Born, at Kinnaird, Stirlingshire, 14 Dec. 1730. At Harrow School, 21 Jan. 1742, to 8 May 1746; then with tutor till April, 1747. Returned to Scotland, May 1747; to Edinburgh Univ., Nov. 1747, to study Law. Left Univ., owing to ill-health, spring of 1748. To London, July 1753. Married Adriana Allan, 3 Feb. 1754. Took share in her father’s wine business. Wife died in Paris, 9 Oct. 1754. In Spain and Portugal, Aug. to Dec. 1757; in France and Holland, 1758. Succeeded to family estates on father’s death, and returned to England, July 1758. Withdrew from wine business, Aug. 1761. Appointed Consul-General at Algiers, Feb. 1762. In Italy, July 1762, to March 1763; arrived at Algiers, 20 March 1763. Resigned Consulship, Aug. 1765. Travelled in Barbary, Africa, Crete, Syria. To Egypt, July 1768. To Abyssinia, Sept. 1769; reached Goudar, 14 Feb. 1770. Lived at court of King of Abyssinia, with various expeditions of exploration, till Dec. 1771. Through Nubia to Assouan; reached there 29 Nov. 1772. Arrived at Marseilles, March 1773. Returned to England, July 1774. To Scotland, Autumn of 1774. Married Mary Dundas, 20 May 1776; she died spring of 1785. Engaged in compiling his “Travels.” Died at Kinnaird, from an accident, 27 April 1794; buried in Larbert churchyard. Works: “Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile” (5 vols.), 1790.

Personal

  BRUCE appears to have been seen once, and once only, by our Sexagenarian, who nevertheless expresses, in various parts of his manuscript, a general confidence in his veracity, and a great admiration of his prowess and intrepidity. He lived intimately with some of Bruce’s most familiar friends, and had frequent opportunities of ascertaining that many assertions made by the traveller, like those of Herodotus, were confirmed by subsequent observation and examination. But it was Bruce’s peculiar character, that if he discerned, or ever suspected any want of confidence in his auditors, he disdained all explanation, and could not be prevailed upon to enter upon any further discussion…. Though very partial, on the whole, to this most extraordinary man, he was by no means blind to his errors, or insensible of his inaccuracies. His confidence in him was very materially, diminished latterly, from having discovered, that Bruce, in all probability, never was at the battle of Sebraxos, which he nevertheless describes with circumstantial minuteness, and of which he has introduced plans, drawn up with the precision of one well versed in military tactics. There was also something remarkably mysterious and suspicious, as our friend seemed to think, in the circumstance and character of Luigi Balugani, who accompanied Bruce as a draughtsman. He owed more to his talents than he was willing to acknowledge, and the story of his death is glossed over in a very unsatisfactory manner.

  The last act of Bruce’s life was one of gentleman-like, refined, and polite attention. A large party had dined at Kinnaird, and while they were about to depart, Bruce was gaily talking to a young lady in the drawing-room, when, suddenly observing that her aged mother was proceeding to her carriage unattended, he hurried from the drawing-room to the great staircase. In this effort, the foot which had safely carried him through all his dangers happened to fail him; he fell down several of the steps—broke some of his fingers—pitched on his head—and never spoke again!… Thus perished, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, in the healthy winter of his life, in vigour of mind and body, James Bruce of Kinnaird, a Scotchman, who was religious, loyal, honourable, brave, prudent, and enterprizing. He was too proud of his ancestors, yet his posterity have reason to be proud of him. His temper was eager, hasty, and impetuous; yet he himself selected for the employment of his life enterprizes of danger in which haste, eagerness, and impetuosity were converted into the means of serving science and his country. The eagerness with which he toiled for the approbation of the world, and the pain he suffered from its cruelty and injustice, exclude him from ranking among those great men, who, by religion, or even by philosophy, may have learnt to despise both; yet it must be observed, that, had he possessed the equanimity of mind, he would never have undertaken the race which he won.

  The really honourable and superior points of Bruce’s character—such as his energy and daring, his various knowledge and acquirements, and his disinterested zeal in undertaking such a journey at his own expense—were overlooked in this petty war of the wits. Bruce felt their attacks keenly; but he was a proud-spirited man, and did not deign to reply to pasquinades impeaching his veracity. He survived his publication only four years. The foot which had trod without failing the deserts of Nubia, slipped one evening on his own staircase, while handing a lady to her carriage, and he died in consequence of the injury then received, April 16, 1794.

Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile, 1790

  I have only to add, that were it probable, as in my decayed state of health it is not, that I should live to see a second edition of this work, all well-founded, judicious remarks suggested should be gratefully and carefully attended to; but I do solemnly declare to the public in general, that I never will refute or answer any cavils, captious, or idle objections, such as every new publication seems unavoidably to give birth to, nor ever reply to those witticisms and criticisms that appear in newspapers and periodical writings. What I have written I have written. My readers have before them, in the present volumes, all that I shall ever say, directly or indirectly, upon the subject; and I do, without one moment’s anxiety, trust my defence to an impartial, well-informed, and judicious public.

  Everybody is looking into Bruce’s Travels. Part takes the attention, but they are abominably abused. Banks objects to the Botany, Reynell to the Geography, Cambridge to the History, The Greeks to the Greek, &c., &c.; yet the work is to be found on every table. Bruce printed the work, and sold 2,000 copies to Robertson for £6000. He sells to the booksellers at 4 guineas, and they to their customers at 5 guineas.

  It was the misfortune of that traveller (Bruce) who is now no more, to have known that his veracity had too often captiously, and sometimes capriciously, been called in question, owing, besides the nature of his adventures, partly, I believe, to a certain manner in conversing as well as in writing, which alienated many who were less than himself disposed to take offence. He is now beyond the reach of flattery or humiliation; and I trust it will not be imputed merely to the partiality of friendship, if, as a small but just tribute to his memory, I repeat here what I have often before asserted in occasional conversation, that however I might regret a constitutional irritability of temper, so injurious to its owner, or however I might wish to have seen him at times condescend to explanations which I have reason to think would have removed prejudices, I never, either in course of our acquaintance, or in the perusal of his book, found myself disposed to suspect him of any intentional deviation from the truth.

  Bruce sunk into his grave defrauded of that just fame which his pride and vivacity perhaps too keenly prized, at least for his happiness, and which he authoritatively exacted from an unwilling public. Mortified and indignant at the reception of his great labour by the cold-hearted scepticism of little minds, and the maliciousness of idling wits, he, whose fortitude had toiled through a life of difficulty and danger, could not endure the laugh and scorn of public opinion; for Bruce there was a simoon more dreadful than the Arabian, and from which genius cannot hide its head. Yet Bruce only met with the fate which Marco Polo had before encountered; whose faithful narrative had been condemned by his contemporaries, and who was long thrown aside among legendary writers.

  Who has not heard of Bruce,—the romantic, the intrepid, the indefatigable Bruce? His “tale” was once suspected; but suspicion has sunk into acquiescence of its truth…. A more enterprising, light, but lion-hearted traveller never left his native hills for the accomplishment of such purposes as those which Bruce accomplished.

  Frank and open in society, Bruce, in describing his adventures, generally related those circumstances which he thought were most likely to amuse people by the contrast they afforded to the European fashions, customs, and follies of the day. Conscious of his own integrity, and not suspecting that in a civilized country the statements of a man of honour would be disbelieved, he did not think it necessary gradually and cautiously to prepare his hearers for a climate and scenery altogether different from their own, but, as if from a balloon, he at once landed them in Abyssinia, and suddenly shewed them a vivid picture to which he himself had been long accustomed. They had asked for novelty; in complying with their request, he gave them good measure, and told them of people who wore rings in their lips instead of their ears—who anointed themselves not with bear’s grease or pomatum, but with the blood of cows—who, instead of playing tunes upon them, wore the entrails of animals as ornaments—and who, instead of eating hot putrid meat, licked their lips over bleeding living flesh. He described debauchery dreadfully disgusting, because it was so different from their own.—He told them of men who hunted each other—of mothers who had not seen ten winters—and he described crowds of human beings and huge animals retreating in terror before an army of little flies! In short, he told them the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but the mind of man, like his stomach, can only contain a certain quantity, and the dose which Bruce gave to his hearers was more than they had power to retain.

  One of the most romantic and persevering of our travellers…. The strangeness of the author’s adventures at the court at Gondar, the somewhat inflated style of the narrative, and the undisguised vanity of the traveller, led to a disbelief of his statements, and numerous lampoons and satires, both in prose and verse, were directed against him…. The style of Bruce is prolix and inelegant, though occasionally energetic. He seized upon the most prominent points, and coloured them highly. The general accuracy of his work has been confirmed from different quarters.

  Bruce’s character is depicted with incomparable liveliness by himself. It is that of a brave, magnanimous, and merciful man, endowed with excellent abilities, though not with first-rate intellectual powers, but swayed to an undue degree by self-esteem and the thirst for fame. The exaggeration of these qualities, without which even his enterprise would have shrunk from his perils, made him uncandid to those whom he regarded as rivals, and brought imputations, not wholly undeserved, upon his veracity. As regards the bulk and general tenor of his narrative, his truthfulness has been sufficiently established; but vanity and the passion for the picturesque led him to embellish minor particulars, and perhaps in some few instances to invent them. The circumstances under which his work was produced were highly unfavorable to strict accuracy. Instead of addressing himself to his task immediately upon his return, with the incidents of his travels fresh in his mind and his journals open before him, Bruce delayed for twelve years, and then dictated to an amanuensis, indolently omitting to refer to the original journals, and hence frequently making a lamentable confusion of facts and dates, which only came to light upon examination of his original manuscripts. “In the latter part of his days,” says his biographer, Murray, “he seems to have viewed the numerous adventures of his active life as in a dream, not in their natural state as to time and place, but under the pleasing and arbitrary change of memory melting into imagination.”… His method of composition, moreover, if unfavorable to the strictly historical, was advantageous to the other literary qualities of his work. Fresh from the author’s lips, the tale comes with more vividness than if it had been compiled from journals; and scenes, characters, and situations are represented with more warmth and distinctness. Bruce’s character portraits are masterly; and although the long conversations he records are evidently highly idealised, the essential truth is probably conveyed with as much precision as could have been attained by a verbatim report. Not the least of his gifts is an eminently robust and racy humour. He will always remain the poet, and his work the epic, of American travel.

  As to travel, it has rarely produced books which may be called literature, but the works of biographers and travellers have brought together the materials of literature. Bruce left for Africa in 1762, and in the next seventy years Africa, Egypt, Italy, Greece, the Holy Land, and the Arctic Regions were made the common property of literary men.

  No traveller is more dear to the Scottish geographer than James Bruce of Kinnaird. It was owing to a perusal of his travels in 1848 that I was induced to go to Egypt; there I met Outram, as I have already narrated; so that it is hardly too much to say that Bruce laid the foundation of whatever fortune has followed me during my political career…. I might prolong indefinitely an account of the good work Bruce did in North Africa; but enough has been said to show what great reason we have to be proud of our distinguished countryman. If he had never been to Abyssinia at all, his explorations in North Africa would have sufficed to place him in the foremost rank of travellers, artists, and archæologists.