the whole country with savage ferocity. The “Chronicle of Lanercost,” a record written at the time and on the spot, thus describes the invasion: “In this raid the Scotch surpassed the cruelty of the heathen, for, not being able to seize upon the strong, they wreaked their vengeance on the weak, the decrepit, and the young; children of two or three years old they impaled upon lances and threw into the air; consecrated churches they burned; women dedicated to God they ravished and slew.”

This exhibition of savage ferocity, however, gained for the Scotch neither honour nor advantage. When they came before Carlisle, a place of some strength, “a handful of the citizens,” says Mr. Tytler, “compelled them to retreat with loss.” The only real result of this movement was a disastrous one for the Scotch. They had, by taking the initiative, decided Edward’s course. He was, throughout his whole career, “slow to strife,” but he was not likely to sit in silence while his realm was invaded and his subjects slaughtered. He had reached Berwick on the 30th of March, and there the intelligence reached him of the Scotch invasion of Cumberland, and of the cruelties they were perpetrating. His exclamation on receiving this news is a characteristic one. “Blessed be God!” he exclaimed, “who hath up to this time preserved our hands blameless! But now, since they themselves have entered our realm in hostile array, we, under his guidance, will retaliate what they have done, and will return their mischief upon their own heads.”

Surely those who are fond of representing Edward as an ambitious and unscrupulous man, ought to hesitate when they see him, at a crisis like this, so manifestly anxious to be right, and feeling such relief of mind when the aggressions of the Scotch made his path perfectly clear.

He forthwith sent to those who held the command in Berwick, a summons for the surrender of the town on honourable terms. It was refused in the language of scorn. Edward accordingly took measures for an assault. He ordered his fleet to enter the harbour, while he would assault the walls. Three of his ships fell into the hands of the garrison, who instantly put every man to the sword.71

But the avenger was at hand. Edward himself led the assault, and was the first to clear the ditch.72 The English, animated by such an example, carried everything before them. The castle surrendered upon terms the next day, and thus one of the largest and most important towns in Scotland was gained in the first three days of the campaign.

Some of the Scottish historians have striven to tarnish Edward’s fame by representing the storming of Berwick as a massacre. There is not the slightest ground for such an imputation. The carrying any town by storm must always be a dreadful operation, whether the town be Badajos or Berwick; but there was nothing to render the storming of Berwick worse than other efforts of the same kind.73

The Scots had themselves already provoked severity. In their invasion of Cumberland a few days previous, they had “killed all they found, sparing neither age nor sex;” and in this very siege, as we have just seen, when some English ships and sailors had fallen into their hands, they showed no mercy.

While Edward was occupied with the repair and restoration of Berwick, the abbot of Arbroath was announced, who brought to him a message or letter from Baliol, renouncing his homage. But, as Mr. Sharon Turner remarks, “if Baliol had not become Edward’s liegeman, such a renunciation was unnecessary; and if he were so, no liegeman could cancel his fealty without the consent of his lord. The renunciation was, therefore, evidence of its own absurdity.” The Scottish chronicles, written long after, tell us that Edward exclaimed, “Ah! fool and felon! Of what folly is he guilty?” We may easily believe that he would receive such a communication with indignant contempt. He turned his face towards Edinburgh, and began his march towards that city.

Midway between Berwick and the present Scottish capital stood the castle of Dunbar. Its lord, the earl of that name, was with Edward; but the countess, “hating the English,” called in, in her lord’s absence, some of the Scottish leaders, and put the castle into their hands. So important was the possession of this strong place considered to be, that the earls of Athol, Rosse, and Menteith, with several barons and thirty‐one knights, threw themselves into it, with a large force, hoping to maintain it against Edward’s strongest efforts. The king, equally aware of its importance, despatched earl Warenne, with 10,000 foot and 1,000 horse, to capture it if possible. The garrison, alarmed at his approach, sent to “the guardians of Scotland” for aid, and the whole Scottish army, of 40,000 foot and 1,500 horse, moved down to its support. The garrison, now confident of victory, insulted the English as if already beaten. But the earl, says Mr. Tytler, “on the appearance of the Scottish army, at once advanced to attack it. On approaching the high ground, it was necessary to deploy through a valley, and the Scotch imagined they observed some confusion in the English ranks when executing this movement. Mistaking this for flight, they precipitately abandoned their position on the hills, and rushed down with shouts upon the enemy. But instead of an enemy in flight, they found an army, under perfect discipline, advancing upon their disordered columns. Having in vain endeavoured to regain their ranks, after a short resistance they were entirely routed. The victory was complete, and for a time it decided the fate of Scotland. Ten thousand men fell on the field or in the pursuit. A great multitude, including the principal Scottish nobility, were taken prisoners, and the next day, the king coming in person before Dunbar, the castle surrendered at discretion. The earls of Rosse, Athol, and Menteith, four barons, and seventy knights, submitted to the mercy of the conquerors.”74

Edward lost no time in following up his advantage. He sat down before the castle of Roxburgh, which was surrendered to him by James, the steward of Scotland; Dumbarton castle was yielded by Ingelram de Umfraville; Jedburgh castle followed; and a considerable reinforcement arriving from Wales, Edward was enabled to dismiss to their homes part of his English army.

He now advanced to Edinburgh, where the castle surrendered after a siege of eight days; then to Stirling, where a body of Irish auxiliaries joined him. At Perth he kept the feast of St. John the Baptist, creating new knights, with the accustomed festivities. Here messengers from Baliol found him, with letters announcing the Scottish king’s submission. As Baliol had long been kept in durance by the rebellious barons, and as these were now, for the most part, prisoners in Edward’s camp, we may reasonably suppose that this submission was one of the first spontaneous acts of the Scottish king on finding himself at liberty. Edward sent back, as his answer, a message signifying that he intended, in fifteen days, to proceed to Brechin, whither the now humbled king of Scotland might repair to meet him. Accordingly, on the 10th of July, Baliol presented himself at Brechin, acknowledged his offence, admitted Edward’s right, and resigned the kingdom of Scotland into his hands, as a fief justly forfeited. Edward then assigned him the Tower of London for a residence, with the liberty of a circle of twenty miles round it. Here the dethroned king took up his abode, residing in London for the following three years, after which he was allowed to retire to his estates in Normandy.

On the 28th of August, Edward held a parliament at Berwick, where he received the fealty of the clergy, barons, and gentry of Scotland. Multitudes of all ranks resorted to him—earls, barons, knights, and esquires. “The oaths of homage, the renunciation of the French alliance, and the names of the vassals, which fill thirty‐five skins of parchment, are still preserved among the English archives.”75

Edward next directed his attention to the settlement of his new dominion; and “the measures he adopted,” says Mr. Tytler, “were equally politic and just.” The jurisdictions of Scotland were suffered to remain with those who possessed them under ancient and hereditary titles; no wanton or unnecessary act of rigour was committed, no capricious changes introduced; yet all proper means were adopted to give security to his conquest. The earl Warenne was made guardian of Scotland, Hugh de Cressingham treasurer, and William Ormesby justiciary. The four castles of Roxburgh, Berwick, Jedburgh, and Edinburgh, were committed to English captains. A new seal, in place of the ancient seal of Scotland, was given to Walter de Agmondesham, the chancellor; and an exchequer for the receipt of the king’s rents and taxes was instituted at Berwick, on the model of that at Westminster. The ancient coronation‐stone of Scotland was removed from Scone and placed in Westminster Abbey, where to this hour it still remains.

Such, then, was Edward’s first conquest of Scotland. No one disputes the skill and talent displayed by him. The only charge alleged has reference to the moral character of these transactions. Upon this point, therefore, it will be right to add a few words.

That the union of the several divisions of a great country, like England or France, into one great power, is a desirable thing for the country itself, is self‐evident. No one doubts that the union of Normandy with France, and of Scotland with England, furthered the interests of all these countries; or that to sever, now, Scotland from England, or Normandy from France, would be disastrous to all the people of all these territories. It was both right and expedient, then, that the sovereigns of England and France should watch for opportunities of effecting such unions, wherever this could be done consistently with justice and honour. For such an end might be attained by lawful means: as when Philip II. took Normandy from John; or it might be attempted by fraud: as when Philip IV. endeavoured to take Gascony from Edward.

Was, then, Edward’s conduct, in the acquisition of Scotland, marked by any kind of injustice or wrong? Hume alleges that it was;—charging him with “numerous acts of fraud and violence.” But, instead of numerous acts of this kind, has any one act of either fraud or violence been proved?

We are unable to find a scintilla of such proof. Going back to 1286–7, we find that the only charge brought against Edward, up to that time, is that he abstained from interfering! Next, his proposal in 1289 is approved by all historians as wise, and just, and liberally framed. In 1290 he attempted no interference until the chief men in Scotland earnestly besought his interposition. Their approaches to him had all the aspect of appeals to a superior lord; and he could hardly understand them in any other sense. He accepted them as such, and plainly told the Scottish barons that it was in this character that he came among them. After some hesitation, they accepted him as “lord paramount,” and as such they swore fealty to him.

Scotland obtained, then, at last a king, John Baliol, but now both king and people had paid homage to Edward, and had acknowledged his supremacy. Soon after, a Scottish earl lodges an appeal against one of Baliol’s decisions, and calls upon Edward to do him justice. Edward proceeds, in the discharge of his office, to hear this appeal; and for so doing, heavy complaints are brought against him. Yet, in taking this course, he was guilty, in reality, of no offence whatever. Nevertheless, upon no other ground than this, did Baliol and the Scottish barons deliberately break their oaths, ally themselves with Edward’s enemies, and raise an army for the invasion of England.

By all the laws of feudal sovereignty at that time known, they had by this act incurred the penalties of perjury and treason; and, by their invasion of Cumberland, they had commenced a war against their acknowledged lord. They rashly appealed to arms, and defied the power of England, wielded by the first captain of the age. They were overthrown, even before the waning of a single moon. But here, as everywhere, Edward’s clemency is the most remarkable feature in the case. Not Baliol only, but all those who had forced him into this war, were justly exposed to the loss of property, if not of life. Yet, the contest once ended by Baliol’s resignation, all that we hear of, on Edward’s part, is a willing amnesty and a ready forgiveness. Up to this point of the story, then, we must deem the king to stand clear of any kind of moral condemnation.