CHAPTER V.

"Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone;And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to openThe breast of heaven, I did present myselfEven in the aim and very flash of it,"

"Have bared my bosom to the thunder-stone;

And when the cross blue lightning seem'd to open

The breast of heaven, I did present myself

Even in the aim and very flash of it,"

in anxious hope that it might strike a guilty fratricide dead!——Now, now, you must say, and swear too, upon this blood-stained poniard!—swear never—no, never! to reveal what this sad and eventful night has developed; save it be upon your death-bed alone that you may divulge it. Come, I demand thy oath; I must have thy solemn oath—thy sanctified oath of secrecy! But I will not place that horrid instrument to thy lips, to swear by! No, no! I could not do it—I would not. Oh, no—if even past joys and hopes again were to return—no! But there—there, place thy hand upon that horrible instrument of my deep damnation! Swear upon it!—solemnly swear upon that blood-besprent dagger. Swear!—I charge thee, swear!——Oh, yet weep not, my poor Adelaide! Oh, no!—weep not thus, my Adelaide, or I forego my purpose; and soon, then, this dagger shall be plunged into mine own guilty bosom!——Thou hast heard me——my love! Oh, yes, yes, my love; for still, oh, still art thou dear to me—dearer than life—ay, or even the blessed hopes of ******!—although we never may meet again!——There, I beseech thee! yet there place thy hand upon that instrument of my torture—of my unspeakable woe—and of my deep and deadly crime.—Swear!

Adelaide firmly clasped the fatal instrument, and then exclaimed: "I swear, I solemnly swear, to observe to the very letter all thou hast now enjoined!"

"Oh," replied he, dejected and overcome, "how cold, how deadly cold, is thy hand, my poor, poor Adelaide!—frozen as are all my hopes, and chilled, chilled—deadly chilled as is my own wretched heart's blood. Oh, I shall lose my reason! Oh God, what an hour is this? But pardon me,thou Almighty power. It was I, the impassioned wretch, that flew forth in thy defiance, like another branded criminal—the blood-besprinkled Cain, whose mark, I fear, is stamped upon my forehead and in my heart. But, oh, great and dread Omnipotent, thou art truly just—and I am guilty. Most justly do I confess that I am punished as I ought to be, by thy retributive justice, even upon earth—the irreparable loss of her whom no earthly power upon this habitable spot of earth can ever alleviate or redeem!—never, never, never!"

While Sir David Bruce impassionately and woefully said this, he fell prostrate, and cold, and lifeless, upon the floor of the bridal chamber.

To describe the emotions of Adelaide, would be to attempt indeed an impracticable task. It was so truly horrifying and affecting, that it must wholly be left to the imagination of the feeling reader. It was some time before Sir David recovered from this overpowering blow of affliction. When he did recover, he said mournfully:—

"Sorrow has paralyzed me; and I who often have cleft in twain the helmet of the foeman, now shrink and bend before thee, my much-injured love. A guilty conscience hath unmanned me quite. But oh, my poor Adelaide, time presses onward; the night wears apace, and I must now conclude the few words which I have to say to thee. You must tell the duke and duchess—boldly, as it is true, to account for the rapidity of my departure—that the import of the despatches received, which are from the Elector Palatine of Brandenburgh, in whose service I fought at the battle of the Boyne, bear with them life or death, and I must instantly depart. Thus summoned so suddenly, say to them, and kindly say, that I could not await their arising for the slow ceremony of leave-taking, but that I was forced to hasten forthwith, even amidst the cold and darkness of midnight, with all the expedition I might. And ... when hence I am gone, and thou shalt silently sit in judgment on my passion, and upon my crime, and shalt pronounce condemnation on the destroyer of a brother'slife, and of a wife's happiness—oh, even then still think how fervently, how affectionately, how devotedly, I loved thee;—yea, and inmy very heart's core!... And now a long farewell—for ever farewell. Mayst thou obtain that peace that is to me denied and lost in this world for ever!"

Having thus said, sad, sorrowful, and slow, he descended from the bridal chamber, the tears streaming adown his manly cheeks. Meantime he had lighted a lamp which lay in the recess, and bearing it in his hand, with cautious and silent step, he descended the staircase; and having gone out at the postern, he proceeded to the stables, where, having called up his faithful servant, he ordered his horses instantly to be saddled, and in less than half an hour all was in readiness for his departure,—servant, horses, travelling valise, &c. &c. And now Sir David, and his faithful servant Malcolm, who had attended him at the battle of the Boyne, proceeded beneath the embattled portal of Tyrconnel Castle, never again to return. The solitary bittern mournfully boomed as they rodealong the lonely marsh, and the startled eagle from his lofty eirie-crag loudly shrieked, awakened by the tramp of the horse-hoofs, which were deeply re-echoed through this stilly solitude, in the dark and dismal hour of midnight.

Oh, what pen can write, what tongue can tell, what heart can feel, save the heart which deeply hath felt it, how bitter are the pangs of a wounded spirit, when love becomes horribly transformed into rancorous and deadly hate! Oh, happy it were then that "the silver cord were loosened, and the golden bowl were broken," what time the sweet bond of harmony snapt suddenly in twain, dissevered by a rude and discordant crash, when two fond, faithful, and affectionate hearts, are changed in one short, sad, and eventful moment—becoming, alas, fatally and irrevocably estranged and separated for ever.

"Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,Thrill the deepest notes of woe!"

"Chords that vibrate sweetest pleasure,

Thrill the deepest notes of woe!"

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.

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.

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 styledEarls 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 educationfrom 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; whensuddenly 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 theuniversity 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.

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."

"The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield,

Was light in his terrible hand."

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. Theseextended 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 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,"

"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 theoriginal 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.

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 nowdetailed, "was followed by a long feud, attended with all the circumstances of horror proper to a barbarous age."[11]

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 sacredAs those that to his name and kindred vassalsThe noble chieftain bind?"[12]

——"What tie so sacred

As those that to his name and kindred vassals

The noble chieftain bind?"[12]

"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]

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 wallswere 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.

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.

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 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.

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 dearOur bairn's to battle gane;Her heart wad break, unshed a tear,For him, our anely wean.I mauna tell—I dare nae speakThe 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!

I winna tell my Jeanie dearOur bairn's to battle gane;Her heart wad break, unshed a tear,For him, our anely wean.

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 speakThe direful words accurst;The tale my Jeanie's heart wad break,And then my ane wad burst!

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!

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.

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!

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 severOur bond of alliance? Never—oh, never!Never—oh, never!

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 measurepresto et furioso:—

LORD MAXWELL'S SLOGAN.

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!

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!

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!

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 proclaimOur bloody feast, and at the rousing soundLet every clansman of the hated nameHis vengeful weapon clench."

"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 anyinterregnum, 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, andlong-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 tosuppress. 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]

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 weredeeply 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 amind 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.

Inter utramque viam, lethi discrimine parvo,Ni teneant cursus.Virgil,Æneid III.Sæpe dolis, interit ista: Time!C. Weigelius, Norimbergæ.

Inter utramque viam, lethi discrimine parvo,Ni teneant cursus.

Inter utramque viam, lethi discrimine parvo,

Ni teneant cursus.

Virgil,Æneid III.

Sæpe dolis, interit ista: Time!

C. Weigelius, Norimbergæ.

The fugitives had now proceeded upon a long and wearisome journey after their departure from the cavern, which had so opportunely afforded them shelter and protection. Lonely, depressed, and overpowered by overwhelming grief, self-accusation, and great bodily exertion, solitary stood the noble, but unhappy Bruce, on the desolate shores of his native land; while close stationed by him stood his brave and faithful preserver, his sturdy and affectionate foster-brother, theintrepid, the honest, the disinterested Malcolm.

It was night,—an autumnal storm loudly raged, the clouds darkly were drifted onward with increased rapidity through a perturbed sky; the roaring waves of a tumultuous sea mounted upwards in alpine altitude and curvature, as they dashed and foamed along; whose mournful, sullen scream, responded not to mortal voice, although the sad measure seemed to partake both of sorrow and of woe; if indeed that human suffering and mortal woe could be supposed as associated with that treacherous and tempestuous element.

In the distance distinctly were heard the report of various musket shots, discharged by the hackbutteers,[15]but at intervals only they were heard. Whether these explosions were intended as a military tribute of a faithful clan over the body of a fallen chieftain, or whether they were intended as an excitement to pursuit, (probably the latter,) could not with any positive certainty be ascertained. However, the continued clangor of pursuing cavalry, and the loud, incessant tramping of foot soldiers, who had proceeded with precipitance over crags and rocks, and still unwearied in their pursuit, were audibly heard to approach. It was too evident that all this loud uproar and wild halloo which had prevailed, arose from the violent voice and shout of those who pertinaciously pursued, and who were still pressing upon the flight of the unhappy fugitive.

However, in another direction came on, yet with silent, cautious tread, several faithful adherents, armed with dirk, targe, and claymore, who advanced to the beach, not as blood-hounds to pursue, but as friends to assist; not basely to track the steps of the noble fugitive, but with might and with main to protect him, and cover his flight. This faithful, small, but boldly determined clan, bore lanterns to assist the projects which they had planned, which dimly flung a flickering reddish light around.

This gallant band came on fully resolved to save their chieftain—to rescue him from surrounding perils, or to die! Sir David looked wildly and inquisitively at them; but by no interrogatory he dared to break the more than mortal silence which seemed to seal their lips. No, he shrunk back in despair, fearing to question them; he too justly dreadedthat to be, which he would have forfeited his own lifenot to have been! Dread despair palsied his voice, and held him back from what he fain would ask—"Was his brother among the dead or the living?" The dreadful response that might be returned, made him forego his purpose. He could not—would not—dared not to inquire; it was not to be attempted; and his brain seemed maddened when he thought thereon. His heart was chilled, and his blood slowly pulsated; his lip quivered, and his tongue was silent. However with a silent, but inquisitive gaze and gesture, he sought that fearful information which he dared not—could not ask; these, however, were appeals that could be neither mistaken nor misunderstood. He sought the fearful answer from the plaided clan, whose tall and commanding figures, although dimly and indistinctly seen beneath the pale moon-beams of a stormy sky, and whatever illumination their lanterns afforded, yet observed the earnest appeal: and he is answered as he sought it, in awful silence and impressive dumb show, each of the clan slowly folding around him his plaid,and then one and all in the same moment joining in united action of a mournful and impressive motion of the head. When all rapidly dashing aside their plaids, with fierce and impressive energy they point their out-stretched hands to the foaming waves, intimating thereby that there alone safety was to be found.

Now near, and still more near, too audibly are heard the renewed sounds of advancing foes; the breeze wafting on the appalling and yelling shouts of pursuit; and next followed the loud and deafening tramps of the pursuers. No time—not a moment—was to be lost——death or immediate flight was the alternative!—Some bold, decisive act, was now to be dared, and on the instant done!

The stormy clouds, which in rapid succession hitherto had thrown their dark floating shadows over the disk of an autumnal moon, at this instant favourably dispersed, and the "pale queen of night" burst forth in pearly radiance, glancing her friendly beams upon a fishing bark which lay at anchor beneath an indented shelve of rocks, close byto where the fugitives stood; and at no remote distance a small cottage stood close to the beach, to the owner of which, in all probability, the boat belonged. This seemed most likely to be the fact, from their observation of the fishing-nets, gear, and tackle, all elucidatory of a fisherman's pursuits, which lay outspread upon the shore, clearly designating the uncertain and perilous occupation of the lonely proprietor of this humble dwelling. Upon this discovery the vassals proposed to their chieftain to knock at the door of the cottage, and awake the fisherman. But to this suggestion the generous Bruce would not hearken; he would not endanger the life of a poor and innocent man, probably the sole supporter of his family, in the dread and desperate fortunes of a fugitive—and alas, more than too probably a fratricide!

Thus having impetuously and decisively spoken, David Bruce having flung his purse into a broken aperture of the lattice window, sprung manfully into the fishing bark, and the faithful Malcolm instantly sprang in after his master. Next with fatal, feudal attachment,the vassals advanced, and crowded into the boat, regardless of all remonstrance and reproof, and seemingly insensible of the peril occasioned by thus overloading the fishing skiff.

The storm had for the present abated; which cessation, however, was but of temporary duration. The pursuers meanwhile advanced, with loud and appalling screams, and formed their ranks in martial array upon the beach, the war-pipes loudly pealing forth a pibroch; they next proceeded, having piled their arms, to light their torches from lanterns which, with due precaution, they had borne with them; and soon their ignited torches were applied, which after some little delay, occasioned by the moisture of the storm, the ignition took effect, when brilliantly blazed forth, in crackling flames, the extended ridges of furze, fern, bent-grass, &c., that crowned the lofty links which girdled the undulating summits of the shore. The different plants had been dried up by a summer sun, and parched and ripened by the autumnal blast; and the ignition soon extended along theentire line of the coast. The central part of the conflagration flamed in the distance like to some lofty castle on fire, and flanked, as the deception would represent, by two large towers, which were in effect two large flaming masses of furze and other various shrubs, which, now with a flaming—now with a flickering corruscation, actually seemed like two bale-fires blazing on the headlands. The whole mass having become one continued conflagration, assumed an awfully grand appearance; the ruddy sky brilliantly flamed above, the waves returned the fiery flash below, as the waves undulated to and fro. The fugitives but too distinctly saw the weapons raised in their offence boldly brandishing on the shore, and vengefully flashing forth their quivering gleams, accompanied with loud, fierce, and appalling shouts of vengeance from the bold, determined band, who occupied the shore.

Meanwhile these threatening tones of discord and defiance were resolutely answered by a long continuous scream of triumph from the fugitives, who fled from premeditatedtreachery, and whose parting shouts were deeply chorussed by the symphony of their accompanying oars that wafted them onward in safety.

Now verging toward the distant horizon, the retreating boat was distinctly seen slowly cutting its watery course, overladen although it might be with an extra weight of living cargo. Availing themselves of the breeze, they raised their little sail, and soon expedited their course, wafted onward by the wild and dreary blast.

The moon occasionally at intervals, as the stormy night-clouds cleared away, streamed her radiance on the rippling bosom of the undulating wave, which threw a brilliant line of light across the heaving billows; and showed to those who might wish to observe the progress of the fugitives, that in sooth they made but little way; which was not to be wondered at, considering how incautiously crowded the boat had been through the obstinacy of the too inconsiderate followers. Another danger, superadded to the former, it but too fully appeared to the crew arose fromthe frailty of the bark itself, that had soon to contend with the approach, or rather with the return, of the tempest.

The impressive scene that we have attempted to describe, was, it must be allowed, altogether out of the usual course of ordinary events, and partook of a high and extraordinary degree of interest. To behold a wild, desolate, and romantic shore, lined and occupied as it had been, at such an hour, by a military band of pursuers, and illuminated by the blazing fires, which broadly glanced on spear, axe, target, and claymore; whose ruddy contrasting light served but to cause that the dark impending rocks above, and the indented caverns below, should appear more savage, and their dense darkness the more visible! Meanwhile, to witness the dumb, but expressive gesticulation of the heads and hands, and indignant and angry step, of the enraged vassals on the beach, appearing to the distant beholder all of a deep, glaring, fiery red, fierce as the impetuous motives which led them onward to the bloody track. Rage, and all the varied manifestationsof the fierce passions of wrath and revenge, were but too visible, from the broad and brilliant glare of light that flashed upon them. It was such a scene as would have charmed the creative imagination of Michael Angelo to have dwelt upon and portrayed, and might have even given additional sketches of horror for his "Day of Judgment." And, oh! how would the poetic pencil of the solitary Salvator Rosa have managed this scene!—how his pencil would have sported with it, and his genius have rejoiced!—here he might have conjured up and enlivened his landscape with a bold, determined, band of pirates, soldiers, or banditti, surrounded by dark and frowning precipices. For such was the wild and savage scene so lately before the reader's eye. Rocks frowning in deep darkness, indented with frequent hollow caverns below, the midnight retreat of the otter and porpoise; while from the higher caverned cliffs above, awakened and aroused from their quarry, sprung forth the osprey, the vulture, and cormorant, all loudly screaming, andjoining in one continued dissonant chorus, deeming that the returning morn had arrived!

The fishing bark having been found no longer sea-worthy, the fugitives were compelled to seek the shore; in which act the boat heaved against a rock, but it did no material injury to the bark. Strange to say, however, the shock awakened within the little cabin (if cabin it could be called) of the stern, an inmate, that until that moment the trusty followers did not know, nor even suspect, that such an individual they had on board. This fellow was a tall, athletic figure, whether fisherman or smuggler was doubtful, who must have been, consequently, hitherto profoundly asleep, deeply fatigued, it was supposed, by having been out all the previous night at sea, either fishing or plundering, possibly occupied in one or other—probably in both of these perilous pursuits.

This desperate and daring mariner, rapidly bouncing on deck, said, or rather screamed forth, with denouncing haste and rage: "Ye a' maun perish, a' are tint! and ken ye weel a Johnstone had his revenge!"

Then, with face and the fury of a maniac, and a horrific laugh, he instantly sprang into the waves, plunging like a water-fowl; he sunk, but soon arose again. Malcolm was prepared for this, having previously seized a carabine from one of the Bruce's followers; and soon as the ruffian again arose, Malcolm took determined aim, his carabine exploded its contents, having duly hit the destined mark. The victim of his just revenge loudly screamed, plunged, floundered, and sunk,—but he rose no more!

The crew of the fishing boat meanwhile, or those who acted in that capacity, had timely and providentially discovered and frustrated the treacherous fate which seemed so certainly to await them, and which was so darkly hinted at by this desperate partisan of the Johnstone clan. The pumps were set instantly and incessantly at work, while the leak was timeously stopped, and every precaution adopted to insure and make "surety doubly sure."

It would appear that this desperate follower of the Johnstones had somehow discovered, or overheard, from the followers of the Bruce, the fatal scene that had taken place at Turnberry Castle, the tragical compotation, the bloody fray, between the Maxwells and the Johnstones, and of the fatal death of Sir Robert Bruce. And hence, therefore, it was concluded, that he had come to the desperate determination of destroying, by one daring, decisive act, the number of the enemies of his clan who occupied the bark; and with this fixed resolution, it would appear he had sprung a leak, thinking thereby at once to send so many souls to a watery grave. In which base and treacherous attempt he had been nearly too successful, but for the prompt and active aid that was given by all hands on board; and it was with great difficulty that with unabated effort and energy they ultimately happily succeeded in accomplishing their safety.

The boat was not far distant from the shore, when several of Bruce's followers, at length made sensible of their impropriety and obstinacy in overloading the vessel, which caused such as could best swim soon tospring from the bark, and swim for the shore, having had previously affixed a cable to the prow, which they succeeded in safely towing the extreme end of the rope, and landing it on the beach, where "with a long and a strong pull, and a pull altogether," they hauled the leaky and fragile bark to shore, and landed their noble chieftain in perfect safety.

Upon debarking they fortunately encountered some of David's followers, who were in anxious search of him, and had long been on the look out, expecting his approach. They met him with his horse ready caparisoned for a journey, his arms and accoutrements all duly arranged; besides a horse with a small valise, containing clothes and linen, and holsters containing long barrelled pistols, according to the fashion of the age, &c. &c. From these attendants Bruce obtained information that "The William Wallace" was about to sail from the port of Ayr. Sir David and Malcolm, promptly mounting their gallant steeds, proceeded in full gallop for the port of Ayr.

The pursuers had retired from the beach, and immediately all around the point of debarkation it was pitchy darkness, save that in the distant horizon the flickering blaze of the late conflagration about to expire, flashed a ruddy tinge upon the passing clouds. Long since the voice of vengeance had died on the ear, and the loud tramping of the pursuer was heard no more in the breeze.

Bruce determined, while in his flight to Ayr, upon changing his name, and assumed that of Colonel Davidson, Brandenburgh Hussars.

The travellers having proceeded with the utmost speed, soon reached the port of Ayr before curfew-time, but much overpowered by mental feelings, and overcome by great bodily exertion.

The perilous result and shipwreck of the ill-fated "William Wallace of Ayr," has been already fully detailed in the first chapter of the first volume of this work, which doubtless is still fresh in the reader's recollection.

But it is full time to return to Tyrconnel Castle, and revisit the noble inmates, overcome by grief and dismay at the sudden, unexpected, and unaccountable departure of the noble, generous, but unhappy Bruce. To fulfil which intent we proceed onward to the next chapter.

Unus, et alter, sed idem.

Gentle Reader, hitherto thou hast been addressed by us in the plural number, now, for the first and last time, thou wilt not surely grudge that the author should for once inpropria personaaddress thee.

I confess that I am in the habit of looking upon the division of a story into chapters, as similar to the subdivision of a journey into miles: by the aggregate of the one the length of the story is ascertained, by the aggregate of the other the distance of the journey is distinctly known. Nor does the similarity terminate here; the heading or motto of each chapter points out to the reader whatkind of "entertainment" he may expect, just as a sign hung out at the door of an inn indicates; and in the same way too the milestone points out to the wearied traveller the proximities to his inn, as the "carte du jour" apprises him of the dinner with which he may be regaled. The heading of the chapter also tells whether it is by land or by sea the reader is to travel; the heading of a milestone whether by mountain, moor, morass, valley, town, or city, the traveller has to steer. These said chapters were, no doubt, a truly commendable invention, which give a kind ofcarte du pays, as they show and point out to the reader how the land lies, in the same manner that those communicative milestones and signposts point out to the traveller the distance of town from town. Both in their way are extremely useful indeed, combining theutilewith thedulci. But it is imagined that both reader and traveller little take into account that it was not without some toil and labour these respective accommodations were completed for their use and convenience. After this sage remark, be itknown, gentle reader, that this story now rapidly draws to a close, and that the next mile (to carry on the simile) thy journey will end. The best indeed that the case would admit of has been done for thy "entertainment," and it is hoped that, thy journey concluded, thou shalt have found the roads to have been not wholly intolerable, the fare not indifferent, and the journey not wholly unprofitable!

Now, resuming the plural, we will venture to say, that "if it be true thatgood wine needs no bush, it is true that a good play needs no epilogue." However, whether, and in what degree, this may be applicable to us, oh, courteous reader, is not for us, but for thee, to determine and adjudge in the chapter which succeeds.

From this long digression it is time to resume our eventful story. The consternation occasioned by the sudden and unaccountable departure of Sir David Bruce from Tyrconnel Castle, can better be imagined than told.

The duke arose at an early hour, as hewas wont, and took his constitutional walk before breakfast. Upon his return it was with no small astonishment he heard that Sir David Bruce had departed at deep midnight, and on horseback, not having taken with him a travelling carriage, nor luggage, save a small valise, as preparatory to a journey. He immediately communicated it, with as much due precaution as the time would admit of, to the duchess, who had now entered the breakfast parlour.

Her Grace turned pale, and seemed nigh fainting. As soon as she could recover from her surprise and trepidation, she said: "All, my dear, is not well, I fear; I will go up and question Adelaide."

Here, as the duchess had gone out of one door, the Reverend chaplain, Doctor M'Kenzie, entered at another. The chaplain wished his Grace good morrow, and spoke of the weather, expatiating upon the beauties of Nature.

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