The Heart of Mid-Lothian - Penn State University

CHAPTER THIRD
“The hour’s come, but not the man.”*
Sir Walter Scott
Kelpie.
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
* 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.
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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.