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RIVALRY
BETWEEN BURCE AND COMYN – COMPACT BETWEEN THEM – BRUCE CONSPIRES AGAINST
THE ENGLISH, AND HIS SCHEME IS REVEALED BY COMYN – HURRIED FLIGHT OF BRUCE
FROM LONDON – HE DISCOVERS COMYN’S TREACHEROUS CONDUCT – RENCONTRE OF THE
RIVALS AT DUMFRIES – THEIR ANGRY DEBATE AND DEADLY QUARREL – BRUCE STABS
COMYN IN THE GREYFRIARS’ MONASTERY – KIRKPATRICK COMPLETES THE DEED OF
SLAUGHTER – BRUCE AND HIS FRIENDS ATTACK AND SEIZE THE CASTLE OF DUMFRIES
– HE PROCLAIMS WAR AGAINST ENGLAND – INITIATES THE DELIVERANCE OF HIS
COUNTRY, AND IS CROWNED KING OF SCOTLAND AT SCONE.
AFTER the
expatriation of Baliol, the two most potent houses in Scotland were those
of Bruce and Comyn; the former represented by Robert, the grandson of the
Competitor, and the latter by Red John, ex-Regent and Lord of Badenoch,
who, in right of his mother, Marjory, sister of Baloil, the Competitor,
also claimed to the true heir of Alexander III. Both Bruce and Comyn had
submitted to Edward; but both were actuated by a desire to escape from
thraldom, and by a hope that some turn of fortune’s wheel would place them
at the head of their country’s affairs, and promote their own personal
interests: for, though Comyn had shown no small amount of patriotism
whilst Regent, and Bruce afterwards evinced its possession in a high
degree, neither of them, at this time, seems to have exemplified anything
better than selfishness. It was their own private advancement, at all
events, and not the public good, that they primarily aimed at.
According
to some of our historians, the two noblemen, who were awkwardly in each
other’s way, entered into a secret compact, in virtue of which Comyn
agreed to waive his own rights to the Crown, and support the claims of
Bruce, on receiving from the latter the earldom and estates of Carrick.
[Ayloffe’s Calendar of Ancient Charters, p. 295; Wyntoun, vol. iv., p.
992, and vol. ii., p. 122.] It appears also that, about the same time,
Wallace, still uncaptured, was busy organizing a new insurrection, of
which Bruce was to be the leader, and was to be negotiated with by means
of his brother Edward; and that evidence of the projected movement fell
somehow into the possession of the Lord of Badenoch. There is a
traditional proverb still current in Lochaber, that “While there are trees
in a wood there will be deceit in a Comyn” – a characteristic of the race
which Bruce’s rival exhibited in an aggravated form. Personal antipathy
between the two men intensified their family feud, and no doubt helped to
shape the course pursued by Comyn. He had proof that the Lord of Carrick,
though acting the part of a courtier in London, still aspired to the Crown
of Scotland – witness the sealed instrument surrendering his estates in
order to secure that coveted object. He had also reason to believe that
Bruce was about to conspire with the proscribed traitor, Wallace, for the
purpose of securing the same result. To betray Bruce’s rebellious schemes
would, Comyn fancied, be a sure and speedy way of ruining his detested
rival; and, Bruce once out of the way, the road to Edward’s favour –
perhaps also to the Crown of Scotland – would stand open to the House of
Badenoch.
Comyn, by
a despatch, revealed all to the King. [Wyntoun, vol. ii., p. 123.] “To the
Tower with Bruce!” roared the enraged monarch, on reading the epistle. Yes
– when he is caught. Warned by his kinsman, the Earl of Gloucester, that
there was a storm at hand, Bruce, accompanied by a small retinue, hurried
on horseback from London, never drawing bridle till he had crossed the
Border. Whilst thus fleeing in hot haste, he was not aware of Comyn’s
treachery till that was revealed to him in a singular way. On the
travellers approaching Lochmaben, they observed a youth coming from an
opposite direction; and, as he appeared desirous of avoiding the, Bruce
caused him to be seized, when it was ascertained that he had lately left
Dalswinton Castle with letters from its lord, the Red Comyn, to King
Edward. When such was found to be the case, Bruce, without any delicacy,
broke the seals, and his worst suspicions were realized. It was Comyn that
had brought him into danger at the English Court; and, in these new
despatches, the King was further informed of Bruce’s designs, and urged to
get rid of him. Burning with indignation, and at the same time faint with
fatigue, Bruce, at the close of a seven days’ journey, reached the Castle
of Lochmaben [Sir James Balfour’s Annales of Scotland, vol. i., p. 88; and
Wyntoun, vol. ii., p, 127.], where he found his brother Edward [Barbour,
vol. i., p. 127.] and a devoted friend of the family, Robert Fleming, with
whom and others he took counsel as to his future conduct.
All
lamented that the schemes of the patriotic party had been disclosed
prematurely; and all agreed that it would be extremely rash, in their
unprepared state, to precipitate a collision with the King. To temporize
awhile, and wait the issue of events, seemed to be the wisest course; and
accordingly Bruce did not blazon abroad the perfidy of Comyn, or his own
danger in consequence, but proceeded quietly to Dumfries as if nothing had
occurred.
His
presence there occasioned no surprise. The two justiciars – whose
jurisdiction extended over Dumfriesshire and Galloway – were preparing,
with all due formality, to hold their first Court of the Castle of
Dumfries; and it was only in accordance with custom and duty that the Earl
of Carrick should appear, with other barons and freeholders, to do suit
and service to the representatives of the King. [Hailes’s Annals, vol. i.,
p. 294; and Carruthers’s Lectures on Scottish History, delivered in
Edinburgh, 1859.] According to the generality of our historians, Comyn
proceeded to Dumfries for this purpose of his own accord, never for once
supposing that he would there meet with the man he had so deeply injured,
far less suspecting that that man knew full well by what false friend he
had been betrayed. One old chronicler, however, states that Bruce
“trysted” Comyn to meet him in Dumfries; that the latter, as if dreading
the result, demurred, but made his appearance at length, after Nigel Bruce
had gone for him to the Castle of Dalswinton. At all events, the two
noblemen did meet in the town; and their interview was a most eventful
one, altering, as it did, the current of history, and affecting the
inhabitants of this island throughout all time.
On this
ever-memorable day, Thursday, the 10th of February, 1305-6, the
streets of Dumfries are full of people. As the feeble sun rises above
Criffel top, its rays fall slantingly upon many a bold baron, through the
Lochmabengate, across, the bridge, and along High Street – all tending
towards the seat of justice, and viewed with admiring interest, or
sometimes with ill-concealed dislike, by the burghers of the town and the
country folks of the neighbourhood. When the glimmering sun is a degree
further westward, the streets are half deserted; for the Court has been
opened, and the grave justiciars, in the hearing of a glittering throng,
are trying some trembling defaulter on a charge, it may be, of stouthrief,
homicide, or treason against his High Mightiness King Edward.
Two
barons, for some reason or other, though within the Burgh, have hitherto
withheld the homage of their presence from the Court. They encounter each
other near the Port of the Vennel; and if any curious residents in that
ancient thoroughfare are looking from their casements, they may see the
two patricians embracing and kissing each other, and conclude that they
are loving brothers in heart if not by blood. Fraternally affectionate
they seem; but their appearance presents such a contrast that they cannot
long be looked upon as near kinsmen. Both are tall and powerful men; but
one is in the flush of early manhood, with a noble set of features and
dark complexion
[Scott,
in describing Bruce at a later period, says: -
“His locks
upon his forehead twine
Jet black, save where some touch of grey
Has ta’en the youthful hue away.”
Lord of the Isles.],
whilst the other is a little past meridian, and wears a somewhat sinister
visage, the expression of which is not enhanced by its hue of flaming red.
The latter would perhaps be recognized by some of the spectators as John
Comyun, Earl of Badenoch and Lochaber, seeing that he often resides in the
town, and his complexion is peculiar; but scarcely any would identify his
youthful companion as Robert Bruce, Lord of Annandale and Carrick. If the
orb of day, as poets fancy, evinces sympathy with the mundane scenes it
looks upon, it ought, as these two men passed from the street and entered
the precincts of the neighbouring church, to have withdrawn momentarily
behind a murky cloud, since “a deed of dreadful note” was about to be
done, leaving as evidence, an altar dappled and desecrated by human blood;
and then it ought to have shone forth with redoubled effulgence –
emblematical of the way in which Scotland, as a result of the sacrilegious
homicide, was to rise from bondage and darkness into liberty and light.
Angry
words fall from both the barons ere they enter by the southern gate into
the sanctuary of the Greyfriars; and it is Comyn, we may be sure, that
initiates their walk in that direction, from a belief that the rising rage
of Bruce would be calmed down by the sacredness of the place. Instead of
this being so, it waxes higher and higher. Bruce by-and-by charges Comyn
with having tried to compass his death, and with having, to promote his
own selfish ends, sacrificed his country. Comyn prevaricates; and, as the
accusations are emphatically repeated, meets them with a broad denial: the
words, “It is a lie you utter!” break from his lips; and the next moment
the dagger of Bruce is at his heart. Comyn falls – never, alas! so
red before, now that the
crimson tide of life is flowing over his prostrate frame. Under the
influence of overmastering passion, Bruce had thus perpetrated the fatal
deed; and his demeanour and speech betray regret – remorse, as he hurries
out of the sacred edifice.
The clash
of the weapons and the wail of the friars brought a crowd of people to the
Church and its environs; and as soon as it was generally known that the
Red Comyn and his aged relative had been slain, their friends cried out
for vengeance. Bruce and his friends were thus put upon their defence.
Swords were drawn by both sides, the burial ground of the Monastery
becoming the theatre of battle. The struggle was sanguinary, though brief,
and ended with the thorough defeat of the Badenoch party, and of the few
English soldiers who assisted them.
The Earl
of Carrick was thus, step by step, led to abandon a policy of compromise
and procrastination for one of decision and vigour. His flight for life
from London – his affray with Comyn – its fatal issue, which he had not
premeditated – the encounter that ensued, bringing him into direct
collision with the English – their overthrow, and that of the Comynites:
all these incidents, like so many links in the chain of destiny, bound him
over to a bold line of action. He entered Dumfries without any fixed
resolve – ready, perhaps, if others led the way, and favourable
circumstances ripened their projects, to join them in striking a blow for
Scotland’s freedom and the Crown; but the events of the last few hours,
culminating in those that immediately preceded them, so mixed up his
country’s interests with his own, that they became henceforth inseparable;
and instant war, open and undisguised, was alike the dictate of
self-defence and of patriotism.
If Bruce,
after the conflict at the Monastery, had time for thought at all, we may
well suppose that some such reflections as are here expressed passed
across his mind. We find him instantly afterwards acting in accordance
with them. The sacred fane built by the pious Devorgilla was the scene of
the first incident in this day’s drama of death – its chief victim her own
near relative; the “still and peaceful” churchyard attached to it became
tumultuous with the second act; and the third and crowning one changed a
quiet court of justice into a place of blood and strife. The conquering
party of Bruce surged onwards to the Castle, in which the judges were
still sitting; but some of the discomfited fugitives had gone there before
them, carrying the astounding news of the revolt, and preparing the Court
and garrison in some degree for what was to occur. To close the gates and
man the walls with such few soldiers as remained were all the defensive
steps that could be taken. “Since the gates are closed, and we have no
engines to beat them open, let us try fire!” “Fire! fire!” was shouted by
some of the assailants, and the words were taken up by all. The potent
element – better key to the rusty locks than any smith of the Burgh could
have forged – was soon brought to bear upon the huge oaken gates; and as
these began to crackle with the heat, and their utter destruction was seen
to be only a question of time, the men of war and of law, who constituted
the garrison, agreed to surrender at discretion, and did not before much
blood was split. [Hemingford, vol. i., p. 220.] Whilst that day’s sun,
which had looked upon many extraordinary scenes in Dumfries, occupied the
Nick or Pass of Benerick before finally sinking below the neighbouring
ridge to rest, its ruddy gleam irradiated the free standard of Bruce as it
floated proudly and defiantly from the turrets of the fortress. When it
rose on the following day, not an Englishman was to be seen, except such
as had fallen into the hands of Bruce: all out of durance vile had
evacuated the town, taking with them across the Border the tidings of
Comyn’s death and of Scotland’s resurrection.
For about
ten years the Castle Dumfries had almost continuously been occupied by a
foreign force, and the inhabitants of the town, though not subdued, been
held in thraldom; and it must have been with a sense of relief and a
feeling of exultation that the latter found themselves once more tasting
the sweets of liberty. Were we writing a romance instead of a history, we
might here introduce a notice of the civic parliament’s first meeting
after the ever-memorable 10th of February, or report the gossip
of the good burghers when they met in the marketplace, showing how
congratulations were exchanged on account of the expulsion of the common
enemy, and the prospects of their country acquiring its independence.
Language of this nature would be freely indulged in by men of all ranks:
the misery of the usurpation – the successful manner in which it had been
assailed – the boldness of the young Baron, on whom the mantle of Wallace
appeared to have fallen – the peril in which he was placed, by arraying
against himself not only the might of the English monarch, and the
revengeful fury of Comyn’s friends, but the thunderbolts of the Pope – the
chances of the town being again plundered and taken by the Southrons, and
also of being anathematized wholesale because of the bloody deed which had
defiled its altars – all these topics would doubtless be discussed at the
Council Board and in the streets; but as no record exists of the language
used on the occasion, that must just be left to the fancy of the reader.
Forebodings of coming disaster would, we may suppose, mingled with and
check the existing joy; and full surely dark clouds were to obscure the
firmament, and blot out for a time the sun of freedom that was now
brightly shining.
We pause
not to analyze the act by which the Scottish hero was so suddenly thrown
upon his own resources. Some have called it murder; but even in modern
times, when human life wears a sacredness of which our ancestors knew
little, such a deed would be reckoned justifiable homicide. It is clear,
we think, that it was unpremeditated; if Bruce had deliberately resolved
to slay Comyn, he would certainly never have followed him into the church,
but would have escaped the guilt of sacrilege – then deemed of a deeper
dye than murder itself – by stabbing his victim in the street, or after
decoying him to some private place in the neighbourhood. Apart altogether
from the grand results with which it is intimately associated, the
slaughter of Comyn was an act that may be palliated, if not defended, by a
reference to the base treachery which provoked the affray in which he
fell. If Comyn had been an honourable rival, whom Bruce with “malice
aforethought” dispatched with his dagger, the memory of the latter would
have been loaded with eternal infamy; but it was at worst only “the wild
justice of revenge,” inflicted on the spur of the moment, under strong
provocation: and while these considerations lead us to palliate Bruce’s
conduct, we cannot without an emotion of pity call up the figure of the
slain ex-Regent, who had in his day done the State some service, lying
beside the Greyfriars’ altar all disfigured and gory: -
“Cut
off even in the blossoms of his sin,
Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d,
With all his imperfections on his head.”
From that
bloody scene to the glorious seizure of the Castle of Dumfries was a bold
and rapid transition; and thirteen months afterwards the chief actor in
both was crowned King of Scotland in the Royal Palace of Scone – though he
had to battle bravely, and pass through many vicissitudes, eight years
longer, before the emblem of sovereignty was firmly secured upon his brow.
[Appendix E.] |
