Heart of Mid-Lothian
version 1.0: 1995-10-08
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
TALES OF MY LANDLORD
COLLECTED AND ARRANGED BY JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM, SCHOOLMASTER AND PARISH CLERK OF GANDERCLEUGH.
SECOND SERIES.
THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN.
Hear, Land o' Cakes and brither Scots, Frae Maidenkirk to Johnny Groat's, If there's a hole in a' your coats, I rede ye tent it; A chiel's amang you takin' notes, An' faith he'll prent it!---=Burns.=
Ahora bien, dijo el Cura: traedme, senor hu TO THE BEST OF PATRONS,
A PLEASED AND INDULGENT READER JEDEDIAH CLEISHBOTHAM WISHES HEALTH, AND INCREASE, AND CONTENTMENT. Courteous Reader, If ingratitude comprehendeth every vice, surely so foul a stain worst
of all beseemeth him whose life has been devoted to instructing youth
in virtue and in humane letters. Therefore have I chosen, in this
prolegomenon, to unload my burden of thanks at thy feet, for the
favour with which thou last kindly entertained the Tales of my
Landlord. Certes, if thou hast chuckled over their factious and
festivous descriptions, or hadst thy mind filled with pleasure at the
strange and pleasant turns of fortune which they record, verily, I
have also simpered when I beheld a second storey with attics, that has
arisen on the basis of my small domicile at Gandercleugh, the walls
having been aforehand pronounced by Deacon Barrow to be capable of
enduring such an elevation. Nor has it been without delectation
that I have endued a new coat (snuff-brown, and with metal buttons),
having all nether garments corresponding thereto. We do therefore
lie, in respect of each other, under a reciprocation of benefits, whereof
those received by me being the most solid (in respect that a new house
and a new coat are better than a new tale and an old song), it is
meet that my gratitude should be expressed with the louder voice and
more preponderating vehemence. And how should it be so expressed?
---Certainly not in words only, but in act and deed. It is with this
sole purpose, and disclaiming all intention of purchasing that pendicle
or poffle of land called the Carlinescroft, lying adjacent to my garden,
and measuring seven acres, three roods, and four perches, that I have
committed to the eyes of those who thought well of the former tomes,
these four additional volumes<*> of the Tales of my Landlord. Not
For detailed information about the source edition and the transcription, see the notes at the end of this text file.
----------------------------------------------------------
It is there, O highly esteemed and beloved reader, thou wilt be able to bear testimony, through the medium of thine own senses, against the children of vanity, who have sought to identify thy friend and servant with I know not what inditer of vain fables; who hath cumbered the world with his devices, but shrunken from the responsibility thereof. Truly, this hath been well termed a generation hard of faith; since what can a man do to assert his property in a printed tome, saving to put his name in the title-page thereof, with his description, or designation, as the lawyers term it, and place of abode? Of a surety I would have such sceptics consider how they themselves would brook to have their works ascribed to others, their names and professions imputed as forgeries, and their very existence brought into question; even although, peradventure, it may be it is of little consequence to any but themselves, not only whether they are living or dead, but even whether they ever lived or no. Yet have my maligners carried their uncharitable censures still farther.
These cavillers have not only doubted mine identity, although thus plainly proved, but they have impeached my veracity and the authenticity of my historical narratives! Verily, I can only say in answer, that I have been cautelous in quoting mine authorities. It is true, indeed, that if I had hearkened with only one ear, I might have rehearsed my tale with more acceptation from those who love to hear but half the truth. It is, it may hap, not altogether to the discredit of our kindly nation of Scotland, that we are apt to take an interest, warm, yea partial, in the deeds and sentiments of our forefathers. He whom his adversaries describe as a perjured Prelatist, is desirous that his predecessors should be held moderate in their power, and just in their execution of its privileges, when truly, the unimpassioned peruser of the annals of those times shall deem them sanguinary, violent, and tyrannical. Again, the representatives of the suffering Nonconformists desire that their ancestors, the Cameronians, shall be represented not simply as honest enthusiasts, oppressed for conscience' sake, but persons of fine breeding, and valiant heroes. Truly, the historian cannot gratify these predilections. He must needs describe the cavaliers as proud and high-spirited, cruel, remorseless, and vindictive; the suffering party as honourably tenacious of their opinions under persecution; their own tempers being, however, sullen, fierce, and rude; their opinions absurd and extravagant; and their whole course of conduct that of persons whom hellebore would better have suited than prosecutions unto death for high-treason. Natheless, while such and so preposterous were the opinions on either side, there were, it cannot be doubted, men of virtue and worth on both, to entitle either party to claim merit from its martyrs. It has been demanded of me, Jedediah Cleishbotham, by what right I am entitled to constitute myself an impartial judge of their discrepancies of opinions, seeing (as it is stated) that I must necessarily have descended from one or other of the contending parties, and be, of course, wedded for better or for worse, according to the reasonable practice of Scotland, to its dogmata, or opinions, and bound, as it were, by the tie matrimonial, or, to speak without metaphor, ex jure sanguinis, to maintain them in preference to all others.
But, nothing denying the rationality of the rule, which calls on all now living to rule their political and religious opinions by those of their great-grandfathers, and inevitable as seems the one or the other horn of the dilemma betwixt which my adversaries conceive they have pinned me to the wall, I yet spy some means of refuge, and claim a privilege to write and speak of both parties with impartiality. For, O ye powers of logic! when the Prelatists and Presbyterians of old times went together by the ears in this unlucky country, my ancestor (venerated be his memory!) was one of the people called Quakers, and suffered severe handling from either side, even to the extenuation of his purse and the incarceration of his person.
Craving thy pardon, gentle Reader, for these few words concerning me and mine, I rest, as above expressed, thy sure and obligated friend,<*>
- [The Heart of Mid-Lothian was originally published in 4 vols.]
- C.
GANDERCLEUGH, this 1st of April, 1818.
INTRODUCTION
TO THE HEART OF MID-LOTHIAN---(1830).
The author has stated, in the preface to the Chronicles of the Canongate, 1827, that he received from an anonymous correspondent an account of the incident upon which the following story is founded. He is now at liberty to say, that the information was conveyed to him by a late amiable and ingenious lady, whose wit and power of remarking and judging of character still survive in the memory of her friends. Her maiden name was Miss Helen Lawson, of Girthhead, and she was wife of Thomas Goldie, Esq. of Craigmuie, Commissary of Dumfries.
Her communication was in these words:---
``I had taken for summer lodgings a cottage near the old Abbey of Lincluden. It had formerly been inhabited by a lady who had pleasure in embellishing cottages, which she found perhaps homely and even poor enough; mine, therefore, possessed many marks of taste and elegance unusual in this species of habitation in Scotland, where a cottage is literally what its name declares.
``From my cottage door I had a partial view of the old Abbey before mentioned; some of the highest arches were seen over, and some through, the trees scattered along a lane which led down to the ruin, and the strange fantastic shapes of almost all those old ashes accorded wonderfully well with the building they at once shaded and ornamented.
``The Abbey itself from my door was almost on a level with the cottage; but on coming to the end of the lane, it was discovered to be situated on a high perpendicular bank, at the foot of which run the clear waters of the Cluden, where they hasten to join the sweeping Nith,
`Whose distant roaring swells and fa's.'
the less, if Peter Prayfort be minded to sell the said poffle, it is at his own choice to say so; and, peradventure, he may meet with a purchaser: unless (gentle reader) the pleasing pourtraictures of Peter Pattieson, now given unto thee in particular, and unto the public in general, shall have lost their favour in thine eyes, whereof I am no way distrustful. And so much confidence do I repose in thy continued favour, that, should thy lawful occasions call thee to the town of Gandercleugh, a place frequented by most at one time or other in their lives, I will enrich thine eyes with a sight of those precious manuscripts whence thou hast derived so much delectation, thy nose with a snuff from my mull, and thy palate with a dram from my bottle of strong waters, called by the learned of Gandercleugh, the Dominie's Dribble o' Drink.
``She said that in winter she footed stockings, that is, knit feet to country-people's stockings, which bears about the same relation to stocking-knitting that cobbling does to shoe-making, and is of course both less profitable and less dignified; she likewise taught a few children to read, and in summer she whiles reared a few chickens.
``I said I could venture to guess from her face she had never been
married. She laughed heartily at this, and said, `I maun hae the
queerest face that ever was seen, that ye could guess that. Now, do
tell me, madam, how ye cam to think sae? I told her it was from
her cheerful disengaged countenance. She said, `Mem, have ye na
far mair reason to be happy than me, wi a gude husband and a fine
family o' bairns, and plenty o' everything? for me, I'm the puirest
o' a' puir bodies, and can hardly contrive to keep mysell alive in a'
the wee bits o' ways I hae tell't ye.' After some more conversation,
during which I was more and more pleased with the old womans
sensible conversation, and the _na
``In the evening I related how much I had been pleased, and inquired what was extraordinary in the history of the poor woman. Mr. ------ said, there were perhaps few more remarkable people than Helen Walker. She had been left an orphan, with the charge of a sister considerably younger than herself, and who was educated and maintained by her exertions. Attached to herby so many ties, therefore, it will not be easy to conceive her feelings, when she found that this only sister must be tried by the laws of her country for child-murder, and upon being called as principal witness against her. The counsel for the prisoner told Helen, that if she could declare that her sister had made any preparations, however slight, or had given her any intimation on the subject, that such a statement would save her sister's life, as she was the principal witness against her. Helen said, `It is impossible for me to swear to a falsehood; and, whatever may be the consequence, I will give my oath according to my conscience.'
``The trial came on, and the sister was found guilty and condemned; but in Scotland six weeks must elapse between the sentence and the execution, and Helen Walker availed herself of it. The very day of her sister's condemnation she got a petition drawn, stating the peculiar circumstances of the case, and that very night set out on foot to London.
``Without introduction or recommendation, with her simple (perhaps ill-expressed) petition, drawn up by some inferior clerk of the court, she presented herself, in her tartan plaid and country attire, to the late Duke of Argyle, who immediately procured the pardon she petitioned for, and Helen returned with it on foot just in time to save her sister.
``I was so strongly interested by this narrative, that I determined immediately to prosecute my acquaintance with Helen Walker; but as I was to leave the country next day, I was obliged to defer it till my return in spring, when the first walk I took was to Helen Walker's cottage.
``She had died a short time before. My regret was extreme, and I endeavoured to obtain some account of Helen from an old woman who inhabited the other end of her cottage. I inquired if Helen ever spoke of her past history---her journey to London, etc., `Na,' the old woman said, `Helen was a wily body, and whene'er ony o' the neebors asked anything about it, she aye turned the conversation.'
``In short, every answer I received only tended to increase my regret, and raise my opinion of Helen Walker, who could unite so much prudence with so much heroic virtue.''
This narrative was inclosed in the following letter to the author, without date or signature ---
``Sir,---The occurrence just related happened to me twenty-six years ago. Helen Walker lies buried in the churchyard of Irongray, about six miles from Dumfries. I once proposed that a small monument should have been erected to commemorate so remarkable a character, but I now prefer leaving it to you to perpetuate her memory in a more durable manner.''
The reader is now able to judge how far the author has improved upon, or fallen short of, the pleasing and interesting sketch of high principle and steady affection displayed by Helen Walker, the prototype of the fictitious Jeanie Deans. Mrs. Goldie was unfortunately dead before the author had given his name to these volumes, so he lost all opportunity of thanking that lady for her highly valuable communication. But her daughter, Miss Goldie, obliged him with the following additional information:---
``Mrs. Goldie endeavoured to collect further particulars of Helen
Walker, particularly concerning her journey to London, but found
this nearly impossible; as the natural dignity of her character, and
a high sense of family respectability, made her so indissolubly connect
her sister's disgrace with her own exertions, that none of her neighbours
durst ever question her upon the subject. One old woman, a
distant relation of Helen's, and who is still living, says she worked
an harvest with her, but that she never ventured to ask her about her
sister's trial, or her journey to London; `Helen, she added, `was a
lofty body, and used a high style o language.' The same old woman
says, that every year Helen received a cheese from her sister, who lived
at Whitehaven, and that she always sent a liberal portion of it to
herself, or to her father's family. This fact, though trivial in itself,
strongly marks the affection subsisting between the two sisters, and
the complete conviction on the mind of the criminal that her sister
had acted solely from high principle, not from any want of feeling,
which another small but characteristic trait will further illustrate.
A gentleman, a relation of Mrs. Goldie's, who happened to be travelling
in the North of England, on coming to a small inn, was shown
into the parlour by a female servant, who, after cautiously shutting
the door, said, `Sir, I'm Nelly Walker's sister.' Thus practically
showing that she considered her sister as better known by her high
conduct than even herself by a different kind of celebrity.
``Mrs. Goldie was extremely anxious to have a tombstone and an inscription upon it erected in Irongray Churchyard; and if Sir Walter Scott will condescend to write the last, a little subscription could be easily raised in the immediate neighbourhood, and Mrs. Goldie's wish be thus fulfilled.''
It is scarcely necessary to add that the request of Miss Goldie will be most willingly complied with, and without the necessity of any tax on the public.<*> Nor is there much occasion to repeat how much the
- Note A. Author's connection with Quakerism.
As my kitchen and parlour were not very far distant, I one day went in to purchase some chickens from a person I heard offering them for sale. It was a little, rather stout-looking woman, who seemed to be between seventy and eighty years of age; she was almost covered with a tartan plaid, and her cap had over it a black silk hood, tied under the chin, a piece of dress still much in use among elderly women of that rank of life in Scotland; her eyes were dark, and remarkably lively and intelligent; I entered into conversation with her, and began by asking how she maintained herself, etc.
Abbotsford, April 1, 1830.
POSTSCRIPT.
Although it would be impossible to add much to Mrs. Goldie's picturesque and most interesting account of Helen Walker, the prototype of the imaginary Jeanie Deans, the Editor may be pardoned for introducing two or three anecdotes respecting that excellent person, which he has collected from a volume entitled, Sketches from Nature, by John M`Diarmid, a gentleman who conducts an able provincial paper in the town of Dumfries.
Helen was the daughter of a small farmer in a place called Dalwhairn, in the parish of Irongray; where, after the death of her father, she continued, with the unassuming piety of a Scottish peasant, to support her mother by her own unremitted labour and privations; a case so common, that even yet, I am proud to say, few of my countrywomen would shrink from the duty.
Helen Walker was held among her equals pensy, that is, proud or conceited; but the facts brought to prove this accusation seem only to evince a strength of character superior to those around her. Thus it was remarked, that when it thundered, she went with her work and her Bible to the front of the cottage, alleging that the Almighty could smite in the city as well as in the field.
Mr. M`Diarmid mentions more particularly the misfortune of her sister, which he supposes to have taken place previous to 1736. Helen Walker, declining every proposal of saving her relation's life at the expense of truth, borrowed a sum of money sufficient for her journey, walked the whole distance to London barefoot, and made her way to John Duke of Argyle. She was heard to say, that, by the Almighty strength, she had been enabled to meet the Duke at the most critical moment, which, if lost, would have caused the inevitable forfeiture of her sister's life.
Isabella, or Tibby Walker, saved from the fate which impended over her, was married by the person who had wronged her (named Waugh), and lived happily for great part of a century, uniformly acknowledging the extraordinary affection to which she owed her preservation.
Helen Walker died about the end of the year 1791, and her remains are interred in the churchyard of her native parish of Irongray, in a romantic cemetery on the banks of the Cairn. That a character so distinguished for her undaunted love of virtue, lived and died in poverty, if not want, serves only to show us how insignificant, in the sight of Heaven, are our principal objects of ambition upon earth.
PRELIMINARY CHAPTER.<*>
- [Note B. Tombstone to Helen Walker.]
So down thy hill, romantic Ashbourn, glides The Derby dilly, carrying six insides. Frere.
The times have changed in nothing more (we follow as we were wont the manuscript of Peter Pattieson) than in the rapid conveyance of intelligence and communication betwixt one part of Scotland and another. It is not above twenty or thirty years, according to the evidence of many credible witnesses now alive, since a little miserable horse-cart, performing with difficulty a journey of thirty miles per diem, carried our mails from the capital of Scotland to its extremity. Nor was Scotland much more deficient in these accommodations than our rich sister had been about eighty years before. Fielding, in his Tom Jones, and Farquhar, in a little farce called the Stage-Coach, have ridiculed the slowness of these vehicles of public accommodation. According to the latter authority, the highest bribe could only induce the coachman to promise to anticipate by half-an-hour the usual time of his arrival at the Bull and Mouth.
But in both countries these ancient, slow, and sure modes of conveyance are now alike unknown; mail-coach races against mail-coach, and high-flyer against high-flyer, through the most remote districts of Britain. And in our village alone, three post-coaches, and four coaches with men armed, and in scarlet cassocks, thunder through the streets each day, and rival in brilliancy and noise the invention of the celebrated tyrant:---
Demens, qui nimbos et non imitabile fulmen,
re et cornipedum pulsu, simularat, equorum. Now and then, to complete the resemblance, and to correct the presumption of the venturous charioteers, it does happen that the career of these dashing rivals of Salmoneus meets with as undesirable and violent a termination as that of their prototype. It is on such occasions that the Insides and Outsides, to use the appropriate vehicular phrases, have reason to rue the exchange of the slow and safe motion of the ancient Fly-coaches, which, compared with the chariots of Mr. Palmer, so ill deserve the name. The ancient vehicle used to settle quietly down, like a ship scuttled and left to sink by the gradual influx of the waters, while the modern is smashed to pieces with the velocity of the same vessel hurled against breakers, or rather with the fury of a bomb bursting at the conclusion of its career through the air. The late ingenious Mr. Pennant, whose humour it was to set his face in stern opposition to these speedy conveyances, had collected, I have heard, a formidable list of such casualties, which, joined to the imposition of innkeepers, whose charges the passengers had no time to dispute, the sauciness of the coachman, and the uncontrolled and despotic authority of the tyrant called the guard, held forth a picture of horror, to which murder, theft, fraud, and peculation, lent all their dark colouring. But that which gratifies the impatience of the human disposition will be practised in the teeth of danger, and in defiance of admonition; and, in despite of the Cambrian antiquary, mail-coaches not only roll their thunders round the base of Penman-Maur and Cader-Idris, but
Frighted Skiddaw hears afar The rattling of the unscythed car.
author conceives himself obliged to his unknown correspondent, who thus supplied him with a theme affording such a pleasing view of the moral dignity of virtue, though unaided by birth, beauty, or talent. If the picture has suffered in the execution, it is from the failure of the author's powers to present in detail the same simple and striking portrait exhibited in Mrs. Goldie's letter.
It was a fine summer day, and our little school had obtained a half-holiday, by the intercession of a good-humoured visitor.<*> I
- [Note---This Preliminary Chapter originally formed the first of the Novel, but * has now been printed in italics on account of its introductory character.]
And perhaps the echoes of Ben Nevis may soon be awakened by the bugle, not of a warlike chieftain, but of the guard of a mail-coach.
--------- The grand debate, The popular harangue,---the tart reply,--- The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit, And the loud laugh,---I long to know them all;--- I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, And give them voice and utterance again.
It was with such feelings that I eyed the approach of the new coach, lately established on our road, and known by the name of the Somerset, which, to say truth, possesses some interest for me, even when it conveys no such important information. The distant tremulous sound of its wheels was heard just as I gained the summit of the gentle ascent, called the Goslin-brae, from which you command an extensive view down the valley of the river Gander. The public road, which comes up the side of that stream, and crosses it at a bridge about a quarter of a mile from the place where I was standing, runs partly through enclosures and plantations, and partly through open pasture land. It is a childish amusement perhaps,---but my life has been spent with children, and why should not my pleasures be like theirs?---childish as it is then, I must own I have had great pleasure in watching the approach of the carriage, where the openings of the road permit it to be seen. The gay glancing of the equipage, its diminished and toy-like appearance at a distance, contrasted with the rapidity of its motion, its appearance and disappearance at intervals, and the progressively increasing sounds that announce its nearer approach, have all to the idle and listless spectator, who has nothing more important to attend to, something of awakening interest. The ridicule may attach to me, which is flung upon many an honest citizen, who watches from the window of his villa the passage of the stage-coach; but it is a very natural source of amusement notwithstanding, and many of those who join in the laugh are perhaps not unused to resort to it in secret.
On the present occasion, however, fate had decreed that I should
not enjoy the consummation of the amusement by seeing the coach
rattle past me as I sat on the turf, and hearing the hoarse grating
voice of the guard as he skimmed forth for my grasp the expected
packet, without the carriage checking its course for an instant. I
had seen the vehicle thunder down the hill that leads to the bridge
with more than its usual impetuosity, glittering all the while by
flashes from a cloudy tabernacle of the dust which it had raised, and
leaving a train behind it on the road resembling a wreath of summer
mist. But it did not appear on the top of the nearer bank within
the usual space of three minutes, which frequent observation had
enabled me to ascertain was the medium time for crossing the bridge
and mounting the ascent. When double that space had elapsed, I
became alarmed, and walked hastily forward. As I came in sight
of the bridge, the cause of delay was too manifest, for the Somerset
had made a summerset in good earnest, and overturned so completely,
that it was literally resting upon the ground, with the roof undermost,
and the four wheels in the air. The ``exertions of the guard
and coachman,'' both of whom were gratefully commemorated in the
newspapers, having succeeded in disentangling the horses by cutting
the harness, were now proceeding to extricate the insides by a sort of
summary and C Rari apparent mantes in gurgite vasto. I applied my poor exertions where they seemed to be most needed,
and with the assistance of one or two of the company who had escaped
unhurt, easily succeeded in fishing out two of the unfortunate
passengers, who were stout active young fellows; and, but for the
preposterous length of their greatcoats, and the equally fashionable
latitude and longitude of their Wellington trousers, would have required
little assistance from any one. The third was sickly and
elderly, and might have perished but for the efforts used to preserve
him. When the two greatcoated gentlemen had extricated themselves from
the river, and shaken their ears like huge water-dogs, a violent altercation
ensued betwixt them and the coachman and guard, concerning
the cause of their overthrow. In the course of the squabble, I observed
that both my new acquaintances belonged to the law, and that their
professional sharpness was likely to prove an overmatch for the surly
and official tone of the guardians of the vehicle. The dispute ended
in the guard assuring the passengers that they should have seats in a
heavy coach which would pass that spot in less than half-an-hour,
provided it were not full. Chance seemed to favour this arrangement,
for when the expected vehicle, arrived, there were only two places
occupied in a carriage which professed to carry six. The two ladies
who had been disinterred out of the fallen vehicle were readily admitted,
but positive objections were stated by those previously in
possession to the admittance of the two lawyers, whose wetted garments
being much of the nature of well-soaked sponges, there was every
reason to believe they would refund a considerable part of the water
they had collected, to the inconvenience of their fellow-passengers. On
the other hand, the lawyers rejected a seat on the roof, alleging that
they had only taken that station for pleasure for one stage, but were
entitled in all respects to free egress and regress from the interior, to
which their contract positively referred. After some altercation, in
which something was said upon the edict _Naut They immediately applied to me to guide them to the next village
and the best inn; and from the account I gave them of the Wallace
Head, declared they were much better pleased to stop there than to go
forward upon the terms of that impudent scoundrel the guard of the
Somerset. All that they now wanted was a lad to carry their
travelling bags, who was easily procured from an adjoining cottage;
and they prepared to walk forward, when they found there was
another passenger in the same deserted situation with themselves.
This was the elderly and sickly-looking person, who had been precipitated
into the river along with the two young lawyers. He, it
seems, had been too modest to push his own plea against the coachman
when he saw that of his betters rejected, and now remained
behind with a look of timid anxiety, plainly intimating that he was
deficient in those means of recommendation which are necessary passports
to the hospitality of an inn. I ventured to call the attention of the two dashing young blades,
for such they seemed, to the desolate condition of their fellow-traveller.
They took the hint with ready good-nature. ``O, true, Mr. Dunover,'' said one of the youngsters, ``you must
not remain on the pav The poor man, for such his dress, as well as his diffidence, bespoke
him, made the sort of acknowledging bow by which says a Scotsman,
``It's too much honour for the like of me;'' and followed humbly
behind his gay patrons, all three besprinkling the dusty road as they
walked along with the moisture of their drenched garments, and exhibiting
the singular and somewhat ridiculous appearance of three
persons suffering from the opposite extreme of humidity, while the
summer sun was at its height, and everything else around them had
the expression of heat and drought. The ridicule did not escape the
young gentlemen themselves, and they had made what might be
received as one or two tolerable jests on the subject before they had
advanced far on their peregrination. ``We cannot complain, like Cowley,'' said one of them, ``that
Gideon's fleece remains dry, while all around is moist; this is the
reverse of the miracle.'' ``We ought to be received with gratitude in this good town; we
bring a supply of what they seem to need most,'' said Halkit. ``And distribute it with unparalleled generosity,'' replied his companion;
``performing the part of three water-carts for the benefit of
their dusty roads.'' ``We come before them, too,'' said Halkit, ``in full professional
force---counsel and agent''--- ``And client,'' said the young advocate, looking behind him; and
then added, lowering his voice, ``that looks as if he had kept such
dangerous company too long.'' It was, indeed, too true, that the humble follower of the gay young
men had the threadbare appearance of a worn-out litigant, and I
could not but smile at the conceit, though anxious to conceal my mirth
from the object of it. When we arrived at the Wallace Inn, the elder of the Edinburgh
gentlemen, and whom I understood to be a barrister, insisted that I
should remain and take part of their dinner; and their inquiries
and demands speedily put my landlord and his whole family in
motion to produce the best cheer which the larder and cellar afforded,
and proceed to cook it to the best advantage, a science in which our
entertainers seemed to be admirably skilled. In other respects they
were lively young men, in the hey-day of youth and good spirits,
playing the part which is common to the higher classes of the law at
Edinburgh, and which nearly resembles that of the young Templars
in the days of Steele and Addison. An air of giddy gaiety mingled
with the good sense, taste, and information which their conversation
exhibited; and it seemed to be their object to unite the character of
men of fashion and lovers of the polite arts. A fine gentleman, bred
up in the thorough idleness and inanity of pursuit, which I understand
is absolutely necessary to the character in perfection, might in
all probability have traced a tinge of professional pedantry which
marked the barrister in spite of his efforts, and something of active
bustle in his companion, and would certainly have detected more than
a fashionable mixture of information and animated interest in the
language of both. But to me, who had no pretensions to be so
critical, my companions seemed to form a very happy mixture of
good-breeding and liberal information, with a disposition to lively
rattle, pun, and jest, amusing to a grave man, because it is what he
himself can least easily command. The thin pale-faced man, whom their good-nature had brought into
their society, looked out of place as well as out of spirits; sate on the
edge of his seat, and kept the chair at two feet distance from the table;
thus incommoding himself considerably in conveying the victuals to
his mouth, as if by way of penance for partaking of them in the
company of his superiors. A short time after dinner, declining all
entreaty to partake of the wine, which circulated freely round, he
informed himself of the hour when the chaise had been ordered to
attend; and saying he would be in readiness, modestly withdrew from
the apartment. ``Jack,'' said the barrister to his companion, ``I remember that
poor fellow's face; you spoke more truly than you were aware of; he
really is one of my clients, poor man.'' ``Poor man!'' echoed Halkit---``I suppose you mean he is your
one and only client?'' ``That's not my fault, Jack,'' replied the other, whose name I discovered
was Hardie. ``You are to give me all your business, you
know; and if you have none, the learned gentleman here knows
nothing can come of nothing.'' ``You seem to have brought something to nothing though, in the
case of that honest man. He looks as if he were just about to honour
with his residence the =Heart of Mid-Lothian.='' ``You are mistaken---he is just delivered from it.---Our friend
here looks for an explanation. Pray, Mr. Pattieson, have you been
in Edinburgh?'' I answered in the affirmative. ``Then you must have passed, occasionally at least, though probably
not so faithfully as I am doomed to do, through a narrow intricate
passage, leading out of the north-west corner of the Parliament Square,
and passing by a high and antique building with turrets and iron
grates, Making good the saying odd,
``Near the church and far from God''--- Mr. Halkit broke in upon his learned counsel, to contribute his
moiety to the riddle---``Having at the door the sign of the Red
man''------ ``And being on the whole,'' resumed the counsellor interrupting
his friend in his turn, ``a sort of place where misfortune is happily
confounded with guilt, where all who are in wish to get out''------ ``And where none who have the good luck to be out, wish to get in,''
added his companion. ``I conceive you, gentlemen,'' replied I; ``you mean the prison.'' ``The prison,'' added the young lawyer---``You have hit it---the
very reverend Tolbooth itself; and let me tell you, you are obliged to
us for describing it with so much modesty and brevity; for with
whatever amplifications we might have chosen to decorate the subject,
you lay entirely at our mercy, since the Fathers Conscript of our city
have decreed that the venerable edifice itself shall not remain in
existence to confirm or to confute its.'' ``Then the Tolbooth of Edinburgh is called the Heart of Mid-Lothian?''
said I. ``So termed and reputed, I assure you.'' ``I think,'' said I, with the bashful diffidence with which a man
lets slip a pun in presence of his superiors, ``the metropolitan county
may, in that case, be said to have a sad heart.'' ``Right as my glove, Mr. Pattieson,'' added Mr. Hardie; ``and
a close heart, and a hard heart---Keep it up, Jack.'' ``And a wicked heart, and a poor heart,'' answered Halkit, doing
his best. ``And yet it may be called in some sort a strong heart, and a high
heart,'' rejoined the advocate. ``You see I can put you both out of
heart.'' ``I have played all my hearts,'' said the younger gentleman. ``Then we'll have another lead,' ``I am afraid,'' said I, ``if I might presume to give my opinion,
it would be a tale of unvaried sorrow and guilt.'' ``Not entirely, my friend,'' said Hardie; ``a prison is a world
within itself, and has its own business, griefs, and joys, peculiar to
its circle. Its inmates are sometimes short-lived, but so are soldiers
on service; they are poor relatively to the world without, but there are
degrees of wealth and poverty among them, and so some are relatively
rich also. They cannot stir abroad, but neither can the garrison of
a besieged fort, or the crew of a ship at sea; and they are not under
a dispensation quite so desperate as either, for they may have as much
food as they have money to buy, and are not obliged to work, whether
they have food or not.'' ``But what variety of incident,'' said I (not without a secret view
to my present task), ``could possibly be derived from such a work as
you are pleased to talk of?'' ``Infinite,'' replied the young advocate. ``Whatever of guilt,
crime, imposture, folly, unheard-of misfortunes, and unlooked-for
change of fortune, can be found to chequer life, my Last Speech of
the Tolbooth should illustrate with examples sufficient to gorge even
the public's all-devouring appetite for the wonderful and horrible.
The inventor of fictitious narratives has to rack his brains for means
to diversify his tale, and after all can hardly hit upon characters or
incidents which have not been used again and again, until they are
familiar to the eye of the reader, so that the development, _enl Much have I feared, but am no more afraid,
When some chaste beauty by some wretch betrayed,
Is drawn away with such distracted speed,
That she anticipates a dreadful deed.
Not so do I---Let solid walls impound
The captive fair, and dig a moat around;
Let there be brazen locks and bars of steel,
And keepers cruel, such as never feel;
With not a single note the purse supply,
And when she begs, let men and maids deny;
Be windows there from which she dare not fall,
And help so distant, 'tis in vain to call;
Still means of freedom will some Power devise,
And from the baffled ruffian snatch his prize. ``The end of uncertainty,'' he concluded, ``is the death of interest;
and hence it happens that no one now reads novels.'' ``Hear him, ye gods!'' returned his companion. ``I assure you,
Mr. Pattieson, you will hardly visit this learned gentleman, but you
are likely to find the new novel most in repute lying on his table,---
snugly intrenched, however, beneath Stair's Institutes, or an open
volume of Morrison's Decisions.'' ``Do I deny it?'' said the hopeful jurisconsult, ``or wherefore
should I, since it is well known these Delilahs seduce my wisers and
my betters? May they not be found lurking amidst the multiplied
memorials of our most distinguished counsel, and even peeping from
under the cushion of a judge's arm-chair? Our seniors at the bar,
within the bar, and even on the bench, read novels; and, if not belied,
some of them have written novels into the bargain. I only say, that
I read from habit and from indolence, not from real interest; that,
like ancient Pistol devouring his leek, I read and swear till I get to
the end of the narrative. But not so in the real records of human
vagaries---not so in the State Trials, or in the Books of Adjournal,
where every now and then you read new pages of the human heart,
and turns of fortune far beyond what the boldest novelist ever attempted
to produce from the coinage of his brain.'' ``And for such narratives,'' I asked, ``you suppose the History of
the Prison of Edinburgh might afford appropriate materials?'' ``In a degree unusually ample, my dear sir,'' said Hardie---
``Fill your glass, however, in the meanwhile. Was it not for many
years the place in which the Scottish parliament met? Was it not
James's place of refuge, when the mob, inflamed by a seditious
preacher, broke, forth, on him with the cries of `The sword of the Lord
and of Gideon---bring forth the wicked Haman?' Since that time
how many hearts have throbbed within these walls, as the tolling of
the neighbouring bell announced to them how fast the sands of their
life were ebbing; how many must have sunk at the sound---how many
were supported by stubborn pride and dogged resolution---how many
by the consolations of religion? Have there not been some, who,
looking back on the motives of their crimes, were scarce able to understand
how they should have had such temptation as to seduce them
from virtue; and have there not, perhaps, been others, who, sensible
of their innocence, were divided between indignation at the undeserved
doom which they were to undergo, consciousness that they had not
deserved it, and racking anxiety to discover some way in which they
might yet vindicate themselves? Do you suppose any of these deep,
powerful, and agitating feelings, can be recorded and perused without
exciting a corresponding depth of deep, powerful, and agitating
interest?---Oh! do but wait till I publish the _Causes C ``I have understood,'' said I, encouraged by the affability of my
rattling entertainer, ``that less of this interest must attach to Scottish
jurisprudence than to that of any other country. The general
morality of our people, their sober and prudent habits''------ ``Secure them,'' said the barrister, ``against any great increase of
professional thieves and depredators, but not against wild and wayward
starts of fancy and passion, producing crimes of an extraordinary
description, which are precisely those to the detail of which
we listen with thrilling interest. England has been much longer a
highly civilised country; her subjects have been very strictly amenable
to laws administered without fear or favour, a complete division of
labour has taken place among her subjects, and the very thieves and
robbers form a distinct class in society, subdivided among themselves
according to the subject of the depredations, and the mode in which
they carry them on, acting upon regular habits and principles, which
can be calculated and anticipated at Bow Street, Hatton Garden, or
the Old Bailey. Our sister kingdom is like a cultivated field,---the
farmer expects that, in spite of all his care, a certain number of
weeds will rise with the corn, and can tell you beforehand their
names and appearance. But Scotland is like one of her own Highland
glens, and the moralist who reads the records of her criminal
jurisprudence, will find as many curious anomalous facts in the
history of mind, as the botanist will detect rare specimens among her
dingles and cliffs.'' ``And that's all the good you have obtained from three perusals of
the Commentaries on Scottish Criminal Jurisprudence?'' said his
companion. ``I suppose the learned author very little thinks that
the facts which his erudition and acuteness have accumulated for the
illustration of legal doctrines, might be so arranged as to form a sort
of appendix to the half-bound and slip-shod volumes of the circulating
library.'' ``I'll bet you a pint of claret,' It was no such thing---the tidings bore, that no chaise could be
had that evening, for Sir Peter Plyem had carried forward my landlord's
two pairs of horses that morning to the ancient royal borough
of Bubbleburgh, to look after his interest there. But as Bubbleburgh
is only one of a set of five boroughs which club their shares for a
member of parliament, Sir Peter's adversary had judiciously watched
his departure, in order to commence a canvass in the no less royal
borough of Bitem, which, as all the world knows, lies at the very
termination of Sir Peter's avenue, and has been held in leading-strings
by him and his ancestors for time immemorial. Now Sir
Peter was thus placed in the situation of an ambitious monarch, who,
after having commenced a daring inroad into his enemy's territories,
is suddenly recalled by an invasion of his own hereditary dominions.
He was obliged in consequence to return from the half-won borough
of Bubbleburgh, to look after the half-lost borough of Bitem, and the
two pairs of horses which had carried him that morning to Bubbleburgh
were now forcibly detained to transport him, his agent, his
valet, his jester, and his hard-drinker, across the country to Bitem.
The cause of this detention, which to me was of as little consequence
as it may be to the reader, was important enough to my companions
to reconcile them to the delay. Like eagles, they smelled the battle
afar off, ordered a magnum of claret and beds at the Wallace, and
entered at full career into the Bubbleburgh and Bitem politics, with
all the probable ``Petitions and complaints'' to which they were likely
to give rise. In the midst of an anxious, animated, and, to me, most unintelligible
discussion, concerning provosts, bailies, deacons, sets of
boroughs, leets, town-clerks, burgesses resident and non-resident, all of
a sudden the lawyer recollected himself. ``Poor Dunover, we must
not forget him;'' and the landlord was despatched in quest of the
pauvre honteux, with an earnestly civil invitation to him for the
rest of the evening. I could not help asking the young gentlemen if
they knew the history of this poor man; and the counsellor applied
himself to his pocket to recover the memorial or brief from which he
had stated his cause. ``He has been a candidate for our _remedium miserabile,_'' said
Mr. Hardie, ``commonly called a cessio bonorum. As there are
divines who have doubted the eternity of future punishments, so the
Scotch lawyers seem to have thought that the crime of poverty might
be atoned for by something short of perpetual imprisonment. After
a month's confinement, you must know, a prisoner for debt is entitled,
on a sufficient statement to our Supreme Court, setting forth the
amount of his funds, and the nature of his misfortunes, and surrendering
all his effects to his creditors, to claim to be discharged
from prison.'' ``I had heard,'' I replied, ``of such a humane regulation.'' ``Yes,' answered his companion.---``And
as to the old and condemned Tolbooth, what pity the same honour
cannot be done to it as has been done to many of its inmates. Why
should not the Tolbooth have its `Last Speech, Confession, and Dying
Words? The old stones would be just as conscious of the honour as
many a poor devil who has dangled like a tassel at the west end of it,
while the hawkers were shouting a confession the culprit had never
heard of.'' said the elder lawyer, ``that he
will not feel sore at the comparison. But as we say at the bar, `I
beg I may not be interrupted; I have much more to say, upon my
Scottish collection of _Causes C said Halkit, ``and the beauty of it is, as the foreign fellow
said, you may get the _cessio,_ when the _bonorums_ are all spent---
But what, are you puzzling in your pockets to seek your only
memorial among old play-bills, letters requesting a meeting of the
Faculty, rules of the Speculative Society,<*> syllabus of lectures---all
- His honour Gilbert Goslinn of Gandercleugh; for I love to be precise in * matters of importance.---J. C.
expected by the coach a new number of an interesting periodical publication, and walked forward on the highway to meet it, with the impatience which Cowper has described as actuating the resident in the country when longing for intelligence from the mart of news.---
``This is very unlike the variety of distress which this gentleman stated to fall under the consideration of your judges,'' said I.
``True,'' replied Halkit; ``but Hardie spoke of criminal jurisprudence, and this business is purely civil. I could plead a cessio myself without the inspiring honours of a gown and three-tailed periwig---Listen.---My client was bred a journeyman weaver---made some little money---took a farm---(for conducting a farm, like driving a gig, comes by nature)---late severe times---induced to sign bills with a friend, for which he received no value---landlord sequestrates--- creditors accept a composition---pursuer sets up a public-house---fails a second time---is incarcerated for a debt of ten pounds seven shillings and sixpence---his debts amount to blank---his losses to blank---his funds to blank---leaving a balance of blank in his favour. There is no opposition; your lordships will please grant commission to take his oath.''
Hardie now renounced this ineffectual search, in which there was perhaps a little affectation, and told us the tale of poor Dunover's distresses, with a tone in which a degree of feeling, which he seemed ashamed of as unprofessional, mingled with his attempts at wit, and did him more honour. It was one of those tales which seem to argue a sort of ill-luck or fatality attached to the hero. A well-informed, industrious, and blameless, but poor and bashful man, had in vain essayed all the usual means by which others acquire independence, yet had never succeeded beyond the attainment of bare subsistence. During a brief gleam of hope, rather than of actual prosperity, he had added a wife and family to his cares, but the dawn was speedily overcast. Everything retrograded with him towards the verge of the miry Slough of Despond, which yawns for insolvent debtors; and after catching at each twig, and experiencing the protracted agony of feeling them one by one elude his grasp, he actually sunk into the miry pit whence he had been extricated by the professional exertions of Hardie.
``And, I suppose, now you have dragged this poor devil ashore, you will leave him half naked on the beach to provide for himself?'' said Halkit. ``Hark ye,''---and he whispered something in his ear, of which the penetrating and insinuating words, ``Interest with my Lord,'' alone reached mine.
``It is _pessimi exempli,_'' said Hardie, laughing, ``to provide for a ruined client; but I was thinking of what you mention, provided it can be managed---But hush! here he comes.''
The recent relation of the poor man's misfortunes had given him,
I was pleased to observe, a claim to the attention and respect of the
young men, who treated him with great civility, and gradually engaged
him in a conversation, which, much to my satisfaction, again
turned upon the _Causes C
Next morning the travellers left Gandercleugh. I afterwards learned from the papers that both have been since engaged in the great political cause of Bubbleburgh and Bitem, a summary case, and entitled to particular despatch; but which, it is thought, nevertheless, may outlast the duration of the parliament to which the contest refers. Mr. Halkit, as the newspapers informed me, acts as agent or solicitor; and Mr. Hardie opened for Sir Peter Plyem with singular ability, and to such good purpose, that I understand he has since had fewer play-bills and more briefs in his pocket. And both the young gentlemen deserve their good fortune; for I learned from Dunover, who called on me some weeks afterwards, and communicated the intelligence with tears in his eyes, that their interest had availed to obtain him a small office for the decent maintenance of his family; and that, after a train of constant and uninterrupted misfortune, he could trace a dawn of prosperity to his having the good fortune to be flung from the top of a mail-coach into the river Gander, in company with an advocate and a writer to the Signet. The reader will not perhaps deem himself equally obliged to the accident, since it brings upon him the following narrative, founded upon the conversation of the evening.
- [A well-known debating club in Edinburgh.]
CHAPTER FIRST.
Whoe'er's been at Paris must needs know the Gr
There death breaks the shackles which force had put on, And the hangman completes what the judge but began; There the squire of the poet, and knight of the post, Find their pains no more baulked, and their hopes no more crossed. Prior.
In former times, England had her Tyburn, to which the devoted victims of justice were conducted in solemn procession up what is now called Oxford Street. In Edinburgh, a large open street, or rather oblong square, surrounded by high houses, called the Grassmarket, was used for the same melancholy purpose. It was not ill chosen for such a scene, being of considerable extent, and therefore fit to accommodate a great number of spectators, such as are usually assembled by this melancholy spectacle. On the other hand, few of the houses which surround it were, even in early times, inhabited by persons of fashion; so that those likely to be offended or over deeply affected by such unpleasant exhibitions were not in the way of having their quiet disturbed by them. The houses in the Grassmarket are, generally speaking, of a mean description; yet the place is not without some features of grandeur, being overhung by the southern side of the huge rock on which the Castle stands, and by the moss-grown battlements and turreted walls of that ancient fortress.
It was the custom, until within these thirty years or thereabouts, to use this esplanade for the scene of public executions. The fatal day was announced to the public by the appearance of a huge black gallows-tree towards the eastern end of the Grassmarket. This ill-omened apparition was of great height, with a scaffold surrounding it, and a double ladder placed against it, for the ascent of the unhappy criminal and executioner. As this apparatus was always arranged before dawn, it seemed as if the gallows had grown out of the earth in the course of one night, like the production of some foul demon; and I well remember the fright with which the schoolboys, when I was one of their number, used to regard these ominous signs of deadly preparation. On the night after the execution the gallows again disappeared, and was conveyed in silence and darkness to the place where it was usually deposited, which was one of the vaults under the Parliament House, or courts of justice. This mode of execution is now exchanged for one similar to that in front of Newgate,---with what beneficial effect is uncertain. The mental sufferings of the convict are indeed shortened. He no longer stalks between the attendant clergymen, dressed in his grave-clothes, through a considerable part of the city, looking like a moving and walking corpse, while yet an inhabitant of this world; but, as the ultimate purpose of punishment has in view the prevention of crimes, it may at least be doubted, whether, in abridging the melancholy ceremony, we have not in part diminished that appalling effect upon the spectators which is the useful end of all such inflictions, and in consideration of which alone, unless in very particular cases, capital sentences can be altogether justified.
On the 7th day of September 1736, these ominous preparations for execution were descried in the place we have described, and at an early hour the space around began to be occupied by several groups, who gazed on the scaffold and gibbet with a stern and vindictive show of satisfaction very seldom testified by the populace, whose good nature, in most cases, forgets the crime of the condemned person, and dwells only on his misery. But the act of which the expected culprit had been convicted was of a description calculated nearly and closely to awaken and irritate the resentful feelings of the multitude. The tale is well known; yet it is necessary to recapitulate its leading circumstances, for the better understanding what is to follow; and the narrative may prove long, but I trust not uninteresting even to those who have heard its general issue. At any rate, some detail is necessary, in order to render intelligible the subsequent events of our narrative.
Contraband trade, though it strikes at the root of legitimate government, by encroaching on its revenues,---though it injures the fair trader, and debauches the mind of those engaged in it, ---is not usually looked upon, either by the vulgar or by their betters, in a very heinous point of view. On the contrary, in those countries where it prevails, the cleverest, boldest, and most intelligent of the peasantry, are uniformly engaged in illicit transactions, and very often with the sanction of the farmers and inferior gentry. Smuggling was almost universal in Scotland in the reigns of George I. and II.; for the people, unaccustomed to imposts, and regarding them as an unjust aggression upon their ancient liberties, made no scruple to elude them whenever it was possible to do so.
The county of Fife, bounded by two firths on the south and north, and by the sea on the east, and having a number of small seaports, was long famed for maintaining successfully a contraband trade; and, as there were many seafaring men residing there, who had been pirates and buccaneers in their youth, there were not wanting a sufficient number of daring men to carry it on. Among these, a fellow called Andrew Wilson, originally a baker in the village of Pathhead, was particularly obnoxious to the revenue officers. He was possessed of great personal strength, courage, and cunning,---was perfectly acquainted with the coast, and capable of conducting the most desperate enterprises. On several occasions he succeeded in baffling the pursuit and researches of the king's officers; but he became so much the object of their suspicions and watchful attention, that at length he was totally ruined by repeated seizures. The man became desperate. He considered himself as robbed and plundered; and took it into his head that he had a right to make reprisals, as he could find opportunity. Where the heart is prepared for evil, opportunity is seldom long wanting. This Wilson learned that the Collector of the Customs at Kirkcaldy had come to Pittenweem, in the course of his official round of duty, with a considerable sum of public money in his custody. As the amount was greatly within the value of the goods which had been seized from him, Wilson felt no scruple of conscience in resolving to reimburse himself for his losses, at the expense of the Collector and the revenue. He associated with himself one Robertson, and two other idle young men, whom, having been concerned in the same illicit trade, he persuaded to view the transaction in the same justifiable light in which he himself considered it. They watched the motions of the Collector; they broke forcibly into the house where he lodged,---Wilson, with two of his associates, entering the Collector's apartment, while Robertson, the fourth, kept watch at the door with a drawn cutlass in his hand. The officer of the customs, conceiving his life in danger, escaped out of his bedroom window, and fled in his shirt, so that the plunderers, with much ease, possessed themselves of about two hundred pounds of public money. The robbery was committed in a very audacious manner, for several persons were passing in the street at the time. But Robertson, representing the noise they heard as a dispute or fray betwixt the Collector and the people of the house, the worthy citizens of Pittenweem felt themselves no way called on to interfere in behalf of the obnoxious revenue officer; so, satisfying themselves with this very superficial account of the matter, like the Levite in the parable, they passed on the opposite side of the way. An alarm was at length given, military were called in, the depredators were pursued, the booty recovered, and Wilson and Robertson tried and condemned to death, chiefly on the evidence of an accomplice.
Many thought that, in consideration of the men's erroneous opinion of the nature of the action they had committed, justice might have been satisfied with a less forfeiture than that of two lives. On the other hand, from the audacity of the fact, a severe example was judged necessary; and such was the opinion of the Government. When it became apparent that the sentence of death was to be executed, files, and other implements necessary for their escape, were transmitted secretly to the culprits by a friend from without. By these means they sawed a bar out of one of the prison-windows, and might have made their escape, but for the obstinacy of Wilson, who, as he was daringly resolute, was doggedly pertinacious of his opinion. His comrade, Robertson, a young and slender man, proposed to make the experiment of passing the foremost through the gap they had made, and enlarging it from the outside, if necessary, to allow Wilson free passage. Wilson, however, insisted on making the first experiment, and being a robust and lusty man, he not only found it impossible to get through betwixt the bars, but, by his struggles, he jammed himself so fast, that he was unable to draw his body back again. In these circumstances discovery became unavoidable, and sufficient precautions were taken by the jailor to prevent any repetition of the same attempt. Robertson uttered not a word of reflection on his companion for the consequences of his obstinacy; but it appeared from the sequel, that Wilson's mind was deeply impressed with the recollection that, but for him, his comrade, over whose mind he exercised considerable influence, would not have engaged in the criminal enterprise which had terminated thus fatally; and that now he had become his destroyer a second time, since, but for his obstinacy, Robertson might have effected his escape. Minds like Wilson's, even when exercised in evil practices, sometimes retain the power of thinking and resolving with enthusiastic generosity. His whole thoughts were now bent on the possibility of saving Robertson's life, without the least respect to his own. The resolution which he adopted, and the manner in which he carried it into effect, were striking and unusual.
Adjacent to the tolbooth or city jail of Edinburgh, is one of three churches into which the cathedral of St. Giles is now divided, called, from its vicinity, the Tolbooth Church. It was the custom that criminals under sentence of death were brought to this church, with a sufficient guard, to hear and join in public worship on the Sabbath before execution. It was supposed that the hearts of these unfortunate persons, however hardened before against feelings of devotion, could not but be accessible to them upon uniting their thoughts and voices, for the last time, along with their fellow-mortals, in addressing their Creator. And to the rest of the congregation, it was thought it could not but be impressive and affecting, to find their devotions mingling with those, who, sent by the doom of an earthly tribunal to appear where the whole earth is judged, might be considered as beings trembling on the verge of eternity. The practice, however edifying, has been discontinued, in consequence of the incident we are about to detail.
The clergyman, whose duty it was to officiate in the Tolbooth Church, had concluded an affecting discourse, part of which was particularly directed to the unfortunate men, Wilson and Robertson, who were in the pew set apart for the persons in their unhappy situation, each secured betwixt two soldiers of the city guard. The clergyman had reminded them, that the next congregation they must join would be that of the just, or of the unjust; that the psalms they now heard must be exchanged, in the space of two brief days, for eternal hallelujahs, or eternal lamentations; and that this fearful alternative must depend upon the state to which they might be able to bring their minds before the moment of awful preparation: that they should not despair on account of the suddenness of the summons, but rather to feel this comfort in their misery, that, though all who now lifted the voice, or bent the knee in conjunction with them, lay under the same sentence of certain death, they only had the advantage of knowing the precise moment at which it should be executed upon them. ``Therefore,'' urged the good man, his voice trembling with emotion, ``redeem the time, my unhappy brethren, which is yet left; and remember, that, with the grace of Him to whom space and time are but as nothing, salvation may yet be assured, even in the pittance of delay which the laws of your country afford you.''
Robertson was observed to weep at these words; but Wilson seemed as one whose brain had not entirely received their meaning, or whose thoughts were deeply impressed with some different subject;---an expression so natural to a person in his situation, that it excited neither suspicion nor surprise.
The benediction was pronounced as usual, and the congregation was dismissed, many lingering to indulge their curiosity with a more fixed look at the two criminals, who now, as well as their guards, rose up, as if to depart when the crowd should permit them. A murmur of compassion was heard to pervade the spectators, the more general, perhaps, on account of the alleviating circumstances of the case; when all at once, Wilson, who, as we have already noticed, was a very strong man, seized two of the soldiers, one with each hand, and calling at the same time to his companion, ``Run, Geordie, run!'' threw himself on a third, and fastened his teeth on the collar of his coat. Robertson stood for a second as if thunderstruck, and unable to avail himself of the opportunity of escape; but the cry of ``Run, run!'' being echoed from many around, whose feelings surprised them into a very natural interest in his behalf, he shook off the grasp of the remaining soldier, threw himself over the pew, mixed with the dispersing congregation, none of whom felt inclined to stop a poor wretch taking his last chance for his life, gained the door of the church, and was lost to all pursuit.
The generous intrepidity which Wilson had displayed on this occasion augmented the feeling of compassion which attended his fate. The public, where their own prejudices are not concerned, are easily engaged on the side of disinterestedness and humanity, admired Wilson's behaviour, and rejoiced in Robertson's escape. This general feeling was so great, that it excited a vague report that Wilson would be rescued at the place of execution, either by the mob or by some of his old associates, or by some second extraordinary and unexpected exertion of strength and courage on his own part. The magistrates thought it their duty to provide against the possibility of disturbance. They ordered out, for protection of the execution of the sentence, the greater part of their own City Guard, under the command of Captain Porteous, a man whose name became too memorable from the melancholy circumstances of the day, and subsequent events. It may be necessary to say a word about this person, and the corps which he commanded. But the subject is of importance sufficient to deserve another chapter.
CHAPTER SECOND.
And thou, great god of aquavit
! Wha sways the empire of this city (When fou we're sometimes capernoity), Be thou prepared, To save us frae that black banditti, The City Guard! Fergusson's Daft Days. Captain John Porteous, a name memorable in the traditions of Edinburgh, as well as in the records of criminal jurisprudence, was the son of a citizen of Edinburgh, who endeavoured to breed him up to his own mechanical trade of a tailor. The youth, however, had a wild and irreclaimable propensity to dissipation, which finally sent him to serve in the corps long maintained in the service of the States of Holland, and called the Scotch Dutch. Here he learned military discipline; and, returning afterwards, in the course of an idle and wandering life, to his native city, his services were required by the magistrates of Edinburgh in the disturbed year 1715, for disciplining their City Guard, in which he shortly afterwards received a captain's commission. It was only by his military skill and an alert and resolute character as an officer of police, that he merited this promotion, for he is said to have been a man of profligate habits, an unnatural son, and a brutal husband. He was, however, useful in his station, and his harsh and fierce habits rendered him formidable to rioters or disturbers of the public peace.
The corps in which he held his command is, or perhaps we should rather say was, a body of about one hundred and twenty soldiers divided into three companies, and regularly armed, clothed, and embodied. They were chiefly veterans who enlisted in this cogs, having the benefit of working at their trades when they were off duty. These men had the charge of preserving public order, repressing riots and street robberies, acting, in short, as an armed police, and attending on all public occasions where confusion or popular disturbance might be expected.<*>
the miscellaneous contents of a young advocate's pocket, which contains everything but briefs and bank-notes? Can you not state a case of cessio without your memorial? Why, it is done every Saturday. The events follow each other as regularly as clock-work, and one form of condescendence might suit every one of them.''
THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN
- The Lord Provost was ex-officio commander and colonel of the corps, which might be increased to three hundred men when the times required it. No other drum but theirs was allowed to sound on the High Street * between the Luckenbooths and the Netherbow.
Poor Fergusson, whose irregularities sometimes led him into unpleasant rencontres with these military conservators of public order, and who mentions them so often that he may be termed their poet laureate,<*> thus admonishes his readers,
``Gude folk, as ye come frae the fair, Bide yont frae this black squad: There's nae sic savages elsewhere Allowed to wear cockad.''
In fact, the soldiers of the City Guard, being, as we have said, in general discharged veterans, who had strength enough remaining for this municipal duty, and being, moreover, for the greater part, Highlanders, were neither by birth, education, nor former habits, trained to endure with much patience the insults of the rabble, or the provoking petulance of truant schoolboys, and idle debauchees of all descriptions, with whom their occupation brought them into contact. On the contrary, the tempers of the poor old fellows were soured by the indignities with which the mob distinguished them on many occasions, and frequently might have required the soothing strains of the poet we have just quoted---
``O soldiers! for your ain dear sakes, For Scotland's love, the Land o' Cakes, Gie not her bairns sic deadly paiks, Nor be sae rude, Wi' firelock or Lochaber-axe, As spill their bluid!''
On all occasions when a holiday licensed some riot and irregularity, a skirmish with these veterans was a favourite recreation with the rabble of Edinburgh. These pages may perhaps see the light when many have in fresh recollection such onsets as we allude to. But the venerable corps, with whom the contention was held, may now be considered as totally extinct. Of late the gradual diminution of these civic soldiers reminds one of the abatement of King Lear's hundred knights. The edicts of each succeeding set of magistrates have, like those of Goneril and Regan, diminished this venerable band with the similar question, ``What need we five-and-twenty?---ten?---or five?'' And it is now nearly come to, ``What need one?'' A spectre may indeed here and there still be seen, of an old grey-headed and grey-bearded Highlander, with war-worn features, but bent double by age; dressed in an old fashioned cocked-hat, bound with white tape instead of silver lace; and in coat, waistcoat, and breeches, of a muddy-coloured red, bearing in his withered hand an ancient weapon, called a Lochaber-axe; a long pole, namely, with an axe at the extremity, and a hook at the back of the hatchet.<*> Such a phantom of former days still
- [Robert Fergusson, the Scottish Poet, born 1750, died 1774.]
warned doubtless by his own experience:---
- This hook was to enable the bearer of the Lochaber-axe to scale a gateway, by grappling the top of the door, and swinging himself up by the staff of his weapon.
creeps, I have been informed, round the statue of Charles the Second, in the Parliament Square, as if the image of a Stuart were the last refuge for any memorial of our ancient manners; and one or two others are supposed to glide around the door of the guardhouse assigned to them in the Luckenbooths, when their ancient refuge in the High Street was laid low.<*> But the
To Captain John Porteous, the honour of his command and of his corps seems to have been a matter of high interest and importance. He was exceedingly incensed against Wilson for the affront which he construed him to have put upon his soldiers, in the effort he made for the liberation of his companion, and expressed himself most ardently on the subject. He was no less indignant at the report, that there was an intention to rescue Wilson himself from the gallows, and uttered many threats and imprecations upon that subject, which were afterwards remembered to his disadvantage. In fact, if a good deal of determination and promptitude rendered Porteous, in one respect, fit to command guards designed to suppress popular commotion, he seems, on the other, to have been disqualified for a charge so delicate, by a hot and surly temper, always too ready to come to blows and violence; a character void of principle; and a disposition to regard the rabble, who seldom failed to regale him and his soldiers with some marks of their displeasure, as declared enemies, upon whom it was natural and justifiable that he should seek opportunities of vengeance. Being, however, the most active and trustworthy among the captains of the City Guard, he was the person to whom the magistrates confided the command of the soldiers appointed to keep the peace at the time of Wilson's execution. He was ordered to guard the gallows and scaffold, with about eighty men, all the disposable force that could be spare for that duty.
But the magistrates took farther precautions, which affected Porteous's pride very deeply. They requested the assistance of part of a regular infantry regiment, not to attend upon the execution, but to remain drawn up on the principal street of the city, during the time that it went forward, in order to intimidate the multitude, in case they should be disposed to be unruly, with a display of force which could not be resisted without desperation. It may sound ridiculous in our ears, considering the fallen state of this ancient civic corps, that its officer should have felt punctiliously jealous of its honour. Yet so it was. Captain Porteous resented, as an indignity, the introducing the Welsh Fusileers within the city, and drawing them up in the street where no drums but his own were allowed to be sounded without the special command or permission of the magistrates. As he could not show his ill-humour to his patrons the magistrates, it increased his indignation and his desire to be revenged on the unfortunate criminal Wilson, and all who favoured him. These internal emotions of jealousy and rage wrought a change on the man's mien and bearing, visible to all who saw him on the fatal morning when Wilson was appointed to suffer. Porteous's ordinary appearance was rather favourable. He was about the middle size, stout, and well made, having a military air, and yet rather a gentle and mild countenance. His complexion was brown, his face somewhat fretted with the sears of the smallpox, his eyes rather languid than keen or fierce. On the present occasion, however, it seemed to those who saw him as if he were agitated by some evil demon. His step was irregular, his voice hollow and broken, his countenance pale, his eyes staring and wild, his speech imperfect and confused, and his whole appearance so disordered, that many remarked he seemed to be fey, a Scottish expression, meaning the state of those who are driven on to their impending fate by the strong impulse of some irresistible necessity.
One part of his conduct was truly diabolical, if indeed it has not been exaggerated by the general prejudice entertained against his memory. When Wilson, the unhappy criminal, was delivered to him by the keeper of the prison, in order that he might be conducted to the place of execution, Porteous, not satisfied with the usual precautions to prevent escape, ordered him to be manacled. This might be justifiable from the character and bodily strength of the malefactor, as well as from the apprehensions so generally entertained of an expected rescue. But the handcuffs which were produced being found too small for the wrists of a man so big-boned as Wilson, Porteous proceeded with his own hands, and by great exertion of strength, to force them till they clasped together, to the exquisite torture of the unhappy criminal. Wilson remonstrated against such barbarous usage, declaring that the pain distracted his thoughts from the subjects of meditation proper to his unhappy condition.
``It signifies little,'' replied Captain Porteous; ``your pain will soon be at an end.''
``Your cruelty is great,'' answered the sufferer. ``You know not how soon you yourself may have occasion to ask the mercy which you are now refusing to a fellow-creature. May God forgive you!''
These words, long afterwards quoted and remembered, were all that passed between Porteous and his prisoner; but as they took air, and became known to the people, they greatly increased the popular compassion for Wilson, and excited a proportionate degree of indignation against Porteous; against whom, as strict, and even violent in the discharge of his unpopular office, the common people had some real, and many imaginary causes of complaint.
When the painful procession was completed, and Wilson, with the escort, had arrived at the scaffold in the Grassmarket, there appeared no signs of that attempt to rescue him which had occasioned such precautions. The multitude, in general, looked on with deeper interest than at ordinary executions; and there might be seen, on the countenances of many, a stern and indignant expression, like that with which the ancient Cameronians might be supposed to witness the execution of their brethren, who glorified the Covenant on the same occasion, and at the same spot. But there was no attempt at violence. Wilson himself seemed disposed to hasten over the space that divided time from eternity. The devotions proper and usual on such occasions were no sooner finished than he submitted to his fate, and the sentence of the law was fulfilled.
He had been suspended on the gibbet so long as to be totally deprived of life, when at once, as if occasioned by some newly received impulse, there arose a tumult among the multitude. Many stones were thrown at Porteous and his guards; some mischief was done; and the mob continued to press forward with whoops, shrieks, howls, and exclamations. A young fellow, with a sailor's cap slouched over his face, sprung on the scaffold, and cut the rope by which the criminal was suspended. Others approached to carry off the body, either to secure for it a decent grave, or to try, perhaps, some means of resuscitation. Captain Porteous was wrought, by this appearance of insurrection against his authority, into a rage so headlong as made him forget, that, the sentence having been fully executed, it was his duty not to engage in hostilities with the misguided multitude, but to draw off his men as fast as possible. He sprung from the scaffold, snatched a musket from one of his soldiers, commanded the party to give fire, and, as several eye-witnesses concurred in swearing, set them the example, by discharging his piece, and shooting a man dead on the spot. Several soldiers obeyed his command or followed his example; six or seven persons were slain, and a great many were hurt and wounded.
After this act of violence, the Captain proceeded to withdraw his men towards their guard-house in the High Street. The mob were not so much intimidated as incensed by what had been done. They pursued the soldiers with execrations, accompanied by volleys of stones. As they pressed on them, the rearmost soldiers turned, and again fired with fatal aim and execution. It is not accurately known whether Porteous commanded this second act of violence; but of course the odium of the whole transactions of the fatal day attached to him, and to him alone. He arrived at the guard-house, dismissed his soldiers, and went to make his report to the magistrates concerning the unfortunate events of the day.
Apparently by this time Captain Porteous had began to doubt the propriety of his own conduct, and the reception he met with from the magistrates was such as to make him still more anxious to gloss it over. He denied that he had given orders to fire; he denied he had fired with his own hand; he even produced the fusee which he carried as an officer for examination; it was found still loaded. Of three cartridges which he was seen to put in his pouch that morning, two were still there; a white handkerchief was thrust into the muzzle of the piece, and re- turned unsoiled or blackened. To the defence founded on these circumstances it was answered, that Porteous had not used his own piece, but had been seen to take one from a soldier. Among the many who had been killed and wounded by the unhappy fire, there were several of better rank; for even the humanity of such soldiers as fired over the heads of the mere rabble around the scaffold, proved in some instances fatal to persons who were stationed in windows, or observed the melancholy scene from a distance. The voice of public indignation was loud and general; and, ere men's tempers had time to cool, the trial of Captain Porteous took place before the High Court of Justiciary. After a long and patient hearing, the jury had the difficult duty of balancing the positive evidence of many persons, and those of respectability, who deposed positively to the prisoner's commanding his soldiers to fire, and himself firing his piece, of which some swore that they saw the smoke and flash, and beheld a man drop at whom it was pointed, with the negative testimony of others, who, though well stationed for seeing what had passed, neither heard Porteous give orders to fire, nor saw him fire himself; but, on the contrary, averred that the first shot was fired by a soldier who stood close by him. A great part of his defence was also founded on the turbulence of the mob, which witnesses, according to their feelings, their predilections, and their opportunities of observation, represented differently; some describing as a formidable riot, what others represented as a trifling disturbance such as always used to take place on the like occasions, when the executioner of the law, and the men commissioned to protect him in his task, were generally exposed to some indignities. The verdict of the jury sufficiently shows how the evidence preponderated in their minds. It declared that John Porteous fired a gun among the people assembled at the execution; that he gave orders to his soldiers to fire, by which many persons were killed and wounded; but, at the same time, that the prisoner and his guard had been wounded and beaten, by stones thrown at them by the multitude. Upon this verdict, the Lords of Justiciary passed sentence of death against Captain John Porteous, adjudging him, in the common form, to be hanged on a gibbet at the common place of execution, on Wednesday, 8th September 1736, and all his movable property to be forfeited to the king's use, according to the Scottish law in cases of wilful murder.<*>
- This ancient corps is now entirely disbanded. Their last march to do
duty at Hallowfair had something in it affecting. Their drums and fifes
had been wont on better days to play, on this joyous occasion, the lively
tune of
``Jockey to the fair;''
but on his final occasion the afflicted veterans moved slowly to the dirge of
* ``The last time I came ower the muir.''
CHAPTER THIRD.
``The hour's come, but not the man.''<*>
fate of manuscripts bequeathed to friends and executors is so uncertain, that the narrative containing these frail memorials of the old Town Guard of Edinburgh, who, with their grim and valiant corporal, John Dhu (the fiercest-looking fellow I ever saw), were, in my boyhood, the alternate terror and derision of the petulant brood of the High School, may, perhaps, only come to light when all memory of the institution has faded away, and then serve as an illustration of Kay's caricatures, who has preserved the features of some of their heroes. In the preceding generation, when there was a perpetual alarm for the plots and activity of the Jacobites, some pains were taken by the magistrates of Edinburgh to keep this corps, though composed always of such materials as we have noticed, in a more effective state than was afterwards judged necessary, when their most dangerous service was to skirmish with the rabble on the king's birthday. They were, therefore, more the objects of hatred, and less that of scorn, than they were afterwards accounted.
Kelpie.
On the day when the unhappy Porteous was expected to suffer the sentence of the law, the place of execution, extensive as it is, was crowded almost to suffocation. There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around it, or in the steep and crooked street called the Bow, by which the fatal procession was to descend from the High Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators. The uncommon height and antique appearance of these houses, some of which were formerly the property of the Knights Templars, and the Knights of St. John, and still exhibit on their fronts and gables the iron cross of these orders, gave additional effect to a scene in itself so striking. The area of the Grassmarket resembled a huge dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of which arose the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from which dangled the deadly halter. Every object takes interest from its uses and associations, and the erect beam and empty noose, things so simple in themselves, became, on such an occasion, objects of terror and of solemn interest.
Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a word spoken, save in whispers. The thirst of vengeance was in some degree allayed by its supposed certainty; and even the populace, with deeper feeling than they are wont to entertain, suppressed all clamorous exultation, and prepared to enjoy the scene of retaliation in triumph, silent and decent, though stern and relentless. It seemed as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal scorned to display itself in anything resembling the more noisy current of their ordinary feelings. Had a stranger consulted only the evidence of his ears, he might have supposed that so vast a multitude were assembled for some purpose which affected them with the deepest sorrow, and stilled those noises which, on all ordinary occasions, arise from such a concourse; but if he had gazed upon their faces, he would have been instantly undeceived. The compressed lip, the bent brow, the stern and flashing eye of almost everyone on whom he looked, conveyed the expression of men come to glut their sight with triumphant revenge. It is probable that the appearance of the criminal might have somewhat changed the temper of the populace in his favour, and that they might in the moment of death have forgiven the man against whom their resentment had been so fiercely heated. It had, however, been destined, that the mutability of their sentiments was not to be exposed to this trial.
The usual hour for producing the criminal had been past for many minutes, yet the spectators observed no symptom of his appearance. ``Would they venture to defraud public justice?'' was the question which men began anxiously to ask at each other. The first answer in every case was bold and positive,---``They dare not.'' But when the point was further canvassed, other opinions were entertained, and various causes of doubt were suggested. Porteous had been a favourite officer of the magistracy of the city, which, being a numerous and fluctuating body, requires for its support a degree of energy in its functionaries, which the individuals who compose it cannot at all times alike be supposed to possess in their own persons. It was remembered, that in the Information for Porteous (the paper, namely, in which his case was stated to the Judges of the criminal court), he had been described by his counsel as the person on whom the magistrates chiefly relied in all emergencies of uncommon difficulty. It was argued, too, that his conduct, on the unhappy occasion of Wilson's execution, was capable of being attributed to an imprudent excess of zeal in the execution of his duty, a motive for which those under whose authority he acted might be supposed to have great sympathy. And as these considerations might move the magistrates to make a favourable representation of Porteous's case, there were not wanting others in the higher departments of Government, which would make such suggestions favourably listened to.
The mob of Edinburgh, when thoroughly excited, had been at all times one of the fiercest which could be found in Europe; and of late years they had risen repeatedly against the Government, and sometimes not without temporary success. They were conscious, therefore, that they were no favourites with the rulers of the period, and that, if Captain Porteous's violence was not altogether regarded as good service, it might certainly be thought, that to visit it with a capital punishment would render it both delicate and dangerous for future officers, in the same circumstances, to act with effect in repressing tumults. There is also a natural feeling, on the part of all members of Government, for the general maintenance of authority; and it seemed not unlikely, that what to the relatives of the sufferers appeared a wanton and unprovoked massacre, should be otherwise viewed in the cabinet of St. James's. It might be there supposed, that upon the whole matter, Captain Porteous was in the exercise of a trust delegated to him by the lawful civil authority; that he had been assaulted by the populace, and several of his men hurt; and that, in finally repelling force by force, his conduct could be fairly imputed to no other motive than self-defence in the discharge of his duty.
These considerations, of themselves very powerful, induced the spectators to apprehend the possibility of a reprieve; and to the various causes which might interest the rulers in his favour, the lower part of the rabble added one which was peculiarly well adapted to their comprehension. It was averred, in order to increase the odium against Porteous, that while he repressed with the utmost severity the slightest excesses of the poor, he not only overlooked the license of the young nobles and gentry, but was very willing to lend them the countenance of his official authority, in execution of such loose pranks as it was chiefly his duty to have restrained. This suspicion, which was perhaps much exaggerated, made a deep impression on the minds of the populace; and when several of the higher rank joined in a petition, recommending Porteous to the mercy of the Crown, it was generally supposed he owed their favour not to any conviction of the hardship of his case, but to the fear of losing a convenient accomplice in their debaucheries. It is scarcely necessary to say how much this suspicion augmented the people's detestation of this obnoxious criminal, as well as their fear of his escaping the sentence pronounced against him.
While these arguments were stated and replied to, and canvassed and supported, the hitherto silent expectation of the people became changed into that deep and agitating murmur, which is sent forth by the ocean before the tempest begins to howl. The crowded populace, as if their motions had corresponded with the unsettled state of their minds, fluctuated to and fro without any visible cause of impulse, like the agitation of the waters, called by sailors the ground-swell. The news, which the magistrates had almost hesitated to communicate to them, were at length announced, and spread among the spectators with a rapidity like lightning. A reprieve from the Secretary of State's office, under the hand of his Grace the Duke of Newcastle, had arrived, intimating the pleasure of Queen Caroline (regent of the kingdom during the absence of George II. on. the Continent), that the execution of the sentence of death pronounced against John Porteous, late Captain-Lieutenant of the City Guard of Edinburgh, present prisoner in the Tolbooth of that city, be respited for six weeks from the time appointed for his execution.
The assembled spectators of almost all degrees, whose minds had been wound up to the pitch which we have described, uttered a groan, or rather a roar of indignation and disappointed revenge, similar to that of a tiger from whom his meal has been rent by his keeper when he was just about to devour it. This fierce exclamation seemed to forbode some immediate explosion of popular resentment, and, in fact, such had been expected by the magistrates, and the necessary measures had been taken to repress it. But the shout was not repeated, nor did any sudden tumult ensue, such as it appeared to announce. The populace seemed to be ashamed of having expressed their disappointment in a vain clamour, and the sound changed, not into the silence which had preceded the arrival of these stunning news, but into stifled mutterings, which each group maintained among themselves, and which were blended into one deep and hoarse murmur which floated above the assembly.
Yet still, though all expectation of the execution was over, the mob remained assembled, stationary, as it were, through very resentment, gazing on the preparations for death, which had now been made in vain, and stimulating their feelings, by recalling the various claims which Wilson might have had on royal mercy, from the mistaken motives on which he acted, as well as from the generosity he had displayed towards his accomplice. ``This man,'' they said,---``the brave, the resolute, the generous, was executed to death without mercy for stealing a purse of gold, which in some sense he might consider as a fair reprisal; while the profligate satellite, who took advantage of a trifling tumult, inseparable from such occasions, to shed the blood of twenty of his fellow-citizens, is deemed a fitting object for the exercise of the royal prerogative of mercy. Is this to be borne?---would our fathers have borne it? Are not we, like them, Scotsmen and burghers of Edinburgh?''
The officers of justice began now to remove the scaffold, and other preparations which had been made for the execution, in hopes, by doing so, to accelerate the dispersion of the multitude. The measure had the desired effect; for no sooner had the fatal tree been unfixed from the large stone pedestal or socket in which it was secured, and sunk slowly down upon the wain intended to remove it to the place where it was usually deposited, than the populace, after giving vent to their feelings in a second shout of rage and mortification, began slowly to disperse to their usual abodes and occupations.
The windows were in like manner gradually deserted, and groups of the more decent class of citizens formed themselves, as if waiting to return homewards when the streets should be cleared of the rabble. Contrary to what is frequently the case, this description of persons agreed in general with the sentiments of their inferiors, and considered the cause as common to all ranks. Indeed, as we have already noticed, it was by no means amongst the lowest class of the spectators, or those most likely to be engaged in the riot at Wilson's execution, that the fatal fire of Porteous's soldiers had taken effect. Several persons were killed who were looking out at windows at the scene, who could not of course belong to the rioters, and were persons of decent rank and condition. The burghers, therefore, resenting the loss which had fallen on their own body, and proud and tenacious of their rights, as the citizens of Edinburgh have at all times been, were greatly exasperated at the unexpected respite of Captain Porteous.
It was noticed at the time, and afterwards more particularly remembered, that, while the mob were in the act of dispersing, several individuals were seen busily passing from one place and one group of people to another, remaining long with none, but whispering for a little time with those who appeared to be declaiming most violently against the conduct of Government. These active agents had the appearance of men from the country, and were generally supposed to be old friends and confederates of Wilson, whose minds were of course highly excited against Porteous.
If, however, it was the intention of these men to stir the multitude to any sudden act of mutiny, it seemed for the time to be fruitless. The rabble, as well as the more decent part of the assembly, dispersed, and went home peaceably; and it was only by observing the moody discontent on their brows, or catching the tenor of the conversation they held with each other, that a stranger could estimate the state of their minds. We will give the reader this advantage, by associating ourselves with one of the numerous groups who were painfully ascending the steep declivity of the West Bow, to return to their dwellings in the Lawnmarket.
``An unco thing this, Mrs. Howden,'' said old Peter Plumdamas to his neighbour the rouping-wife, or saleswoman, as he offered her his arm to assist her in the toilsome ascent, ``to see the grit folk at Lunnon set their face against law and gospel, and let loose sic a reprobate as Porteous upon a peaceable town!''
``And to think o' the weary walk they hae gien us,' answered
Mrs. Howden, with a groan; ``and sic a comfortable
window as I had gotten, too, just within a penny-stane-cast of
the scaffold---I could hae heard every word the minister said---
and to pay twalpennies for my stand, and a for naething!''
``I am judging,'' said Mr. Plumdamas, ``that this reprieve wadna stand gude in the auld Scots law, when the kingdom was a kingdom.''
``I dinna ken muckle about the law,' answered Mrs. Howden;
``but I ken, when we had a king, and a chancellor, and
parliament men o our ain, we could aye peeble them wi' stanes
when they werena gude bairns---But naebody's nails can reach
the length o' Lunnon.''
``Weary on Lunnon, and a' that e'er came out o't!'' said Miss Grizel Damahoy, an ancient seamstress; ``they hae taen away our parliament, and they hae oppressed our trade. Our gentles will hardly allow that a Scots needle can sew ruffles on a sark, or lace on an owerlay.''
``Ye may say that---Miss Damahoy, and I ken o' them that
hae gotten raisins frae Lunnon by forpits at ance,' responded
Plumdamas; ``and then sic an host of idle English gaugers and
excisemen as hae come down to vex and torment us, that an
honest man canna fetch sae muckle as a bit anker o brandy frae
Leith to the Lawnmarket, but he's like to be rubbit o' the very
gudes he's bought and paid for.---Weel, I winna justify Andrew
Wilson for pitting hands on what wasna his; but if he took nae
mair than his ain, there's an awfu' difference between that and
the fact this man stands for.''
``If ye speak about the law,'' said Mrs. Howden, ``here comes Mr. Saddletree, that can settle it as weel as ony on the bench.''
The party she mentioned, a grave elderly person, with a superb periwig, dressed in a decent suit of sad-coloured clothes, came up as she spoke, and courteously gave his arm to Miss Grizel Damahoy.
It may be necessary to mention, that Mr. Bartoline Saddletree kept an excellent and highly-esteemed shop for harness, saddles, &c. &c., at the sign of the Golden Nag, at the head of Bess Wynd.<*> His genius, however (as he himself and most of
- The signatures affixed to the death-warrant of Captain Porteous were--- Andrew Fletcher of Milton, Lord Justice-Clerk. Sir James Mackenzie, Lord Royston. David Erskine, Lord Dun. Sir Walter Pringle, Lord Newhall. Sir Gilbert Elliot, Lord Minto.
- There is a tradition, that while a little stream was swollen into a torrent by
recent showers, the discontented voice of the Water Spirit was heard to pronounce
these words. At the some moment a man, urged on by his fate, or, in Scottish
language, fey, arrived at a gallop, and prepared to cross the water. No remonstrance
from the bystanders was of power to stop him---he plunged into the stream,
* and perished.
This word in explanation has been thrown in to the reader, while Saddletree was laying down, with great precision, the law upon Porteous's case, by which he arrived at this conclusion, that, if Porteous had fired five minutes sooner, before Wilson was cut down, he would have been versans in licito; engaged, that is, in a lawful act, and only liable to be punished propter excessum, or for lack of discretion, which might have mitigated the punishment to _p
na ordinaria._ ``Discretion!'' echoed Mrs. Howden, on whom, it may well be supposed, the fineness of this distinction was entirely thrown away,---``whan had Jock Porteous either grace, discretion, or gude manners?---I mind when his father''------
``But, Mrs. Howden,'' said Saddletree---
``And I,'' said Miss Damahoy, ``mind when his mother''------
``Miss Damahoy,'' entreated the interrupted orator------
``And I,'' said Plumdamas, ``mind when his wife''------
``Mr. Plumdamas---Mrs. Howden---Miss Damahoy,'
again implored the orator,---``Mind the distinction, as Counsellor Crossmyloof says---`I,says he, `take a distinction.' Now, the body of the criminal being cut down, and the execution ended, Porteous was no longer official; the act which he came to protect and guard, being done and ended, he was no better than _cuivis ex populo._''``Quivis---quivis, Mr. Saddletree, craving your pardon,'' said (with a prolonged emphasis on the first syllable) Mr. Butler, the deputy-schoolmaster of a parish near Edinburgh, who at that moment came up behind them as the false Latin was uttered.
``What signifies interrupting me, Mr. Butler?---but I am glad to see ye notwithstan