Bruce was not slow in taking the warning. Evidently, some one at court had betrayed him! Ah, he had it! surely it could be no other than the Red Comyn!
There is a story told, that three days previous to this event, Robert Bruce was praying at the altar, in a chapel where afterwards stood St. Martin’s church. It was midnight, and Bruce was alone. With tearful eyes he exclaimed,—
“Yes, at the foot of this high altar, I’ll swear forthwith to fling the yoke from off me, in spite of hostile man and misleading fiend; knowing that if I put trust in, and pay obedience to, the King of kings, my triumph shall be sure, my victory complete!”
“Amen to that!” whispered a sweet and plaintive voice in the ear of the kneeling earl.
Bruce sprang to his feet, exclaiming, “Who art thou?” But he saw only a muffled figure glide swiftly behind one of the pillars. Bruce pursued; but the same soft voice replied:—
“I am neither foe to Scotland’s cause, nor shall be to him whose it is to see her righted, laggard although he be in responding to the urgent call. Farewell to the valiant Bruce! We may meet again, yet nevermore in this holy place; for even three days must not elapse and find him loitering near the stern and subtle Edward, or it will be woe to Scotland and to Scotland’s mightiest lord! Let the Bruce find his way to the altar, upon which I place a token for his keeping and his use—the bugle-horn of the immortal Wallace; with which he summoned to his standard his faithful countrymen, and led them to victory, till he was overcome by treachery and death. Take this sacred bugle-horn, and sound the call for Scotland’s freedom!”
Ere the astonished Bruce could answer, a figure shot past him, and was lost in the darkness. The earl, groping his way in the dim light to the altar, found there the precious relic promised; and he went forth under the starlit midnight sky, vowing to strike a blow for his enslaved country. Bruce needed no second warning of his danger, but the very night upon which he received the gilt spurs and purse of gold, he ordered two of his horses to be shod with reversed shoes, so that their course might not be traced, as snow had fallen, and the prints of the horses’ feet would therefore be plainly visible. Then Bruce and one faithful attendant, named Walter Kennedy, hastily mounted their horses, and rode out of London under cover of the darkness of the night.
As they left the great city behind them, Walter Kennedy ventured to say,—
“If I may be so bold, good master, where gang we on sic a night? Thou bidst me tell our talkative host at the inn, that Garrick’s lord had a love adventure on foot. But me thinkst thou art too true a knight for that.”