For several years, there was little to be observed
regarding Scotland, but that the non-conformity of its people in several
of the more populous provinces provoked an incessant show of severities on
the part of the government. During this time, literature and science
remained wholly uncultivated; no department of industry shewed any decided
tendency to advance. The energies of the nation were arrested by a
frightful contention, most degrading to the object for which men were
contending, and than which nothing could have been more hostile to the
spirit of religion simple and undefiled.
A preacher named James Mitchell had, in 1668, attempted
the life of Archbishop Sharpe, and had actually inflicted a mortal wound
upon the Bishop of Orkney. Being apprehended in 1674, he was confined for
several years, and at length condemned and executed. The crime was not so
odious among his party as to extinguish their sympathy; accordingly, this
wretched man was looked upon by them as a kind of martyr. After this, the
persecution for field-meetings became more than ever severe. A calculation
has been made that, previously to 1678, seventeen thousand persons had
suffered fining and imprisonment on this account. The government resolved
to try the expedient of pressing the subscription of a bond renouncing
conventicles; and to support them in their efforts, an army of ten
thousand men was collected at Stirling, of whom the greater part were
Highlanders. At the end of January, this host was let loose upon the
western counties, with instructions to enforce fines from all who would
not take the bond. The resistance was passive, but universal. Only twenty
out of two or three thousand householders in Lanarkshire could be
prevailed upon to abandon a mode of worship which possessed so many
charms. They preferred to see themselves spoiled of a great share of their
worldly goods. Even the nobles, and other conspicuous persons, who lay
most open to state persecution, generally refused the bond. The Council
was deeply mortified at the passiveness of the people, for they had
expected a rebellion, which would have justified them in severer measures.
After a month, finding the attempt ineffectual, Lauderdale was obliged to
order the army away. The Highland Host, as it was called, left a deep
impression upon the memory of those who experienced its oppressions .
It is not alleged that the mountaineers shed much
blood, but they freely helped themselves to whatever movable articles they
took a fancy for. As they returned to the north, the whole country seemed
to be removing its household furniture from one district to another.
Ayrshire alone suffered losses to the amount of £12,000 sterling, which,
in those days, was a very large sum.
A deep spirit of resentment against the Council, and
especially the prelatic part of it, was the natural result of all these
occurrences. The worst passions of human nature mingled themselves with
the purest and noblest aspirations; and men appealed, in language of
bitterness, from the iniquity of their earthly rulers to the justice of
God. The wisest and best natures were perverted by feelings which had
become morbid by extreme excitement. On the 3d of May 1679, while the
public mind was in this condition, a small party of Fife gentlemen went
out with the deliberate intention of assassinating the sheriff at a chase.
Disappointed in that object, they had not dispersed when a greater victim
fell in their way. As they were riding over Magus Moor, near St Andrews,
Archbishop Sharpe happened to pass. The opportunity appeared to their
minds as a dispensation of Providence. They commanded him to come out of
the coach, apparently that his daughter, who was with him, might not
suffer from their shot. The archbishop tremblingly obeyed; he flung
himself upon his knees, offered them mercy, forgiveness, everything, so
that they would spare his life. The leader sternly reminded him of the
deadly injuries he had inflicted upon the church and its martyrs. A volley
of shot was poured upon his suppliant figure, and finally the unhappy
prelate was hewed down with their swords, crying for mercy with his latest
breath. They left his daughter lamenting over his body, which was
afterwards found to bear such marks of their barbarity as could scarcely
be credited.
The assassination of Sharpe produced a great alarm
among the remaining members of the government, each of whom knew how much
he had done to provoke the same fate. In another respect, it was perhaps a
matter of rejoicing to these men, as it afforded them an excuse for
increasing that severity on which alone they depended as a means of
maintaining the state. The Presbyterians never by any formal act expressed
approval of the deed; indeed, many of them must have felt that it was an
affair of the worst omen to their party. Neither, however, did they ever
express themselves as offended by the violence of their brethren; and even
half a century after the event, their historians are more anxious to shew
that the archbishop deserved his fate, than to apologise for the barbarity
of his murderers.
The blame of the murder has been the more plausibly
thrown upon the whole party, that it was immediately followed by an
insurrection. On the 29th of May, which was the king’s birthday, a party
of about eighty deliberately marched into the town of Rutherglen, three
miles from Glasgow, where they publicly burnt all the acts of parliament
against Presbytery. They afterwards extinguished the bonfires, in order to mark their
disapprobation of all holidays of human institution, and concluded by
fixing upon the Cross a declaration of their sentiments respecting the
late proceedings of the government. Having done this, they retired to a
mountainous part of the country between Lanarkshire and Ayrshire, where
there was to be a grand conventicle on the ensuing Sunday. The government
looked upon this proceeding as an act of rebellion, and despatched a
military party after the offenders, consisting of three troops of newly
levied dragoons, under the command of Captain Graham of Claverhouse, a man
of remarkable. energy of character, who had recently entered the king’s
service in Scotland. On Sunday, Graham came up with the insurgents, at a
place near Loudoun Hill, where they were assembled at devotion. They were
about forty horse and two hundred foot, under the command of a gentleman
named Hamilton, but without the least discipline or acquaintance with
military affairs. Graham fired a volley, which they eluded in a great
measure by falling upon their faces. He then tried to charge them through
a morass, behind which they were placed, but in doing so threw his men
into confusion, and exposed himself to the assault of the enemy. They took
instant advantage of his distress, attacked the dragoons sword in hand,
and soon compelled them to retire. Graham had his horse shot under him,
and about twenty of his men were slain, while only one of the insurgents
had fallen. A minister and some country-people whom he had brought along
with him as prisoners were rescued by the victors.
The broken dragoons retreated to Glasgow, which was
then garrisoned by about eight hundred troops. The insurgents, flushed
with their success, and thinking it safer to go on than to draw back,
marched next morning to that city with considerably increased forces. The
troops barricaded the streets, so that the country-people could make
little impression upon them, while they were greatly exposed in their
turn. Eight were slain in this needless encounter; the rest retreated in
rather low spirits to Hamilton, where they formed a kind of camp.
Their numbers were here augmented in a short time to
about five thousand, chiefly peasants and farmers of Lanarkshire,
Ayrshire, and Galloway, but comprising also a few gentlemen of property,
though none of any note. Hamilton continued to exercise a nominal command,
though rather from his having been the leading man at the commencement,
than from any idea of his fitness for the situation. All of them had arms,
and many of them horses; but there was neither discipline, nor any attempt
to impose it. The whole insurrection proceeded upon mere impulse. The
unfortunate people acted, it would appear, simply from the pressure of
immediate circumstances, glad to protect themselves, for a while, even at
the risk of utter destruction, against an oppression they could no longer
endure.
The Privy Council collected all its disposable forces
at Edinburgh, and requested instructions from the court. It was speedily
determined that the Duke of Monmouth should be sent down to take command
of the army. This was the eldest natural son of the king; a youth of
amiable character, anxious for popularity, and intimately connected with
the English nonconformists, whom he expected to favour him in his views
upon the succession. The duke arrived in Edinburgh on the 19th of June,
and led forward the army to meet the insurgents. He marched very slowly,
in order, as was supposed, to afford them an opportunity of dispersing;
but they shewed no disposition to avail themselves of his kindness. They
had spent the three weeks during which they had existed as an army, not in
training themselves to arms, or arranging themselves into proper
divisions, but in disputing about the spiritual objects for which they
were in arms. One great cause of division was the Indulgence, which some
were for condemning, and others for overlooking; they were also greatly
divided as to the propriety of acknowledging their allegiance to the king.
In these abstractions they lost all view of practical measures. They
called such things ‘trusting in the arm of flesh,’ for which, of course,
they could adduce an abundance of condemnatory texts.
On Sunday, the 22d of June, Monmouth had advanced to
Bothwell, a village about a mile distant from the insurgent camp. The
river Clyde ran between the two armies, and was only to be crossed by
Bothwell Bridge, a long narrow pass, highly capable of defence. The
non-conformists, who lay upon the ground beyond the bridge, were still, at
this late moment, holding high disputes, and there was even a proposal for
remodelling the army, and appointing new officers. The moderate party sent
two gentlemen in disguise—Mr David Hume and the Laird of Kaitloch—to
present a supplication to the duke, in which it was proposed to disperse,
on the condition that their grievances should be redressed. But Monmouth
was unable, from his instructions, to treat with them unless they should
have first laid down their arms. He charged the two deputies with a
message to that effect, threatening if they did not throw themselves upon
his mercy within half an hour, that he should advance with his army. When
these gentlemen returned, they found the army on the point of falling to
pieces through dissension. In truth, many must have now been only seeking
for occasion to withdraw themselves from an adventure which they saw to be
ruinous. The most zealous and clamorous were the first to retire. The rest
remained, unable either to take advantage of the duke’s proposal, or to
prepare for giving him battle. At the time he had specified, he advanced
his troops to the brink of the river, and sent a large party to force the
passage of the bridge. That point was stoutly defended, for nearly an
hour, by some men from Galloway and Stirlingshire, under Hackstoun of
Rathillet. At length, when their ammunition ran short, they sent back to
the main body for a supply, which was denied. They were of course obliged
to retire, and leave a free passage to the royal troops. When the horse
soon after rode off from the field, the foot, left defenceless, could not
stand an instant against the charge of the enemy. Excepting twelve
hundred, who laid down their arms, the whole body took to flight, without
having made the least effort at resistance. About three hundred were cut
down in the pursuit.
The prisoners were brought in a body to Edinburgh, and
confined, like sheep in a fold, within the gloomy precincts of the
Greyfriars’ Church-yard, where, for four months, they had no seat or couch
but the bare ground, and no covering but the sky. Two clergymen, Kid and
King, were executed. Of the rest, all were set at liberty who would own
the insurrection to have been rebellion, and the slaughter of the
archbishop murder, and promise never more to take up arms against
the government. Those who refused were sent to the Plantations; a mode of
disposing prisoners which had been introduced by Cromwell.
Under all the severities of this reign, the spirit of
English liberty was still kept alive. The king having been long married
without any children, his brother, the Duke of York, was heir-presumptive.
But this prince, besides various natural faults of character, had unfitted
himself for governing a Protestant people by becoming an avowed convert to
the Catholic faith. An attempt was made in the House of Commons to pass an
act for excluding him from the succession; it was read a second time by a
majority of 207 against 128; and the king only evaded the question by
proroguing the parliament. The duke, seeing himself so unpopular in
England, resolved to make friends, if possible, in Scotland; so that, in
the event of any resistance to his succession in the former country, he
might bring up an army of Scotch to his assistance. He therefore paid a
visit to Edinburgh in October 1679, and revived the long dormant court of
Holyroodhouse. As the persecution had been in a great measure a local
affair, it operated little against his present views. The gentry, except
in the western district, were chiefly Cavaliers; in the Highlands,
altogether so. Among a people remote from a court, the mere presence of
royalty—its slightest acts of condescension—are sure to communicate a
favourable impression, although, perhaps, accompanied by but little merit
or virtue in the royal person. We are not therefore to be surprised that
the duke somewhat strengthened himself in Scotland on this
occasion. He returned at the end of February 1680 to
London.
The excitement of the time now gave rise to a
new and more fanatical sect, who renounced their allegiance, and issued
anathemas not only against their persecutors, but against the great mass
of their brethren, who had submitted to the government. A
minister named Cargill and his associate,
Cameron, with about twenty armed men, appeared at Sanquhar
on the 22d of June, and there affixed upon the market-cross a declaration,
in which they disavowed all obedience to the king, and protested
against the succession of the Duke of York. Cameron was
soon after killed, with some of his friends, at Airdsrnoss, and Hackstoun
of Rathillet was seized and executed. Cargill, so
far from being deterred, held a large conventicle at Torwood, where he
formally delivered over the king, his brother, and ministers, to Satan,
after the usual forms of excommunication. He was soon after taken prisoner
and hanged. The whole proceedings of this sect were seriously injurious to
the great body of Presbyterians; as the government, wilfully overlooking
remonstrances to the contrary, held all that was done as criminating the
whole body, and took occasion from that to exercise greater severities.
In October 1680, the Duke of York was again obliged, by
the patriotic party in England, to take up his residence at Holyroodhouse.
A bill for excluding him from the throne was now actually passed by the
House of Commons, but was lost in the House of Lords by thirty-three
against thirty. On Christmas Day, the spirit of the Scottish people
against a Catholic successor was manifested by the students of the
Edinburgh University, who, notwithstanding every effort to prevent them,
publicly burnt the pope in effigy. A parliament, the first for nine years,
sat down in July 1681, the duke acting as commissioner. A test oath was
here framed, to be taken by all persons in public trusts, as an assurance
of their loyalty; but it turned out to be such a jumble of contradictory
obligations, that many persons, including eighty of the established
clergy, refused to take it. The Earl of Argyle, son to the late marquis,
and a faithful friend to the Protestant religion, would only receive it
with an explanation, which was held to be an act of treason, and he was
accordingly tried and condemned to death. The real object of this
prosecution was to destroy a powerful Highland chief, who might be
disposed to use his influence against the succession of the Duke of York.
His lordship contrived to escape to Holland.
In the latter part of this year, the party left by
Cargill and Cameron formed themselves into a secret society, and on the
12th of January 1682, published at Lanark a declaration of adherence to
the transactions at Sanquhar, which they affected to consider as the work
of a convention of estates. This, of course, only provoked new severities.
In March 1682, the Duke of York returned to England, in
order to hold a conference with the king. Coming back in May for his
family, his vessel was wrecked on a sandbank near Yarmouth, when a hundred
and fifty persons perished, including some of the first quality. After
spending about a week in Edinburgh, he returned to England.
The ancient Presbyterian spirit was now reduced so low,
or so many of the clergy of that kind were destroyed and imprisoned, that
there was not a single individual who preached in defiance of the king’s
supremacy. The united societies, as the more unsubmissive termed
themselves, were obliged to send a youth named Renwick to Groningen, in
Belgium, in order to study divinity and receive ordination, as they could
not in any other way obtain a preacher. A general disposition to
emigration began to arise; and some gentlemen proposed to sell their
property, and become settlers in the new colony of Carolina. While engaged
at London in making the proper arrangements, they came in contact with the
patriots of the House of Commons, who, defeated in the Exclusion Bill,
were concerting measures for bringing about a change of government. Common
desperation made them friends; and a correspondence was opened with the
Earl of Argyle in Holland, for an invasion from that quarter, in
connection with an insurrection in England. Some subordinate members of
the conspiracy plotted the assassination of the king; and, being
discovered, the whole affair was brought to light. Lord Russell and
Algernon Sidney suffered death. Baillie of Jerviswood was sent to
Scotland, and there, under the most iniquitous circumstances, consigned to
the executioner. It was now hardly possible, by any course of conduct, to
gain assurance of not being prosecuted. Masters were held liable for
servants; landlords for their tenants; fathers for their wives and
children; and to have the least intercourse with a proscribed person was
the same as to be actually guilty. The soldiery were now permitted by an
act of parliament to execute the laws without trial. If any one,
therefore, refused to answer certain questions, or gave rise to suspicion
by running away, he was shot. Numbers thus perished in the fields and on
the highways. In short, the reign of Charles II. terminated, February 6,
1685, amidst a scene of oppression, bloodshed, and spoil, such as was
never before witnessed in the country, even in the most barbarous times.
1673, June
Died Sir Robert Murray of Craigie, Justice-clerk, and an eminent
councillor; memorable above all as one of a small group of learned and
thoughtful men who, in 1662, founded the Royal Society, of which
illustrious body Sir Robert was the first president, and for a time ‘the
life and soul.’ For the last six years of his life, he bore a leading part
in the government of Scotland. Not a Whig had been fined, tortured, or
banished. not a commission against ‘the horrid crime of witchcraft’ had
been issued; but the act was sanctioned by this gentleman, ‘the most
universally beloved and esteemed by men of all sides and sorts, of any man
I have ever known in my whole life,’ and who ‘knew the history of nature
beyond any man I ever yet knew;’ who ‘had a most diffused love to all
mankind, and delighted in every occasion of doing good;’ and who ‘had a
superiority of genius and comprehension to most men.’ —Burnet. Sir
Robert’s father was a younger son of a distinguished Perthshire family,
Murray of Abercairney. He himself had been the friend of Charles I. and of
Richelieu, and latterly he was a favourite of Charles II. When the
daughter of Sir Robert was married in London to Lord Yester, eldest son of
the Earl of Tweeddale, ‘the king himself led the bride uncovered to
church.’ —Kir.
To find two such amiable men as the Earl of Tweeddale
and Sir Robert Murray taking part for many years in the severe measures
against the Scottish Presbyterians—though, it must be admitted, with the
effect of infusing a certain mildness—and to find day after day the bloody
edicts of the Privy Council sanctioned by not only their names, but by
those of the Duke of Hamilton and the Earl of Argyle, the latter of whom
was to die the death of a martyred patriot, while the former was to
preside in the convention which settled the Stuarts’ forfeited crown on
William and Mary, certainly presents a striking view of the mixed nature
of human tendencies. As regards, too, the philosophical character of the
founder of the Royal Society, it can never be forgotten that one of his
contributions to the Transactions of that sage body was an account of
the
development of barnacles into sea-birds—a most
noted example of the power of preconceived notions to blind the
perceptions of even a faithful and intelligent observer. His testimony on
this subject was thus presented in the Philosophical Transactions:
‘Being in the isle of East [Uist], I saw lying upon the
shore a cut of a large fir-tree, of about 24 foot diameter, and nine or
ten foot long; which had lain so long out of the water that it was very
dry; and most of the shells that formerly covered it were worn or rubbed
off. Only on the parts that lay next the ground there still hung
multitudes of little shells, having within them little birds perfectly
shaped, supposed to be barnacles. These shells hang at the tree by a neck
longer than the shell, of a kind of filmy substance, round and
hollow, and creased, not unlike the windpipe of a chicken,
spreading out broadest where it is fastened to the tree, from which it
seems to draw and convey the matter, which serves for the growth and
vegetation of the shell and the little bird within it. This bird, in every
shell that I opened, as well the least as the biggest, I found so
curiously and completely formed, that there appeared nothing wanting as to
the external parts, for making up a perfect sea-fowl; every little
part appearing so distinctly, that the whole looked like a large bird seen
through a concave or diminishing glass, colour and features being
everywhere so clear and neat. The little bill like that of a goose, the
eyes marked, the head, neck, breast, wing, tail, and feet formed; the
feathers everywhere perfectly shaped and blackish coloured; and the feet
like those of other water-fowl, to my best remembrance. All being dead and
dry, I did not look after the inward parts of them. But having nipped off
and broken a great many of them, I carried about twenty or twenty-four
away with me….Nor did I ever see any of the little birds
alive, nor met with anybody that did. Only, some credible persons have
assured me they have seen some as big as their fist.’
After all, it must be acknowledged there is something
very perplexing about these cirripeds, and calculated to excuse the
mistake which so long existed regarding them, since it was not till about
1844, that naturalists could determine whether they belonged to the
articulate or the molluscan division of the animal kingdom. It is scarcely
necessary to remark that they are now concluded to be articulates, of the
crustacean class. Even Cuvier had placed them under the molluscs, though
regarding them as intermediate between these and the articulata. As to the
eyes spoken of by Sir Robert Murray, it may be observed that the barnacle
has latterly been found to have visual organs in an early period of its
existence, and to lose them when at full growth. When Mr Thomson of Cork,
about 1830, described the actual characters of the animal, many
naturalists for a long time refused to believe in his statements.
A sumptuary law was passed in the parliament in 1672,
‘discharging the wearing of silver lace and silk stuffs, upon a design to
encourage the making of fine stuffs within the kingdom, and to repress the
excessive use of these commodies."
July 8
An effort was made to carry this law into force. On information,
from Alexander Milne, collector of his majesty’s customs in
Edinburgh, the Council had up before them Sir John Colquhoun of Luss, who,
in breach of a late act of parliament forbidding the lieges
to wear clothes ornamented with ‘silk-lace, gimp-lace, or any other lace
or embroidering or silk,’ had appeared, during the bypast month, wearing
‘a black justicat, whereupon there was black silk or gimp-lace.’
Sir John was condemned, in terms of the act of parliament, to pay a fine
of five hundred merks, ‘one half to his majesty’s cash-keeper for his
majesty’s use, and the other half to Alexander Milne.’—P. C.
R.
Nearly about the same time, Manna Kinloch, wife of
James Charteris, writer, was arraigned before the Privy Council for
wearing fine apparel contrary to the same sumptuary act, but was
discharged for lack of proof. Two legal questions arose in connection with
this case. The first was: If a woman be convicted and punished for such an
offence, ought her husband to be liable to make good the fine, or should
she alone be punished by imprisonment? Obviously, if the husband be made
liable, ‘many wives, to affront their husbands, or otherwise be avenged on
them, would break the law of purpose.’ The second point was: How shall the
offence, in most instances, be proved, if the evidence of women be
rejected—as it seems to have then been in all except certain special
cases—for it must often be that none but women have an opportunity of
observing the offence ?—Foun.
The summer of this year was exceedingly wet, and the
harvest thereby much endangered.—Law.
Most probably, the carriages proposed to be set up in
1610 by Henry Anderson the Pomeranian, to run between Edinburgh and Leith
with a charge of two shillings Scots for each person,’ were either not
realised or quickly withdrawn, for nothing more is heard of them, and we
find in 1702 one Robert Miller getting an exclusive privilege of putting
coaches on that brief but important route, implying of course that no
other such conveyances then existed. Street-carriages, which had been set
up in London in the reign of Charles I., did not come into use in Scotland
till after the Restoration. On the occasion of the unfortunate duel in
1667 between William Douglas of Whittingham and Sir John Home of Eccles,’
we hear of the parties going to the ground in a hackney-coach. Six years
later, regular arrangements were made by the Edinburgh magistrates for a
system of street-carriages, and the number then in service appears to have
been twenty. It was ordered that they should be numbered 1, 2, 3, &c.,
with a view to ready reference in case of any complaint from a passenger,
and that they should have a fixed place on the High Street between the
heads of Niddry’s and Blackfriars’ Wynds. The fare to Leith for two or
three persons in summer was to be 1s. sterling, or for four persons, 1s.
4d.; the fare to the Abbey, 9d., and as much back again.’
It is pretty certain that this system of
street-carriages maintained its ground, as in A Short Account of
Scotland, written by an Englishman in 1688, the author
tells us that, while there were no stage-coaches in Scotland, ‘there are a
few hackneys at Edinburgh, which they may hire into the country on urgent
occasions.’ It is to be remarked, however, that Edinburgh, being all
packed within a space of a mile in length by half a mile in breadth, upon
irregular ground, and with very few streets fit for the passage of wheeled
vehicles, was a discouraging field for this kind of conveyance. Sedans
maintained a preference over coaches till the extension of the city in the
reign of George III. Arnot tells us that while there were, in 1778, only
nine hackney-carriages in our city, there were a hundred and eighty-eight
public chairs, besides about fifty kept by private families.’
Sep 5
During several by-past years, licences had been given in frequent
succession to vessels, to carry off idle, vagrant, and criminal people to
the plantations in Virginia and elsewhere. One ship engaged in this
kidnapping service, and which bore the hypocritical appellative of
The Ewe and Lamb,
seems to have been particularly active. We now
find complaints made that ‘the master and merchants of the ship called the
Hercules,
bound for the plantations, have apprehended some free persons and put them
aboard the said ship, upon pretext that they are vagabonds, or given their
consent thereto.’ The Lords therefore commissioned two of their number to
go aboard and inquire, and to liberate any persons improperly detained.—P.
C. R.
Oct 11
That indispensable conveniency of modem times, the
coffee-house—which had taken its rise in London during the
Commonwealth—made its way into Scotland during the
ensuing reign. The first time we hear of it north of the Tweed is when
Colonel Walter Whiteford—are we to suppose some reduced soldier of the
Scottish army of 1651?—was, on application, allowed by the magistrates of
Glasgow to set up a house in that city ‘for making, selling, and topping
of coffee.’—M. of G.
Under the date noted, the Privy Council Record tells us
a note-worthy tale of an Edinburgh coffee-house.
‘In Thomas Robertson his new land near to the
Parliament House,’ one James Row kept a coffee-house, probably the first
such establishment known in Edinburgh. On Sunday the 28th of October 1677,
he so far risked the wrath of his neighbours the Privy Councillors, as to
have an unlawful preacher holding forth in his house during the time of
ordinary service in the churches. Robert Johnston, town-major, who had
authority from the Privy Council to see after such matters, came to the
place with some of his myrmidons, and found the ‘turnpike’ or common stair
filled with people, the overflowing of the congregation. Making his way to
the ordinary door of Row’s house, and demanding admission, he was kept
there for some time, during which he heard a great noise of furniture and
of people within. On being admitted, he found that the minister and his
auditors had been smuggled out by ‘a laigh or privat entry.’ Johnston then
returned to the street, and was walking quietly at the Cross, when Row
came up and ‘did upbraid, threaten, and abuse him for coming to his house,
and told him that he durst not for his hanging come to his house again and
do the like, or, if he came that gait, he should not win so weel away.’
Thus he railed at the town-major all the way ‘from the Cross Well to the
Stane Shop, shouting and crying so loud as the people gathered in
multitudes,’ though, seeing what sort of affair it was, they soon
dispersed. Afterwards, Row went to the magistrates and told them ‘he could
not get God worshipped in his own house for that officious fellow the
town-major, thereby insinuating that the due execution of his majesty’s
laws did prejudge the worship of God.’
Row was fined in five hundred merks, and obliged to ask
Johnston’s pardon; and immediately after, his coffee-house was ordered to
be shut up.—P. C. R.
People were already accustomed to go to coffee-houses
in order to learn the news of the day. In 1680, there was an order of the
Privy Council that ‘the gazettes and news-letters read in coffee-houses,
be first presented to the Bishop of Edinburgh, or any other privy
councillor, that they may consider them and thereby false and seditious
news and slanders may be prevented.’—Foun. And not long
after—namely, in January 1681—by order of the Privy Council, the
magistrates of Edinburgh called all the masters of coffee-houses before
them, and obliged them to come under a bond for five thousand merks to
suffer no newspapers to be read in their houses but such as were approved
of by the officers of state.’
Dec 11
Mr Robert Kirk, minister of Aberfoyle, petitioned the Privy Council for
liberty to print a translation, executed by himself of the last hundred of
the Psalms into the Irish tongue. The matter was referred to the
approbation of the Earl of Argyle, and conferences were appointed about
it, to take place at Inverary.
Mr Kirk’s translation of the Psalms into Gaelic was an
important contribution to the means for establishing Protestant Christian
worship in the Highlands. On account of the proficiency which he thus
shewed himself to possess in the Gaelic language,. he was sent for to
London, to superintend the printing of the Irish translation of the Bible,
prepared under the direction of Bishop Bedel, and published in 1685. He
died in 1692, and was buried in the church-yard of Aberfoyle, under a
stone bearing this inscription: ‘Robertus Kirk, A.M. Linguæ Hiberniæ
Lumen.’
‘To suppress the impudent and growing atheism of this
age; Mr Kirk printed in 1691 a small treatise, ‘An Essay on the Nature and
Actions of the Subterranean (and for the most part) Invisible People,
heretofoir going under the Name of Elves, Faunes, and Fairies.
.. . as they are described by those having the
Second Sight, &c.,’ which certainly forms a curious illustration of the
quasi orthodox beliefs of a Highland
minister of the seventeenth century. He describes the fairies as possessed
of ‘light and changeable bodies of the nature of a condensed cloud; and
living in little hillocks, where they are ‘sometimes heard to bake bread,
strike hammers, and do such like services.’ Forced to shift their
residences once a quarter, they are liable to be seen by second-sighted
men on their travels at four seasons of the year; but are
also often ‘seen to eat at funerals and banquets.’ At such festive
meetings, each mortal guest is sometimes observed to have a double of
himself ‘perfectly resembling him in all points,’ being one of these
subterranean spirits. The ‘reflex-man’ or ‘co-walker’ haunts the original
as his shadow, ‘whether to guard him from the secret assaults of some of
its own folks, or only as ane apertful ape to counterfeit all his
actions.’ ‘Being invited and earnestly required, these companions make
themselves known and familiar to men; otherwise, being in a
different state and element, they neither can nor will easily converse
with them.’
Mr Kirk informs us that these spiritual people live in
fair well-lighted houses, where all the usual affairs of human life go on
in an immaterial fashion. ‘Women are yet alive who tell that they were
taken away to nurse fairy children,’ an image of themselves being
left in their place. ‘When the child is weaned, the nurse dies, or
is conveyed back, or gets it to her choice to stay there.’ One woman thus
carried away returned after two years, was taken in by her husband,
and had some children afterwards. In speech and apparel, the fairy folk
resemble those under whose country they live; they ‘wear plaids and
variegated garments in the Highlands, and suanochs in Ireland.’
Second-sighted men can invoke them at pleasure, but in general do not
relish the sight of them, on account of the hideous spectacles they
present, and their sullen and dismal looks. ‘They [the spirits] are said
to have many pleasant toyish books,’ producing in them fits of
corybantic jollity, ‘as if ravished by a new spirit entering them.’ Other
books they have of abstruse science, but no Bibles.
Men of the second-sight do not necessarily discover
strange things when requested; only by fits and starts, ‘as if inspired
with some genius at that instant, which before did lurk in or about them.’
Mr Kirk knew one whose neighbours often observed him disappear at a
certain place, and some time after reappear at another, a hostile
encounter with the spiritual people being the cause of his disappearance.
These seers know what will happen to their friends, by means of the
spirits with whom they have intercourse.
The people are said by Mr Kirk to believe that the
souls of their ancestors dwell in the fairy hills, of which one was placed
conveniently to each church-yard. He relates that, about the year 1676,
‘when there was some scarcity of grain, two women living at a
distance from each other dreamed about a treasure hid in a certain fairy
hillock. ‘The appearance of a treasure was first represented to the fancy,
and then an audible voice named the place where it was to
their waking senses. Whereupon both rose, and meeting accidentally at the
place, discovered their design; and jointly digging, found a vessel as
large as a Scottish peck, full of small pieces of good money, of ancient
coin; which halving between them, they sold for dish-fulls of meal
to the country people.’
Dr Grahame, the modem pastor of Aberfoyle, gives us the
traditionary account of the cessation of Mr Kirk’s life, in high keeping
with the style of the mystic world which he endeavoured to expound. It is
stated that, as Mr Kirk was one evening walking in his night-gown upon one
of the fairy mounts above described in the vicinity of his manse, he sunk
down in what seemed to be a fit of apoplexy, which the unenlightened took
for death, while the more understanding knew it to be a swoon
produced by the supernatural influence of the people whose precincts he
had violated. After the ceremony of a seeming funeral, the form of Mr Kirk
appeared to a relation, and commanded him to go to Graham of Duchray, who
was the cousin of both, and tell him: ‘I am not dead, but a captive in
Fairyland, and only one chance remains for my liberation. At the baptism
of my posthumous child, I will appear in the room, when, if Duchray shall
throw over my head the knife or durk which he holds in his hand, I may be
restored to society; but if this opportunity is neglected, I am lost for
ever.’ Duchray was apprised of what was to be done. The ceremony took
place, and the apparition of Mr Kirk was seen while they were seated at
table; but Duchray, in his astonishment, failed to perform the ceremony
enjoined; consequently, Mr Kirk was left to ‘drie his weird’ in Fairyland.
Dec 22
The death of the Rev. John Burnet, minister of Kilbride, is noted as
arising from an extraordinary cause, though the immediate disease was
jaundice. He ‘had a son lately dead before him, and seeing his son
dissected, and the physicians finding fault with his noble [vital] parts,
[the father] presently apprehends a faultiness in his own, which
apprehension stuck with him even to his death, which physicians took to be
the cause of his sickness; so strong is the power of apprehension.’—Law.
Died this year, by a fall from a
horse, at Tangier in Morocco, John Earl of Middleton, governor of that
establishment. Of a family of the minor gentry in Kincardineshire, he had
entered life as a pikeman in Hepburn’s regiment in France, but soon was
called to take part in the civil wars of his own country, serving first
the English parliament and Scottish Estates, and afterwards proving an
active and vigorous partisan of the king. His preferment after the
Restoration as commissioner to the Scottish parliament, and his
magnificent but drunken administration, with all the ills that flowed from
it, are part of our national history. He is said by a contemporary to have
been a man of ‘heroic aspect,’ of ‘manly eloquence,’ ‘happier in his wit
than in his friends;’ of ‘natural courage and generosity;’ ‘more pitied in
his fall than envied in his prosperity.’ Though disgraced, the
king could not entirely desert one who had risked and done so much for him
in his worst days; so he appointed him governor of Tangier—a civil kind of
banishment, in which, we see, he died.
It is scarcely wonderful that a man who went through
such changes of fortune and so many strange adventures—taken prisoner at
both Preston and Worcester, and escaping on both occasions from
captivity—should have been the subject of some of the mystical
speculations of his age. Aubrey relates: ‘Sir William Dugdale informed me
that Major-general Middleton (since Lord) went into the Highlands of
Scotland, to endeavour to make a party for King Charles the First. An old
gentleman that was second-sighted, came and told him that his endeavour
was good, but he would be unsuccessful, and, moreover, that they would put
the king to death, and that several other attempts would be made, but all
in vain: his son would come in, but not reign, but at last be restored? A
second tale is told by Law and Wodrow, and repeated by Aubrey,
with slight variations, but to the following general purport: Being in the
army of the Duke of Hamilton in 1648, he had for his comrade there a
certain Laird of Balbegno, who seems to have been the neighbour of his
family in Kincardineshire. A few days before an expected
battle, Middleton and Balbegno had a conversation about the risks they
should run in fight, and agreed that, if one should die, leaving the other
in life, he should return, if possible, and give the survivor some account
of the other world. Balbegno fell in the battle. Middleton thought no more
of the promise of his deceased friend, till some time after, when a
prisoner in the Tower of London, and in some fear for his life, he one
night was sitting alone in a room, ‘under three locks,’ and with two
sentinels outside the door. Chancing to read a little in the Bible, he had
no sooner closed the volume than, looking towards the door, he saw a human
figure standing there in the shadow of his bed. ‘He called out:
"Who is there?" The apparition answered: "Balbegno." "That
cannot be," said Middleton, "for I saw him buried after he was slain in
battle!" "Oh, Middleton," said Balbegno, "do you not mind the promise I
made to you when at such a place, such a night, on the Border?" and with
that came forward and took him by the hand.’ Middleton, in narrating the
circumstances, declared that Balbegno’s hand ‘was hot and soft, just as it
used to be, and he in his ordinary likeness.’ Instead of giving him any
intelligence regarding the dead, the spirit told him he should make his
escape in three days—he should in time be a great man—but let him beware
of his end! When Balbegno had delivered this message, he, according to
Aubrey, gave a frisk, and said:
‘Givanni, Givanni, ‘tis very strange
In the world to see so sudden a change!’
and then vanished. In three days, accordingly,
Middleton escaped in his wife’s clothes. He did afterwards become a great
man, and his end was tragical, for, ‘upon a certain time, he proving a
young horse, was cast off by him, and ‘in the fall hurt himself
exceedingly, so that he sickcns and dies of it.’—Law.
1674, Jan
At this time commenced a stormy period which was long memorable in
Scotland. It opened with a tempest of east wind, which strewed the coasts
of Northumberland and Berwickshire with wrecks. During February, the rough
weather continued; and at length, on the 20th of the month,
a heavy fall of snow, accompanied by vehement frost, set in, which lasted
for thirteen days. This was afterwards remembered by the name of the
Thirteen Drifty Days. There was no decided improvement of the weather
till the 29th of March. ‘All fresh waters was frozen as if in the midst of
winter; all ploughing and delving of the ground was marred till the
aforesaid day; much loss of sheep by the snow, and of whole families in
the moor country and highlands; much loss of cows everywhere, also of wild
beasts, as doe and roe.’—Law. This storm seems to have fallen with
greatest severity upon the Southern Highlands. It is stated in the council
books of Peebles, that ‘the most part of the country lost the most part of
their sheep and many of their nolt, and many all their sheep. It was
universal, and many people were almost starved for want of fuel for fire?
James Hogg has given a traditionary account of the
calamity. ‘It is said that for thirteen days and nights, the snow-drift
never once abated: the ground was covered with frozen snow when it
commenced, and during all that time the sheep never broke their fast. The
cold was intense to a degree never before remembered; and about the fifth
and sixth days of the storm, the young sheep began to fall into a sleepy
and torpid state, and all that were affected in the evening died
over-night. The intensity of the frost wind often cut them off when in
that state quite instantaneously. About the ninth and tenth days, the
shepherds began to build up huge semicircular walls of their dead, in
order to afford some shelter for the remainder of the living; but they
availed but little, for about the same time they were frequently seen
tearing at one another’s wool with their teeth. When the storm abated on
the fourteenth day from its commencement, there was, on many a high-lying
farm, not a living sheep to be, seen. Large mis-shapen walls of dead,
surrounding a small prostrate flock, likewise all dead, and frozen stiff
in their lairs, was all that remained to cheer the forlorn shepherd and
his master; and though on low-lying farms, where the snow was not so hard
before, numbers of sheep weathered the storm, yet their constitutions
received such a shock that the greater part of them perished afterwards,
and the final consequence was, that about nine-tenths of all the sheep in
the south of Scotland were destroyed.
‘In the extensive pastoral district of Eskdale Moor,
which maintains upwards of 20,000 sheep, it is said none were left alive
but forty young wedders on one farm, and five old ewes on another. The
farm of Phaup remained without a stock and without a tenant for twenty
years subsequent to the storm. At length, one very honest and
liberal-minded man ventured to take a lease of it, at the annual rent of a
gray coat and a pair of hose. It is now rented at £500. An
extensive glen in Tweedsmuir, belonging to Sir James Montgomery, became a
common at that time to which any man drove his flocks that pleased, and it
continued so for nearly a century. On one of Sir Patrick Scott of
Thirlestane’s farms, that keeps upwards of 900 sheep, they all died save
,one black ewe, from which the farmer had high hopes of preserving a
breed; but some unlucky dogs, that were all laid idle for want of sheep to
run at, fell upon this poor solitary remnant of a good stock, and chased
her into the lake, where she was drowned.’
The Thirteen Drjfty Days are the means of
bringing the ill-fated Duke of Monmouth before us in an extraordinary
relation of circumstances. He and his duchess, in December 1675, obtained
a licence to import 4800 nolt of a year old, and 200 horses, ‘to be
employed in stocking their waste lands in the south part of this kingdom,’
the bringing in of live-stock from Ireland being then forbidden by act of
parliament. Walter Scott of Minto, sheriff-depute of Roxburghshire, became
caution that the licence should not be exceeded. But 120 of the oxen were
proved to have been above a year old; and the Council, accordingly (August
3, 1676), fined Scott in £200 sterling.—P. C. R.
Feb 19
Agnes Johnston, of Airth in Stirlingshire, an unmarried woman about fifty
years of age, was tried in Edinburgh for the murder of an infant named
Lamb, her own grand-niece. Living with the parents of the deceased, she
took an opportunity, when there was nobody in the house but herself and
the child, to take the infant out of its cradle, lay it in a bed, and cut
its throat. The confession of the wretched woman bore that, for some time
before she committed the deed, she felt a spirit within her that did
draw her neck together, and which frequently tempted her to make away
with herself. Once she actually did attempt to drown herself in a well at
Clackmannan; but she cried to a woman near by, who helped her
out. She had never told any one of her temptations, nor
had she power to tell;
but, her fits being thought fictitious by her relatives,
and they having consequently threatened to turn her out of their house,
she had in revenge resolved to destroy their child. Agnes, who would now
be regarded as a person under hallucinations, expiated her sad act two
days after in the Grassmarket.
Feb
Law, in noting the death of an eminent physician at this time, mentions
the death, some time before, of another, Dr Purves, from an extreme
cold, and because he ‘could not be kept in heat,’ ‘God letting us see
that all means applied for our health without his blessing them, are
ineffectual.’ Another writer of this age adverts to a Mr Dalgliesh,
‘curate’ of Parton, who ‘was so chilly, that he wore twenty fold of cloth
on him all the year, and furs on his head day and night."
Mar 4
An act of grace towards the Presbyterians, passed at this time with the
hope of conciliating them, had the effect of encouraging that disposition
to private religious meetings, or conventicles, which for some years had
given the government so much trouble. ‘From that day Scotland broke loose
with conventicles of all sorts, in houses, fields, and vacant churches….
In Merse, Teviotdale, the Borders, Annandale, Nithsdale, Clydesdale,
Lothian, Stirlingshire, Perthshire, Lennox, Fife, they fixed so many posts
in the fields, mosses, muirs, and mountains, where multitudes gathered
almost every Sabbath,’ until the time of Bothwell Bridge. ‘At these
meetings, many a soul was converted to Christ, but far more turned from
the bishops to profess themselves Presbyterians. The parish churches of
the curates [that is, the regular parish clergy] came to be like
pest-houses; few went to any of them, none to some, so the doors were kept
locked. The discourse up and down Scotland was the quality and success of
last Sabbath’s conventicle, who the preachers were, what the number of the
people was, what the affections of the people; how sometimes the soldiers
assaulted them, and sometimes killed some of them; sometimes the soldiers
were beaten, and some of them killed.’
There appears to have been a band of about forty
ministers who set the government at defiance in this manner, most of them
young and active men. In the large towns, house conventicles prevailed;
but in the country, ‘the people had a sort of affectation to the fields
above houses.’ There came to be a regularity in these affairs; when the
people in a rural district wished to have a conventicle minister, they
sent to town to engage one. Danger made the congregations come armed. ‘Not
many gentlemen of estates durst come, but many ladies, gentlewomen and
commons, came in good multitudes. Wonderful conversions followed upon the
sermons. People discovered their own secret scandals.
Sometimes people of age bemoaned their want of baptism, and received it at
these occasions. Sometimes a curate would come, and after the first
sermon, stand up and profess his repentance, and afterwards would
consecrate himself to that work by a solemn field-preaching. So the work
of the gospel advanced in Scotland for several years.’—Kir.
June 4
A strange scene was presented in the Parliament Close in a Edinburgh. As
the members of the Council approached their house of meeting, they found
fifteen ladies prepared to present a petition, ‘desiring that a gospel
ministry might be presented for the starving congregations of Scotland.’
There were present amongst them the widows of Mr Robert Blair and Mr John
Neave, noted as entirely ‘faithful’ clergymen during the troubles; Lady
Crimond, a daughter of Johnston of Warriston; a sister-in-law of the Laird
of Dundas and a sister of the Earl of Melville; the rest being generally
the wives of Edinburgh citizens. Seeing it was dangerous for men to appear
in the form of remonstrants, these ladies had volunteered to undertake the
duty. The singularity of the occasion had brought together a crowd, which
filled the close, and which is said to have comprised a large proportion
of the fair sex. The press was so great and so tumultuous around the
councillors, that they could scarcely make their way to the council-house.
As the chancellor descended from his coach, Archbishop Sharpe went close
behind him, fearing bodily harm. It is alleged by Sir George Mackenzie
that a design for doing some serious injury to the primate was entered
into on this occasion, and that the ladies were to ‘set upon him’ when a
certain member of the corps should raise her hand as a signal; but this
would need confirmation. He was saluted with reproaches and cries of
Judas! and Traitor! but the only approach to personal violence was a slap
on the neck from one of the sisterhood, who at the
same time took leave to tell him that that
(meaning the neck) should yet pay for it ere all was done! One of the
ladies, presenting her petition to the chancellor, he received it with a
courteous salute, and listened to her with an inclined head till he got to
the door of the council-chamber. Lord Stair tossed his copy to the ground,
whereupon the fair petitioner reminded him he had not acted in that manner
with the famous Remonstrance of 1651, which he helped to pen.
The Council took this matter in high dudgeon. They
resented the personal disrespect of the scene in the Parliament Close, and
they denounced the matter of the petition as tending to stir up hatred
against his majesty’s government. For one thing, it ‘most falsely and
scandalously bears that they [the supplicants] had long been deprived of
the inestimable blessing of the public worship and ordinances of God,
whereas it is notour that his majesty’s subjects do enjoy [those
blessings] in great purity and peace, [there being] ane orderly ministry
authorised and countenanced and established by law.’ In short, it was a
seditious libel, calling for sharp punishment. Two of the ladies being
brought before the Council, refused to take an oath or give evidence; the
rest failed to appear on citation. The whole were put to the horn as
rebels, and three suffered a short confinement.—Kir. P. C. R. |