Chapter IX: Part 9

It was strongly surmised that plots were laid for favouring Wilson's escape. It was well known that no blood had been shed at the robbery; that all the money and effects had been recovered, except a mere trifle; that Wilson had suffered severely in the seizure of his goods on several occasions by the revenue officers; and that, however erroneous the idea, he thought himself justified in making reprisals. Besides, Wilson's conduct had excited a very great sympathy in his favour; and the crime for which he was condemned was considered very venial at that time by the populace, who hated the malt-tax, and saw no more harm in smuggling, or in robbing a collector of excise, than in any matter of trifling importance. The magistrates of Edinburgh, in order to defeat all attempts at a rescue, lodged the executioner the day previous in the Tolbooth, to prevent his being carried off; the sentinels were doubled outside the prison; the officers of the trained bands were ordered to attend the execution, likewise the city constables with their batons; the whole city-guard, having ammunition distributed to them, were marched to the place of execution with screwed bayonets, and, to make all sure, at desire of the lord provost, a battalion of the Welch Fusiliers, commanded by commissioned officers, marched up the streets of the city, and took up a position on each side of the Lawnmarket; whilst another body of that corps was placed under arms at the Canongate guard. A little before two o'clock, Porteous came to receive Wilson, the prisoner, from the captain of the city prison. He was in a terrible rage, first against Wilson, who had affronted his soldiers, and next against the mob, who were charmed with Wilson's generous action in the church, and had favoured Robertson's escape. They are always on the side of humanity and mercy, unless they are engaged themselves. Porteous was also infuriated because the Welch Fusiliers had been brought to the Canongate, as if he and his guard had not been sufficient to keep down any riot within the city. The manacles were too little for Wilson's wrists, who was a strong, powerful man; when the hangman could not make them meet, Porteous flew furiously to them, and squeezed the poor man, who cried piteously during the operation, till he got them to meet, to the exquisite torture of the miserable prisoner, who told him he could not entertain one serious thought, so necessary to one in his condition, under such intolerable pain. "No matter," said Porteous, "your torment will soon be at an end." "Well," said Wilson, "you know not how soon you may be placed in my condition; God Almighty forgive you as I do."

This cruel conduct of Porteous' still more embittered the minds of the populace, who were sufficiently exasperated against him before, and the report of it was soon spread over town and country.

Porteous conducted Wilson to the gallows, where he died very penitent, but expressing more sorrow on account of the common frailties of life, than the crime for which he suffered. His body was given to his friends, who carried it over to Pathhead in Fife, where it was interred; George Robertson having, as we have seen, rashly attended the funeral before going abroad.

During the melancholy procession of the criminal and his guard, accompanied by the magistrates, ministers, and others from the Old Tolbooth, which stood in the Lawnmarket, to the scaffold, which was placed in the Grassmarket, there was not the slightest appearance of a riot, nor after Wilson had been suspended, until life was extinct, did the least manifestation of disturbance occur on the part of a vast crowd of people collected from town and country to witness the execution. The magistrates of Edinburgh had retired from the scaffold to a house close by--concluding, with reason, that as all was over with poor Wilson, no disturbance could then happen, and the executioner was actually on the top of the ladder, cutting Wilson down, when a few idle men and boys began to throw pebbles, stones, or garbage at him (a common practice at that time,) thinking he was treating the affair rather ludicrously; whereupon Captain Porteous, who was in very bad humour, became highly incensed, and instantly resented, by commanding the city-guard, without the slightest authority from the magistrates, and without reading the riot act or proclamation according to law, to fire their muskets, loaded with ball, and by firing his own fuzee among the crowd, by which four persons were killed on the spot, and eleven wounded, many of them dangerously, who afterwards died. The magistrates, ministers, and constables, who had retired to the first storey of a house fronting the street, were themselves in danger of being killed, a ball, as was discovered afterwards, having grazed the side of the window where they stood. The lord provost and magistrates immediately convened, and ordered Captain Porteous to be apprehended and brought before them for examination; after taking a precognition, his lordship committed Porteous to close imprisonment for trial for the crime of murder; and, next day, fifteen sentinels of the guard were also committed to prison, it clearly appearing, after a careful examination of the firelocks of the party, that they were the persons who had discharged their pieces among the crowd.

On the 25th of March 1736, Captain Porteous was put on trial, at the instance of the lord-advocate of Scotland, before the High Court of Justiciary, for the murder of Charles Husband, and twelve other persons, on the 14th of April preceding, being the day of the execution of Andrew Wilson; and after sundry steps of procedure, having been found, by the unanimous voice of the jury, guilty, he was, on the 20th of July following, sentenced to suffer death in the Grassmarket of Edinburgh, on Wednesday the 8th of September in the same year--that was, about five months after Wilson's execution.

On the 26th of August, the Duke of Newcastle, one of the secretaries of state, wrote a letter to the right honourable the lord justice-general, justice-clerk, and other lords of justiciary, of which the following is a copy:--"My lords, application having been made to her Majesty[G] in the behalf of John Porteous, late captain-lieutenant of the city-guard of Edinburgh, a prisoner under sentence of death in the gaol of that city, I am commanded to signify to your lordships her Majesty's pleasure, that the execution of the sentence pronounced against the said John Porteous be respited for six weeks from the time appointed for his execution. I am, my lords, your lordships' most obedient, humble servant, (Signed) Holles, Newcastle."

On receipt of this letter, the lords of justiciary granted warrant to the magistrates of Edinburgh for stopping the execution of Porteous till the 20th day of October following.

The effect of this respite on the minds of the people of Scotland was to induce the belief that the government did not intend to carry out the sentence of death against Porteous at all--that it was merely a preliminary step to his pardon and liberation--and that, so far from condemning him, the government had rather taken up a prejudice against the town of Edinburgh, on account of the proceedings, and in some measure against all Scotland. A number of persons, therefore, who were never discovered, resolved to take the matter into their own hands, and on the 7th of September 1736, a body of strangers, supposed to be from the counties of Fife, Stirling, Perth, and Dumfries, many of them landed gentlemen, entered the West Port of Edinburgh between nine and ten o'clock at night, and having seized the Portsburgh drummer by the way, brought along his drum with them, and his son. Some of them advancing up into the Grassmarket, commanded the drummer's son to beat to arms. They then called out, "Here! all those who dare to avenge innocent blood!" This probably was a signal for their associates to fall in. It was followed by instantly shutting up the gates of the city, posting guards at each, and flying sentinels at all places where a surprise might be expected, while a separate detachment threw themselves upon and disarmed the city-guard; and seizing the drum, beat about the High Street to notify their success so far at least. At that instant, a body of them proceeded to the Tolbooth, called for the keeper, and finding he was gone, fell a-breaking the door with fore-hammers; but making no great progress in that way, they got together a parcel of dried broom, whins, with other combustibles, and heaps of timber, and a barrel of pitch, all previously provided for the purpose, and taking the flambeaux or torches from the city officers, they set fire to the pile. When the magistrates appeared, they repulsed them with showers of stones, and threatened, if they continued in the streets and offered resistance, they would discharge platoons of fire-arms among them; and it is even reported they placed sentinels on the magistrates to watch their motions.

Upon the prison door taking fire, two gentlemen made up to the rioters, and remonstrated with them on the imminent danger of setting the whole neighbourhood on fire, insinuating that this outrage was likely to be deeply resented, and might bring them to trouble; to which it was answered that they should take care no damage should be done to the city, and that as to the rest, they knew their business, and that they (the gentlemen) might go about theirs.

Before the prison door was burnt down, several persons rushed through the flames, ran up stairs, demanded the keys from the keepers; and though they could scarcely see one another for the smoke, got into Captain Porteous' apartment, calling, "Where is the murdering villain?" He is said to have answered, "Gentlemen, I am here; but what are you going to do with me?" When they answered, "We are to carry you to the place where you shed so much innocent blood, and hang you." He begged for mercy, but they instantly seized and pulled him to the door in his bed-gown and cap; and as he struggled, they caught him by the legs and dragged him to the foot of the stair, while others set all the rest of the prisoners in the Tolbooth at liberty. As soon as Porteous was brought to the street, he was set on his feet, and some seized him by the breast, while others pushed behind. He was thus conducted to the Bow-head, where they stopped a moment, at the pressing solicitation of some of the citizens, on the pretence that he might die peaceably, but really that time might be gained, as they expected the Welch Fusiliers every moment from the Canongate, or that the garrison of the Castle would come to Porteous' relief. By this time some who appeared to be the leaders in the enterprise ordered him to march, and he was hurried down the Bow and to the gallows stone, where he was to kneel,--to confess his manifold sins and wickedness, particularly the destruction of human life he had committed in that place, and to offer up his petitions to Almighty God for mercy on his soul. After which, in a very few minutes, he was led to the fatal tree. A halter being wanting, they broke open a shop in the Grassmarket, and took out a coil of ropes, for which they left a guinea on the counter,[H] and threw the one end over a dyer's cross-trees close by the place of execution. On seeing the rope, Porteous made remonstrances, and caught hold of the tree, but being disengaged they set him down, and as the noose was about to be put over his head, he appeared to gather fresh spirit, struggling and wrenching his head and body. Here again some citizens appeared for him, telling that the troops being now in full march, they must all expect to be sacrificed, and that the artillery of the Castle would doubtless be discharged among them. They answered, "No man will die till his time come."

About a quarter of an hour before twelve they put the rope about his neck, and ordered him to be pulled up; which being done, observing his hands loose, he was let down again; after tying his hands he was hauled up a second time, but after a short space, having wrought one of his arms loose, he was let down once more, in order to tie it up and cover his face. Stripping him of one of the shirts he had on, they wrapped it about his head, and got him up a third time with loud huzzas and a ruff of the drum. After he had hung a long time, they nailed the rope to the tree; then formally saluting one another, grounding their arms, and another ruff of the drum, they separated, retired out of town, and numbers of them were seen riding off in bodies well mounted to different quarters, leaving the body hanging till near five next morning.

Neither the two gentlemen who conversed with the rioters at the Tolbooth, nor those who were sent out by the magistrates to see if they knew any of them, could say they had ever seen any one of them before, though the flames of the fire at the Tolbooth door rendered it as light as noonday; so that it was generally believed no citizen acted any principal part in the tragedy; though, indeed, it is certain that many of the burgesses and inhabitants of Edinburgh, led by curiosity, went to the streets to behold the surprising boldness and incredible extravagance of the scene.

Upon the whole, it would seem that the rioters were a body of gentlemen and others in disguise, some having masons' aprons, others joiners', fleshers', shoemakers', dyers', and those of other trades, who had concerted their plot with judgment, conducted it with secresy, executed it with resolution and manly daring, and completed the whole in the short space of two hours with unparalleled success.

FOOTNOTES:

[C] The inn or house here referred to is now demolished. It was a back house which stood behind Mr Thomas Foggo's shop, through which there was a passage or entry to it; and from its concealed and backlying situation, it would seem to have been a very likely place for smugglers to resort to with their contraband goods. And here it may be remarked, that less than 100 years ago, smuggling was very prevalent in the east of Fife; almost every merchant and trader in the east coast burghs, and farmers from St Andrews all along the southeast coast, were less or more concerned in the importation of brandy, gin, teas, silks, and tobacco, &c. The penalties at one time were only the forfeiture of the goods seized, and if one vessel's cargo escaped out of two or three, it was a profitable trade. The measures of Government were then thought to be so stringent and despotic, that men of principle, of probity, and integrity in all other respects, manifested great obliquity of vision in viewing the traffic in smuggled goods, and felt no compunctious visitings in embarking in that trade. In the better class of houses in the district, hiding holes and places of concealment were always to be found, and some of these places are only now being discovered. It is not many years since, that an honest man in Pittenweem, while employed in his cellar, fell down into a large concealment capable of holding a great many ankers of spirits and boxes of tea, of which he previously knew nothing.

[D] The window referred to is still pointed out. It is that at the back of the house on the second storey, and is near the north-east corner of the tenement.

[E] Anstruther House, which stood a little west, on the opposite side of the road, to Mr Russell's printing office, was demolished in 1811. According to Miss Strickland, Queen Mary passed a night in it; and it is a well established fact that King Charles II. lodged a night there in 1651.

[F] Bailie Johnston's house was that now occupied by Mr William Russell, with the brewery behind the same. It was formerly a house of one storey, and was rebuilt and heightened on the walls by the late Mr James Rodger, or Mr David Rodger his son.

[G] This was Queen Caroline, who was regent of the kingdom during the absence of her husband, George the First, at Hanover.

[H] The person who did this was a man of the name of Bruce, belonging to Anstruther, who returned some time after to the town, and was well known to the late Mrs Black, the mother of the late Admiral Black.

THE STORY OF CHARLES GORDON AND CHRISTINA CUNNINGHAM.

On the 21st of March, 1743, Captain Richard Dundas, commander of the frigate _Arethusa_, carrying forty-four guns and 250 men, sailed from Deptford with that vessel in perfect order and condition, and bound for Leith. The ship was one of the finest in the service, and the commander a man of great energy and intelligence. Mr Charles Gordon, superintendent of his Majesty's dockyard at Deptford, a young officer of distinguished ability and exemplary character, was one of the passengers. No incident worthy of notice occurred until they reached St Abb's Head, when they were overtaken with a strong adverse gale of wind and heavy snow storm, which unfortunately drove them from their course, and prevented sight of land for a considerable time. The wind continued to increase in violence, but the snow ceased falling for a little, when it was discovered that they had been driven past the mouth of the Firth of Forth and were now in St Andrews Bay.

They then close-reefed their sails, and made all snug; and Captain Dundas, declaring that they should have to encounter a strong south-easter, all their efforts were directed to double the headland of Fifeness and the dreaded Carr Rock, and get into the Forth; but their utmost endeavours were unavailing, so that the best part of a day was spent in tacking and veering to, close in with the land, to no purpose.

The sun set angrily, and the wind veering more adversely, to their utter dismay, brought them on a lee shore. The storm increased with the night. The snow began again to fall, and neither the stars nor the lights of Tay or of the Firth could be seen. The sea was lashed into tremendous fury. There was a fearful sullen sound of rushing waves and broken surges--"Deep called unto deep." At times the black volume of clouds overhead seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning that quivered along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding darkness doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the wild waste of waters, and were echoed and prolonged by the mountain-like waves. As the ship was seen staggering and plunging among these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that she regained her balance, or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards dipped into the water--her bow was buried almost beneath the waves. Sometimes an impending surge appeared ready to overwhelm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of the helm preserved her from the shock.

"The impervious horrors of a leeward shore" they were doomed to experience during a moonless and starless night. They reduced their sails to a few yards of canvass, and lowered their yards on deck. The waves, that rolled the vessel with irresistible force, threatened to swallow them up; a tremendous sea carried away the boat which was hoisted up at the stern, and broke in all the bulkheads of the quarters. For safety of lives and property, all hands, after being revived with a glass of rum, began to throw overboard the guns. The long-boat was then released from her lashings; and, as they wished, the waves soon swept her from the deck. The two large anchors were cut from the bows, and the vessel, thus eased of a heavy top-load, danced more lightly over the tremendous billows, and inspired them with fresh hopes. The crew were all ordered to the after part of the deck, and again refreshed with another glass of rum and water.

A little before daylight, the captain, who had been anxiously looking out, acquainted the officers, so as not to be heard by the crew, that he saw breakers nearly ahead, and had no thought of being able to weather them. Mr Gordon coincided in this opinion, to which some one said, "Well, we are all born to die; I shall go with regret, but certainly not with fear."

The breakers were soon visible to all the crew, being not more than a quarter of a mile distant on the lee bow, when Captain Dundas remarked, "Our only chance is to put away a point before the wind, or we are sure to go broadside into the surf and perish at once."

A heavy sea now struck the vessel, swept the deck fore and aft, and carried overboard five of the crew, who instantly sank to rise no more.

The captain seeing a mighty billow approaching, and viewing nothing but death before them, exclaimed, "Lord have mercy upon us," and at that moment the vessel rose upon a mountain wave to a tremendous height, from whose summit she descended with the velocity of lightning, as if she were going to bury herself in the remorseless deep. By this rapid movement she was precipitated beyond the reach of the breakers, which now rolled behind her stern, and burst in impotence, as if incensed at the loss of their destined prey. "We are safe!" exclaimed Captain Dundas; "jump, men, from the yards, and make sail." This they did with tumultuous joy, which Mr Gordon checked, and said to them, "Whilst you are working silently, thank God for your miraculous preservation." The sea upon which the vessel rose was the means of her preservation and that of her crew. Probably there was not, if the sea had been calm, a depth of two feet water on the Carr Rock, for it was that dangerous reef she had passed; but the mighty wave carried her safe over at a moment when every hope but that of immortality was gone from the minds of the ship's company.[I]

The tempest having somewhat abated, and the wind veered round to a more favourable quarter, the vessel rode more smoothly, and the hour of eight being arrived, all hands were enabled to sit up and take coffee for breakfast.

For about three hours the ship had been working up the Firth, and had come off Anstruther, into which port she entered shortly afterwards, in order to undergo a survey, and get all necessary repairs completed in hull and rigging; and as the vessel had been seen from the _Windmill Tower_ and the _Brae_ all the morning to be in great distress, the eastern pier (for the west pier had not then been built) was crowded with spectators to witness her arrival.

Amongst others who had gone down the pier was Captain John Cunningham, the provost or chief magistrate of the burgh, who, being a sea captain himself, deeply sympathised both as a sailor and a man with the officers and crew of the _Arethusa_, on seeing them in such a miserable plight, and proffered to afford them all the aid and assistance in his power. He got into conversation with Mr Gordon, and found him so intelligent and gentlemanly in his manners, that he invited him to his house (which stood in the Shore Street, and on the east side of the Pend Wynd, and was that which formerly belonged to the late Mr Willis, collector of customs, and is presently possessed by Mrs Rodger, Mr Imrie, and others), until the vessel was repaired and made ready for sea. Mr Gordon thanked him for his kindness, and cordially accepted his hospitable invitation.

Anstruther is a small country town, pleasantly situated on the banks of the Forth. It is a favourable specimen of a good old Scottish town. There is an old town-hall, and an old burgh school, (lately rebuilt,) an old jail, and an old bridge, besides an old church, now completely renewed and repaired, and forming, with the steeple, a handsome edifice, situated on the ridge or high ground above the town. The manse, a fine old building, placed on the summit of the same ridge near the church, was built by James Melville, minister of the place in the reign of James VI. It afterwards became the property of the Anstruther family, who, it is supposed, presented it to the town, or exchanged it for a house in the _Pend Wynd_, now belonging to Mr John Darsie, which was occupied for some time as the manse. At the time of which we write, there was a fine old baronial mansion, called "Anstruther Place," which stood near the present junction of the Crail and St Andrews roads. It belonged to the above-mentioned ancient family, the Anstruthers of Anstruther, whose progenitor was a Norman warrior that came to Britain with William the Conqueror. It was a mansion as large as Balcaskie, surmounted by a tower, and surrounded by fine old ancestral trees. A magnificent hall graced its interior, large enough to contain a company of volunteers, or local militiamen at drill, within its four corners. In addition to these old buildings, which gave a peculiar character to the place, there were a good many handsome new houses in the town of Anstruther, for it was far from being in a state of decay. Many wealthy and intelligent families chose it for their residence. It was the seat of a custom-house and excise-office. There was a branch of the Paisley Bank established in the town, under the management of a Mr Henry Russell, of the customs, and the bank office was kept in that shop now belonging to Mr James Reddie, ironmonger.[J] There was also a Greenland Whale Fishing Company connected with the town, of which a Bailie Johnston was manager. The company's place of business was situated in the East Green, and is now the property of Mr Robert Todd, and it is still known to old people by the name of the Greenland Close. There is, or was lately, an old stone placed over the door at the southern entrance into the yard, indicating the nature of the manufacture formerly carried on therein.[K] And before the Reform Bill was passed, Anstruther-Easter joined with the other four burghs of the district in sending a member to Parliament. Many thriving and respectable trades-people, whose forefathers had resided there for generations, and who looked upon the old buildings of their native town with something of the same sort of feeling as the landowner surveys the oaks which encircle his paternal hall, regarded it with pride and veneration. Perhaps no town of its size in Scotland could be named where so much good feeling prevailed among all classes. An eminent physician, who came to settle in the place, expressed his astonishment at the amount of private charity distributed. If a poor man met with any accident, every kind assistance was given him by his wealthier neighbours. If a small tradesman suffered a loss, or a carter his horse, or a widow's cow died, a subscription was set on foot, and the accident often turned out a gain, rather than a loss.

The old Castle of Dreel, another ancient seat of the Anstruther family, stood on the east side of the Dreel Burn, at its entrance into the sea. Several curious traditions are in circulation respecting this old baronial residence and its proprietors. The castle has entirely disappeared, and its site is now partly occupied by fish-curing premises, and partly by a large antiquated tenement called Wightman's house. Some eminent men have been born in Anstruther, among whom may be mentioned Drs Chalmers and Tennant, and Professor Goodsir.

Such is a brief description of Anstruther at the time of which we write. It is unnecessary to give a particular account of it at the present day, because its trade and commerce, its fishing, farming, and shipping interests--its new buildings and projected undertakings--its Sunday schools and provident societies, and savings' banks and subscription libraries, are familiar to the most of my readers.

Captain Cunningham, the chief magistrate of Anstruther, was a wealthy and respectable shipowner, and his family consisted of a son about twenty, and a daughter about seventeen years of age, besides some younger children. Mr Gordon, their guest, then in his twenty-fifth year, was a light-hearted and rising young officer. He was, at first, a little impatient of the delay occasioned by the repairs of the vessel, the superintendence of which fell to be his duty; but circumstances soon occurred which checked this impatience, and more than reconciled him to his present quarters.

As Christina Cunningham is destined to occupy no unimportant position in this narrative, some description of her will therefore be necessary.

Let us endeavour to draw her portrait.

She was not only beautiful, but full of life and animation, her smiling face being the true index of a cheerful, happy disposition. Gentle, amiable, affectionate, good-natured, she was beloved by all who knew her; although, from a maidenly modesty and a natural reserve, she was really known by few. With the figure of a sylph, and the face of a Hebe, she had luxuriant hair of the darkest possible chestnut, wreathed generally in thick cable plaits round her beautifully-shaped head, which, owing to the fashion of that day, as well as of the present, of wearing the bonnets on the shoulders, enabled her well-formed head to be seen to the greatest advantage. In the delicate outline of her faultless features, there was a harmony that made of her whole face a concerted loveliness of form, colour, and expression, that was irresistible. Hackneyed as the simile is, her skin was literally like snow, upon which blush rose-leaves seemed to have fallen. Her long-cut oriental-looking eyes, were "deeply, darkly, beautifully blue," while their heavy, snowy lids were fringed with long black silken lashes, that seemed to be continually trying to salute her cheeks, for which no one could possibly blame them. Her nose was, to say the least, irreproachable. Then came the rich red pouting under, and the short chisselled upper lip; the beautiful pearly arched teeth within them; the little round velvety chin, and the perfectly oval peach-like cheeks. In short, so pretty a creature was seldom to be seen.

But Miss Cunningham was something _more_ than beautiful, she was amiable, and gentle, and affectionate; and besides, she was a Christian in the full and true sense of the word; and, young as she was, she had learned to look upon herself as a sinner, however innocent and pure she might appear in the eyes of men. While enjoying the blessings of health, peace, and competence, that providence had poured upon her, she looked upon them all as undeserved mercies, marks and tokens of her heavenly Father's love--a love manifested in man's redemption, in a way surpassing all understanding. Where on earth can there be found a more lovely character than that in which are blended true religion and natural amiability, rectitude of conduct, and tenderness of disposition?

Residing under the same roof with Miss Cunningham, who can wonder that, before many weeks had elapsed, Mr Gordon was as devoted to Captain Cunningham's daughter as any young and ardent lover could be. Miss Cunningham was not conscious of any deeper feeling than that of affectionate friendship, nor was it till some time after that her heart told her, that Charles Gordon occupied a place in her affections, which could be held by one, and by one only.

Several weeks had passed away, the repairs of the _Arethusa_ had been nearly completed, and the time was fast approaching when Charles Gordon would be obliged to depart from Anstruther. It happened, however, that a day or two previously to his leaving, a party of pleasure was planned for visiting Kellie Law, near Carnbee, and Macduff's Cave, near Earlsferry. The party consisted of Mr John Cunningham, junior, and his sister, and Mr Gordon and Miss Anderson, the daughter of an opulent merchant in the town. A vehicle having been hired for the occasion, a drive of about an hour brought the excursionists to Kellie Law. Having put up the horse and equipage at Gillingshill, and partaken of the hospitality of the occupants, they ascended this beautiful conical eminence, which is 800 feet above the level of the sea, and about four miles distant from it, and rises from the ridge running eastward from Largo Law. From the summit of Kellie Law, on which there is a large cairn of stones, one of the most magnificent views in Scotland is obtained. Immediately below, to the south, is a rich and beautiful stretch of country, all enclosed and highly cultivated; an extensive range of sea-coast, studded with numerous little towns and villages; the ample bosom of the Firth of Forth, enlivened with shipping and fishing-boats; and in the extreme distance, the coast of the Lothians, from St Abb's Head to Edinburgh. Near the south base of this hill stands Kellie Castle, a fine baronial seat of the Earls of Kellie, surrounded by old trees, and containing some princely apartments. Sir Thomas Erskine of Gogar was one of those who rescued James VI. from the attempt of the Earl of Gowrie to assassinate him at Perth in 1600, and killed the earl's brother with his own hand. He was created Viscount Fenton in 1606, and Earl of Kellie in 1619. The earldom merged into that of Marr on the death of Methven, tenth Earl of Kellie, who was great-grand-uncle to Sir Thomas Erskine of Cambo, the present baronet. It is said these earldoms may, and probably will, be again disjoined, and the titles and honours of Marr and Kellie inherited by two distinct noblemen.

After enjoying the splendid prospect from Kellie Law, the party set off for Elie, on their way to view the caves in Kincraig Hill. The drive between Gillingshill and Elie is delightful. The turnpike road passes in some places through a long line of tall trees, arching high overhead, and showing, at the termination, picturesque vistas. It skirts Kilconquhar Loch, and affords not very distant views of Charlton and Balcarres, Colinsburgh and Cairnie House; and passing through Kilconquhar, the beautiful church of the parish and manse (which do credit to the heritors) are close by. The noble mansions of Elie and Kilconquhar, in the immediate neighbourhood, are also seen, surrounded with fine old trees, and standing in a rich and fertile district.

On arriving at Elie, the party gave the horse and vehicle in charge of the hostler, and set out on foot for Kincraig. Immediately from the beach, at the south-west end of the parish, Kincraig Hill rises to the height of about two hundred feet above the level of the sea. Its southern front presents a nearly perpendicular rugged wall of trap rock, of the most picturesque appearance, and in these rocks are several caves, called Macduff's Cave, the Hall Cave, and the Devil's Cave. There is a tradition that Macduff, the Maormar or Earl of Fife, in his flight from the vengeance of Macbeth, was concealed in the cave which still bears his name, and was afterwards ferried across the Firth to Dunbar by the fishermen of the place, from which circumstance it was called "Earlsferry;" and, besides being constituted a royal burgh by Malcolm III, about 1057, it obtained the privilege, that the persons of all, in flight, who should cross the Firth from thence, should be for a time inviolable--no boat being allowed to leave the shore in pursuit, till those who were pursued were half-seas over.

The party now resolved that they should partake of luncheon on the greensward, to fortify themselves for their proposed expedition among the cliffs. While the viands were being produced, Mr Gordon set forth of himself in quest of a very rare plant, which he was informed grew in this locality.

On observing a group of persons gazing anxiously upwards at the overhanging cliffs, he joined them, inquiring on what their attention was so earnestly fixed. The persons addressed spoke not, but pointed to a spot about half-way up the face of the rock. Mr Gordon looked in the direction indicated, when, to his horror, he beheld a boy, apparently of about fifteen years of age, climbing along a stony ledge, which was so narrow as to be hardly visible from the spot where the group of terrified beholders was stationed. Scarcely had there been time for Mr Gordon to fix his eye on the human form that had reached so perilous a position, when a portion of the ledge of rock on which the unhappy boy was standing gave way--a loud scream rent the air, echoing through the cliffs--and in another instant all that remained of him was a lifeless, mangled corpse. The poor fellow's story is soon told. He was an idiot, and having wandered from his mother's side, had reached the fatal spot, no one knew how, and thus met a fearful death.

His poor mother witnessed the dreadful catastrophe, and agonizing was her grief as she followed the body of her child, which was borne on the shoulders of the awe-struck villagers to her home. Mr Gordon also followed the body to the house, and, feeling that at such a time any attempt at comforting the childless widow would be of no avail, he merely placed a sum of money in the hands of a respectable-looking person, a bystander, for her use, and slowly and sick at heart he was in the act of returning to his friends, when he met Christina Cunningham, who was in search of him, for the purpose of bringing him back to luncheon. She saw that he was deadly pale, and hurriedly asked if he felt ill. He told her all that had happened.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "if it had been _you_!"

"Well, Miss Cunningham," he replied, carelessly, "and if it had, few would have missed me. I should probably have had fewer mourners than that poor idiot boy."

"Oh, how can you say so?" she returned, and bending down her head, became visibly agitated. And yet poor Christina knew not, even now, that she loved Charles Gordon: she understood not the true cause of the beatings of her disturbed heart. He looked at her. As he looked, a momentary smile passed over his features, which was soon exchanged for an expression of deep sorrow, as he thought of the lonely widow, bending over the lifeless form of her lost son. The sad story was related to the rest of the party, and all cheerfulness for the time was at an end.

This was destined to be an eventful day. Another calamity--and one that, although it was not attended with fatal results, affected Charles more than that which had occurred--was yet to take place. We have said that there were some remarkable caves at this place, which had long been objects of interest to the traveller and excursionist. One there is in particular, called the Devil's Cave, which penetrates far into the heart of the rock, on the face of which lies its entrance. From the steepness of the path which leads into this cavern, it is rarely visited by tourists. The party, however, with perhaps more curiosity than prudence, determined to explore and visit this cave. A female guide was procured, and a candle supplied to each person. All being ready, in single file they entered the mouth of the cavern, carefully groping their way, not without difficulty. Miss Anderson soon lost courage, and turned back, stating that she and Mr Cunningham would return to the inn at Elie, and prepare tea; the other two resolved to proceed along with the guide. The aperture through which they had to pass became at length so low, and so narrow, that a consultation was held, and it was agreed that it would be prudent to return. Charles now led the way as they retraced their steps. He had not proceeded far when he heard a heavy fall, and turning quickly round, beheld, to his horror, Christina stretched upon the humid soil of the cavern; her eyes were closed, and her candle had fallen from her hand. Whether bad air had struck her down or not, he could not tell. For an instant he believed her to be dead, but, bending over her, he perceived that she breathed. What was now to be done? Only one plan lay before him which he could adopt. Giving his candle to the guide, and directing her to keep in front of him, holding the light so as he could see, he raised Miss Cunningham in his arms, and with all the strength he was master of, bore her along in the direction of the entrance. The roof of the cave was so low, that it was impossible to maintain an upright position, and his strength so entirely failed him that he was obliged to stop and take a rest before he could proceed with his precious burden. On reaching the mouth or entrance of the now detested cave, signs of returning consciousness began to appear in the poor sufferer. On breathing the fresh air of heaven, she opened her eyes for a moment, then closed them again, drawing several long and apparently painful respirations. Charles placed her on a grassy bank, and seating himself beside her, supported her by placing his arm round her waist. The guide was despatched for water. By and by, Christina, looking round, said with her own sweet smile, "I am better now." Charles pressed the form of her whom he already loved so well, to himself, and then assisting her to rise, with slow and measured steps they returned to Elie.

"You are very tired, I fear, and I am the cause," said Christina, as she leaned on Charles's arm, turning her face to his.

For a moment their eyes met, those of Christina fell, while a shade of colour tinged her still pallid face. She had met a look in Charles's face that she had never seen there before. She again relapsed into silence.

Charles, in reply to her remark, uttered something that was inaudible; the name of "Christina," however, was substituted for that of "Miss Cunningham."

Any endeavour to conceal what had occurred would have been useless. The pale face of the sufferer plainly told that she had been ill, and general was the consternation of all on hearing what had happened. Charles resigned her to the care of Miss Anderson and the hostess, and, passing to the little parlour of the village inn, flung himself on the sofa in a state of complete exhaustion.

Long he remained buried in thought. At length his good nature and compassion prompted him to visit once more the poor, childless widow, while preparations were being made for their return to Anstruther. She was alone with the body of her idiot son. Carefully had she cleansed away the blood and dust from his face, which now appeared to exhibit more intelligence in death than it had done in life.

As Charles entered, the poor Irish widow exclaimed,--"May the blessing of the Great God, who is above us this day, be about ye, and wid ye for ever and ever, my jewel young gentleman!" She held in her hand the money that he had left for her, and added, "Sure isn't there enough here for the poor lone widow, to buy her darlint son a dacent coffin for to lay him in the could earth, in the land of the stranger, before she goes far, far away, to a land beyant the rowling say (referring to America). You've given me money when I wanted it sore, an' the blessin' of the lone widow woman will be wid you wherever ye go; but none can give me back my boy! Oh, Patrick, jewel! why did ye die? Och, my poor boy! my poor boy! my poor boy!"

The tears came into Charles's eyes as he listened to this pathetic lamentation, but longer he could not remain. He succeeded, however, in learning that she had resolved to accede to a proposal of her sister's, to join her in America, which his gift had provided her with the means of accomplishing.

The drive to Anstruther was speedily made out, and in few days Miss Cunningham was quite restored to her usual state of health and enjoyment.

Time rolled on. The _Arethusa_ has sailed. Mr Gordon has returned to Deptford, and resumed his ordinary duties. Has all intercourse ceased between him and Miss Cunningham? Assuredly not. Many a kind letter has passed between them. She has been to England visiting his sister, at that sister's kind invitation, and is come back to Anstruther. Charles has proposed to her, and been accepted, and has obtained a special licence for their marriage. He comes back to Anstruther to claim his bride.

If you, my reader, were at this moment greedily perusing a modern novel, you would here be gratified by a very romantic and touching account, three or four pages long at least, of the meeting of the two ardent lovers after a long separation; smiles and tears, sighs and sobs, broken accents, protestations of eternal love and fidelity, and all that sort of thing. Here you will find nothing of the kind. I very much doubt myself as to whether anything of the kind took place in this instance at all; I rather imagine the meeting was a calm and quietly happy one, without anything strikingly romantic or stage-like about it. But even suppose there had been, and that I had been present to see, (which, by the by, would have been an awkward enough situation for me, or any other third party, to have found himself in) ought we to have disclosed it? Certainly not; such a scene, every one knows, ought to be strictly private and confidential Suffice it then to say, that doubtless both, parties found themselves extremely comfortable and happy.

Let me now convey you, in thought, backwards one hundred and fourteen years, and place you in the street of Pittenweem, opposite the Scottish Episcopal Chapel. We see a crowd; let us inquire what is the occasion of it.

"What is this crowd collecting for, so early this morning?"

"There's going to be a wedding, ma'am."

"Do you know whose wedding it is?"

"No ma'am, I don't; I'm only here to keep order--nothing else to do with it."

It is some time since we have seen a wedding, suppose we go into church. Here we are. We shall have a nice view of them from that front pew in the gallery. How tastefully the chapel is decorated with foliage and flowers! Make haste! I hear the carriages coming, that will do. Wait! here they come, only fancy, it's Christina Cunningham, and--Who? Charles Gordon, I declare. How nicely he looks in his naval uniform. Then the reports were all true. Poor Christina! she's very much agitated. I suppose being married must be rather nervous work. The clergyman who is marrying them is a relation of the bridegroom's--he's rector of a large parish near Deptford--how beautifully he reads. And there is our dear old clergyman, Mr Spence, assisting him, how happy he looks. They say he has known the bride since she was an infant, and the bridegroom for some time. There!--she's no longer Christina Cunningham! I wonder where they are going to after breakfast? Blessings on them both!

FOOTNOTES:

[I] On account of the many accidents which happen almost yearly at the Carr Rock, some plan for marking its dangerous locality has long been an object of deep solicitude. The writer recollects of a round tower of some height having been built on the rock, on the same principle as that on the Bell Rock, but it was soon overthrown by the first winter's storm, because there was not a sufficient surface of rock at the base to admit of a strong enough building being placed upon it. But might not an erection be made of strong bars of iron, and a large bell placed on its summit, with an iron cylinder in the centre, perforated with holes to admit the sea water? Within the cylinder let a powerful floater be placed, which by the perpetual action of the tides' ebb and flow, would cause the bell to ring, and so give timeous warning of danger near. Or, another method might be adopted, viz., Let a steady officer be stationed at Fifeness, whose duty it should be to fire a gun, say a six or eight-pounder, at short intervals in snow storms, or in thick and foggy weather, when neither the land during the day, nor the stars or lights at night, can be seen. In either way the expense would be trifling, and the benefit might be great. Captains of steamers and of other vessels enveloped in the fog would then, on hearing the sound of the bell or gun, know where they were, and would take their bearings from Fifeness accordingly.

[J] The principles of banking seem to have been imperfectly understood in our fathers' days, for it appears that, at the Anstruther branch, there was a certain fixed sum _per month_ allotted for bills to be discounted. When that sum was exhausted, it mattered not what further sum was wanted, there were no more discounts allowed that month. It followed, that the most _needy_ were always, at the beginning of the month, the _earliest_ customers, and, consequently, post-due bills became the rule, retired bills the exception. Under these circumstances, it is not difficult to foresee what would be the result. The bank was closed at no distant period, and the agent, it is said, lost L1500 of his own money. No other banking company attempted to establish a bank in Anstruther till May 1832, when the National Bank of Scotland opened a branch under the management of Mr F. Conolly, town-clerk, which he conducted successfully for twenty-five years. A handsome new building has lately been erected for the use of this bank. Two other branch banks have been opened in the town.

[K] There were two vessels belonging to the company, one named the _Hawk_, and the other the _Rising Sun_. The _Hawk_ was lost on her first voyage, and Bailie Meldrum--some time chief magistrate of Anstruther-Wester--one of the crew, lost the toes of both his feet by frost-bite. The undertaking did not prove a successful one; the company was dissolved; and the premises, which were sold to the late John Miller, senior, shipowner in Anstruther, afterwards became, as I said, the property of Mr Todd.

A LEGEND OF CALDER MOOR.