James Porteous, apothecary in Edinburgh, deposed that, in the beginning
of September last, he was one evening in the streets of Portsburgh,
between nine and ten o’clock, in company with three other persons, of
whom the prisoner was one. The prisoner went to a house to call for his
cloak, and the deceased, with two other soldiers, came up with the
deponent and his companions, who asked of them what o’clock it was. He
cannot be positive what answer they made; but the prisoner, who was a
little way behind them, called the soldiers foul names. The soldiers
asked what he said, and he repeated the words, calling at the same time
to his companions to beat the soldiers. The soldiers then drew their
bayonets, passed by the deponent and his companions, and went up to the
prisoner, who advanced to them, and, when he was within sword’s length
of them, drew it, and within a quarter of an hour the deponent heard one
cry “Murder!” That same evening he called at the prisoner’s lodging,
whom he found in deep concern, declaring that he had given the soldier a
stab and he was afraid that it would prove mortal. At the same time he
drew his sword, and spit upon it, endeavouring to wipe the blood off it.
The prisoner came next morning to the deponent’s chamber, told him he
had been at Lauriston (the estate and castle of the famous John Law,
near Edinburgh), and there was very bad news: the soldier was dead.
John Hall, writer in Edinburgh, was returning from the country one
evening in the beginning of September, with the prisoner and other two
comrades. When they came nigh the West Port, the prisoner went to a
house for his cloak. In the meantime three soldiers came up with the
defendant and his companions. He cannot be sure what answer the soldiers
made when asked what o’clock it was; but the prisoner called out to
them, “You rascals, what answer is that to give to gentlemen?” On this
the soldiers drew their bayonets, passed the witness, and went up to the
prisoner. In a little he heard the clashing, and saw the glancing of
swords, upon which he went up to the combatants, and relieved the
prisoner of one of the soldiers with whom he was engaged, and very soon
after he heard one cry “Murder!” He then went off, and on his way he
called at the house of one Widow Lindsay, who told him that the prisoner
had been there with his sword drawn, and had left word that he had gone
home, whither the witness followed him. He found him sitting pensive and
exceeding sorrowful, expressing his fears that the soldier had got a
mortal wound. One deponent saw blood on his sword, went with him next
day to Lauriston, and, when they heard that the soldier was dead, the
prisoner clapped his hand on his thigh and was greatly agitated.
Two surgeons swore that they found the deceased run through the body
with a small sword; that the wound was mortal, and he died of it the
next day.
The jury found the pannel guilty of manslaughter. The Court sentenced
him to be hanged, and his personal estate to be forfeited.
This was certainly a harsh sentence, for the prisoner was clearly not
guilty of that killing which amounted to and merited the penalty of
murder; and so Mr. Arnot thinks; for in his work he observes on this
trial, that “to condemn an innocent man to death by the sentence and
forms of law has been looked upon as one of the greatest of moral
evils.”
It is satisfactory to find that in a few years after this gloomy period
a better feeling arose between civilians and the military in England and
Scotland. The splendid victories of Marlborough brought back the old
_prestige_ that attached to British troops, and made the people again
look on them, in the light they have ever since done, as the gallant and
glorious supporters of the might and fame of the British empire.