Edward Lord Bruce of Kinloss lost his life in a duel fought near Bergen-op-zoom with Sir Edward Sackville, afterwards Earl of Dorset. They were gay young men, living a life of pleasure in London, and in good friendship with each other, when some occurrence, arising out of their pleasures, divided them in an irremediable quarrel. Clarendon states that on Sackville’s part the cause was ‘unwarrantable.’ Lord Kinloss, in his challenge, reveals to us that they had shaken hands after the first offence, but with this remarkable expression on his own part, that he reserved the heart for a truer reconciliation. Afterwards, in France, Kinloss learned that Sackville spoke injuriously of him, and immediately wrote to propose a hostile meeting. ‘Be master,’ he said, ‘of your own weapons and time; the place wheresoever I will wait on you. By doing this, you will shorten revenge, and clear the idle opinion the world hath of both our worths.’

Sackville received this letter at his father-in-law’s house, in Derbyshire, and he lost no time in establishing himself, with his friend, Sir John Heidon, at Tergoso, in Zealand, where he wrote to Lord Kinloss, that he would wait for his arrival. The other immediately proceeded thither, accompanied by an English gentleman named Crawford, who was to act as his second; also by a surgeon and a servant. They met, accompanied by their respective friends, at a spot near Bergen-op-Zoom, ‘where but a village divides the States’ territories from the archduke’s ... to the end that, having ended, he that could, might presently exempt himself from the justice of the country by retiring into the dominion not offended.’

In the preliminary arrangements, some humane articles were agreed upon, probably by the influence of the seconds; but, if we are to believe Sir Edward Sackville, Lord Kinloss, in choosing his adversary’s weapon, expressed some blood-thirsty sentiments, that gave him reason to hope for little mercy if he should be the vanquished party. Being on his part incensed by these unworthy expressions, he, though heavy with a recent dinner, hurried on the combat. To follow his remarkable narrative:349

‘I being verily mad with anger [that] the Lord Bruce should thirst after my life with a kind of assuredness, seeing I had come so far and heedlessly to give him leave to regain his lost reputation, bade him alight, which with all willingness he quickly granted; and there, in a meadow ankle-deep in water at the least, bidding farewell to our doublets, in our shirts began to charge each other; having afore commanded our surgeons to withdraw themselves a pretty distance from us, conjuring them besides, as they respected our favours or their own safeties, not to stir, but suffer us to execute our pleasures; we being fully resolved (God forgive us!) to despatch each other by what means we could. I made a thrust at my enemy, but was short, and in drawing back my arm, I received a great wound thereon, which I interpreted as a reward for my short-shooting; but, in revenge, I pressed in to him, though I then missed him also, and then received a wound in my right pap, which passed level through my body, and almost to my back. And there we wrestled for the two greatest and dearest prizes we could ever expect trial for—honour and life; in which struggling, my hand, having but an ordinary glove on it, lost one of her servants, though the meanest, which hung by a skin.... At last, breathless, yet keeping our holds, there passed on both sides propositions of quitting each other’s swords; but when amity was dead, confidence could not live, and who should quit first, was the question; which on neither part either would perform, and restriving again afresh, with a kick and a wrench together, I freed my long captivated weapon; which incontinently levying at his throat, being master still of his, I demanded if he would ask his life, or yield his sword; both which, though in that imminent danger, he bravely denied to do. Myself being wounded, and feeling loss of blood, having three conduits running on me, which began to make me faint, and he courageously persisting not to accord to either of my propositions, through remembrance of his former bloody desire, and feeling of my present state, I struck at his heart, but with his avoiding missed my aim, yet passed through the body, and drawing out my sword, repassed it again through another place, when he cried: “O, I am slain!” seconding his speech with all the force he had to cast me; but being too weak, after I had defended his assault, I easily became master of him, laying him on his back, when, being upon him, I redemanded if he would request his life; but it seemed he prized it not at so dear a rate to be beholden for it, bravely replying, “he scorned it.” Which answer of his was so noble and worthy, as I protest I could not find in my heart to offer him any more violence; only keeping him down, until at length his surgeon, afar off, cried out, “he would immediately die if his wounds were not stopped.” Whereupon, I asked if he desired his surgeon should come, which he accepted of; and so being drawn away, I never offered to take his sword, accounting it inhuman to rob a dead man, for so I held him to be. This thus ended, I retired to my surgeon, in whose arms, after I had remained a while for want of blood, I lost my sight, and withal, as I then thought, my life also. But strong water and his diligence quickly recovered me, when I escaped a great danger. For my lord’s surgeon, when nobody dreamt of it, came full at me with his lord’s sword; and had not mine, with my sword, interposed himself, I had been slain by those base hands; although my Lord Bruce, weltering in his blood, and past all expectation of life, comformable to all his former carriage, which was undoubtedly noble, cried out: “Rascal, hold thy hand!”’

Thus miserably, a victim of passion, died a young nobleman who might otherwise have lived a long and useful life. Being childless, his title and estates went to his next brother, Thomas. Through what means it came about, we cannot tell, but possibly it might be in consequence of some recollection of a well-known circumstance in the history of a former great man of his family, King Robert Bruce, the heart of Edward Lord Kinloss was enclosed in a silver case, brought to Scotland, and deposited in the abbey-church of Culross, near the family seat. The tale of the Silver Heart had faded into a family tradition of a very obscure character, when, in 1808, this sad relic was discovered, bearing on the exterior the name of the unfortunate duellist, and containing what was believed to be the remains of a human heart. It was again deposited in its original place, with an inscription calculated to make the matter clear to posterity. The Bruce motto, Fuimus, is also seen on the wall, conveying to the visitor an indescribable feeling of melancholy, as he reflects on the stormy passion which once swelled the organ now resting within, and the wild details of that deadly quarrel of days long gone by.

‘The unfortunate Lord Bruce saw distinctly the figure or impression of a mort-head, on the looking-glass in his chamber, that very morning he set out for the fatal place of rendezvous, where he lost his life in a duel; and asked of some that stood by him if they observed that strange appearance: which they answered in the negative. His remains were interred at Bergen-op-Zoom, over which a monument was erected, with the emblem of a looking-glass impressed with a mort-head, to perpetuate the surprising representation which seemed to indicate his approaching untimely end. I had this narration from a field-officer, whose honour and candour is beyond suspicion, as he had it from General Stuart in the Dutch service. The monument stood entire for a long time, until it was partly defaced when that strong place was reduced by the weakness or treachery of Cronstrom, the governor.’—Theophilus Insulanus’s Treatise on the Second-Sight. 1763.

Robert Philip, a priest, returned from Rome in the summer of this year, and performed mass in sundry places in a clandestine manner, but with the proper dresses, utensils, and observances. One James Stewart, living at the Nether Bow Port in Edinburgh, commonly called James of Jerusalem—a noted papist and resetter of seminary priests—was accustomed to have this condemned ceremonial performed in his house, in presence of a small company. Both men were now tried for these offences; and two days after, a third, John Logan, portioner of Restalrig, was also put to an assize, for being one of the audience at Stewart’s house. One cannot, in these days of tolerance, read without a strange sense of uncouthness, the solemn expressions of horror employed in the dittays of the king’s advocate against the offenders, being precisely the same expressions which were used against heinous offences of a more tangible nature. Philip and Stewart were condemned to banishment,350 and Logan, in as far as he expressed penitence and shewed that he had since conformed to the kirk, and even borne office in the session, was let off with a fine of one thousand pounds!

Robert Erskine, brother of the lately deceased Laird of Dun, in Forfarshire, was put upon trial for an offence that recalls the tale of the Babes in the Wood. To open the succession to himself, he formed the resolution to put away his two nephews, John and Alexander Erskine, minors, and for this purpose consulted with his three sisters, Isobel, Annas, and Helen. These women, readily entering into his views, attempted to bribe a servant to engage a witch for the purpose of destroying the two boys; but the man’s virtue was proof to the temptation. Annas and Helen then made a journey across the Cairn-a-mount to a place called the Muir-alehouse, where dwelt a noted witch called Janet Irving. From her they came back, bearing certain deadly herbs fitted for their purpose, and gave these to their brother. He, doubtful of the efficacy of the herbs, went himself to the witch, to get full assurance on that point; and, finding reason to believe that they could destroy the two boys, lost no time in making an infusion of them in ale, which he administered to his victims in the house of their mother at Montrose. The effect was not immediate; but it inflicted the most horrible torments upon the poor youths, one of whom, after dwining for three years, died, uttering, just before death, these affecting words: ‘Wo is me! that ever I had right of succession to ony lands or living, for, gif I had been born some poor cotter’s son, I had not been sae demeaned [treated], nor sic wicked practices had been plotted against me for my lands!’ The other remained without hope of recovery at the time of the trial.

Robert Erskine was found guilty and condemned to be beheaded. His sisters were tried June 22, 1614, for their share of the guilt, and also condemned to death, which two of them suffered. Helen alone, as being less guilty and more penitent than the rest, had her sentence commuted to banishment. The case must have been felt as deeply afflicting by the friends of the Presbyterian cause, as these wretched victims of the mean passion of avarice were the great-grandchildren of the venerated reformer, John Erskine of Dun.—Pit.

One John Stercovius, a Pole, had come into Scotland in the dress of his country, which exciting much vulgar attention, he was hooted at on the streets, and treated altogether so ill, that he was forced to make an abrupt retreat. The poor man, returning full of wounded feelings to his own country, published a Legend of Reproaches against the Scottish nation—‘ane infamous book against all estates of persons in this kingdom.’—P. C. R. It will now be scarcely believed, in Scotland or elsewhere, that King James, hearing of this libel, employed Patrick Gordon, a foreign agent—himself a man of letters—to raise a prosecution against Stercovius in his own country, and had the power to cause the unhappy libeller to be beheaded for his offence! The affair cost six thousand merles, and a convention of burghs was called (December 3, 1613), to consider means of raising this sum by taxation. This mode of raising the money having failed, the king made an effort to obtain aid for the payment of the money from the English resident in the town of Danzig—with what result does not appear. It is a notable circumstance, that while James was on the whole a mild administrator of justice, he was unrelenting towards satirists, and the grossest judicial cruelties of his reign are against men who had been in one way or another contumelious towards himself.

One of the king’s large ships-of-war, which had lain in the Roads of Leith for six weeks, and was about to set sail on her return to England, met her destruction ‘about the twelfth hour of the day,’ through the mad humour of an Englishman, who, while the captain and some of his officers were on shore, laid trains of powder throughout the vessel, notwithstanding that his own son was on board, along with about sixty other men. ‘The ship and her whole provision were burnt; only the bottom and some of the munition were safe. Twenty-four of the men were burnt or perished in the sea; the rest were mutilated and lamed, notwithstanding of all the help that could be made. The fire made the ordnance to shoot, so that none durst come near to help.’—Cal.

‘The sixty-three men that escaped were shipped and transported to London.’—Bal.

The Privy Council of Scotland had this day under their consideration a subject which must have sent their minds back to the associations of an earlier and more romantic age. That custom among the people of the Scottish Border, of going into Cheviot to hunt, which had led to the dismal tragedy narrated in the well-known ballad of Chevy Chase, was, it seems, still kept up. What was once the border of either country being now the middle of both in their so far united condition, the king felt the propriety of putting down a custom so apt to lead to bad blood between his English and Scottish subjects; and accordingly, his council now ordered that the inhabitants of Roxburgh and Selkirk shires, of Liddesdale and Annandale, should cease their ancient practice of going into Tynedale, Redesdale, the fells of Cheviot and Kidland, for hunting and the cutting of wood, under pain of confiscation of their worldly goods.—P. C. R.

Hugh Weir of Cloburn, a boy of fourteen years, had been taken out of the town of Edinburgh from his mother’s friends, and carried over to Ireland, and there married to the daughter of the Laird of Corehouse. He ‘was, by Sir James Hamilton’s means, apprehended in Ireland, and sent back to Scotland, and presented to the Council. He was imprisoned in the Tolbooth, in a room next the Laird of Blackwood, by whose means the boy was taken away and sent into Ireland.’—Bal.

(Tuesday) at ‘half an hour to sax in the morning, ane earthquake had in divers places.’ ‘On Thursday thereafter, ane other earthquake at 12 hours in the night, had baith in land and burgh.’-Chron. Perth.

Theophilus Howard, Lord Walden (afterwards Earl of Suffolk), made a short journey of pleasure in Scotland; and as the details give some idea of the means there were in the country of entertaining a stranger of distinction, they may be worth noting. His lordship was received by the Earl of Home into Dunglass House, in Berwickshire, and ‘used very honourably.’ He dined next day with his brother-in-law, Sir James Home of Cowdenknowes, at Broxmouth House, near Dunbar. Advancing thence towards Edinburgh, he was met by the secretary of state, Sir Thomas Hamilton of Binning, accompanied by a number of gentlemen of the country, all of whom had waited for him the preceding night at Musselburgh Links, but were disappointed of his coming forward. He was by them convoyed to the Canongate, and lodged in John Killoch’s house. Next morning, he proceeded to the Castle, and ‘viewed the site, fortification, and natural strength thereof.’ Having dined, he rode from Edinburgh with the Lord Chancellor to Dunfermline, where he was entertained with all kindness and respect till Monday, the 16th. He then went to Culross, to see Sir George Bruce’s coal-works, which were one of the wonders of the age; ‘where, having received the best entertainment they could make him, my Lord Chancellor took leave of him, and left him to be convoyed by my Lord Erskine to Stirling, where he could not be persuaded to stay above one night. The next day, he saw the park of Stirling, dined in the Castle, and raid that night towards Falkland.’ On the way, Lord Erskine transferred him to the care of Lord Scone, who, assisted by many gentlemen of Fife, took him to his house in Falkland.’ There, doubtless to the great distress of Lord Scone, no entreaties could prevail upon Lord Walden to stay longer than a night, ‘to receive that entertainment which he wald gladly have made langer to him.’ So, ‘after the sight of the park and palace, having dined, his lordship and my Lord of Scone came to Burntisland, where he had ready and speedy passage; but the wind being very loud, he was exceeding sick at sea.’ Landing at Leith, the distinguished company was received for refreshment into the house of a rich and prominent person of that day, Bernard Lindsay, whom we shall see erelong entertaining Ben Jonson in the same place. Here the secretary again took up the stranger, and convoyed him once more to John Killoch’s in the Canongate, ‘whither the bailies of Edinburgh came to him, and invited him to supper the next day, but could not induce him by any entreaty to stay.’ Having dismissed them, he went to see the palace of Holyrood. Next day, the 19th of August, he left Edinburgh, and rode with the secretary to Seton, ‘where he was received by the Countess of Winton and her children, and used with all due respect.’ After taking a sight of the house, which was of princely elegance, with beautiful gardens, Lord Walden proceeded to Broxmouth, and there spent the night.

‘In all his journey through this country,’ says the contemporary writer, ‘great and loving respect has been borne to him by all honest men, whereof he has proven most worthy; for he has esteemed all things to the uttermost of their worth, and in his courteous discretion has favourably excused all oversights and defects.... Every honest man here wishes him happiness in all his other journeys and enterprises, for the honourable, wise, and humane behaviour he has used amang them.’351

In this year, a small volume was printed and published by Andro Hart of Edinburgh, under the title of Mirifici Logarithmorum Canonis Descriptio, &c., Auctore et Inventore Joanne Napero, Barone Merchistonii, Scoto. This was a remarkable event in the midst of so many traits of barbarism, bigotry, and ignorance; for in Napier’s volume was presented a mode of calculation forming an essential pre-requisite to the solution of all the great problems involving numbers which have since been brought before mankind.

John Napier is believed to have been engaged in the elaboration of his Logarithms for fully twenty years, while at the same time giving some of his time to such inventions as burning-glasses for the destruction of fleets, to theological discussions, and the occult sciences. The tall, antique tower of Merchiston, in which he lived and pursued his studies, still exists at the head of the Burgh-moor of Edinburgh.

Napier’s little book was published in an English translation by Henry Briggs of Oxford, the greatest mathematician of his day in England. The admiration of Briggs for the person of Napier was testified in the summer of 1615 by his paying a visit to Scotland, in order to see him. Of this rencontre there is a curious and interesting account preserved by William Lilly in his Life and Times. ‘I will acquaint you,’ says he, ‘with one memorable story related unto me by John Marr, an excellent mathematician and geometrician, whom I conceive you remember. He was a servant to King James I. and Charles I. When Merchiston first published his Logarithms, Mr Briggs, then reader of the astronomy lectures at Gresham College in London, was so surprised with admiration of them, that he could have no quietness in himself until he had seen that noble person whose only invention they were. He acquaints John Marr therewith, who went in[to] Scotland before Mr Briggs, purposely to be there when these two so learned persons should meet. Mr Briggs appoints a certain day when to meet at Edinburgh; but failing thereof, Merchiston was fearful he would not come. It happened one day, as John Marr and Lord Napier were speaking of Mr Briggs, “Oh! John,” saith Merchiston, “Mr Briggs will not come now.” At the very instant, one knocks at the gate. John Marr hasted down, and it proved to be Mr Briggs, to his great contentment. He brings Mr Briggs into my lord’s chamber, where almost one quarter of an hour was spent, each beholding other with admiration, before one word was spoken. At last Mr Briggs began: “My lord, I have undertaken this long journey purposely to see your person, and to know by what engine of wit or ingenuity you came first to think of this most excellent help unto astronomy—namely, the Logarithms; but, my lord, being by you found out, I wonder nobody else found it out before, when, now being known, it appears so easy.” He was nobly entertained by the Lord Napier; and every summer after that, during the laird’s being alive, this venerable man went purposely to Scotland to visit him.’

As Napier (whom Lilly erroneously calls lord) died in April 1617, Mr Briggs could not have made more than one other summer pilgrimage to Merchiston.

Died John M‘Birnie, minister of St Nicolas’ Church, Aberdeen—a typical example of the more zealous and self-denying of the Presbyterian clergy of that age. A similar one of the next age says of M‘Birnie: ‘I heard Lady Culross say: “He was a godly, zealous, and painful preacher; and that he used always, when he rode, to have two Bibles hanging at a leather girdle about his middle, the one original, the other English; as also, a little sand-glass in a brazen case: and being alone, he read, or meditated, or prayed; and if any company were with him, he would read or speak from the Word to them.”... When he died, he called his wife, and told her he had no outward means to leave her, or his only daughter, but that he had got good assurance that the Lord would provide for them; and accordingly, the day he was buried, the magistrates of the town came to the house, after the burial, and brought two subscribed papers, one of a competent maintenance to his wife during her life, another of a provision for his daughter.’352

The latter part of the winter 1614-15 was of such severity as to be attended with several remarkable circumstances which were long remembered. In February, the Tay was frozen over so strongly as to admit of passage for both horse and man. ‘Upon Fasten’s E’en [February 21], there was twa puncheons of Bourdeaux wine carriet, sting and ling,353 on men’s shoulders, on the ice, at the mids of the North Inch, the weight of the puncheon and the bearers, estimate to three score twelve stane weight.’ This state of things, however, was inconvenient for the ferrymen, ‘being thereby prejudgit of their commodity.’ So they, ‘in the night-time, brak the ice at the entry, and stayit the passage.’—Chron. Perth.

An enormous fall of snow took place early in March, so as to stop all communication throughout the country. On its third day, many men and horse perished in vain attempts to travel. The accumulation of snow was beyond all that any man remembered.

‘In some places, men devised snow-ploughs to clear the ground, and fodder the cattle.’—Bal. The snow fell to such a depth, and endured so long upon the ground, that, according to Sir Robert Gordon, ‘most part of all the horse, nolt, and sheep of the kingdom did perish, but chiefly in the north.’354

The Privy Council, viewing the ‘universal death, destruction, and wrack of the beasts and goods throughout all parts of the country,’ apprehended that, without some extraordinary care, there would not be enough of lambs left to replenish the farms with sheep for future use. They accordingly interfered with a decree forbidding the use of lamb for a certain time. Nevertheless, so early as the 26th of April, it was ascertained that there were undutiful subjects, who, ‘preferring their own private contentment and their inordinate appetite, and the delicate feeding of their bellies, to the reverence and obedience of the law,’ continued to use lamb, only purchasing it in secret places, as if no such prohibition had ever been uttered. It was therefore become necessary that severe punishment should be threatened for this offence. The threats launched forth on this occasion were found next year to have been of some effect in preserving the remnant of the lamb stock; and, to complete the restoration of the stock, a new decree to the like effect was then made (March 14, 1616).

The king and his English council having, with the usual short-sighted policy of the age, decreed that no goods should be imported into or exported out of England, except in English vessels, the burghs of Scotland were not slow to perceive that the interests of their country would be deeply injured thereby, as other states would of course establish similar restrictions, ‘and if so, there is naething to be expected but decay and wrack to our shipping, insaemickle as the best ships of Scotland are continually employed in the service of Frenchmen, not only within the dominions of France, but also within the bounds of Spain, Italy, and Barbary, where their trade lies, whilk is ane chief cause of the increase of the number of Scots ships and of their maintenance, whereas by the contrary, the half of the number of ships whilk are presently in Scotland will serve for our awn privat trade and negotiation.’

The king of France did in reality revenge the selfish policy of England by issuing a similar order in favour of French shipping, the first consequence of which was that an English vessel and a Dutch one, lading in Normandy, were obliged to disburden themselves and come empty home. ‘Ane Scottish bark perteining to Andrew Allan, whilk that same time was lading with French merchandise,’ would have been subjected to the same inconvenience, if the master had not pretended to an immunity in favour of his country, through its ancient alliance with France, ‘inviolably kept these 800 years bypast.’ The Scots factors in France entered a complaint before the parliament of Paris, reminding it of that ancient alliance, and pleading that the French had ever had liberty of trade in all Scottish ports; shewing, indeed, that Scotland was not comprised in the edict of the English monarch and his council. The parliament accordingly decreed that the Scotch should remain in the enjoyment of freedom of trade within France, as heretofore.

The attention of the king being necessarily called to the interests of Scotland in this matter, he was found obstinate in favour of the general principle of the English order in council. ‘Natural reason,’ he said, ‘teaches us that Scotland, being part of an isle, cannot be mainteined or preserved without shipping, and shipping cannot be mainteined without employment; and the very law of nature teacheth every sort of corporation, kingdom, or country, first to set their own vessels on work, before they employ any stranger.’355 He was willing, however, to relax in particular cases. James argues logically, but he had not sagacity to anticipate the doctrines of Adam Smith.

This day saw the extraordinary sight of a Scottish earl, cousin-german to the king, led out to a scaffold in the High Street of Edinburgh, and there beheaded. The sufferer was Patrick Earl of Orkney, whose father was a natural son of King James V. Forty years earlier, this man would have stood his ground against the law: now, it was too strong for him, and he fell before it.

Earl Patrick appears to have been a man of grand and ambitious views, and his dream of life was to make himself a sort of independent prince in the remote group of islands where lay his estate. The sketch given of his style of living there by a contemporary writer is striking: ‘He had a princely and royal revenue; and indeed behavit himself with sic sovereignty, and, gif I durst say the plain verity, rather tyrannically, by the shadow of Danish laws, different and more rigorous nor [than] the municipal or criminal laws of the rest of Scotland; whereby no man of rent or purse might enjoy his property in Orkney, without his special favour, and the same dear bought.... Fitchit and forgit faults was so devisit against many of them, that they were compellit by imprisonment and small rewaird to resign their heritable titles to him; and gif he had a stieve purse and no rent, then was some crime devisit against him, whereby he was compellit [to give up] either half or haill thereof, gif not life and all beside. And his pomp was so great there [in Kirkwall], as he never went from his castle to the kirk, nor abroad otherwise, without the convoy of fifty musketeers and other gentlemen of convoy and guard. And siclike, before dinner and supper, there were three trumpeters that soundit still till the meat of the first service was set at table, and siclike at the second service; and consequently, after the grace. He had also his ships directit to the sea, to intercept pirates, and collect tribute of uncouth [foreign] fishers, that came yearly to these seas. Whereby he made sic collection of great guns and other weapons for weir [war] as no house, palace, nor castle, yea all in Scotland were not furnished with the like.’

The doings of this insular potentate at length attracted the attention of the law, and he was summoned in 1610 to answer for various acts of the nature of a usurpation of the royal authority during the preceding twenty years. It appears from this summons, that he made laws of his own, and prosecuted divers gentlemen for disobeying them. He had forced some of these persons into a Bond of Manrent, obliging themselves to maintain his cause against whatsoever persons, and that they should never know of any ‘skaith’ threatening him but they would reveal it within twenty-four hours. He had imprisoned sundry persons in irons and stocks sundry days and weeks, and compelled many of the poorer class ‘to work for him all manner of work and labour by sea and land, in rowing and sailing his ships and boats, working in the stane quarry ... loading his boats with stane and lime ... bigging his park dykes, and all other sorts of servile and painful labour, without either meat, drink, or hire.’ While forbidding the people generally to sell any of the produce of their lands without his licence, he imposed on them grievous taxations. In short, he had acted the baronial tyrant in the extremest form of the character.

The earl was now a prisoner in Edinburgh Castle, and there could have been no difficulty in convicting and punishing him. The king, however, felt mercifully towards his cousin; and after several briefer postponements, the case was hung up, and the earl conveyed, for the safer custody of his person, to Dumbarton Castle. It is believed that King James was even willing to have come to a compromise with the culprit, granting him the lucrative keepership of some one of the royal palaces, on condition of his renouncing all claim to Orkney. The earl refused to temporise, and continued to entertain the secret resolution to regain, if possible, his island sovereignty, and there set all law at defiance.

He had a natural son, Robert, a fitting instrument for his designs. Under his instructions, this youth proceeded to Orkney in 1614, and there assembling a company, took possession of the castle of Kirkwall, at the same time fortifying the church and steeple. Voluntarily or by compulsion, a great number of the islanders signed a bond, engaging to support him; and it was soon understood that Orkney was in rebellion against the crown. The Privy Council met to consider what should be done. The Earl of Caithness was now in Edinburgh, attempting to obtain remission for offences of his own, one of which consisted in his waging war in the preceding year against the Earl of Sutherland. It readily occurred to his wily mind, that, for a culprit like himself, nothing could be so good as to offer to help the government to punish the crimes of others. It was, moreover, rather a pleasure than a duty to carry war into Orkney. His offered services were accepted, and he quickly sailed with a strong military party for Kirkwall. He found the fortress strong, the country people generally in favour of the rebels, and great deficiency of provision for his troops. He nevertheless beleaguered the castle for about a month, during which time some damage was done by ordnance on both sides. At length, by adroit dealing with one Patrick Halcro, the chief associate of Robert Stuart, he brought about a surrender of the house and all it contained (September 29, 1614), with a condition for the saving of Halcro’s life, but for no favour to any other.

Robert Stuart was brought to trial in Edinburgh, and condemned to death. He was a youth of only twenty-two, ‘of a tall stature and comely countenance;’ and it is to be remembered in his favour, that he withstood all the persuasions of the Earl of Caithness to give up Kirkwall Castle, foreseeing that he should be tortured into revealing his father’s guilt; he only surrendered on finding that Halcro was going to betray him. He died penitent, with five of his company.

The doom of the earl, the prime mover of the rebellion, followed. He ‘took the sentence impatiently.’ An attempt was made to excite the king to spare the royal blood, but without effect. ‘The ministers, finding him so ignorant that he could scarce rehearse the Lord’s Prayer, entreated the Council to delay his execution some few days, till he were better informed, and received the Lord’s Supper.... So he communicate on the Lord’s day, the 5th of February, and was beheaded at the market-cross of Edinburgh upon Monday the 6th of February; when Sir Robert Ker, the Earl of Rochester, was decourted. The king laid the blame of his death upon him [Rochester], but late, as his custom was, when matters was past remedy.’—Cal. G. H. S. Pit.

An entry in the session record of Perth, under September 1632, forms a curious and striking pendant to the history of this unfortunate branch of the Stuart family. ‘Disbursed at the command of the ministers to ane young man called Stewart, son to umwhile the Earl of Orkney, seven shillings.’

This day, John Ogilvie, a Jesuit, was hanged in Glasgow, being the first priest who had suffered in that way in Scotland since the execution of the Archbishop of St Andrews at Stirling in 1571.356

Ogilvie was a Scotsman of good family, who had lived for twenty-one years in a Jesuit college at Gratz. He came to Scotland in the autumn of 1613, and spent some time amongst the Catholics in the north, then went to London, and finally came back to Scotland in June 1614. For three months he lived skulkingly in Glasgow, occasionally performing mass, but was at length apprehended in October, along with thirteen or fourteen persons who had been present at those ceremonies. The latter were thrown into Dumbarton Castle, and only liberated on payment of large fines. Ogilvie himself was subjected to examination and trial. The only account he would give of himself was that he came to Scotland at the command of his superiors, ‘to save souls.’ To induce further confession, he was put on low diet and kept from sleep for several nights in succession; and being thus made ‘light in the head,’ he ‘began to discover certain particulars, but, howsoon he was permitted to take any rest, he denied all, and was as obstinate in denying as at first.’

The king, who was tolerant of the religion of the papists, as apart from their anarchical doctrines regarding papal supremacy, told his Council to let Ogilvie go unharmed into banishment, if he was but a Jesuit who had said mass, and only to deal severely with him if he had been a practiser of sedition, or refused to take the oath of allegiance. They soon found from his answers to certain questions that he was a bold and decided adherent of the doctrines of his order, holding that the pope was superior to the king, and might excommunicate him, and not clearly denying that the subjects might thus be absolved from their allegiance to their sovereign, and even slay him. He denied that he had been guilty of any real crime, saying that acts of parliament were but the dicta of partial men. The king’s authority came from predecessors who had acknowledged the supremacy of the pope: ‘if he will be to me as his predecessors were to mine, I will acknowledge him,’ not otherwise. In declining the king’s authority in such matters, he did no more than the best of the Presbyterian clergy did—a course in which they would persevere if they were wise. ‘I have done no offence,’ said he, ‘neither will I beg mercy. If I were even now forth of the kingdom, I should return. If all the hairs in my head were priests, they should all come into the kingdom.’

The one chance which Ogilvie had in the tolerant spirit of the king was thus closed. The zealous Presbyterians had of course nothing to say in arrest of judgment. According to their historian, the bishops felt it to be necessary that they should do something decided against the papists ‘for honesty’s sake‘—that is, some unmistakably sound and good thing on the right side, such as the hanging of a Jesuit clearly was—lest they should appear more inclined to persecute the ministers of the true, than those of a false religion. Accordingly, John Spottiswoode, archbishop of Glasgow, was all along the most conspicuous man in the prosecution of the unfortunate Jesuit. The trial took place in the Town-hall of Glasgow, before a commission composed of the magistrates and a number of noblemen, and condemnation was followed in three hours by execution.

‘He continued a while upon his knees at prayer, with a cold devotion; and when the hour of execution approached, his hands being tied by the executioner, his spirits were perceived much to fail him. In going towards the scaffold, the throng of people was great, and he seemed much amazed; and when he was up, Master Robert Scott and Mr William Struthers, ministers, very gravely and Christianly exhorted him to a humble acknowledgment of his offence, and if anything troubled his mind, to disburden his conscience. In matters of religion, they said, they would not then enter, but prayed him to resolve and settle his mind, and seek mercy and grace from God through Jesus Christ, in whom only salvation is to be found. Ogilvie answered that “he was prepared and resolved.” Once he said that he died for religion, but uttered this so weakly as scarce to be heard by them that stood by on the scaffold. Then addressing himself to execution, he kneeled at the ladder-foot, and prayed. Master Robert Scott, in that while, declaring to the people, that his suffering was not for any matter of religion, but for heinous treason against his majesty, which he prayed God to forgive him. Ogilvie, hearing this, said: “He doeth me wrong.” One called John Abercrombie, a man of little wit, replied: “No matter, John, the more wrongs the better.” This man was seen to attend him carefully, and was ever heard asking of Ogilvie some token before his death; for which, and other business he made with him, he was put off the scaffold.

‘Ogilvie, ending his prayer, arose to go up the ladder; but strength and courage, to the admiration of those who had seen him before, did quite forsake him. He trembled and shaked, saying he would fall, and could hardly be helped up on the top of the ladder. He kissed the hangman, and said: “Maria, Mater gratiae, ora pro me; Omnes Angeli, orate pro me; Omnes Sancti, Sanctaeque, orate pro me!” but with so low a voice that they which stood at the ladder-foot had some difficulty to hear him.

‘The executioner willed him to commend his soul to God, pronouncing these words unto him: “Say, John, Lord have mercy on me, Lord receive my soul!” which he did, with such feebleness of voice, that scarce could he be heard. Then he was turned off, and hung till he was dead.’357

This hanging would of course have procured some popularity for the king and bishops, if it had proceeded from the right motive. But the people saw that no gratitude was really due. ‘Some,’ says Calderwood, ‘interpreted this execution to have proceeded rather of a care to bless the king’s government, than of any sincere hatred of the popish religion. Some [alleged] that it was done to be a terror to the sincerer sort of the ministry, not to decline the king’s authority in ony cause whatever.’

There was believed to be at this time an unusual number of Jesuits and seminary priests in Scotland, ‘pressing by all means possible to subvert the true religion.’ The kirk launched a fast at them, and ordered a general celebration of ‘the holie communion’ for discovery of all recusants. In Aberdeen, the elders subsequently reported three men and two women as having been absent on this occasion. Such persons were proceeded against, so as to force them, if possible, into conformity, in which case each person was expected to come forward publicly, and declare, ‘for the peace of my own conscience,’ I do, ‘by my own free choice and voluntary consent, renounce all the errors and superstitions of popery,’ and profess, ‘in the true simplicity of my heart,’ that ‘I shall own and maintain all the doctrines of the true Reformed Protestant Religion, and shall adhere to the whole worship and discipline thereof to my life’s end.’358 In the present case, four persons remained recusant, and actually were excommunicated in the ensuing January; thus, in fact, losing all privileges as subjects of the realm.

On the 14th of August, three citizens of Edinburgh, named Sinclair, Wilkie, and Cruikshanks, all men in respectable circumstances, were tried for the crime of entertaining in their houses three Jesuits or trafficking priests, including the unfortunate John Ogilvie. Sinclair confessed to having reset Mr James Moffat in the preceding October, but said he did it ‘only upon simplicity.’ The three men were condemned to be executed as traitors; and, as if to shew the certainty of their doom, a special order from the king was read in court for proceeding to both sentence and execution. The zealous multitude were accordingly in full hope of the punishment being inflicted; but there was no earnestness in the government in these proceedings. Let Calderwood tell the remainder of the tale. ‘The day following [the trial], betwixt four and five in the afternoon, they were brought furth with their hands bound, to the scaffold set up beside the cross and a gallows in it, according to the custom of execution. While a great multitude of people were going to see the execution, there was a warrant presented to the magistrates of Edinburgh to stay the execution. So they were turned back again to their wards. The people thought this form of dealing rather mockery than punishment.’

The sentence was commuted by the king’s order to banishment from Edinburgh for Cruikshanks, and for the other two to banishment from the king’s dominions, both during his royal pleasure.—Pit. Cal.

A little trait of the domestic circumstances of Catholics of rank at this time is worthy of notice. The Earl of Errol, as a recusant papist, was only enabled to remain in his country on condition that he should not pass beyond a small circle around his own castle in Aberdeenshire. Being embarrassed by debt, and troubled by his creditors, he found himself constrained to take some legal steps ‘for the provision of his mony young children, and settling of some good course for the estate of his house.’ It was necessary that he should be allowed to break temporarily through the obligation under which he lay to live within a certain space round his house. He therefore got a formal licence (November 9, 1615), ‘to repair to Edinburgh, and there to remain in some lodging, not kything ony way in daylight upon the heich street, for ten days after the 20th of November.’—P. C. R.