"The hour's come, but not the man."*
* There is a tradition, that while a little stream was swollen into a torrent by recent
showers, the discontented voice of the Water Spirit was heard to pronounce
these words. At the some moment a man, urged on by his fate, or, in Scottish
language, fey, arrived at a gallop, and prepared to cross the water. No
remonstrance from the bystanders was of power to stop him--he plunged into the
stream, and perished.
On the day when the unhappy Porteous was expected to suffer the sentence of
the law, the place of execution, extensive as it is, was crowded almost to
suffocation. There was not a window in all the lofty tenements around it, or in the
steep and crooked street called the Bow, by which the fatal procession was to
descend from the High Street, that was not absolutely filled with spectators. The
uncommon height and antique appearance of these houses, some of which were
formerly the property of the Knights Templars, and the Knights of St. John, and
still exhibit on their fronts and gables the iron cross of these orders, gave
additional effect to a scene in itself so striking. The area of the Grassmarket
resembled a huge dark lake or sea of human heads, in the centre of which arose
the fatal tree, tall, black, and ominous, from which dangled the deadly halter.
Every object takes interest from its uses and associations, and the erect beam
and empty noose, things so simple in themselves, became, on such an occasion,
objects of terror and of solemn interest.
Amid so numerous an assembly there was scarcely a word spoken, save in
whispers. The thirst of vengeance was in some degree allayed by its supposed
certainty; and even the populace, with deeper feeling than they are wont to
entertain, suppressed all clamorous exultation, and prepared to enjoy the scene
of retaliation in triumph, silent and decent, though stern and relentless. It seemed
as if the depth of their hatred to the unfortunate criminal scorned to display itself
in anything resembling the more noisy current of their ordinary feelings. Had a
stranger consulted only the evidence of his ears, he might have supposed that so
vast a multitude were assembled for some purpose which affected them with the
deepest sorrow, and stilled those noises which, on all ordinary occasions, arise
from such a concourse; but if he had gazed upon their faces, he would have
been instantly undeceived. The compressed lip, the bent brow, the stern and
flashing eye of almost everyone on whom he looked, conveyed the expression of
men come to glut their sight with triumphant revenge. It is probable that the
appearance of the criminal might have somewhat changed the temper of the
populace in his favour, and that they might in the moment of death have forgiven
