In this great array
were thirty thousand horsemen. It looked as if Scotland were doomed.
Surely that sterile land could raise no force to face this great array!
King Robert the Bruce did his utmost to prepare for the storm of war
which threatened to break upon his realm. In all haste he summoned his
barons and nobles from far and near. From the Highlands and the Lowlands
they came, from island and mainland flocked the kilted and tartaned
Scotch, but, when all were gathered, they numbered not a third the host
of their foes, and were much more poorly armed. But at their head was
the most expert military chief of that day, since the death of Edward I.
the greatest warrior that Europe knew. Once again was it to be proved
that the general is the soul of his army, and that skill and courage are
a full offset for lack of numbers.
Towards Stirling marched the great English array, confident in their
numbers, proud of their gallant show. Northward they streamed, filling
all the roads, the king, at their head, deeming doubtless that he was on
a holiday excursion, and that behind him came a wind of war that would
blow the Scotch forces into the sea. Around Stirling gathered the army
of the Bruce, marching in haste from hill and dale, coming in to the
stirring peal of the pipes and the old martial airs of the land, until
the plain around the beleaguered town seemed a living sea of men, and
the sunlight burned on endless points of steel.
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