“They rowed fast with all their might,
    Till that upon them fell the night,
    That it wox mirk* in great manner
    So that they wist not where they were,
    For they no needle had, nor stone,
    But rowed always in one way,
    Steering always upon the fire
    That they saw burning bright and clear. 
    It was but adventure that them led,
    And they in short time so them sped
    That at the fire arrived they,
    And went to land but** mair delay.”

    Dark.
    *Without.

On shore the messenger was eagerly and anxiously awaiting them, and with a “sare hert” he told the King that the fire was none of his.  Far from there being friends around, the English, he said, swarmed in all the land.

    “Were in the castle there beside,
    Full filled of despite and pride.”

There was no hope of success.

    “Then said the King in full great ire,
    ‘Traitor, why made thou on the fire?’
    ‘Ah sire,’ he said, ’so God me see
    That fire was never made on for me. 
    No ere this night I wist it not
    But when I wist it weel* I thoecht
    That you and all your company
    In haste would put you to the sea. 
    For this I come to meet you here,
    To tell the perils that may appear.’”

    Well.

The King, vexed and disappointed, turned to his followers for advice.  What was best to do, he asked.  Edward Bruce, the King’s brave brother, was the first to answer.

    “And said, ’I say you sickerly,
    There shall no perils that may be
    Drive me eftsoons into the sea;
    Mine adventure here take will I
    Whether it be easeful or angry.’ 
    ‘Brother,’ he said, ’since you will so
    It is good that we together take
    Disease and ease, or pain or play
    After as God will us purvey.’”

And so, taking courage, they set out in the darkness, and attacked the town, and took it with great slaughter.

    “In such afray they bode that night
    Till in the morn, that day was bright,
    And then ceased partly
    The noise, the slaughter, and the cry.”

Thus once again the fierce struggle was begun.  But this time the Bruce was successful.  From town after town, from castle after castle the enemy was driven out, till only Stirling was left to the English.  It was near this town, on the field of Bannockburn, that the last great struggle took place.  Brave King Edward I was dead by this time, but his son, Edward II, led the army.  It was the greatest army that had ever entered Scotland, but the Scots won the day and won freedom at the same time.  I cannot tell you of this great battle, nor of all the adventures which led up to it.  These you must read in other books, one day, I hope, in Barbour’s Bruce itself.

From the day of Bannockburn, Barbour tells us, Robert the Bruce grew great.