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 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 any _interregnum_, 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, and long-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 to suppress. 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]