was
impossible to procure supplies save by redressing the grievances of which
Parliament complained and by granting the powers which Parliament demanded.
It was in vain that king after king, conscious that war bound them to the
Parliament, strove to rid themselves of the war. So far was the ambition of
our rulers from being the cause of the long struggle that, save in the one
case of Henry the Fifth, the desperate effort of every ruler was to arrive
at peace. Forced as they were to fight, their restless diplomacy strove to
draw from victory as from defeat a means of escape from the strife that was
enslaving the Crown. The royal Council, the royal favourites, were always
on the side of peace. But fortunately for English freedom peace was
impossible. The pride of the English people, the greed of France, foiled
every attempt at accommodation. The wisest ministers sacrificed themselves
in vain. King after king patched up truces which never grew into treaties,
and concluded marriages which brought fresh discord instead of peace. War
went ceaselessly on, and with the march of war went on the ceaseless growth
of the Parliament.
[Sidenote: Robert Bruce]
The death of Edward the First arrested only for a moment the advance of his
army to the north. The Earl of Pembroke led it across the border, and found
himself master of the country without a blow. Bruce's career became that of
a desperate adventurer, for even the Highland chiefs in whose fastnesses he
found shelter were bitterly hostile to one who claimed to be king of their
foes in the Lowlands. It was this adversity that transformed the murderer
of Comyn into the noble leader of a nation's cause. Strong and of
commanding presence, brave and genial in temper, Bruce bore the hardships
of his career with a courage and hopefulness that never failed. In the
legends that clustered round his name we see him listening in Highland
glens to the bay of the bloodhounds on his track, or holding a pass
single-handed against a crowd of savage clansmen. Sometimes the small band
which clung to him were forced to support themselves by hunting and
fishing, sometimes to break up for safety as their enemies tracked them to
their lair. Bruce himself had more than once to fling off his coat-of-mail
and scramble barefoot for very life up the crags. Little by little,
however, the dark sky cleared. The English pressure relaxed. James Douglas,
the darling of Scottish story, was the first of the Low
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