On the morning of the 11th of April, 1736, Wilson and Robertson were conducted to the Tolbooth Church, for the purpose of hearing their last sermon, their execution being to happen on Wednesday following. The custom of conducting criminals under sentence of death to a place of public worship, and suffering them again to mix with their fellow-men, from whom they were so shortly to be cut off for ever, was a beautiful trait of the devotional and merciful feelings of the people of Scotland, which has since this incident been unhappily disused. In the Tale, the escape of Robertson is said to have happened after the sermon; but this statement, evidently made by the novelist for the sake of effect, is incorrect. The criminals had scarcely seated themselves in the pew, when Wilson committed the daring deed. Robertson tripped up the fourth soldier himself, and jumped out of the pew with incredible agility. In hurrying out at the door of the church, he tumbled over the collection money, by which he was probably hurt; for, in running across the Parliament Square, he was observed to stagger much, and, in going down the stairs which lead to the Cowgate, actually fell. In this dangerous predicament he was protected by Mr. M‘Queen, minister of the New Kirk, who was coming up the stair on his way to church at the moment. This kind-hearted gentleman is said to have set him again on his feet, and to have covered his retreat as much as possible from the pursuit of the guard. Robertson passed down to the Cowgate, ran up the Horse Wynd, and out at the Potterrow Port, the crowd all the way closing behind him, so that his pursuers could not by any means overtake him. In the wynd he made up to a saddled horse, and would have mounted him, but was prevented by the owner. Passing the Crosscauseway, he got into the King’s Park, and made the way for Duddingstone, under the basaltic rocks which overhang the path to that village. On jumping a dyke near Clearburn, he fainted away, but was revived by a refreshment which he there received.
Upon Robertson’s escape, Wilson was immediately taken back to prison, and put in close custody. He was executed, under the dreadful circumstances so well known, on the 14th of April. The story of a “young fellow, with a sailor’s cap slouched over his face,” having cut him down from the gibbet, on the rising of the mob, is perfectly unfounded. The executioner was at the top of the ladder, performing that part of his office, at the time Porteous fired.
Though the author of the Tale has chosen George Robertson for his hero, and invested him with many attributes worthy of that high character, historical accuracy obliges us to record that he was merely a stabler; and, what must at once destroy all romantic feelings concerning him in the light of a hero, tradition informs us that he was a married man at the time of his imprisonment. He kept an inn in Bristo Street, and was a man of rather dissipated habits, though the exculpatory evidence produced upon his trial represents him as in the habit of being much intrusted by the carriers who lodged at his house. After his escape, he was known to have gone to Holland, and to have resided there many years.
The most flagrant aberration from the truth committed by the novelist, is in the opening of the Tale, where the crowd is represented as awaiting the execution of Captain Porteous, in the Grassmarket, on the 7th of September. The whole scene is described in the most admirable manner; and the interesting objects of the gallows, the filled windows, and the crowd upon the street, form, I have no doubt, the faithful outline of what the scene would have been, had it existed.[29]
But however ably the Author of “Waverley” has delineated this imaginary scene, it is unfortunate that his account does not agree either with truth, or, what was to him ten times more important, vraisemblance. He has no doubt handled the fictitious incident of the abortive preparations for the execution, and the expressions of the disappointed multitude on the occasion, in his usual masterly manner, and heightened the effect of his own story not a little by the use he has made of history; but it must at the same time strike every reader that the whole affair is extremely improbable. It seems scarcely possible that a conspiracy of such a deep and well-planned nature as the Porteous mob could have been laid and brought to issue in a single afternoon. Not even the most romantic reader of novels, supposing him to understand the case to its full extent, would deceive himself with so incredible an absurdity; but would think with us that, according to the natural course of things, it would take all the time it did take, (five days,) before so well-laid and eventually so successful a scheme could be projected, organized, and accomplished.
The plain statement of the facts is to the following effect.
The Queen’s pardon reached Edinburgh so early as Thursday, the 2nd of September. The riot happened on the night of Tuesday, the 7th—the night previous to the day on which the execution was to have taken place, and after a sufficient time had elapsed for the preparation of the scheme. Many of the rioters came from counties so distant, that the news of the reprieve could not have reached them in a less space; and perhaps the intelligence would not have been so speedily communicated in those postless and coachless days, had not the popular interest in the matter been so universal. Taking every thing into consideration, it may indeed astonish us that the conspiracy was so rapidly matured as it was, not to speak of a single afternoon! It may be noticed, that some papers have lately come to light, by which it appears the plot was not of that dark and mysterious character which the accounts of the times and the Author of “Waverley” make it. Information had been given to the council at least thirty-six hours before the tumult burst forth; and at a meeting late on the previous evening, when the information was taken into consideration, the council pronounced the reports in circulation to be merely cadies’ clatters, (gossip of street-porters,) unworthy of regard.
The incidents of the riot, from the mob’s entering the city at the West Port to Butler’s desertion of the scene at midnight, are all given very correctly by the novelist. It is said to be absolutely true that the rioters seized and detained a person of Butler’s profession, for the purpose related in the novel. This happened, however, when they had got half way to the gallows, at the head of the West Bow. Porteous was twice drawn up and let down again before the deed was accomplished—first, to bind his hands, and secondly, in order to put something over his face. In the morning his body was found hanging, by the public functionaries of the city, and was buried the same day in the neighbouring churchyard of Greyfriars. It was on the south side of the Grassmarket that he was hanged.
Arnot observes, after relating the incidents of the Porteous mob, in his History of Edinburgh, that though it was then forty years after that occurrence, no person had ever been found out upon whom an accession to the murder could be charged. Nevertheless, the writer of the present narrative has been informed by a very old man, who was an apprentice in the Fleshmarket of Edinburgh about fifty years ago, that in his younger days it was well known among the butchers, though only whispered secretly among themselves, that the leaders of this singular riot were two brothers of the name of Cumming, who were, for many years after, fleshers in the Low Market, and died unmolested, at advanced ages. They were tall, strong, and exceedingly handsome men, had been dressed in women’s clothes on the occasion, and were said to have been the first to jump through the flames that burnt down the prison-door, in eagerness to seize their unfortunate victim.
A few more scraps of private information have also been communicated to the world by one who was instrumental and active in the riot. We give them from the authority of “The Beauties of Scotland.”