CHAPTER V.

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.