Jan. 30.
1603.
‘Francis Mowbray brak ward out of the [Edinburgh] Castle, and he fell owir the wall, and brak his craig [neck]. Thereafter, he was trailit to the gallows, and hangit; and thereafter he was quarterit, and his head and four quarters put on the four ports.’
In this brief manner Birrel narrates the sad end of a sprightly and gallant, though intemperate spirit. Francis Mowbray was a son of Sir John Mowbray of Barnbougle, an ancient house long since gone down to nothing. Francis himself was the friend and companion of the Earl of Buccleuch, the hero of the attack on Carlisle Castle in 1596. He had taken part in that exploit, but soon after got into trouble, in consequence of a quarrel with one William Schaw, whom he struck through with a rapier, and killed. Worse than this, he was a Catholic, and engaged himself actively in some of those underhand political practices which at length came to a head in the Gunpowder Treason. He spent some time in a most suspicious place—the Infant’s Court at Brussels.
An Italian fencer named Daniel, residing in London, denounced Mowbray to Elizabeth’s government as having undertaken to kill the king of Scots. Mowbray denied the accusation, and offered the combat. The two being sent down to Edinburgh, it was arranged that they should fight hand to hand in the great close of Holyroodhouse; but before the appointed day arrived, notice came from England that some witnesses had come forward who could prove the treason. On the 29th of January, Mowbray was confronted with the two witnesses, who, however, were considered as ‘of light account,’ being men of bankrupt fortunes, who had from that cause left their country. Mowbray still stood stoutly to his denial, uttering this adjuration before the king: ‘If ever I thought evil, or intended evil against my prince, God, that marketh the secrets of all hearts, make me fall at my enemies’ feet—make me a spectacle to all Edinburgh, and cast my soul in hell for ever!’ The two were placed in several apartments in Edinburgh Castle, the Italian occupying a room immediately above Mowbray.
1603.
At eight o’clock in the evening of the 30th of January, being Sunday, Francis Mowbray was found dying at the foot of the Castle rock. It was stated that he had sewed his blankets together, and let himself down over the wall; but the line being too short, he fell, and mortally injured himself. The unfortunate man died in the course of the night. An attempt was made by some friends to raise a report that he had been thrown over the window; but this was believed by few, and really is not very credible. The authorities shewed no hesitation about the matter; but, concluding on the guilt of the deceased, had his body dragged backwards through the streets to the bar of the Court of Justiciary, where sentence was duly passed against him. The corpse was then dealt with as Birrel relates. The superstitious remarked the verification of the fearful words of the deceased—that he might fall at his enemies’ feet, and become a spectacle to all Edinburgh.—Pit. Cal. Spot. Notes to Russell’s edition of Spottiswoode, 1851.
This year was published in Edinburgh a comedy, entitled Philotus, which we must consider as a curiosity in its way, since it is the first known effort of the Scottish muse in that department of literature.[285] It is founded on a story which we find under the name of Philotus and Emilia in a volume by Barnaby Riche, originally published in 1581,[286] being, in plain terms, a somewhat licentious Italian novel. The Scotch comedy is in rhymed verse, and entirely in the characteristic Scotch manner of that age; but not a shadow of plausible conjecture has yet been indulged in regarding the possible author.[287]