attacking at night the public-houses to which the Irish resorted. These were scarcely suppressed, when the Gin Act came into operation on Michaelmas Day. Some of the Jacobites thought it a favourable opportunity to excite the populace against the government. They therefore contrived that for two evenings gin and other spirits should be supplied to the mob gratis, hoping, when intoxicated, to lead them into decided demonstrations against government. They sent circular letters to arouse the leaders, and the watchword was given — "Sir Robert and Sir Joseph" (Jekyll). Walpole, however, was prepared for them, and the attempt failed.
Very different, however, was the nature of the riots which about the same time broke out in Edinburgh. Every one is acquainted with these riots as they are described by the inimitable pen of Sir Walter Scott in "The Heart of Mid-Lothian." The simple historic facts are these: — Two noted smugglers from Fife, Wilson and Robertson, were condemned to death for a robbery, and were confined in the Tolbooth of Edinburgh, popularly styled the Heart of Mid-Lothian. They made a determined effort to effect their escape before the day of execution. Having procured a file, they freed themselves from their irons, and cut through one of the iron stanchions of their window. During the night they made their attempt to escape, but were prevented by the selfishness of Wilson, who would go first; and, being a man of a corpulent though very powerful build, he wedged himself fast in the gap, and could neither get out nor draw back again. He was found thus in the morning, and the two prisoners were again secured. The selfishness which had prompted Wilson to seek his own safety first now gave way to a more generous feeling. He lamented deeply by his own eagerness having prevented Robertson going first, who, from his slenderer person, could easily have escaped. Before execution it was the custom at that period in Scotland to conduct the prisoners about to suffer, under a strong guard, to church. This being done in the case of these two men, just as the service was concluded, Wilson suddenly laid hold of two of the four soldiers who guarded them, called out to Robertson to run for his life, and detained the third soldier by seizing him by the collar with his teeth. Robertson shook off the other soldier, and, leaping over the pew, darted from the church, unimpeded by the people. He escaped, and was never seen in Edinburgh again.
This daring scheme, so cleverly executed, raised the admiration of the bravery and magnanimity of Wilson to the highest pitch. At this day, so noble an action as that of Wilson on behalf of his comrade would have turned that enthusiasm to the man's advantage; he would udoubtedly have received a pardon, or a commutation of his punishment into something merely nominal. But, though the people of Edinburgh felt this, the government in London was very exasperated at so daring a defiance of authority. No reprieve came down, and the feelings of the people were such that an attempt at rescue was suspected. To prevent this, captain John Porteus was ordered to attend the execution, with a considerable body of the city guard. Porteus is described as a bold and active officer of police, but of a harsh and cruel temper, and therefore hated by the populace of Edinburgh. Supported by Porteus and his guard, the execution took place, and Wilson was about to be cut down, when the mob began to groan, and hiss, and throw stones. Such expressions of disgust are said not to have been uncommon on such occasions; but now the stones aimed at the hangman are supposed to have hit the guard and Porteus himself. Instead of quietly drawing off his soldiers, the smuggler being now hanged, Porteus, in a moment of fury, seized a musket, and fired at the mob. His example was immediately followed by his soldiers, and, on retiring to the guard-house, they discharged another volley. Meaning, however, to frighten rather than to kill, they elevated their muskets above the heads of the mob, and thus unintentionally killed and wounded several persons of a higher rank who were spectators of the scene from the upper windows.
The indignation at this rash and fatal act of Porteus was unbounded. He was thrown into prison, tried for his life before the high court of justiciary, and found guilty, though by only one more than half of the jury. Evidence was given on his trial, and even inserted in the verdict, that the mob had commenced the attack upon him and his guard, and that several of the soldiers had been bruised and wounded by the stones flung at them.
The queen, on being informed of the circumstances, sent down a respite for Porteus for six weeks, in order to allow time for full inquiry into all the particidars of the affair. The people of Edinburgh immediately concluded that the respite was but the prelude to a full pardon. Captain Bushell, who had fired on the people at Glasgow, instead of being hanged, had been promoted. Though time went on, and no such pardon was known to arrive, the populace became more and more excited, in the belief that such would ultimately prove the case. The 7th of September had come. The next day was the one which terminated the respite, and which was ordered for the execution of Porteus. Confident in the persuasion that it was meant to pardon him, he had that evening given an entertainment to his friends in the Tolbooth, and was exulting in a festal mood over the approaching hour of his delivery, when a drum was heard to beat, and a number of people began to appear from different quarters, and assemble before the Tolbooth. A little before ten o'clock the city seemed to be in a state of strange fermentation. The mob had swarmed out like bees from all streets and wynds, had secured the West Port, barred and barricaded it, and blocked up in like manner the ports of the Canongate and Netherbow. They then proceeded to the guard-house and disarmed the guard, who gave up their guns, halberts, and Lochaber axes without any resistance. Though they were some of those men who had fired on the people, the crowd showed no resentment against them; they were bent on higher game.
When all was leady, the cry was, "Porteus! Porteus! To the Tolbooth!" and the whole vast crowd rushed thither, demanding that the prisoner should be turned out to them. When no answer was received, they began battering the door with stones and sledge-hammers to break it in, but the door was immensely thick, and plated with iron, and resisted all their efforts. The alarm of these proceedings was carried to the magistrates, who were drinking at a tavern in the Parliament Close, though it was afterwards stated, as more
