On a certain day in a certain month, A.D. 1644, a woman went to the house
of another woman in Borrowstonness. She went early, and instantly fell to
mauling and pulling her, crying, "Thou traitour thief, thou thought to
destroy my son this morning, but it was not in thy power!" And then she
pulled her mutch from off her head, and mauled and maltreated her anew.
Now the meaning of the row was, that this woman had a son out at sea, whom
she, so cruelly assaulted, had sought to destroy by means of a sudden
storm raised by magic means this very day. The storm was actually raised,
and many of the crew suffered; but the son of the woman at Borrowstonness
was washed overboard by one wave, and washed on board again by another
wave, which so filled all the mariners with amaze that they came ashore.
The dispute between the two women becoming noised abroad, and the thing
being as the one had said, it was found that they were both in equal
fault--that the one had done, and the other known, too much; wherefore
they were burnt as witches, and the world had the satisfaction of hearing
them confess before they died.
Another woman, "about thirty and two, or three and thirty years of age, a
most beautiful and comely person as was in the country about," wife to one
Goodaile, a cooper, in Carrin, was fyled for a witch and put in prison.
She was the devil's favourite and dear delight; and at their meetings she
was the person whom "he did most court and embrace, calling her constantly
my dear mistress, setting her always at his right hand, to the great
discontent of his old haggs, whom, as they now conceived, he slighted;"
but her time came at last, and the law caught hold of her in place of the
devil, and gave her a yet more stringent embrace. James Fleming, a
sea-captain, and a man of great personal courage and physical strength,
was set to watch her, for the magistrates feared lest the devil should
attempt her rescue, since he loved her so well; and to him she said, that
if she got no deliverance by one o'clock in the morning, she would lay her
breast open to him and confess freely. James Fleming, a little alarmed at
this, and not liking to encounter the devil single-handed, took down
fourteen of his ship's company with him, "not forgetting the reading of
Scripture and earnest prayer to God." Sure enough the foul fiend came: for
on a sudden at midnight a tremendous hurricane arose, which unroofed the
house where they all were, and threatened to bring the whole place about
their ears, and a voice was heard calling to her by a strange name to come
away: "at which time she made three several loups upward, increasing
gradually till her feet were as high as his breast." But though James
Fleming's hair was standing widershins on his head, and though his heart
failed him for dread and fear, and he "beteached" himself to God "with
great amazement," yet his muscles continued as serviceable as ever, and at
last got the better even of the Prince of Darkness. He held this beautiful
and comely person in his powerful arms, and kept her there, through all
her struggles to get free; and at last succeeded in throwing her down upon
the ground, where for some time she grovelled and foamed like one in the
falling sickness, and then sank into a deep sleep. When she awaked she
complained bitterly of the devil, saying how that he had promised to
release her and carry her over to Ireland, touching at Paisley by the way,
where she had a sister living; but now she saw through all his treachery
and perfidiousness, and understood how she had been made his dupe. She was
burnt in all penitence and good conduct, as was also another woman about
the same time, who, putting up her arm to swear that she was not a witch,
had it suddenly withered and stiffened so that she could not bring it back
again; nor was she able to do so, until a minister who was there, had
intreated God in her behalf; for the ministers were always men of mighty
power on such occasions, and either made or marred at their pleasure. If
they chose to accept a case as possession, they prayed and exorcised; but
if it seemed good to them to call it witchcraft, then the poor wretch's
life was doomed, and no man might hope to save. It was very seldom they
cared so much for humanity as to choose the more merciful of the two
absurdities. Sometimes, though, the devil was as good as his word, and
made at least an attempt, if a clumsy one, to release his servants: as
when he took Helen Eliot from the steeple of Culross where she was
confined, and carried her in his arms through the air. He might have
landed her in safety somewhere--who knows?--had she not cried out, "O God!
whither are you taking me?" At which words he let her fall "at the
distance from the steeple of about the breadth of the street of Edinburgh,
whereby she broke her legs and otherwise seriously injured herself." Many
thousand people flocked to see the dimple which her heels had made, and
over which no grass would grow again. So at last they built a stone dyke
round it, and kept the impression safe.
In 1649 Lady Pittathrow was delated of witchcraft. She was put in prison
waiting for her trial; but one morning she was found dead, having
strangled herself, or been strangled by the devil--the world might
determine which according to its pleasure. Shortly after, Bessie Grahame
was apprehended for a few drunken words said against John Rankin's wife,
who had since died. During a confinement of thirteen weeks she was
visited by the minister, who found her obdurate in confession, and was
much inclined to find her innocent of crime. But Alexander Bogue, a
pricker, came to examine her, and discovered the mark, into which he
thrust a pin, which neither pained nor drew blood. Still she was held to
be innocent, until one day Mr. James Fergusson, the minister, heard her
talking to the devil as soon as she was alone. He knew it was the devil,
for his voice was hollow and ghoustie, and the servant, Alexander Sympson,
was like to have fallen back for fear. Still Bessie would never confess
anything beyond general unworthiness and the usual tale of vague misdeeds,
owning, indeed, to a special horror of him, the minister, and how she was
not "let to love him," as indeed was no special miracle; and then she fell
to railing at him bitterly, which was less a miracle than all else. So she
was burnt, dying obdurate and unconfessed; and thus another murder reeked
up to heaven, crying aloud for vengeance, because John Rankin's wife died
suddenly, and an intemperate old woman swore in her cups and had a habit
of speaking to herself.
Agnes Gourlay was accused of charming milk. She told Anna Simpson to throw
a small quantity of the milk into the "grupe" or sewer of the byre,
saying, "God betak us to! May be they are under the earth that have as
much need of it as they that are above the earth!" After which bread and
salt were to be put into the cows' ears, and milk would come. Agnes got
off by penance and confession: which was more than Janet Couts did, or
Archibald Watt, _alias_ "Sole the Paitlet;" though eleven other poor
creatures delated escaped their doom, partly because the burgh of Lanark
disliked having so many mouths to feed in prison pending their trial.
At Lauder, in 1649, Hob Grieve was accused of witchcraft. Twenty years
agone his wife, who had been burnt for a witch, told Hob that he might get
rich if he would follow her counsel and go along with her. So he went with
her to a haugh on Gallow-water, to meet, as she said, a gentleman there;
but he saw only a large mastiff dog, "which amazed him." At last came the
devil as a black man, telling him that if he would take suit and service
with him he should be made rich. He was to be officer at the meetings, and
hold the door at the sabbaths. Hob consented, and for eighteen years held
that office; but it does not seem that the foul fiend kept his part of the
condition, for Hob had enough to do to find salt for his porridge. He was
always poor, and remained poor to the end, with all the kicks and none of
the halfpence; and for his eighteen years of servitude got only suspicion
and ill-will, without fat or fry to comfort him. When taken, he "delated"
many, who, for the most part, confessed. After he had filled the prison,
so that it could hold no more, he accused another still, a woman of
Lauder. The magistrate kept the secret, wishing to wait until some of the
accused were "emptied out," having nowhere to put her; but the devil,
always at mischief, went to her in the night time, and told her what Hob
Grieve had said. Next day she arose and came to the prison, railing at
Hob, calling him warlock and slave to the devil, and what not. She was
told to go home, but she sat down on the Tolbooth stairs, and said she
would never stir until she and that slave of Satan had been confronted.
The bailie himself came to her, and told her to go home; but that was too
mild a proceeding. "No," she cried, "I must be set face to face with that
rascal who has delated me, an honest woman, for a witch." She was set face
to face with him, and she fell down on her bare knees, and cursed him.
Says she, "Thou common thief, how dare thou for thy soul say that ever
before this time thou saw me or I saw thee, or ever was in thy company,
either alone or with others?" Hob listened to her railings patiently, till
commanded by the bailie to speak, when says he, "How came she then to know
that I had called her a witch? Surely none but the devil, thy old master
and mine, has told thee so much." "The devil and thou perish together, for
he is not my master though he be thine. I defy the devil and all his
works!" said the woman. Then Hob reminded her of the many times and places
where they had met while in the same service; whereat she cried, "Now I
perceive that the devil is a lyar and a murderer from the beginning, for
this night he came to me, and told me to come and abuse thee; and never
come away till I was confronted with thee, and he assured me that thou
would deny all and say, thou false tongue, thou lyest!" She then confessed
all with which she was charged, and was executed. Hob was a very penitent
sinner: being now a mere lunatic, he was easy to manage, and exceeding
confidential in his confessions. He said that once in Musselburgh water
the devil had tried to drown him when he had a heavy creil on his back;
and even since he had been in prison he had come to cast him into the
fire. But though there was a very crowd "fylit" by this poor maniac, he
was innocent of the death of a certain woman who was hanged a short time
after. The magistrates, glutted to satiety with victims, wanted to save
her; but she would accept no chance offered to her. She had been fyled as
a witch, she said, and as a witch she would die. And had not the devil
once, when she was a young lassie, kissed her, and given her a new name?
Reason enough why she should die, if even nothing worse lay behind. At
last the day of her execution came, and she was taken out to be burnt with
the rest. On her way to the scaffold she made this lamentable
speech:--"Now all you that see me this day, know that I am now to die a
witch by my own confession; and I free all men, especially the ministers
and magistrates, of the guilt of my blood. I take it wholly on myself. My
blood be upon my own head; and as I must make answer to the God of heaven
presently, I declare I am as free of witchcraft as any child; but being
delated by a malicious woman, and put in prison under the name of a witch,
disowned by my husband and friends, and seeing no ground of hope of my
coming out of prison or ever coming in credit again, through a temptation
of the devil, I made up that confession on purpose to destroy my own life,
being weary of it, and choosing rather to die than to live." How many poor
wretches had been like this unhappy creature--disowned by husband and
friends, seeing no ground of hope of ever coming in credit again, and
therefore in despair choosing rather to die than to live! In this special
case even the magistrates, usually so passionately determined that all the
accused should be found guilty and suffer death, even they seem to have
sought her release, and to have refused the evidence of her confession as
long as they could; but the times were not sufficiently enlightened for
them to refuse it altogether; and so she gained the fiery goal whither her
anguish and despair impelled her.