has much the air of a fable,” invented long after, “to varnish over the
murder of Comyn.” We are not at all bound to regard Bruce, as these
Scottish writers would have us, as so hardened a hypocrite as to be
blandly discussing with Edward, at Sheen, the terms of the “settlement
of Scotland,” if he had already agreed with Comyn on the mode and
manner of a new rebellion. We deem the simple narrative of the English
chroniclers who wrote at the time to be both the more probable and also
that which casts the least blame upon Bruce. It surely is most probable
that the thoughts of a new rebellion only arose in his mind during his
homeward journey; that, arrived in Scotland, he spent some time, as
the English historians tell us, in conferring with the Scottish lords;
and that it was only when he found that Comyn would not concur, and
that his opposition would be fatal to the whole plan, that his final
resolve was taken. He would draw Comyn into a position from which there
should be no retreat. It should be, “Consent, or die!”
But the deed was now done. Bruce, by a perfidious device, had effected
his purpose, and by one stroke of a dagger, had removed the last
remaining obstacle from his path.[157] “The first noble in the realm,”
whose opposition would have been fatal to the plan, was slain, and
the conspirators had now the ground clear before them. We speak of a
conspiracy, although most modern Scottish writers assume the murder to
have been committed “in the heat of passion.” None, however, of the
older Scottish historians so represent it; and the well‐known anecdote
of Kirkpatrick refutes the idea. All Scottish writers tell us that
Bruce came out of the church exclaiming, “I doubt I have killed Comyn!”
“You doubt!” exclaims Kirkpatrick, “I’ll soon make sure!” (mak siccar).
The exclamation is that of a man who expected some such news; not of
one who was surprised or shocked. Evidently, Hemingford had ground for
his statement. “He struck him with his foot, and then with his sword,
_as he had plotted_, and then, retiring, left him to his retainers,
who, pressing on him, left him for dead on the pavement.”
“The die was now cast,” adds Mr. Tytler. “Bruce had, with his own hand,
assassinated the first noble in the land, in a place of tremendous
sanctity. He had stained the high altar with blood, and had directed
against himself the resentment of the powerful friends and vassals
of the murdered earl.” “He must now either become a fugitive and an
outlaw, or raise open banner against Edward.”
There can be no doubt that Bruce had weighed these chances beforehand.
The inveigling his victim into “a place of tremendous sanctity,” into
which he naturally came unarmed, and there falling upon him, shows
clearly a “foregone conclusion.” The chief man in England, he well
knew, was incapacitated by age and disease, and he had now got rid of
the chief man in Scotland. These obstacles removed, for all the rest he
relied on his own skill and audacity, his good sword, and his strong
right arm. And the issue showed that his calculations were just and
accurate; and “the power of intellect without conscience” was once more
proved to be sufficient to achieve great earthly and temporary success.
He repaired forthwith to Lochmaben castle, where he was at least safe
from any sudden pursuit of the Comyns. From thence he immediately
despatched letters to every friend who was likely to give him any aid.
Of these, the earls of Athol and Lennox, and the bishops of Glasgow,
St. Andrew’s, and Athol, and about fourteen others of some rank,
as knights or barons, quickly joined his standard. With these few
supporters, “he had the courage,” says Fordun, “to raise his hand, not
only against the king of England and his allies, but _against the whole
accumulated power of Scotland_.”
This confession, from the pen of Scotland’s first historian—himself a
profound admirer of Bruce—decides one question. It was not in obedience
to Scotland’s call that Bruce took up arms;“the whole accumulated power
of Scotland” was opposed to his enterprise. The cause he undertook
was simply _his own cause_, not that of Scotland. He had said to the
Scottish people—(to use the language of Matthew of Westminster)—“Make
me your king, and I will deliver you from the tyranny of the English.”
The response he received was the adherence of two earls, three bishops,
and fourteen knights or barons. The _dissentients_ were so numerous
as to amount, in Fordun’s view, to “the whole accumulated power of
Scotland.”
Still, however insignificant the support he received, and however
evident it might be that the movement had no other origin or purpose
than the gratification of his own personal ambition, he had now gone
too far to recede. Not even flight could save him, for who in France or
Italy would shelter one who had committed such sacrilege? He therefore
boldly took the only course which remained open. Three or four weeks
sufficed to collect together a sufficient force, and on the 24th or
the 25th of March, Bruce rode to Glasgow, and from thence, on the
27th, to Scone, where, in the accustomed spot, he received from the
bishops some kind of a coronation. Some robes were provided by the
bishop of Glasgow; a slight coronet of gold, “probably borrowed,” says
Mr. Tytler, supplied the place of the ancient crown of Scotland; and a
banner wrought with the royal arms was delivered by Wishart to the new
king; who, beneath it, received the homage of his few adherents, as
“Robert the first.” On the second day after the ceremony a repetition
of the scene took place. The earls of Fife had long enjoyed the
privilege of placing the kings of Scotland, at their coronation, upon
the throne. The present earl was with Edward in England; but his
sister, the countess of Buchan, was an enthusiastic partisan of Bruce;
and, hearing of the intended ceremony, she rushed to Scone to offer
her services in her brother’s room. Bruce could not afford to slight
or disappoint any adherent; and hence, simply to gratify her, the
coronation was performed over again, and she was allowed the privilege
upon which she set so much value.
The new king then began a progress through such parts of Scotland as
were likely to favour his pretensions; seizing the royal castles,
driving away the English officers, and asserting his rights as king
wherever he could find an opening. But his party, Mr. Tytler admits,
“_was small;_ the Comyns possessed the greatest power in Scotland; and
many earls and barons, who had suffered in the late war, preferred
the quiet of submission to the hazard of insurrection and revolt.” In
fact, as we have seen Fordun admitting—the rebellion was _not a popular
one_. Bruce had a far smaller party than either Wallace or Comyn had
gathered, and if a couple of years of life and vigour had been left
to Edward, the suppression of this third revolt would have proved an
easier task than the defeat of either of the former two. Of Bruce’s
method of proceeding we have a sample in a document still extant, in
which the earl of Strathern describes the mode in which he had been
dealt with. This is a memorial, addressed by the earl to king Edward,
in explanation of his position. In it the earl states, that as soon
as Bruce was made king, he sent letters of credence to the earl, by
the abbot of Inchaffrayn. The abbot urged the earl to repair forthwith
to Bruce, to perform homage and fealty. “Nay,” said the earl, “I have
nothing to do with him.” Thereupon Bruce and Athol, with a power,
entered Strathern, and occupied Foulis. Bruce sent the earl a safe
conduct, to repair to him. He did so, and on refusing to pay homage, he
was carried to Inchmecolmec. Here he found Sir Robert Boyd, who advised
Bruce, in his presence, _to behead him_, the earl, and to grant away
the lands of Strathern. On hearing this, he was frightened, and did
their will, and then they let him go.[158]
Tidings of all these proceedings—of Comyn’s murder; of Bruce’s
coronation; and of the treason of Lennox and Athol, of Wishart, and
of the two other bishops, reached Edward at Winchester, in Lent, and
shortly before Easter in 1306. Had there been any truth in the stories
told by Barbour, Fordun, and Wyntoun, of Bruce’s escape and flight to
Scotland, in the January preceding, we should have found, long before
this, traces of Edward’s foresight and energy, in the writs and other
documents which such occurrences would have drawn forth. But no such
traces are to be met with. This of itself abundantly proves that the
narratives of Barbour and Fordun are wholly fabulous.
The intelligence came upon the king as a surprise; and it awakened
in him feelings of the greatest indignation. As a knight and a
soldier, accustomed to the laws of honour, an act of premeditated
assassination—the assault of several armed men upon a single nobleman,
whom they had induced to come without arms to an amicable meeting,
would naturally fill his mind with horror and detestation. As a
sincerely religious man, who, in 1289, had abstained from violating
the sanctity of a church, even to take a notorious criminal from its
protection, the ruthless murder of a nobleman on the steps of the
altar must increase, if it were possible, his just indignation. But
evidently, that feature of the case which most exasperated him, was the
perfidy and treachery which had marked the whole transaction. The two
chief actors in this tragedy had been Bruce and Wishart; and it had
been to these two men, above all others, that he had looked for the
quiet settlement of Scotland. They had come from Scotland professedly
to assist him. They had sat at his council‐table for weeks together,
and, doubtless, had often taken their places at his festive board, and
shared with him in the summer enjoyments of his Richmond retirement.
And now, it was not merely that they had fallen off from him, but that
they had proved, by the desperate course which they adopted immediately
on their return, that all their pretended zeal and loyalty in the
October preceding, had been utterly false and treacherous. Edward was
well versed in the language of the Psalms, and he would naturally be
inclined to cry out, with David, “Yea! even mine own familiar friend,
in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lift up his heel
against me.”
This perfidy is made the especial charge against both the bishops, in
an accusation laid by Edward before the pope. In this document the king
recounts a long list of perjuries. Thus, of Wishart, bishop of Glasgow,
the king alleges—
That when he, the king, was first called into Scotland, about the
matter of the succession, he, the bishop, took the oath to the king, as
superior lord, and was appointed by him as one of the guardians of the
realm; yet, when Baliol was put into possession of the kingdom, he, the
bishop, aided and advised him in making war upon England.
Next, that, upon Baliol’s submission, the bishop came to the king at
Elgin, and prayed forgiveness; and took an oath on the consecrated
host, on the gospels, and upon the black rood of Scotland, that he
would be faithful and true to the king, and would never counsel
anything to his hurt or damage. And that, at the parliament held at
Berwick, he took the oath of fealty for the third time. Yet when the
king was gone to Flanders, the bishop abetted Wallace, and came forth
into the field against the king.
Again, when the rebellion seemed to decline, the bishop once more
submitted himself to the king, at Irvine, in July, 1297. Yet, in less
than a month afterwards, he had again confederated himself with Wallace
and the rebels, encouraging them as heretofore.
Next, the king having returned from Flanders, the bishop came before
him at Holme Cultram, and prayed the king’s grace and mercy, and did
then, for the _fourth_ time, take the oath of fealty upon the host,
gospels, rood, etc., etc. Yet, while this oath was yet fresh, the
bishop assembled all his strength, and marched against the king’s army.
Again, the rebellion being suppressed, the bishop came before the king
at Cambuskenneth, and prayed grace and mercy, and forswore himself a
_fifth_ time, upon the host, gospels, etc., etc. And at the parliament
at St. Andrew’s, he took the same oath a _sixth_ time. And yet, after
all this, within eight days after the murder of Comyn, he gave Bruce
plenary absolution—thus showing his approval of the sacrilege and the
murder. He also in every way promoted and encouraged the rebellion, in
violation of the oath which he had, on six different occasions, taken.
Similar are the complaints made by the king of the perjuries of the
bishop of St. Andrew’s, and the bishop of Elgin or Moray. To this
general faithlessness on the part of the leaders in the rebellion,
Wyntoun, in his “Cronykyl,” published in the next century, pleads
guilty, saying of Wallace’s day—
“For in his time, I heard well say,
That fickle they were, all time, of fay” (faith).
But the disgust and exasperation which this perpetual perfidy would
naturally excite in an honourable mind will be obvious to every one;
and we have no doubt that it was this feeling which induced the
inscription on the king’s tomb—_Pactum serva_—an inscription which
doubtless was placed there by his own command.
All the troubles of Edward’s life had arisen from the faithlessness of
those with whom he was concerned. David of Wales, Philip of France,
Balliol, Bruce—all, in their turn, first swore to him, and then
shamelessly violated their oaths. Hence, as his last word, he desires
this injunction or maxim—“KEEP YOUR COVENANT”—to be engraven on his
monument; and there, in Westminster Abbey, it still remains.
Meanwhile, the immediate result of all this perfidy is seen in the
entire change which is perceptible in Edward’s policy. For thirty years
he had been singularly merciful, insomuch that Lingard, as we have
just seen, declares it to be “difficult to point out any conqueror who
had displayed equal lenity.” And our latest historian, Mr. Pearson,
concedes to him “the praise of being slow to shed blood.”[159] But
there is truth in the maxim, “Beware of the anger of a patient man.”
Edward was not naturally a patient man, but he had the command of
his own spirit; he loved justice tempered with mercy; and one of his
chief principles of action had been shown in his hasty exclamation
in Segrave’s case, implying clearly that to seek his mercy, in all
ordinary cases, was to find it. But now he evidently felt that the time
for showing lenity was past. There is a degree of sternness, mingled
probably with some feeling of exasperation, in the acts of the last
year of his life; but his love of justice never varied, and cruelty was
a thing to him unknown.
“Although broken in body,” says Mr. Tytler, “this great king was, in
his mind and spirit, yet vigorous and unimpaired, as was soon evinced
by the rapidity and decision of his orders, and the subsequent
magnitude of his preparations. He instantly sent to strengthen the
frontier‐garrisons of Berwick and Carlisle, with the intention of
securing the English borders from invasion; and he appointed the earl
of Pembroke, with lord Robert Clifford and Henry Percy, to march into
Scotland.” It is clear, also, that the whole tone of the king’s mind
and language was changed, and his purpose was everywhere openly avowed,
to take a signal vengeance on all who had in any way been concerned in
the murder of Comyn.
Yet the death of that nobleman had deprived him of no favourite,—of no
intimate personal friend or counsellor. Between this Scottish baron
and the king there had been very little intercourse. For four or five
years Comyn had kept the field against Edward, while Bruce had been
professing the greatest zeal in his service. But Edward recognized
in Comyn a frank and earnest opponent, who carried on the war until
submission seemed to be a duty, and then surrendered his sword,
accepted peace, gave his fealty to the king, and _kept his covenant_.
And Edward saw this nobleman treacherously murdered by that Robert
Bruce who had often sat at his table and professed attachment to
him;—murdered, too, merely because he would not join in treason. Hence
the king’s vehement decision seemed at once to be taken, that for Bruce
and his abettors there was to be no more mercy. The blood of Comyn
should be fully avenged. He often showed his familiarity with the Old
Testament, and on this occasion he probably recurred frequently to the
language of David concerning Joab: “He shed the blood of war in peace,
and put the blood of war upon the girdle that was about his loins, and
in the shoes that were on his feet: let not his head go down to the
grave in peace.”
And it is quite evident that his feelings were generally shared by
his people. A grand religious ceremony was announced to take place at
Whitsuntide in Westminster Abbey. There the king purposed to confer
knighthood on the young prince, and on other young men of rank, his
companions. Nearly three hundred of the younger nobility and gentry
were candidates for this honour, and eager to take their part in the
new enterprise. So vast was the concourse of people in the abbey, that
some persons were crushed to death in the throng. The king was scarcely
able to perform his part; but at the banquet which followed, he took a
solemn oath, according to the laws of chivalry, that he would proceed
to Scotland, there to avenge the death of John Comyn, and to punish
the perfidy of the Scots; and that, when that work was done, he would
embark for the Holy Land, and leave his body in that hallowed soil.
Soon after this solemnity, the young prince, with the new‐made knights,
his companions, and a considerable force of horse and foot, began the
march to Scotland, leaving the king, who was now in his sixty‐eighth
year, to follow more at leisure. The rendezvous was appointed for July
8, at Carlisle.
But before either the king or the prince could arrive in Scotland, the
new rebellion seemed nearly to have reached its close. The surprise of
Roslyn had been reversed, and a disastrous defeat had reduced Bruce to
the condition of a fugitive. The earl of Pembroke commanded a small
English force at Perth, then called Johnstown. Bruce, having now
gathered to himself something amounting to an army, marched towards the
place, and sent a challenge to the earl to come out and fight him. The
earl sent him for answer, that the day was now too far advanced, but
that he would give him battle on the morrow. The Scotch retired, and
incautiously broke up their array, and began to prepare their suppers.
Suddenly, the cry was heard that the enemy was upon them. Pembroke,
on second thoughts, disliking to appear backward, had marshalled
his forces, and marched out to find the Scots. Bruce, still a young
commander, had neglected all the usual precautions, and his troops,
taken entirely by surprise, were thrown into utter confusion. Six or
seven men of note were taken prisoners, and the loss of the Scotch is
said to have been seven thousand men; in fact, the army, such as it
was, was annihilated. Bruce himself, with a few friends, escaped to
the coast, and fled to hide themselves in the western isles. Here,
says Fordun, “he was reduced to such necessity, that he passed a long
period without any other food than herbs, and roots, and water. He
wandered barefoot, now hiding alone in some of the islands, now chased
by his enemies, and despised and ridiculed by his own vassals.”[160]
“He and his friends,” says Mr. Tytler, “began to feel the miseries of
outlaws. Compelled to harbour in the hills, deprived of the common
comforts of life, he and his followers presented a ragged and wretched
appearance. Their shoes were worn off their feet by constant toil; and
hunting, instead of pastime, became a necessity.”[161] The English
army, scouring the country, picked up all the fugitives they could
find, and the chief power of Scotland was opposed to the insurrection.
The lord of Lorne beset the passes, and had nearly captured Bruce. The
earl of Rosse seized Bruce’s wife and daughter, and handed them over
to the English. The bishops of Glasgow and St. Andrews, the abbot of
Scone, the lord Seton, the earl of Athol, and the countess of Buchan,
all were successively found, and brought in as prisoners. The king had,
meanwhile, arrived at Dumfries, and the prince, after scouring the
country, came to Perth. Bruce, now wholly disheartened, sent messengers
to the young Edward to learn whether his submission would be accepted;
but the king, when he heard of it, was incensed with the prince for
holding any correspondence with “that traitor.” We thus see the
distinction drawn between his case and Wallace’s. Wallace, after all
his cruelties, was “to be received, if he chose to submit himself;” but
Bruce’s perfidy, his sacrilege, and his treacherous murder of Comyn,
had put him beyond the pale of mercy. The king had sworn to avenge
Comyn’s murder, and hence with Bruce no communication was to be held.
There was now no visible insurrection in Scotland, the chief rebel
being a mere fugitive among the hills. Hence, in October, we find the
king at Lanercost, in Cumberland, where a council was held, and a
deliberate sentence passed, with reference to the rebellion and its
chief abettors.
This ordinance, in which various Scottish writers profess to find
cruelty, is merely identical with what, _under the like circumstances_,
would be passed at the present day. The parties arraigned had most
of them been rebels in past years, and had found mercy. They had, in
most cases, sworn fealty to Edward again and again, and had asked
and received pardon. Their lives and their lands had been forfeited,
and the forfeiture had not been exacted. Yet, after all this lenity,
they were again found in rebellion, and now with the added guilt of
murder and sacrilege. They had slain the first nobleman in Scotland,
treacherously and perfidiously, and “in a place of tremendous
sanctity.” What in our own time would be the judgment passed on such
criminals? or, rather, what _has been_ the punishment adjudged to such
criminals, within the last twenty years, in our Indian possessions?
The Ordinance of Lanercost declared—1. “That all who were guilty
or were abettors of the murder of John Comyn should be hanged, and
that all who advised or assented to such murder should have the same
punishment.” 2. “And that all who were aiding or assisting Robert
Bruce, or were procuring or persuading the people to rise contrary to
law, should be imprisoned during the king’s pleasure.”
Could queen Victoria, _under like circumstances_, be advised to pursue
any less severe course? Yet, for this mere administration of justice,
is the king charged by some writers with “cruelty!”
Doubtless he had now deliberately laid aside that singular lenity with
which, for ten years past, he had treated the Scotch, and had become
convinced that, with respect to some among them at least, mercy would
be no longer consistent with a proper regard to justice. Yet, surely,
the second of these provisos, which merely ordains for actual rebels
“imprisonment during the king’s pleasure,” is one seldom equalled for
its temperance and lenity. There was also perceptible, in some of his
decisions, that notion of apportioning the punishment to the offence,
which was observable in former actions of the king’s life. Thus, the
countess of Buchan had, careless of Bruce’s perfidy and recklessness
of crime in the murder of Comyn, rushed forward with zeal to take part
in his coronation. She was now a prisoner. The king said, “Since she
has not struck with the sword, let her not be stricken with the sword;
but as a penalty for the treasonable coronation in which she took part,
let her be shut up in a cage made in the form of a crown, that she
may be a spectacle and a reproach.”[162] The wife of Bruce, being also
a prisoner, was sent to England as a captive. These two instances of
severity are fastened upon by some writers as showing “vindictiveness.”
Yet the countess of Buchan was plainly guilty of treason; and to have
allowed Bruce’s wife to return free into Scotland, would evidently
have been an act of imprudence. But the censors of Edward’s conduct
neglect to remark that the countess’s cage was ordered “to have all the
conveniences of a handsome chamber and that Bruce’s wife was sent to
the king’s manor of Bruntwick; with seven attendants, and liberty to
ride out whenever she chose.[163]