Dec.
We light upon a curious bit of life in the book of the Privy Council. One day, not long before the date noted, Nicolas Johnston, wife of Mr Francis Irving, commissary-clerk of Dumfries, was walking on the street of that burgh, passing from her mother’s house to the residence of ‘Lady Cockpool,’ when she met Marion Gladstanes, spouse of the schoolmaster. Marion, after many flattering words, invited Nicolas Johnston into her house ‘to drink with her.’ Yielding with some reluctance to this invitation, Nicolas was taken into a quiet room in Marion’s house, where presently a mutchkin of white wine was brought in for the solacement of the two ladies. Marion, as the hostess, drank the first cupful to the health of her gossip’s husband; then, while Nicolas was looking at the hangings of a bed (few rooms were in those days without beds), she filled the cup again. ‘Nicolas, looking about, perceived her tottering the cup in her hand, as if she had the perellis’ [paralysis]. Then she gave it to Nicolas to drink. It appeared to have some brayed nutmeg infused into it. Nicolas, having drunk a little, handed back the cup to Marion, who, ‘pretending it was to the said Nicolas’s husband’s health, urged her at three drinks to drink the same out. Thereafter Marion took the cup, and set it down, saying: “The last that drank out of that cup, loved the wine the better of the nutmegs,” and with that changed her countenance and grew red. Nicolas, fearing some harm, and yet not suspecting any poison to be in the cup, the said Marion took ane clean linen and said: “I think you love not nutmegs,” rubbed the cup clean, filled a drink of wine, drank thereof, and her servant also.’
1635.
Nicolas Johnston afterwards proceeded to Lady Cockpool’s, but in the way experienced a violent attack of thirst, ‘so that she was forced to call for drink, and could scarce be slockened. Thereafter, she came to her mother’s house, and being troubled with the like thirst, drank weak ale and got little rest all the night.’ Next day, her body, from the middle downwards, was enormously swelled, making her a monstrous figure, and this illness did not much abate for twenty days. Soon after, she had to take to her bed again, nor did she begin to recover ‘till she received an antidote from Dr Hamilton.’ Her health did not fully come back.
A commission was issued for inquiry into this affair, but with what result does not appear.—P. C. R.
1636. Jan. 14.
Instances of the capture of Scottish mariners by Barbary rovers, and of charitable efforts at home to redeem them from a cruel slavery, have been already intimated as numerous. At this time, we are informed of one which must have formed a powerful appeal to the humane bosom. A ship called the John of Leith, commanded by John Brown, and having ten sailors on board, is quietly proceeding on a mercantile voyage from London to Rochelle. Near the coast of France, it encounters three Turkish men-of-war, who give chase from sunrise to sundown, and at last take and sink the vessel, after easing her of her crew and all her valuable goods.
The poor skipper Brown and his ten men, being carried to Sallee, were taken to market and sold as slaves. Each bearing iron chains to the weight of eighty pounds, the eleven men were employed all day in grinding in a mill, with nothing to eat but a little dusty bread. ‘In the night, they are put in foul holes, twenty foot under the ground, where they lie miserably, looking nightly to be eaten with rottens and mice.’ It was further stated, that ‘being but a company of poor seafaring men, having nothing but their hires whereby to redeem themselves, and their kin are so mean and unworthy as they will do nothing in that errand, their thraldom and misery will be perpetual unless they be assisted and helped by the charitable benevolence of his majesty’s good subjects.’
The Privy Council, looking kindly on the wretched state of the men, recommended a contribution in their behalf throughout Lothian, Berwick, Stirling, and Fife, under the care of ‘John Brown and Walter Ross, indwellers in Preston.’