1590.
‘This Earl George, his first wife, daughter to the Lord Home, being a woman of a high spirit and of a tender conscience, forbids her husband to have such a consuming moth in his house as was the sacrilegious meddling with the abbacy of Deir. But fourteen score chalders of meal and beir was a sore tentation; and he could not weel endure the rendering back of such a morsel. Upon his absolute refusal of her demand, she had this vision ... she saw a great number of religious men, in their habit, come forth of that abbey to the strong craig of Dunnottar, which is the principal residence of that family. She also saw them set themselves round about the rock, to get it down and demolish it, having no instruments but only penknives; wherewith they foolishly (as it seemed to her) began to pick at the craig. She smiled to see them intend so fruitless an enterprise, and went to call her husband, to scoff and jeer them out of it. When she had fand him, and brought him to see these silly monks at their foolish work, behold! the whole craig, with all his strong and stately buildings, was by their penknives undermined and fallen in the sea, so as there remained nothing but the rack of their rich furniture and stuff floating on the waves of a raging and tempestuous sea.’[181]
The earl is believed to have mocked the popular notions and his wife’s foreboding dream, by inscribing on a tower he built at Deir, and likewise on the wall of his new college, the defying legend:
THAY. HAIF. SAID : QUHAT. SAY. THAY : LAT. THAME. SAY.
The greatness of the Keith Marischal family probably seemed to him as firmly set as the old Castle of Dunnottar itself on its conglomerate basis beside the sea. When the above story was put down in writing, sixty years had elapsed, and the narrator could not but remark the reduction which the civil war and usurpation of Cromwell had by that time wrought upon the once enormous wealth of the house of Keith Marischal. What would he have felt, could he have known that in sixty years from his time, the family would be out of lands and titles, exiles from their native country; or that in sixty more, there would not be a male descendant of the Earls Marischal in existence, of cadency later than the fifteenth century, while the ancient fortress of Dunnottar would stand roofless and grass-grown, and, except for the melancholy interest of the passing visitor, might as well be crumbled beneath the waves that beat upon the subjacent cliffs!
A series of extraordinary trials for witchcraft and other crimes commenced at this date.
1590.
One David Seaton, dwelling in Tranent, suspected his servant-maid, Geilie Duncan, of a supernatural power of curing sickness, and, having subjected her to the torture of the pilniewinks (a screw for the fingers), soon extorted from her, not only a confession that the devil had given her the power of a witch, but information inculpating a number of persons in the like criminality. Among these were John Fian (alias Cunningham), schoolmaster at Prestonpans; Agnes Sampson, a midwife at Keith; Barbara Napier, the wife of a citizen of Edinburgh; and Eupham M‘Calyean, a lady of rank, daughter of a deceased judge of the Court of Session. The confessions of these persons, for the most part wrung from them by torture, form a strange jumble of possible and impossible, of horrible and ludicrous things; nor are they even devoid of historical importance, seeing that they involved the honour of the Earl of Bothwell, who was thus apparently led into those troubles from which he never got free, and by which the peace of the king and his kingdom was for some years seriously compromised.
Fian, who was a young man, confessed to some wicked arts which he had practised for obtaining the love of a young woman of his neighbourhood. There was nothing in them or their effects but what is easily reconcilable with natural fact, even to the striking of a rival with a sort of madness, under which, when brought into the king’s chamber, where Fian was under examination, he fell abounding and capering with an energy which it required many persons to restrain, and this for an hour together, at the end of which he declared that he had been in a sound sleep. But Fian also admitted, though only under torture, his having had conferences with the devil; he had attended various meetings of witches with the Enemy of Man, some of which took place in North Berwick Kirk, and on these occasions he had acted as registrar or clerk of proceedings. He had also been one of a party of witches which went off from Prestonpans one night to a ship at sea, which they sunk by their incantations. He had chased a cat at Tranent, with the design of throwing it into the sea, in order to raise storms for the destruction of shipping; and in this chase it was alleged that he was borne above the ground, and had leaped a wall, the head of which he could not, but for witchcraft, have touched with his hand. Out of many facts laid to his charge at his trial, there is one which modern science has no difficulty in explaining upon natural principles—‘Passing to Tranent on horseback, and ane man with him, [he] by his devilish craft, raisit up four candles upon the horse’s twa lugs [ears], and ane other candle upon the staff whilk the man had in his hand, and gave sic licht as gif it had been daylicht; like as the said candles returnit with the said man at his hame-coming, and causit him fall dead at the entry within the house.’