detect at the conventicles, besides a share of the fines imposed upon them. It may be supposed that an individual who could permit himself to enter upon a profession of this kind, would not be very scrupulous as to the guilt of the persons whom he sought to make his prey. He accordingly appears to have, at least in one noted instance, pounced upon an individual who was perfectly innocent. This was the Rev. Mr Kirkton, a non-conformist minister it is true, but one who had been cautious to keep strictly within the verge of the law. Kirkton was the brother-in-law of Mr Baillie of Jerviswood, by his marriage to the sister of that gentleman, and he is eminent in Scottish literary history for a memoir of the church during his own times, which was of great service in manuscript to the historian Wodrow, and was at length published in 1817. One day in June, 1676, as Mr Kirkton was walking along the High Street of Edinburgh, Carstairs, whose person he did not know, accosted him in a very civil manner, and expressed a desire to speak with him in private. Mr Kirkton, suspecting no evil, followed Carstairs to a very mean-looking house, near the common prison. Carstairs, who had no warrant to apprehend or detain Mr Kirkton, went out to get one, locking the door upon his victim.[1] The unfortunate clergyman then perceived that he was in some danger, and prevailed upon a person in the house to go to seek his brother-in-law, Mr Baillie, and apprise him of his situation. Carstairs, having in vain endeavoured to get the requisite number of privy-councillors to sign a warrant, now came back, resolved, it appears, to try at least if he could not force some money from Mr Kirkton for his release. Just as they were about to confer upon this subject, Mr Baillie came to the door, with several other persons, and called to Carstairs to open. Kirkton, hearing the voices of friends, took courage, and desired his captor either to set him free, or to show a warrant for his detention. Carstairs, instead of doing either, drew a pocket pistol, and Kirkton found it necessary, for his own safety, to enter into a personal struggle, and endeavour to secure the weapon of his antagonist. The gentlemen without, hearing a struggle, and cries of murder, burst open the door, and found Carstairs sitting upon Mr Kirkton, on the floor. Baillie drew his sword, and commanded the poltroon to come off, asking him at the same time if he had any warrant for apprehending Mr Kirkton. Carstairs said he had a warrant for conducting him to prison, but he utterly refused to show it, though Mr Baillie said that, if he saw any warrant against his friend, he would assist in carrying it into execution. The wretch still persisting in saying he had a warrant, but was not bound to show it, Mr Baillie left the place, with Mr Kirkton and other friends, having offered no violence whatever to Carstairs, but only threatened to sue him for unlawful invasion of his brother-in-law's person.
It might have been expected from even a government so lost to all honour and justice as that which now prevailed in Scotland, that it would have had at least the good sense to overlook this unhappy accident to one of its tools. On the contrary, it was resolved to brave the popular feeling of right, by listening to the complaints of Carstairs. Through the influence of Archbishop Sharpe, who said that, if Carstairs was not countenanced, no one would be procured to apprehend fanatics afterwards, a majority of the council agreed to prosecute Baillie, Kirkton, and the other persons concerned. For this purpose, an antedated warrant was furnished to Carstairs, signed by nine of the councillors. The Marquis of Atholl told Bishop Burnet, that he had been one of the nine who lent their names to this infamous document. The whole case was therefore made out to be a tumult against the government; Baillie was fined in six thousand merks, (£318 sterling)[2] and his friends in smaller sums, and to be imprisoned till they should render payment.
