And tell me, I charge you----
Why fold ye your mantles, why cloud ye your brows?
So spake the stern chieftain.--No answer is made;
But each mantle unfolding, a dagger display'd.
CAMPBELL.
We must now go still further back into our history, and give some
account of Sir David Bruce, and the unhappy causes that led to so
unexpected and so speedy a termination of a connexion honourable and
enviable in every respect, and indeed every way deserving of happier
results.
In the parish of Kirkoswald, in Ayrshire, is situated the ancient and
the celebrated castle of Turnberry, stationed upon the north-west point
of a rocky angle of the coast, extending towards Girvan. This castle
belonged to Sir Robert Bruce, Laird of Annandale. The situation of the
castle of Turnberry is extremely delightful, commanding a full view
of the Frith of Clyde, and its indented shores. Upon the land side it
overlooks a richly extended plain, bounded by distant hills, which rise
around in gradual and beautiful undulations, and adorned to their very
summits with woods of mountain-ash, oak, and the most graceful of all
trees, in glen, plain, valley, or mountain, the weeping birch.
The lord of this castle--we should say "the laird"--was Sir Robert
Bruce, and with him resided his twin-brother, Sir David Bruce, the
hero of this eventful tale. This castle had belonged in the olden time
to Alexander Earl of Carrick, who died nobly fighting, as a true and
valiant Red-Cross Knight, in the Holy Land; who left an only daughter,
named Martha Countess of Carrick. This noble lady having accidentally
met Robert Bruce, (the ancestor of our hero,) Laird of Annandale in
Scotland, and Baron Cleveland in England, while he was occupied in a
hunting party near her castle, his manners, deportment, and person,
pleased the countess; she invited him to the castle of Turnberry, and
they were speedily married.
From this illustrious marriage sprung the kings of Scotland of the
royal race of Stuart;--and hence the successors of Bruce, until they
ascended the throne of Scotland, were styled _Earls of Carrick_;
and this title still appertains to the heir apparent to the throne
of England, one of the titles of the Prince of Wales being "Earl of
Carrick and Lord of the Isles."
Robert was the ancestor of David, who married a lady of the noble
house of Moray. Sir David Bruce, Laird of Annandale, died when young,
leaving two sons, Robert and David, (the latter the subject of these
memoirs,) and appointing, by his last will and testament, his lady and
the Reverend George Wardlaw, D. D., as guardians to his sons. His death
was soon followed by that of his lady. And the young men, now grown up,
having received a due preparatory education from the Reverend Doctor,
whilom fellow of St. Andrew's College, were there shortly matriculated
as students. But Robert soon got tired of his Reverend tutor and the
grave and ponderous tomes of Saint Andrew's, which were soon exchanged
for the academy of nature, the wooded banks of the Doon, and the rocky,
romantic shores of Ayrshire.
David, on the contrary, pursued his academic studies with much
perseverance, and with very considerable credit, calling forth the
approbation and praise of his Reverend tutor and the heads of that
learned seminary.
While in the university he formed an intimacy with Thomas Lord Maxwell,
which was soon cemented into friendship. They were chums; their
studies, pursuits, and tastes coincided, and they were inseparable
companions.
Upon one occasion Lord Maxwell saved the life of Sir David Bruce. They
were one day, during college vacation, amusing themselves in fishing
for pike and perch in a small row-boat on the Loch of Lindores; when
suddenly a squall of wind coming on, the boat overset. Bruce, not
knowing how to swim, would certainly have been drowned; but Lord
Maxwell said: "Be calm, and I will save you;--be firm, and fear
not!--Closely lock your arms around my waist; but do not by any means
impede my exertions, and trust me I shall bring you safe to shore."
Lord Maxwell faithfully fulfilled his promise, by conducting his friend
with the utmost safety to land, which they at length providentially
reached, both much wearied and exhausted, having had a considerable
distance to swim.
This adventure still further increased that mutual regard and
friendship which had long existed between them. Danger, like death, is
a leveller of all distinctions; it places those mutually encountering
it on an equality, and forms a bond of union not easy to be broken. It
can then be well imagined how much this event tended to strengthen and
confirm a friendship that was not of hasty growth.
The terms necessary to be kept at the university having now expired.
Lord Maxwell and Sir David Bruce took their departure from it, with the
regard and regret of all who knew them;--the former returning to his
ancient and magnificent castle of Caerlaverock,[8] in Dumfrieshire;
when Sir David Bruce retired to his brother's residence at Turnberry
Castle, in Ayrshire.
[Footnote 8: This castle and its fortifications were demolished
by Sir Eustace Maxwell, (the steady, warm-hearted friend of King
Robert Bruce,) lest it should fall into the hands of the enemy:
and for which generous action lands were given to him, the tenure
by which he held them being thus noticed:--"_Pro fractione et
prostratione castri de Caerlaverock_," &c. &c.]
David was truly glad to meet his brother after so long an absence,
and Robert kindly received him. Here the brothers passed their time
in rural sports and pastimes, enjoying the sun and summer months in
admiring the views of nature; never within the castle during the
day-time, often wandering even at night in the open air, among the
mountains and the woods. The winter they spent in the chase, while the
sun was up;[9] or in practising the broad sword, at which David was
particularly expert. For
"The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield,
Was light in his terrible hand."
[Footnote 9: Dalrymple's Memoirs.]
In archery, and in wielding the Lochabor axe, they were both equally
skilled. Their evenings they passed in assembling, with their
surrounding neighbours, around the social fire in the great baronial
hall, or entertaining themselves with the song, the tale, and the dance.
To the pleasures arising from the perusal of history and poetry, David
united a fine taste for music; and to these were added an ardent love
of classical learning, and an enthusiastic admiration of the scenery of
nature. Every day witnessed him to wander abroad and gaze with rapture
on the expanded lake, the lofty mountain, the frowning rock, and the
thundering cataract. These extended and elevated his strong mind, on
which was stamped the impress and originality of thought, an unshaken
independence of mind, emanating from Nature herself.--Refinement in
sentiment was contrasted to strength and hardiness of body. His manners
were polite and endearing, as his deportment was simple and unassuming:
"He bloom'd the pride of Caledonia's youth,
In virtue, valour, and external grace."
He was warm and cordial in his affections; he was modest as he was
brave. His character was that of much decision--a proud, independent,
and a lofty spirit. He could forgive injuries against himself; and he
could do more--he could also forget them.
But the character of Robert was stamped in a different mould. He
was enterprising, artful, bold, boisterous, treacherous, cruel,
unforgiving, and suspicious withal: possessing too a strong portion in
his disposition of that
"Pale envy, which withers at another's joy,
And hates the excellence which it cannot reach,"
Robert looked with a jealous and a jaundiced eye on the superior
accomplishments and attainments of his brother; and he heard with
strong, unmixed, and undisguised hatred and disgust, all the praises
that were daily lavished on the worth, generosity, and humanity of
David, whom Robert considered in every respect as his inferior. Hence
arose daily reproaches between the brothers, which necessarily and
inevitably went to dissolve that unity in which brethren ever should
delight to dwell.
There were at this time two rival and hostile clans in their vicinity,
the Maxwells of Nithisdale, and the Johnstones of Annandale. The chief
of the former clan was Lord Maxwell, the college chum and friend of Sir
David Bruce; and the chief of the Johnstones was Sir Eustace Johnstone,
the friend of Sir Robert. This opposition of clanship, and the brothers
espousing different sides, added still further to increase the growing
ill-will which now existed between the twin brothers.
It will now be necessary to revert to the original feud between the
Maxwells and the Johnstones,[10] or, as it was emphatically called,
"The foul debate," one indeed of the most remarkable feuds upon the
western marches. This feud occurred between John Lord Maxwell, the
father of the friend of Sir David Bruce (John Lord Maxwell), and the
Laird of Johnstone. Two bands of mercenaries, commanded by Captains
Cranstoun and Larie, were sent from Edinburgh to support Johnstone, who
were attacked and cut to pieces at Crawford-muir, by Robert Maxwell,
natural brother to the chieftain, who following up his advantages,
burned Johnstone's castle of Lockwood. The Johnstones soon appearing
with only forty horsemen, engaged double that number of the enemy, put
them to flight, and pursuing a certain length, and through deep design
then as suddenly retreated. They were soon followed by the whole body
of the enemy, with Lord Maxwell at their head, until they came to
the Torwood, on the south-east side of the Dryfe Sands, from whence
instantly four hundred of the Annandale men sprung up, flew upon the
surprised enemy, and after a short but bloody struggle, put them into
confusion; and being joined by a few Scots from Eskdale, under the
Laird of Buccleugh, completed their victory, killing upwards of seven
hundred of the Nithsdale men. The Annandale men being now reinforced,
routed their enemy; the Maxwells drove them to the Gotterbury Ford of
the river Annan, where many were drowned.
[Footnote 10: _Vide_ "Minstrelsy of the Scottish
border."--"Beauties of Scotland."]
Lockwood Castle, the residence of the family of Annandale, was very
beautifully situated, and commanded a very extensive prospect. It must
have been a place of great strength, having had prodigiously thick
walls, and being surrounded with impassable bogs and morasses. It was
this circumstance that made James the sixth to say, that "The man who
built Lockwood, though outwardly honest, must have been a knave in his
heart."
"This fatal battle," which we have now detailed, "was followed by a
long feud, attended with all the circumstances of horror proper to a
barbarous age."[11]
[Footnote 11: "Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border," vol. I. p. 218.]
One day David having returned from an excursion on horseback, he said
to his brother, who had declined riding out with him, "The weather has
proved very favourable, though the morning lowered."
"Have you rode far?" inquired Robert.
"I have been with old Davie Maxwell, not farther."
"Ay," rejoined Robert, "but far enough, I dare swear, to relieve the
needy carl's wants."
"I did so, certainly," said David--"what then?"
"And more the fool you for doing so," remonstrated Robert. "Now," added
he, "there is not a man in Scotland, from Skye to Solway Firth, that
would have done so but yourself!"
"And that," rejoined David, "was the very reason that I did it!"
"A kindness conferred on one of a hostile clan, was held as an
offence, if not an affront to the chieftain:
----"What tie so sacred
As those that to his name and kindred vassals
The noble chieftain bind?"[12]
[Footnote 12: Joanna Baillie's "_Family Legend_."]
"An injury done to one of a clan was always considered an injury
done to all, on account of the common relation of blood.--Hence the
Highlanders were in the habitual practice of war: and hence their
attachment to their chieftain and to each other was founded upon two of
the most active principles of human nature, love of their friends, and
resentment against their enemies."[13]
[Footnote 13: Dalrymple's Memoirs.]
They went always completely armed.--Their arms were a broad sword, a
dagger (called a dirk), a target, a musket, and a brace of pistols.
It was a principle deeply imbibed by them, to die with pleasure to
revenge affronts offered to their clan or to their country.
To put an end to this terrible feud, a bond of alliance was subscribed
by Lord Maxwell and Sir Eustace Johnstone, and the two clans for some
time lived together in harmony.
To celebrate this reconciliation between the late hostile clans, Sir
Robert Bruce determined upon giving a splendid banquet, to which
were invited Lord Maxwell and his clan of Nithsdale, and Sir Eustace
Johnstone and the clan of Annandale. The day of the grand fete arrived;
it was the thirty-first of October, 1600 and---- (a memorable day).
The choicest wines and the richest foreign fruits crowned the festive
board; the forest, the muir, the lake, and the sea, yielded their
treasures of flesh, fowl, and fish, to furnish forth the lordly
banquet. An immense fire blazed forth to warm the baronial hall, and
the fine gothic chandelier, which hung from the oaken and richly-carved
ceiling, threw an imposing light around.
In this highly decorated hall the walls were covered with gorgeous
tapestry from the splendidly brilliant looms of Arras, and which
presented to the delighted eye various patriotic stories from Scottish
as well as from Roman history. Here the feats of Wallace, there the
victories of the Bruce; here were seen Marcus Curtius plunging with
his charger into the yawning gulf, who nobly devoted his life for his
country! Next frowned Brutus on the banished Tarquins; and next were
portrayed the glorious achievements of the Decii and Fabii.
The guests in due order arrived; and good-humour and hilarity shed
their social charms. The harp and the bagpipe were alternately played
during dinner. The cloth being removed, the song and the tale passed
round. One of the Annandale clan sung the following song:--
THE LASS OF YARROW.
O! the lovely lass of Yarrow,
Nane is like the lass of Yarrow;
The sedge grows green by Gala's stream;
Her name I'll carve upon the willow.
I've roam'd the sunny braes of Ayr,
Hae ranged the bonnie banks of Doon;
Beheld the winsome lassies there,
In vernal morn and simmer's noon.
But the lovely lass of Yarrow, &c. &c.
I've sail'd on Katrine's leesome lake,
Hae climb'd the lofty Lomond's brow;
Fair nymphs hae seen o' heav'nly make--
So sweet a form yet ne'er till now,
Like the lovely lass of Yarrow, &c. &c.
This song was well received. The goblet having opened their hearts,
prevented them from being too fastidious in their criticism. A song was
now loudly called for from the Nithsdale clan, when auld Davie Maxwell,
with much feeling sung the following:
I WINNA TELL, HER HEART 'TWAD BREAK.
I winna tell my Jeanie dear
Our bairn's to battle gane;
Her heart wad break, unshed a tear,
For him, our anely wean.
I mauna tell--I dare nae speak
The direful words accurst;
The tale my Jeanie's heart wad break,
And then my ane wad burst!
I'll say that to the Hielands flane,
Or to the village fair,
Our manly, darling bairn's gane;
But nae ane ward o' war!
Or thae amid the birken shaw,
Or in the Rowan-Bower,
Or wand'ring o'er the heathry haugh,
To while awa the hour.
But ah! nae mair I'll Jeanie tell,
Nor word of battle speak,
Nor at Kil'kranky's pass he fell,
For then her heart wad break!
This pathetic little production produced much applause. And now
stoups of claret circled round the table, certainly in an increased
ratio of rapidity. Nor was the native Fairntosh neglected; for some,
who complained that claret was too cold for a Caledonian stomach,
accordingly fortified the same with some simple potations of their
native spirit.
The wish of the company now seemed to be for a song that partook of
a martial nature; and the following was sung by one of the clan of
Johnstone:--
WAR SONG.
Health to the chieftain on hill or in hall,
Whose front no foeman could ever appal!
The first and foremost his foes to attack,
His face they all know--they ne'er saw his back!
The targe his pillow, his couch the heather,
Defying claymore, dirk, and the weather.
Down with all foemen!--What clanship shall sever
Our bond of alliance? Never--oh, never!
Never--oh, never!
This song was loudly applauded by a grand chorus, which was performed
by the company striking the handles of their daggers on the finely
carved table, on which were emblazoned the arms and achievements of the
house of Bruce; and the song was loudly encored.
The clan of Maxwell now in their turn were called upon for a martial
song, when one of the officers sung, in a measure _presto et
furioso_:--
LORD MAXWELL'S SLOGAN.
I.
I have deepen'd my phalanx, and call'd forth my clan;
They are true unto death, from the rear to the van!
Their broad targes are tough, and their claymores are sharp,
Shrill symphony meet for the wild war-pipe and harp;
Their firm hands they hold ready; their bold hearts beat strong;
Their dirks are stout steel-proof, and their pole-axes long.
Then up with the Maxwells! not valour need say more;
For their prowess was proved by banner and claymore.
Huzza, huzza!
II.
To encounter for kindred, our clan, and our name,
To a Lowlander these are far dearer than fame;
To avenge the bold insult, dare glance at our clan,
And die for our country, is to die like a man!
Then up with the Maxwells! not valour need say more;
We'll die as we ought, by our banner and claymore!
Huzza, huzza!
III.
Huzza!--how we'll shriek on the day of the battle,
In collision broad-sword and bay'net shall rattle,
Our fierce foemen astound in the terrible charge,
While death boldly strikes home thro' tartan and targe.
Then up with the Maxwells! not valour need say more;
We'll conquer, or die by our banner and claymore!
Huzza, huzza!
This slogan was chorussed by several hundreds of dirks, which, now
unscabbarded, were loudly thundered on the hospitable board, and which
glittered ominously in the reflected light of the blazing chandelier.
The men of Annandale now started up; when claymore, dirk, and whinger,
flew forth from their scabbards. The men of Nithsdale rose too at the
same instant, and all was uproar, madness, riot, and inebriation; and
the fierce and implacable hatred of the two clans, which, not extinct,
had secretly lurked in their veins, now blazed forth with increased
fury. It seemed as if fate had pronounced,
"Let the loud trumpet far and near proclaim
Our bloody feast, and at the rousing sound
Let every clansman of the hated name
His vengeful weapon clench."
Malcolm, a faithful and affectionate follower and foster-brother of Sir
David Bruce, foreseeing that the fete would end in a renewal of the old
feud, took his own measures accordingly for his master's safety, and
lost no time in pre-arranging his plans, and these he put in train,
while all was noise and uproar at the banquet. He saw not unobserved
how rapidly stoup of claret succeeded stoup, without any _interregnum_,
and glasses of Fairntosh were dashed down in never-ending repetition.
The war songs seemed too surely to strike the key of discord; passion
begun to explode; word brought on word, and blow brought on blow. Then
rung claymore upon iron breastplate, and upon leathern target. The
scream of maddened wrath mingled with the groan of death.
The combatants next deeply closed their ranks. Broad-swords were
trundled down upon the floor; and dirk and whinger madly shook, and
thrust home the murderous stab from vengeful hands, prompt to execute
bloody retaliation at this fatal banquet.
Whether from premeditated, dark, and long-purposed design, or whether
in the impulse of sudden and infuriated passion, or merely arising
from the confusion and collision of crossing weapons and tumultuous
struggles, it is impossible to decide;--but the fatal result of the
bloody affray was; that Sir Robert Bruce stabbed Lord Maxwell, who, it
will be recollected, had saved the life of his brother David.
Upon this attempt, and before it could be executed, David endeavoured
to save his friend, but in vain; his brother Robert exclaiming with a
furious air and voice, "What! dare my dependants beard me in my own
hall!"
Lord Maxwell now fell lifeless on the ground. David, as he beheld the
preserver of his life perish by the hand of his brother, in a paroxysm
of rage and infuriated madness, drew forth his dirk, and rushed
forward. The other combatants, horror-struck at the direful conflict
that arose between the twin brothers, suspended their own to interpose.
But this interposition served only to aggravate the violence it was
intended to suppress. The brothers now struggled less because they
were incensed than because they were withheld; and when they furiously
burst from the arms that held them, rushed against each other with a
blind and staggering shock. The impulse was unintentional, but the
result was fatal. The weapon of David, held in an unconscious hand,
pierced him to whom he was opposed. He saw not whom it was--he drew his
weapon back--it was reeking with a brother's blood![14]
[Footnote 14: This bloody deed, it must be confessed, was a
dereliction and violation of all the strict laws of hospitality,
which were so duly enforced in Scotland--which forbad a host to
murder his guest. But we have detailed the savage character of Sir
Robert Bruce, the hostility of the two clans, and the barbarism of
the times; and have only to say, that "_Exceptio probat regulam_."]
Here Malcolm caught the eye and seized the arm of Bruce. No time was
to be lost. The general confusion aided the attempt.--Seizing with
a Goliath grasp upon Bruce's arm, he dragged him on, while David's
retainers rushed between their chieftain and immediate death, the
punishment of his involuntary fratricide. Malcolm next suddenly raised
up the arras, which with as much haste and promptitude he let fall
behind him and Bruce. Next pushing open a small narrow door, which was
secreted behind the tapestry, they swiftly passed through it, which was
on the instant closed by Malcolm, who quickly flung home its massive
bolts and bars at the inner side, which necessarily fully prevented all
attack or pursuit. They were now safe from their enemies so far, at
least. The bugle-horn they heard rung lustily from the warder's tower;
distinctly, too, they heard the rattling chain of the draw-bridge,
as it was hastily raised to prevent the flight of David. The cavalry
were now ordered to horse, and to pursue;--the hackbutteers mounted
the battlements, and peeped from the embrasures; while bugle, bagpipe,
drum, and trumpet, sounded pursuit. The commingled and discordant
sounds were heard floating over tower, parapet, and battlement, and
were deeply re-echoed by rock, islet, and promontory, and hoarsely
answered by the storm-beat wave tiding to the shore.
Meanwhile the faithful Malcolm led on Bruce through several intricate
winding passages, until they reached a sallyport which opened on the
margin of the sea, where they were for the present removed from the
scene of danger. The mode by which they had escaped was quite unknown
to their enemies; and now they paused to inhale the breeze of heaven,
and cool their wearied brows from the fatigue and horrors which they
had encountered.
Here Bruce said:--"Thanks, my dear and faithful follower, my honest
Malcolm, for thy brave and powerful arm, and wondrous foresight. We are
now safe from mortal men and mortal measures, at least for the moment."
Then he mournfully mused to himself:--"But what arm has the nerve
that might, that may shield me from myself? What potent anodyne can
tranquilize a guilty conscience? What untold charm can lull a mind
ill at ease, and abhorring and abjuring itself?--Yes, yes! there is,
there is an omnipotent and a redeeming power!--there is an atoning
spirit, that can pardon, pity, and absolve the guilty, when the heart
shall truly repent: and although my crime be dyed and encrimsoned deep
in guilt, I yet may obtain mercy!--a truly penitent and contrite soul
may yet blanch this deed pure and spotless as the untrodden snow which
crests the lofty mountain-peak. This is consolatory. But hour, and day,
and year still succeeding year, must pass over in sad and sorrowful
contrition, before this foul and atrocious guilt, the result of one
depraved moment of furious passion, can be washed away and effaced from
the calendar of dark human crime, and deep ingratitude to high heaven!"
Here a dreadful storm of hail coming on, the weary fugitives gladly
entered a spacious cavern which propitiously and opportunely opened
wide "its ponderous jaws" to receive them; and which timely afforded
them a respite from the storm, and a refuge from pursuit.