OUR
narrative takes up the political story of
Scotland at the crisis of the Revolution, when, King James having fled in
terror to France, his nephew and daughter, the Prince and Princess of
Orange, were proclaimed king and queen as William and Mary, and when the
Episcopacy established at the Restoration, after a struggling and
unhonoured existence of twenty-eight years, gave way to the present more
popular Presbyterian Church. It has been seen how the populace of the west
rabbled out the alien clergy established among them; now, notwithstanding
the gallant insurrection of my Lord Dundee in the Highlands, and the
holding out of Edinburgh Castle by the Duke of Gordon, the new government
quickly gained an ascendency. It was a great change for Scotland. Men who
had lately been in danger of their lives for conscience’ sake, or starving
in foreign lands, were now at the head of affairs—the Earl of Melville,
Secretary of State; Crawford, President of Parliament; Argyle restored to
title and lands, and a privy-councillor; Dairymple of Stair, Hume of
Marchmont, Steuart of Goodtrees, and many other exiles, come back from
Holland to resume prominent positions in the public service at home—while
the instruments of the late unhappy government were either captives under
suspicion, or living terror-struck at their country-houses. Common sort of
people, who had last year been skulking in mosses from Claverhouse’s
dragoons, were now marshalled in a regiment, and planted as a watch on the
Perth and Forfar gentry. There were new figures in the Privy Council, and
none of them ecclesiastical. There was a wholly new set of senators on the
bench of the Court of Session. It looked like the sudden shift of scenes
in a pantomime, rather than a series of ordinary occurrences.
Almost as a necessary consequence of
the Revolution, a war with France commenced in May 1689. Part of the
operations took place in Ireland, where James II., assisted with troops by
King Louis, and supported by the Catholic population, continued to
exercise sovereignty till his defeat at the Boyne (July 1, 1690). The
subjugation of Ireland to the new government was not completed till the
surrender of Limerick and other fortified places by treaty (October 3,
1691). Long before this time, the Jacobite movement in Scotland had come
to a close by the dispersion of the Highianders at Cromdale (April 1690).
A fortress and garrison were then planted at Inverlochy (Fort William), in
order to keep the ill-affected clans Cameron, Macdonald, and others, in
check. At the same time, the Earl of Breadalbane was intrusted with the
sum of twelve thousand pounds, with which he undertook to purchase the
pacification of the Highlands. In 1691, there were still some chiefs in
rebellion, and a threat was held out that they would be visited with the
utmost seventies if they did not take the oaths to the government before
the 1st of January next. This led to the massacre of the Macdonalds of
Glencoe (February 13, 1692), an affair which has left a sad shade upon the
memory of King William.
In Scotland, it gradually became
apparent that, though the late changes had diffused a general sense of
relief, and put state control more in accordance with the feelings of the
bulk of the people, there was a large enough exception to embarrass and
endanger the new order of things. There certainly was a much larger
minority favourable to Episcopacy than was at first supposed; whole
provinces in the north, and a majority of the upper classes everywhere,
continued to adhere to it. A very large portion of the nobility and gentry
maintained an attachment to the ox-king, or, like the bishops, scrupled to
break old oaths in order to take new. Even amongst those who had assisted
in the Revolution, there were some who, either from disappointment of
personal ambition, or a recovery from temporary fears, soon became its
enemies. Feelings of a very natural kind assisted in keeping alive the
interest of King James. It was by a nephew (and son-in-law) and a daughter
that he had been displaced. A frightful calumny had assisted in his
downfall. According to the ideas of that age, in losing a crown he had
been deprived of a birthright. If he had been guilty of some illegal
doings, there might be some consideration for his age. Anyhow, his infant
son was innocent; why punish him for the acts of his father? These
considerations fully appear as giving point and strength to the Jacobite
feeling which soon began to take a definite form in the country. The
government was thus forced into seventies, which again acted to its
disadvantage; and thus it happened that, for some years after the
deliverance of Scotland from arbitrary power, we have to contemplate a
style of administration in which arbitrary power and all its abuses were
not a little conspicuous.
In the very first session of the
parliament (summer of 1689), there was a formidable opposition to the
government, headed chiefly by politicians who had been disappointed of
places. The discontents of these persons ripened early next year into a
plot for the restoration of the ex-king. It gives a sad view of human
consistency, that a leading conspirator was Sir James Montgomery of
Skelmorley, who was one of the three commissioners sent by the Convention
in spring to offer the crown to William and Mary. The affair ended in
Montgomery, the Earl of Annandale, and Lord Ross, informing against each
other, in order to escape punishment. Montgomery had to flee to the
continent, where lie soon after died in poverty. The offences of the rest
were overlooked.
Amongst the events of this period,
the ecclesiastical proceedings bear a prominent place—efforts of statesmen
for moderate measures in the General Assembly—debates on church-patronage
and oaths of allegiance—tramplings out of old and rebellious Episcopacy;
but the details must be sought for elsewhere.1 During 1693,
there were great alarms about invasion from France, and the forcible
restoration of the deposed king; and some considerable seventies were
consequently practised on disaffected persons. By the death of the queen
(December 28, 1694), William was left in the position of sole monarch of
these realms.
1688, Nov
The first emotions of the multitude on attaining confidence that the
Prince of Orange would be able to maintain his ground, and that the
reigning monarch would be brought low, that the Protestant religion would
be safe, and that perhaps there would be good times again for those who
loved the Presbyterian cause, were, of course, very enthusiastic. So early
as the close of November, the populace of Edinburgh began to call out ‘No
pope, No papist,’ as they walked the streets, even when passing places
where guards were stationed. The students, too, whose pope-burning
enthusiasm had been sternly dealt with eight years back, now broke out of
all bounds, and had a merry cremation of the pontiff’s effigy at the
cross, ending with its being ‘blown up with art four stories high.’ This,
however, was looked upon as a hasty business, wanting in the proper
solemnity; so, two days after, they went to the law-court in the
Parliament Close, and there subjected his Holiness to a mock-trial, and
condemned him to be burned ceremoniously on Christmas Day, doubtless
meaning by the selection of the time to pass an additional slight upon the
religion over which they were now triumphing.
On the appointed day, the students
had a solemn muster to execute the sentence. Arranged in bands according
to their standing, each band with a captain, they marched, sword in hand,
to the cross, preceded by the janitor of the college, carrying the mace,
and having a band of hautbois also before them. There, in presence of the
magistrates and some of the Privy Council, they solemnly burned the
effigy, while a huge multitude looked on delighted.
There were similar doings in other
parts of the country; but I select only those of one place, as a specimen
of the whole, and sufficient to shew the feeling of the time.
1689, Jan 11
A Protestant town-council being elected at Aberdeen, the boys of the
Marischal College resolved to celebrate the occasion with a burlesque
Pope’s Procession. They first thought proper to write to the new
magistrates, protesting that their design was not ‘tumultuary,’ neither
did they intend to injure the persons or goods of any.’ The ceremonial
reminds us slightly of some of the scenes in Lyndsay’s Satire of the
Three Estates. Starting from the college-gate at four in the
afternoon, there first went a company of men carrying links, six abreast;
next, the janitor of the college, with the college-mace, preceding six
judges in scarlet robes. Next marched four fifers playing; then, in
succession, four priests, four Jesuits, four popish bishops, and four
cardinals, all in their robes; then a Jesuit in embroidered robes,
carrying a great cross. Last came the pope, carried in his state-chair, in
scarlet robes lined with ermine, his triple crown on his head, and his
keys on his arm; distributing pardons and indulgences as he moved along.
Being arrived at the market-cross,
the pope placed himself on a theatre, where a dialogue took place between
him and a cardinal, expressing the pretensions commonly attributed to the
head of the Catholic Church, and announcing a doom to all heretics. In the
midst of the conference, Father Peter, the ex-king’s confessor, entered
with a letter understood to convey intelligence of the late disastrous
changes in London; whereupon his holiness fell into a swoon, and
the devil came forward, as to help him. The programme anticipates that
this would be hailed as a merry sight by the people. But better remained.
The pope, On recovering, began to vomit ‘plots, daggers, indulgences, and
the blood of martyrs,’ the devil holding his head all the time. The devil
then tried in rhyme to comfort him, proposing that he should take refuge
with the king of France; to which, however, he professed great aversion,
as derogatory to his dignity; whereupon the devil appeared to lose
patience, and attempted to throw his friend into the fire. But this he was
prevented from doing by the entry of one ordering that the pope should be
subjected to a regular trial.
The pontiff was then arraigned
before the judges as guilty of high treason against Omnipotence, in as far
as he had usurped many of its privileges, besides advancing many
blasphemous doctrines. ‘The court adduced sufficient proofs by the canons
of the church, bulls, pardons, and indulgences, lying in process;’ and he
was therefore pronounced guilty, and ordered to be immediately taken to
the public place of execution, and burned to ashes, his blood to be
attainted, and his honours to be blotted out of all records. The
procession was then formed once more, and the sentence was read from the
cross; after which ‘his holiness was taken away from the theatre, and the
sentence put in execution against him. During the time of his burning, the
spectators were entertained with fireworks and some other divertisements.
‘After all was ended, the Trinity
Church bell—which was the only church in Scotland taken from the
Protestants and given to the papists, wherein they actually had their
service—was rung all the night.’
Mar 11
Patrick Walker relates, with great relish, the close of the political
existence of the unhappy episcopate of Scotland, amidst the tumults
attending the sitting of the Convention at Edinburgh, during the process
of settling the crown on William and Mary. For a day or two after this
representative body sat down, several bishops attended, as a part of the
parliamentary constitution of the country, and by turns took the duty of
saying prayers. The last who did so, the Bishop of Dunkeld, spoke
pathetically of the exiled king as the man for whom they had often watered
their couches, and thus provoked from the impetuous Montgomery of
Skelmorley a jest at their expense which will not bear repetition. They
were ‘put out with disdain and contempt,’ while some of the members
expressed a wish that the ‘honest lads’ knew of it, ‘for then they would
not win away with hale gowns.’ And so Patrick goes on with the triumph of
a vulgar mind, describing how they ‘gathered together with pale faces, and
stood in a cloud in the Parliament Close. James Wilson, Robert Neilson,
Francis Hislop, and myself were standing close by them. Francis Hislop
with force thrust Robert Neilson upon them; their heads went hard upon one
another. But there being so many enemies in the city, fretting and
gnashing their teeth, waiting for an occasion to raise a mob, where
undoubtedly blood would have been shed; and we having laid down
conclusions among ourselves to guard against giving the least occasion to
all mobs; kept us from tearing off their gowns.
‘Their graceless graces went quickly
off; and neither bishop nor curate was seen in the streets; this was a
surprising change not to be forgotten. Some of us would have been rejoiced
more than in great sums, to see these bishops sent legally down the Bow,
that they might have found the weight of their tails in a tow, to dry
their hose-soles, that they might know what hanging was; they having been
active for themselves, and the main instigators to all the mischiefs,
cruelties, and bloodshed of that time, wherein the streets of Edinburgh,
and other places of the land, did run with the innocent, precious, dear
blood of the Lord’s people.’
A more chivalric adversary might
have, after all, found something to admire in these poor prelates, who
permitted themselves to be so degraded, purely in consequence of their
reverence for an oath, while many good Presbyterians were making little of
such scruples. On the other hand, a more enlightened bench of bishops
might have seen that the political status which they now forfeited had all
along been a worldly distinction working against the success of spiritual
objects, and might thus have had some comfortable re-assurances for the
future, as they ‘stood in a cloud in the Parliament Close,’ to receive the
concussion of Robert Neilson pushed on by Francis Hislop.
Since Christmas of the past year,
there had been constant mob-action against the Episcopal clergy,
especially in the western shires, about three hundred having been rudely
expelled or forced to flee for safety of their lives. On the rebound of
such a spring, in nothing else was to be expected; perhaps there is even
some force in the defence usually put forward for the zealous
Presbyterians on this occasion, that their violences towards those
obnoxious functionaries were less than might have been expected. I
do not therefore deem it necessary to go into ‘the Case of the present
Afflicted Clergy,’ 1 or to call attention to the similar case of the
faithful professors of the Edinburgh University, expelled by a commission
in the autumn of 1690. There is, however, one anecdote exemplifying
Christian feeling on this occasion, which it must be pleasant to all to
keep in green remembrance. ‘The last Episcopal clergyman of the parish of
Glenorchy, Mr David Lindsay, was ordered to surrender his charge to a
Presbyterian minister then appointed by the Duke [Earl] of Argyle. When
the new clergyman reached the parish to take possession of his living, not
an individual would speak to him [public feeling on the change of church
being here different] except Mr Lindsay, who received him kindly. On
Sunday, the new clergyman went to church, accompanied by his predecessor.
The whole population of the district were assembled, but they would not
enter the church. No person spoke to the new minister, nor was there the
least noise or violence till he attempted to enter the church, when he was
surrounded by twelve men fully armed, who told him he must accompany them;
and, disregarding all Mr Lindsay’s prayers and entreaties, they ordered
the piper to play the march of death, and marched away the minister to the
confines of the parish. Here they made him swear on the Bible that he
would never return, or attempt to disturb Mr Lindsay. He kept his oath.
The synod of Argyle were highly incensed at this violation of their
authority; but seeing that the people were fully determined to resist, no
further attempt was made, and Mr Lindsay lived thirty years afterwards,
and died Episcopal minister of Glenorchy, loved and revered by his flock.’
Apr
A little incident connected with the accession of King William and Queen
Mary was reported to Wodrow as ‘beyond all question.’ When the magistrates
of Jedburgh were met at their market-cross to proclaim the new sovereigns,
and drink their healths, a Jacobite chanced to pass by. A bailie asked him
if he would drink the king’s health; to which he answered no, but he was
willing to take a glass of the wine. They handed him a little round glass
full of wine; and he said: ‘As surely as this glass will break, I drink
confusion to him, and the restoration of our sovereign and his heir;’ then
threw away the glass, which alighted on the tolbooth stair, and rolled
down unbroken. The bailie ran and picked up the glass, took them all to
witness how it was quite whole, and then dropping some wax into the
bottom, impressed his seal upon it, as an authentication of what he deemed
little less than a miracle.
Mr William Veitch happening to
relate this incident in Edinburgh, it came to the ears of the king and
queen’s corn-missioner, the Earl of Crawford, who immediately took
measures for obtaining the glass from Jedburgh, and ‘sent it up with ane
attested account to King William."
Apr 28
The sitting of the Convention brought out a great amount of volunteer
zeal, in behalf of the Revolution, amongst those extreme Presbyterians of
the west who had been the greatest sufferers under the old government.
They thought it but right—while the Highianders were rising for James in
the north.—that they should take up arms for William in the south. The
movement centered at the village of Douglas in Lanarkshire, where the
representative of the great House of that name was now devoted to the
Protestant interest. On the day noted, a vast crowd of people assembled on
a hoim or meadow near the village, where a number of their favourite
preachers addressed them in succession with suitable exhortations, and for
the purpose of clearing away certain scruples which were felt regarding
the lawfulness of their appearing otherwise than under an avowed
prosecution of the great objects of the Solemn League and Covenant.
After some difficulties on these and
similar points, a regiment was actually constituted on the 14th of May,
and nowhere out of Scotland perhaps could a corps have been formed under
such unique regulations. They declared that they appeared for the
preservation of the Protestant religion, and for ‘the work of reformation
in Scotland, in opposition to popery, prelacy, and arbitrary power.’ They
stipulated that their officers should exclusively be men such as ‘in
conscience’ they could submit to. A minister was appointed for the
regiment, and an elder nominated for each company, so that the whole
should be under precisely the same religious and moral discipline as a
parish, according to the standards of the church. A close and constant
correspondence with the ‘United Societies ‘—the Carbonari of the
late evil times—was settled upon. A Bible was a part of the furniture of
every private’s knapsack—a regulation then quite singular. Great care was
taken in the selection of officers, the young Earl of Angus, son of the
Marquis of Douglas, being appointed colonel; while the second command was
given to William Cleland, a man of poetical genius and ardent soldierly
character, who had appeared for God’s cause at Bothwell-brig. It is
impossible to read the accounts that are given of this Cameroiiian
Regiment, as it was called, without sympathising with the earnestness of
purpose, the conscientious scrupulosity, and the heroic feelings of
self-devotion, under which it was established, and seeing in these
demonstrations something of what is highest and best in the Scottish
character.
It is not therefore surprising to
learn that in August, when posted at Dunkeld, it made a most gallant and
successful resistance to three or four times the number of Highlanders,
then fresh from their victory at Killiecrankie; though, on this occasion,
it lost its heroic lieutenant-coloneL Afterwards being called to serve
abroad, it distinguished itself on many occasions; but, unluckily, the
pope being concerned in the league for which King William had taken up
arms, the United Societies from that time withdrew their countenance from
the regiment. The Cameronians became the 26th Foot in the British army,
and, long after they had ceased to be recruited among the zealous in
Scotland, and ceased to exemplify Presbyterian in addition to military
discipline, they continued to be singular in the matter of the Bible in
the knapsack.’
June 7
There had been for some time in Scotland a considerable j number of French
Protestants, for whom the charity of the nation had been called forth. To
these was now added a multitude of poor Irish of the same faith, refugees
from the cruel wars going on in their own country, and many of whom were
Women, children, and infirm persons. Slender as the resources of Scotland
usually were, and sore pressed upon at present by the exactions necessary
for supporting the new government, a Collection was going on in behalf of
the refugee Irish. It was now, however, represented, that many in the
western counties were in such want, that they could not wait till the
collection was finished; and so the Lords of the Privy Council ordered
that the sums gathered in those counties be immediately distributed in
fair proportions between the French and Irish, and enjoining the
distributors ‘to take special care that such of those poor Protestants as
stays in the remote places of those taxible bounds and districts be duly
and timeously supplied.’ Seventy pounds in all was distributed.
Five days before this, we hear of
John Adamson confined in Burntisland tolbooth as a papist, and humanely
liberated, that he might be enabled to depart from the kingdom.
June 23
This morning, being Sunday, the royal orders for the appointment of
fifteen new men to be Lords of Session reached Edinburgh, all of them
being, of course, persons notedly well affected to the new order of
things. Considering the veneration professed for the day by zealous
Presbyterians in Scotland, and how high stood the character of the Earl of
Crawford for a religious life, one is rather surprised to find one of the
new judges (Crossrig) bluntly telling that that earl ‘sent for me in the
morning, and intimated to me that I was named for one of them.’ He adds a
curious fact. ‘It seems the business bad got wind, and was talked some
days before, for Mr James Nasmyth, advocate, who was then concerned for
the Faculty’s Library, spoke to me to pay the five hundred merks I had
given bond for when I entered advocate; which I paid. It may be he thought
it would not be so decent to crave me after I was preferred to the bench.’
It is incidental to liberating and
reforming parties that they seldom escape having somewhat to falsify their
own professions. The Declaration of the Estates containing the celebrated
Claim of Right (April 1689) asserted that ‘the imprisoning of persons,
without expressing the reasons thereof, and delaying to put them to trial,
is contrary to law.’ It also pronounced as equally illegal ‘the using of
torture without evidence in ordinary crimes.’ Very good as a party
condemnation of the late government, or as a declaration of general
principles; but, for a time, nothing more.
One of the first acts of the new
government was for the ‘securing of suspect persons.’ It could not but be
vexing to the men who had delivered their country ‘from thraldom and i~
poper1e~ and the pernicious inconveniences of ane absolute power,’ when
they found themselves—doubtless under a full sense of the necessity of the
case—probably as much So as their predecessors bad ever felt—ordering
something like half the nobility and gentry of the country, and many
people of inferior rank, into ward, there to lie without trial—and in at
least one notorious case, had to resort to torture to extort confession;
thus imitating those very proceedings of the late government which they
themselves had condemned.
All through the summer of 1689, the
register of the Privy Council is crammed with petitions from the
imprisoned, calling for some degree of relief from the miseries they were
subjected to in the Edinburgh Tolbooth, Stirling Castle, Blackness Castle,
and other places of confinement, to which they had been consigned,
generally without intimation of a cause. The numbers in the Edinburgh
Tolbooth were particularly great, insomuch that one who remembers, as the
author does, its narrow gloomy interior, gets the idea of their being
packed in it much like the inmates of an emigrant ship.
Men of the highest rank were
consigi~ed to this fri~litfuI place. We find the Earl of Balcarres
petitioning (May 30) for release from it on the plea that his health
was suffering, ‘being always, when at liberty, accustomed to exercise
walker];’ and, moreover, he had given security ‘not to escape or do
anything in prejudice of the government.’ The Council ordained that he
should be ‘brought from the Tolbooth to his own lodging in James
Hamilton’s house over forgainst the Cross of Edinburgh,’ he giving his
parole of honour ‘not to go out of his lodgings, nor keep correspondence
with any persons in prejudice or disturbance of the present government.’
With the like humanity, Lord Lovat was allowed to live with his relative
the Marquis of Athole in Holyroodhouse, but under surveillance of a
sentinel.
Sir Robert Grierson of Lagg—who,
having been an active servant of the late government in some of its worst
work, is the subject of high popular disrepute as a persecutor—was
seized in his own house by Lord Kenmure, and taken to the jail of Kirk.. ~
afterwards to the Edinburgh Tolbooth. He seems to have been liberated
about the end of August, on giving security for peaceable behaviour.
The most marked and hated instrument
of King James was certainly the Chancellor Earl of Perth. He had taken an
early opportunity of trying to escape from the country, so soon as he
learned that the king himself bad fled. It would have been better for all
parties if his lordship had succeeded in getting away; but some officious
Kirkcaldy boatmen had pursued his vessel, and brought him back; and after
he had undergone many contumelies, the government consigned him to close
imprisonment in Stirling Castle, ‘without the use of pen, ink, or paper,’
and with only one servant, who was to remain close prisoner with him.
Another high officer of the late government, John Paterson, Archbishop of
Glasgow, was placed in close prison in Edinburgh Castle, and not till
after many months, allowed even to converse with his friends: nor does he
appear to have been released till January.
Among the multitude of the incarcerated was an
ingenious foreigner, who for some years had been endeavouring to carve a
subsistence out of Scotland, with more or less success. We have heard of
Peter Bruce before1 as constructing a harbour, as patentee for
a home-manufacture of playing-cards, and as the conductor of the king’s
Catholic printing-house at Holyrood. It ought likewise to have been noted
as a favourable fact in his history, that the first system of water-supply
for Edinburgh—by a three-inch pipe from the lands of Comiston—.was
effected by this clever Flandrian. At the upbreak of the old government in
December, Bruce’s printing-office was destroyed by the mob, and his person
laid hold of. We now (June 1689) learn, by a petition from him to the
Privy Council, that he had been enduring ‘with great patience and silence
seven months’ imprisonment, for no other cause or crime but the coming of
one Nicolas Droomer, skipper at Newport, to the petitioner’s house, which
Droomer was likewise on misinformation imprisoned in this place, but is
released therefra four weeks ago.’ He adds that he looks on his
imprisonment to be ‘but ane evil recompense for all the good offices of
his art, has been performed by him not only within the town of Edinburgh,
but in several places of the kingdom, to which he was invited from
Flanders. He, being a stranger, yet can make it appear has lost by the
rabble upwards of twenty thousand merks of writs and papers, besides the
destruction done to his house and family, all being robbed, pillaged, and
plundered from him, and not so much as a shirt left him or his wife.’ He
thinks 'such barbarous usage has scarce been heard [of]; whereby, and
through his imprisonment, heis so out of credit, that himself was like to
starve in prison, [and] his family at home in the same condition.' Peter's
petition for his freedom was acceded to, on his granting security to the
extent of fifty pounds for peacable behaviour under the present
government.
Another sufferer was a man of the
like desert—namely, John Slezer, the military engineer, to whom we owe
that curious work the Theatruna Scotice. The Convention was at
first disposed to put him into his former employment as a commander of the
artillery; but he hesitated about taking the proper oath, and in March a
warrant was issued for securing him ‘until he find caution not to return
to the Castle [then held out for King James].' He informed the
Council (June 3) that for some weeks he had been a close prisoner in the
Canongate Tolbooth by their order, till now, his private affairs urgently
requiring his presence in England, he was obliged to crave his liberation,
which, ‘conceiving that he knew himself to be of a disposition peaceable
and regular,’ lie thought they well might grant. They did liberate him,
and at the same time furnished him with a pass to go soathward.
One of the petitioning prisoners,
Captain Henry Bruce, states that he had been in durance for nine months,
merely because, when the rabble attacked Holyroodhouse, he obeyed the
orders of his superior officer for defending it. That superior officer
himself, Captain John Wallace, was in prison on the same account. He
presented a petition to the CounciL—February 5, 1691— setting forth how he
had been a captive for upwards of a year, though, in defending Holyrood
from the rabble, he had acted in obedience to express orders from the
Privy Council of the day, and might have been tried by court-martial and
shot if he had not done as he did. He craved liberation on condition of
self-banishnient. The Council ordered their solicitor to prosecute him;
and on a reclamation from him, this order was repeated. In the ensuing
November, however, we find Wallace still languishing in prison, and his
health decaying—although, as he sets forth in a petition, ‘by the 13th act
of the Estates of this kingdom, the imprisoning persons without expressing
the reasons, and delaying to put them to a trial, is utterly and directly
contrary to the known statutes, laws, and freedoms of this kingdom.’ He
was not subjected to trial till August 6, 1692, when be bad been nearly
four years a prisoner. The laborious proceedings, cxtending over several
days, and occupying many wearisome pages of the 3usticiary Record, shew
the anxiety of the Revolution government to be revenged on this gallant
adversary; but the trial ended in a triumphant acquittal.
Several men and women were
imprisoned in the Tolbooth for giving signals to the garrison holding out
the Castle. One Alexander Ormiston petitioned for his liberation as
innocent of the charge. He had merely wiped his eyes, which were sore from
infancy, with his napkin, as he passed along the G-rassmarket; and this
had been interpreted into his giving a signal. After a confinement of
twelve days, Alexander obtained his liberation, ‘free of house-dues.’
John Lothian petitioned, August 19,
for liberation, having been incarcerated on the 8th of July. He declared
himself unconscious of anything that ‘could have deserved his being denied
the common liberty of a subject.’ A most malignant fever had now broken
out in the Tolbooth, whereof one prisoner died last night, and on all
hands there were others infected beyond hope of recovery. He, being
reduced to great weakness by his long confinement, was apprehensive of
falling a victim. John Rattray, on the ensuing day, sent a like petition,
stating that be had lain six weeks ‘in close prison, in a most horrible
and starving condition, for want of meat, drink, air, and bedding.’ A wife
and large family of small children were equally destitute at home, and
likely to starve, ‘he not having ane groat to maintain either himself or
them.’ Lothian was liberated, but the wretched Rattray was only
transferred to ‘open prison ‘—that is, a part of the jail where he was
accessible to his family and to visitors.
Amongst the multitude of political
prisoners was one James Johnstone, who had been put there two years
before, without anything being laid to his charge. The new government had
ordered his liberation in June, but without paying up the aliment due to
him; consequently, he could not discharge his prison-dues; and for this
the Goodman—so the head-officer of the jail ~vas styled— had detained him.
He was reduced to the most miserable condition, often did not break bread
for four or five days, and really had no dependence but on the charity of
the other scarcely less miserable people around him. The Council seem to
have felt ashamed that a friend of their own should have been allowed to
lie nine months in jail after the Revolution; so they ordered his
immediate dismissal, with payment of aliment for four hundred and two days
in arrear. [On the 12th February 1690, the Privy Council lied under their
notice the case of a lOan named Samuel Smith, who had been imprisoned in
the Edinburgh Tolbooth for three Cars on a charge of theft, without trial,
and ordained him to be set at large, there being ‘no prohation’ against
him.]
Christopher Cornwell, servitor to
Thomas Dunbar, stated to the Privy Council, March 19, 1690, that he had
been in the Edinburgh Tolbooth since June last with his master, ‘where he
has lived upon credit given him by the maid who had the charge of the
provisions within the prison, and she being unable as well as unwilling to
furnish him any more that entertainment, mean as it was, his condition
hardly can be expressed, nor could he avoid starving.’ He was liberated
upon his parole.
David Buchanan, who had been clerk
to Lord Dundee’s regi~ ment, was seized in coming northward, with some
meal believed to be the property of his master, and he was thrown in among
the crowd of the Tolbooth. For weeks he petitioned in vain for release.
The Privy Council, on the 13th May
1690, expressed anxiety about the prisoners; but it was not regarding
their health or comfort. They sent a committee to consider how best the
Tolbooth might be made secure—for there had been an escape from the
Canongate jail—and for this purpose it was decreed that close prisoners
should be confined within the inner rooms; that the shutters towards the
north should be nightly locked, to prevent communications with the houses
in that direction; and that ‘there should be a centinel all the daytime at
the head of the iron ravel! stair at the Chancellary Chamber, lest letters
and other things may be tolled up.’
1689, June
The chief of the clan Mackintosh, usually called the Laird of Mackintosh,
claimed rights of property over the lands of Keppoch, Glenroy, and
Glenspean, in Inverness-shire, ‘worth five thousand rnerks of yearly
rent’—a district interesting to modern men of science, on account of the
singular impress left upon it by the hand of nature in the form of
water-laid terraces, commonly called the Parallel Roads of Glenroy, but
then known only as the haunt of a wild race of Macdonalds, against whom
common processes of law were of no avail. Mackintosh—whose descendant is
now the peaceable landlord of a peaceable tenantry in this country—had in
1681 obtained letters of fire and sword as a last desperate remedy against
Macdonald of Keppoch and others; but no good had come of it.
In the year of the Revolution, these
letters had been renewed, and about the time when Seymour and Russell were
inviting over the Prince of Orange for the rescue of Protestantism and
liberty, Mackintosh was leading a thousand of his people from Badenoch
into Glenspean, in order to wreak the vengeance of the law upon his
refractory tenants. He was joined by a detachment of government troops
under Captain Mackenzie of Suddy; but Keppoch, who is described by a
contemporary as ‘a gentleman of good understanding, and of great cunning,’
was not dismayed. With five hundred men, he attacked the Mackintosh on the
brae above Inverroy, less than half a mile from his own house, and gained
a sanguinary victory. The captain of the regular troops and some other
persons were killed; the Laird of Mackintosh was taken prisoner, and not
liberated till he had made a formal renunciation of his claims; two
hundred horses and a great quantity of other spoil fell into the hands of
the victors.’ The Revolution, happening soon after, caused little notice
to be taken of this affair, which is spoken of as the last clan-battle in
the Highlands.
Now that Whiggery was triumphing in
Edinburgh, it pleased Keppoch to rank himself among those chiefs of clans
who were resolved to stand out for King James. Dundee reckoned upon his
assistance; but when he went north in spring, he found this ‘gentleman of
good understanding’ laying siege to Inverness with nine hundred men, in
order to extort from its burghers at the point of the sword some moneys he
thought they owed him. The northern capital—a little oasis of civilisation
and hearty Protestantism in the midst of, or at least close juxtaposition
to, the Highlands—was in the greatest excitement and terror lest Keppoch
should rush in and plunder it. There were preachings at the cross to
animate the inhabitants in their resolutions of defence; and a collision
seemed imminent. At length the chieftain consented, for two thousand
dollars, to retire. It is alleged that Dundee was shocked and angry at the
proceedings I of this important partisan, but unable or unwilling to do
morel than expostulate with him. Keppoch by and by joined him iii earnest
with his following, while Mackintosh held off in a state of indecision.
This gave occasion for a transaction
of private war, forming really a notable part of the Scottish insurrection
for King James, though it has been scarcely noticed in history. It was
when Dundee, in the course of his marching and countermarching that
summer, chanced to come within a few miles of Mackintosh’s house of
Dunachtan, on Speyside, that Keppoch bethought him of the opportunity it
afforded for the gratification of his vengeful feelings. He communicated
not with his commander. He took no counsel of any one; he slipped away
with his followers unobserved, and, stooping like an eagle on the
unfortunate Mackintosh, burned his mansion, and ravaged his lands,
destroying and carrying away property afterwards set forth as of the value
of two thousand four hundred and sixty-six pounds sterling.
This independent way of acting was
highly characteristic of Dundee’s followers; but he found it exceedingly
inconvenient. Being informed of the facts, he told Keppoch, in presence of
his other officers, that ‘he would much rather choose to serve as a common
soldier among disciplined troops, than command such men as be; that though
he had committed these outrages in revenge of his own private quarrel, it
would be generally believed he had acted by authority; that since he was
resolved to do what he pleased, without any regard to command and the
public good, he begged that he would immediately be gone with his men,
that he might not hereafter have an opportunity of affronting the general
at his pleasure, or of making him and the better-disposed troops a cover
to his robberies. Keppoch, who did not expect so severe a rebuke, humbly
begged his lordship’s pardon, and told him that he would not have abused
Mackintosh so, if he had not thought him an enemy to the king as well as
to himself; that he Was heartily sorry for what was past; but since that
could not be amended he solemnly promised a submissive obedience for the
future."
The Preceding was not a solitary
instance of private clanWarfare, carried on under cover of Dundee’s
insurrection. Amongst his notable followers were the Camer~ns, headed by
their sagacious chief, Sir Ewen of Locheil, who was now well advanced in
years, though he lived for thirty more. A few of this clan having been
hanged by the followers of the Laird of Grant....a chief strong in the
Whig cause—it was deemed right that a revenge should be taken in Glen
Urquhart. ‘They pre~ sumed that their general would not be displeased, in
the circumstances he was then in, if they could supply him with a drove of
cattle from the enemy’s country.’ Marching off without leave, they found
the Grants in Glen Urqnhart prepared to receive• them; but before the
attack, a Macdonald came forward, telling that he was settled amongst the
Grants, and claiming, on that account, that none of the people should be
injured. They told him that, if he was a true Macdonald, he ought to be
with his chief, serving his king and country in Dundee’s army; they could
not, on his account, consent to allow the death of their clansmen to
remain unavenged. The man returned dejected to his friends, the Grants,
and the Camerons made the attack, gaining an easy victory, and bearing off
a large spoil to the army in Lochaber.
Dundee consented to overlook this
wild episode, on account of the supplies it brought him; but there was
another person grievously offended. The Macdonald who lived among the
Grants was one of those who fell in the late skirmish. By all the customs
of Highland feeling, this was an event for the notice of his chief
Glengarry, who was one of the magnates in Dundee’s army. Glengarry.
appeared to resent the man’s death highly, and soon presented himself
before the general, with a demand for satisfaction on Locheil and the
Camerons. ‘Surprised at the oddness of the thing, his.lordship asked what
manner of satisfaction he wanted; "for," said’ he, "I believe it would
puzzle the ablest judges to fix upon it, even upon the supposition that
they were in the wrong;" and added,:that "if there was any injury done, it
was to him, as general of the king’s troops, in so far as they had acted
without commission." Glengarry answered that they had equally injured and
affronted both, and that therefore they ought to be punished, in order to
deter others from following their example.’ To this Dundee replied with
further excuses, still expressing his inability to see what offence had
been done to Glengarry, and remarking, that ‘if such an accident is a just
ground for raising . a disturbance in our small army, we shall iiot dare
to engage the king’s enemies, lest there may chance to be some of your
name and following among them who may happen to be killed.’ Glengarry
continued to bluster, threatening to take vengeance with his own hand; but
in reality he was too much a man of the general world to be himself under
the influence of these Highland feelings—be only wished to appear before
his people as eager to avenge what they felt to be a just offence. The
affair, therefore, fell asleep.
July 4
The Earl of Balcarres, having failed to satisfy the government about his
peaceable intentions, was put under restraint in Edinburgh Castle, which
was now in the hands of the government. There, he must have waited with
great anxiety for news of his friend Lord Dundee.
‘After the battle of Killiecrankie,
where fell the last hope of James in the Viscount of Dundee, the ghost of
that hero is said to have appeared about daybreak to his confidential
friend, Lord Balcarres, then confined to Edinburgh Castle. The spectre,
drawing aside the curtain of the bed, looked very steadfastly upon the
earl, after which it moved towards the mantel-piece, remained there for
some time in a leaning posture, and then walked out of the chamber without
uttering one word. Lord Balcarres, in great surprise, though not
suspecting that which he saw to be an apparition, called out repeatedly to
his friend to stop, but received no answer, and subsequently learned that
at the very moment this shadow stood before him, Dundee bad breathed his
last near the field of Kihiecrankie.’
On the news of the defeat of the
government troops, his lordship had some visits from beings more
substantial, but perhaps equally pale of countenance. In his Memoirs, he
tells us of the consternation of the new councillors. ‘Some were for
retiring to England, others to the western shires of Scotland they
considered whether to set at liberty all the prisoners, or make them more
close; the last was resolved, and we were all locked up and debarred from
seeing our friends, but never had so many visits from our enemies,
all making apologies for what was past, protesting they always wished us
well, as we should see whenever they had an opportunity.’
Lord Balcarres was liberated on the
4th of March 1690, on giving caution for peaceable behaviour, the danger
of Jacobite reaction being by that time abated.
July 10
A poor young woman belonging to a northern county, wandering southwards in
search of a truant lover, like a heroine of one of the old ballads, fouijd
herself reduced to the last extremity of distress when a few miles south
of Peebles. Bewildered and desperate, she threw her babe into the Haystown
Burn, and began to wander back towards her own country. A couple of the
inhabitants of Peebles, fishing in the burn, soon found the body of the
infant, and, a search being made, the wretched mother was discovered at a
place called Jedderfield, brought into town, and put in confinement, as a
suspected murderess. The magistrates of the burgh applied to the sheriff,
John Balfour of Kailzie, to have the supposed culprit taken off their
hands, and tried; but he refused to interfere, owing to ‘the present
surcease of justice’ in the country. Consequently, the magistrates were
‘necessitate to cause persons constantly guard the murderer, the prison
not being strong enough to secure her.’ On their petition, the Privy
Council allowed the Peebles authorities to send Margaret Craig, with a
guard, to Edinburgh, and ordained her to be received into the Tolbooth of
Leith, till she be processed for the murder.
This miserable young woman must have
lain in prison three years, for she was tried by the Court of Justiciary
in June 1692, and condemned to be hanged.
July 26
There is something interesting in the early difficulties of so valuable an
institution as the Post-office. John Graham had been appointed
postmaster-general for Scotland in 1674, with a salary of a thousand
pounds Scots (£83, 6s. 8d. sterling), and had set about his duty
with great spirit. He had travelled to many towns for the purpose of
establishing local offices, thus incurring expenses far beyond what his
salary could repay. He had been obliged on this account to encroach on
money belonging to his wife; also to incur some considerable debts; nor
had he ever been able to obtain any relief, or even the full payment of
his salary from the late state-officers. He was now dead, and his widow
came before the Privy Council with a petition setting forth how she had
been left penniless by her husband through his liberality towards a public
object. It was ordained that Mrs Graham should get payment of all debts
due by provincial offices to her husband, and have the income of the
general office till Martinmas next.
It is to be feared that Mrs Graham
did not profit much by this order, as on the subsequent 19th of October we
find her complaining that William Mean of the Edinburgh letter-office, and
others, had refused to pay her the arrears declared to be due to her;
wherefore the order was renewed.
The general post-mastership was at
this time put upon a different footing, being sold by roup, July 24, 1689,
to John Blair, apothecary in Edinburgh, he undertaking to carry on the
entire business on various rates of charge for letters, and to pay the
government five thousand one hundred merks (about £2~5 sterling) yearly,
for seven years. The rates were, for single letters to Dumfries, Glasgow,
and Ayr, Dundee, Perth, Kelso, and Jedburgh, two shillings; to Carlisle,
Portpatrick, Aberdeen, and Dunkeld, three shillings; to Kirkcudbright and
Inverness, four shillings, all Scots money.
Oct 8
In October of this year, the above-mentioned William Mean was sent with a
macer to the Tolbooth for keeping up letters sent from Ireland ‘untill
payment of the letters were paid to him, albeit the postage were satisfied
in England, and that he had sent back packets to London which were
directed for Ireland.’ Also, ‘notwithstanding the former order of Council
appointing him to deliver in to them any letters directed for James
Graham, vintner, he had keept up the same these eight or ten days, and had
never acquainted any member of Council therewith.’ He was liberated two
days after, on caution for reappearance under 500 nierks. It may be
surmised that William Mean was disposed to take advantage of some
regulations of his office in order to give trouble to the existing
government.
In the course of 1690, besides a
deliberate robbery of the post-boy on the road between Cockburnspath and
Haddington (see under August 16th of that year), the fact of the bag
frequently coming with the seals broken, is adverted to in angry terms by
the Privy Counc~i. An edict for the use of official seals and the careful
preservation of these was passed; nevertheless, we Soon after hear of the
bag or box Coming once more into Edinburgh with the seals broken, Mrs
Gibb, the post-mistress at the Canongate post,1 sent for, Mrs
Mean of the letter~office also called up, and much turmoil and fume for a
while, but no sort of decisive step taken in consequence. It is to be
observed that the post from the English to the Scottish capital was at
this time carried on horseback with a fair degree of speed. English
Parliamentary proceedings of Saturday are noted to be in the hands of the
Edinburgh public on the ensuing Thursday. |