A.D. 1681.
Edinburgh College shut—Isobel Alison and Marion Harvey executed—Other
executions—Search for covenanters—Thomas Kennoway’s
exploits—Mock-courts held by Cornet Graham and Grierson of Lag—Mr
Spreul tried—acquitted—sent to the Bass—John Blackadder, Gabriel
Semple, and Donald Cargill seized—Walter Smith, William Cuthil, and
others apprehended, tried, and executed.
This year was ushered in by the council ordering the College of
Edinburgh to be shut up, January 4, and the students, several of whom
were sent to prison, dispersed in consequence of the insult they had
offered to the religion of his Grace the Duke of York, who had now
openly avowed his being a papist. The youths expressed loudly their
indignation at such treatment, and had threatened, it was said, to burn
the provost’s house about his ears for his servility, when the house by
some means or other actually took fire, and was burnt to the ground. How
it happened was never discovered, and a report that it was done by some
of the Duke of York’s emissaries, gained general credit, although
various efforts had been made to affix the blame to the students; but
they voluntarily came forward and offered to stand trial that their
characters might be vindicated. The offer was refused.
A more grateful tribute, however, was paid to his Royal Highness’ faith,
by the immolation of two virgin martyrs in the end of the same
month—Isobel Alison, who was apprehended at Perth, where she quietly
resided, and Marion Harvey, a maid-servant, a native of Borrowstounness,
who was seized upon the road as she was walking from Edinburgh to hear
sermon in the country. Atrocious as these times were, their annals do
not afford many instances of more heartless, cold-blooded, entrapping
levity, than the examination of these simple girls, both before the
privy council and the court of justiciary, do, in the conduct of their
examinators, on the one hand, nor more interesting exhibitions than
their artless yet pointed replies, on the other.
When Isobel Alison was before the privy council, “they asked me,” says
she, in an account of it which she left, “if I could read the Bible? I
answered, Yes. They asked me if I knew the duty we owe to the civil
magistrate? I answered, when the magistrate carrieth the sword for God,
according to what the Scripture calls for, we owe him all due reverence;
but when they overturn the work of God, and set themselves in opposition
to him, it is the duty of his servants to execute his laws and
ordinances on them. They asked, if I ever conversed with rebels? I
answered, I never conversed with rebels. They asked if I conversed with
David Hackston? I answered, I did converse with him, and I bless the
Lord that ever I saw him; for I never saw ought in him but a godly pious
youth. They asked, when saw ye John Balfour, that godly pious youth? I
answered, I have seen him. They asked, when? I answered, these are
frivolous questions; I am not bound to answer them. They said I thought
not that a testimony.”
“They asked, what think ye of that in the Confession of Faith, that
magistrates should be owned though they were heathens? I answered, it
was another matter than when those who seemed to own the truth have now
overturned it, and made themselves avowed enemies to it. They asked, who
should be judge of these things? I answered, the Scriptures of truth and
the Spirit of God, and not men who have overturned the work themselves.”
She refused to call Sharpe’s death murder; and being asked if she would
own all that she had said, as she would be put to own it in the
Grassmarket, they expressed their regret that she should hazard her life
in such a quarrel. “I think my life little enough in the quarrel of
owning my Lord and Master’s sweet truths;—for he has freed me from
everlasting wrath; and as for my body, it is at his disposal. They said
I did not follow the Lord’s practice in that anent Pilate. I answered,
Christ owned his kingly office when he was questioned on it, and told
them he was a king, and for that end he was born; and it is for that we
are called in question this day—the owning of his kingly government. The
bishop said, we own it. I answered, we have found the sad consequences
of the contrary. The bishop said he pitied me for the loss of my life. I
told him that he had done me much more hurt than the loss of my life, or
all the lives they had taken, for it had much more affected me that many
souls were killed by their doctrine. The bishop said, wherein is our
doctrine erroneous? I said, that was better debated already than a poor
lass could debate it.”
Marion Harvey was not twenty years of age. When brought before the
council, there was no criminal act which they could lay against her; nor
does it appear that there was any witness they could have brought to
substantiate any charge. But she was easily ensnared; she acknowledged
having been at field-conventicles, and respecting the king’s authority,
she said, “so long as the king held the truths of God which he swore, we
are obliged to own him; but when he brake his oath and robbed Christ of
his kingly rights, which do not belong to him, we are bound to disown
him. They asked, were ye ever mad? She answered, I have all the wit that
ever God gave me. Do ye see any mad act about me? When told that she had
been guilty of the sin of rebellion, she smiled and said, if she were as
free of all sin as of the sin of rebellion, she should be an innocent
creature.”
Both were sent to the justiciary and indicted for treason, because it
was alleged the one had spoken freely against the severities then
practised against the Presbyterians, and the other had attended
field-conventicles. Their own declarations were the only evidence
adduced against them. When the jury were sworn in, Marion, looking
towards them, solemnly said, “Now, beware what ye are doing, for they
have nothing against me, but only for owning Jesus Christ and his
persecuted truths; for ye will get my blood upon your heads!” One of
them who had been seized with a fit of trembling, desired the
confessions to be read, which being done, the advocate addressed them,
and concluded with “ye know these women are guilty of treason!” One of
the jury remarked, “they are not guilty of matters of fact.” “Treason is
fact,” replied the accuser, and added, “’tis true it is but treason in
their judgment; but go on according to our law, and if you will not do
it, I know how to proceed.” He then addressed the prisoners, “’Tis not
for religion we are pursuing you, but for treason.” “It is for
religion,” replied Harvey; “for I am of the same religion that ye all
are sworn to be of! I am a true Presbyterian; and,” turning to the jury,
“I charge you before the tribunal of God, as ye shall answer there! ye
have nothing to say to me but for my owning the persecuted gospel.” They
were both brought in guilty upon their own confession, and condemned to
be hanged at the Grassmarket on the 26th. They were executed according
to their sentence, and died, not with composure only, but with rapture.
When being brought from the tolbooth to the council-chamber to be
carried to the place of execution, the youngest, who had several friends
attending her, exclaimed, with an air of unearthly ecstacy, “Behold, I
hear my beloved saying unto me, ‘Arise, my dove, my fair one, and come
away!’” When in the room waiting the last preparations, Bishop Paterson,
with a kind of fiendish exultation, said, “Marion, you said you would
never hear a curate pray, now you shall be forced to hear one,” and
ordered a suffragan of his who was in attendance to proceed; on which
she turned to her companion, and saying, “Come, Isobel, let us sing the
23d Psalm;” they commenced immediately, and drowned the voice of the
poor curate, who, with his employers, stood amazed at the clear unbroken
tones of the youthful confessors.
On the scaffold, the most of her discourse was of God’s love to her and
the commendation of free grace. Ascending the ladder a few steps, she
sat down and said, “I am not come here for murder; for they have no
matter of fact to charge me with, but only my judgment. I am about
twenty years of age. At fourteen or fifteen, I was a hearer of the
curates and indulged; and while I was a hearer of these, I was a
blasphemer and Sabbath breaker, and a chapter of the Bible was a burden
to me; but since I heard this persecuted gospel, I durst not blaspheme
nor break the Sabbath, and the Bible became my delight;” on which the
town major called to the hangman—“Cast her over,” which he immediately
did.
Isobel, looking to the crowd from the scaffold, cried out—“Rejoice in
the Lord, ye righteous; and again I say rejoice.” When she went up the
ladder, “O! be zealous, sirs; be zealous! Love the Lord all ye his
servants; for in his favour there is life. O! ye his enemies, what will
ye do—whither will ye fly? for now there is a dreadful day coming on all
the enemies of Jesus Christ. Come out from among them all ye that are
the Lord’s own people;” then added, “Farewell, all created comforts!
farewell, sweet Bible! in which I delighted most, and which has been
sweet to me since I came into prison. Now, into thy hands I commit my
spirit, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!” And while these words yet trembled
on her lips, she was launched into eternity. In order to imbitter their
punishment, they were hanged along with five other women for child
murder. The latter were attended by a curate, who gave them every
consolation, but upbraided their virtuous companions in suffering in the
most opprobrious terms as traitors.
Within a few days, John Murray, in Borrowstounness, Christopher Miller,
weaver, Gargunnock, and, on March 8th, William Gowgar, Borrowstounness,
with Robert Sangster, a Stirlingshire man, were found guilty by a like
speedy process, and hanged together in the Grassmarket on the 11th,
except Murray, who was reprieved.[133] Their testimonies embraced the
same topics, and were in every respect similar to those of their worthy
predecessors who had vindicated the religious and civil liberties of
their afflicted country at the expense of their lives. Gowgar was rather
more harshly used than the rest. Some heads of an intended speech,
written on a small slip of paper, having fallen out of his Bible in the
council chamber, whither he had been taken just before being led to the
gallows. After some of the councillors had read it, they ordered the
executioner to tie his arms harder than usual, so that he could scarcely
climb the ladder; and when he began to speak, the drums were immediately
commanded to roll; nor would they even allow him to pray.
Footnote 133:
Murray had presented a petition to the Duke of York disowning
king-killing principles, which concluded rather strangely, considering
the person to whom it was addressed:—“For I declare I am no _papist_,
and hate and abhor all these jesuitical, bloody, and murdering
principles.” When this was read in council, Murray was asked who drew
it, and with much difficulty was induced to name Mr Spreul. Spreul was
thereupon immediately called, and being interrogated, asked to see the
paper. This reasonable request was not complied with; but York rose
and imperiously demanded—“Sir, would you kill the king?” Spreul,
turning to the Chancellor, said—“My lord, I bless God I am no papist.
I lothe and abhor all these jesuitical, bloody, and murdering
principles; neither my parents nor the ministers I heard ever taught
me such principles.” York frowned; and Spreul afterwards suffered for
his freedom of speech, but Murray appears to have benefited by the
business, for he was afterwards pardoned as being “misled rather than
malicious.”
Adam Urquhart, laird of Meldrum, having been accused, and offered to be
proved guilty of the most exorbitant oppression, the council, to mark
their sense of such conduct, renewed his former commission with
additional powers, for searching out and apprehending all who had not
taken the bond, or who had been at Bothwell or harboured any who had
been there. As a specimen of the manner in which such searches were
carried on, I give the following:—Thomas Kennoway, one of the king’s
guards, came to the parish of Livingstone with a party late on Saturday,
19th March, pretending that he had orders—for he produced none—to
apprehend such as had been concerned in the Bothwell rising. Having
tampered with the neighbours to procure a list of such as had been
engaged, he at last obtained the name of one young man who lived with
his father and brother in a small house near a moss, which the party
entered; and after smashing and destroying the furniture, under pretence
of searching for arms, Kennoway cursed the father for an old devil, and
swore “he would hang him at the tae end of a tow an’ his son at the
t’ither;” and carried them all off along with him. When they had marched
some little way, Kennoway suffered the old man and one of his sons to
return, and proceeded with the other to a hamlet at a considerable
distance to search another suspected house. When he alighted here, he
obliged his prisoner to take off his coat and cover his horse with it,
in a cold stormy night, till the poor fellow could scarcely stand with
shivering. The person they were in search of escaped out at a window in
his shirt, and in this state ran nearly a mile before he obtained
shelter. Meanwhile the party took away his father in his stead. They
made a third attempt the same night upon a fresh steading, still
dragging their captives along with them, but missed their prey.
Having spent the night in rioting, early on the Sabbath morning they
came to Swine-abbey, a public-house properly so called, and having
procured lights, “Kennoway,” says honest Wodrow, “swore bloodily he
feared they had brought the wrong man;” and the prisoner peremptorily
denying that he had been at Bothwell, two of the soldiers were
despatched to bring “the old dog” and the other son. But by this time
the young dog had got out of the way, and the old one, through terror
and maltreatment, was so ill that he could neither ride nor walk. The
troopers brought some women to bear witness to the fact, and also that
the prisoner was not the person mentioned in their list. Chagrined at
their disappointment, the valiant Kennoway and his party endeavoured to
drown their mortification in “eight pints of wine and brandy, for which
he swore the prisoners should pay.” Thus passed the Sabbath. On Monday
he held a court, fined the old man in eight dollars, forced an heritor
in West Calder to give him a bond for five hundred merks, and committed
many other extravagances, of which the sufferers durst not complain, and
for which there was no redress. The young man was allowed to depart; but
in consequence of his harsh treatment, fevered, and died within a few
days.
Such burlesque courts now became common with the military, who carried
them to the most extravagant length. Cornet Graham, who appears to have
infested several parishes, held one at Dalry in the beginning of the
year, to which all men and women above the age of sixteen, were
summoned. Those who appeared were ordered to declare upon oath whether
they had ever been at any field-meetings or countenanced any who
frequented them, and whether they were married or got any infants
baptized by field-preachers. The infamous Grierson of Lag was also
particularly active in holding others in Dumfries and Galloway, where
great numbers of the inhabitants were put to much expense, besides loss
of time and damage to their various occupations.
Some estimate may be formed of the extent of the wanton extortion
experienced by the most industrious part of the community at this
period, when it is recollected that not only all whom the curates and
clergy chose to denounce as guilty of “horrid contempt of the law,” but
all against whom they had the smallest grudge and chose to name as
witnesses of the contempt of others, were brought from their homes, week
after week, and kept dangling after their court diets. The case of Mr
James Aird of Milltoun will furnish an apt illustration. While residing
at Kilmarnock upon a very stormy Sabbath, the church being very thin,
one Carnegie, the curate, at the close of his afternoon’s sermon caused
the kirk doors to be locked, and the names of the heads of families,
parishioners, called over, and all the absentees marked on purpose to be
fined—an excellent method of procuring attendance on rainy Sundays in
country parishes. Mr Aird was not only fined on this occasion, but was
brought before the justiciary shortly after, when _fifty-five witnesses
were examined_ in order to prove his accession to Bothwell, not one of
whom could say a word about the matter; and much as they were inclined
to strain every point to get him forfeited, all failed, and he was
liberated. Yet was he forced to compound with the Laird of Broich, who,
on pretext of alleged converse, had got a gift of his moveables, besides
paying upwards of three hundred merks in expenses before the justiciary.
Nor did this terminate his sufferings; ere three short months elapsed,
parties were anew sent in pursuit of him; and he was, after sleeping in
the open fields upwards of forty nights forced to abscond for several
years, leaving his house and effects to the mercy of the plunderer.
There is something truly diabolical in first torturing a suspected
person to force a confession of crime, and then producing this
confession in a criminal court, and upon it, without any other evidence,
condemning a man to die; yet such a practice was now attempted to be
introduced by Sir George Mackenzie, in order to reach the lives of the
persecuted. Before Mr Spreul was recovered from the effects of his
torture, the Lord Advocate served him with an indictment; and an
extrajudicial examination of several witnesses took place before some of
the councillors, against which the prisoner protested; yet although both
threatened and cajoled, their evidence appeared so defective, that
proceedings were delayed, though the Duke of York pressed his immediate
trial, “alleging they were at much pains about poor country people, but
Mr Spreul was more dangerous than five hundred of them.” At length, June
10, he was brought before the court upon a new indictment, “charged with
treason and rebellion, corresponding and being present with the rebels
at Bothwell, also keeping company and corresponding with Mr John Welsh
and Mr Samuel Arnot, the bloody and sacrilegious murderers of the late
Archbishop of St Andrews”—it being now the custom to accumulate in the
indictment a number of charges which the public prosecutor himself knew
to be false, and did not even intend attempting to prove.
The panel was assisted by some of the first advocates at the bar—Sir
George Lockhart, Mr Walter Pringle, Mr James Deas, Mr Alexander Swinton,
and Mr David Theirs. It was contended by his counsel, that he could not
now be put upon his trial, or, in legal language, “pass to the knowledge
of an inquest,” because, being examined before the council for the same
crime, and having denied the same, and thereafter being tortured two
several times, persisted in his denial, he cannot by the law of this and
all other nations be impanelled nor condemned for that crime upon any
new probation.
The reply of the Lord Advocate was indeed worthy of himself:—“A denial
upon torture cannot infer absolute liberation, since no man’s obstinacy
should be of advantage to him—that were to make disingenuity a
remission, and tempt criminals to conceal truth; nor does torture, in
law, import any more than a presumption of innocence—and, in law,
presumptions may be taken off by clear probation. Were torture to
preclude future probation, it will follow, that either crimes must be
left undiscovered by not putting suspected persons to torture, or
criminals be absolved and suffered to go unpunished, by wanting after
opportunities of leading just probation against them. The most that can
be pleaded in law, is, that no man can be tried upon the principal and
chief points for which he was tortured; but the panel was never tortured
upon the grounds he is now to be tried upon; besides, he neither cleared
himself nor satisfied the judges, but continued in one insuperable
obstinacy. Nor was it necessary to examine him respecting his accession
to the rebellion since it can be proven that previously to his torture
he confessed the crime.”
Sir George Lockhart offered to prove that the panel was tortured twice
most violently upon the very crime; that it is the opinion of all
lawyers, when once torture is used, it excludes all other probation,
even although there should afterwards appear the fullest evidence
against the accused; for, were it not so, double punishment would be
undergone—and the practice of this nation has been exactly agreeable
thereto. In the year 1632-33, John Toshach being pursued as guilty of
statutory treason for wilful fire and burning the house of Frendraught,
the panel being interrogated, not upon the whole fact, but whether he
entered into the vault with a candle that night the house was burnt, and
upon this subjected to torture and denied it. The process was prolonged
from August to November, and then to February. His majesty’s advocate
urging a new probation, and the panel’s lawyers advancing his torture as
a defence, the lords of justiciary sustained it.
Sir George Mackenzie then consented that it would be sufficient for the
panel to prove that he was tortured upon this very point by command of
the council, and produced the commission. Sir George Lockhart said he
did not mean to accuse the committee appointed by the council of illegal
procedure by acting in opposition to their commission; but it is certain
the panel was interrogated upon the crimes libelled, and his answers
drawn up as his confession. The lords repelled the defence, founded upon
the torture, inasmuch as the commission of council did not warrant the
prisoner’s being questioned upon any of the crimes mentioned in the
indictment, and adjourned the trial till the 13th.
At this sederunt several witnesses were examined, but none of them
brought the facts home to the prisoner, and the Lord Advocate adduced
his alleged confession in presence of the council as a corroborative
evidence. Sir George Lockhart argued that the pretended confession
before council could not be received, for it was not acknowledged nor
signed by the panel, besides being extrajudicial and not taken before a
competent judicature. The king’s advocate offered to prove by witnesses
that the confession was read to the panel, and he could not disown it;
his contumacy, therefore, ought not to be of any use to him, unless one
crime was brought forward to defend another. Yet, following the merciful
example of the king, his master! and being unwilling to stretch any
debateable point, he only adduced this confession against the panel as
an adminicle and a presumption, joined with other pregnant grounds,—and
what can be stronger? Writs may be forged, witnesses may be false, but a
man will never confess untruly to his own hurt, and therefore a
confession, even before an incompetent tribunal, unless the confessor
can show what made him err. Then assuming, what does not appear plain
upon the record, his presence and converse with rebels, he proceeds—“all
that is wanting is, whether it was with a criminal intention, of which
his own confession must be owned the most solid evidence.”
Sir George Lockhart insisted that there could not be one instance
produced of a confession importing forfeiture of life and estate not
signed by the person, or judge, if he cannot write; that in pecuniary
matters the bare verbal confession would not be admitted to be proven by
deposition of witnesses for one hundred pounds Scots—and would it be
admitted in a matter of life and fortune? The lords “refused to sustain
the confession to be proven by witnesses as a mean of probation, either
plenary or adminiculate.”
The advocate, as a last forlorn hope, moved “that the panel be
interrogated if he thinks the being at Bothwell Bridge rebellion?” The
panel answered, that he conceives that he is not obliged to answer,
because it is not the crime libelled, and he may as well be interrogated
upon any other point of treason. The lords having, however, put the
question, the panel answered, “that was no part of the libel, and his
future life should witness him to be both a good subject and a good
Christian.” The prosecutor now declared his proof closed, and protested
for an assize of error in case the inquest assoilzie the panel. The jury
were then enclosed and ordered to return their verdict next day, which
they did in the following terms:—“The assize having considered the
depositions of the haill witnesses led against John Spreul, _una voce_,
find nothing proven of the crimes contained in the libel which may make
him guilty.”
What follows marks as much almost as any deed of the times the tyranny
of the government and the servile prostitution of justice at the
fountainhead. When Spreul and his procurators, upon his acquittal, took
instruments and craved that he might be liberated, his majesty’s
advocate produced an act of council previously prepared:—“Edinburgh,
June 14, 1681. The council give order and warrant to the justices,
notwithstanding of any verdict or sentence upon the criminal dittay
lately pursued against John Spreul, to detain him in prison until he be
examined upon several other points they have to lay to his charge.” Mr
Spreul was accordingly remanded to jail; and such was the persevering
greed of his rapacious persecutors, that, on the 14th of July, he,
together with a William Lin, writer in Edinburgh, was brought before the
privy council for being at field-conventicles. They were both accused of
having at least heard Presbyterian ministers preach when some of the
congregation were without doors, and likewise of resett and converse
with intercommuned persons; and the truth of the accusation being
referred to their oaths, because they would not swear, they were both
found guilty, and each of them fined five hundred pounds sterling and
sent to the Bass. Mr Spreul lay there six years, whence, “from his long
continuance in that place,” Wodrow adds, “he has yet the compellation of
Bass John Spreul, whereof he needs not be ashamed.”[134]
Footnote 134:
This unusual severity was said to have been occasioned by Mr Spreul’s
rather imprudent answer; but as York repeatedly and voluntarily was
present, and appeared much interested in such spectacles, it would
appear the natural unfeeling disposition of the tyrant was stimulated
by the horrible maxims of his religion.
Mr Blackadder was seized in Edinburgh on Tuesday, April 5, and has left
the following account of his apprehension, so characteristic of the
manners of these satellites of prelatic domination, that I give it at
length:—“The party came to his house before he arose. His daughter and
servant were up expecting the Borrowstounness carrier, who had promised
to come that day. About five or six o’clock, one knocked softly at the
hanging gate. She looked through a hole in the door and spied a man with
a grey hat, and thought it had been the carrier, who was there the night
before with a grey hat of somebody’s on his head. She opened the door,
but it proved to be Johnstoun the town-major, with a party at his back,
who came into the hall, and asked, ‘If there were any strangers in the
house.’ She said, ‘No.’ Yet he came to the chamber where her father was
lying, putting the end of his staff to the side of the curtain, and then
went up stairs to the gallery where the minister used to stay, and found
only his son lying in the bed, and came down again to his chamber,
saying to the minister’s wife, ‘Mistress, desire your husband to rise.’
He looking forth out of the bed, said, ‘How, now, major, is that you? I
am not surprised, but where is your order?’ The other said, ‘You are
only to rise and come down to a friend in the Canongate.’ ‘Well,’ said
the minister, ‘if I were dressed, I am ready.’
“Meanwhile he spoke gently to his men to wait on the prisoner, but he
himself went quickly to Dalziel in the Canongate; upon which and other
presumptions, the minister conjectured he had no order at the time,
except privately from Prelate Paterson, till after he was taken; for he
did not take him out of his house till he returned. After he returned,
the minister calling for a drink, sought a blessing, and caused give
them all a drink, and went forth; his wife being very sickly, yet
behaved more quietly than he could have believed. It was observable that
such a wicked person as the major was, who used to swear and domineer in
all such cases, did at that time carry most calmly, as all the party
did, not one menacing word being heard. The major took him down the
Cowgate, himself on the one hand, and the minister’s son Thomas on the
other, the party following, and brought him to Dalziel’s lodgings, near
the foot of the Canongate. The major went first, the minister following.
Dalziel himself opening the door, the major told him he had brought the
prisoner. Dalziel bade him take him to the guard. The minister stepping
up stairs, said—‘May I speak a little?’ at which he rudely raged, ‘You,
sir, have spoken too much; I would hang you with my own hands over that
outshot.’ He knew not yet who he was, nor what was laid to his charge
till afterward, as the minister perceived by a strange alteration in his
calmness to him when he came to the court at twelve o’clock, at which
time he was called.
“His examinators were, the Duke of Rothes, chancellor; the king’s
advocate, Sir George Mackenzie; General Dalziel; and Bishop Paterson of
Edinburgh. In answer to questions from the Chancellor, he acknowleged he
was a minister at Troqueer, in Galloway, since 1653. ‘Did you
excommunicate the king? or was you at Torwood at the time?’ ‘I have not
been at Torwood these four years.’ ‘But what do you think of it? do you
approve of it?’
“Perceiving that many such extraneous questions concerning his thoughts
and judgments of things might be asked, and being resolved to make a
stand at first, he shunned declaring his inward sentiments, and
answered—‘Though I be as free to answer to that as to all the former,
yet I must tell you I came here to give account of my judgment to no
man; therefore, seeing this is an interrogating of me about my thoughts,
I humbly beg to be excused. Produce a libel, and I’ll endeavour to
answer it as I can.’ On this point he was repeatedly interrogated by the
Chancellor and the Advocate, but to no purpose.
“‘But do you approve of taking the king’s life?’ ‘No, I do not, and no
good man will.’ The Chancellor said, ‘Sir, you have done yourself a
favour in saying so. But we hear you keep conventicles since the last
indemnity?’ ‘I need not ask what is meant by conventicles, seeing that
term has been frequently applied to our preaching who are ministers of
the gospel, and under the strictest obligation to exercise our ministry,
as we shall be answerable at the great day. My lord, I have the honour
to be lawfully and duly called to the sacred function, and am bound to
exercise that office, which I ever did and still do account my duty,
abstracting from all indemnities whatever.’ ‘But you have preached in
the fields, that is, on moors and hill sides? I shall not ask you if you
have preached in houses or not, though there is not liberty even for
that.’ ‘I place no case of conscience, nor make any difference betwixt
preaching in houses or in the fields, but as may best serve the
convenience of the hearers; nor know I of any restriction lying on me
from the word of God, where I have my commission, which reaches to
houses and fields, within and without doors.’ ‘You know, and no doubt
have seen, the laws discharging such preaching?’ ‘My lord, no doubt I
have; and I am sorry that there ever should have been laws and acts made
against preaching the gospel.’ ‘Not against preaching the gospel, but
against sedition and rebellion.’ ‘I preach no sedition or rebellion.’
“Then the Lord Advocate rose out of his place and came to the prisoner,
and courteously asked him, why he answered not more clearly to the
Chancellor about the excommunication, and alleged he was straitened. To
this insidious query, Mr Blackadder replied, ‘I am noways straitened or
confused about that; but I do of purpose shun to answer such
interrogatories as require me to give account of my thoughts and
judgment about persons or practices, not knowing how many such questions
may be put, or what use may be made of them; and I am here only to
answer for matters of fact that concern myself.’ Then intending to speak
somewhat more, he craved liberty to be heard; to which the Chancellor
replied, ‘You have leave to speak, if you speak not treason;’ but
immediately rose and went out with the other two, it being near one
o’clock, their dinner hour.
“Before the next examination, he sent his son to tell Colonel
Blackadder, a cousin of his, who went and informed General Dalziel,
whose comrade he had been in the wars, of the prisoner’s relation to the
house of Tulliallan, with which Dalziel also was connected. The
examination consisted only of a few trifling questions, and passed
smoothly. At two o’clock on Wednesday, Captain Maitland, who was on the
guard, told the prisoner he was to carry him up to the council at three,
and desired him to be ready. When the Duke went to the council, he, Mr
Blackadder, was ranked among three rank of musketeers in Captain
Maitland’s company, who marched him up the rear of the life-guards who
attended the Duke up streets. When he came to the Parliament Close, the
captain sent four soldiers to wait on the prisoner in an outer room till
he should be called. There he sat from three till five o’clock, when the
council rose. He was not called, which he marvelled at; but sent his son
Thomas to inquire what word was concerning him, who answered he believed
he was sentenced to the Bass. On the morrow he was sent off. When they
reached the Fisherrow, they observed a gathering of people upon some
occasion or other at the end of the town, upon the green, which, when
the captain perceived, he took the alarm, apprehending it might be a
design to rescue the prisoner. Upon this he came to the minister, and
said, ‘If these people attempt to rescue you, you are a dead man; for
upon the first attack, I will shoot you through the head.’ The minister
said he knew nothing about it, and did not believe there was any such
design. They came to Castleton over against the Bass about three
afternoon. The prisoner dined the whole party there! and after dinner
two of them went over with him in a boat to the rock; and he was
delivered to the governor of the Scottish Bastile about five afternoon,
on Thursday, April 7, 1681, after he had laboured in the work from 1662,
when he was cast out in many and divers places in the land under
continual persecution, manifold hardships and hazards, till he
accomplished the service appointed by his master.”
Mr Gabriel Semple, son of Sir Bryce Semple of Cathcart, minister of
Kirkpatrick-Durham in Galloway, an able associate of Blackadder and
Welsh, particularly obnoxious as being one of the first who took to the
fields, was in July this year seized in the house of Sir Patrick Hepburn
of Blackcastle, at Oldhamstocks, and liberated upon giving bond to
appear when called for, under a penalty of ten thousand merks. When
seized, he was labouring under an ague and unable to ride, yet would not
the council dispense with his presence; but procuring the accommodation
of Lady Stevenstoun’s calash, he was able to perform the journey,
accompanied by his nephew. On his arrival, he was lodged in the
Canongate jail, where he lay for a short time. When called before a
committee of council, his petition was read to him, and he was called to
acknowledge it; but the clerk, in reading, had added some strong
expressions, disavowing the principles for which Mr Semple was
suffering, in hopes that he would disclaim it. This he afterwards found
had been done on purpose to extort money from him, (but Lord Maitland,
who was one of the number, was very friendly.) When asked if he owned
the supplication after it was read, he requested a sight of the paper;
and observing that the paper itself had not been altered, he returned
it, saying that that paper was the very same he had written and given
in; upon which he was dismissed without being required to renew the
bond, and shortly after he withdrew to England.
His host, however, did not escape so easily. He was brought before the
council and fined in the sum of two hundred pounds sterling, and
imprisoned till he found caution to pay it.
Cargill had nobly kept the field, after all his brethren had retired to
safer stations, and his ministry had been greatly blessed. In
consequence, he had become an object of more eager pursuit; but the
Torwood excommunication had raised the malignant passions of the
persecutors to a degree of virulent animosity beyond what can be
imagined or accounted for by those who consider the transaction an
object of contempt; and a reward of five thousand merks was offered for
his apprehension. He delivered his last sermon upon Dunsyre Common, from
Isaiah xxvi. 20. “Come, my people, enter thou into thy chambers, and
shut thy doors about thee: hide thyself as it were for a little moment,
until the indignation be overpast.” That night, through the persuasion
of Messrs Smith and Boig, he went to Covington-mill, where he was
seized, together with his two companions, by James Irvine of Bonshaw,
who exclaimed with satanic glee—“O blessed Bonshaw! and blessed day that
ever I was born! that has found such a prize this morning.” At Lanark,
they procured horses, and placing the prisoners on their bare backs,
Bonshaw with his own hands tied Mr Cargill’s feet below the animal’s
belly, painfully hard. “Why do you tie me so hard?” said the venerable
saint; “your wickedness is great; you will not long escape the just
judgment of God.”[135] Fearing a rescue, they pushed on for Glasgow as
fast as they could. When near the city, they turned him on his horse,
and led him in backward. They halted at the tolbooth till the
magistrates came to receive them. Multitudes flocked to gaze; and while
many stood weeping to see their late revered minister in such a
situation, John Nisbet, a dissolute character, the bishop’s factor,
addressed him tauntingly—‘Mr Donald, will you give us one word more?’
alluding to an expression Mr Cargill sometimes used in preaching. The
prisoner, looking sorrowfully on him, replied—‘Mock not, lest your bands
be made strong; the day is coming, when you shall not have one word to
say though you would.’ This natural and serious reproof was received as
a prophecy; and Wodrow adds—“This came very shortly to pass. Not many
days after, the Lord was pleased to lay his hand on that ill man. At
Glasgow, where he lived, he fell suddenly ill, and for three days his
tongue swelled; and though he seemed very earnest to speak, yet he could
not command one word, and died in great torment and seeming terror. Some
yet alive know the truth of this passage.”[136]
Footnote 135:
Crookshanks adds, “‘And if I be not mistaken, it will seize you in
this place.’ And this was verified, for soon after he got the price of
his blood; he was killed in a duel near Lanark. His last words
were—‘God damn my soul eternally, for I am gone.’” Vol. ii. p. 85.
Footnote 136:
Crookshanks says, “Robert Godwin and John Hodge, two Glasgow men who
were witnesses to this, went to visit him. Godwin desired him to write
what kept him from speaking. He wrote that it was a just judgment from
the Lord, and the sayings of the minister verified upon him for his
mocking at him; and if he had the whole world, he would give it for
the use of his tongue again. But he died in great torment and seeming
terror.” Vol. ii. p. 86.
Mr Cargill and his fellow-prisoners were brought to the capital, and on
the 15th July examined before the council. Being asked if he owned the
king’s authority and the king as his lawful prince, he answered, as the
magistrates’ authority is now established by the act of parliament anent
supremacy and the explanatory act, he denied the same. When pressed to
say explicitly if he owned the king as his lawful prince, yes or no; he
refused to give any other answer than he had already given, and declined
their interference respecting the excommunication, that being entirely
an ecclesiastical matter. He acknowledged having seen Balfour,
Henderson, and Russell, within the last two years, but knew nothing of
their intentions before the deed—_i. e._ the archbishop’s death—was
done. A copy of the sermon alleged to have been preached by him at the
Torwood, was produced—so vigilant were their spies in procuring
information—and he was asked if it was a true copy. He desired time to
consider before he answered. He owned the lawfulness of defensive arms
in case of necessity, and did not consider those who were at Bothwell
rebels, but oppressed men; and refused to say whether he was there or at
Airs-moss. He did not see the Sanquhar declaration till after it was
proclaimed, but refused to say whether he had any hand in advising it or
not; and with regard to the principles it contained, would give no
opinion rashly. He further declared he could not give his sense
respecting the archbishop’s death, but that the Scripture says that the
Lord giving a call to a private man to kill, he might do it lawfully,
and instanced Jael and Phineas—thinks he is not obliged to obey the
king’s government as it is now established by the act of supremacy. He
was repeatedly before the council, but varied nothing in his
declarations.
Mr Walter Smith, though young in years, was an eminent Christian and an
excellent scholar. He had studied abroad under Leusden, who highly
esteemed him; and when he heard of his martyrdom, burst into weeping,
and said in broken English—“O! Smit, great, brave, Smit; b’yond all as
ever I taut.”[137] He declared he did not think it lawful to rise in
arms against lawful authority, but could not acknowledge the present
authority the king is invested with, as being clothed with a supremacy
over the church. The Sanquhar declaration being read, he owned it, with
this explication, that he did not look on those who composed it as the
regular representatives of the Presbyterian church; he thought what the
king had done, justified the people in revolting against him, but as to
declaring war, he did not know if they were called or in a capacity to
declare war; and thinks that they thereby intended only to justify the
killing of any of the king’s forces in their own defence, when
assaulted, otherwise it might have been esteemed murder. As to these
words where the king is called an usurper and a tyrant, he knows
certainly the king is an usurper, and wishes he were not a tyrant.
Footnote 137:
He wrote several tracts; one on Fellowship Meetings, and another on
the Defections of the Times, which were highly esteemed; neither of
which have I seen.
James Boig, also a student of divinity, a young man of talent and piety,
was examined upon the same points, and bore testimony to the same
truths.
William Thomson, a farm-servant in Fife, apprehended when coming from
hearing sermon at Alloa, in a testimony, most admirably written,
considering his situation in life, coincided with his minister—“I was
before the year 1679,” said he, in that paper, “running away with the
rest of this generation to God-provoking courses.” “Now I do with all my
heart bless the Lord for his wonderful workings with me, since he began
with me. I think when I look on his dealings since that time till now, I
must say that I am a brand pluckt out of the fire. O! that my heart and
soul could praise him for all that he has done for me; and now I am
content to die a debtor to free grace!” He then declared his adherence
to the Scriptures, to the Covenants, National and Solemn League, and to
the Directory for Worship; and, “in the last place, bore his testimony
to the cross of Christ, as the only desirable upmaking and rich lot of
the people of God this day in Scotland.” “There is no better way,” he
added, “to carry the cross right, than to cast all our care upon Christ,
and trust him for all things, and use our single endeavours in this
matter; speak what he bids us, and obey his voice in all things.”
William Cuthil—a seaman belonging to Borrowstounness, who suffered at
the same time—struck fairly at the root of the mischief—the recalling of
the Stuarts, which indeed was the first grand step of backsliding by the
honest people in Scotland, and not more inconsistent in a religious than
totally unaccountable in a rational or political point of view—“The
admitting Charles Stuart to the exercise of kingly power, and crowning
him while they knew he carried heart enmity against the work and people
of God, and while in the mean time there was so much of his treachery
made known to the parliament by his commissionating James Graham, Earl
of Montrose, to burn and slay the subjects of this kingdom, that would
not side with, or would withstand, him in the prosecution of his
wickedness.” Another point in his testimony was equally just; it was
“against that unparalleled practice of ministers in quitting their
charges; and that which doth more aggravate their guilt, at his command
who had no power to act, nor right to be obeyed, either in that or civil
things, seeing he hath unkinged himself.”
Had the whole ministers in Scotland and England individually refused to
move till the people themselves had desired them, it is more than
probable that they never would have been ejected. It was the great
anxiety evinced, during their primary negotiations with Charles, by each
party and separate section to engross the whole of the royal favour for
themselves, that laid the foundation of his tyranny, and cast into his
hands a power which enabled him to overthrow the constitution of this
country;[138] and their at once yielding to their own illegal ejectment
confirmed it. If there be primary principles of government, founded upon
the constitution of our nature, and, like the doctrines of revelation,
suited to the necessities and the existence of society, no power on
earth has a right to uproot or destroy them, more especially if planted
with the genera] consent of a nation; and such were the principles
acknowledged, avowed, legalized, and acted upon by the estates of
Scotland at Glasgow, which were said to be set aside by the act
rescissory, but which were afterwards at the Revolution acknowledged as
inalienable; for these the humblest of the martyrs shed their blood, and
their sufferings have only been decried by those who allege that
Christian privileges and civil privileges can be separated, or who
suppose that a man can enjoy rational freedom, while he is not allowed
to worship God, except in the manner prescribed by the state.
Footnote 138:
I believe, however, he owed much to the perverted education of the
nobility, and the contracted tutelage of the influential middle ranks.
It appears to me that the excellent men who superintended their
studies, were more anxious to instil into their young minds party
principles than practical truths; and likewise that the Presbyterian
teachers, in their anxiety to keep aloof from the lax morals of the
cavalliers, acted with a severity which alienated the affections of
their pupils from themselves and their opinions.
In one instance, the Duke of York showed something like a respect for
these principles. A wild sect had originated with John Gib, a sailor in
Borrowstounness, named “the sweet singers,” or “the Gibbites,” from
their leader. These retired to solitary places, burned the covenants,
denied the king’s authority, refused to pay taxes, disowned the division
into chapters and verses of the Old and New Testaments, the Psalms in
metre, also the names of the months and days of the week, fasted long in
the immediate expectation of the end of the world, and with curious
inconsistency were constantly singing the penitential Psalms. Such at
least were some of the charges against them; but when a number were
apprehended and lodged in the Canongate tolbooth, they were after a
short confinement dismissed, merely upon enacting themselves to keep the
peace.
Far different was the treatment of the five worthies above mentioned. On
the 26th of July, after a form of trial, they were all found guilty of
treason, and ordered to be hanged next day, the day before parliament
met. Mr Cargill came first. “As to the cause of my suffering,” he said,
“the main is my not acknowledging the present authority, as it is
established in the supremacy and explanatory act. This is the magistracy
that I have rejected that was invested with Christ’s power.” “It is
long,” said he, in the declaration which he left, “since I could have
ventured on eternity through God’s mercy and Christ’s merits, yet death
remained somewhat terrible; now that is taken away; now death is no more
to me than to cast myself down in my husband’s arms. I have been most in
the main things, not that I thought the things concerning our times
little, but that I thought none could do any thing to purpose in God’s
great and public matters till they were right in their conditions.” When
he attempted from the scaffold to address the numerous assemblage, he
was thrice interrupted by the drums, yet was he not discomposed. “Ye
see,” said he, with a smiling countenance, “we have not liberty to
speak, or to speak what we would; but God knoweth our hearts; be not
discouraged at the way of Christ and the cause for which I am to lay
down my life, and step into eternity, where my soul shall be as full of
him as it can desire to be. And, now, this is the sweetest and most
glorious day that ever my eyes did see.” “The Lord knows I go up this
ladder with less fear and perturbation of mind than ever I entered the
pulpit to preach. I forgive all men the wrongs they have done against
me. I pray that the sufferers may be kept from sin and helped to know
their duty.” He afterwards prayed a little, and the executioner turned
him over praying. The others met death with equal solemn confidence and
joy.
On that same day the Duke of Rothes died; and Wodrow tells us, “that, as
through life, except when pushed on by others, he was never for
severities against Presbyterian ministers; so at his death he had the
advantage of some of them with him. He appeared concerned upon views of
eternity, and the Reverend Mr John Carstairs waited upon him, and prayed
with him—the Duke of Hamilton and many others of his noble relations
being present; and few were present without being affected very
sensibly.” By his death the office of Chancellor becoming vacant, many
of the chief nobility, in expectation of succeeding him, became more
subservient to the royal Duke, which enabled him to carry his despotic
measures with greater facility than perhaps he could otherwise have
done.
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