In such an extremity, the
man did not hesitate: and taking from his bosom a sealed packet,
immediately resigned it. Bruce ordered him to stand before him, till he
had read the contents. Trembling with terror of this formidable freebooter
(for he placed no belief in the declaration that he was the Prince of
Scotland, the man obeyed, and Bruce breaking the seals, found, as he
expected, a long epistle from the Regent, urging the sanguinary aim of his
communications. He reiterated his arguments for the expediency of speedily
putting Robert Bruce to death; he represented the danger that there was in
delay; lest a man so royally descended, and so popular as he had become;
(since it was now publicly understood, that he had already fought his
country’s battles under the name of Sir Thomas de Longueville!) should
find means of placing himself at the head of so many zealots in his favour.
These circumstances, so propitious to ambition; and now adding personal
revenge, to his former boldness and policy; would at this juncture (should
he arrive in Scotland) turn its growing commotions, to the most decisive
uses against the English power. The Regent concluded with saying,
"that the Lords Loch-awe, Douglas, and Ruthven, were come down from
the Highlands with a multitudinous army, to drive out the Southron
garrisons; and to repossess themselves of the fortresses of Stirling and
Edinburgh. That Lord Bothwell had returned from France, with the real Sir
Thomas de Longueville, a knight of great valiancy. And that Sir Roger
Kirkpatrick, after having massacred half the English Castellans in the
border counties, was now lying at Torthorald, ready to commence his
murderous reprisals through the coasts of Galloway. For himself, Cummin
told the King, he had secretly removed to the Franciscan monastery at
Dumfries, where he should most anxiously await his Majesty’s pardon, and
commands."
Bruce closed the packet to prevent his
discovery being betrayed, ere he was ready to act, he laid his sword upon
the shoulder of the man: "You are my prisoner," said he;
"but fear not. I only mean to hold you in safety, till your master
has answered for his treason."— The messenger thought, whoever this
imperious stranger might be, that he saw a truth in his eyes, which
ratified this assurance; and without opposition, he walked before him till
they stopped at Torthorald.
Night had closed in, when
Bruce sounded his bugle under the walls. Kirkpatrick answered from the
embrasure over the barbacan-gate, with a demand, of who desired
admittance. "None," cried he, "that is not a true Scot need
venture his neck within these towers! "—"‘Tis the avenger of
Sir William Wallace," was the reply. The gates flew open at the
words; and Kirkpatrick standing in the archway amid a blaze of torches,
received his guest with a brave welcome.
Bruce spoke no more, till
he entered the banqueting-hall. Three other knights were seated by the
table. He turned to Kirkpatrick, "My valiant friend," said he,
"order your servants to take charge of yon Scot," pointing to
the messenger of Cummin; "and, till I command his release, let him be
treated with the lenity which shall ever belong to a prisoner of Robert
Bruce!" As he spoke he threw up his visor; and Kirkpatrick, who had
heard that the supposed De Longueville was his rightful prince, now
recognised the well-known features of the brave foreigner in the stranger
before him. Not doubting the verity of his words, he bent his knee with
the homage due to his king; and, in the action, was immediately followed
by Sir Eustace Maxwell, Sir James Lindsay, and Adam Fleming, who were the
other knights present.
"I come;" cried
the Prince, "in the spirit of my heart’s sovereign and friend, the
now immortal Wallace, to live or to die with you, in the defence of my
country’s liberties. With such assistance as yours, his invincible
coadjutors, and with the blessing of Heaven on our arms, I hope to redeem
Scotland from the disgrace which her late horrible submission to the
tyrant, has fastened on her name. The transgressions of my house, have
been grievous: but that last deadly sin of my people, called for an
expiation, awful indeed!—And it came in the moment of guilt! in their
crime, they receive punishment. They broke from their side, the arm which
alone had rescued them from their enemies! I now come to save them from
themselves. Their having permitted the sacrifice of the rights of my
family, was the first injury committed on the constitution; and it
prepared a path for the ensuing tyranny, which seized upon the kingdom.
But, by resuming these rights, which is now my firm purpose, I open to you
a way to recover our hereditary independence. The direful scenes just
acted on the Tower-hill of London, that horrible climax of Scottish
treason! must convince every reasonable mind, that all the late
misfortunes of our country have proceeded from the base jealousies of its
nobles. There, then, let them die; and may the grave of Wallace, be the
tomb of dissension! Seeing where their own true interests point, surely
the brave chieftains of this land, will rally round their lawful Prince;—who
here declares, he knows no medium between death and victory!"
The spirit with which this
address was pronounced, the magnanimity it conveyed, assisted by the
graces of his youth and noble deportment, struck the hearts of his
auditors; and aroused, in double vigour, the principles of resentment, to
which the first tidings of their heroic countryman’s fate, had given
birth. Kirkpatrick needed no other, stimulus, than his almost idolatrous
memory of Wallace; and he listened, with an answering ardour, to Bruce’s
exhortation. The prince next disclosed to his now zealously pledged
friends, the particulars of the Red Cummin’s treachery, "He now
lies at Dumfries!" cried Kirkpatrick; "thither, then, let us go,
and confront him with his treason. When falsehood is to be confounded, it
is best to grapple with the sorceress in the moment of detection: should
we hesitate she may elude our grasp."
Dumfries was only a few
miles distant, and they might reach its convent before the first matins.
Fatigue was not felt by Bruce, when in pursuit of a great object; and
after a slight refreshment, he and his four determined friends took horse.
As they had anticipated,
the midnight bell was ringing for prayers, when the troop stopped at the
Franciscan gate. Lindsay, having been in the Holy Land during the late
public struggles, alleged business with the abbot, and desired to see him.
On the father’s bidding the party welcome, Bruce stepped forward, and
addressed him: "Reverend sir, I come from London. I have an affair to
settle with Lord Badenoch: and I know by his letters to King Edward, that
he is secretly lodged in this convent. I therefore demand to be conducted
to him." This peremptory requisition, with the superior air of the
person who made it, did not leave the abbot room to doubt that he was some
illustrious messenger from the King of England; and, with hardly a demur,
he left the other knights in the cloisters of the church, while he led the
noble Southron (as he thought) to his kinsman.
The treacherous Regent had
just retired from the refectory to his own apartment, as the abbot
conducted the stranger into his presence. Badenoch started frowningly from
his seat, at such unusual intrusion. Bruce’s visor was closed: and the
ecclesiastic, perceiving the Regent’s displeasure, dispersed it, by
announcing the visitant as a messenger from King Edward. "Then leave
us together," returned he; unwilling that even this, his convenient
kinsman, should know the extent of his treason against his country. The
abbot had hardly closed the door, when Bruce, whose indignant soul burnt
to utter his full contempt of the wretch before him, hastily advanced to
speak; but the cautious Badenoch, fearful that the father might yet be
within hearing, put his finger to his lips. Bruce paused, and listened
gloomily to the departing steps of the abbot. When they were no more
heard, with one hand raising his visor, and the other grasping the scroll
of detection— "Thus, basest of the base race of Cummin!"
exclaimed he, "you may, for a moment, elude the universal shame which
awaits your crimes."
At sight of the face, on
hearing the words of Bruce, the unmanly coward uttered a cry of terror,
and rushed towards the door. "You pass not here:" continued the
Prince, "till I have laid open all your guilt; till I have pronounced
on you, the doom due to a treacherous friend and a traitorous
subject."—"Infatuated Bruce!" exclaimed Badenoch,
assuming an air of insulted friendship, now that he found escape
impossible; "what false tongue has persuaded you, to arraign one who
has ever been but too faithfully the adherent of your desperate fortunes?—I
have laboured in secret, day and night, in your service, and thus am I
repaid."
Bruce smiled disdainfully,
at this poor attempt to deceive him; and, as he stood with his back
against the door, he opened the murderous packet, and read from it all its
contents. Cummin turned pale, and red, at each sentence.— And at last,
Bruce closing it, "Now, then, faithful adherent of Robert
Bruce!" cried he, "say what the man deserves, who in these
blood-red lines, petitions the death of his lawful prince!—Oh! thou
arch-regicide! Doth not my very look kill thee?"
Badenoch, his complexion
turning of a livid hue, and his voice faltering, attempted to deny the
letter having been his handwriting, or that he had any concern in the
former embassy to Edward :—then, finding that these falsehoods only
irritated Bruce to higher indignation, and fearful of being immediately
sacrificed to his just resentment, he threw himself on his knees; and
confessing each transaction, implored his life, in pity to the natural
desire of self-preservation, which alone had precipitated him to so
ungrateful a proceeding! "Oh!" added he, "even this danger
I have incurred upon your account! For your ultimate advantage, did I
bring on my head the peril which now fill me with dismay! Love alone for
you, made me hasten the execution of William Wallace, that insidious
friend, who would have crept from your bosom into your throne. And then,
fear of your mistaking the motives of so good a service, betrayed me to
throw myself into the arms of Edward!"
"Bury thyself and
crimes, thou foulest traitor, deep in the depths of hell !" cried the
Prince, starting away with a tremendous gesture. "Out of my sight for
ever—that I may not pollute these hands with thy monstrous blood!"
Till this moment, Bruce was ignorant that Badenoch had been an instigator
in the murder of Wallace; and forgetting all his own personal wrongs, in
this more mighty injury, with tumultuous horror he turned from the coward,
to avoid the self-blame of stabbing an unarmed wretch at his feet. But at
that moment, Cummin, who believed his doom only suspended, rose from his
knee, and drawing his dirk from under his plaid, struck it into the back
of the Prince. Bruce turned on him, with the quickness of thought,
"Hah!" exclaimed he, seizing him by the throat, "then take
thy fate! This accursed deed, hath removed the only barrier between
vengeance and thee,—thus, remember William Wallace! "—As the
Prince spoke, he plunged his dagger into the breast of the traitor. Cummin
uttered a fearful cry, and rolled down at his feet, murmuring
imprecations.
Bruce fled from the spot.
It was the first time his arm had drawn blood except in the field of
battle, and he felt as if the base tide had contaminated his hand. In the
cloisters he was encountered by his friends. A few words informed them of
what had happened—"Is he dead?" inquired Kirkpatrick.—"I
can hardly doubt it," answered Bruce. "Such a matter:"
returned the veteran, "must not be left to conjecture; I will secure
him!" [In memory of this circumstance, the crest of the family of
Kirkpatrick is a hand, grasping a dagger, distilling gouts of blood; the
motto, "I mak sikkar."—(1800.) ] And running forward, he found
the wounded Regent, crawling from the door of the cell. Throwing himself
upon him without noise, he stabbed him to the heart.
Before the catastrophe was
known in the convent, Bruce and his friends had left it some time, and
were far on their road to Lochmaben. They arrived before sunrise; and,
once more an inmate of his paternal castle, he thence despatched Fleming
to Lord Ruthven, with a transcript of his designs.
In the same packet, he
enclosed a letter for the Lady Isabella. It contained this brave
resolution:—that, in his present return to Scotland, he did not consider
himself merely as Robert Bruce, come to reclaim the throne of his
ancestors; but as the executor of the last, and dying will, of Sir William
Wallace; which was—that Bruce should confirm the independence of
Scotland, or fall as Wallace had done, invincible at his post.—"Till
that freedom is accomplished:" continued the virtuous Prince, "I
will never shake the steadfast purpose of my soul, by even one glance at
thy life-endearing beauties. I am Wallace’s soldier, lsabella, as he was
Heaven’s! and, while my captain looks on me from above, shall I not
approve myself worthy his example?—I woo’d you as a knight, I will win
you as a king: and on the day when no hostile Southron breathes in
Scotland, I will demand my sweetest reward, my beloved bride, of her noble
uncle. You shall come to me, as the angel of peace; and in one hour, we
will receive the nuptial benediction, and the vows of our people!"
The purport of the Prince’s
letter to Ruthven, was well adapted to the strain of the foregoing. He
then announced his intention of proceeding immediately to the plain of
Stirling; and there, putting himself at the head of his loyal Scots,
declare himself their lawful sovereign; and proclaim to the world, that he
acknowledged no legal superior but the Great Being, whose vicegerent he
was. From that centre of his kingdom, he would make excursions to its
furthest extremities; and, with God’s will, either drive his enemies
from the country, or perish with the sword in his hand, as became the
descendant of William the Lion, as became the friend of William Wallace!
Ruthven
lay encamped on the Carse of Gowrie, when this letter was delivered to
him. He read it aloud to his assembled chieftains; and, with waving
bonnets, they hailed the approach of their valiant prince. Bothwell alone,
whose soul-devoted attachment to Wallace could not be superseded by any
other affection, allowed his bonnet to remain in-active in his hand: but
with the fervour of true loyalty, he thanked God, for thus bringing the
sovereign whom his friend loved, to bind, in one, the contending interests
of his country; to wrest from the hands of that friend’s assassin, the
sceptre for which he had dyed them so deep in blood.