He was accompanied to the scaffold by Mr Annand, dean of Edinburgh, appointed by the council, and Mr Laurence Charteris, named by himself. Before they left the council-house, the Earl pleasantly asked Mr Annand, “If he thought the Pope was that antichrist the Scripture speaks of?” He answered, “Yes, my lord, the Protestant churches hold so.”—“But what think you?” asked the Earl.—“I think so too,” replied Mr Annand.—“Then,” said the Earl, “be sure you instruct the people so.” When they had mounted the scaffold, Mr Charteris exhorted him if there were any sin unrepented of to lay it open before God, who is ready to forgive all penitent sinners. The Earl regretted, as the chief, that he had set too little time apart to wrestle with God in private, in behalf of his work and interest, and for his own poor soul; also that he did not worship God in his family so much as he ought to have done; likewise his public failings. Here Mr Annand interrupted him; but without taking notice of the interruption, he lamented that he did not improve the three years’ respite the Lord had given him, so much for his glory and the advancement of his work, as he might have done in his station; and he looked on his death as a just punishment from God, though undeserved at the hands of men, and added, “I would have thought as little to have appeared in this place some time of day after this manner, as many of you who are now satiating your eyes in beholding me; but the Lord in his divine wisdom hath ordered it otherwise, and I am so far from repining and carping at his dispensations towards me, that I bless his name and desire to give him endless praise and thanks for the same.” The clergymen then prayed, after which the Earl fell down on his knees, and having his face covered and his hands clasped together, prayed in silence for a considerable time. Upon rising, he delivered a speech he had previously composed, expressive of his cheerful submission to the divine will, and his willingness to forgive all men, even his enemies. “Afflictions,” he said, “are not only foretold, but promised to Christians. We are neither to despise nor faint under them; nor are we by fraudulent pusillanimous compliance in wicked courses to bring sin upon ourselves. Faint hearts are ordinarily false hearts, choosing sin rather than suffering—a short life with eternal death, before temporal death and a crown of glory.” “I know many like Hazael go to excesses they never thought they were capable of.” He then prayed God to send peace and truth to these three kingdoms; to continue and increase the glorious light of the gospel, and restrain a spirit of profaneness, atheism, oppression, popery, and persecution; and was about to conclude, when it was suggested to him that he had said nothing about the royal family; he added, “this remembers me that before the justices, at my trial about the test, I said that at my death I would pray that there might never want one of the royal family to be a defender of the true, ancient, apostolic, Catholic, and Protestant faith, which I now do; and may God enlighten and forgive all of them that are either hid in error or have shrunk from the profession of the truth; and in all events, I pray God may provide for the security of his church, and that antichrist nor the gates of hell may never prevail against it.”
When he had ended, he turned to the south side of the scaffold, and said, “Gentlemen, I pray you do not misconstruct my behaviour this day. I freely forgive all men their wrongs and injuries done against me, as I desire to be forgiven of God.” Mr Annand repeated these words louder to the people. The Earl then went to the north side of the scaffold, and had the same or like expressions. Mr Annand again repeated them, adding, “This nobleman dies a Protestant;” on which Argyle stepped forward again, and said, “I die not only a Protestant, but with a heart hatred of popery, prelacy, and all superstition whatsomever.” Returning to the middle of the scaffold, he embraced and took leave of his friends, delivering to Lord Maitland some tokens to be given to his lady and children; then he stript himself of his upper garments, which he also gave to his friends, and kneeling, embraced the instrument of death, saying, “It was the sweetest maiden he ever kissed, it being a mean to finish his sin and misery, and his inlet to glory, for which he longed.” Having prayed a little in silence, he said aloud three times—“Lord Jesus receive me into thy glory;” and lifting up his hand, the sign agreed upon, the executioner let the knife of the maiden fall, and his head was severed from his body.
The misfortunes and death of this excellent nobleman did not destroy the cause for which he suffered. The universal sympathy they excited, from the diffusion of his speech, which was widely circulated, aided by concurring circumstances, accelerated rather than retarded the event of his country’s liberation. His vassals, however, were cruelly treated by Atholl and Breadalbane. Upwards of twenty of the name of Campbell were put to death, and more than fifty sent to the plantations. Their houses were pulled down, their mill-stones broken, the woods burned, and the whole shire of Argyle cruelly ravaged for thirty miles round Inverary; his estate was given to strangers, his children scattered, his creditors defrauded, and his brother, Lord Neil Campbell, forced to go as an exile to America.
Besides Argyle, very few of any note suffered upon this occasion. These were—Colonel Rumbold, known by the name of the maltster, who underwent a form of a trial; but being severely wounded, lest he should have disappointed their revenge, the council had prescribed the mode of his death the day before,[[162]] according to which he was taken from the bar to the scaffold, supported by two officers, and preceded by the hangman with his hat on. When he attempted to explain his principles, the drums beat, at which he shook his head and said, “Will they not suffer a dying man to speak his last words to the people?” And even when praying for the extirpation of popery, prelacy, and other superstitions, the drums again drowned his voice. He then silently breathed out his soul to God, and giving the signal, the executioner turned him off. Ere yet dead, his heart was torn from his bosom, and exhibited, while still palpitating on the point of a bayonet, to the people by the hangman, who bawled out—“Here is the heart of a bloody murderer and traitor,” and threw it disdainfully into the fire. His quarters were distributed through the country and his head fixed on an high pole at the West Port of Edinburgh.
[162]. When before the council, he expressed his joy in suffering for such a cause, on which one of the gang called him “a confounded villain.” He sedately replied, “I am at peace with God through Jesus Christ; to men I have done no wrong—what, then, can confound me?”
Some time after, Mr Thomas Archer, a popular preacher, now in the last stage of a decay. Having been wounded severely, much interest was made to obtain his liberation, as he was evidently dying; even the Duke of Queensberry’s own son entreated his father for his life, without effect. Nothing would satisfy the rulers but his blood. A plan had been laid for his escape out of prison, but he would not consent, saying, that since he could not serve his Master in any other manner, he thought it his duty not to decline a testimony for him and for his truth by a public death on the scaffold. He was several times interrupted when addressing the spectators, but enough was heard to evince that he died steady to his principles, rejoicing in hope, and anticipating deliverance for the church, notwithstanding the then threatened visitation of popery. “I will bring them to Babylon, and there will I deliver them,” would, he believed, be accomplished in their case. He sung the latter part of the 73d Psalm, and prayed. Before being turned off, he said—“Fear of death does not fright or trouble me; I bless the Lord for my lot,” and submitted with cheerfulness to the hands of the executioner. He was about thirty-two years of age, of uncommon abilities, and very learned.
Ayloffe was sent to London and examined by James in person. He was related to the royal family, and the king pressed him to make discoveries. “You know,” said the tyrant, “it is in my power to save you.”—“Yes,” replied Ayloffe, “but it is not in your nature.” He was hanged accordingly.
Sir W. Denholm of Westshiels, Mr James Stuart, and Mr Gilbert Elliot, were condemned in absence, and ordered to be executed when apprehended; the Earl of Loudon, Dalrymple of Stair, Fletcher of Saltoun, with a number of other gentlemen of rank and fortune, were forfeited, whose only crimes were their estates, and the charges their having honestly fulfilled their duties as public men.
Of the prisoners at Leith, many of whom had been brought back from Dunotter, about seventy-two were ordered for banishment; but in the greatness of their humane condescension, the council came to Leith and sat in the tolbooth to re-examine them, when such as made some moderate compliances, a few who were sickly, and others who had friends, got free; for government were now beginning to relax in their severities, in contemplation of extending the same or greater freedom to the Roman Catholics; but a number who still unyieldingly adhered to their tenets, were given as a present to the Laird of Pitlochie, and shipped by him for his plantations in New Jersey.[[163]] They, however, had scarcely left land, when a malignant fever broke out, especially among those who had been confined in Dunotter. Most of the crew also died, as did Pitlochie and his lady; yet, notwithstanding, the captain and some other hardened wretches would not suffer the persecuted exiles to worship God in peace, but when they heard them engaged in their devotions, threw down great planks of wood in order to annoy them. After their arrival, Pitlochie’s son-in-law claimed the prisoners as his property, but the governor remitted the case to a jury, who immediately freed them. The greater part retired to New England, where they were kindly received; and many of them settled in the colony. Others returned to their native country at the Revolution.
[163]. The following incident was much spoken of at the time. Mr W. Hanna, one of these prisoners, on being threatened with banishment, told the council he was now too old to work or go to war. General Dalziel bitterly replied, “But you are not too old to hang.” On that same day, the General, in the act of drinking a glass of wine, was suffocated, and went to his own place.