Wilson's Tales of the Borders and of Scotland, Volume 17

by Unknown

While in Flanders, he saw, in passing along with one of his brother soldiers, a hen at a little distance covering her chickens under her wings, and out of pure wanton and malicious mischief he fired his musket and shot the hen. The poor woman to whom it belonged, startled by the shot, went out and saw her hen dead; and following the young soldier, asked him to pay the price of the hen and chickens, for both were lost to her, and they formed a great part of her means of subsistence; but the unfeeling youth would not give her a farthing—threatening if she annoyed him he would send her after her hen; upon which the injured old woman predicted, "that as many people would one day gaze in wonder on his lifeless body as that hen had feathers on hers."

Young Porteous afterwards left the army and returned to London, where he wrought for some time as a journeyman tailor; but his evil habits brought him to poverty, and he was found in rags by a friend of his father's, who wrote to the old man to remit £10 to clothe him and defray his travelling charges to Edinburgh, which, moved by the compassion of a father, he did, and when John appeared, the kind-hearted old man received him with tears of joy, and embraced him with all the warmth of paternal affection. Vainly hoping that his son was a reformed man, he gave up his business to him, and agreed that he should only have a room in the house and his maintenance and clothes.

Young Porteous, thus possessed of the house and trade of his father, and of all his other goods and effects, began by degrees to neglect and maltreat the old man, first, by refusing him a fire in his room in the middle of winter, and even grudging him the benefit of the fire in the kitchen. In addition to this, he disallowed him a sufficiency of victuals, so that he was in danger of being starved to death with cold and hunger. In this unhappy condition he applied for admission into the Trinity Hospital.

John Porteous having been for some time in the army, and being known to be possessed of no small courage and daring, was selected by John Campbell, lord provost of Edinburgh, in the memorable year 1715, to be drill-sergeant of the city-guard, as it became necessary to have the guard well disciplined and made as effective as possible in that eventful period, for the support of the government and the protection of Edinburgh. In this office he discharged his duty remarkably well, and was often sent for by the lord provost to report what progress his men made in military discipline. This gave him an opportunity of meeting sometimes with a gentlewoman who had the charge of the lord provost's house and family, with whom he fell deeply in love; after paying his addresses for some time, and proposing to her, he was accepted, and they were married. From a grateful sense of her services, as well as from a conviction of Porteous's ability for the office, the lord provost proposed that John Porteous should be elected one of the captains of the city-guard, and it was agreed to.

This was a situation of trust and respectability, and would have enabled the young couple to live in comfort and ease if the husband had conducted himself properly. The gentlewoman was a person of virtue and merit, but was unlucky in her choice of a husband—Porteous was no better a husband than he had been a son. They were not long married when he began to ill-use her. He dragged her out of bed by the hair of the head, and beat her to the effusion of blood. The whole neighbourhood were alarmed sometimes at midnight by her shrieks and cries; so much so, indeed, that a lady living above them was obliged, between terms, to take a lodging elsewhere for her own quiet. Mrs Porteous was obliged to separate from her husband, and this was her requital for having been the occasion of his advancement.

His command of the city-guard gave him great opportunities of displaying his evil temper, and manifesting his ungovernable passions. Seldom a day passed but some of his men experienced his severity. The mob on all public occasions excited his naturally bad temper; and on all days of rejoicing, when there was a multitude from the country as well as from the town, the people were sure to experience offensive and tyrannical treatment from him. The hatred and terror of him increased every year, and his character as an immoral man was known to everybody, so that he was universally hated and feared by the lower orders both in town and country.

This was the position in which Captain Porteous stood with the people when he was called upon to take charge of the execution of the law in reference to Andrew Wilson, whose case it has been thought proper to detail before proceeding to narrate the extraordinary events that followed, and which, indeed, partly serves to explain the cause of these events.

We have stated that Andrew Wilson, George Robertson, and William Hall, were condemned by the High Court of Justiciary to die on Wednesday the 14th of April 1736. Hall was reprieved, but Wilson and Robertson were left to suffer the extreme penalty of the law. A plan was concocted to enable them to escape out of the Tolbooth, by sawing the iron bars of the window; but Wilson, who is described as a "round, squat man," stuck fast, and before he could be disentangled the guard were alarmed. It is said that Robertson wished to attempt first the escape, and there is little doubt he would have succeeded, but he was prevented by Wilson, who obstinately resolved that he himself should hazard the experiment. This circumstance seems to have operated powerfully on the mind of the criminal, who now accused himself as the more immediate cause of his companion's fate. The Tolbooth stood near to St Giles' Church; it was customary at that time for criminals to be conducted on the last Sunday they had to live to church to hear their last sermon preached, and, in accordance with this practice, Wilson and Robertson were, upon Sunday the 11th of April, carried from prison to the place of worship. They were not well settled there, when Wilson boldly attempted to break out, by wrenching himself out of the hands of the four armed soldiers. Finding himself disappointed in this, his next care was to employ the soldiers till Robertson should escape; this he effected by securing two of them in his arms, and after calling out, "Run, Geordie, run for your life!" snatched hold of a third with his teeth. Thereupon Robertson, after tripping up the heels of the fourth soldier, jumped out of the pew, and ran over the tops of the seats with incredible agility, the audience opening a way for him sufficient to receive them both; in hurrying out at the south gate of the church, he stumbled over the collection money. Thence he reeled and staggered through the Parliament Close, and got down the back stairs, which have now disappeared, often stumbling by the way, and thus got into the Cowgate, some of the town-guard being close after him. He crossed the Cowgate, ran up the Horse Wynd, and proceeded along the Potterrow, the crowd all the way covering his retreat, and by this time become so numerous, that it was dangerous for the guard to look after him. In the Horse Wynd there was a horse saddled, which he would have mounted, but was prevented by the owner. Passing the Crosscauseway, he got into the King's Park, and took the Duddingstone road, but seeing two soldiers walking that way, he jumped the dyke and made for Clear Burn. On coming there, hearing a noise about the house, he stopt short, and, repassing the dyke, he retook the route for Duddingstone, under the rocks. When he crossed the dyke at Duddingstone, he fainted away; but, after receiving some refreshment, the first he had tasted for three days, he passed out of town, and, soon after getting a horse, he rode off, and was not afterwards heard of, notwithstanding a diligent search.

Upon Robertson's getting out of the church door, Wilson was immediately carried out without hearing sermon, and put in close confinement to prevent his escape, which the audience seemed much inclined to favour.

Notwithstanding his surprising escape, Robertson came back about a fortnight afterwards, and called at a certain house in the neighbourhood of Edinburgh. Being talked to by the landlord touching the risk he ran by his imprudence, and told that, if caught, he would suffer unpitied as a madman, he answered, that as he thought himself indispensably bound to pay the last duties to his beloved friend, Andrew Wilson, he had been hitherto detained in the country, but that he was determined to steer another course soon. He was resolved, however, not to be hanged, pointing to some weapons he had about him.