Ten were executed together; and, on the scaffold, their dying speeches, containing similar sentiments, were delivered with a high and elevated courage, that excited no common emotion among the spectators, while their kindlier feelings were melted into tenderness when the two brothers—the Gordons—were thrown off locked in each other’s arms, and whose last agonies were expressed by the convulsive clasp of a fraternal embrace. The heads of the sufferers were sent to various parts of the country, but the right hands which they had uplifted at the oath of the covenant, were sent in derision to be affixed to the top of Lanark jail.
Enraged to find that no appearance of any premeditated scheme of rebellion could be traced in the confessions of the late sufferers, who all agreed in assigning as the cause of the rising, the intolerable oppression they endured in soul, body, and estate, they determined to elicit by torture, if possible, some plausible confession that might afford a colouring of justification for the cruelties they were perpetrating and determined to perpetrate. Accordingly, Nielson of Corsack, whose enormous oppression we have already seen, and Hugh M’Kail, a preacher, were brought before the council on the 4th of December; and the boots, an instrument which had not been used in Scotland for a century, was again put in requisition. This “infernal machine” was a kind of box, strongly hooped with iron, into which the leg of the prisoner was put, where it was compressed by wedges, driven frequently till the bone was crushed, and even the marrow sometimes extruded. Nielson was fearfully tormented; but his cries, which were most piercing, had no effect upon Rothes, before whom he was examined, who frequently called for “the other touch.” Hugh M’Kail, whose fate produced a stronger and more indelible impression than any that occurred during this period, was a young man of great promise. He had been tutor in the family of Sir James Stewart of Coltness some time before the Restoration, when Sir James was provost of Edinburgh. He was licensed to preach at the early age of twenty-one, and soon became so deservedly popular, that he eminently attracted the hatred of the prelates, particularly Sharpe, and was forced to keep under hiding. During this time, he went to Holland, and for four years attended one of the Dutch Universities, then distinguished for theological literature. In 1664—5, he returned secretly to his father’s house, where he remained, till, hearing of the appearance made by the people of God for the cause of the covenants, he joined them in the west; but his tender constitution was unable to bear the fatigue of their severe toil and privations, and he was, finally, obliged to leave them near Cramond Water. On his return home to Libberton, he was seized at Braid’s Hills and brought to Edinburgh. His limb, also, was shattered by repeated strokes of the mallet; but from neither of the two could torture extort any other fact than their confessions contained.
Nielson, notwithstanding the treatment he had undergone, was indicted to stand trial on the 10th of December. When he was placed at the bar along with other four—Mr Alexander Robertson, preacher, who had been basely betrayed by the Laird of Morton, his friend, to whose protection he had committed himself; George Crawford, in Cumnock; John Gordon, Irongray; and John Lindsay, Edinburgh—they were found guilty upon their own confessions, and were executed on the 14th, except Lindsay, who was pardoned. They all left testimonies in similar terms to those who went before, lamenting the defection of the times, but rejoicing in the hope that God would return and bless his church and people. They all pointedly refused the appellation of rebels, avouched their loyalty to the king and the constitution of their country before it was illegally overturned, and warned their friends not to be discouraged because the few who had taken their lives in their hands had fallen before their adversaries, but to abound more in holiness, prayer, and steadfastness, nothing doubting, but that the Lord would arise in due time and plead the cause which is his own.
M’Kail having fevered from the torture, had not been tried along with Nielson, and it was thought his youth and the torments he had already endured would have been deemed sufficient punishment; but they knew little the mortal strife of ecclesiastics, when power is the object, who thus calculated, although the highest interest was made for him. He had insinuated a likeness between the primate and Judas—a crime never to be forgiven, for it was true; and being recovered so far as to allow his being moved, he was carried to court, December the 18th, and, together with seven others, indicted for rebellion, found guilty, and condemned. When allowed to answer for himself, he pled the obligations that were laid upon the land, and the oath of God under which they were bound. The last words of the National Covenant, he said, had always had great weight on his spirit; upon which the Lord Advocate interrupted him, and desired him to answer to his own particular charge. His answer was, “that he acted under a solemn impression of the saying of our Lord Jesus—‘Whosoever shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of Man also confess before the angels of God.’” When the sentence was pronounced, he cheerfully said, with meek resignation—“The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away; blessed be the name of the Lord.”
His prison hours were enviable, not composed merely, but full of joy. “Oh, how good news!” said he to a friend, “to be within four days’ journey of enjoying the sight of Jesus Christ.” When some women were weeping over him—“Mourn not for me,” was his cheering exhortation; “though but young, and cut down in the budding of my hopes and labour of the ministry, yet my death may do more good than many years sermons might have done.” On the last night of his life, after having supped with his father, some friends, and his fellow-prisoners, he burst forth in a strain of animated queries; among others, “How they who were hastening to heaven should conceive of the glories of the place, seeing it was written, ‘Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God hath prepared for them that love him?’ It is termed a glorious city and a bride; but, oh, how insufficient, how vastly disproportionate, must all similitudes be! therefore the Scripture furnishes yet a more excellent way, by conceiving of the love of Christ to us; that love which passeth knowledge, the highest and sweetest motive of praise—‘Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory, and dominion, for ever and ever, amen!’—by holding forth the love of the saints to Christ, and teaching us to love him in sincerity. This, this, forms the very joy and exultation of heaven!—‘Worthy is the Lamb that was slain, to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honour, and glory, and blessing!’ Nothing less than the soul breathing love to Jesus can rightly apprehend the joys of heaven.” Then, after a while, he added, “Oh! but notions of knowledge, without love, are of small worth, evanishing into nothing and very dangerous.”
His great delight was in the Bible. Having read the 16th Psalm before going to bed, he observed, “If there were any thing in the world sadly and unwillingly to be left, it were the reading of the Scriptures—‘I said, I shall not see the Lord in the land of the living;’ but this needs not make us sad, for wherever we go, the Lamb is the book of Scripture and the light of that city, and there is life, even the river of the water of life, and living springs to delight its inhabitants.” He laid him down in peace, and slept sweetly from ten o’clock till five next morning. When he arose, he called his companion, John Wodrow, in a tone of pleasantry—“Up John, you are too long in bed—you and I look not like men going to be hanged this day, seeing we lie so long.” Some time after, he made a striking and peculiarly happy allusion to his own situation, and that of his fellow-sufferers—“Earthly kings’ thrones have advocates against poor rebels; thy throne, O God, hath Jesus an advocate for us.” He early requested his father to take leave, lest their parting afterwards might discompose him, and to retire and pray earnestly that the Lord might be with him to strengthen him, that he might endure to the end. On the scaffold, a heavenly serenity beamed in his countenance. He ascended the ladder with alacrity, saying, “Every step of this ladder is a degree, nearer heaven.” Then looking down to his friends, he said, “Ye need neither be ashamed nor lament for me in this condition, for I can say, in the words of Christ, I go to your Father and my Father, to your God and my God.” Just before he was turned off, he burst out into this rapturous exclamation—“This is my comfort, that my soul is to come to Christ’s hand, and he will present it blameless and faultless to the Father, and then shall I be ever with the Lord! And now I leave off to speak any more to creatures, and begin my intercourse with God which shall never be broken off. Farewell, father and mother, friends and relatives—farewell, the world and all delights—farewell, sun, moon, and stars. Welcome—welcome, God and Father—welcome, sweet Jesus Christ, the mediator of the new covenant—welcome, blessed Spirit of grace and God of all consolation—welcome, glory—welcome, eternal life—welcome, death!” Then, after praying a little within himself, he said aloud, “O Lord into thy hands I commit my spirit, for thou hast redeemed my soul, Lord God of truth!” And thus leaving time, was joyfully launched into the boundless ocean of eternity.
The crowd of spectators was immense; and “when he died,” Kirkton tells us, “there was such a lamentation as was never known in Scotland before, not one dry cheek upon all the street, or in all the numberless windows in the mercate place. He was a proper youth, learned, travelled, and extraordinarily pious. He fasted every week one day, and signified, frequently, his apprehension of such a death as he died; and heavy were the groans of the spectators when he spoke his joys in death. Then all cursed the bishops who used to curse; then all prayed who used to pray, entreating God to judge righteous judgment. Never was there such a mournful day seen in Edinburgh—never such a mournful season seen in Scotland, in any man’s memory.”
The others were equally supported in the last trying hour, and cheerfully laid down their lives for a cause which they believed to be the cause of God and of their country, and which they never doubted would ultimately and gloriously triumph. Their names were, John Wodrow, a merchant in Glasgow—Ralph Shields, a merchant in Ayr, but an Englishman by birth—a Humphry Colquhoun, of whom Kirkton testifies, “that he spoke not like ane ordinary citizen, but, like an heavenly minister relating his comfortable Christian experiences, called for his Bible, and laid it on his wounded arm, and read John iii. 8., and spoke upon it most sweetly to the admiration of all”—John Wilson, of the parish of Kilmaurs, in Ayrshire—and Mungo Kaipo, from Evandale. Three of little note, and who agreed to some partial compliances, were pardoned.
While these bloody transactions were going forward in the capital, a commission was issued for the Earls of Linlithgow and Winton, Lord Montgomerie, and Mungo Murray, to hold a Justiciary Court in Glasgow, and Sir William Purves, solicitor-general, dispatched to prosecute. Four of the covenanters were accordingly brought before them, Monday, December 17th, all men in humble life—Robert Buntine, in Fenwick; John Hart, in Glassford; Robert Scott, in Dalserf; and Matthew Paton, in Newmills—found guilty that same day, and ordered to be hanged on Wednesday. They went to the gibbet with the same Christian fortitude, and evinced, by their deportment, that the same peace of God which had comforted the martyrs in the capital, dwelt also in them. But the impression which the dying declarations of the martyrs had made, especially of those last murdered in Edinburgh, forbade that they should be allowed the privilege of addressing the spectators in a quarter where their solemn testimonies might have deeper effect; and when the sufferers attempted to address the crowd, the drums were ordered to beat and drown their voices—a detestable practice, which proclaimed their dread of the truth they were vainly attempting to stifle. Rothes himself took a tour to the south-west, accompanied by the Earl of Kellie, Lieutenant General Drummond, Charles Maitland of Hatton, and James Crichton, brother to the Earl of Dumfries, as a Justiciary commission. At Ayr, twelve were tried and ordered for execution; eight in that town, two at Irvine, and two at Dumfries. When those at Ayr were to be executed, the executioner fleeing, and none being willing to perform the hated office, in this dilemma, the Provost had recourse to the shocking expedient of offering any of the prisoners pardon, upon condition of his hanging the rest of his brethren; and one Anderson was found, who purchased a few days’ miserable existence at this expense; yet even he had to be filled half drunk with brandy to enable him to perform the dreadful ceremony, while the sufferers, more to be envied than him, courageously met that death which he basely inflicted.
The conduct of William Sutherland, the executioner of Irvine, stands out in fine contrast with that of Anderson. This man, who had been born of poor parents in the wildest part of the Highlands, had been seized with an uncommon desire to learn the English language, which, with much difficulty, he acquired so well, as to be able to read the Scriptures in that tongue. He had acted as common hangman in the town of Irvine for some time; when, having been converted to God through the reading of the Bible, and the instructions of the persecuted, he scrupled about executing any person whom he was not convinced deserved to die. When the Ayr hangman fled, he was sent for, but would not move till carried by force to that town, and peremptorily refused to execute the prisoners, because he had heard they were godly men, who had been oppressed by the bishops; upon which he was committed to prison, and flattered, and threatened—first promised money, then told he would be hanged himself, if he persisted; yet nothing could either terrify or induce him to comply. When they called for the boots, “You may bring the spurs too,” said William, “ye shall not prevail.” The provost offered him fifty dollars, and told him he might go to the Highlands and live. “Aye, but where can I flee from my conscience?” was the pointed query of the honest mountaineer. He was then placed in the stocks, and four musketeers stood ready with lighted matches, but the dauntless man bared his bosom, and told them he was willing to die; and they, finding him immoveable, dismissed him.[[59]] Anderson was also obliged to execute those condemned to be hung at Irvine. Universally detested, he left the country soon after and settled in Ireland, near Dublin, where his cottage was burned, and he perished in the flames. The others were, pursuant to their sentence, hung at Dumfries, whither the Commissioner went to endeavour to trace the conspiracy; but no other discovery was made than that the rising had been accidental, and that oppression had been the cause. Upwards of thirty-four had now been put to death by the hands of the executioner; yet these executions did more harm to the cause of prelacy than almost any other circumstance could have done, for the universal detestation of the people was heightened in proportion to the fortitude and composure of the sufferers, whose dying testimonies possessed a power and energy beyond that of a thousand sermons.