Alison Peirson, in Byrehill, was tried for witchcraft. The verdict
recites a number of strange and incoherent charges which had been
proved against her, but whose entire tenor only shews that she was
a sickly nervous woman, who took her own dreams and fancies for
realities. According to her own account, she had learned unlawful
arts from her cousin, Mr William Simpson, son of one who had been the
king’s smith at Stirling, and who had acquired his skill from a big
Egyptian, by whom he had been carried away in his childhood and kept
for twelve years. Being in her own youth afflicted with loss of power
in one of her sides, she had applied to Mr William in Lothian, and
he had not only cured her, but taught her by charms to be a healer
of disease herself. Since then, she had haunted the company of the
queen of Elfame, but had not seen her for the last seven years. At one
time she had many good friends in Elfame; but they were all dead now.
Sometimes she would be in her bed quite well, but could not tell where
or in what state she might be next day. Lying down sick in Grangemuir,
near Anstruther, she had seen a man in green clothes, whom she asked
to help her: he went away at that time, but appeared afterwards with a
multitude of people, when ‘she sanit her [blessed herself] and prayit,
and passed with them further nor she could tell; and saw with them
piping, and merriness, and gude cheer, and was carried to Lothian, and
saw wine-puncheons with tasses [cups] with them.’ ‘Ofttimes they wald
come and sit beside her, and promised that she should never want gif
she wald be faithful and keep promises, but, gif she wald speak and
tell of them and their doings, they sould martyr her.’ For the last
sixteen years, Alison had been frequenting St Andrews as a practitioner
in unlawful methods of healing; and where among her patients had been
no less a person than the titular Archbishop Adamson--a fact of which
his enemies did not fail to take advantage in pasquinading him. For the
healing of his grace, Simpson had bidden her ‘make ane saw [salve] and
rub it on his cheeks, his craig, his breast, stomach, and sides, and
siclike gave her directions to use the ewe-milk, or waidrave [probably
woodroof], with the herbs, claret wine; and with some other things she
gave him ane sodden fowl; and that she made ane quart at ance, whilk he
drank at twa draughts, twa sundry diets.’ Poor Alison was convicted and
burnt.--_Pit._
At the very time when the Spanish Armada was at sea on its way
to England, a Catholic pair of high rank, much though secretly
interested in favour of that enterprise, were wedded at Holyrood.
The bridegroom was the young Earl of Huntly, and the bride Henrietta
Stuart, eldest daughter of the late Duke of Lennox. The affair was
conducted with ‘great triumph, mirth, and pastime;’ but some of the
other circumstances were of a more remarkable nature. The Presbyterian
clergy, in a paroxysm of apprehension about the Armada, took up the
strange position of refusing to allow the marriage to be performed by
any clergyman capable of shewing his face in the country, unless the
earl should first sign the Confession of Faith--that is, abjure his
religion. Huntly was induced to profess an inclination to comply, but
professed to stickle at some of the Protestant doctrines. The king,
on the other hand, who felt as the father of the bride, and knew that
Huntly was in reality his friend, favoured and facilitated the match.
To the great chagrin of the Presbyterian clergy, the ceremony was at
length performed by Patrick Adamson, archbishop of St Andrews--who,
however, was afterwards brought to their feet as an abject penitent,
declaring, among other things, ‘I married the Earl of Huntly contrair
the kirk’s command, without the confession of his faith, and
profession of the sincere doctrine of the Word; I repent, and craves
God pardon.’[153] The writer of Adamson’s life in the _Biographia
Britannica_ has characterised this as ‘one of the completest instances
of ecclesiastical folly and bigotry recorded in history.’ Perhaps
if this biographer had been a Scottish Protestant of 1588, he would
not have thought so; but the affair may at least somewhat abate our
surprise that the Earl of Huntly was found next year in arms against
the Protestant interest.[154]
* * * * *
[Sidenote: JULY 30.]
Sir William Stuart of Monkton, a younger brother of the ill-famed
ex-chancellor, ‘Captain James,’ and said to be ‘in qualities and
behaviour naething different’ from that personage, had for some years
had place at the king’s court, serving the government in various
capacities. Only a few weeks before this date, he had conducted
an expedition by which the Castle of Lochmaben was taken from the
rebellious Maxwells. The captain and five of the garrison had been
hung up on the green before the gate, notwithstanding a promise of
their lives, alleged to have been given. Stuart was rewarded with large
spoil; and on his return to Edinburgh, with Lord Maxwell as a prisoner,
he was allowed to have the custody of that nobleman.
Doubtless the blood of the upstart was somewhat heated by so rich a
triumph. Meeting the unruly Earl of Bothwell a few days after in the
king’s chamber, he fell into a dispute with him--the lie was given, and
the altercation closed with a ribald exclamation on his part, followed
by a threat on the other. Nothing more occurred till nearly three weeks
after, when Sir William Stuart, coming down the High Street with a
party of his minions, met Bothwell, accompanied by a younger brother
of the Master of Gray, whom Stuart had lately delated for his betrayal
of the king’s interest in his ambassage for the saving of Queen Mary’s
life. A collision between two such parties was unavoidable. In the
general fight, Stuart killed a servant of Bothwell, but thereby lost
his sword. He fled into the Blackfriars’ Wynd, pursued by the vengeful
Bothwell, who, as Stuart stood defenceless against a wall, ‘strake him
in at the back and out at the belly, and killed him.’--_Bir._ _Cal._
_H. K. J._
We are assured by a contemporary writer, that the slaughter of Sir
William Stuart was ‘to the comfort of mony of the people, wha allegit
that God did the same for his betraying of Mr David Maxwell and his
company in Lochmaben, but specially the Lord Maxwell, wha was his
prisoner in John Gourlay’s house.’--_C. K. Sc._ Bothwell only deemed
it necessary for a few days to keep out of the way. By and by, on the
king’s return from a visit to Fife, he reappeared in court as usual,
‘uncallit, unpursuit, unpunist for this fact.’
[Sidenote: 1588.]
It is curious to find the General Assembly sitting down exactly a week
after this street-conflict, and proceeding quietly with its usual work
of choosing a moderator, arranging about provision for the ministers,
and denouncing the papists, just as it would have done at any time
nearer our own gentler day.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: 1588.