[Sidenote: 1693. APR.]
For some time past there had been an unusual and alarming number of
highway robberies. One case, of a picturesque character, may be
particularised. William M‘Fadyen, who made a business of _droving_
cattle out of Galloway and Carrick to sell them in the English markets,
had received a hundred and fifty pounds sterling at Dumfries, and was on
his way home (December 10, 1692), about four miles from that town, when
at sunrise he was joined by two men, ‘one in a gentleman’s habit,
mounted on a dark-gray horse, with a scarlet coat and gold-thread
buttons. He was of extraordinary stature, with his own hair,
sad-coloured, ane high Roman nose, slender-faced, thick-lipped, with a
wrat [wart] above one of his eyes as big as ane nut, and the
little-finger of his left hand bowed towards his loof’—a peculiarity, by
the way, which the Duke of Lauderdale believed to denote a man who would
come to some sad and untimely end. ‘The other appeared to be his
servant, and was also mounted upon ane dark-gray horse, and carried a
long gun.’ ‘After they had travelled about half a mile on the way, the
servant said he was going through the muir, and desired [M‘Fadyen] to go
along with him, which he refused; whereupon he beat [M‘Fadyen] with the
but-end of his gun, and said he would make him go. Immediately
thereafter, the other came up, and presented a pistol to his breast; and
so, after he had made what defence he was able, and had received several
wounds, they carried him about a quarter of a mile off the way, and cut
the cloak-bag from behind his saddle, and carried away his money.’
Among other steps taken by the Privy Council in consequence of this
daring robbery, was to ‘recommend Sir James Leslie, commander-in-chief
for the time of their majesties’ forces within this kingdom, to cause
make trial if _there be any such person, either officer or soldier,
amongst their majesties’ forces_, as the persons described.’ They sent
the same recommendation to the Earl of Leven with regard to ‘the
officers which are come over from Flanders to levy recruits.’
This seems to have put the military authorities upon their mettle, and
they engaged a certain Sergeant Fae, of Sir James Leslie’s regiment, as
a detector of the robbers, ‘upon his own expenses, except five pounds
allowed him by the [Privy Council].’ The sergeant, an enterprising
fellow, with ‘a perfect abhorrence of such villainies,’ went into the
duty assigned him with such zeal and courage, that he soon, at the
hazard of his life, made seizure of several robbers, of whom two were
convicted. Three [Sidenote: 1693. APR. 5.] months of this work having,
however, exhausted his means, he was obliged to petition for further
encouragement, and the Privy Council ordered him ten pounds for the past
service, and five pounds for every robber whom he might apprehend, and
who should be convicted in future.[103]
[Sidenote: APR. 11.]
A great number of the smaller lairds of Fife were Jacobite; among the
rest, David Boswell of Balmouto. On the other hand, the Earl of Leven,
one of the nobility of the county, stood high in office under the
Revolution government. Besides a general quarrel with the earl on this
ground, Balmouto had probably some private cause of offence to
exasperate him; but on this point we only have conjecture.
At the date noted, there was a horse-race at the county town, Cupar; and
both gentlemen attended. It is alleged that Balmouto first waited near a
house in the town where the earl was, in expectation of his coming
forth, but afterwards went away to the raceground. There, as the earl
was quietly riding about, Balmouto came up to him behind his back, and
struck him twice or thrice over the head and shoulders with a baton. On
his lordship turning to defend himself, the assailant struck the horse
on the face, and caused it to rear dangerously. Balmouto then fired a
pistol at the earl without effect, and was immediately seized by the
bystanders, and prevented from doing further mischief.
In a debate before the Privy Council on this case, after hearing
representations from both parties, it was held that the earl’s complaint
was proved, while an attempt of Balmouto to make out a counter-charge of
assault against Lord Leven was declared to have failed. Balmouto was
obliged to beg the earl’s pardon on his knees, and, on pain of
imprisonment, give caution for future good-behaviour.
On the ensuing 13th of March 1694, Balmouto is found representing to the
Council that ‘his misfortune has been so great, that his friends are
unwilling to interest themselves in his liberation, whereby his family
is in hazard to be ruined, and himself to die in prison;’ and he craved
that they would accept his personal obligation, and allow him his
liberty. The Earl of Leven having concurred in desiring this, the
petition was complied with.[104]
[Sidenote: 1693. JUNE.]
A broadside published this month at Glasgow, under the title of the
_Scottish Mercury_, ‘by Mr John Stobo, student in astrologophysick,’
being dated, however, ‘from Kirkintilloch, where I dwell,’ makes us
aware that the almanac-making charlatanry was not unknown in Scotland.
We learn from it that the French nation are near a sad calamity; that
there were fears of conspiracies about Rome and Milan; and
Constantinople not likely to be free from tumultuous uproars of the
soldiery. ‘The conjunction of Venus with Jupiter relates to some great
lady’s marriage.’ The author professes to ground upon natural causes,
but not to conclude positively about anything—‘that belongs to God’s
providence.’ Finally, there is an advertisement informing the world that
John Stobo, as is known in many parts of this kingdom, cures infallibly
all diseases, couches cataracts, amputates, &c., working for the poor
gratis, and imposing upon the rich ‘as little cost as may be.’
[Sidenote: JUNE 14.]
To promote the making of linen in Scotland, an act was passed in 1686,
ordaining that ‘no corps of any persons whatsoever be buried in any
shirt, sheet, or anything else, except in plain linen,’ the relatives of
deceased persons being obliged, under heavy penalties, to come to their
parish minister within eight days of the burial, and declare on oath
that the rule had been complied with.[105] Another act was now passed,
ordaining that, for the same end, no lint should be exported from the
kingdom; that lint imported should be duty free; and making sundry
arrangements for a uniformity in the breadth of the cloth produced.
There was likewise still another act conferring particular privileges on
two companies which carried on the linen manufacture in Paul’s Work,
Edinburgh, and in the Citadel of Leith, as an encouragement which was
required for their success.
An act was passed at the same time for encouraging James Foulis, John
Holland, and other persons named, in setting up a manufactory of ‘that
sort of cloth commonly called _Colchester Baises_’ in Scotland; ‘which
baises will consume a great deal of wool which cannot be profitable
neither at home nor abroad.’
On the same day, there was an act in favour of William Scott, [Sidenote:
1693.] cabinet-maker, who designed to set up a coach-work, being, as
would appear, the first of the kind that had been proposed in Scotland,
though the use of the article ‘not only occasions the yearly export of a
great deal of money out of the kingdom, but likewise that the lieges
cannot be furnished with such necessars when they have occasion for
them, without bringing them from abroad at a double charge, beside
sea-hazard.’ It was ordained that William Scott should have the
privileges of a manufactory ‘for making of coaches, chariots, sedans,
and calashes, harnish and grinding of glasses,’ for eleven years.
On the 28th May 1694, articles of agreement were concluded between
Nicolas Dupin, acting for a linen company in England, and the royal
burghs and others in Scotland, for the formation of a company to carry
on the linen manufacture in this kingdom. It was arranged that the
enterprise should rest in a capital of six thousand five-pound shares,
one half of which should be held by Englishmen, the rest by Scotsmen,
the burghs being each allowed certain shares in proportion to their
standing and wealth. The money to be paid in four instalments within the
ensuing two years.[106]
The linen manufacture is spoken of in 1696 as established, and two years
later we find the bleaching was executed at Corstorphine.
Dupin conducted works in England and Ireland for the manufacture of
paper, and the establishment of another in Scotland was one of the
objects for which he had come to the north. Several of the Scottish
nobility and gentry whom he met in London encouraged him in his
enterprise, telling him that ‘some persons have already attempted to
work good writing-paper, but could not effect the same.’ In July we find
him addressing the Privy Council for permission to erect and carry on a
paper-work in this kingdom, setting forth that he had arrived at ‘the
art of making all sorts of fine paper moulds as good, or better, as any
made beyond seas, and at a far cheaper rate, insomuch that one man can
make and furnish more moulds in one week than any other workman in other
nations can finish in two months’ time:’ moreover, ‘whereas large timber
is scarce in this kingdom,’ he and his associates ‘have arts to make the
greatest mortar and vessel for making of paper without timber;’ they
‘have also provided several ingenious outlandish workmen to work and
teach their art in this kingdom.’
On this shewing, Dupin and his friends obtained ‘protection and
[Sidenote: 1693.] liberty to set up paper-mills in this kingdom, without
hindering any other persons who are already set up;’ also permission ‘to
put the coat of arms of this kingdom upon the paper which shall be made
by them at these mills.’[107]
By an act of Estates two years later, Dupin’s project was sanctioned as
a joint-stock concern.[108]
A rope-manufactory had been some years before established at Newhaven by
James Deans, bailie of the Canongate, and one of his sons; but it had
been discontinued for want of encouragement, after a considerable loss
had been incurred. In November 1694, Thomas Deans, another son of the
first enterpriser, expressed himself as disposed to venture another
stock in the same work, at the same place, or some other equally
convenient, provided he should have it endowed with the privileges of a
manufactory, though not to the exclusion of others disposed to try the
same business. His wishes were complied with by the Privy Council.
On the 7th May 1696, the privileges of a manufactory, according to
statute, were granted by the Privy Council to Patrick Houston and his
partners for a rope-work at Glasgow. This copartnery was to set out with
a stock of forty thousand pounds Scots, and introduce foreign workmen to
instruct the natives.
One David Foster had set up a pin-work at Leith in 1683, and was
favoured by the Privy Council with the privileges assigned by statute to
manufactories. In January 1695, Foster being dead, his successor, James
Forester, came forward with a petition for a continuance of these
privileges, professing that he meant to ‘carry on the work to a further
degree of perfection, and bring home foreigners to that effect.’ This
request was complied with.[109]
The parliament, in May 1695, granted privileges for the encouragement of
James Lyell of Gairden, in setting up a manufactory of oil from seeds,
and of hare and rabbit skins for hats, the raw materials having formerly
been exported from the country and re-imported in a manufactured state.
The Estates at the same time encouraged in like manner certain persons
proposing to set up a gunpowder and an alum manufactory, the latter of
which arts was stated to have been heretofore not practised in the
kingdom.[110]
In July 1697, we hear of the paper-manufactory going on [Sidenote:
1693.] prosperously under a joint-stock company, producing ‘good white
paper,’ and only requiring a little further encouragement to be ‘an
advantage to the whole kingdom.’ On the petition of the adventurers, the
Lords of Privy Council ordained that candlemakers should not use rags
for making of wicks, and that the company should have the same power
over its instructed servants as had been given to the cloth-work at
Newmills. We may infer that the paper-work established at Dalry in
1679[111] was no more, as this manufactory was now spoken of as the only
one in the kingdom ‘that has either work or design for white
paper.’[112]
A pamphlet in favour of the African Company, in 1696, remarked that
Scotland had lately been falling upon true and lasting methods of
increasing her trade, by erecting companies ‘to manufacture our own
natural commodities:’ ‘thus we have the woollencloth manufactory at
Newmills, and the baise-manufactory for our wool, the linen-manufactory,
several for leather, and others.’ It was likewise remarked that ‘soap,
cordage, glass, gilded leather, pins, ribands, cambrics, muslins,
paper,’ and some other articles, which used to be brought from abroad,
were now made at home by companies, individuals having heretofore failed
to establish them.’[113]
[Sidenote: DEC. 7.]
Alexander Hamilton, ‘formerly merchant in Rouen, now in Edinburgh,’ was
about to set up ‘a bank or profitable adventure for the fortunate in the
city of Edinburgh, of twenty-five thousand crowns, in imitation of that
lately set up and finished at London with so great ane applause.’ It was
to consist of ‘fifty thousand tickets, each ticket to be bot half ane
crown.’ He had obtained a licence for it from the Master of Revels, and
expended considerable sums ‘in making the books, publishing prints, and
doing other things necessar.’ All that was now wanting was an exclusive
privilege for six months from the Privy Council, lest he should be
‘prejudged in his undertaking or damnified by the expenses and charges
thereof,’ from any other person setting up a similar adventure. This
privilege was granted.[114]
We learn from a prospectus addressed to the public by Hamilton, that the
lottery was to include one ticket of each of the following [Sidenote:
1693.] sums, two hundred, three hundred, one thousand, fifteen hundred,
two thousand, two thousand five hundred, and three thousand crowns,
besides smaller prizes, of which a hundred at two hundred crowns were
conspicuous. Provided the tickets were taken up in time, the drawing to
take place in Alexander Crombie’s great room, opposite to the entry of
the Parliament Close, on the 1st of March 1694.
[Sidenote: 1694. JAN. 10.]
It is pleasant, amidst the general details of Scottish life at this
period, to find that at least one of the civilising arts was beginning
to assert its existence. A man named Beck, with some associates, had now
‘erected a concert of music.’ We learn the fact in consequence of an
attempt on the part of one Maclean, a dancing-master, holding the office
of Master of the Revels in Scotland, to obtain a sum from the
enterprisers for a licence to be taken out from him, ‘before they could
set up and exact money, seeing his office was to inspect and regulate
all games and sports, and see that nothing immoral or indecent should be
allowed.’ The judges of the Court of Session refused to enforce
Maclean’s claim, on the ground that music was only mentioned in his gift
in connection with plays and puppet-shows, and that ‘musicians were not
subject to Masters of the Revels abroad,’ where the office was best
known, and that Maclean only ‘used it to drain money from them, without
restraining immoralities, if they paid him.’[115]
[Sidenote: JAN. 11.]
The Privy Council had before them the case of Mr Thomas Blackwell,
student of theology, lately chaplain to Lady Inglis of Cramond at
Barnton House. He seems to have felt his spirit galled by some
circumstances of his situation, his poor garret-lodging and attendance,
the lady’s pedantry in criticising his prayers, the necessity of
courting the parish clergyman, and so forth, and thus was provoked to
pen a long and sorry pasquil in verse, purporting to be _The Humble
Advice of a Weel-wisher to all Dominies_, in which he discharged his
bile in sufficiently scurrilous terms. This libel he sent circuitously
by the Glasgow carrier to Lady Cramond, who soon discovered his
authorship, and taxed him with it. At first he made a solemn denial, but
he afterwards owned his offence; and the lady now came for redress to
the Privy Council. The young satirist made the most humble professions
of penitence for his offence, but in vain. He was ordained by the
Council to be banished from Scotland!
[Sidenote: 1694.]
We find on the 20th February that Lady Cramond had forgiven Thomas
Blackwell, and he on his petition was consequently absolved from his
former sentence.[116]
[Sidenote: FEB. 1.]
Matthew Forsyth, cook and innkeeper in Edinburgh, represented to the
Privy Council that he had been apprehended in September 1691, under
cloud of night, by order of Bailie Robert Blackwood, and along with his
wife thrown into the Tolbooth, ‘for what he knew not,’ and was detained
there till the 11th of May 1692, ‘in a most miserable, penurious, and
starving condition, he being put in the Iron House, and his wife in the
Woman House.’ Though ‘the cold of the winter’ was well known to be ‘most
violent,’ ‘they did not see any fire except a candle;’ and during the
whole time ‘they never got a bed, but lay on the cold floor,’ ‘Having no
mean of subsistence, they were necessitat to sell the clothes off their
backs to maintain them, and all they got in the day was two plack-loaves
betwixt them [a plack being the third of a penny].’ Meanwhile, the
officers who apprehended them took from their house everything they had
‘for back, bed, or board,’ leaving nothing but ‘two great raxes [spits],
a dropping-pan, and some chests and bedsteads.’ The entire value of what
was taken away was not less than two thousand pounds Scots. Matthew had
called on the magistrates to say what was at his charge; but they turned
him over to the Privy Council, which again turned him to the Lords of
Justiciary. These afterwards, finding that the magistrates would not
proceed, ordered his liberation and that of his wife. Being reduced by
this treatment to ‘extreme poverty,’ he was now unable to prosecute for
redress, unless the Court of Session should put him upon their
gratis-roll. At his petition, the Privy Council recommended the Court to
extend to him this benefit.
On a subsequent occasion, June 7, 1694, Forsyth and his wife came before
the Privy Council with a charge against the persons by whom he had been
so severely treated, as also for defaming him as a reseller of stolen
goods. It appeared that the whole affair arose from a suspicion
entertained against him respecting a missing silver standish belonging
to the Duke of Queensberry, and some other articles belonging to Cornet
Drummond of Lord Newbottle’s dragoons. We see no trace of any legal
attempt to substantiate this charge; nevertheless, Forsyth having failed
to [Sidenote: 1694.] appear in order to make good his complaint, the
Lords ordered him to be denounced rebel, searched for, and if found,
committed to prison, ‘for contemption and disobedience,’ his movable
goods to be forfeited, and his wife, in the meantime, to be
‘incarcerat.’[117]
[Sidenote: MAR. 6.]
A petition from the Commissioners of Supply for the county of Inverness
to the Privy Council, sets forth the hardships they were subjected to by
the failure of many to pay their shares of cess and other public
burdens. The complaint referred more particularly to certain
‘inaccessible’ parts of the shire, as the Isle of Skye, Uist, Barra, and
Raasay. All methods hitherto taken to enforce payment had proved
ineffectual, for ‘when parties were sent out to intimate quartering,
they must instantly return, seeing they can have no conveniency either
for themselves or their horses; and when parties have been again sent to
poind for cess or deficiency, the heritors always get intelligence, and
drive away the cattle, and what further remains in their houses or on
their land is of no value.’ Assistance was craved from the government
troops to seize and imprison the heritors deficient, of whom M‘Kinnon of
M‘Kinnon is mentioned as owing ‘for seven by-run [monthly] terms,’
Kenneth Milquo in Uist for nine, and Donald M‘Donald, brother to
M‘Donald of Slait, for twenty terms. The petition was complied
with.[118]
Another example of the difficulties of taxation in the Highlands in
those times is afforded by a letter addressed, at Ruthven in August
1697, to some unknown person by twenty-five Strathspey gentlemen,
remonstrating against a claim for gratuitous coal and candle. The
principal persons here concerned were William M‘Intosh of Borlum, A.
M‘Pherson of Killiehuntly, Alexander M‘Pherson of Phones, J. M‘Pherson
of Benchar, J. Gordon in Kingussie, and William M‘Pherson of Nuid. They
say: ‘We understand by Borlum, our bailie, that you desire to know this
day our resolutions anent the furnishing you coal and candle without
payment. You know very weel how heavy that burden has lyen upon us, and
that it has so exhausted us, that much of our country is wasted, and
therefore we do assure you by these that we will not advance you any
more coal and candle without pay, because there is no law for it, and
you may as well take away all our property by force and violence, as
impose upon us any taxes arbitrary without authority or law. Property
and liberty is [Sidenote: 1694.] the thing we contend for against
arbitrary power, and resolves to adhere to the act of Council and
secretary’s letter in our favours, as the final resolutions of,’
&c.[119]
It is a great pity that we have not the name of the party addressed; but
it may be suspected that it was that of a feudal superior, probably the
Duke of Gordon. The language about liberty and property must have
sounded strange in such ears from a set of Strathspey vassals.
[Sidenote: MAR. 24.]
Mr John Dysart was inducted as minister of the parish of Coldingham, in
place of the previous Episcopalian minister, Mr Alexander Douglas, who
retired with a considerable number of the parishioners to worship in a
barn near the church. Dysart, a man of strenuous opinions and great
resoluteness of character, was determined to carry out the Presbyterian
discipline with vigour. He caused a deputation to go to Mr Douglas and
demand the pulpit Bible, communion-cups, baptismal-basin, the boxes for
the collection or offertory, and the box for the communion-cloth and
mortcloth [pall for funerals]; but Douglas seems to have considered
himself entitled to retain most of these articles as private property,
and only surrendered the box for the mortcloth. The existence of the
dissenting body headed by this gentleman afterwards proved very
troublesome to Mr Dysart, as it interfered sadly with that moral sway
which he, as a properly constituted Presbyterian clergyman, and he
alone, was entitled to exercise.
One of his first acts was the setting up of ‘a seat for scandalous
persons to sit on when they appeared before the congregation.’ Here
every lapse of virtue was duly expiated by exposure and rebuke. The
general vigour of the minister’s discipline may be inferred from the
fact that, in sixteen years, he held 1169 meetings of his little
consistory or session, being at the rate of about one and a half per
week. Every particular of private life was open to be investigated by
this local inquisition. The elders made regular ‘visitations’ among the
people. For example—‘The town was visited, and the visitors report that
in William Spur’s house there were Gavin Dale in this parish, and John
Dale in the parish of Ayton, his brother, in time of divine service, at
drink; and being reproved by the aforesaid elders for misspending the
Lord’s Day, Gavin answered that their kirk (meaning the meeting-house
[Sidenote: 1694.] set up and kept up in contempt of the government) was
but just now scaled [dismissed], and that they were but refreshing
themselves. Elizabeth Cockburn, wife to William Spur, expressed her
concernedness to the elders, that such a thing had fallen out in her
house, and promised to the elders never to do the like. The session,
considering the wickedness of the persons, and the disadvantage they
[the session] are [under] by the said meeting-house, by which they
fortify themselves against censure, concluded to pass this, and to
accept of the promise aforesaid from the woman, who seemed to be grieved
for the offence.’[120]
A large class of cases arose out of quarrels among neighbours. Elizabeth
Trunnoch, spouse to John Paulin, had aggrieved Elizabeth Brotherstone,
spouse of Archibald Anderson, by calling her a thief. Brotherstone
complained to the session, and being summoned, did, according to rule,
deposit ten groats, to be forfeited if she should fail in her probation.
Trunnoch was interrogate whether she had called the complainer a thief.
She answered: ‘That she said that George Blair gave her the commendation
of a thief by rubbing [robbing] away folk’s eldin [fuel], and that she
found something of it by taking away her heather at her door, and that
she said it in a passion when the complainer had blamed her for worrying
of a chicken of hers. After some interrogatories to both the parties,
they were removed, and after some reasoning it was found that the
complainer was equally guilty in scolding at the time, and if the one
must be publicly rebuked before the congregation, the other must be also
there rebuked. Two elders, Thomas Aitchison and John Smith, were sent
out to confer with them, and to exhort them to take up their private
quarrels, and to tell them that [as] the scolding was known to but a
few, and so had not given offence to the public congregation, the
session was willing that it should go no further. The elders having
returned from them, [_i. e._] Archibald Anderson and Elizabeth
Brotherstone his wife, did report, that, say what they could, the
foresaid Archibald insisted to have a rebuke given to Elizabeth Trunnoch
before the congregation, and to have her fined for the fault. The
session, having maturely considered the affair, concluded that Elizabeth
Trunnoch should, upon her knees, before the session, beg pardon of God
for the sin of scolding and taking away her neighbour’s good name, and
after being on her feet, she should [Sidenote: 1694.] crave the
complainer’s pardon, and restore her her good name again. Likewise it
was concluded that, seeing the complainer was equally guilty in
scolding, she should, upon her knees, before the session, beg pardon of
God for that sin. They being asked in, the sentence of the session was
intimated to them, which was obeyed by both, as was appointed; which
being done, they were gravely rebuked for their scandalous speeches one
to another, and exhorted to agree better for the future, and to make
conscience of bridling their tongues, certifying them that if they
should be found guilty again of the like, they should meet with a more
public reproof.’
Considering the style of public feeling which dictated and sanctioned
such strictness, one is surprised at the character of the offences, as
well as their frequency. How was it that, while such a view was taken of
the Sunday, there were so many instances of breaking it by ‘gaming at
the bob and penny game,’ by gathering fuel, cutting cabbage, drying
nets, and rioting in public-houses? Why, while drunkenness was so hardly
looked on, were there so many instances of it at all times of the week?
Seeing, too, that the elders had so much power, how should it have been
that one challenged by an elder with cabbage-gathering on a Sunday,
answered insolently, ‘What have ye to do with it?’ and, ‘Who will nail
my lug to the Tron for it?’ When society bore so generally a Christian
tone, how happened it that William Dewar, farmer in Horsley, should have
been so pagan-like as to take a lamb from his flock, and put its head on
the top of his chimney, as a charm against the liver-crook in his flock?
We must suppose that there was always in those days a great party in the
opposition against the religious and moral authorities of the land, its
force being what at once called forth and seemed to justify the severity
we now remark upon with so much surprise. In short, the barbarous
tendencies of the country were still very great.
Cases of imputed witchcraft occupied a large share of attention at the
session of Coldingham. The parish had been rather remarkable for its
witches. Soon after Mr Dysart’s induction as minister, Sir Alexander
Home of Renton, an heritor of the parish, but notedly a weak man, wrote
to Lord Polwarth, informing him of the late great increase of this
offence in the district. His father, as sheriff, had at one time ‘caused
burn seven or eight of them;’ but none had been apprehended since, and
it was owing to ‘the slackness of judges’ that there were now so many of
bad fame for that crime in the parish. ‘I know,’ says Sir Alexander,
[Sidenote: 1694.] ‘your lordship is inclined to do justice,’ being of
the now predominant professions in religion; so ‘it is only proper for
your lordship to take notice of it.’ He adds: ‘If some were apprehended,
more would come to light;’ and he ends by offering to send a list. In
September 1698, Mr Dysart got into great vigour about this class of
cases. ‘Margaret Polwart, in Coldingham, having a sick child, was using
charms and sorcery for its recovery; and Jean Hart, a suspected witch,
was employed in the affair; and also Alison Nisbet, who had been lately
scratched, or had blood drawn above the breath, by some one who had
suspected her of witchcraft. One of the witnesses declared, that she saw
Jean Hart holding a candle in her left hand, and moving her right hand
about, and heard her mutter and whisper much, but did not understand a
word that she said. Another declared, that “she (the witness) did not
advise Margaret Polwart to send for Jean Hart; but she heard her say,
That thief, Christian Happer, had wronged her child, and that she would
give her cow to have her child better; and that witness answered, that
they that chant cannot charm, or they that lay on cannot take off the
disease, or they that do wrong to any one cannot recover them.” Margaret
Polwart was publicly rebuked.’[121]
[Sidenote: APR. 20.]
Till this day, it could not be said that Great Britain had wholly
submitted to William and Mary. For nearly three years past, one small
part of it—situated within one-and-twenty miles of the capital of
Scotland—had held out for King James; and it only now yielded upon good
terms for the holders. This was the more remarkable, as the place was no
ancestral castle, resting on the resources of a great lord, but, in
reality, one of the state fortresses, which fortune had thrown into the
hands of a few bold spirits, having no sort of authority to take or
retain possession of it.
The place in question was that singular natural curiosity, the islet of
the Bass, situated a couple of miles off the coast of East Lothian, in
the mouth of the Firth of Forth. As well known, while rising a column of
pure trap straight out of the sea, it shelves down on one side to a low
cliff, where there is a chain of fortifications, with a difficult
landing-place underneath. The late government had employed this
fortalice as a state-prison, chiefly for troublesome west-country
clergymen. After the [Sidenote: 1694.] Revolution, the new government
sent some of Dundee’s officers to undergo its restraints. On the 15th of
June 1691, while most of the little garrison were employed outside in
landing coal, four of these prisoners, named Middleton, Halyburton, Roy,
and Dunbar, closed the gates, and took possession of the fortress. Next
evening, they were joined by Crawford younger of Ardmillan, with his
servant and two Irish seamen. The Privy Council at Edinburgh was greatly
enraged, but it had no means of reducing the place. It could only put a
guard on the shore to prevent intercourse with the land, and make a
couple of armed boats cruise about to intercept marine communications.
Months elapsed. The Jacobite garrison led a merry life amidst the clouds
of sea-birds which were their only associates. There was no lack of
stirring adventure. Young Ardmillan went off in a boat, and brought in a
load of provisions. Others contrived to join them, till they were
sixteen men in all. A Danish galliot came under their guns one day,
ignorant of what had happened, and was sacked of all it contained.
Predatory boat-parties, which went out by night, laid all the coast
between the Tyne and the Tay under contribution. The government, for a
time, seemed powerless. The island was too far from the land to be
thence bombarded; ships’ cannon could not mark at its cliff-built
towers. The garrison, having plenty of ammunition, were on their own
part formidable. After an ineffectual beleaguerment of upwards of two
years, a small war-vessel called the _Lion_, with a dogger of six guns,
and a large boat from Kirkcaldy, came to cruise off the island; but by
this time their friends in France were interested in their welfare, and
in August 1693, a frigate of twelve guns came up to the Bass, and
anchored under its cannon. At sight of it, the government vessels
disappeared. Large succours were thus given. Some months after, a
Dunkirk privateer came in like manner, but was attacked by the _Lion_,
and beaten.
The only very painful occurrence for the besieged was the seizure of a
person named Trotter, who had supplied them with provisions. To frighten
them, his execution was ordered to take place at Castleton, in sight of
the isle. While the preparations were making, a shot from the Bass broke
up the assemblage, but did not prevent the sacrifice being made at
another place.
It was not till the spring of this year that the measures of the
government for cutting off supplies from the Bass began sensibly to tell
upon the besieged. When reduced to a point near starvation, and treating
with the enemy, Middleton and his companions [Sidenote: 1694.] contrived
still to appear well off, and full of good spirits. When the
commissioners came to the rock, the governor gave them what appeared a
hearty lunch of French wine and fine biscuit, telling them to eat and
drink freely, as there was no scarcity of provisions. On their
departure, he had the walls bristling with old muskets, with hats and
coats, as if there had been a large garrison. The consequence was, that
the cavaliers of the Bass finally came off with life, liberty, and
property—even with payment of their arrears of aliment as prisoners—and,
it is needless to say, the unmixed admiration and gratitude of the
friends of King James.
[Sidenote: MAY 3.]
The Hon. William Livingstone of Kilsyth, after enduring almost every
form of captivity for several years, was now at length liberated, along
with the Lord Bellenden, both on similar conditions—namely, that they
should leave their native land for ever within little more than a month,
under security to the extent of a thousand pounds sterling each, and
engage thereafter in no movement of any kind against the existing
government. We hear of the two gentlemen soon after asking a short
respite, as the Dutch vessel in which they had hired a passage from
Leith for Holland, was not yet ready to sail; and this grace they
obtained, but only till the vessel should be ready.
Livingstone, in his forlorn voyage, was accompanied by his wife, Jean
Cochrane, of the Ochiltree family, and the widow of Lord Dundee. This
union had happened about a year after Killiecrankie, in consequence of
Mr Livingstone meeting the lady on a visit at Colzium House, in
Stirlingshire. As a pledge of his love, he presented her with a ring,
which, unluckily, she lost next day while walking in the garden. This
was considered an evil omen. A reward was offered to any one who should
find the bijou, but all in vain.
The pair now went with their only child, an infant, to Rotterdam. One
afternoon, the lady attended the Scotch church there, when Mr Robert
Fleming, the minister, was officiating. This is a divine of some
celebrity, on account of a singular work he published in 1701 on _The
Rise and Fall of the Papacy_, in which he announced the likelihood that
the French monarchy would experience a humbling about the year 1794. On
the present occasion, if we are to believe a story reported by Wodrow,
he stopped in the middle of his discourse, and declared that ‘he was, he
knew not how, impressed with the thought that some heavy [Sidenote:
1694.] and surprising accident was, within a few hours, to befall some
of the company there present.’[122]
This vaticination, if it ever was uttered, was sadly fulfilled. That
afternoon, Kilsyth, his wife, and another gentleman, went into the room
where the child lay with its nurse, Mrs Melville. Suddenly, the roof,
which was thickly covered with turf-fuel, fell down, and buried the
whole party. Kilsyth and his male visitor got out alive and unhurt,
after being under the ruins for three-quarters of an hour. The lady, the
nurse, and child, were all found dead. The bodies of Lady Dundee and her
infant were carefully embalmed, and sent to be interred in their own
country.[123]
Much interest was felt a century after, when it was announced (May 1795)
that the body of this unfortunate lady and her babe had been found in
perfect preservation in the vault of the Viscounts of Kilsyth in Kilsyth
Church. Some idle boys, having made their way into the vault, tore up a
lead coffin, and found a fresh one of fir within, enclosing the two
bodies embalmed, and looking as fresh as if they were only asleep. The
shroud was clean, the ribbons of the dress unruffled, not a fold or knot
discomposed. The child, plump, and with the smile of innocence arrested
on its lips, excited pity and admiration in every beholder. A patch on
the lady’s temple concealed the wound which had caused her death. When
the face was uncovered, ‘beautiful auburn hair and a fine complexion,
with a few pearly drops like dew upon her face, occasioned in the crowd
of onlookers a sigh of silent wonder;’ so says the contemporary account.
There was no descendant of the family to enforce respect for these
remains: the husband of the lady had, as Viscount Kilsyth, forfeited
title and estate in the insurrection of 1715,[124] and his name was no
more. But after public curiosity had been satisfied, a neighbouring
gentleman caused the vault to be again closed.
There was not yet an end to the curious circumstances connected with
Dundee’s widow. The year after the discovery of the [Sidenote: 1694.]
embalmed corpses in Kilsyth Church, a tenant of Colzium garden, digging
potatoes, found a small glittering object in a clod of earth. He soon
discovered it to be a ring, but at first concluded it was a bauble of
little value. Remembering, however, the story of Lady Dundee’s ring,
lost upwards of a century before, he began to think it might be that
once dear pledge of affection, and soon ascertained that in all
probability it was so, as within its plain hoop was inscribed a posy
exactly such as the circumstances would have called for—_Zovrs onlly &
Euer_. The lover and his family and name were all gone—his chosen lay
silent in the funeral vault: but here was the voice of affection still
crying from the ground, and claiming from another generation of men the
sympathy which we all feel in each other’s pure emotions.
[Sidenote: JUNE 14.]
James Young, writer in Edinburgh, stated to the Privy Council that he
had been at great pains and expense in bringing to perfection ‘ane
engine for writing, whereby five copies may be done at the same time,
which it is thought may prove not unuseful to the nation.’ He requested
and obtained a nineteen years’ privilege of exclusively making this
‘engine’ for the public.
Young seems to have been a busy-brained man of the inventive and
mechanical type, and as such, of course, must have been a prodigy to the
surrounding society of his day. In January 1695, we find him again
coming before the Privy Council, but this time in company with Patrick
Sibbald, locksmith, the one as inventor, the other as maker, of a new
lock of surprising accomplishments. It ‘gives ane account of how oft it
is opened, and consequently may be very useful in many cases’—for
example, ‘though the key were lost, and found by another person, it
discovers if that person has opened the lock; if your servant should
steal the key, and take things out of the room or cabinet, it discovers
how oft they have done it; if you find one of your servants is
dishonest, but know not whom to challenge, this lock may set you on the
right man; if you have any rooms with fine furniture, pictures, glasses,
or curiosities, if you desire your servants not to let any of their
acquaintances in to see the room, lest they abuse or break anything in
it, though you leave them the key, as in some instances it is necessary,
yet this lock discovers if they break your orders, and how oft; if you
be sick, and must intrust your keys to a servant, this lock discovers if
he takes occasion when you are asleep, to look into your cabinet, and
how oft.’ It was conceived [Sidenote: 1694.] that this clever lock
‘would be for the public good,’ if it were only ‘to frighten servants
into honesty.’ Wherefore the inventor and maker had no hesitation in
asking for an exclusive privilege of making it for fifteen years, at the
same time agreeing that the price of the simplest kind should be not
more than fifteen shillings sterling. The petition was complied
with.[125]
There was at this time at Grange Park, near Edinburgh, a house called
the _House of Curiosities_, the owner of which made an exhibition of it,
and professed to have new articles on view every month of the passing
summer. A colloquy between Quentin and Andrew[126] gives an account of
it, from which it appears that one of the most prominent articles was
the ingenious lock above described. Another was the aforementioned
writing-engine, but now described as calculated to produce fifteen or
sixteen copies by one effort with the pen, and so proving ‘an excellent
medium between printing and the common way of writing.’ A third was thus
described by Andrew: ‘They took me up to a darkened room, where, having
a hole bored through the window, about an inch in diameter, upon which
they had fixed a convex lens, the objects that were really without were
represented within, with their proper shapes, colours, and motions,
reversed, upon a white board, so that, it being a very clear sunshiny
day, I saw men, women, and children walking upon the road with their
feet upwards; and they told me, the clearer the day, it does the
better.’ It may be inferred with tolerable confidence that this House of
Curiosities was a speculation of James Young, the inventor of the lock
and writing-engine.
It is curious to trace the feeling of strangeness expressed in this
brochure towards scientific toys with which we are now familiar. Much is
made of a _Magical Lantern_, whereby pictures of Scaramouch, Actæon, and
Diana, and twenty others, ‘little broader than a ducatoon,’ are
‘magnified as big as a man.’ _Eolus’s Fiddle_, which, being hung in a
window, ‘gives a pleasant sound like an organ, and a variety of notes
all the day over,’ is descanted upon with equal gusto. ‘Sometimes it
gives little or no satisfaction,’ Andrew admits; ‘but when I was there,
it happened to do very well.’ There is also a very animated account of a
machine for telling how far you have travelled—the modern and well-known
pedometer.
[Sidenote: 1694.]
One of the articles for the month of June was of such a kind that, if
reproduced, it would even now be original and surprising. It is a
_Horizontal Elastic Pacing Saddle_—horizontal, because it had four pins
to keep it level; elastic, because of four steel springs; and pacing,
because designed to make one have the sensation and experiences of
pacing while in reality trotting. ‘I saw it tried by three or four
gentlemen, who all gave good approbation of it.’
Another of the June articles serves to shew that the principle of the
_revolver_ is no new invention. It is here called _David Dun’s Machine_,
being a gun composed of ten barrels, with forty breeches adapted to the
ends of the barrels, ‘somewhat like that of a rifled gun.’ ‘The breeches
are previously charged, and in half a minute you may wheel them all
about by tens, and fire them through the ten barrels.’
Amongst the other articles now well known are—a Swimmingbelt—a _Diving
Ark_, identical with the Diving Bell since re-invented—a _Humbling
Mirror_, the object of which is to reflect a human being in a squat
form—and the _Automatical Virginals_, which seem neither more nor less
than a barrel-organ with clock-work. ‘It plays only foreign springs, but
I am told it might be made to play Scots tunes.’ There was also the now
little-heard-of toy called _Kircher’s Disfigured Pictures_. A sheet of
strangely confused colouring being laid down on a table, a cylinder of
polished metal is set down in the midst of it, and in this you then see
reflected from the sheet a correct picture of some beautiful object.
‘There happened to be an English gentleman there, who told it was one of
the greatest curiosities now in Oxford College.’ It was a toy, be it
remarked, in some vogue at this time among the Jacobites, as it enabled
them to keep portraits of the exiled royal family, without apprehension
of their being detected by the Lord Advocate.
Not long after, we find Young coming forward with an invention of a much
more remarkable kind than either the detective-lock or the manifold
writing-engine. He stated (July 23, 1696) that he had invented, and with
great expense perfected, ‘ane engine for weaving, never before practised
in any nation, whereby several sorts of cloths may be manufactured
without manual operation or weaving-looms.’ He had ‘actually made cloth
thereby, before many of the ingenious of this kingdom.’ He believed that
this engine might, with due encouragement, prove highly useful,
‘especially for the trade to Africa [Sidenote: 1694.] and the Indies,’
and therefore petitioned the Privy Council for the privileges of a
manufactory and for a patent right. The Lords complied with his request,
giving him exclusive use of his machine for thirteen years.
On the 12th December 1695, Nicolas Dupin, whom we have seen engaged in
preparations for the manufacture of linen and of paper in Scotland,
comes before us in the character of a mechanical inventor. He professed,
in association with some ingenious artists, and after much cost and
travel in foreign parts, to have ‘brought to perfection the yet never
before known art and mystery of drawing water out of coal-pits.’ ‘In
twenty fathoms deep,’ says he, ‘we can raise in two minutes’ time a ton
of water, provided the pit or _sheft_ will admit of two such casks to
pass one another.’ It was done easily, the work being performed ‘by the
true proportions and rules of hydrostaticks, hydronewmaticks, and
hydrawliacks.’[127] The machine was calculated to be useful for ‘all
manner of corn-mills work, where water is scarce or frozen,’ for ‘we can
grind by one man’s hand as much as any water-mill doth.’ It was adapted
‘for draining of lochs [lakes] or bringing of water to any place where
water is wanting,’ and ‘for clearing of harbour-mouths from great rocks
or sand.’ ‘In a short time, any vast weight that seems to be past
lifting by men’s strength, this our engine shall lift by one man’s
strength, more than twenty men shall do, being present altogether to the
same lift.’ Our mechanist had also a smaller engine, with the same
economy of power, for a more household sort of work, such as mincing of
tallow for candles, ‘ane very exact way of cutting tobacco,’ for cutting
of tanner’s bark, &c., ‘without the assistance of either wind or water.’
Several noblemen and gentlemen were said to be ready to treat with the
inventor for the draining of certain drowned coal-pits; but it was
necessary, before such work was undertaken, that the engines should be
protected by a patent. On his petition, the Privy Council granted a
patent for eleven years.[128]
Two years later (1696) Mr David Ross, son of a deceased provost of
Inverness, succeeded, to his own satisfaction, in discovering a
_perpetuum mobile_. He divulged his plan to certain persons, his
neighbours, who consequently prepared to enter into a bond or oath,
giving assurance that they should not, by word, write, or sign, divulge
the secret before the inventor should obtain [Sidenote: 1694.] a patent,
unless he should himself do so, or should be removed from the world, ‘in
which it shall be both lawful and expedient that we discover the
same.’[129]
[Sidenote: JULY 10.]
We get an idea of what was at this time considered a fair price for land
in proportion to rent in Scotland, from a case now before the Court of
Session. Sir John Clerk of Pennecuik and Archibald Primrose of Dalmeny
had bought the baronies of Nicolson and Lasswade at a roup or auction,
the one estate at _twenty-four_, the other at _twenty-two years’
purchase_, which they afterwards represented as ‘a dear rate.’ There
being a doubt as to the party who should receive the price, the
purchasers would have to pay six per cent. on the purchase-money, by way
of interest, until that point was settled, while only realising about
four per cent. for their outlay: hence they applied to the court for
leave to consign the money—which was refused.[130]
[Sidenote: AUG.]
Among numberless symptoms of dissatisfaction with the church now
established by law, one of a trivial yet characteristic nature occurred
in this and the preceding month, when several students and others made a
practice of interrupting the minister of Old Aberdeen by striking up the
doxology in several corners of the church, at the moment he was
pronouncing the benediction. In the charge brought against them, October
3, before the Privy Council, it was alleged that this must have been
done merely to disturb the congregation and vex the minister, as being a
Presbyterian, albeit they could not but know that Presbyterians do
nowhere condemn the doxology, ‘which, where it is in use, is reverently
regarded, and never offered to be interrupted by any good Christian.’ It
was likewise alleged of the same young men that they were in the custom
of offering affronts and indignities to the elders at their meetings ‘by
hootings, bellowings, throwing of stones, and offering to rabble them
when they walk on the streets.’
Three of the accused, having appeared and made submission, were
absolved. The other three, not having appeared, were put to the horn,
and their goods escheat.[131]
[Sidenote: OCT. 19.]
Lord Lindsay’s regiment was now quartered in Glasgow, under the
temporary command of Major James Menzies, whom, from his [Sidenote:
1694.] name, we may conclude to have been of Highland birth. Some of the
towns-people had been apprehended by the major as deserters, and put
into confinement, whence they claimed the protection of the magistrates,
who quickly interceded in their behalf, requesting that the alleged
culprits might be brought before them for an investigation of the case.
This being pointedly refused by the major, the magistrates issued a
formal edict demanding that the men might be produced; but this the
major treated with the same contempt. They then sent a civil request for
a conference on the case, and the major having consented, the provost,
two bailies, and Mr Robert Park, the town-clerk, met Menzies and three
of his captains in the town-clerk’s chamber.
The conference commenced with a request in gentle terms from the
provost, that the people might be brought forward, and in this request
Mr Park very civilly joined. An altercation then took place between the
major and the town-clerk, the former calling the latter a fool, the
latter in return calling the major an ass, who, then losing patience,
struck the man of peace with his cane. A heavy blow of the fist of the
town-clerk was instantly replied to by the major with a lunge of his
sword, whereupon Mr Park fell dead at his feet.
There was immediately a great hubbub in the chamber, and it soon spread
to the streets, into which Menzies rushed without hat or wig, and with
the bloody sword in his hand. He called his men—he planted them
three-deep across the chief line of street, to stop the mob, and,
mounting his horse at the Gorbals, fled amain.
Mr Francis Montgomery, a member of the Privy Council, was in Glasgow at
the time. He readily concurred with the magistrates in authorising three
citizens to pursue the murderer. They were John Anderson of
Dowhill,[132] John Gillespie, merchant, and Robert Stevenson, glazier.
As they travelled along the line of the Clyde on Menzies’s track, they
were joined by Peter Paterson, late bailie of Renfrew. Anderson alone
was armed; he had two pistols.
The unfortunate major was traced to the house of Rainhill, where,
entering the garden, the pursuers soon found him. Gillespie, who had got
one of Anderson’s pistols, accompanied by Stevenson, advanced upon the
murderer, who came up with a fierce [Sidenote: 1694.] countenance,
asking what was the matter. Paterson told him there had been a man slain
in Glasgow, and the murderer was supposed to be here: ‘If you be he,’
added Paterson, ‘may God forgive you!’ Menzies replied: ‘It is no
business of yours;’ whereupon one of the others called out: ‘Dowhill,
here is the man.’ Then the major, drawing his sword, and using a
horrible imprecation, came forward, crying: ‘What have the rascals to do
with me?’ The men retreated before him, and a pistol was fired in
self-defence, by which Menzies was slain. When Paterson returned a
minute after, he found him lying on his back, dead, with his drawn sword
across his breast.
Strange to say, Henry Fletcher, brother of Lord Salton, and
Lieutenant-colonel Hume, for the interest of his majesty’s forces,
raised a prosecution against the three Glasgow citizens for murder. It
ended in a verdict of _Not proven_.[133]
[Sidenote: OCT.]
Previous to 1705, when the first professor of anatomy was appointed in
the university of Edinburgh, there were only a few irregular attempts in
the Scottish capital to give instructions in that department of medical
education. We first hear of dissection of the dead body in our city in
the latter part of the year 1694, a little before which time the
celebrated Dr Archibald Pitcairn had left a distinguished position as
professor of medicine in the university of Leyden, and marrying an
Edinburgh lady, had been induced finally to settle there in practice. On
the 14th October, Pitcairn wrote to his friend, Dr Robert Gray of
London, that he was taking part in an effort to obtain subjects for
dissection from the town-council, requesting from them the bodies of
those who die in the correction-house called Paul’s Work, and have none
to bury them. ‘We offer,’ he says, ‘to wait on these poor for nothing,
and bury them after dissection at our own charges, which now the town
does; yet there is great opposition by the chief surgeons, who neither
eat hay nor suffer the oxen to eat it. I do propose, if this be granted,
to make better improvements in anatomy than have been made at Leyden
these thirty years; for I think most or all anatomists have neglected or
not known what was most useful for a physician.’
The person ostensibly moving in this matter was Mr Alexander Monteith,
an eminent surgeon, and a friend of Pitcairn. In compliance with his
request, the town-council (October 24) gave [Sidenote: 1694.] him a
grant of the dead bodies of those dying in the correction-house, and of
foundlings who die on the breast, allowing at the same time a room for
dissection, and freedom to inter the remains in the College Kirk
cemetery, but stipulating that he bury the intestines within forty-eight
hours, and the remainder of the body within ten days, and that his
prelections should only be during the winter half of the year.
Monteith’s brethren did not present any opposition to his movement
generally; they only disrelished his getting the Council’s gift
exclusively to himself. Proposing to give demonstrations in anatomy
also, they preferred a petition to the town-council, asking the
unclaimed bodies of persons dying in the streets, and foundlings who
died off the breast; and the request was complied with, on condition of
their undertaking to have a regular anatomical theatre ready before the
term of Michaelmas 1697.[134]
Such were the beginnings of the medical school of Edinburgh.
[Illustration: The Bass.]