During his stay he had occasion to exercise, probably for the first time, his power as Constable of Dundee. The way in which he did so is set forth in the Register of the Privy Council:—‘Edinburgh, 10th September 1684.—Whereas, it being represented to the Lords of his Majesty’s Privy Council by Colonel Graham of Claverhouse, Constable of Dundee, that there are several prisoners in the Tolbooth of that burgh for petty or small thefts, or picking, which will be fitter to be punished arbitrarily than by death; the said Lords do therefore give full power and commission to the said Colonel Graham of Claverhouse, Constable of Dundee, to restrict the punishment appointed by law, against such persons within his jurisdiction already made prisoners, or that shall hereafter be made prisoners upon account of the foresaid petty and small thefts, or picking, to an arbitrary punishment, such as whipping, or banishment, as he shall find cause.’
VI
THE KILLING TIME
The last year of the reign of Charles II. was marked by a recrudescence of fanaticism on the part of the Covenanting extremists. It found expression in an ‘apologetical declaration’ drawn up by Renwick, and ordered to be affixed, as though it were a royal proclamation, ‘upon a sufficient and competent number of the public market-crosses of the respective burghs, and of the patent doors of the respective kirks within this kingdom.’ This document disowned the authority of Charles Stuart, and threatened to inflict the severest punishment, not only on those who were actively employed in enforcing the penal laws, ‘such as bloody militia men, malicious troopers, soldiers and dragoons,’ but also on the ‘viperous and malicious bishops and curates,’ and all such sort of counsellors and ‘intelligencers.’
This ‘declaration’ was dated the 28th of October 1684, and was promulgated on the 8th of November. It appeared so outrageous even to some of the Covenanters themselves, that they denounced it as ‘but a State invention, set on foot by the soldiers, to make that party odious and themselves necessary.’ But before many days these sceptics were to be convinced ‘of the reality of this declared war.’ On the 20th of November news reached Edinburgh that, the night before, some of the desperate fanatics had broken in upon two of the King’s Life Guards—Thomas Kennoway and Duncan Stewart—who were lying at Swyne Abbey, beyond Blackburn, in Linlithgowshire, and murdered them most barbarously. ‘This,’ adds Fountainhall, one of the contemporary chroniclers of the incident, ‘was to execute what they had threatened in their declaration.’
This was not the only act of violence by which Renwick’s proclamation was followed. Within the next month there occurred two others, of which the scene lay within the district committed to the care of Claverhouse. The prompt and successful measures which he took to punish the perpetrators supply the elements of fact which partisan writers have distorted and exaggerated into one of the most wanton atrocities of the ‘killing times’; and much may be learnt from an examination of the whole episode in its successive phases.
It opens with the murder of the curate of Carsphairn on the night between the 11th and the 12th of December. The victim was Mr Peter Peirson. The worst of the unsubstantiated charges brought against him by Wodrow, who, whilst professing to abhor and detest the crime, is nevertheless at great pains to find extenuating circumstances in the ‘unwarrantable provocations this ill man gave,’ amount to this, that he was a surly, ill-natured man, and horridly severe; that he was very blustering and bold, and used openly to provoke the poor people by saying in public companies, ‘He feared none of the Whigs, nor anything else but rats and mice’; that he was openly a favourer of popery, and not only defended the doctrine of purgatory, but also declared openly that Papists were much better subjects than Presbyterians; that he was a notorious informer and instigator of all the violent measures resorted to in that part of the country; and that he kept a number of fire-arms loaded in his chamber—a precautionary measure for which justification might be found in the fact that the curate lived at the manse alone, without so much as a servant with him.
Towards the end of the year 1684, a number of the ‘wanderers’ who were hiding in the neighbourhood ‘entered into a concert with an express proviso of doing no harm to Mr Peirson’s person, to meet together and essay to force him to give a written declaration that he would forbear instigating their enemies and other violent courses, and deter him from them in time to come, still expressly declaring they would do him no bodily harm.’ In view of the sequel, even as it is narrated by Wodrow himself, it would be superfluous to discuss the veracity of the whole statement as to the innocent ‘concert,’ and still more so to inquire into the sincerity of the alleged declaration. It may, however, be incidentally recalled that the murderers of Archbishop Sharp were asserted by Covenanting apologists to have come together for the harmless purpose of intimidating the obnoxious Carmichael, or as it was still more mildly expressed, of scaring him from his cruel courses, when chance threw the prelate in their way.
On the occasion, now under consideration, the circumstances that led to the tragic termination of the peaceful errand on which M’Michael, Padzen, Mitchell, Herron, Watson and some others were engaged are thus set forth: ‘One night, having notice that Mr Peirson was at home, they came to the manse and sent those named above to desire Mr Peirson to speak with some friends who were to do him no harm. One account says, and it is not inconsistent with the other, that two of them who were sent, got in and delivered the commission, which put Mr Peirson in a rage, and, drawing a broadsword, and cocking a gun or pistol, he got betwixt them and the door; upon which they called, and M’Michael and Padzen came to the door and knocked. The other account makes no mention of this circumstance, but says when they knocked at the door, Mr Peirson opened it himself, and, with fury, came out upon them with arms; and James M’Michael, as he said, laying his account with present death if he had not done it, resolved, if he could, to be beforehand with him, and firing a pistol at him, shot him dead on the spot. The rest, at some distance, hearing a noise, came running up crying, “take no lives”; but it was too late.’
A few days after the murder of the curate, a body of ‘Wanderers’ committed a more open act of violence in the town of Kirkcudbright. According to Sir Robert Dalziel’s official report to Queensberry, upon the Tuesday morning preceding the 18th of December, they invaded the town, to the number of a hundred and eight, broke open the prisons, carried away such prisoners as would go with them, and all the arms they could seize on, together with the town drum. It was then that Claverhouse set out in pursuit of the rioters. The accounts of his expedition are interesting in their variations from each other and from actual facts.