leaders might direct. Circular letters had been sent, and the watchword fixed-"Sir Robert and Sir Joseph."* But the prudence of Walpole on both these occasions happily checked these riots without bloodshed or injury or danger.1

A riot at Edinburgh (the celebrated Porteous Mob) was both more singular in its origin and more serious in its consequences. Some years back, the real events might have excited interest: but the wand of an Enchanter is now waved over us; we feel the spell of the greatest writer that the world has yet seen in one department, or Scotland yet produced in any. How dull and lifeless will not the true facts appear when no longer embellished by the touching sorrows of Effie or the heroic virtue of Jeanie Deans! But let me proceed with the cold reality. Two noted smugglers from Fife, named Wilson and Robertson, being condemned to death for a robbery, were imprisoned together in the Tolbooth at Edinburgh, when they devised a plan of escape. They procured a file, with which they rid themselves of their irons and cut through the window bar; but Wilson insisted on making the first attempt, and being a man of unwieldy size, though of powerful strength, he stuck fast in the gap, and could neither advance nor retire. Next morning the prisoners were, of course, discovered and secured. Wilson, in whom an irregular life had not extinguished a noble nature, now lamented not so much his own fate as his comrade's. He felt, with bitter self-reproach, that had he allowed Robertson to go first, the other being slender and active would certainly have pressed through, and he resolved at all hazards to atone for the injury he had done him. It was then usual, it seems, for the prisoners at Edinburgh to be led out with a strong guard to attend Divine Service in a church adjoining to the gaol. There, accordingly, Wilson and Robertson were brought in the ensuing week under the custody of four soldiers. The service having concluded, Wilson suddenly sprang forward, and seized a soldier with each hand, and, calling to Robertson to run for his life, secured a third by grappling his collar with his teeth. Robertson easily shook off the remaining soldier, and, leaping over the pews, made his escape, and was never again seen in Edinburgh.

A feat so daring in its design and so generous in its motive, attracted, of course, no small degree of public interest. Wilson was universally praised and pitied; and this very pity, perhaps, gave rise to a vague rumour that an attempt would be made for his own rescue, on the day fixed for his execution, the 14th of April. The magistrates, thus forewarned, took every precaution for security, stationing a large detachment of the City Guard under the command of their captain, John Porteous, a man of great activity as a police officer, but accused of being not only strict but harsh and brutal in his official duties, and certainly most unpopular with the lower orders.

Sir Robert Walpole to H. Walpole, September 30, 1736.

[See.Wright's "England under the House of Hanover," for an account of the agitation attending the Gin Act, and the various evasions of the law, vol. i. chap. iv.]

The execution took place without any interruption or disturbance,* and it was not till the body had been cut down that some rabble began to attack the hangman, pelting him and also the soldiers with very large stones. Outrages of the same kind, though of less degree, were not uncommon on these occasions, and had usually been borne with patience; nor ought Porteous to have forgotten that the sentence was already fully executed, and that he should now attempt to withdraw his men: but on the contrary, losing all command of temper, he snatched a musket from one of the soldiers, and fired at the crowd; the soldiers followed his example, and another similar discharge took place as the detachment retired to the guard-house.

For this violence was Porteous brought to trial before the High Court of Justiciary, found guilty of murder by an exasperated jury of citizens, and condemned to death. But his sentence being referred to the Government in London, and considered by Queen Caroline, as head of the Regency during the King's absence, seemed to her and her advisers to admit of mitigation. He had given no original provocation; he had been wantonly assailed and had a right to defend himself; and though his defence was carried to a fierce and most unwarrantable pitch, and became itself an aggression, yet still his real crime appeared to fall short of murder, and his fit punishment, of death. From these considerations a reprieve for Porteous was sent down to Edinburgh. There, however, it was received by the public with one universal roar of indignation. The persons who had fallen were not all of them rioters, and the very humanity of the soldiers had turned against them; for many of them desiring merely to intimidate and not to hurt, had fired over the heads of the crowd, and in so doing had struck several persons of good condition, looking out of the neighbouring windows. This circumstance, if rightly considered, was an alleviation of their guilt, but in the popular estimation served rather to heighten it, from the natural compassion at the fate of entirely innocent and much respected individuals. On the whole, then, the ferment had risen high among the citizens; and dark and ominous threats were heard, that even the Royal reprieve should not shelter Porteous from their vengeance.

It was now the 7th of September, the day previous to that which had been appointed for the execution. Porteous himself, unconscious of his doom, and rejoicing in his approaching deliverance, had that very evening given an entertainment in the Tolbooth to a party of friends. But that festal evening was not to close without blood. A little before ten o'clock, a disorderly multitude began to gather in the low suburb of Portsburgh, evidently, from the first, under the

"That deluded man (Wilson) died with great tranquillity, and maintained to the hour of his death that he was most unjustly condemned: he maintained this in a debate with one of the reverend ministers of Edinburgh. He admitted that he had taken money from a collector of the revenue by violence, but that the officers of the revenue had, by their practice, taught him this was lawful, for they had often seized and carried off his goods, &c." (Speech of Mr. Lindsay, May 16, 1737. Parl. Hist. vol. x. p. 254.)

guidance of cool and wary leaders. They beat a drum, and attracted fresh numbers; until, finding themselves strong enough for their purpose, they seized on the Westport, closed and barricaded it, and secured, in like manner, the ports of Canongate and Netherbow; thus cutting off the city from a regiment of infantry which was quartered in the suburbs. Their next step was to disarm the City Guard at their house, and thus obtain weapons for themselves. None of these pacific soldiers offered any resistance; their guns, halberts, and Lochaber axes were quietly relinquished by them, and eagerly assumed by the foremost of the rioters. It is remarkable that, though these City Guardsmen had been the instruments, at least, of the very slaughter which it was now intended to avenge, they were now permitted to slink away without the slightest injury or ill-treatment; so intent were the mob-leaders on one great object, and so well able, says Fletcher the younger, of Saltoun, to restrain the multitude from every wickedness but that which they had determined to perpetrate.*

*

It was not till these preliminary measures had been achieved, that the real object was disclosed in a fierce and general cry-"Porteous! Porteous! to the Tolbooth! to the Tolbooth!" and in a few minutes more they were thundering at the gates of the gaol, and demanding that the prisoner should be given out to them. On receiving no answer, they prepared to burst open the doors; but the outer door was of such solidity and strength, as for a long while to defy their utmost efforts: sledge-hammers and iron crows were wrought against it in vain, even by those who might have, perhaps, most valuable experience in house-breaking. So much time was consumed, and so little progress made, that there seemed reason to hope that this obstacle alone might be sufficient to arrest the conspirators, and prove more effectual than the "sheep in wolves' clothing" of the City Guard.

When the tumult first began, the magistrates, it is said, were drinking together at a tavern of the Parliament Close;† although it was afterwards given out, as more decorous to these great men, that they had assembled there to concert measures against the rioters. Mr. Lindsay, member of Parliament for the city, who was with them, undertook the perilous task to carry a message from the Lord Provost to General Moyle, who commanded the troops quartered in the suburb, and who was now required to force the Netherbow port, and march into the city to quell the tumult. But Moyle, who had the recent example of Porteous before his eyes, refused to move against the people unless authorized by a written warrant from the magistrates; and Lindsay, on his part, was unwilling to convey any paper

To the Duke of Newcastle, Sept. 16, 1736. (Coxe's Walpole.) Fletcher was then Lord Chief Justice Clerk; and afterwards Lord Milton. He had eminent talents; but we are told that "his schemes had but very little credit, because he himself was often for changing them." (Sir J. Clerk's MSS. on Lockhart, ap. Somerville's Queen Anne, p. 204.)

† General Moyle to the Duke of Newcastle, Sept. 9, 1736.

which, if found upon him, might probably cost him his life. There was afterwards, in discussing the transaction, much altercation between them as to what had really passed; the General declared that Lindsay had come to him drunk, while, on the other hand, Lindsay inveighed against his lack of alacrity:* but, be this as it may, no assistance was afforded by the King's troops. A similar message had also been sent up to the Governor of the Castle, but with a similar result.

The magistrates, thus left to their own resources, sallied forth from their tavern, and marched to the scene of riot with such force as they could muster. But they found the outer line firm and impassable, and their own halberts and Lochaber axes, now no longer in civic hands, were brandished against them; yet no further violence was used than seemed requisite to make them quietly return as they came. In like manner, the sedan chairs of ladies, hastening, even amidst this confusion, to their indispensable tea and cards, were stopped, turned back, and escorted home for their safety, with most remarkable civility and consideration for their feelings. All these are additional proofs that the riot was no sudden ebullition of rage, but a settled plan of leaders above the common rank, well concerted and implicitly obeyed. Perhaps the strongest proof of all yet remains to tell. Is there any other instance of a riot, either in England or Scotland, in which the rioters willingly refrained from drunkenness?

The battering of the Tolbooth door had at length exhausted the strength, not the animosity of the assailants; when a voice among them exclaimed, "Try fire!" Tar barrels and other such combustibles, were immediately applied; a large bonfire speedily arose, and a hole was burnt in the door, through which the terrified gaoler flung the keys. The mob now poured in, leaving the doors open for the advantage of the other prisoners, who, of course, did not neglect this opportunity to escape. But the ringleaders steadily pursued their course to the apartment of Porteous, and broke through its locks and bars. What was their rage and disappointment to find it empty! The unhappy man, hearing the tumult and the shouts for his life, had endeavoured to save it by ascending the chimney, but his progress was arrested by an iron grating, which, as usual in prisons, was fixed across the vent. His place of concealment was too obvious for security; he was soon discovered, dragged down, and told to prepare for the death he had deserved; nor was the slightest attention shown either to his prayers for mercy, or to the offers of large sums of money with which he attempted to redeem his life. Yet

* Earl of Isla to Sir Robert Walpole, October 16, 1736. He adds, "I have had great difficulty to prevent mischief between General Moyle and Mr. Lindsay."

Sir Walter Scott says, "A near relation of mine used to tell of having been stopped by the rioters and escorted home in this manner. On reaching her own home, one of her attendants, in appearance a baxter, or baker's lad, handed her out of her chair, and took leave with a bow, which, in the lady's opinion, argued breeding that could hardly be learned beside the oven." Note to the Heart of Mid-Lothian, ch. vi. See also his excellent narrative, Tales of a Grandfather, Third Series, vol. ii. pp. 156-180.

with all this sternness of the rioters, there was, as before, a strange mixture of forbearance: Porteous was allowed to intrust his money and papers to a friend (a prisoner confined for debt) in behalf of his family; and one of the conspirators, a man of grave and reverend aspect, undertook the part of clergyman and offered such spiritual exhortations as are proper to a dying man. They then led their victim towards the Grass Market, the usual scene of public executions, and which, being the place of his offence, they determined should be also the place of his punishment. He refused to walk; but they mounted him on the hands of two of the rioters clasped together, and forming what in Scotland is termed, I suppose from Irony, "the King's cushion." Such was their coolness, that, when Porteous dropped one of his slippers, they halted until it was picked up and replaced on his foot.*

Having reached the Grass Market, the rioters obtained a coil of ropes by breaking open a dealer's booth, and at the same time left a guinea in payment for it; another circumstance denoting that the ringleaders were by no means of the lowest class. Their next search was for the gallows; but these being removed to a distance, they seized a dyer's pole, and proceeded to the execution of their victim. His dying struggles were long, but unavailing; the rioters calmly watched till life was wholly extinct, and then, quietly drawing in their outposts, dispersed without noise. The arms which they had taken from the City Guards they now flung away: the streets were left perfectly quiet; and at daybreak the scattered weapons and the suspended body formed the only tokens of the dreadful deed of that night.

The news of this outrage, being sent by express to the government in London, was received with no small astonishment and indignation. A riot so deliberate, orderly, and well-conducted, as almost to mock the formalities of a judicial sentence, seemed so high a pitch of insolence, that, as Fletcher of Saltoun declared, "there is an end of Government if such practices are suffered to escape punishment."t Queen Caroline, above all, was greatly irritated, looking upon the murder of Porteous as a direct insult to her person and authority. There is still a tradition in Scotland, that her Majesty, in the first burst of her resentment, exclaimed to the Duke of Argyle, that, sooner than submit to such things, she would make Scotland a hunting field. "In that case, Madam," answered Argyle, with a profound bow, but with no courtly spirit, "I will take leave of your Majesty, and go down to my own country to get my hounds ready!"

It was, however, Argyle's brother, the Earl of Isla, whom the government immediately despatched to Edinburgh, with strict orders and full powers to detect, convict, and punish the offenders. But neither the rewards offered, nor the threats denounced, produced any disclosure. All the exertions of Isla ended only in collecting

This slight but characteristic incident was told Sir Walter Scott by the daughter of a lady who saw it from her window. Note to the Heart of Mid-Lothian, ch. vii. To the Duke of Newcastle, September 16, 1736.