John, Master of Orkney, was tried for the alleged crime of attempting to destroy the life of his brother the Earl of Orkney, first by witchcraft, and secondly by more direct means. The case broke down, and would not be worthy of attention in this place, but for the nature of the means taken to inculpate the accused. It appeared that the alleged witchcraft stood upon the evidence of a confession wrung from a woman called Alison Balfour, residing at Ireland, a village in Orkney, who had been executed for that imaginary crime in December 1594. The counsel for the Master shewed that, when this poor woman made her ‘pretended confession,’ as it might well be called, she had been kept forty-eight hours in the cashielaws—an instrument of torture supposed to have consisted of an iron case for the leg, to which fire was gradually applied, till it became insupportably painful. At the same time, her husband, a man of ninety-one years of age, her eldest son and daughter, were kept likewise under torture, ‘the father being in the lang irons of fifty stane wecht,’ the son fixed in the boots with fifty-seven strokes, and the daughter in the pilniewinks, that they, ‘being sae tormented beside her, might move her to make any confession for their relief.’ A like confession had been extorted from Thomas Palpla, to the effect that he had conspired with the Master to poison his brother, ‘he being kept in the cashielaws eleven days and eleven nights, twice in the day by the space of fourteen days callit [driven] in the boots, he being naked in the meantime, and scourgit with tows [ropes] in sic sort that they left neither flesh nor hide upon him; in the extremity of whilk torture the said pretended confession had been drawn out of him.’ Both of these witnesses had revoked their confessions, Alison Balfour doing so solemnly on the Heading Hill of Kirkwall, when about to submit to death for her own alleged crime, of which she at the same time protested herself to be innocent. These are among the most painful examples we anywhere find of the barbarous legal procedure of our ancestors.—Pit.

One John Dickson, an Englishman, was tried for uttering slanderous speeches against the king, calling him ‘ane bastard king,’ and saying ‘he was not worthy to be obeyed.’ This it appeared he had done in a drunken anger, when asked to veer his boat out of the way of the king’s ordnance. He was adjudged to be hanged.—Pit. It is curious on this and some other occasions to find that, while the king got so little practical obedience, and the laws in general were so feebly enforced, such a severe penalty was inflicted on acts of mere disrespect towards majesty.

The court was at this time unable to keep silence under the pelt of pasquils which it had brought upon itself. We have now a furious edict of Privy Council against the writers and promulgators of ‘infamous libels, buiks, ballats, pasquils, and cantels in prose and rhyme,’ which have lately been set out, and especially against ‘ane maist treasonable letter in form of a cockalane,214 craftily divulgat by certain malicious, seditious, and unquiet spirits, uttering mony shameful and contumelious speeches, full of hatrent and dispite, not only against God, his servants and ministers, but maist unnaturally to the prejudice of the honour, guid fame, and reputation of the king and queen’s majesties, not sparing the prince their dearest son, besides their nobility, council, and guid subjects.’ The only active redress, however, was to proclaim a reward for the discovery of the offenders.—P. C. R.

Since November 1585, when he was driven from the king’s councils, James Stewart of Newton (sometime Earl of Arran) had lived in obscurity in the north.215 Now that the Chancellor Maitland was dead, he formed a hope that possibly some use might be found for him at court; he therefore came to Edinburgh privately, and had an interview with the king at Holyroodhouse. He received some encouragement; but as nothing could be done for him immediately, and there were many enemies to reconcile, he bethought him of going to live for a while amongst his friends in Ayrshire, trusting erelong to be sent for.

The ex-favourite was travelling by Symington, in the upper ward of Lanarkshire, when some one who knew him gave him warning that he was come into a dangerous neighbourhood, for not far from the way he was about to pass dwelt a leading man of that house of Douglas which he had mortally offended by his prosecution of the Regent Morton. This was Sir James Douglas of Parkhead, whose father was a natural brother of the regent: he was now the husband of the heiress of the house of Carlyle of Torthorald, and a man of consideration. Stewart replied disdainfully that he was travelling where he had a right to be, and he would not go out of his way for Parkhead nor any other of the house of Douglas. A mean person who overheard this speech made off and reported it to Douglas, who, on hearing it, rose from table, where he had been dining, and vowed he would have the life of Stewart at all hazards. He immediately mounted, and with three servants rode after his enemy through a valley called the Catslack. When Stewart saw himself pursued, he asked the name of the place, and being told, desired his people to come on with all possible speed, for he had got a response from some soothsayer to beware of that spot. Parkhead speedily overtook him, struck him from his horse, and then mercilessly killed him. Cutting off the head, he caused it to be carried by a servant on the point of a spear, thus verifying another weird saying regarding Stewart, that he should have the highest head in Scotland. His body was left on the spot, to become the prey of dogs and swine.216

Thus perished an ex-chancellor of Scotland, one who had been permitted for a time to treat the world as if it had only been made for his own aggrandisement, who had governed a king, struck down a regent, and made the greatest of the old nobility of the country tremble. Violence, insolence, and cruelty had been the ruling principles of his life, and, as Spottiswoode says, ‘he was paid home in the end.’ No decided effort was made to execute justice upon his slayer;217 but it will be afterwards found that the Ochiltree Stewarts did not forget his death. (See under July 1608.)

An edict of the king against what he called unlawful convocations of the clergy, had raised a general uneasiness and excitement, many believing that all independent action of the clergy was struck at. The prosecution of a minister named David Black, who had slandered the king and queen in the pulpit, and refused to submit to a secular tribunal, added to the turmoil. James had further raised a great distrust regarding his fidelity to the Protestant religion by his allowing the exiled papist lords to return to their own country. It was at this crisis that the tumult long known in French fashion as the Seventeenth of December took place.

‘... being Friday, his majesty being in the Tolbooth sitting in session, and ane convention of ministers being in the New Kirk [a contiguous section of St Giles’s Church], and some noblemen being convenit with them, as in special Blantyre and Lindsay, there came in some devilish officious person, and said that the ministers were coming to take his life. Upon the whilk, the Tolbooth doors were steekit, and there arase sic ane crying, “God and the king!” other some crying, “God and the kirk!” that the haill commons of Edinburgh raise in arms, and knew not wherefore always. There was ane honest man, wha was deacon of deacons; his name was John Watt, smith. This John Watt raisit the haill crafts in arms, and came to the Tolbooth, where the entry is to the Chequer-house, and there cried for a sight of his majesty, or else he sould ding up the yett with fore-hammers, sae that never ane within the Tolbooth sould come out with their life. At length his majesty lookit ower the window, and spake to the commons, wha offerit to die and live with him. Sae his majesty came down after the townsmen were commandit off the gait, and was convoyit by the craftsmen to the abbey of Holyroodhouse.’—Bir.

The king either was really exasperated or pretended to be so. Retiring to Linlithgow next day, he sent orders to Edinburgh, discharging the courts of justice from sitting there, commanding one minister to be imprisoned and others to be put to the horn, and citing the magistrates to come and answer for the seditious conduct of their people. Great was the consternation thus produced, insomuch that one Sunday passed without public worship—‘the like of which had not been seen before.’ On the last day of the year, James returned, to all appearance charged with the most alarming intentions against the city. A proclamation was issued, commanding certain lords and Border chiefs of noted loyalty to occupy certain ports and streets. There consequently arose a rumour ‘that the king’s majesty should send in Will Kinmont, the common thief, as should spulyie the town of Edinburgh. Upon the whilk, the haill merchants took their haill geir out of their booths and shops, and transportit the same to the strongest house that was in the town, and remainit in the said house with themselves, their servants, and looking for nothing but that they should have all been spulyit. Siclike, the haill craftsmen and commons convenit themselves, their best goods, as it were ten or twelve households in ane, whilk was the strongest house, and might be best keepit from spulying and burning, with hagbut, pistolet, and other sic armour, as might best defend themselves. Judge, gentle reader, gif this be playing! Thir noblemen and gentlemen, keepers of the ports and Hie Gait, being set at the places foresaid, with pike and spear, and other armour, stood keeping the foresaid places appointit, till his majesty came to St Giles’s Kirk, Mr David Lindsay making the sermon. His majesty made ane oration or harangue, concerning the sedition of the seditious ministers, as it pleased him to term them.’—Bir.

The affair ended three months after, in a way that supports the opinion of the Laird of Dumbiedykes, that ‘it’s sad work, but siller will help it.’ March 22d, ‘the town of Edinburgh was relaxed frae the horn, and received into the king’s favour again, and the session ordained to sit down in Edinburgh the 25th of May thereafter.’ Next day, ‘the king drank in the council-house with the bailies, council, and deacons. The said bailies and council convoyit his majesty to the West Port thereafter. In the meantime of this drinking in the council-house, the bells rang for joy of their agreement; the trumpets sounded, the drums and whistles played, with [as] many other instruments of music as might be played on; and the town of Edinburgh, for the tumult-raising the 17 of December before, was ordained to pay to his majesty thretty thousand merks Scottish.’—Bir.

John Mure, of Auchindrain, in Ayrshire, was a gentleman of good means and connections, who acted at one time in a judicial capacity as bailie of Carrick, and gave general satisfaction by his judgments. He was son-in-law to the Laird of Bargeny, one of the three chief men of the all-powerful Ayrshire family of Kennedy. Sir Thomas Kennedy of Colzean, another of these great men, was on bad terms with Bargeny. Mure, who might naturally be expected to take his father-in-law’s side, was for a time restrained by some practical benefits, in the shape of lands, offered to him by Sir Thomas; but the titles to the lands not being ultimately made good, the Laird of Auchindrain conceived only the more furious hatred against the knight of Colzean. This happened about 1595, and it appears at the same time that Sir Thomas had excited a deadly rage in the bosom of the Earl of Cassillis’s next brother, usually called the Master of Cassillis. The Master and Auchindrain, with another called the Laird of Dunduff, easily came to an understanding with each other, and agreed to slay Sir Thomas Kennedy the first opportunity. Such was the manner of conducting a quarrel about land-rights and despiteful words amongst gentlemen in Ayrshire in those days.

On the evening of the 1st of January, Sir Thomas Kennedy supped with Sir Thomas Nisbet in the house of the latter at Maybole. The Lairds of Auchindrain and Dunduff, with a few servants, lay in wait for him in the yard, and when he came forth to go to his own house to bed, they fired their pistols at him. ‘He being safe of any hurt therewith, and perceiving them with their swords most cruelly to pursue his life, ... was forced for his safety to fly; in which chase they did approach him so near, as he had undoubtedly been overta’en and killed, if he had not adventured to run aside and cover himself with the ruins of ane decayed house; whilk, in respect of the darkness of the night, they did not perceive; but still followed to his lodging, and searched all the corners thereof, till the confluence of the people ... forced them to retire.’218

For this assault, Sir Thomas Kennedy pursued at law the Lairds of Auchindrain and Dunduff, and was so far successful that Dunduff had to retire into England, while ‘Colzean gat the house of Auchindrain, and destroyit the ... plenishing, and wrackit all the garden. And also they made mony sets [snares] to have gotten [Auchindrain] himself; but God preservit him from their tyranny.’219 Auchindrain, however, was forced ‘to cover malice by show of repentance, and for satisfaction of his bypast offence, and gage of his future duty, to offer his eldest son in marriage to Sir Thomas Kennedy’s dochter; whilk, by intercession of friends, [was] accepted.’220

We shall hear more of this feud hereafter (see under December 11, 1601).

Under a commission from the king, the provost and bailies of Aberdeen commenced a series of witch-trials of a remarkable kind. The first delinquent, Janet Wishart, spouse of John Lees, stabler—a woman considerably advanced in life—was accused of a great number of maléfices perpetrated, during upwards of thirty years, against neighbours, chiefly under a spirit of petty revenge. In the greater number of cases, the victim was described as being seized with an ailment under which he passed through the extremes of heat and cold, and was afflicted with an insatiable drouth. In several cases the illness had a fatal conclusion. For instance, James Low, stabler, having refused Janet the loan of his kiln and barn, took a dwining illness in consequence, ‘melting away like ane burning candle,’ till he died. John, in his last moments, declared his belief that, if he had lent Janet his kiln and barn, he would still have been a living man. ‘By the whilk witchcraft casten upon him, and upon his house, his wife died, his only son [fell] in the same kind of sickness, and his haill geir, surmounting three thousand pounds, are altogether wrackit and away.’ It was considered sufficient proof on this point, that sundry persons testified to having heard James lay on Janet the blame of his misfortunes. Another person had been ruined in his means, in consequence of his wife obeying a direction of Janet for the insurance of constant prosperity—namely, taking nine pickles of wheat and a piece of rowan-tree, and putting them in the four nooks of the house. Janet had also caused a dozen fowls belonging to a neighbour to fall from a roost dead at her feet. She raised wind for winnowing some malt in her own house, at a moment of perfect calm, by putting a piece of live coal at each of two doors. She caused a neighbour’s cow to give something like venom instead of milk. A Mart ox which she wished to buy, became furious; wherefore she got it at her own price, and on her laying her hands on it, the animal became quiet. There is also a terrible recital of her causing a neighbour to accompany her to the gallows in the Links, where she cut pieces from the various members of a dead culprit, to be used for effecting some of her devilish purposes. This story was only reported by one who had received it from the woman herself, now deceased; but it passed as equally good evidence with the rest. It was alleged that, twenty-two years ago, she had been found sitting in a field of green corn before sun-ris, when, being asked what she was doing, she said: ‘I have been peeling the blades of the corn: I find it will be ane dear year; the blade of the corn grows withershins [contrary to the course of the sun]: when it grows sungates about [in the direction of the sun’s course], it will be ane cheap year.’ One of the last points in the dittay was that, for eight days before her apprehension, ‘continually there was sic ane fearful rumbling in thy house, that William Murray, cordiner, believit the house he was into, next to thy house, should have fallen and smoorit him and his haill bairns.’ This poor woman appears to have been taken to the stake immediately after her trial.

Her son, Thomas Lees, was accused of having aided her in her evil deeds, and being ‘ane common witch and sorcerer,’ and his trial (February 23) brings out some curious points. He was accused of having been one of a large company of witches and sorcerers who had gone to the Market and Fish Crosses of Aberdeen at midnight of the previous Halloween (All Saints’ Eve), ‘under the guiding and conduct of the devil ... playing before you on his kind of instruments.’ The company were all transformed, some as hares, some as cats, some in other likenesses, and all danced about the two crosses and the meal-market a long space of time, Thomas being the leader of the ring. One Catherine Mitchell being somewhat laggard, he beat her to make her go faster; a fact to which Catherine herself now bore witness. A woman with whom Thomas had been too intimate also testified to his having offered to take her to Murrayland and marry her, telling her that by the way, at the foot of a particular mountain, he could raise a spirit able to provide them with all necessaries. This poor fellow was also condemned to the flames. The husband and daughters of Janet Wishart—the latter of whom are taxed as well known to be ‘quick gangand devils’—narrowly escaped with banishment from the city.

Helen Fraser, who was tried in April, was accused of many witchcrafts of common kinds, and of some less common. For instance, she had translated a sickness from a man’s horse to his cow, and, worse than that, the affection of Andrew Tullideff from his wife to a woman called Margaret Neilson, ‘and sae michtily bewitchit him, that he could never be reconceillit with his wife, or remove his affection frae the said harlot.’ Another man, Robert Merchant by name, who had been married happily to Christian White for two years, being taken to sow corn for a widow named Isobel Bruce, at the Murihill of Foveran, where Helen Fraser was then living, ‘fand his affection violently and extraordinarily drawn away from the said Christian to the said Isobel, ane great luve being betwixt him and the said Christian always theretofore, and nae break of luve or discord falling out or intervening upon either of their parts: whilk thing the country supposit to be brought about by the unlawful travelling of the said Helen’—and was further testified by Robert himself. Helen was likewise convicted, and of course burnt.

Isobel Cockie took from cows the power of giving healthful milk, making them give a poisonous stuff instead. She also prevented good milk from ‘yirning.’ Horses had fallen dead under her touch.

Men against whom she had pronounced evil words took deadly sicknesses in consequence, or suffered a decay in their worldly means. Her house being ruinous, the proprietor, Alexander Anderson, had come in her absence, and was proceeding to mend the roof, when she came home, and finding he had uncovered her pantry, where her valuables lay, she said: ‘I shall gar thee forthink it, that thou hast tirrit my house, I being frae hame,’ and glowrit up at him. Immediately Alexander’s speech went from him, and he retired to bed sick, and could get no rest or sleep. Under the threats of his son, she was induced to come and charm this sickness away from him, and ‘gave him droggis, that his speech came to him again.’221 By the confession of the recently burnt Thomas Lees, Isobel Cockie had been second to himself in the infernal dance at the Fish Cross, ‘and because the devil playit not so melodiously and weel as thou cravit, thou took his instrument out of his mouth, then took him on the chafts therewith, and playit thyself thereon to the haill company.’ Isobel was likewise condemned.

It would be tedious to enter into the long series of trials which extended over this year in and near Aberdeen; but a few particulars are worth giving. The case of Andrew Man, an aged person, formerly of Tarbrugh, in the parish of Rathven, involves a more imaginative style of warlockry than is common. According to his own confessions—that is to say, the hallucinations which he described—the devil came sixty years ago to his mother’s house, in the form of a woman, called the Queen of Elfen, and was delivered of a bairn; at which time, he being a boy, bringing in water, was promised by this distinguished stranger ‘that thou should know all things; and should help and cure all sorts of sickness, except stand-deid, and that thou should be weel enterteinit, but wald seek thy meat ere thou de’ed, as Thomas Rhymer did.’ Thirty-two years before, he had begun a guilty intercourse with this Queen of Elfen, at whose first coming, ‘she caused ane of thy cattle die upon ane hillock called the Elf-hillock, but promised to do him good thereafter.’ Andrew, according to his own account, could ‘cure the falling-sickness, the bairn-bed, and all other sorts of sickness that ever fell to man or beast, except the stand-deid, by baptising them, reabling them in the auld corunschbald, and striking of the gudis on the face, with ane fowl in thy hand, and by saying thir words: “Gif thou will live, live; and gif thou will die, die!” with sundry other orisons, sic as of Sanct John and the three silly brethren, whilk thou can say when thou please, and by giving of black wool and salt as a remeid for all diseases and for causing a man prosper and that his blude should never be drawn.’ He had cured several persons by his enchantments, one mode being to put the patient nine times through a hasp of unwatered yarn, and then a cat as many times backward through the same hasp, the effect of which was to translate the sickness from the patient to the cat.

The devil, whom Andrew called Christsonday, and believed to be an angel, was raised by the word Benedicite, and laid again by taking a dog under his armpit, casting the same in the devil’s mouth, and speaking the word Maikpeblis. ‘The Queen of Elfen has a grip of all the craft, but Christsonday is the guidman, and has all power under God, and thou kens sundry deid men in their company, and the king that died at Flodden and Thomas Rhymer is there.’

‘Upon Rood-day in harvest, in this present year, whilk fell on a Wednesday, thou saw Christsonday come out of the snaw in likeness of a staig [young male horse], and the Queen of Elfen was there, and others with her, riding upon white hackneys.’ ‘The elves have shapes and claithes like men, and will have fair covered tables, and they are but shadows, but are starker [stronger] nor men, and they have playing and dancing when they please; the queen is very pleasand, and will be auld and young when she pleases; she makes any king whom she pleases.... The elves will make thee appear to be in a fair chalmer, and yet thou will find thyself in a moss on the morn. They will appear to have candles, and licht, and swords, whilk will be nothing else but dead grass and straes.’ Andrew denied his guilt, but was nevertheless convicted, and doubtless burnt.

In the dittay against Marjory Mutch, it was alleged that, having an ill-will against William Smith in Tarserhill, she came to his plough and bewitched the oxen, so that ‘they instantly ran all wood [mad], brak the pleuch, twa thereof ran over the hills to Deer, and other twa thereof up Ithan side, whilk could never be tane nor apprehendit again.’ This woman was said to have destroyed much cattle, laid sickness on many persons, and attended all the witch conventions of the district. In token of her being a witch, there was a spot under her left ear, into which a gentleman had thrust a pin without producing any pain.

Margaret Clark, being sent for by the wife of Nicol Ross, when she was in childbed, ‘cast the haill dolours, sickness, and pains whilk she should have susteinit, upon Andrew Harper, wha, during all the time of her travelling, was exceedingly and marvellously troubled, in ane fury and madness as it were, and could not be halden; and how soon the said gentlewoman was delivered, the pains departed frae the said Andrew.’

It is alleged of Violet Leys, that, her husband, a mariner, being discharged from William Finlay’s ship, she and her late mother bewitched the said ship, ‘that, since thy husband was put forth of the same, she never made one good voyage, but either the master or merchants at some times through tempest of weather, were forced to cast overboard the greatest part of their lading, or then to perish, men, ship, and geir.’ Several of the other culprits are accused of raising and calming the wind at pleasure.222

It appears that at this time twenty-two unfortunate men and women, chiefly the latter, suffered in Aberdeen and its neighbourhood. Such a tremendous sacrifice to superstition would in itself be worthy of special notice here; but it becomes the more so from a probability which appears that Shakspeare must have been acquainted with the details of these trials. It will be found that the chief of his company, Lawrence Fletcher, was in Aberdeen with a party of comedians in October 1601. That Shakspeare was of the party is not certain; but there is no fact to militate against the probability that he was. Mr Charles Knight223 has shewn that in these trials there occur many things which strongly recall passages in the witch-scenes of Macbeth—as if those scenes had been written by one who had thoroughly studied the dittays against Janet Wishart and her associates. Nearly all of those women—and it is very much a special feature of this group of cases—had laid heavy disease on those whom they held at ill-will, causing them to suffer fearful pains, and their strength to decay.

Such are the dread words of the Macbeth hags. We see that the Aberdeen witches had power over the winds; so had those of Macbeth. Banquo says to the weird sisters:

This, it must be acknowledged, is wonderfully like a suggestion to the imagination from such a fact as that of Janet Wishart’s vaticinations among the growing corn. The witch-dance at the Fish Cross is much like those under the guidance of Hecate; and Wishart’s dealing with the malefactor’s corpse at the gallows on the Links, might well furnish a hint for the incantations over the caldron.

And perhaps even the humble cantrip of Marjory Mutch with William Smith’s oxen, might suggest the fine passage descriptive of the conduct of Duncan’s horses at his death; when they

‘If it be not,’ says Mr Knight, in concluding this curious speculation, ‘to inquire too curiously, may we not trace one of the most striking passages in Othello to the humble source of an Aberdeen superstition?’

In the information against Isobell Straquhan, it is alleged that “the said Isobell came to Elspet Mutrey in Wodheid, she being a widow, and asked of her if she had a penny to lend her, and the said Elspet gave her the penny; and the said Isobell took the penny, and bowit [bent] it, and took a clout and a piece red wax, and sewed the clout with a thread, the wax and the penny being within the clout, and gave it to the said Elspet Mutrey, commanding her to use the said clout to hang about her craig [neck], and when she saw the man she loved best, take the clout, with the penny and wax, and stroke her face with it, and she so doing, should attain in to the marriage of that man whom she loved.”

The “clout” sewed “with a thread” wants, indeed, the poetical colouring of the “handkerchief” of Othello; but still

More curious in the effects produced is another example of the “prophetic fury” of the “sibyl” Isobell Straquhan. She could not only produce love, but remove hatred: Walter Ronaldson had used to strike his wife, who took consultation with Scudder (alias Straquhan), and ‘she did take pieces of paper, and sew them thick with thread of divers colours, and did put them in the barn amongst the corn, and from henceforth the said Walter did never strike his wife, neither yet once found fault with her, whatsoever she did. He was subdued “entirely to her love.”’

The duellium seems to have been particularly in vogue at this time. ‘There chanced a single combat betwixt James Hepburn of Moreham and one Birnie, a skinner in Edinburgh [at St Leonard’s Craigs]. They were both slain [and buried the morning after]. The occasion and quarrel was not thought to be great nor yet necessary. Hepburn alleged and maintained that there was seven sacraments; Birnie would have but two, or else he would fight. The other was content with great protestations that he would defend his belief with the sword; and so, with great earnestness, they yoked, and thus the question was decided.’—P. And.

There was a traditionary tale in Edinburgh, which Sir Walter Scott had heard in his youth, and which he narrated to the author of this work in 1824, to the effect that, a gentleman having been foully murdered by a man of formidable repute as a swordsman, his widow brought forward two sons in succession to challenge the murderer to mortal combat, and when these had fallen, did not scruple even to send a third, her youngest and favourite, to avenge the slaughter of the rest; thus imitating, as Sir Walter remarked, the conduct of Don Arias Gonzalo, in sending his three sons in succession to meet Don Diego Ordoñez, when the latter challenged the people of Zamora for sheltering the traitor Vellido—as related in the Chronicle of the Cid.224 The two first youths, like the sons of Don Diego, ‘died like good men in their duty;’ but the third slew the murderer. The last fight, said Sir Walter, took place on Cramond Island in the Firth of Forth, and since then there has been no such combat permitted. Apparently the basis of this story is as follows:

James Carmichael, second son of the Laird of Carmichael, had killed Stephen Bruntfield, captain of Tantallon, in a duel at St Leonard’s Craigs, 22d December 1596. Adam Bruntfield, brother of the deceased, ‘allegit that James Carmichael had slain his brother by treason, having promisit to meet him hand to hand, and had brought others with him to his slaughter, and therefore was a traitor. The other stood to his denial, and they baith seyit [tried] their moyen [influence] at his majesty’s hands for ane license to fecht, whilk with great difficulty was granted by his grace.’ They met on Barnbougle Sands or Links,225 in the presence of a great multitude, and with the Duke of Lennox, the Laird of Buccleuch, Sir James Sandilands, and Lord Sinclair, to act as judges. ‘The one was clothed in blue taffeta, the other in red sattin.’ Carmichael, who was ‘as able a like man as was living,’ seemed at first to have great advantage over Adam Bruntfield, who was ‘but ane young man, and of mean stature;’ and at the first encounter he struck Adam on the loin. To the surprise of all, however, Bruntfield ‘strikes him in the craig [neck], and syne loups aboon him, and gives him sundry straiks with his dagger, and sae slays him. Adam Bruntfield is convoyit to Edinburgh with great triumph as ane victorious captain; and the other borne in deid.’—Bir. Pa. And. C. K. Sc.

This spring, there was ‘sic increase of sawing, that the like has not been heard of before. Ane man of Libberton, callit Douglas, had, of ten pecks of beir sawn thirty-one thrave, and every threif had ane boll of beir and ane peck.’—Bir.

‘At this time, one Sir James Mac Oniel [Mac Connel], alias Sorley Buie, a great man in Ireland, being here for the time to complain of our chief islesmen, was knighted, and went with his train and dependers to visit the Castle and provision therein, and gave great and noble rewards to the keepers.’—Pa. And. ‘The 7th of May, he went homeward, and for honour of his bonalley226 the cannons shot out of the Castle of Edinburgh.’—Bir. ‘This Sir James was ane man of Scottis bluid, albeit his lands lies in Ireland. He was ane braw man of person and behaviour, but had not the Scots tongue, nor nae language but Erse [Irish].’—C. K. Sc.

There was a proclamation ‘that no man take upon hand to give out money any dearer nor ten for the hundred [ten per cent. interest], or victual according thereto, under the pain of confiscation of their goods, and punishing of their bodies as usurers.’—Bir.

Died Hugh Rose of Kilravock, at an advanced age. A descendant describes him as ‘ane excellent person.’ ‘He found the fortune [of the family] low, and under great burden, which he not only defrayed, leaving it free to his son, but also acquired the whole lands now holden of the Bishop of Moray. He had seventeen sisters and daughters, all whose portions, mediately or immediately, he paid, though their very portions were a considerable debt. He lived in a very divided factious time, there falling out then great revolutions in church and state; religion changed from popery to protestant, and the queen laid aside, living in exile; yet such was his even, ingenious, prudential carriage, that he wanted not respect from the most eminent of all parties. He had troubles from neighbours, which he prudently carried, and yet knew how discreetly to resent them, as appears, that a debate being betwixt him and two neighbours, he subscribed: “Hucheon Rose of Kilravock, ane honest man, ill guided betwixt them both.” This was ridentem dicere verum.

‘He was a man that could make good use of his troubles, as appears by his answer to King James, who, being in Kilravock in his progress to the north (in the year 1589, as I suppose), inquired how he could live amongst such ill turbulent neighbours; [he] made this reply: “That they were the best neighbours he could have, for they made him thrice a day go to God upon his knees, when perhaps otherwise he would not have gone once.” And at the same time, as I have learned many years ago from old persons, the king was pleased to honour him with the name of Father, and desiring he might be covered.

‘As to his person, I have had it from such as knew him, that he was of a tall, and of a square well-compact body, but not corpulent. He was of a venerable grave aspect; his beard white and long in his old age. He died full of days, not so much of sickness as nature being worn out. The night before his death, he went forth to his orchard, and there supped upon a little broth, and then going to his bed, died the next morning, without trouble, muttering these words in Latin at his expiring: “In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum meum.”‘227

This was a day of great joy to the friends of the reformed faith, for the Earls of Huntly and Errol had at length been wrought upon to make profession of the true religion, and so be relaxed from the pains of excommunication. Though the pressing nature of the motive was obvious, no dread of insincerity seems ever to have entered the minds of the honest zealots who left these lords no other course for their preservation. The affair took place in the kirk of Aberdeen, and was in several respects noticeable. The evening before, the Earl of Huntly shook hands in token of reconciliation with Lord Forbes and young Irvine of Drum, and signed the articles of the established religion, swearing not to decline therefrom. On the Sunday, which was observed as a fast, on account of the importance of this conversion, the two nobles appeared in the marriage desk or pew in the Old Kirk, where was ‘sic a confluence of noblemen, barons, gentlemen, and common people, as that the like was never seen in that kirk.’

To pursue the narrative of an eye-witness: ‘The bishop preached, and made a godly and excellent sermon. The sermon being concluded, the earls rises furth of their desk, comes in before the pulpit, make ane open confession of their defection and apostasy, affirms the religion presently confessed to be the only true religion, renounces all papistry, &c., and of new swears never to decline again, but to defend the samen to their life’s end. The Earl of Huntly confessed his offence, first to God, next to his majesty, to the kirk and country, for the slaughter of the Earl of Moray. And sae the bishop pronounces openly their sentence of absolution frae the sentence of excommunication. The earls are then received by the haill ministry, being in number twelve or thirteen persons, wha, during all the time of the sermon, sat at the table in the mids’ of the kirk, and with them the provost, bailies, and maist part of the council. And after the earls were received by the ministry, then Patrick Murray, commissioner for his majesty, received them in his hieness’ name; next the provost, bailies, and council. And sae they were received to the bosom of the kirk. At the samen time, the Laird of Gight, before the pulpit, sat down on his knees, and askit God, his majesty, and the kirk pardon and forgiveness for the receipt of the Earl of Bothwell, for the whilk he was excommunicate; and he was absolved frae the excommunication. This being done, the twa earls, with mony mae gentlemen and barons, all the ministry, communicate together at the table of the Lord.’...

Next day, the Market Cross was solemnly hung with tapestry, and in a small house close by a band of musicians was placed. Four score of the young men of the town, in their best habiliments, with hagbuts, took their station around. There also were placed the magistrates and council, with six maskers. On a table set out in the street were wine, glasses, and sweetmeats. The earls’ pacification was then formally proclaimed by Marchmont herald. ‘The twa earls sat at the Cross in chairs, with his majesty’s commissioner and the ministry. The wand of peace delivered to them by Patrick Murray, he receives them in his majesty’s name; next the ministry embraces them, and then the provost, bailies, and magistrates. Hagbuts sounded, that day nor dur could not be heard; wine drunk in abundance; glasses broken; sirfootfeats casten abroad on the causey, gather whaso please! After this the earls and their kin passes to the Tolbooth, with the haill ministry; all are made burgesses of this town, the ministry with the rest. At even, naething but waughting.’228

Of course, all was a forced hypocrisy on the part of the two lords, merely to avoid the legal consequences of their excommunication. Most curious it would be to know if there were no misgivings on the subject among the clergy: certainly none appear. Huntly, as might have been expected, quickly relapsed to his popish professions, and was again excommunicated in 1606. Nevertheless, he was some years later accepted once more as a Protestant, and restored to his civil rights.

A deputation of ministers went this summer through the provinces of Aberdeen, Moray, and Ross, to complete as far as possible the planting of them with ministers. The chief of the Clan Mackintosh surprised the deputation by the zeal and cordiality he shewed towards the object. He met them at Inverness, exhibited a plan for settling ministers in his country, and subscribed it in their presence. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘it may be thought I am liberal because nae minister will venture to come amang us. Get me men and sey [try] me. I will find sufficient caution in St Johnston, Dundee, or Aberdeen, for safety of their persons, obedience to their doctrine and discipline, and guid payment of their stipend.’—Ja. Mel. We have seen enough of the leading men of this age in Scotland not to be too much surprised on learning that this was the same Highland chief who had sent out his clan on a wild ravaging expedition in 1592, when the hospitable old baron of Brackla was one of their victims, and who is summed up in the Historie of King James the Sext, as ‘a man unconstant, false, and double-minded, by the report of all men.’