Brightly and blithely dawned the 26th of March, 1306, for the loyal
inhabitants of Scone. Few who might gaze on the olden city, and marked
the flags and pennons waving gayly and proudly on every side; the rich
tapestry flung over balconies or hung from the massive windows, in every
street; the large branches of oak and laurel, festooned with gay
ribands, that stood beside the entrance of every house which boasted any
consequence; the busy citizens in goodly array, with their wives and
families, bedecked to the best of their ability, all, as inspired by one
spirit, hurrying in the direction of the abbey yard, joining the merry
clamor of eager voices to the continued peal of every bell of which the
old town could boast, sounding loud and joyously even above the roll of
the drum or the shrill trumpet call;--those who marked these things
might well believe Scotland was once again the same free land, which
had hailed in the same town the coronation of Alexander the Third, some
years before. Little would they deem that the foreign foeman still
thronged her feudal holds and cottage homes, that they waited but the
commands of their monarch, to pour down on all sides upon the daring
individual who thus boldly assumed the state and solemn honor of a king,
and, armed but by his own high heart and a handful of loyal followers,
prepared to resist, defend, and _free_, or _die_ for Scotland.
There was silence--deep, solemn, yet most eloquent silence, reigning in
the abbey church of Scone. The sun shining in that full flood of glory
we sometimes find in the infant spring, illumined as with golden lustre
the long, narrow casements, falling thence in flickering brilliance on
the pavement floor, its rays sometimes arrested, to revolve in
heightened lustre from the glittering sword or the suit of half-mail of
one or other of the noble knights assembled there. The rich plate of the
abbey, all at least which had escaped the cupidity of Edward, was
arranged with care upon the various altars; in the centre of the church
was placed the abbot's oaken throne, which was to supply the place of
the ancient stone, the coronation seat of the Scottish kings--no longer
there, its absence felt by one and all within that church as the closing
seal to Edward's infamy--the damning proof that as his slave, not as his
sister kingdom, he sought to render Scotland. From the throne to the
high altar, where the king was to receive the eucharist, a carpet of
richly-brocaded Genoa velvet was laid down; a cushion of the same
elegantly-wrought material marked the place beside the spot where he was
to kneel. Priests, in their richest vestments, officiated at the high
altar; six beautiful boys, bearing alternately a large waxen candle, and
the golden censers filled with the richest incense, stood beside them,
while opposite the altar and behind the throne, in an elevated gallery,
were ranged the seventy choristers of the abbey, thirty of whom were
youthful novices; behind them a massive screen or curtain of tapestry
concealed the organ, and gave a yet more startling and thrilling effect
to its rich deep tones, thus bursting, as it were, from spheres unseen.
The throne was already occupied by the patriot king, clothed in his
robes of state; his inner dress was a doublet and vest of white velvet,
slashed with cloth of silver; his stockings, fitting tight to the knee,
were of the finest woven white silk, confined where they met the doublet
with a broad band of silver; his shoes of white velvet, broidered with
silver, in unison with his dress; a scarf of cloth of silver passed over
his right shoulder, fastened there by a jewelled clasp, and, crossing
his breast, secured his trusty sword to his left side; his head, of
course, was bare, and his fair hair, parted carefully on his arched and
noble brow, descended gracefully on either side; his countenance was
perfectly calm, unexpressive of aught save of a deep sense of the solemn
service in which he was engaged. There was not the faintest trace of
either anxiety or exultation--naught that could shadow the brows of his
followers, or diminish by one particle the love and veneration which in
every heart were rapidly gaining absolute dominion.
On the right of the king stood the Abbot of Scone, the Archbishop of St.
Andrew's, and Bishop of Glasgow, all of which venerable prelates had
instantaneously and unhesitatingly declared for the Bruce; ranged on
either side of the throne, according more to seniority than rank, were
seated the brothers of the Bruce and the loyal barons who had joined his
standard. Names there were already famous in the annals of
patriotism--Fraser, Lennox, Athol, Hay--whose stalwart arms had so nobly
struck for Wallace, whose steady minds had risen superior to the petty
emotions of jealousy and envy which had actuated so many of similar
rank. These were true patriots, and gladly and freely they once more
rose for Scotland. Sir Christopher Seaton, brother-in-law to the Bruce,
Somerville, Keith, St. Clair, the young Lord Douglas, and Thomas
Randolph, the king's nephew, were the most noted of those now around the
Bruce; yet on that eventful day not more than fourteen barons were
mustered round their sovereign, exclusive of his four gallant brothers,
who were in themselves a host. All these were attired with the care and
gallantry their precarious situation permitted; half armor, concealed by
flowing scarfs and graceful mantles, or suits of gayer seeming among the
younger knights, for those of the barons' followers of gentle blood and
chivalric training were also admitted within the church, forming a
goodly show of gallant men. Behind them, on raised seats, which were
divided from the body of the church by an open railing of ebony, sate
the ladies of the court, the seat of the queen distinguished from the
rest by its canopy and cushion of embroidered taffeta, and amongst
those gentle beings fairest and loveliest shone the maiden of Buchan, as
she sate in smiling happiness between the youthful daughter of the
Bruce, the Princess Margory, and his niece, the Lady Isoline, children
of ten and fourteen, who already claimed her as their companion and
friend.
The color was bright on the soft cheek of Agnes, the smile laughed alike
in her lip and eye; for ever and anon, from amidst the courtly crowd
beneath, the deep blue orb of Nigel Bruce met hers, speaking in its
passioned yet respectful gaze, all that could whisper joy and peace unto
a heart, young, loving, and confiding, as that of Agnes. The evening
previous he had detached the blue riband which confined her flowing
curls, and it was with a feeling of pardonable pride she beheld it
suspended from his neck, even in that hour, when his rich habiliments
and the imposing ceremony of the day marked him the brother of a king.
Her brother, too, was at his side, gazing upon his sovereign with
feelings, whose index, marked as it was on his brow, gave him the
appearance of being older than he was. It was scarcely the excitement of
a mere boy, who rejoiced in the state and dignity around him; the
emotion of his mother had sunk upon his very soul, subduing the wild
buoyancy of his spirit, and bidding him feel deeply and sadly the
situation in which he stood. It seemed to him as if he had never thought
before, and now that reflection had come upon him, it was fraught with a
weight and gloom he could not remove and scarcely comprehend. He felt no
power on earth could prevent his taking the only path which was open to
the true patriot of Scotland, and in following that path he raised the
standard of revolt, and enlisted his own followers against his father.
Till the moment of action he had dreamed not of these things; but the
deep anxieties, the contending feelings of his mother, which, despite
her controlled demeanor, his heart perceived, could not but have their
effect; and premature manhood was stealing fast upon his heart.
Upon the left of the king, and close beside his throne, stood the
Countess of Buchan, attired in robes of the darkest crimson velvet, with
a deep border of gold, which swept the ground, and long falling sleeves
with a broad fringe; a thick cord of gold and tassels confined the robe
around the waist, and thence fell reaching to her feet, and well-nigh
concealing the inner dress of white silk, which was worn to permit the
robes falling easily on either side, and thus forming a long train
behind. Neither gem nor gold adorned her beautiful hair; a veil was
twisted in its luxuriant tresses, and served the purpose of the matron's
coif. She was pale and calm, but such was the usual expression of her
countenance, and perhaps accorded better with the dignified majesty of
her commanding figure than a greater play of feature. It was not the
calmness of insensibility, of vacancy, it was the still reflection of a
controlled and chastened soul, of one whose depth and might was known
but to-herself.
The pealing anthem for a while had ceased, and it was as if that church
was desolate, as if the very hearts that throbbed so quickly for their
country and their king were hushed a while and stilled, that every word
which passed between the sovereign and the primate should be heard.
Kneeling before him, his hands placed between those of the archbishop,
the king, in a clear and manly voice, received, as it were, the kingdom
from his hands, and swore to govern according to the laws of his
ancestors; to defend the liberties of his people alike from the foreign
and the civil foe; to dispense justice; to devote life itself to
restoring Scotland to her former station in the scale of kingdoms.
Solemnly, energetically, he took the required vows; his cheek flushed,
his eye glistened, and ere he rose he bent his brow upon his spread
hands, as if his spirit supplicated strength, and the primate, standing
over him, blessed him, in a loud voice, in the name of Him whose lowly
minister he was.
A few minutes, and the king was again seated on his throne, and from the
hands of the Bishop of Glasgow, the Countess of Buchan received the
simple coronet of gold, which had been hastily made to supply the place
of that which Edward had removed. It was a moment of intense interest:
every eye was directed towards the king and the dauntless woman by his
side, who, rather than the descendant of Malcolm Cean Mohr should demand
in vain the service from the descendants of the brave Macduff, exposed
herself to all the wrath of a fierce and cruel king, the fury of an
incensed husband and brother, and in her own noble person represented
that ancient and most loyal line. Were any other circumstance needed to
enhance the excitement of the patriots of Scotland, they would have
found it in this. As it was, a sudden, irrepressible burst of applause
broke from many eager voices as the bishop placed the coronet in her
hands, but one glance from those dark, eloquent eyes sufficed to hush
it on the instant into stillness.
Simultaneously all within the church stood up, and gracefully and
steadily, with a hand which trembled not, even to the observant and
anxious eyes of her son, Isabella of Buchan placed the sacred symbol of
royalty on the head of Scotland's king; and then arose, as with one
voice, the wild enthusiastic shout of loyalty, which, bursting from all
within the church, was echoed again and again from without, almost
drowning the triumphant anthem which at the same moment sent its rich,
hallowed tones through the building, and proclaimed Robert Bruce indeed
a king.
Again and yet again the voice of triumph and of loyalty arose
hundred-tongued, and sent its echo even to the English camp; and when it
ceased, when slowly, and as it were reluctantly, it died away, it was a
grand and glorious sight to see those stern and noble barons one by one
approach their sovereign's throne and do him homage.
It was not always customary for the monarchs of those days to receive
the feudal homage of their vassals the same hour of their coronation, it
was in general a distinct and almost equally gorgeous ceremony; but in
this case both the king and barons felt it better policy to unite them;
the excitement attendant on the one ceremonial they felt would prevent
the deficiency of numbers in the other being observed, and they acted
wisely.
There was a dauntless firmness in each baron's look, in his manly
carriage and unwavering step, as one by one he traversed the space
between him and the throne, seeming to proclaim that in himself he held
indeed a host. To adhere to the usual custom of paying homage to the
suzerain bareheaded, barefooted, and unarmed, the embroidered slipper
had been adopted by all instead of the iron boot; and as he knelt before
the throne, the Earl of Lennox, for, first in rank, he first approached
his sovereign, unbuckling his trusty sword, laid it, together with his
dagger, at Robert's feet, and placing his clasped hands between those of
the king, repeated, in a deep sonorous voice, the solemn vow--to live
and die with him against all manner of men. Athol, Fraser, Seaton,
Douglas, Hay, gladly and willingly followed his example; and it was
curious to mark the character of each man, proclaimed in his mien and
hurried step.
The calm, controlled, and somewhat thoughtful manner of those grown wise
in war, their bold spirits feeling to the inmost soul the whole extent
of the risk they run, scarcely daring to anticipate the freedom of their
country, the emancipation of their king from the heavy yoke that
threatened him, and yet so firm in the oath they pledged, that had
destruction yawned before them ere they reached the throne, they would
have dared it rather than turned back--and then again those hot and
eager youths, feeling, knowing but the excitement of the hour, believing
but as they hoped, seeing but a king, a free and independent king,
bounding from their seats to the monarch's feet, regardless of the
solemn ceremonial in which they took a part, desirous only, in the words
of their oath, to live and die for him--caused a brighter flush to
mantle on King Robert's cheek, and his eyes to shine with new and
radiant light. None knew better than himself the perils that encircled
him, yet there was a momentary glow of exultation in his heart as he
looked on the noble warriors, the faithful friends around him, and felt
that they, even they, representatives of the oldest, the noblest houses
in Scotland--men famed not alone for their gallant bearing in war, but
their fidelity and wisdom, and unstained honor and virtue in peace--even
they acknowledged him their king, and vowed him that allegiance which
was never known to fail.
Alan of Buchan was the last of that small yet noble train who approached
his sovereign. There was a hot flush of impetuous feeling on the boy's
cheek, an indignant tear trembled in his dark flashing eye, and his
voice, sweet, thrilling as it was, quivered with the vain effort to
restrain his emotion.
"Sovereign of Scotland," he exclaimed, "descendant of that glorious line
of kings to whom my ancestors have until this dark day vowed homage and
allegiance; sovereign of all good and faithful men, on whose inmost
souls the name of Scotland is so indelibly writ, that even in death it
may there be found, refuse not thou my homage. I have but my sword, not
e'en a name of which to boast, yet hear me swear," he raised his clasped
hands towards heaven, "swear that for thee, for my country, for thee
alone, will I draw it, alone shall my life be spent, my blood be shed.
Reject me not because my name is Comyn, because I alone am here of that
once loyal house. Oh! condemn me not; reject not untried a loyal heart
and trusty sword."
"Reject thee," said King Robert, laying his hand kindly on the boy's
shoulder; "reject thee, young soldier," he said, cheeringly: "in Alan of
Buchan we see but the noble son of our right noble countrywoman, the
Lady Isabella; we see in him but a worthy descendant of Macduff, the
noble scion, though but by the mother's side, of the loyal house of
Fife. Young as thou art, we ask of thee but the heart and sword which
thou hast so earnestly proffered, nor can we, son of Isabella of Fife,
doubt their honesty and truth; thou shalt earn a loyal name for thyself,
and till then, as the brother in arms, the chosen friend of Nigel Bruce,
all shall respect and trust thee. We confer knighthood on twenty of our
youthful warriors seven days hence; prepare thyself to receive it with
our brother: enough for us to know thou hast learned the art of chivalry
at thy mother's hand."
Dazzled, bewildered by the benign manner, and yet more gracious words of
his sovereign, the young heir of Buchan remained kneeling for a brief
space, as if rooted to the ground, but the deep earnest voice of his
mother, the kind greeting of Nigel Bruce, as he grasped his arm, and
hailed him companion in arms, roused him at once, and he sprung to his
feet; the despondency, shame, doubt, anxiety which like lead had weighed
down his heart before, dissolved before the glad, buoyant spirit, the
bright, free, glorious hopes, and dreams, and visions which are known to
youth alone.
Stentorian and simultaneous was the eager shout that hailed the
appearance of the newly-anointed king, as he paused a moment on the
great stone staircase, leading from the principal doors of the abbey to
the abbey yard. For miles round, particularly from those counties which
were but thinly garrisoned by the English, the loyal Scots had poured at
the first rumor of the Bruce's rising, and now a rejoicing multitude
welcomed him with one voice, the execrations against their foes
forgotten in this outpouring of the heart towards their native prince.
Inspired by this heartfelt greeting, the king advanced a few paces on
the stone terrace, and raised his right hand, as if about to speak; on
the instant every shout was hushed, and silence fell upon that eager
multitude, as deep and voiceless as if some mighty magic chained them
spell-bound where they stood, their very breathing hushed, fearful to
lose one word.
Many an aged eye grew dim with tears, as it rested on the fair and
graceful form, the beautifully expressive face of him, who, with
eloquent fervor, referred to the ancient glory of their country; tears
of joy, for they felt they looked upon the good genius of their land,
that she was raised from her dejected stupor, to sleep a slave no more;
and the middle-aged and the young, with deafening shouts and eager
gestures, swore to give him the crown, the kingdom he demanded, free,
unshackled as his ancestors had borne them, or die around him to a man;
and blessings and prayers in woman's gentler voice mingled with the
swelling cry, and little children caught the Bruce's name and bade "God
bless him," and others, equally impetuous shouted "Bruce and freedom!"
"Love, obey, follow me, for Scotland's sake; noble or gentle, let all
private feud be forgotten in this one great struggle for liberty or
death. Thus," he concluded, "united and faithful, the name of Wallace on
each lip, the weal of Scotland in each heart, her mountains our shield,
her freedom our sword, shall we, can we fail? No! no! Scotland shall be
free, or her green sod and mountain flowers shall bloom upon our graves.
I have no crown save that which Scotland gives, no kingdom save what
your swords shall conquer, and your hearts bestow; with you I live and
die."
In the midst of the shouts and unrestrained clamor succeeding this
eloquent address, the fiery chargers of the king and his attendant
barons and esquires were led to the foot of the staircase. And a fair
and noble sight was the royal _cortège_ as slowly it passed through the
old town, with banners flying, lances gleaming, and the rich swell of
triumphant music echoing on the air. Nobles and dames mingled
indiscriminately together. Beautiful palfreys or well-trained glossy
mules, richly caparisoned, gracefully guided by the dames and maidens,
bore their part well amid the more fiery chargers of their companions.
The queen rode at King Robert's left hand, the primate of Scotland at
his right, Lennox, Seaton, and Hay thronged around the Countess of
Buchan, eager to pay her that courteous homage which she now no longer
refused, and willingly joined in their animated converse. The Lady Mary
Campbell and her sister Lady Seaton found an equally gallant and willing
escort, as did the other noble dames; but none ventured to dispute the
possession of the maiden of Buchan with the gallant Nigel, who, riding
close at her bridle rein, ever and anon whispered some magic words that
called a blush to her cheek and a smile on her lip, their attention
called off now and then by some wild jest or courteous word from the
young Lord Douglas, whose post seemed in every part of the royal train;
now galloping to the front, to caracole by the side of the queen, to
accustom her, he said, to the sight of good horsemanship, then lingering
beside the Countess of Buchan, to give some unexpected rejoinder to the
graver maxims of Lennox. The Princess Margory, her cousins, the Lady
Isoline Campbell and Alice and Christina Seaton, escorted by Alan of
Buchan, Walter Fitz-Alan, Alexander Fraser, and many other young
esquires, rejoicing in the task assigned them.
It was a gay and gorgeous sight, and beautiful the ringing laugh and
silvery voice of youth. No dream of desponding dread shadowed their
hearts, though danger and suffering, and defeat and death, were darkly
gathering round them. Who, as he treads the elastic earth, fresh with
the breeze of day, as he gazes on the cloudless blue of the circling
sky, or the dazzling rays of the morning sun, as the hum of happy life
is round him--who is there thinks of the silence, and darkness, and
tempest that come in a few brief hours, on the shadowy pinions of night?