men, his rank indicated by his
crown, his horse a poor one, his hand empty of a spear. He might be
ridden down by a sudden onset, victory to the English host be gained by
a single blow, and great glory come to the bold knight that dealt it.

So thought one of the English knights, Sir Henry de Bohun by name.
Putting spurs to his powerful horse, he galloped furiously upon the
king, thinking to bear him easily to the ground. Bruce saw him coming,
but made no movement of flight. He sat his pony warily, waiting the
onset, until Bohun was nearly upon him with his spear. Then a quick
touch to the rein, a sudden movement of the horse, and the lance-point
sped past, missing its mark.

The Scotch army stood in breathless alarm; the English host in equally
breathless expectation; it seemed for the moment as if Robert the Bruce
were lost. But as De Bohun passed him, borne onward by the career of his
steed, King Robert rose in his stirrups, swung his battle-axe in the
air, and brought it down on his adversary's head with so terrible a blow
that the iron helmet cracked as though it were a nutshell, and the
knight fell from his horse, dead before he reached the ground.

King Robert turned and rode back, where he was met by a storm of
reproaches from his nobles, who declared that he had done grave wrong
in exposing himself to such danger, when the safety of the army depended
on him. The king heard their reproaches in silence, his eyes fixed on
the fractured edge of his weapon.

"I have broken my good battle-axe," was his only reply.

This incident ended the day. Night was at hand. Both armies rested on
the field. But at an early hour of the next day, the 24th of June, the
battle began, one of the critical battles of history.

Through the Scottish ranks walked barefooted the abbot of Inchaffray,
exhorting the men to fight their best for freedom. The soldiers kneeled
as he passed.

"They kneel down!" cried King Edward, who saw this. "They are asking
forgiveness!"

"Yes," said a baron beside him, "but they ask it from God, not from us.
These men will conquer, or die upon the field."

The battle began with a flight of English arrows. The archers, drawn up
in close ranks, bent their bows, and poured their steel shafts as
thickly as snow-flakes on the Scotch, many of whom were slain. Something
must be done, and that speedily, or those notable bowmen would end the
battle of themselves. Flesh and blood could not long bear that rain