The Boys' Book of Rulers

“We seek the Scottish king,” said the strangers: “you need not mistrust us.”

“Neither do I,” replied Robert; “but until we are better acquainted, you must walk thus.”

When they came to a ruinous hut, where they rested for the night, the king ordered the strangers to remain at the other end of the room. But the past fatigues overcoming them, at last Bruce and his foster-brother fell asleep. The king was roused from his slumbers by the approach of the three villanous freebooters, with arms in their hands, intent on his assassination. Robert laid hold of his sword, and stepping heavily over his foster-brother, to awaken him, he rushed upon the assassins. After a fierce combat, in which his faithful foster-brother was killed, Bruce succeeded in overcoming these three villains, and left them dead on the spot.

It was during these wanderings that Bruce was one day resting in a ruined hut in the forests. He was lying upon a handful of straw, and considering whether he should continue this strife to maintain his right to the Scottish throne, or if it were best to abandon an enterprise attended with such danger, and seeming at times almost hopeless, and go to the Holy Land and end his days in the wars with the Saracens. While thus musing, his attention was arrested by the movements of a spider on the roof of the hut above his head. This spider was trying to fix its web on the rafters, and was swinging itself from one eave to another. The king was amused with the patience and energy displayed by the tiny insect. It had tried six times to reach one place, and failed. Suddenly the thought struck the Scottish monarch, “I have fought six times against the enemies of my country.” He thereupon resolved that he would be guided in his future actions by the failure or success of this indefatigable little insect. The next effort of the spider was successful, and King Robert then determined that he would make the seventh attempt to free his country, feeling confident that he should yet achieve the liberty of Scotland. It is hence esteemed unlucky for a Bruce to kill a spider. Meantime Edward, the brother of Robert Bruce, and Sir James Douglas had made many successful raids against the English. They now joined their forces with those of King Robert, and they then overran Kyle, Carrick, and Cunningham, which places had been in the possession of the English.

In 1307 Pembroke advanced against Bruce with three thousand men. But though the Scottish king’s band numbered but six hundred men, they charged so valiantly with their long Scottish spears, that Pembroke’s forces were completely routed, and he himself was obliged to flee for safety to the castle of Ayr. King Edward was so enraged by these events that he determined to march himself against this bold foe. But the English king had not proceeded three leagues from Carlisle when death met him. With his dying breath he ordered his remains to be carried with the army, and not to be interred until the enemy was conquered. He had previously caused his son to swear in the most solemn manner, that when he should die, he would boil his body in a caldron and separate the flesh from the bones, and having buried the former, the bones were to be carried with the army to inspire his men with hatred against the Scots, while his heart was to be taken to the Holy Land. But Edward II., instead of obeying his father’s dying commands, interred his body in Westminster; and disbanding the army, the troops returned to England. The death of Edward I. gave new courage to the Scots. By this inglorious retreat of the English king, he lost all the advantages which his father had so dearly purchased for him. Edward Bruce, the brother of Robert, one of the most chivalrous knights, had conquered the English in Galloway, taking, in one year, thirteen castles. Meanwhile, Lord Douglas had recovered his ancient estate of Douglas from the English and made many conquests.

The north and the south being now reduced to obedience, the united troops of Bruce and Douglas proceeded to the west to subdue the proud lord of Lorn. By a series of well-contested engagements in which no ordinary degree of skill as a general was displayed, and the greatest personal courage, Bruce succeeded in wresting his much-injured country from the power of the English. Twice had the king of England attempted an expedition to reconquer Scotland, but he had returned without result. The authority of Bruce was rapidly being established throughout his country. The castles of Perth, Dunbar, and Edinburgh were in his hands. Many stories are told of his heroic bravery in these contests, but we can only stop to note the taking of Perth. This was a strongly fortified garrison. The fortress was enclosed by a lofty wall and towers, surrounded by a deep moat filled with water, which set at defiance the efforts of the Scots for several weeks. At last, King Robert made a feint of raising the siege, struck his tents, and departed to some distance. But one night, when least expected, he approached unperceived to the foot of the rampart, and walking up to his throat in the water, he seized a ladder and mounted to the wall’s parapet, where he found a Scottish maiden whom the English had imprisoned, and who had escaped to the top of the wall, but could get no farther, as the frightful moat surrounded her on all sides.

“It is but now to descend by these corded steps,” whispered Bruce to the captive maiden, “and I’ll ferry you across this muddy water.” But the maiden was as brave as she was fair, and knowing that any delay would risk the taking of the fortress by the brave Bruce, she heroically answered: —

“Please your Grace, no! Allow me the keeping of your dagger till you return with further scaling-gear and your valiant band. Thus armed, I’ll know how to defend myself, and I will watch these enemies till you return.”

So King Robert, leaving the brave girl as a sentinel upon the parapet, quickly waded again through the murky waters of the moat, and having regained his band, reported his experience. Immediately fifty of his most daring men, selected for their great height, plunged into the dark waters of the moat, led by the valiant Bruce.

“Saw ye ever the like of that?” exclaimed a French knight who had lately joined the Scottish patriots. “What shall we say to our lords, when so worthy a knight and noble a monarch exposeth himself to such great peril to win a wretched hamlet?”

With this he gaily threw himself into the water, followed by the rest of the Scottish army. When Bruce again reached the maiden she said, “The late revellers are now in their slumbers; the watchword with them is ‘The Lost Standard.’” The brave maiden then aided the king to adjust the rope ladders, by which the Scots scaled the wall, one by one, until a strong force stood at their side. “‘The Lost Standard’ is the word,” said the king; “and now for the citadel!” It was, indeed, a Lost Standard to the drowsy guards and sleeping revellers. The fortress was soon taken, and the captives set free. King Robert afterwards besieged the fortress of Stirling, when the governor, Sir Philip Mowbray, contrived to make his appeals for succor reach the English king. Edward roused himself from his natural indolence, and raised a large army to march against Scotland. The forces of the English amounted to nearly one hundred thousand men. This brilliant army, with banners flying and lances glistening in the sunlight, presented a grand array. Meanwhile, King Robert was concealed in the forests with an army of only forty thousand men, nearly all on foot, awaiting the enemy, and preparing barriers to check the onslaught of the English. On the morning of the 23d of June, 1313, the two armies met near Bannockburn. The night had been passed in prayer in the Scottish camp, and in feasting and drunkenness by the English. At daybreak the young English king was astonished at the good order observed in the Scottish ranks.

“Do you think they will fight?” he asked of Sir Ingletram d’Umfreville. Just then the abbot of Inchaffray appeared before the Scottish troops, holding a crucifix in his hand; all bent their knees with uncovered heads.

“They are asking for mercy,” cried King Edward.

“Yes, sire,” replied Umfreville, with a bitter smile; “but of God, not of you, sire. These men will win the battle or die at their posts.”

The sight of the vast English army might well cause the brave hearts of the small band of Scots to tremble; but with the intrepid Bruce at their head, they awaited their foes with dauntless courage. So vast were the English forces, that it is said the country seemed on fire by the brightness of the shields and burnished helmets gleaming in the morning light. So vast was the multitude of embroidered banners, of standards, of pennons, and spears; so apparently endless the crowds of knights, blazing in their rich-colored and gemmed surcoats; so large the extent of country occupied by their numerous tents, – that one might have thought all the warriors of the world were marching against this handful of valiant Scots. The English had hastened their march and arrived with some disorder in front of the Scottish army. King Robert Bruce, with a golden crown on his helmet, was riding slowly before the line of his troops. As the brave king thus rode along upon his favorite palfrey, clad in armor and carrying his battle-axe in his hand, encouraging his men by his calm voice and brave words, the English king took special note of him, and remarked, “Doubtless yonder solitary rider is of the foe, although he is almost as nigh to our front as to that of the rebels. Canst tell, Sir Knight, of what account he is, and wherefore this manœuvre?”

“My liege,” replied Sir Giles d’Argentine, to whom King Edward had spoken, “he who yonder marshalleth the Scottish host was once my frequent associate, and is well known to me, as I clearly descry from the jewelled diadem which glittereth on his helmet. It is none other than Bruce himself.”

“If it is the arch-traitor Bruce,” exclaimed Edward, “I marvel that no knight amongst you all is brave enough to challenge so audacious a foe.”

Whereupon Sir Henry Bohun, mounted on a magnificent war-horse, came dashing against the Scottish monarch, whose small palfrey seemed an ill match for so strong and large a steed. “See! the foeman coucheth his lance and pusheth at full speed against his victim, who recklessly advanceth, and now doth take his stand motionless as a rock, awaiting the onset of his enemy. Breathlessly the Scots and English watch the two combatants. On comes the impetuous Bohun. Surely some half score more plunges of the superb animal that bears him will unhorse the hero-king, unless unwonted presence of mind, nimbleness of movement, and dexterity of arm shall save him from the onrush of the powerful horse and gleaming spear. But the gallant Bruce has risen in his stirrups, and as his enemy rushes upon him, the lance is driven aside by the sweep of his strong arm, and the battle-axe, wielded with rare dexterity, stops not in its swing of meteor-like speed till down it falls upon the helmet of his foe with such true aim and mighty force that the weapon shatters the helmet and fractures the skull of Sir Henry Bohun, whose fiery steed bears his dead body back to the English ranks. Bruce returned slowly to his forces, and while some of his friends surrounded him, reproaching him for so rashly risking his life, the Scottish hero laughingly answered, while looking sorrowfully at his notched axe, ‘See! I have spoiled my good battle-axe.’”

The battle was commenced by the English at the order of King Edward. The shock of the first charge of the English cavalry was terrible; and as they were received on the spears of the Scottish infantry, the crash was heard at a great distance, and many English knights were dashed from their saddles by their furious steeds, which had been stabbed by the invincible spears of the Scots. The centre division, under the gallant Randolph, stood in a steady body to receive the charge of the English. These compact squares of the Scottish army were well calculated to break the masses which were opposed to them, and they suffered only from the arrows of the archers. The English cavalry charged with the greatest impetuosity, and endeavored to pierce through the phalanx of the Scottish spearmen; but they received them like a wall of iron, while the English receded from the shock like broken waves which had spent their fury on the rocks. When both armies joined battle, the great horses of England rushed upon the Scottish lances as if upon a thick wood, and one mighty sound arose from the breaking of the lances, the shock of falling horsemen, and the shrieks of the dying. The knights sang their war-cries, and rushed on to the charge. Groom fought like squire, and squire like knight, and yet Scotland’s lion waved proudly over her bands, while the English banners rose and fell, and many of them were dyed in blood. At last the English began to hesitate. “They fly! they fly!” cried the Scots. Just then the camp followers of the Scottish army, who had been posted on an adjacent hill, excited by the ardor of the struggle, began to descend in a mass towards the field of battle. The English imagined themselves about to be attacked by a fresh army, and began a disorderly retreat. Upon which Robert Bruce charged valiantly with his reserves, and quickly decided the fate of the day. The earl of Pembroke seized the bridle of King Edward’s horse and dragged him away from the battle-field. Sir Giles d’Argentine accompanied his king out of danger, and then rode back fearlessly amidst the conflict, exclaiming, “It is not my custom to fly!” This brave knight was cut down by the Scots. The victory was complete. The fortress of Stirling surrendered immediately. The earl of Hereford, who had shut himself up in Bothwell castle, offered to capitulate, and was exchanged for the wife, daughter, and sister of the king of Scotland, who had been imprisoned in England for several years. Thus had the independence and freedom of Scotland been obtained by the brave Bruce and his dauntless little band of patriot warriors. The swords of those who fought at Bannockburn were hung up in the halls of their descendants, and handed down to modern times as trophies of the liberty and independence which they achieved. The beneficial effects of this signal victory secured forever the independence of Scotland; and when the two kingdoms were afterwards united, Scotland received equal rights with England, and the national church of Scotland, with her universities and schools, were guaranteed to the people of Scotland forever. This famous battle taught the Scottish nation a lesson which it never forgot: that a phalanx of Caledonian spears, wielded by brave and disciplined men on foot, was superior to all the vaunted chivalry of the most renowned cavaliers. In 1327 King Edward II. of England was dethroned, and his young son was crowned in his place. The young prince was but fifteen years of age. Scotland had been recovering from her misfortunes under the firm and wise government of Robert Bruce. The independence of that kingdom had been acknowledged by England. The crown jewels, which had been formerly seized by Edward I., had been returned, and the little princess Joan, who was betrothed to David, the young son of Robert Bruce, had been taken to Berwick, accompanied by the queen-dowager of England and a splendid retinue of attendants. The marriage was soon after celebrated with great magnificence. Englishmen and Scots, who for half a century had met only as foes upon the field of battle, were now joined in friendly courtesies through this marriage. King Robert’s wife Elizabeth had died before she saw this happy termination of the long hostilities.

The Scottish king did not long survive these events. He was seized with a severe complaint, then supposed to have been leprosy, which at length proved fatal. When upon his death-bed he called around him his earls and barons, and commended to their care his young son David; and the prince was thereupon crowned king of Scotland. Robert Bruce, having settled the affairs of his kingdom and throne, summoned to his bedside his brave and faithful friend and gallant knight, Sir James Douglas, and entreated him to take his heart from his body after death, and have it embalmed, and carry it to the Holy Land, and leave it there in the Holy Sepulchre, in obedience to a vow he had made. “When I was hard beset,” said the dying king, “I vowed to God that if I should live to see an end of my wars and Scotland free, I would raise the sacred standard against the enemies of my Lord and Saviour. But as I cannot myself accomplish this vow, I know no knight more worthy for the mission of bearing the heart of King Robert of Scotland to the Holy Land.” To this affecting request Lord Douglas replied, with tears in his eyes, “Ah, most gentle and noble king! A thousand times I thank you for the great honor you have done me in making me the bearer of so great and precious a treasure. Most faithfully and willingly, to the best of my power, shall I obey your commands.” Then the dying king answered, —

“Now praised be God! for I shall die in peace, since I am assured, by the faith you owe to your God and the order of knighthood, that the best and most valiant knight of my kingdom has promised to achieve for me that which I myself could never accomplish.”

Thus died Robert Bruce, king of Scotland, in the fifty-fifth year of his age and the twenty-fourth of his reign. His remains were deposited in the church of Dumfermline, where he was enshrined under a rich marble monument from Paris. The censures of excommunication pronounced by the Pope having been removed some time before, the religious services at his burial were performed by many prelates and bishops.

Many years afterwards his tomb was opened, and the lead in which his body had been wrapped was found twisted into the shape of a rude crown, covered with a rich cloth of gold, which had been thrown over it. It was ascertained that the breast-bone had been sawn asunder in order to fulfil his request of taking out his heart; but that proud form, before which the king of England had trembled on his throne, had crumbled into dust. Robert Bruce, king of Scotland, is one of the most exalted warriors to be found in those early times. The virtues of his character were formed, and acquired their bright polish, in the school of adversity. One of the early writers says of him, “If any one should undertake to describe his individual conflicts and personal success, those courageous and single-handed combats in which, by the favor of God and his own great strength and courage, he would often penetrate into the thickest of the enemy, now becoming the assailant and cutting down all who opposed him, at another time acting on the defensive, and escaping from inevitable death, – if any writer shall do this, he will prove, if I am not mistaken, that he had no equal in his own time either in knightly prowess or in strength and vigor of body.” The true greatness of Robert Bruce appeared in his humanity, moderation, and pity for the sufferings of others, which led him in the hour of victory to be generous to his prisoners even though he had suffered such bitter wrongs at the hands of his English foes. His manners were kingly and engaging, his disposition singularly gentle, courteous, and without selfishness. Yet he was high-spirited, and full of noble energy and enthusiasm. In person he was tall and well proportioned, being five feet ten inches high. His shoulders were broad, his chest capacious, and his limbs powerful and possessing marvellous strength. He possessed an open and cheerful countenance, shaded by short curled hair. His forehead was low, his cheek-bones strong and prominent, with a wound on his lower jaw. Though the expression of his face was usually pleasing and kindly, he could assume a look of stern, kingly dignity, which awed his enemies, and gained him the necessary respect due to his rank and commanding position as Scotland’s king, and also her bravest and most valiant knight. He was one of the most successful military leaders of the age. Well may Scotland boast of her brave Robert Bruce, the most famous of all her rulers, the deliverer of her enslaved people, the upholder of her liberty, her hero-king and most chivalrous knight!

FERDINAND V. OF SPAIN

1452-1516 A.D

“Every monarch is subject to a mightier one.” – Seneca.

FOR many years after the great Saracen invasion in the eighth century, Spain was divided into various small states. In the fifteenth century these were so united as to form four, – Castile, Aragon, Navarre, and the Moorish kingdom of Granada. The province of Granada was all that remained to the Moslems of their once vast possessions in the peninsula. On the 10th of March, 1452, in the little town of Sos, Ferdinand, son of King John of Aragon, was born. The early Spanish historians note with care the good omens attending this event. The sun, which had been obscured with clouds during the whole day, suddenly broke forth with unwonted splendor. A crown was also beheld in the sky, composed of various brilliant colors, like those of a rainbow. All which appearances were interpreted by the spectators as an omen that the child then born would be the most illustrious among men. As this event was also nearly contemporary with the capture of Constantinople, it was afterwards regarded by the Catholic Church as a providential provision in behalf of the religion of which Ferdinand became such a staunch supporter, as his zealous life might be regarded as an ample counterbalance to the loss of the capital of Christendom. One year before this time, in the palace of the king of Castile, on the 22d of April, 1451, a little princess had been born, and christened Isabella. This Spanish princess was descended, both on her father’s and mother’s side, from the famous John of Gaunt, duke of Lancaster.

But around the cradles of these two royal babies many contentions arose, which we cannot stop to note. When Isabella was four years of age, her father died, and her half-brother Henry became king of Castile; and, as she had still another brother, Alfonso, there did not seem to be much probability that she would succeed to the throne. She retired with her mother to the small town of Arevalo, where she was educated with care, and instructed in lessons of practical piety, until she reached her fourteenth year.

Meanwhile, the little Prince Ferdinand, in Aragon, was surrounded with constant contentions between his father, king of Aragon, and his half-brother Carlos. Joan, the mother of Ferdinand, was the second wife of King John. She was a proud, ambitious woman, much younger than her husband, and was of the blood royal of Castile, being the daughter of Don Frederic Henriquez, admiral of that kingdom. She hated her step-son Carlos, who was heir to the throne, as she regarded him as an obstacle to the advancement of her own child, Ferdinand. We cannot stop to note all the family broils occasioned by Joan’s jealousy. Prince Carlos seems to have been a youth of many attractions of mind and body, and was the idol of the people. So, when King John, influenced by his wife Joan, succeeded in having Carlos arrested, and placed in strict confinement, the entire kingdom was thrown into excitement. The people sprang to arms, determined to release the prince; and they were so threatening that King John fled with his wife to Saragossa. The insurrection now spread throughout Aragon, Valencia, and Navarre, and even into King John’s possessions in Sardinia and Sicily. At length, the frightened king saw the necessity of releasing his prisoner. Prince Carlos was received by the people with wild enthusiasm; and the king could only make peace with his subjects by a public acknowledgment of Carlos as his rightful heir and successor. But Carlos did not long survive this triumph. He fell sick of a fever, and died in 1461. Some historians hint that the prince was poisoned, to make way for the youthful Ferdinand, now ten years of age, and who was immediately declared heir to the throne. The queen-mother then took Ferdinand to Catalonia, to receive the homage of that province; but the Catalonian nobles, who were exasperated against the king on account of his treatment of Carlos, displayed so much hostility that the young prince and his mother were obliged to take refuge in the fortress of Gerona. Here they were at last relieved by King John. But the Catalans then seceded from the authority of the king of Aragon, and they presented the crown to the duke of Lorraine, who marched with an army of eight thousand men against the old king of Aragon, whose treasury was empty, and who had become totally blind. In this emergency, the mother of Ferdinand, who was a brave woman, placed herself at the head of such forces as she could collect; and, with her young son Ferdinand riding by her side, she heroically marched against the enemies of her husband, and attacked the duke of Lorraine with such impetuosity that she drove him in confusion from Gerona. In this encounter, young Ferdinand came near being taken captive.