The National Covenant in Scotland, 1638-1689 (Studies in Early Modern Cultural, Political and Social History, 37) 9781783275304, 9781787448308, 1783275308

Table of contents :
Front Cover
Table of Contents
Contributors
Acknowledgements
Abbreviations
Introduction Making and Remaking the Covenanters
Swearing and Subscribing
1 Corporate Conversion Ceremonies: The Presentation and Reception of the National Covenant
2 Glasgow and the National Covenant in 1638: Revolution, Royalism and Civic Reform
3 United Opposition? The Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant
4 Allegiance, Confession and Covenanting Identities, 1638-51
Identity and Self Fashioning
5 Reading John Knox in the Scottish Revolution, 1638-50
6 A Godly Possession? Margaret Mitchelson and the Performance of Covenanted Identity
7 Royalism, Resistance and the Scottish Clergy, c.1638-41
8 The Engagement, the Universities and the Fracturing of the Covenanter Movement, 1647-51
Remembering
9 Remembering the Revolution: Memory, Identity and Ideology in Restoration Scotland
10 The Legacy of the Covenants and the Shaping of the Restoration State
11 Who were the ‘Later Covenanters’?
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

 STUDIES IN EARLY MODERN CULTURAL, POLITICAL AND SOCIAL HISTORY Volume 37 ‎

THE NATIONAL COVENANT IN SCOTLAND 1638–1689

Studies in Early Modern Cultural, Political and Social History ISSN: 1476–9107

Series editors Tim Harris – Brown University Stephen Taylor – Durham University Andy Wood – Durham University Previously published titles in the series are listed at the back of this volume

THE NATIONAL COVENANT IN SCOTLAND 1638–1689

Edited by Chris R. Langley

THE BOYDELL PRESS

© Contributors 2020

All Rights Reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner

First published 2020 The Boydell Press, Woodbridge

ISBN 978-1-78327-530-4 (hardback) ISBN 978-1-78744-830-8 (ePDF)

The Boydell Press is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate Cover image: National Library of Scotland, Acc 9073, Calligraphic copy of the ‘Solemn League and Covenant' (1643). Reproduced with permission. Cover design by Greg Jorss. This publication is printed on acid-free paper

Table of Contents List of Contributors vii Acknowledgements ix List of Abbreviations xi Introduction: Making and Remaking the Covenanters Chris R. Langley

1

Swearing and Subscribing 1 Corporate Conversion Ceremonies: The Presentation and Reception of The National Covenant Nathan C. J. Hood

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2 Glasgow and the National Covenant in 1638: Revolution, Royalism and Civic Reform Paul Goatman and Andrew Lind

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3 United Opposition? The Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant 53 Russell Newton 4 Allegiance, Confession and Covenanting Identities, 1638–51 Jamie McDougall

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Identity and Self Fashioning 5 Reading John Knox in the Scottish Revolution, 1638–50 Chris R. Langley 6 A Godly Possession? Margaret Mitchelson and the Performance of Covenanted Identity Louise Yeoman

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7 Royalism, Resistance and the Scottish Clergy, c.1638–41 125 Andrew Lind 8 The Engagement, the Universities and the Fracturing of the Covenanter Movement, 1647–51 Salvatore Cipriano

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Remembering 9 Remembering the Revolution: Memory, Identity and Ideology in Restoration Scotland Neil McIntyre v

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Contents

10 The Legacy of the Covenants and the Shaping of the Restoration State 179 Allan Kennedy 11 Who were the ‘Later Covenanters’? Alasdair Raffe

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Bibliography 215 Index 243

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Contributors Salvatore Cipriano is Assistant Director of Career Education and Pre-Law Advising at Boston College. He earned his PhD in history from Fordham University in 2018 and has taught courses at several universities on early modern and modern European, British and Irish history. His main research interests are the history of universities and the religious and political history of early modern Britain and Ireland. His work has appeared in Scottish Historical Review. He is currently working on a monograph examining Scottish and Irish universities during the British Civil Wars. Paul Goatman recently completed his PhD thesis, ‘Reformed by Kirk and Crown: Urban Politics and Civic Society in Glasgow during the reign of James VI, 1585–1625’, at the University of Glasgow. He was the Charlotte Nicholson Postdoctoral Research Fellow at the University of Glasgow during 2018–19. His research interests have focused on the political, religious and urban history of early modern Scotland. He has written on politics and religion in sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Glasgow. Nathan C. J. Hood is a PhD candidate at the University of Edinburgh in the History of Christianity. He is the recipient of a Scottish Graduate School for Arts and Humanities Doctoral Training Partnership Award. He is currently researching the theology and experience of the passions in early seventeenth-century Scotland. He has published book reviews in The Expository Times and Scottish Church History and will soon publish a chapter in Chris R. Langley, Catherine E. McMillan and Russell Newton (eds), The Clergy in Early Modern Scotland (Woodbridge, forthcoming). Allan Kennedy is Lecturer in History at the University of Dundee. He has published a range of articles and essays on early modern Scotland, and is also author of the prize-winning monograph Governing Gaeldom: The Scottish Highlands and the Restoration State, 1660–88 (Leiden, 2014). His research deals largely with social and political issues, and has a particular focus on the relationship between Highlands and Lowlands, and on crime and punishment. He is also the co-editor of History Scotland. He is currently working on a new study of Charles II’s reign in Scotland for Birlinn Publishing. Chris R. Langley is Senior Lecturer in Early Modern British History at Newman University, Birmingham. His research explores religious cultures in early modern Scotland. He is the author of Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 and the editor of The Minutes of the Synod of Lothian and Tweeddale, 1648–1659. He is the Co-Director of Mapping the Scottish Reformation, funded by the National Endowment for the Humanities.

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Contributors

Andrew Lind is a PhD candidate in Scottish History at the University of Glasgow. His research focuses on Scottish royalist allegiance and loyalties during the British Civil Wars. The working title of Andrew’s thesis is ‘“Bad and Evill Patriotts”: Understanding Scottish Royalism and Allegiance to the Crown in Scotland during the British Civil Wars (c.1638–1651)’. His work has appeared in the Journal of the Northern Renaissance. Jamie McDougall researches grassroots covenanting in the 1640s and Restoration period. His doctoral thesis, ‘Covenants and Covenanters in Scotland, 1638–1679’, was completed at the University of Glasgow in 2018. He has written several journal articles on the themes of covenanting, popular culture and religion in early modern Scotland. He is based in London, where he teaches History at Lambeth Academy. Neil McIntyre is an early career researcher in Theology and Religious Studies and former Lecturer in Scottish History at the University of Glasgow. He has published on Scottish religious culture and political thought in Scottish Church History and Parliaments, Estates and Representation. His book The Dynamics of Dissent: Politics, Religion and the Law in Restoration Scotland is forthcoming. He is also editor of ‘Scotland’s Covenants at Home and Abroad’ for The Scottish Historical Review. Russell Newton was awarded his PhD from the University of Edinburgh in 2018. Since September 2018 he has been the Hope Trust Post-Doctoral Fellow at the University of Edinburgh and Lecturer in Church History at the Faith Mission Bible College. He is a council member for the Scottish Church History Society and the reviews editor for Scottish Church History. His first monograph, William Guild and Moderate Divinity in Early Modern Scotland, is forthcoming with Edinburgh University Press. Alasdair Raffe is Senior Lecturer in History at the University of Edinburgh. His research concerns religion, politics and ideas in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Scotland. He is the author of The Culture of Controversy: Religious Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012) and Scotland in Revolution, 1685–1690 (Edinburgh, 2018). Louise Yeoman is formerly a curator of manuscripts at the National Library of Scotland, and is a radio producer and broadcaster at BBC Scotland with a background in seventeenth-century historical research, specialising in Calvinist piety and the witch hunts. She is the author of Reportage Scotland (Edinburgh, 2000). She was co-director of The Survey of Scottish Witchcraft at University of Edinburgh.

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Acknowledgements The first discussions for this volume took place at the Scottish Religious Cultures conference held at Queen’s University, Belfast, in January 2015. Although ostensibly a conference on a wide range of matters, papers on the Covenanting revolution dominated the two-day event. In the years that followed, events in Edinburgh, Glasgow and St Andrews further underlined the mid-seventeenth century’s grip on studies of early modern Scotland. This volume is an attempt to showcase the array of research that regularly lights up academic conferences in Britain and Ireland but that rarely gets the sustained readership it deserves. The volume also evidences the maturation of Scottish perspectives on the crises of the mid-seventeenth century. The chapters in it address solely Scottish contexts and often have little need to draw British comparisons to lend historiographical credence or ideological heft to them. The chapters herein are an attempt to shine a light on the rich vein of research that currently exists in mid-seventeenth-century Scottish historiography and reflect those rays onto the wider scholarship of early modern Britain, Ireland and Europe. It is hoped that this volume not only reflects the high quality of Scottish scholarship but makes Scottish perspectives an integral part of discussions about the crises of the mid-seventeenth century over the next decade. As editor of this volume, I must register my thanks to all those who have supported the production of this work. In the course of completing this volume I have accrued many debts and the end product is the result of a much wider network of scholars than the eleven authors represented in the pages that follow. Sharon Adams, Jamie Reid Baxter, Julian Goodare, Crawford Gribben, Paula Hughes, Leonie James, Scott Spurlock and Laura Stewart have all given great support at various stages from the book’s inception to its completion. It is a great shame that Sharon, Paula and Leonie were unable to contribute their original chapters to the volume but I am so very grateful for their professionalism and their constant interest in the final product and the shape it took. . I have been driven by David Stevenson’s interest in the work and I, like the other contributors to this volume, owe a great deal to his labours. I am grateful to Tim Harris for being so open to the idea of this volume appearing with Boydell & Brewer, and to Megan Milan for her patience in producing the volume. Above all, I must thank the contributors to this volume, whose efforts, efficiency and candour have made my work as editor much easier. I hope this publication provides a suitable home for their work. Whether this volume is a moment of sombre realisation that we have reached some high-water mark in Scottish historical studies of this period or a rather more positive forward-looking indicator of a vibrant future remains to be seen. It is clear that the gender imbalance in Scottish historical writing evident in this ix

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

collection of essays has already changed, even in the fairly niche field of studies on the National Covenant. It is to our profession’s credit that the Scottish historical milieu in 2020 is more diverse than the one around the gestation of this book in 2015. While the chapters in this volume show the richness of the extant source material and the quality of Scottish historical scholarship, it is my hope that the questions and agendas established in the pages that follow are pursued by a more diverse, yet equally hungry, body of scholars in the coming decade.

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Abbreviations AUL

Aberdeen University Library

Baillie, L&J

Robert Baillie, The Letters and Journals of Robert Baillie, A.M., Principal of the University of Glasgow, ed. David Laing, 3 vols (Edinburgh, 1841–2)

Balcanquhall, Large Declaration

Walter Balcanquhall, A Large Declaration Concerning the Late Tumults in Scotland, from their First Originalls: Together with a Particular Deduction of the Seditious Practices of the Prime Leaders of the Covenanters (London, 1639)

EUL

Edinburgh University Library

GCA

Glasgow City Archives

GUL

Glasgow University Library

NatCov

‘The National Covenant’, in Scottish Historical Documents, ed. Gordon Donaldson (Edinburgh, 1974)

NCL

New College Library, Edinburgh

NLNZ

National Library of New Zealand

NLS

National Library of Scotland

NRS

National Records of Scotland

OLEAS

David Laing (ed.), Original Letters Relating to the Ecclesiastical Affairs of Scotland, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1851)

Peterkin, Records

Alexander Peterkin (ed.), Records of the Kirk of Scotland, Containing the Acts and Proceedings of the General Assemblies, From the Year 1638 Downwards, as Authenticated by the Clerks of the Assembly (Edinburgh, 1838)

RCGA

Alexander F. Mitchell and James Christie (eds), The Records of the Commissions of the General Assemblies of the Church of Scotland, 3 vols (Edinburgh, 1892–1909)

RPCS

Register of the Privy Council of Scotland

RPS

Records of the Parliaments of Scotland

RSCHS

Records of the Scottish Church History Society

Scott, Fasti

Hew Scott, Fasti Ecclesiæ Scoticanæ: The Succession of Ministers in the Church of Scotland from the Reformation, 8 vols (Edinburgh, 1915–28) xi

Abbreviations

SHR

Scottish Historical Review

StAUL

St Andrews University Library

Wariston, I

Archibald Johnston of Wariston, Diary of Sir Archibald Johnston of Wariston, 1632–1639, ed. George Morison Paul, Scottish History Society (Edinburgh, 1911)

Wariston, II

Archibald Johnston of Wariston, Diary of Sir Archibald Johnston of Wariston, 1650–1654, ed. David Hay Fleming, Scottish History Society (Edinburgh, 1919)

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Introduction Making and Remaking the Covenanters Chris R. Langley Speaking at the tricentenary of the National Covenant’s first subscription, Hugh Watt described how the Covenanters’ legacy had come to ‘carry more fringes and tassels than a mid-Victorian mantelpiece’.1 The Covenanters and their impact on Scottish (and wider British) history remains contested: they are reviled by those who decry their fanaticism and lauded by those who promote them as presbyterian martyrs. Studies in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries saw the Covenanters’ protest as part of a longer lineage of Protestant activism. To Robert Wodrow, the year 1638 heralded a new ‘work of reformation’ that confronted the ‘encroachments’ and political intrigue of the Stuart monarchs.2 In this scheme, the National Covenant heralded a ‘Second Reformation’ and a legitimate successor to the sixteenth-century work of John Knox.3 So strong was this impulse that James King Hewson made use of the label of ‘covenanter’ to describe individuals who were active long before 1638.4 This perspective continued to reflect divisions within the Church of Scotland during the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Writers attacked historical actors who did not maintain established orthodoxy as backsliders who did not deserve the name Covenanter. While historians have tried to sidestep the religious issues that surround the history of the Covenants and the Covenanters, ‘the intellectual and emotional material’ present in the study of these topics ‘may still be flammable’. Scholars should proceed with caution.5 Ian Cowan’s lament that ‘the covenanting movement is not an easy one to assess’ remains as true today as it was in 1968.6 1

Hugh Watt, Recalling the Covenants (London, 1946), p. 9. Robert Wodrow, The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, ed. R. Burns, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1832), I, p. 2. 3 William L. Mathieson, Politics and Religion: A Study in Scottish History from the Reformation to the Revolution, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1902), I, p. 383. 4 James King Hewison, The Covenanters, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1913), I, p. 262. 5 Christopher Harvie, ‘The Covenanting Tradition’, in Sermons and Battle Hymns: Protestant Popular Culture in Modern Scotland, ed. Graham Walker and Tom Gallagher (Edinburgh, 1990), pp. 9–10. 6 Ian B. Cowan, ‘The Covenanters: A Revision Article’, SHR, 47 (1968), 52. 2

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The word Covenanter defies precise definition. Beyond identifying an individual who signed or swore allegiance to the National Covenant of 1638 or the Solemn League and Covenant of 1643/4, the term does not reflect the range of opinion or the complexity of the changing historical context of the seventeenth century.7 Historians have deployed various devices, from splitting subscribers into conservative, moderate and radical wings to considering prominent individuals alone, as means through which we might understand the diversity of the Covenanting movement. Moreover, those who subscribed the document were sometimes the dominant authority and at other times nonconformists. Elizabeth Hyman stressed that using the term ‘Covenanter’ when discussing any context after 1660 is largely anachronistic but that a ‘generally acceptable’ alternative was still wanting.8 In the absence of effective alternatives, historians still face the amorphous, changing body of opinion that comes under the umbrella term ‘Covenanter’ armed only with the labels used by Victorian antiquarians. The Opaque Covenants Historians have long appreciated the vagueness that sat at the heart of the National Covenant’s text and the document’s ‘basic inconsistency’ in purporting to both defend the king’s position while standing for ideas that opposed the crown’s interests.9 The body of men behind the National Covenant’s creation reflected this tension. David Stevenson asserted that the Covenanter leadership arrayed at the Tables in Edinburgh in 1638 consisted of an uneasy alliance of clerics seeking change and rather more conservatively inclined laymen. What they created was a defensive, conservative document that aimed to protect existing structures from the perceived innovations of the Stuart crown. Walter Makey stressed that, although the Covenant was drafted ‘at the Noblemen’s table’, its more hardline followers ‘must have been pleased’ with how its language left room for a more radical interpretation of the document.10 Allan Macinnes attempted to challenge this interpretation in his doctoral work in the late 1980s and in publications in the decade and a half that followed. He agreed that the nobility dominated the ranks of the early Covenanter leadership, but contended that their aims were far from conservative. For Macinnes, ‘that the nobles were in the van of the movement does not mean that the covenanting cause was inherently conservative’ and ‘radicalism was not the preserve of the 7

For royalism, see Jason McElligott and David L. Smith, ed., Royalists and Royalism during the English Civil Wars (Cambridge, 2007); Barry Robertson, Royalists at War in Scotland and Ireland, 1638–1650 (Farnham, 2014). 8 Elizabeth H. Hyman, ‘A Church Militant: Scotland, 1661–1690’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 26 (1995), 53n. 9 Ian B. Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters 1660–1688 (London, 1976), pp. 24–5. 10 Walter Makey, The Church of the Covenant 1637–1651: Revolution and Social Change in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1979), p. 30.

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ministry’.11 Macinnes argued that the Scottish revolution was far more revolutionary than Stevenson had allowed. To Macinnes, the nobility’s radicalism lay in developing a distinctively Scottish language of resistance that created something new rather than promoting an older or traditional view of Scottish politics. Led by a ‘radical’ oligarchy, the National Covenant – and the events that followed – was nothing less than an organised attempt to impose ‘fundamental limitations on monarchical power’.12 Historians such as Maurice Lee tried to create a bridgehead between the respective positions of Stevenson and Macinnes by asserting that this ‘conservative movement’ had revolutionary implications.13 While its authors were eager to present the Covenant in a uniform manner, the range of opinion arrayed at the meetings of the Tables sat at the heart of Covenanting for the rest of the century. Consequently, individuals subscribing the National Covenant faced a range of interpretative choices. Subscribers could forge new meanings through their reading of the text in a ‘hermeneutical process’.14 Archibald Johnston of Wariston was not alone in reflecting on a personal level about the meaning and implications of the National Covenant, although the intensity of his ruminations on the subject may have been unusual.15 Laura Stewart’s recent work identified that it is possible to reconstruct both what people thought the National Covenant meant and what they wanted it to mean. Indeed, for Stewart, part of the National Covenant’s power lay in its ability to promote wide and active political participation because of its interpretative flexibility.16 This kind of subtle engagement through discourse and modification could dramatically alter one’s reading of the National Covenant. For example, the line between legality and treason was one that subscribers of the Covenant would have carefully considered and reconsidered as contexts around them changed.17 11

Allan I. Macinnes, Charles I and the Making of the Covenanting Movement 1625–1641 (Edinburgh, 1991), p. 183. 12 Allan I. Macinnes, ‘Covenanting, Revolution and Municipal Enterprise’, in Scotland Revisited, ed. Jenny Wormald (London, 1991), p. 97. 13 Maurice Lee, The Road to Revolution: Scotland under Charles I, 1625–37 (Chicago, IL, 1985), pp. 242–3. 14 David G. Mullan, Episcopacy in Scotland: The History of an Idea, 1560–1638 (Edinburgh, 1986), p. 180. 15 Louise Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work: Emotion, Empowerment and Authority in Covenanting Times’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of St Andrews, 1991); Louise Yeoman, ‘Archie’s Invisible Worlds Discovered: Spirituality, Madness and Johnston of Wariston’s family’, RSCHS, 27 (1997). 16 Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016). 17 Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare, ‘Scotland and its Seventeenth-Century Revolutions’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), p. 7; Alexander D. Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662): Politics, Religion and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Woodbridge, 2017).

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Conversations around episcopacy underline how contemporaries engaged with the interpretative space created by the National Covenant’s text. David Mullan stressed that the lack of any open condemnation of episcopacy in the Covenant’s text was ‘contrived’ to ensure the document was broadly acceptable to as wide a range of people as possible.18 The oft-cited case of Robert Baillie and the less well-cited example of the ministers who left the Glasgow Assembly with the duke of Hamilton in 1638 show how those who signed the National Covenant could hold widely diverging interpretations about its implications for the structure of the Church leadership.19 Moreover, radical interpretations of the Covenant’s text could threaten to undermine the entire system of Church patronage – something from which most figures within the Covenanter leadership distanced themselves. The changes proposed by the Glasgow Assembly were clearly not radical enough for some who wanted further reform, though.20 At a microscopic level, it is clear that there was no archetypal Covenanter experience, per se, but rather a collection of interrelated but largely personal decisions that culminated in one outcome: the signing of the document. Obtaining support for these actions was a matter of persuasion. It was at this point that supporters of one or two interpretations jostled to establish primacy. Leading clerics travelled to distant parishes to discuss the merits of the Covenanting movement, but there continued to be a degree of latitude for ministers who continued to ‘scruple’ over the implications of the National Covenant’s text. This process of persuasion urged the political and clerical elite of the Covenanter leadership to make frequent appeals to popular opinion.21 While much of this was ‘top down’ in approach, the Covenant’s critique of government was ‘based as much on perception as on reality’.22 The process of persuasion should not lead us to believe that there were only two interpretations of the Covenant’s text. These debates touched on a range of issues. The transmission of such ideas was dependent upon local circumstances and was likely to alter along the way.23 In Aberdeen, divisions within the Council 18 Mullan,

Episcopacy, pp. 179–80. Alexander D. Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the Mind of Robert Baillie, 1637–1662’, SHR, 93 (2014), 29–55. 20 David Stevenson, ‘The Radical Party in the Kirk, 1637–1645’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 26 (1974); David Stevenson, ‘Conventicles in the Kirk, 1619–1637: The Emergence of a Radical Party’, RSCHS, 18 (1972–4); Laura A. M. Stewart, ‘Authority, Agency and Reception of the Scottish National Covenant of 1638’, in Insular Christianity: Alternative Models of the Church in Britain and Ireland, c.1570–1700, ed. Robert Armstrong and Tadhg Ó hAnnracháin (Manchester, 2013); Laurence A. B. Whitley, A Great Grievance: Ecclesiastical Lay Patronage in Scotland until 1750 (Eugene, OR, 2013), pp. 34–6. 21 Margaret Steele, ‘Covenanting Political Propaganda, 1638–89’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 1995). 22 Margaret Steele, ‘The “Politik Christian”: The Theological Background to the National Covenant’, in The Scottish National Covenant in its British Context, ed. John Morrill (Edinburgh, 1990), pp. 40–1. 23 Sharon Adams, ‘The Making of the Radical South-West: Charles I and his Scottish 19

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during the mid-1630s had a direct impact on how parts of the burgh responded to the Covenant in 1638, while Covenanting ideas failed to make much progress in the Western Highlands until they tallied with local, clan concerns in the mid-1640s.24 Other local studies have unseated long-held assumptions about regional identities and the ways they interacted with Covenanting ideas.25 In these studies, the authors appreciated how local authorities were ‘positioned between national pressures on the one hand and by local dynamics on the other’.26 The ultimate failure of the King’s Covenant in most of the country outside of Aberdeenshire shows the power of the Covenant’s wide appeal and its proponents’ ability to gather support across a broad spectrum of society.27 Local circumstances were rarely static and large-scale political shifts could drastically alter what it meant to be a Covenanter. Armed confrontation with Charles I forced some who had previously signed the Covenant to reconsider their position. The Bishops’ Wars acted as a pivot point for contemporaries to rethink their stance vis-à-vis the Covenant. Aware of the space for interpretative innovation, the General Assembly attempted to shape public opinion – in Scotland and England – to maintain their dominant interpretation of events.28 James Graham, future marquis of Montrose, initially an enthusiastic supporter of the National Covenant’s cause, felt that the protest had already done enough to limit royal intervention in Scottish affairs. Montrose led a ‘moderate wing’ of thought whose stance on the use of force diverged from that of the Covenanter leadership.29 kingdom, 1625–1649’, in Celtic Dimensions of the British Civil Wars, ed. John R. Young (Edinburgh, 1997), pp. 53–74. 24 Gordon DesBrisay, ‘“The Civill Wars Did Overrun All”: Aberdeen, 1630–1690’, in Aberdeen Before 1800: A New History, ed. E. Patricia Dennison, David Ditchburn and Michael Lynch (East Linton, 2002), pp. 241–7; Sherrilynn Theiss, ‘The Western Highlands and Isles, 1616–1649: Allegiances During the “Scottish Troubles”‘ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2006), pp. 186–219. 25 John Barrett and Alastair Mitchell, Elgin’s Love-Gift: Civil War in Scotland and the Depositions of 1646 (Chichester, 2007); Barry Robertson, ‘The Covenanting North of Scotland, 1638–1647’, Innes Review, 61 (2010), 24–51; Allan Kennedy, ‘“A Heavy Yock Uppon Their Necks”: Covenanting Government in the Northern Highlands, 1638–1651’, Journal of Scottish Historical Studies, 30 (2010), 93–112; Chris R. Langley, ‘Sheltering Under the Covenant: The National Covenant, Orthodoxy and the Irish Rebellion, 1638–1644’, SHR, 96 (2017). 26 Chris R. Langley, Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 (London, 2016), pp. 175–7. 27 Hilary L. Rubinstein, Captain Luckless: James, First Duke of Hamilton 1606–1649 (Edinburgh, 1975), p. 79; Kirsteen M. MacKenzie, ‘Restoring the Nation? Hamilton and the Politics of the National Covenant’, International Review of Scottish Studies, 36 (2011), 67–91. 28 Sarah Waurechen, ‘Covenanter Propaganda and Conceptualizations of the Public During the Bishops’ Wars, 1638–1640’, Historical Journal, 52 (2009), 63–86; Laura A. M. Stewart, Urban Politics and the British Civil Wars: Edinburgh, 1617–53 (Leiden, 2006), p. 247; Stewart, Rethinking, ch. 1. 29 Robertson, Royalists at War, pp. 57–9.

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The actions of the Covenanter leadership after the Bishops’ Wars should not mislead us into assuming that the movement was any more unified than in 1638. Between August and September 1643 Covenanter leaders discussed a defensive alliance with the English Parliamentarians. The resulting Solemn League and Covenant bound the Covenanter leaders with the king’s enemies in England and served to protect Covenanter gains since the end of the Bishops’ Wars. The document also bound the English to reform their Church with the help of a Scottish delegation sent to the Westminster Assembly of Divines. The compact created a military force that would have a decisive impact on the course of the English war and entangled the Covenanters in a much wider conflict. Until relatively recently, conversations about Scottish involvement in English affairs revolved around the extent to which leading Covenanters envisaged a type of pan-British presbyterian union.30 However, whatever the aims of the mission, there were quite profound differences within the Scottish delegation sent south of the border that reflected tensions within the Covenanting movement.31 Theologically, for example, there were profound differences between the type of Church polity envisaged by commissioners such as Robert Baillie and the unprecedented spiritual journey of Samuel Rutherford.32 Covenanter leaders deployed a range of sometimes conflicting continental templates to support their vision for a presbyterian settlement.33 The traditional debates about Covenanter motivation, presbyterian expansionism and the assumption that there was one type of unified Scottish presbyterian vision lose some of their potency when we appreciate the sheer depth of thought on these topics. We cannot assume that the men within the Covenanter leadership were unanimous in subscribing to one form of presbyterianism or one line of political thought. The Solemn League and Covenant refined the subtext of Covenanting in such a way as to make some previously ardent supporters uncomfortable. The marriage of convenience with English Independents certainly accorded with the 30

David G. Mullan, ‘“Uniformity in Religion”: The Solemn League and Covenant (1643) and the Presbyterian Vision’, in Later Calvinism: International Perspectives, ed. W. Fred Graham (Kirksville, MO, 1994), pp. 249–53. 31 David Stevenson, ‘The Early Covenanters and the Federal Union of Britain’, in Scotland and England 1286–1815, ed. Roger A. Mason (Edinburgh, 1987), pp. 163–81; Michael Lynch, ‘A Nation Born again? Scottish Identity in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, in Image and Identity: The Making and Re-Making of Scotland through the Ages, ed. Dauvit Brown, Richard J. Finlay and Michael Lynch (Edinburgh, 1998), pp. 92–3; David Stevenson, Revolution and Counter-Revolution in Scotland, 1644–51, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 2003), p. 182–3; Allan I. Macinnes, ‘The “Scottish Moment”, 1638–45’, in The English Civil War: Conflict and Contexts, 1640–49, ed. John Adamson (Basingstoke, 2009), pp. 141–4. 32 Hunter Powell, The Crisis of British Protestantism: Church Power in the Puritan Revolution, 1638–1644 (Manchester, 2015), pp. 99–112; John Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions: The Mind of Samuel Rutherford (Cambridge, 1997). 33 William Ferguson, Scotland’s Relations with England: A Survey to 1707 (Edinburgh, 1977), pp. 125–7.

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Covenanters’ political ambitions, but did not sit so easily with their religious sensibilities. Parishioners across urban and rural Scotland considered the way the Solemn League and Covenant changed the terms of the National Covenant they had already signed. Subscription to the Solemn League and Covenant could raise uncomfortable questions about sovereignty and the original ends of the Covenant. As trust between Independents and presbyterians in Westminster eroded and some in the Covenanter leadership wanted to come to terms with Charles I, observers back at home continued to reflect on the uneasy partnership.34 Moreover, as the marquis of Montrose continued to score unlikely victory after unlikely victory, any enthusiasm that still surrounded Scottish intervention in England quickly dissipated.35 The uneasy alliance forged by the Solemn League and Covenant was destroyed by Hamilton’s separate agreement with the king – the Engagement – at the end of 1647 and into 1648. Hamilton took advantage of the increasing mistrust between presbyterians and Independents and the Covenant’s ambiguous statements about protecting the king’s interests. In exchange for vague promises relating to Scottish religion, Hamilton agreed to enter England with an invading force – made up of former royalists – on the king’s behalf. Aghast, the Kirk leadership condemned Hamilton’s negotiations with the king, as he had not exacted sufficient detail on the presbyterian settlement. The Engagement controversy forced another reckoning of Covenanter identity and exposed divisions that Covenanter leaders had previously managed to contain. Ecclesiastical authorities expected that local clergymen would openly condemn the Engagement to flush out conformists and eventually purged parishes of those ministers whose views did not tally with their own. Parishioners registered their dissent by leaving sermons, heckling preachers or reading out rival proclamations from the pulpit.36 Meanwhile, in the very different context of the Scottish expatriate communities in Ulster, the majority of the nobility sided with the Engagement, while clerics in the region openly condemned the agreement as contrary to the true intention of the Covenants.37 While work remains to be done on the level of local support for the Engagement, its consequences were clear: the Engagement represented nothing less than a battle to control the prevailing interpretation of the National Covenant’s text and intention. This divergence, however, was not simply between those who were ‘for’ and those who were ‘against’ the Engagement. The Engagement brought to the surface tensions around the Solemn League and Covenant and 34 Stevenson,

Revolution and Counter-Revolution, pp. 14–20. Edward J. Cowan, Montrose: For Covenant and King (Edinburgh, 1977), ch. 11. 36 David Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers in the Church of Scotland Under the Covenanters, 1638–1651’, Church History, 44 (1975), 329–32; Chris R. Langley, ‘“Diligence in his Ministrie”: Changing Views of Clerical Sufficiency in Mid-Seventeenth-Century Scotland’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte, 104 (2013), 284–7. 37 Kevin Forkan, ‘The Ulster Scots and the Engagement, 1647–8’, Irish Historical Studies, 35 (2007), 455–61. 35

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raised questions about how best to achieve God’s work on Earth. The Engagement’s promise to reduce the threat of the Independents in England seemed, to some at least, to accord entirely with the terms of the Covenants. The concessions made to royalists were, therefore, tolerable. Even prominent supporters of the Covenants, such as Robert Baillie, were initially positive about the Engagement’s prospects.38 The Engagement continued to raise questions that betrayed the complexities of Covenanter identity after 1648, revealing the variety of Covenanting narratives beneath the surface. In an ironic reversal, the backlash against the Engagement, after Hamilton’s defeat at Preston in September 1648, posed similar questions, this time relating to how more ardent Covenanters could use English Independents (led by Oliver Cromwell) to marginalise former royalists. Political events quickly served to fill the interpretative vacuum within the National Covenant and Solemn League and Covenant. The Covenanters of 1648 faced challenges of conscience that the authors of the document had not envisaged in 1638. The space for interpretation was not binary, though. It contained within it a wide range of possible answers on how to square Covenant’s hazy intentions with the changing political context of the day. At the same time, Covenanters needed to ensure that their solution to this equation accorded with God’s wishes and presbyterian casuists desperately sought ways to explain their actions in a way that was consistent with their original reading of the Covenant’s text. The execution of Charles I brought the National Covenant’s ambiguity over protecting the king’s person back to the fore. While most Covenanters distrusted the king’s actions, the activity of the radical group of Independents at Westminster was cause for further alarm. As a Scottish delegation rushed south, a radical Rump of the English parliament found Charles I guilty of treason, executed him and abolished the office of king in England and Ireland. While the Scottish response was swift – to send commissioners to Charles Stuart, the eldest son of the executed king – the Covenanters again diverged on how far they could trust the future Charles II. While the dominant reading of events was that proclaiming Charles II was a method to uphold the union established at the Solemn League and Covenant, there was unease at the prospect of admitting Charles, a man implicated in royalist risings and one whose commitment to the Covenant was questionable at best, to take the throne.39 Despite the celebrations surrounding Charles Stuart’s return, there was a wide range of concerns over Charles’s place in a covenanted system.40 The English invasion of mid-1650 temporarily reconciled different understandings of the Covenant’s meaning. Covenanter leaders succeeded in condemning the English invaders’ actions as unjust and contrary to the Solemn 38 Campbell,

Robert Baillie, p. 50. Kirsteen M. MacKenzie, ‘Oliver Cromwell and the Solemn League and Covenant of the Three Kingdoms’, in Oliver Cromwell: New Perspectives, ed. Patrick Little (Basingstoke, 2009), pp. 153–6. 40 Stevenson, Revolution and Counter-Revolution, pp. 141–9. 39

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League and Covenant.41 Kirk leaders engaged in a protracted pamphlet war with the invaders, hoping to convince the populace at large of their dominant reading of the Covenants.42 The English army, in response, littered Scottish settlements with printed works urging their reading of God’s providence. Unfortunately, just like the original subscription in 1638, the English invasion provided only a temporary umbrella for very different readings of how to establish a settlement.43 Firstly, practical issues served to undermine the Covenanter leaders’ views of events. Law and order in occupied Scotland were remarkably efficient and the army leadership tried to reduce its impact on the population. Discipline was far stricter during the army’s time in Scotland than Ireland, for example.44 Furthermore, while parish worship was remarkably resilient, parishioners ignored official orders to not fraternise with the ‘sectarian’ invader.45 The vicissitudes of warfare exposed Scottish civilians to new, Independent-inspired ideas, with Baptist churches in Leith, Edinburgh, Ayr, Perth, Cupar, Aberdeen and Inverness.46 Secondly, Covenanter leaders disagreed on how far they should go in reintegrating former royalists and malignants into their ranks. Prior to the defeat at the Battle of Dunbar in September 1650, parliament formally rescinded the Act of Classes and reinstated a wide swathe of former royalists and rebels into the army. Following the defeat at Dunbar, more ardent Covenanters felt that the presence of these men had cost them victory and almost certainly provoked divine retribution. In 1651 a small group of ministers refused to accept the new settlement and, as a consequence, were barred from attending General Assembly meetings. Ministers in Linlithgow, Biggar, Deer and Glasgow established breakaway presbyteries and, in some cases, attempted to plant favourable ministers in vacant parishes.47 The debates between the groups who became known as Protesters and Resolutioners were far from binary and show a range of shared ground and blurred ideological boundaries. While ministers and high-ranking laity were still committed to a presbyterian structure, the degree to which they agreed upon secular involvement in the Church differed markedly and, importantly, could 41

R. Scott Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland: Conquest and Religion 1650–1660 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 30–7. 42 Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland, ch. 2. 43 Crawford Gribben, ‘Polemic and Apocalyptic in the Cromwellian Invasion of Scotland’, Literature and History, 23 (2014), 1–18. 44 Frances D. Dow, Cromwellian Scotland 1651–1660 (Edinburgh, 1979), p. 23; Lesley M. Smith, ‘Sackcloth for the Sinner or Punishment for the Crime? Church and Secular Courts in Cromwellian Scotland’, in New Perspectives on the Politics and Culture of Early Modern Scotland, ed. John Dwyer, Roger A. Mason and Alexander Murdoch (Edinburgh, 1982), pp. 116–19. 45 Langley, Worship, pp. 57–9. 46 Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland, p. 38; James Scott, ‘Baptists in Scotland During the Commonwealth’, RSCHS, 3 (1929). 47 Chris R. Langley (ed.), The Synod Book of Lothian and Tweeddale, 1648–1659, Scottish History Society (Woodbridge, 2016), pp. xxv–xxviii.

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change over time. As Kyle Holfelder noted, the binary division of ‘moderate’ and radical in this context ‘can become somewhat confusing’.48 The issue of how the Church should relate to a potentially illegitimate secular government sat at the heart of these debates and reflected tensions within the Covenanting movement. Some figures, notably Patrick Gillespie, were increasingly happy to talk to the Cromwellian regime, while others remained uneasy about how far they could trust the new government.49 As the commissioners of the General Assembly warned in 1651, those who had signed the Covenant needed to take care ‘to see the evill on both sides, and to warne against both’.50 The two dominant readings of the Covenant were stuck between royalists on the one side and English Independents on the other. To square this increasingly tight circle, those who had subscribed the Covenant needed to reflect carefully on their actions. Others simply withdrew from public debate because the decision was too complex and involved too many blurred boundaries. The restoration of monarchy reset the hermeneutical process once again. Initially, Charles II’s seemingly conciliatory noises towards presbyterians received a cautiously positive response. However, from 1661, the Restoration government moved decisively against presbyterianism in what one scholar called ‘one of the most reactionary legislative programs in Scottish history’.51 In January, the new government rescinded the Covenant and enacted a new oath of allegiance. While Ian Cowan’s magisterial study of the later Covenanters stressed how even the most ardent of Covenanters had, by the 1660s, discredited most of the National Covenant’s ideas, it is quite clear that the Covenants were no dead letter in the Restoration period.52 Instead, the majority of presbyterians and episcopalians who had lived through the conflicts of the mid-seventeenth century had developed a ‘highly practical’ method of reading political events, underpinned by a ‘prevailing concern to ensure the preservation of order’.53 In their writings, presbyterians contested the literature that made up the ‘covenanting canon’ and most were often eager to promote their moderate credentials to distance themselves from imputations of rebellion or treason.54 48

Kyle D. Holfelder, ‘Factionalism in the Kirk During the Cromwellian Invasion and Occupation of Scotland, 1650 to 1660: The Protester-Resolutioner Controversy’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1998), pp. 9–10. 49 Julia Buckroyd, ‘Lord Broghill and the Scottish Church, 1655–1656’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 27 (1976), 359–68. 50 NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 476. 51 Mark L. Mirabello, ‘Dissent and the Church of Scotland, 1660–1690’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 1988), p. 26. 52 Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters, p. 46. 53 Clare Jackson, Restoration Scotland, 1660–1690: Royalist Politics, Religion and Ideas (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 168–77; 218–19. 54 Caroline Erskine, ‘The Political Thought of the Restoration Covenanters’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 155–72; Neil McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters: The Later Covenanters in Scotland, c.1648–1682’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Strathclyde, 2016), pp. 20–2.

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Presbyterians engaged with the memory of the Covenants in conflicting ways that could both support and attack the restored Stuart monarchs. As Neil McIntyre argues in his recent doctoral thesis, the Covenant still demanded participation and engagement from the populace at large. Indeed, the very memory of the 1640s and 1650s influenced the crown’s approach to government. Government policy had to interact with a populace that was increasingly aware of the ecclesiological issues at stake.55 Moreover, ecclesiastical policies were not as bold as historians once imagined, as politicians negotiated the (sizeable) presbyterian population with policies of indulgence and accommodation.56 Unlike previous assessments, we now appreciate that post-Restoration presbyterianism continued to be wedded to the idea of the Covenants even if the way these ideas were expressed had changed.57 The ways that post-Restoration presbyterians worshipped reflected their understandings of the Covenanting revolution. The Confession of Faith established at the Westminster Assembly in 1643 continued to provide a touchstone for worshippers who, after 1661, wished to define themselves in opposition to the episcopalian settlement.58 Other presbyterians were slow to apply the changes ordered by the new ecclesiastical authorities.59 The omission was deliberate and clearly intended to castigate those who adhered to an imagined Covenanter heritage as extremists. Indeed, the National Covenant, the Solemn League and Covenant and their respective historical legacies remained a central and potentially explosive component of religious and political debates at the end of the seventeenth century as they had been earlier in the century. Splitting the presbyterian interest into ‘moderate’ and ‘radical’ wings does not do justice to the ways that contemporaries engaged with the legacy of the Covenants. Following armed risings in 1685, members of the militant United Societies divided on how best to deal with government pressure. The question of how far one should comply with an ultimately illegitimate regime forced a range of responses – some moderated their stance while others dug their heels in over opposition.60 Indeed, those ministers who received indulgences from the crown 55 Alasdair Raffe, The Culture of Controversy: Religious Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012), p. 92. 56 Julia Buckroyd, Church and State in Scotland, 1660–1681 (Edinburgh, 1980), pp. 99–115; Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters, pp. 74–81. 57 Paul H. Hardacre, ‘The Restoration of the Scottish Episcopacy, 1660–1661’, Journal of British Studies, 1 (1962), 32–51. 58 Alasdair Raffe, ‘Presbyterians and Episcopalians: The Formation of Confessional Cultures in Scotland, 1660–1715’, English Historical Review, 125 (2010), 588–9; Alasdair Raffe, ‘James VII’s Multiconfessional Experiment and the Scottish Revolution of 1688–1690’, History, 100 (2015), 363–5. 59 Alasdair Raffe, ‘Preaching, Reading and Publishing the Word in Protestant Scotland’, in The Oxford Handbook of the Bible, ed. Kevin Killeen et al. (Oxford, 2015). 60 Mark Jardine, ‘The United Societies: Militancy, Martyrdom and the Presbyterian Movement in Late-Restoration Scotland’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2009), pp. 145–50.

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– allowing them to continue preaching – did not always conform and continued to operate in a presbyterian fashion in accordance with their readings of the Covenants, albeit in a less dramatic way than the United Societies.61 These readings push us away from older denominational viewpoints but also serve to further complicate the range of political and religious thought that was active in seventeenth-century Scotland. While this collection aims to bridge the usual historiographical gaps, the book’s terminus is equally artificial. The Covenant’s influence and the process through which people saw themselves as ‘Covenanters’ continued beyond 1689. The fact that the eventual presbyterian restoration in 1690 included no reference to the National Covenant or Solemn League and Covenant should not mislead us into thinking that they had somehow fallen into obsolescence.62 By the eighteenth century, those swearing loyalty to the Covenants associated themselves with particular readings of the past. Following the Union of Parliaments in 1707, presbyterian extremists made frequent reference to the precedent established by the Covenanters of the 1640s to justify their activity. New subscriptions to the Solemn League and Covenant following the Union refashioned stories of Covenanter heroism but stripped them of their complexity.63 Contemporaries frequently referred to ideas contained in the Covenants but in a heavily doctored, ‘reformulated’ context that would have made little sense to the original authors.64 The Covenants continued to be relevant well into the eighteenth century and renewing the oaths became a fundamentally divisive issue in the re-establishment of presbyterianism after 1690. The Covenants’ potency came from this malleability. A document from the different context of the mid-seventeenth century could continue to hold a (refashioned) relevance well into the eighteenth century and beyond. Key Developments and New Contexts This is the first collection of essays to explore Covenanter identity since John Morrill’s The Scottish National Covenant in its British Context of 1991 and John Young’s Celtic Dimensions of the British Civil Wars, published six years later.65 Both essay collections showed how the Covenanting revolution of the mid-seventeenth 61

Hyman, ‘A Church Militant’, 71–3. Colin Kidd, ‘Conditional Britons: The Scots Covenanting Tradition and the EighteenthCentury British State’, English Historical Review, 117 (2002), 1148–52. 63 Valerie Wallace, ‘Presbyterian Moral Economy: The Covenanting Tradition and Popular Protest in Lowland Scotland, 1707–c.1746’, SHR, 89 (2010), 57. 64 Richard J. Finlay, ‘Keeping the Covenant: Scottish National Identity’, in Eighteenth Century Scotland: New Perspectives, ed. Tom M. Devine and John R. Young (East Linton, 1999), pp. 125–6. 65 John Morrill, ed., The Scottish National Covenant in its British Context, 1638–51 (Edinburgh, 1991); John R. Young, ed., Celtic Dimensions of the British Civil Wars (Edinburgh, 1997). 62

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century had profound consequences for the Stuart monarchy across British and Ireland. Morrill emphasised how scholars across Britain and Ireland had ‘conversations about the same sort of things but … in separate if adjacent rooms’. The purpose of Morrill’s volume was to prevent an English takeover of ‘British’ historical perspectives. The chapters that appear in this volume agree that the Covenanting revolution had significant implications in a British and Irish context. However, by taking a pan-British and Irish perspective, we risk overlooking the sheer complexity of Covenanter identities within Scotland over the course of the seventeenth century. The timing of this volume takes advantage of three separate historiographical developments that have emerged since the volumes edited by Morrill and Young. First, scholars of early modern Europe – particularly Scotland – are increasingly aware of the intricacies of local responses to major political and religious change. Margo Todd’s magisterial The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland cemented the idea that Protestant reformers promoted religious change through negotiation and local adaptation rather than top-down edict and tacit local acceptance. Todd contended that the Kirk’s ability to ‘embrace and even celebrate ambiguity’ was essential in its efforts to persuade the Scottish laity to adopt Protestant ideas.66 Local studies now play an important role in understanding the range of responses to the Protestant Reformation in emphasising the interplay became local and national ideas.67 While Todd’s own analysis stopped at the ‘heady atmosphere’ of the Covenanting revolution, the editor of one recent collection encouraged scholars to consider extending these efforts to the period after 1638.68 The second development, occurring largely in tandem with the first, is the increasing interest in oath-taking. The meaning of judicial and religious oaths was rarely static and would shift depending on audience and context. While oaths or promises were context specific and ‘uttered in appropriate circumstances’, swearers or subscribers would imbue the words of the oath with meaning even if this was sometimes subversive.69 Moreover, as Ted Vallance and David Cressy have shown for multiple cases in the mid-seventeenth century, 66

Margo Todd, The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland (New Haven, CT, 2002), p. 7. 67 For some of these local perspectives, see John McCallum, Reforming the Scottish Parish: The Reformation in Fife, 1560–1640 (Farnham, 2010); Catherine E. McMillan, ‘Keeping the Kirk: The Practice and Experience of Faith in North East Scotland, 1560–1610’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2016); Tim Slonosky, ‘Burgh Government and Reformation: Stirling, c.1530–1565’, in Scotland’s Long Reformation: New Perspectives on Scottish Religion, c.1500–c.1660, ed. John McCallum (Leiden, 2016), pp. 49–68; Mary Verschuur, Politics or Religion? The Reformation in Perth 1540–1570 (Edinburgh, 2008). 68 John McCallum, ‘Introduction’, in Scotland’s Long Reformation: New Perspectives on Scottish Religion, c.1500–c.1660, ed. John McCallum (Leiden, 2016), pp. 12–20. 69 John Spurr, ‘Perjury, Profanity and Politics’, The Seventeenth Century, 8 (1993), 29–50; John Spurr, ‘A Profane History of Early Modern Oaths’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 11 (2001), 44–9.

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authorities (whether secular or religious) offered competing interpretations of texts. A small industry of Protestant writers busied themselves with such questions of conscience and casuistry.70 Other scholars have gone further, arguing that the seventeenth century saw the emergence of a new, subjective understanding of the idea of conscience that could be manipulated to suit personal circumstances.71 Understanding the negotiation of religious doctrine and the active engagement of lay people with oaths and covenants can provide new questions for us to ask of the Covenanting legacy and the ways people interacted with its complex and changing set of priorities. Finally, this interest in flexibility and negotiation has extended to how contemporaries in the early modern period remembered key events and understood their own past. Memories could be reinterpreted, selectively forgotten or gathered up and redeployed.72 Moreover, individual experiences or recollections constantly interacted with those of others and were changed as a result. These supposed collective memories were ‘fabricated’ versions of personal memories ‘adjusted to what the mind considers, rightly or wrongly, as suitable in a social environment’.73 Memories are not just personal, but they interact with a much wider social context. Noteworthy events could become vested with posthumous significance and act as historical monuments or lieux de mémoire around which interpretations jockeyed for position. Sites or objects that memorialised past actions were ‘polysemic’ in that they could hold more than one meaning.74 Such findings are particularly important in understanding the legacy of the Covenants. Despite official acts to obliterate the legislative legacy of the Covenanting period, the memory of the period after 1638 could not be so easily removed. Memories of the conflicts and upheavals of the mid-seventeenth century served to both support and undermine the post-Restoration settlement, making governmental efforts to control the dominant discourse even more

70

David Cressy, ‘The Protestation Protested, 1641 and 1642’, Historical Journal, 45 (2002), 251–79; Edward Vallance, ‘Oaths, Casuistry, and Equivocation: Anglican Responses to the Engagement Controversy’, Historical Journal, 44 (2001), 59–77; Edward Vallance, ‘Protestation, Vow, Covenant and Engagement: Swearing Allegiance in the English Civil War’, Historical Research, 75 (2002), 408–24. 71 Jonathan M. Gray, ‘Vows, Oaths, and the Propagation of a Subversive Discourse’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 41 (2010), 731–56; Carol Loar, ‘“Under Felt Hats and Worsted Stockings”: The Uses of Conscience in Early Modern English Coroners’ Inquests’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 41 (2010), 393–414. 72 Roger Chartier, On the Edge of a Cliff: History, Language, and Practices (Baltimore, MD, 1997), pp. 15–20; Peter Stallybrass, Roger Chartier, John F. Mowery and Heather Wolfe, ‘Hamlet’s Tables and the Technologies of Writing in Renaissance England’, Shakespeare Quarterly, 55 (2004), 410–14. 73 Paul Ricoeur, Memory, History, Forgetting (Chicago, IL, 2004), pp. 93–131; Noa Gedi and Yigal Elam, ‘Collective memory – What is it?’, History & Memory, 8 (1996), 47. 74 For more on this concept, see Richard S. Clay, Iconoclasm in Revolutionary Paris: The Transformation of Signs (Oxford, 2013).

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important.75 Processes of remembering and reimagining were not confined to the upper echelons of society. Soldiers, families and communities continually reframed their experiences to fit their new socio-political circumstances.76 Taken together, these three developments have the potential to profoundly influence how we understand the conflicts and subsequent representations of the seventeenth century. The chapters that follow build on this appreciation of the complexity of early modern identity by showing how Covenanter ideology and memory interacted with the changing political and religious landscape of the period. Understanding the Covenants’ legacy reveals how the ambiguity of the original text was frequently refashioned, made relevant to the times and fine-tuned for a range of different purposes. While the political fortunes of those who related to the Covenants fluctuated, the relevance of the documents themselves – and the ideas that they came to represent – remained critical to social, political and religious discourse long after the original authors had left the stage. The volume is divided into three sections that relate to key ways in which people engaged with the Covenants or the ideas contained within them: ‘Swearing and Subscribing’, ‘Identity and Self Fashioning’ and ‘Remembering’. The contributions span much of the seventeenth century to show how these processes were not confined to one period of the Covenanting revolution. In the first section, Hood, Goatman and Lind, Newton and McDougall explore how contemporaries understood the act of subscribing or swearing allegiance to the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant. The interplay between competing readings of the Covenant and the attempt to enforce new orthodox understandings of the text provide examples of the process of allegiance formation. One archetypal model of Covenanter experience is alluded to in all four of the chapters, leaving us with an impression of the rich, and often highly individualised, decisions people made when faced with the documents. The fact that the text of the National Covenant was vague is beyond the point: no text, especially one that was promulgated in so varied a territory as Scotland, existed with one meaning. The application of these diverse readings of the Covenant’s text is revealed by Jamie McDougall’s assessment of the local, presbytery-led campaigns to get communities to swear allegiance to the National Covenant during the late 1630s. The variation in these practices attest to the ways in which the National Covenant could be read and, importantly, received. Goatman and Lind and Newton’s contributions show how the values behind this process could be affected by local circumstances and individual conscience. Nathan Hood explores two particular Covenant subscriptions in and around Edinburgh to reflect on the emotional methods used by preachers to make signing the Covenant such a life-defining event. 75

Matthew Neufeld, The Civil Wars after 1660: Public Remembering in Late Stuart England (Woodbridge, 2013). 76 Andrew Hopper, ‘The Farnley Wood Plot and the Memory of the Civil Wars in Yorkshire’, Historical Journal, 45 (2002), 283–6; Mark Stoyle, ‘“Memories of the Maimed”: The Testimony of Charles I’s Former Soldiers, 1660–1730’, History, 88 (2003), 204–26.

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While most discussions have focused on the actual meaning of the National Covenant, these studies show that there was frequently a divergence between the dominant discourse and its local application. The four chapters in this section lay the foundations for further study of how contemporaries signed the National Covenant and how this experience could vary. The second section of the book addresses the ways in which the Covenanting revolution affected the ways people of all stripes defined themselves. Chris R. Langley’s chapter underscores the ways in which the Covenanting revolution forced contemporaries to reconsider the heritage and meaning of Scotland’s sixteenth-century history for their own factious times. Louise Yeoman, by contrast, shows how the National Covenant could allow for a flourishing of radical female piety as a way to legitimise the Covenanters’ unprecedented actions. Yeoman shows how the foundations for a much more radical form of piety lay within the Covenanting movement, one that drew power from ecstatic visions, trances and involuntary bodily responses. This radical form of presbyterian piety was in stark contrast to the subjects of Andrew Lind’s chapter. Lind explores the complex ways in which ministers attempted to show themselves as loyal to the crown while also not falling foul of the ire of Covenanter leaders. In this, Lind reveals a hitherto neglected group of royalist clergy who had to engage with the National Covenant while appeasing their own consciences and their royalist patrons. Salvatore Cipriano Jnr’s final chapter in this section shows how the universities, so key to the process of identity and self fashioning in the next generation of Covenanter ministers, also fractured over how to understand the significance of the Covenants’ meaning. Periodic purges of staff in the universities and the parochial clergy were intended to purify the Covenanting movement, but they served to show that differences over how to interpret the Covenants could quickly divide key institutions. The chapters in this section show that Covenanter leaders, for their part, were well aware of the importance of uniting behind one leading interpretation of the Covenanting movement, but that they were unable to define one that maintained the movement’s initial loose unity. The collection’s final section addresses how contemporaries understood the meaning and significance of the Covenanting revolution. Neil McIntyre’s chapter, influenced by prevailing theories of cultural memory, highlights how the events of the 1640s – particularly the Battle at Mauchline Moor in June 1648 – became increasingly contentious. Allan Kennedy builds on McIntyre’s perspective that Covenanting radicalism was reframed to align with new interests after 1660, marking a number of surprising continuities in governmental structures between the Covenanting revolution and the post-Restoration settlement. Kennedy suggests that the dominant narrative of seditious, unruly Covenanters had a direct impact on the nature of the Restoration state, despite presbyterian attempts to distance itself from allegations of radicalism. It is quite clear from both chapters that the memory of Covenanter radicalism was itself far from united – even if the stereotypes of Covenanter radicalism continue to pervade 16

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modern memories. Alasdair Raffe closes the collection by asking how we define the Covenanters in post-Restoration Scotland. Raffe argues that historians have paid too much attention to the radical Covenanters who emerged after 1660 and have overlooked those presbyterians who managed to maintain their links to the Covenant while being remarkably in tune with royal policy. At first glance, any fear that historians have overlooked the importance of the Covenanting revolution seems to be misguided.77 By 1998, the Covenanting revolution of 1638 was considered one of Scotland’s two ‘biggest historiographical stools’ alongside the Protestant Reformation of the sixteenth century.78 However, despite the surge in interest in the Covenanters, much work remains to be done around both key aspects of the narrative (1648 and 1661 in particular) and our broader understanding of the Covenant’s place in early modern society. Much of the current historiography maintains the categorisations devised by the denominational polemicists of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries (although thankfully divorced from the former vitriol). In 1975 Walter Makey lauded the work of David Stevenson, concluding that ‘the age of the polemicist is over and only the bigot will regret its passing’.79 Few would now disagree with Stevenson’s assertion that ‘far too much so-called political history of seventeenth-century Scotland has been little more than church history’.80 However, the non-denominational approach taken from the 1970s continued to use existing categorisations: Covenanter, episcopalian, hard line, radical, conservative or moderate. While these are useful shorthand, they fail to convey the richness or shifting nature of political and religious thought in this period. As Alexander Campbell has recently suggested, the question is not why this loosely presbyterian coalition emerged in 1638 or lost influence after 1660. Instead, one needs to ask how Scottish presbyterianism ‘maintained the appearance of a unified movement as long as it did’.81 No single state of Covenanting emerges from the chapters in this volume. Rather, the process of Covenanting was one of constant dialogue and interaction with the Covenants’ texts, the memory of the covenanted past and the meaning of them for new, emergent contexts. The rules that governed this interplay were based on local circumstances and long-standing pressures that could be fuelled by short-term expediency. As Covenanter identities were not static, the making of an archetypal ‘Covenanter’ is relegated to a parlour game. More profoundly, the maintenance of a rigid distinction between the extremes of Covenanter identity is made increasingly difficult because pressure from 77

Cowan, ‘The Covenanters’, 35. Alan R. MacDonald, The Jacobean Kirk, 1567–1625: Sovereignty, Polity and Liturgy (Aldershot, 1998), p. 1. 79 Walter H. Makey, Review of David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44, SHR, 54 (1975), 91. 80 David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 2003), p. 14. 81 Campbell, Robert Baillie, p. 13. 78

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both central government and local context constantly redefined the coveted ‘middle ground’. Most importantly, perhaps, the essays in this volume reflect that there is much work to be done in understanding the Scottish dimensions of Covenanting without resorting to a pan-British approach.

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1 Corporate Conversion Ceremonies: The Presentation and Reception of the National Covenant Nathan C. J. Hood On 18 March 1638 Archibald Johnston of Wariston participated in the swearing of the National Covenant at Currie parish church. This ritual was part of an extensive campaign by the Covenanters to gather support by having all communicants in every parish swear the oath. Wariston reported that before the swearing ceremony the congregation at Currie remained unmoved by the exhortations of their minister, John Chartres. However, when they followed Chartres’ instruction to stand up and lift their hands to swear the Covenant, their expressions dramatically changed. Wariston observed that: in the tuinkling of ane eye their fell sutch ane extraordinarie influence of Gods Sprit upon the whol congregation, melting thair frozen hearts, waltering thair dry cheeks, chainging thair very countenances, as it was a wonder to seie so visible, sensible, momentaneal a chainge upon al, man and woman, lasse and ladde, pastor and people. That Mr. Jhon (Chartres), being suffocat almost with his auin tears, and astonisched at the motion of the whol people, sat doune in the pulpit in ane amazement, bot presently rose againe quhen he sau al the people falling doune on thair knees to mourne and pray, and he and thay for ane quarter of ane houre prayed verry sensibly with many sobs, tears, promises and voues to be thankful and fruitful in the tym-coming.1

A few weeks later Wariston took part in another swearing ceremony at Trinity College church, Edinburgh, on 1 April 1638. As at Currie, when members of the congregation held up their hands to swear the Covenant at the behest of their minister, Henry Rollock, there was a charged emotional outpouring. Raising their hands, thair rayse sik a yelloch, sik aboundance of tears, sik a heavenly harmony of sighs and sobbes, universally through al the corners of the churche, as the lyk was never seien nor heard of. The Sprit of the Lord so filled the sanctuary, warmed the affections, melted the hearts, dissolved the eyes of al the people, men and women, poore and noble; as for ane long tyme they stood stil up with thair hands up unto the Lord, til 1

Wariston, I, pp. 327–8.

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Nathan C. J. Hood Mr. Hery (Rollock) after he recovered himselth, scairse aible to speak, after ane schort exhortation to thankfulnes and fruitfulnes, closed al up in ane heavenly prayer and prayse, and gart sing the 74 Psalm fra 18 v.2.

The rapturous swearing ceremonies at Currie and Trinity College were not unique. It was reported by contemporaries that congregations exhibited similar emotions and gestures in swearing rituals across Scotland.3 That a considerable number of communities swore the National Covenant in heightened states of emotion, though by no means the universal norm, raises the question as to why they experienced these particular kinds of extreme experience when swearing the Covenant. This is a particularly pertinent inquiry given that the ritual was not a mainstream practice in Scottish Reformed piety and so most Scots were unfamiliar with the practice and the emotional norms associated with the rite.4 To date, only Margaret Steele and Laura Stewart have addressed this question directly. Steele has argued that widespread acceptance of Federal Theology and millenarianism within Scotland gave ordinary people an anticipatory ‘collective destiny’ which, being fulfilled in the swearing of the National Covenant, evoked powerful emotions.5 Laura Stewart has also examined the emotionality of public Covenanting, highlighting that the social power of the swearing ceremonies resided in their association with more familiar rituals, such as the preaching of the Word and the Lord’s Supper, stimulating experiences of ‘emotional intensity’.6 David Mullan has addressed the issue indirectly, arguing that Alexander Henderson and Wariston viewed the National Covenant as an intense experience of the renewal of the inner person and that the swearing ceremonies reaffirmed the affective nature of Scottish Reformed piety.7 However, even if Steele, Stewart and Mullan’s arguments are granted, they do not elucidate why swearing ceremonies were consistently accompanied by specific kinds of feeling and gesture. Understanding the nature of the specific emotional responses experienced when swearing the Covenant is crucial for interpreting the presentation and reception of the National Covenant as it was experienced in the parish setting. Stewart has suggested that the meaning of the National Covenant, for the majority of Scots, was informed by the ritual surrounding the oath.8 In her view, the swearing ceremonies show how ministers presented the National 2

Wariston, I, p. 331. Margaret Steele, ‘The “Politik Christian”: The Theological Background to the National Covenant’, in The Scottish National Covenant in Its British Context, ed. John Morrill (Edinburgh, 1990), pp. 31–2; David G. Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, 1590–1638 (Oxford, 2000), pp. 287–8; Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), p. 111. 4 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 203–6; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 98–9. 5 Steele, ‘“Politick Christian”‘, p. 58. 6 Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 107, 111. 7 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 289, 298–9. 8 Stewart, Rethinking, p. 89. 3

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Covenant to their congregations, displaying how they intended it to be received.9 Her position is reinforced by William Reddy, who has argued that the emotional norms of a community can be expressed and inculcated by rituals, practices and conscious behaviours.10 Moreover, Stewart has gone on to claim that investigating the swearing ceremonies can also reveal how congregations, including people of all ages, genders and social standings, received the National Covenant.11 Her view echoes that of Keith Thomas, who suggested that gesture – any bodily movement or posture (or lack thereof) that communicates as an expression of feeling or rhetorical device – is an essential element of social interaction, which, when studied, can reveal the values and assumptions of communities.12 Investigating the emotional norms presented by ministers and the bodily movements of congregations in swearing ceremonies can also help to make sense of the (unexpectedly) widespread support for the National Covenant.13 Thus, investigating swearing ceremonies can contribute to the growing literature concerning the presentation and reception of oaths and vows in a Scottish and pan-British context.14 Consequently, this chapter attempts to examine the presentation and reception of the National Covenant within swearing ceremonies. It will focus on the two accounts recorded by Wariston in his diary: the swearings at Currie Kirk on 18 March 1638 and at Trinity College Kirk on 1 April 1638.15 My main argument is twofold. First, it will be shown that John Chartres and Henry Rollock presented the swearing of the National Covenant as a ritualised form of conversion. Both ministers did this by associating the meaning of the ceremony with familiar liturgical and biblical tropes. In so doing, they indirectly communicated that the swearing of the Covenant should be accompanied by two sincere emotions: godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy. Second, the chapter will contend that the congregations of Currie and Trinity College experienced the swearing of the National Covenant as a corporate conversion experience. It will be shown that the gestures performed by both religious communities during the ceremony were frequently associated with the emotions of conversion within Scottish theology and piety. Their performance in swearing ceremonies indicated the assembled people’s experiences as one of godly sorrow and feeling God’s mercy. 9

Ibid., p. 89. William M. Reddy, The Navigation of Feeling: A Framework for the History of Emotions (Cambridge, 2001), p. 129. 11 Stewart, Rethinking, p. 89. 12 Keith Thomas, ‘Introduction’, in A Cultural History of Gesture: From Antiquity to the Present, ed. Jan N. Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Ithaca, NY, 1992), pp. 5–6. 13 John Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions: The Mind of Samuel Rutherford (Cambridge, 1997), p. 243. 14 Examples include Chris R. Langley, Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 (London, 2016); Jamie McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, RSCHS, 47 (2018); David Cressy, ‘The Protestation Protested, 1641 and 1642’, Historical Journal, 45 (2002); Edward Vallance, Revolutionary England and the National Covenant: State Oaths, Protestantism and the Political Nation, 1553–1682 (Woodbridge, 2005). 15 Wariston, I, pp. 327–8, 330–2. 10

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Before proceeding, it is worth discussing the value of the source material. As one of the architects of the National Covenant, Wariston had a definite interest in exaggerating the extent of the support for the Covenant in his diary, which was written with a public audience in mind.16 Moreover, Wariston’s particular mental attitude may have led him to have an excessively emotional experience during the swearing ceremonies.17 There is a strong possibility that Wariston could have overstated the universality and intensity of the emotional and gestural response to the National Covenant in the swearing ceremonies at Currie and Trinity College. Nevertheless, Wariston’s accounts should be regarded as indispensable because they provide the most detailed descriptions of swearing ceremonies within the extant source material. While it could be true that he overstated the level of feeling experienced by the congregations at Currie and Trinity College during their swearing rituals, there is substantial evidence that there were similar experiences at other swearing ceremonies.18 These other sources indirectly corroborate the general features of Wariston’s accounts. Furthermore, Wariston’s psychological profile may have made him more attuned to the emotional phenomena he witnessed at these ceremonies than other eyewitnesses. His diary, written to examine his thoughts, feelings and actions, highlights his attentiveness to the affective dimension of private and public piety.19 As a result, his testimony of the swearing ceremonies at Currie and Trinity College remains invaluable. Conversion In a late sixteenth-century and early seventeenth-century Scottish context, conversion was thought to consist in the procurement of ‘heart-work’.20 Louise Yeoman and David Mullan have both described this as a kind of knowledge 16

David G. Mullan (ed.), Protestant Piety in Early-Modern Scotland: Letters, Lives and Covenants, 1650–1712, Scottish History Society (Edinburgh, 2008), p. 5. 17 David Stevenson, King or Covenant (Edinburgh, 1996), p. 153; Louise Yeoman, ‘Archie’s Invisible Worlds Discovered: Spiritality, Madness and Johnston of Wariston’s Family’, RSCHS, 27 (1997), 157. 18 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 288–9; Langley, Worship, p. 24; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 110–11. 19 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 137. 20 This was also true of English and North American Puritanism. See Owen C. Watkins, The Puritan Experience (London, 1972); Charles E. Hambrick-Stowe, The Practice of Piety: Puritan Devotional Disciplines in Seventeenth-Century New England (Chapel Hill, NC, 1982); Peter Lake, Moderate Puritans and the Elizabethan Church (Cambridge, 1982); Charles Lloyd Cohen, God’s Caress: The Psychology of Puritan Religious Experience (New York, 1986); Tom Schwanda, Soul Recreation: The Contemplative-Mystical Piety of Puritanism (Eugene, OR, 2012); Barbara H. Rosenwein, Generations of Feeling: A History of Emotions, 600–1700 (Cambridge, 2015), pp. 248–87; S. Bryn Roberts, Puritanism and the Pursuit of Happiness: The Ministry and Theology of Ralph Venning, c.1621–1674 (Suffolk, 2016); Alec Ryrie and Tom Schwanda (ed.), Puritanism and Emotion in the Early Modern World (Basingstoke, 2016).

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with a strong emotional dimension.21 Distinguished from mere intellectual assent, it was a subjective experience of objective Christian doctrine.22 In conversion, this heart-knowledge consisted in two kinds of experience: godly sorrow and a feeling of God’s mercy. Scots developed godly sorrow from a conviction of their sin, an apprehension that they were totally depraved and an acceptance that they were guilty of the manifold sins they had committed and worthy of God’s judgements.23 Yeoman and Mullan have argued that this knowledge of one’s own sinfulness often moved Scots to feelings of terror, despair and suicidal proclivities.24 However, these emotions, though frequently experienced by the godly, were not essential to conversion. 25 Instead, conversion took place when a sinner responded to their sinfulness with sadness for offending God and failing to acknowledge his glory. This is what Robert Bruce, a pioneer of the Covenanting movement, called ‘godly sorrow’.26 This constituted a felt acceptance of one’s absolute dependence upon God. It paved the way for the sinner, released from self-reliance, to experience what Bruce called ‘a feeling of mercy’.27 This emotion was evoked by an apprehension that God’s promises of mercy in Jesus Christ applied to the subject in particular: what the catechisms used in Scotland during this period defined as ‘faith’.28 Knowing God’s mercy often produced feelings of inexpressible peace and joy that did not replace godly sorrow.29 This caused a real change in the subject, enabling them to cooperate with God’s grace.30 However, owing to the corruption of the faculties inherited from Adam’s original sin and Satan’s constant attempts to assault the converted soul with temptations, full penitence and assurance were never attainable in the earthly life. After conversion, the experience of godly sorrow and feeling His mercy continued to grow in conflict with world, flesh and devil.31 Presupposing the widely held view in international Reformed Protestantism, inherited from Thomas Aquinas, that emotions are caused by external objects acting upon or moving 21

Louise Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work: Emotion, Empowerment and Authority in Covenanting Times’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of St Andrews, 1991), pp. 133–4; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 85–8. 22 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 135; Lake, Moderate Puritans, pp. 155–6. 23 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, pp. 7–11; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 90–2. 24 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, pp. 21–8; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 103–4, pp. 111–12. 25 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 103; Watkins, Puritan Experience, p. 9; Cohen, God’s Caress, p. 205. 26 Robert Bruce, Sermons, ed. William Cunningham (Edinburgh, 1843), p. 357. 27 Bruce, Sermons, p. 361. 28 John Calvin, The Catechisme of Manner to Teache Children the Christian Religion (Edinburgh, 1564), p. 50; James Melville, A Spirituall Propine of a Pastour to his People (Edinburgh, 1589), p. 44; John Craig, A Short Summe of the Whole Catechisme (London, 1597), p. 18. 29 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 138; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 92. 30 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, pp. 28–9. 31 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 111–39; Hambrick-Stowe, Practice of Piety, pp. 54–90.

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the appetites, it was thought that the Holy Spirit created godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy directly in the soul.32 Thus, the whole conversion process was, in some sense, ‘passively’ received.33 The Presentation of the Covenant at Currie John Chartres and Henry Rollock presented the swearing of the National Covenant as a ritualised and collective form of conversion. They did this by associating the significance of swearing the Covenant with more familiar scriptural and liturgical tropes associated with conversion. In the case of Chartres, this was achieved by holding the swearing ceremony on a day set aside for a ‘solmene fast’.34 For Scottish Reformed Protestants, public fasting was used as a corporate response to a real or foreseen crisis. Inspired by the Bible, Scots viewed these calamities, actual or imagined, as signs of God’s anger against Scotland, and they were convinced that acts of public fasting and humiliation could avert the judgements of God.35 Thus, at national, regional and local levels congregations participated in intermittent public fasts in the face of crises, so much so that Ian Hazlett has suggested that Scotland was ‘in the vanguard of the fasting tradition until the eighteenth century and beyond’.36 During a public fast, participants were expected to experience godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy for the ceremony to be valid. In the directions for public fasting written in 1566, ministers were instructed to lead the congregation in asking the Father to send the Holy Spirit to ‘worke in our stubbourn hearts … an unfeaned dolour for our former offences’.37 Moreover, ministers were instructed to petition God to place within the heart a ‘fealing and sense that our sinnes are fully purged, and freely remitted by that only one sacrifice, to with obedience, death, and mediation of they only Son our Soverainge Lord, only Pastor, Mediator and hie priest, our Lord Jesus Christ’ – a feeling of ‘grace and mercy’.38 The Edinburgh minister William Struther, writing instructions for a public fast in 1628, concluded that ‘the maine thing indeed, that God requireth in publicke humiliation is true repentance, in godlie sorrow for our sinnes, 32

David S. Sytsma, ‘The Logic of the Heart: Analyzing the Affections in Early Reformed Orthodoxy’, in Church and School in Early Modern Protestantism: Studies in Honor of Richard A. Muller on the Maturation of a Theological Tradition, ed. Jordan J. Ballor, David S. Sytsma and Jason Zuidema (Leiden, 2013). 33 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 11; Cohen, God’s Caress, p. 209. 34 Wariston, I, p. 327. 35 Alec Ryrie, ‘The Fall and Rise of Fasting in the British Reformations’, in Worship and the Parish Church in Early Modern Britain, ed. Natalie Mears and Alec Ryrie (Abingdon, 2013), p. 97. 36 Ian P. Hazlett, ‘Playing God’s Card: Knox and Fasting, 1565–66’, in John Knox and the British Reformations, ed. Roger A. Mason (Aldershot, 1998), p. 182. 37 John Knox, The Works of John Knox, 6 vols (New York, 1966), VI, p. 419. 38 Ibid., p. 418.

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and earnest imploring of his mercie in Jesus Christ’.39 He described this as a ‘repeating of our first conversion’.40 That Struther could consider public fasting a repetition of conversion arose from a distinctively Scottish view that corporate rituals were intended to facilitate the experiences of godly sorrow and assurance. Louise Yeoman has argued that rituals were thought valid by Scottish Reformed Protestants when they stirred ‘up certain patterns of emotion’.41 In the case of fasting, this ‘emphasis was on renewing the heart, by reaching an even deeper level of emotional intensity than that experienced in normal devotion’.42 This line of interpretation is supported by Marilyn Westerkamp, and to a lesser extent Leigh Eric Schmidt, who, writing on Scots–Irish communions in the 1620s and 1630s, has argued that because Scots–Irish congregations incorporated both elect and reprobate individuals within the visible church it was thought that through ritual ‘the community must experience conversion, and within and by the community each individual would be nourished’.43 While Westerkamp overstates the corporate dimension of conversion to the neglect of the individual, she is right that communal ceremonies facilitated conversion experiences in those participating. The congregation of Currie would have abstained from any eating or drinking from eight o’clock the night before (Saturday). This was a practice instituted in public fasting to facilitate the procurement of heart-knowledge. The guidelines for public fasting explained that the purpose of ‘the body craving necessary food’ was that ‘the soule may be provoked earnestly to crave God that which it moste neadeth that is mercy for our former unthankfulness, and the assistance of his holy Spirite in tymes to come’.44 The feeling of hunger would have reminded members of the congregation of their need for mercy, and in so doing was intended to stimulate within them a conviction of sin and a feeling of mercy. The congregation would also have been wearing modest clothing. This was another exercise in public fasting aimed at mobilising and embodying the emotion of godly sorrow. Struther argued that the injunction to wear only ‘course and base apparell’, not a person’s ‘best garments’, was essential because ‘remorseful thoughts can be bred’ (that is, mobilised) or could ‘dwell under’ a ‘painted face’ or a ‘husked body’.45 In his view, this was because godly sorrow cannot, in the context of public fasting, be manifested in beautiful clothing, which expresses the emotion of joy. Consequently, the congregation’s apparel

39

William Struther, Scotlands Warning, or a Treatise of Fasting (Edinburgh, 1628), p. 60. Ibid., p. 54. 41 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 175. 42 Ibid., p. 177. 43 Marilyn Westerkamp, Triumph of the Laity: Scots-Irish Piety and the Great Awakening, 1625–1760 (Oxford, 1988), p. 34; Leigh Eric Schmidt, Holy Fairs: Scottish Communions and American Revivals in the Early Modern Period (Princeton, NJ, 1989), pp. 11–32. 44 Knox, Works, VI, p. 416. 45 Struther, Scotlands Warning, pp. 61–2. 40

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would have reminded them that the ritual they were about to participate in should be accompanied by godly sorrow. The changes Chartres made to the liturgy of public fasting to accommodate the swearing ceremony would also have conveyed that it was a ritual of corporate conversion. Usually in a public fast the minister and the people were to prostrate themselves and privately meditate following the reading of Deuteronomy 27 and 28, so that one could ‘secretly into him self … examine his owen conscience, whereinto he findeth himself before God.’46 This examination of one’s sins was intended to bring each penitent to a conviction of their sin and godly sorrow. By replacing this period of self-examination with the reading out and swearing of the Covenant, Chartres implied that the swearing ceremony had a similar liturgical function to the period of private examination in public fasting, and should elicit the same emotional response. That the emotional outpouring of the congregation at Currie lasted about fifteen minutes probably indicated their recognition of this liturgical resemblance, given that a quarter of an hour was the minimum time allotted to the period of private examination. The Presentation of the Covenant at Trinity College, Edinburgh Rollock presented the significance of swearing the Covenant as a form of corporate and ritualised conversion by relating its meaning to familiar biblical tropes. He began by identifying Scotland, ‘especayaly the city of Edinburgh’, as the adulterous wife of God in Jeremiah 3, whom through the Covenant God was reclaiming.47 Comparing his audience with the adulterous wife’s ‘whoredomes and idolatries’, Rollock gave two examples of Scotland’s revolt against God. The first was sabbath breaking. As a violation of one of the Ten Commandments, Rollock cited sabbath breaking as an indicative example of the widespread prevalence of sin in Scotland. The other sin Rollock identified was the ‘receaving first the Perth Articles, and giving the exemples to uthers’.48 Although it was possible to subscribe the Covenant and support the Perth Articles prior to early 1639, Rollock communicated to his congregation that backing and following the Articles was a sin and was incompatible with swearing the National Covenant sincerely.49 His strong stance towards the Articles may have been an attempt by Rollock to prove his own credentials as an ardent Covenanter, given that he had been accused of having favoured episcopal ecclesiology and liturgy. 50 Nevertheless, by categorising both sabbath breaking and the Perth Articles 46 Knox,

Works, VI, p. 419. Wariston, I, p. 330. 48 Ibid., p. 330. 49 John Leslie, A Relation of Proceedings Concerning the Affairs of the Kirk of Scotland: From August 1637 to July 1638 (Edinburgh, 1830), p. 78; Baillie, L&J, I, p. 68; McDougall, ‘Episcopacy’, 15. 50 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 76, 82, 100. 47

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as sins Rollcok identified both personal and national sins together with the ‘whoredomes and idolatries’ of God’s wife in Jeremiah 3. Rollock preached to evoke godly sorrow in his congregation. Scottish Reformed Protestants considered preaching to be effective if it could move the intended audience to conversion through the stimulation of the imagination by vivid rhetorical devices.51 Rollock’s comparison of sabbath breaking and adherence to the Perth Articles with the idolatries of the adulterous wife was an example of preaching being used to bring a congregation to a conviction of sin. This rhetorical device was called the ‘lash of the law’ or ‘lau-work’.52 Though Louise Yeoman and David G. Mullan have argued that this was intended to bring people to despair and terror, preaching the law was primarily aimed at bringing listeners to godly sorrow.53 Using this technique, Rollock creatively attempted to evoke contrition for both individual and corporate sins by including the acceptance of the Perth Articles within the same category as offences against God’s law, implying that moral failure and Caroline religious policy should arouse the same emotional response. Alexander Henderson also used law-work in this way, equating individual sins and the imposition of apparent religious innovations in his preaching to convert his audience.54 Rollock and others used this rhetorical technique to move their congregations to godly sorrow when they swore the National Covenant. Following the lash of the law, Rollock explained the congregation’s part in ceremony by comparing the forthcoming actions to the parable of the prodigal son.55 He claimed that, like the prodigal son, the congregation, in swearing the Covenant, would ‘after the proclamation of treason’ be ‘resolved to returne to our fathers armes’.56 Moreover, he implied that, like the prodigal’s acceptance by ‘the kisse of his faythers mouth’, so too God would greet the swearing of the National Covenant positively.57 Rollock indicated that this greeting would be the ‘Lords immediat presence, assistance and influence upon this congregation, in the most solemne act of worschip’ by petitioning God for this in prayer before making the comparison between the congregation’s acceptance and the prodigal’s restoration.58 51 Margo Todd, The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland (New Haven, CT, 2002), pp. 51–4; Crawford Gribben, ‘Preaching the Scottish Reformation’, in The Oxford Handbook of the Early Modern Sermon, ed. Hugh Adlington, Peter McCullough and Emma Rhatigan (Oxford, 2011), p. 278; Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 21; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 52. 52 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 9; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 90–3. 53 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 21; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, pp. 21, 92. 54 Alexander Henderson, Sermons, Prayers, and Pulpit Addresses, ed. R. Thomson Martin (Edinburgh, 1867), pp. 6–9; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 298. 55 Luke 15:23–32. 56 Wariston, I, p. 330. 57 Ibid., p. 331. 58 Ibid., p. 330.

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By comparing the prodigal son and his congregation, Rollock identified his audience with a familiar archetype of conversion in the action of swearing the Covenant. The parable of a father and two sons was an important trope usually presented in a three-act structure within English literature. First, the son is with the father, the father representing authority and the status quo; the son then departs, rebelling against his father and the values his father signifies; the son comes to an awareness of the misery of his state, and finally he returns to the father, thus internalising and reaffirming the social order from which he had departed.59 Scottish devotional works also utilised this archetype of the prodigal son as an illustration of conversion. William Cowper, whose works were published in England and the Netherlands, argued that the prodigal’s ‘conversion’, that being his return to his father, was motivated by a ‘sense of his owne misery’ and a ‘hope and trust of the mercy in his father’.60 These he identified as the same emotions the Holy Spirit creates in the soul through conversion.61 Sir William Mure of Rowallan wrote a poem lamenting widespread sin and Caroline ecclesiastical policy in which the narrator asked God to receive ‘a prodigall’, who, acknowledging ‘Judgements I justly merite and deserve’ knows and feels that ‘thy mercies far all sins exceed’.62 Likewise, in a prayer authored by Johann Gerhard, a German Lutheran whose prayers were printed within England (1625) and Scotland (1638), the subject renders thanks for God’s remission of sin by acknowledging that they were the prodigal son, ‘lost and condemned’, but by God’s ‘free grace’ and ‘ardent mercie didst embrace mee and kisse mee, in sending thy most beloved Sonne that is in thy bosome, and thy holie Spirit, which is the kisse of thy mouthe’.63 There were also allusions to the prodigal son in the widely practised ritual of public repentance. In parish kirks the administration of ecclesiastical discipline was frequently performed in order to facilitate the conversion and reconciliation of the offender with the community.64 Like the prodigal who is moved by a feeling of misery and a sense of mercy, the penitent in public repentance had to first profess ‘what feare and terrour they haue of Gods judgementes, what haitrent of sinne and dolour for the same: and what sense and feiling they haue of Gods mercyes’.65 They would then have to ‘return’ before the congregation, confessing on their knees, in sackcloth, 59

Alison M. Jack, The Prodigal Son in English and American Literature: Five Hundred Years of Literary Homecomings (Oxford, 2019), pp. 47, 30–1. 60 William Cowper, A Mirrour of Mercie or The Prodigals Conuersion Briefely, and Learnedly Expounded (London, 1615), p. 201. 61 Ibid., p. 272. 62 William Mure, The Joy of Tears or Cordials of Comfort Springing up in the Region of Sorrow (Edinburgh, 1635), pp. 1–2. 63 Johann Gerhard, Gerards Prayers; or, a Daylie Practice of Pietie, trans. Ralph Winterton (Aberdeen, 1638), p. 57. Original emphasis. 64 Todd, Culture, pp. 127–82. 65 Knox, Works, p. 455.

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bareheaded and barefoot, that they were ‘sory for his sinne, and unfeanedly desyreth God to be mercyfull unto him’.66 If the congregation was satisfied with the sincerity of the penitent’s humiliating confession, ‘the elders and chief men of the church’, like the prodigal son’s father, ‘shall take the penitent by the hand, and one or two in name of the whole shall kiss and embrace him with all reverence and gravity, as a member of Christ Jesus’.67 By using the parable of the prodigal son as a pretext for the swearing of the National Covenant, Rollock communicated that swearing was an act of corporate conversion, analogously being the culmination of the narrative’s three-stage structure. The first act was outlined by the National Covenant itself. When he read out the whole Covenant, Rollock would have expounded the first part of the document – a restatement of the Negative Confession (1581) – and explained how the swearing of the band was, in part, to defend ‘the true religion, as it was then reformed, and is expressed in the Confession of Faith above written’.68 Thus, the values that represented the status quo were those expressed by the Negative Confession. The second act was Scotland’s rebellion against God. He had already articulated this as being the prevalence of sin and the acceptance of ecclesiastical innovations by the people of Scotland, making the nation God’s adulterous wife. The final act was to be the return of Scotland’s people to communion with God through swearing the National Covenant. By drawing on the archetype of the prodigal son, Rollock implied that the standard expected for those swearing the National Covenant was to experience a sincere godly sorrow, ‘the proclomation of treason’, and a feeling of mercy, the resolve to ‘returne to our faythers armes’.69 Rollock’s preaching evoked a feeling of mercy in his congregation. Having threatened the lash of the law, preachers would attempt to comfort their congregations by persuading them that God’s unconditional love applied to them.70 This was intended to stir in listeners an assurance that God’s mercy applied to them. Subsequently, by comparing his congregation’s situation in swearing the Covenant with the prodigal son’s, Rollock sought to arouse their imaginations to reinforce their conviction of sin. In turn, this also urged his audience to redouble their feeling of God’s mercy, by emphasising the truth that God, like the prodigal’s father, loves the people of Trinity College and will greet those who swear the Covenant with his immediate presence, assistance and influence. Therefore, in using this sermonic technique, Rollock presented the swearing ceremony as a ritualised form of conversion. In sum, Chartres and Rollock framed the swearing of the National Covenant as a kind of corporate and ceremonial conversion. They did this by borrowing familiar liturgical and scriptural tropes to contextualise the swearing ritual. As a 66

Ibid., p. 457; Todd, Culture, p. 157. The First and Second Booke of Discipline (Amsterdam, 1621), p. 54. 68 Wariston, I, p. 330. 69 Wariston, I, p. 330. 70 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 21; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 92. 67

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result, as Margaret Steele and Laura Stewart have asserted, swearing ceremonies were informed by contemporary theology in that the ritual resembled familiar rites.71 Furthermore, an analysis of the swearing ceremonies concurs with Stewart’s conclusion that preaching was important in how the Covenant was presented to subscribers.72 Moreover, Mullan’s claim that Henderson and Wariston viewed the Covenant as a manifestation of true piety could be extended to ministers such as Chartres and Rollock.73 However, what previous studies have missed is that the theology of conversion that influenced ministerial presentations of swearing ceremonies, mediated through scriptural and liturgical archetypes and practices, entailed an expectation that participants would experience godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy when swearing the Covenant. Furthermore, Chartres and Rollock demonstrate the variety of instruments ministers could use to both convey that these were the emotional norms of the ritual and evoke a conversion experience in their congregations. Chartres used the practices within the ritual of public fasting, while Rollock used imaginative preaching of the law and gospel. What remains to be seen is whether their attempts to create heart-knowledge in their congregations were successful. Gesture The congregations at Currie and Trinity College, Edinburgh, experienced the swearing ceremony as a corporate and ritualised conversion. It is possible to arrive at the experience of the ceremonies by analysing the specific gestures exhibited by those swearing the Covenant. In defence of this kind of methodology, Peter Burke has argued that there was an increasing interest in gesture, the communication of meaning through bodily movement or lack thereof, in western Europe during the early modern period.74 He has observed that there was a multiplication of texts on the psychology of gesture in this period, attempting to provide a ‘vocabulary’ (what does each bodily movement mean?) and ‘grammar’ (in what context should a motion be used, and who should use it?) of gesture.75 The importance of gesture within a religious context in early modern Scotland has also been recognised by Margo Todd, Jane Dawson and Nikki Macdonald, who have noted that Scots were proficient in interpreting non-verbal signals and consequently that the use of gestures provided a powerful medium for conveying the semiotics of worship within a religious

71

Steele, ‘“Politick Christian”’, p. 58; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 107, 111. Rethinking, pp. 109–11. 73 Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 298. 74 Peter Burke, ‘The Language of Gesture in Early Modern Italy’, in A Cultural History of Gesture: From Antiquity to the Present, ed. Jan N. Bremmer and Herman Roodenburg (Ithaca, NY, 1992), pp. 74–5. 75 Ibid., p. 75. 72 Stewart,

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ritual.76 In fact, it could be, as Keith Thomas has argued more generally, that posture could be more important than words in communicating meaning during public worship.77 Thus, gesture can provide an interpretative key to the meaning of religious rituals and how they were experienced, including the swearing of the National Covenant. One could object that the gestures exhibited by those swearing the Covenant might have been feigned. There were significant reasons why those who did not support the National Covenant might want to hide that fact by participating in a swearing ceremony. Significant pressure was put upon those who refused to support the National Covenant. John Leslie, the sixth earl of Rothes, reported that the organisers of the Covenanting campaign ordered each burgh and parish to compile a list of ‘the subscryvers and refuisers’, with the reports being brought to Edinburgh.78 Those who were known opponents of the Covenant could face the threat of physical violence. David Mitchell, minister of the Old Kirk in St Giles and a contributor to the Service Book, wrote, in a letter dated 19 March 1638, that the Covenanting ministers had made him appear so ‘odious’ to the ordinary people for refusing to sign that he was being ‘dogged by some gentlemen’ who would mumble ‘threatnings behinde my back’ and when he was in his room he could hear ‘swords drawne’.79 On a less dramatic level, given the shared living space of families and communities in early modern Scotland, Stewart has argued it would have been almost impossible to hide refusal to participate in public Covenanting.80 Thus, there may have been a significant incentive to feign the appropriate gestures when swearing the Covenant in order to avoid social pressure and the threat of physical violence. However, this objection does not undermine a study of gestures in swearing ceremonies. Barbara Rosenwein has suggested that, when studying the history of emotions, feigned emotions can reveal the emotional norms of the community.81 Her line of argument could be applied to swearing ceremonies. Even if most Scots faked their responses in public Covenanting, their gestures can still reveal how they interpreted the National Covenant and thought its supporters should respond to it. Therefore, three gestures performed by the congregations during the swearing ceremonies will be investigated: the shedding of tears, 76 Todd, Culture; Jane Dawson, ‘Discipline and the Making of Protestant Scotland’, in Worship and Liturgy in Context: Studies and Case Studies in Theology and Practice, ed. Duncan B. Forrester and Doug Gay (London, 2009), p. 126; Nikki M. Macdonald, ‘Reconciling Performance: The Drama of Discipline in Early Modern Scotland, 1560–1610’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2013). 77 Thomas, ‘Introduction’, p. 6. 78 John Leslie, A Relation of Proceedings Concerning the Affairs of the Kirk of Scotland from August 1637 to July 1638, ed. David Laing (Edinburgh, 1830), p. 82. Whether this was carried out is unknown, as no such lists have been found. 79 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 463. 80 Stewart, Rethinking, p. 111. 81 Rosenwein, Generations, p. 6.

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groaning, and kneeling. Each was a gesture expressing the emotions of godly sorrow or a feeling of mercy in Scottish Reformed piety and public ritual. Consequently, that those swearing the Covenant used these gestures indicated that they interpreted and experienced the swearing ceremony as a corporate form of conversion, accepting the presentation of the ceremony’s significance by Chartres and Rollock. According to Wariston, at both Currie and Trinity College all those present experienced the ‘waltering’ of ‘thair dry cheeks’, an ‘aboundance of tears’, so much so that Chairtres almost ‘suffocat … with his auin tears’, while Rollock was ‘scairse able to speak’.82 Early modern Scots such as the minister Archibald Simson thought that in a religious context sincere tears were an embodiment of godly sorrow.83 As a result, penitents in public repentance and corporate fasting were expected to display their contrition by weeping and congregations would assess the sincerity of the offender’s conversion by judging the quality of their sobbing.84 Tears were thought to embody godly sorrow in piety and public ritual because the Holy Spirit’s work in the soul was thought to cause the subject to cry by ‘softening’ a sinners hard heart.85 Hardness of heart was considered to be a disposition of either atheism, an inability to sense God’s presence or providence, or despair, which was regarded as a feeling and belief that God will not be merciful.86 The Spirit would ‘soften’ or ‘melt’ this heart so that it could be ‘powred out like water to God’ in godly sorrow.87 This was not merely figurative language. Influenced by Aristotelian and Galenic accounts of the body, contemporaries thought that tears were produced by the passions of sorrow and fear sending the vital spirits residing in the blood, in vaporous form, to the brain, where through cooling by compression they are changed into serum and excreted as tears to relieve physical tension.88 Those with a cooler and wetter complexion were more likely to cry.89 Thus, there was a connection between the Holy Spirit creating godly sorrow, softening the hard heart, and crying, which was more likely when one had a soft heart. The abundance of tears exhibited by 82

Wariston, I, pp. 328, 331. Archibald Simson, A Sacred Septenarie, or, a Godly and Fruitful Exposition on the Seven Psalmes of Repentance (London, 1623), pp. 7, 67. 84 Todd, Culture, pp. 140, 160–3; Dawson, ‘Discipline’, p. 129; Macdonald, ‘Reconciling Performance’, p. 94. Tears also signified contrition in an English context. See John Craig, ‘Bodies at Prayer in Early Modern England’, in Worship and the Parish Church in Early Modern Britain, ed. Natalie Mears and Alec Ryrie (Abingdon, 2013), p. 185. 85 Struther, Scotlands Warning, p. 74. 86 Cowper, Mirrour, pp. 11–13. 87 John Abernethy, A Christian and Heauenly Treatise Containing Physicke for the Soule (London, 1630), pp. 82, 88. 88 Manfred Horstmanshoff, ‘Tears in Ancient and Early Modern Physiology: Petrus Petitus and Niels Stensen’, in Conjunctions of Mind, Soul and Body from Plato to the Enlightenment, ed. Danijela Kambaskovic (Dordrecht, 2014), p. 312; Bernard Capp, ‘“Jesus Wept” but did the Englishman? Masculinity and Emotion in Early Modern England’, Past & Present, 224 (2014), 76. 89 Horstmanshoff, ‘Tears’, p. 311; Capp, ‘Masculinity and Emotion’, 77. 83

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the people of Currie and Trinity College indicated, using a gesture associated with conversion in Scottish Reformed piety and penitential rituals, that they were feeling godly sorrow. Accordingly, Wariston aptly described the people’s crying as the ‘melting’ of ‘thair frozen hearts’.90 Other gestural responses evidenced similar issues. At Trinity College, the congregation emitted ‘a yelloch’, ‘a heavenly harmony of sighs and sobs’ – noises associated by Reformed thinkers with conversion.91 Following Romans 8:26–27, ministers such as Struther argued that in prayer God’s activity causes the penitent to pray ‘with groanes that cannot be expressed’.92 They thought this because non-verbal sounds were considered indicators of the Holy Spirit’s work to create heart-knowledge in the sinner. This was because heart-work taught doctrinal truths through the spirit in a manner that ‘shone, but also burned’.93 Reformed Protestants thought that the Holy Spirit’s creation of heart-knowledge set the soul ablaze.94 Like bellows, groans nourish the intensified heat in the spirits and removed impurity. Like smoke, which signified the purging of vices in early modern emblems, the groan was interpreted as a vocal eviction of the perturbations of the Holy Spirit.95 These ‘inutterable sighes’ were understood to be the Spirit’s instruments for maintaining the intense heat in the body that conveyed the presence of God in prayer and purged the vices. In so doing, the Holy Spirit was creating heart-knowledge. As a result, sighs were physiological manifestations of conversion, the emotions of godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy. Groans also served to express conversion in public worship. John Craig has argued that, in an English context, where the godly were in control these groans could form part of the ‘soundscape’ of the parish service.96 Moreover, Macdonald has observed that in the Scottish ritual of public repentance penitents trying to demonstrate their godly sorrow would groan as a sign of their sincerity.97 Therefore, when the congregation at Trinity College began to emit sighs, they were making noises that conveyed, in both private prayer and public repentance, that the Holy Spirit was creating heart-knowledge in their souls. Thus, Wariston, attuned to the meaning

90

Wariston, I, pp. 328, 331. Ibid., pp. 328, 331. 92 Struther, Scotlands Warning, p. 75. 93 Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work’, p. 135; Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, p. 87. Mullan’s italics. 94 Richard Sugg, ‘Flame into Being: Spirits, Soul, and the Physiology of Early Modern Devotion’, Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies, 46 (2016), 146–52. 95 George Wither, A Collection of Emblemes, Ancient and Modern (London, 1635), p. 91. 96 John Craig, ‘Psalms, Groans and Dogwhippers: The Soundscape of Worship in the English Parish Church, 1547–1642’, in Sacred Space in Early Modern Europe, ed. Will Coster and Andrew Spicer (Cambridge, 2005), p. 110. 97 Macdonald, ‘Reconciling Performance’, p. 93. 91

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of these groans, appropriately reported that the Holy Spirit ‘warmed the affections’ of all those present.98 The people swearing at Currie were moved to fall ‘doune on their knees to mourne and pray … with many sobs, tears, promises, and vowes’ for about fifteen minutes.99 By adopting this posture, they expressed the activity of the Holy Spirit in converting their souls. This bodily position was commonly associated with the expression of godly sorrow and a feeling of His mercy. Kneeling was considered within a religious context as an embodiment of the ‘broken and contrite heart’ experienced by David, the archetype of godly sorrow.100 It had this meaning for Scots because kneeling was the posture of the supplicant.101 As a consequence, it was the posture used in public repentance by penitents to express their sincere contrition.102 Yet, Craig has argued that kneeling could also express ‘adoration’.103 This was clarified by the English Puritan William Perkins, who argued that ‘the bowing of the knee, the bending or prostrating of the bodie’ is ‘Adoration’, a gesture signifying ‘reverence and subjection’ to God.104 It had this alternate meaning because it was a posture one took before a superior. In a Scottish context, this was most clearly expressed in the controversial practice of kneeling at the Lord’s Supper, a practice introduced by the Perth Articles in order to express appropriate reverence and adoration. As it was possible only for the sinner who had a feeling of mercy to express an adoration acceptable in the sight of God, this kind of kneeling could also convey assurance in God’s mercy. Consequently, when the people of Currie fell to their knees, they were using a gesture associated with godly sorrow and adoration in Scottish Reformed piety and public worship to express their own conversion experience. It is important that their kneeling lasted fifteen minutes, given that this was the minimum length of time congregations fasting were expected to prostrate, another gesture embodying godly sorrow, the practice replaced by the swearing ceremony.105 It is more evidence that, through this posture, they were embodying their contrition. It was not only the kinds of gesture exhibited by both congregations that conveyed that they were having a conversion experience, but also the way that they performed them. Wariston reported that at Currie, prior to the congregation raising their hands, there had been ‘no motion nor tears in any of the congregation’, 98

Wariston, I, p. 331. Ibid., p. 328. 100 Psalm 51:17. See William Cowper, Good Newes from Canaan (London, 1613), frontpiece; Lewis Bayly, The Practice of Pietie (n.p., 1616), frontpiece; Tara Hamling, Decorating the ‘Godly’ Household: Religious Art in Post-Reformation Britain (London, 2010), pp. 193–4. 101 Todd, Culture, p. 150. 102 Ibid., p. 150. 103 Craig, ‘Bodies’, p. 185. 104 William Perkins, A Warning Against the Idolatrie of the Last Times. And an Instruction Touching Religious, or Divine Worship (Cambridge, 1601), p. 224. 105 Knox, Works, VI, p. 419. 99

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with a similar lack of an emotional outpouring being implied to have occurred at Trinity College.106 However, at the raising of their hands, both congregations in an ‘instant’ underwent a ‘visible, sensible, momentaneal a chainge’.107 In Currie, this consisted in every person, man, woman and child ‘waltering their dry cheeks’, ‘falling doune on their knees to moure and pray’ with many ‘sobs, tears, promises and voues’, while in Trinity College there was ‘sik a yellock, sik aboundance of tears, sik a heavenly harmony of sighs and sobbes, universally through al the corners of the churche, as the lyk was never seien nor heard of’.108 That this happened in an instant indicated that they were involuntary emotional responses. Moreover, Wariston had never seen or heard of a whole congregation emotionally moved at the same time, which suggested that it was not a conscious response, as public worship did not normally evoke such experiences in an entire assembly of worshippers, the exceptions being the communions in the south-west of Scotland and in Ulster.109 Furthermore, these gestures were powerfully expressed and felt. The congregations had an abundance of tears, so much so that Chartres was near ‘suffocat’ with them; the people of Currie were ‘falling doune’ on their knees; and in Trinity College their sighs were so loud they were a ‘yelloch’. Wariston described his own feeling during his participation at Trinity College that his ‘heart was lyk to burst’.110 The intensity of these gestures indicated that they were not feigned or even conscious emotional responses, but genuine and unintentional expression of a uniquely powerful experience. Wariston interpreted the seemingly involuntary, unconscious and unintentional nature of these gestures as ‘ane extraordinarie influence of Gods Sprit upon the whol congregation’.111 That Chartres, in his claim that the authority for renewing the covenant is found in 2 Chronicles 15:12, had implied that God would respond to the swearing of the Covenant with his immediate presence and activity would have influenced Wariston’s attribution of these gestures to the Spirit, given that, in 2 Chronicles 5 and 7, at the placement of the Ark of the Covenant in the temple by Solomon, the Spirit and Glory of the Lord filled the Temple, causing the people to kneel and worship.112 Similarly, Rollock’s insinuation that God would greet the swearing of the Covenant with his immediate presence, assistance and influence – the Father’s kiss – would have coloured Wariston’s interpretation of these events.113 Moreover, the perceived involuntary and spontaneous nature of the gestures indicated that they were embodied manifestations of conversion owing to their unconscious nature. Conversion was considered a passive process where the Holy Spirit acted upon the soul, 106 Wariston,

I, pp. 327, 331. p. 328. 108 Ibid., p. 328, 331. 109 Westerkamp, Triumph of the Laity, pp. 15–42; Schmidt, Holy Fairs, pp. 11–31. 110 Wariston, I, pp. 328, 331. 111 Ibid., p. 328. 112 Ibid., p. 327. 113 Ibid., pp. 330–1. 107 Ibid.,

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moving the appetites to create godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy.114 This corresponded to the view that the emotions were altered by external forces, an agent acting upon a passive subject.115 Thus, the procurement of heart-work was beyond the control of the sinner, relying upon the activity of God to effect it. Consequently, that the gestures of the congregation seemed to be beyond their control communicated, at least to Wariston, that this remarkable conversion experience was caused by the presence and activity of the Holy Spirit. Conclusion Taking the two case studies recorded by Wariston, it is clear that ministers framed the swearing of the National Covenant as an act of corporate conversion, an interpretation that congregations appeared to have accepted. Both the presentation and reception of the National Covenant heavily relied on the theology of conversion in Scottish Reformed piety, examined by Yeoman and Mullan, which was mediated through familiar liturgical tropes found in public repentance and fasting, analysed by Todd, Dawson, and Macdonald, among others. The use of known archetypes probably persuaded the congregations of the fundamental continuity of the swearing ceremony with their private and public worship, as embodied by their tears, groans and kneeling. It is likely that the framing and reception of this unfamiliar practice through known liturgical and scriptural tropes was key to its widespread popularity. The evocation of godly sorrow and a feeling of mercy was an indispensable dimension of swearing ceremonies, and as such indispensable to the initial success of the Covenanting movement.

114 Yeoman, 115 Sytsma,

‘Heart-Work’, pp. 11, 146–9; Cohen, God’s Caress, p. 209. ‘Logic of the Heart’.

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2 Glasgow and the National Covenant in 1638: Revolution, Royalism and Civic Reform Paul Goatman and Andrew Lind Between October 1638 and March 1639, William Wilkie, the minister of Govan, wrote a series of letters to Walter Balcanquhall, the dean of Rochester and one of Charles I’s key advisers on Scottish affairs. These provided intelligence about the Covenanters’ activities, including inside information about the 1638 General Assembly in Glasgow, the Tables’ efforts to rally support in dissenting parts of the country such as the north-east and their preparations for Charles’ planned invasion of Scotland.1 Being based so near to Glasgow, Wilkie was also able to give an eyewitness account of the town’s involvement in these events. He described a burgh that was, at best, lukewarm in its support for the Covenanters and may have been actively working against them. On 29 October 1638, for example, Wilkie informed Balcanquhall that Patrick Bell, the provost of Glasgow, had refused a request from the prominent Covenanter leader John Campbell, earl of Loudoun, to convene the town council so that he could meet with them. Loudoun and Lord Robert Boyd instead attended a meeting of the Kirk session, where they ‘had a harangue of an hour’s length, to the ministers, magistrates and other honest men there, concerning the iniquity and danger of the King’s Covenant, conjuring them, by all the powers of heaven and hell, that they would not subscribe it’. Loudoun then accused the magistrates of distributing printed versions of the King’s Covenant, a royally sanctioned rival to the National Covenant, among the town’s burgesses.2 In the course of his correspondence, Wilkie went on to provide further examples of Glasgow’s resistance to the Covenanters. In December he highlighted the university’s continued opposition, informing Balcanquhall that the Covenanters had ordered a commission ‘to visit the college and take order with everything they think amiss’. In March 1639, Wilkie revealed that Glasgow was reluctant to provide military support for the Covenanters and had thus been ‘upbraided as being Aberdeen’s sister, and of a Laodicean temper; their commission [to the Tables in Edinburgh] rejected’. He added that, consequently, the Tables 1 Baillie, 2 Baillie,

L&J, I, pp. 481–9. L&J, I, p. 481.

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had sent Archibald Campbell, the marquis of Argyll, to the town to ‘keip them right’, and revealed that ‘the ministers thereof cannot be induced to press the taking of arms’.3 Even on the eve of the Bishops’ Wars, therefore, Glasgow’s support for the Covenanters was very much in doubt. Wilkie’s letters substantiate much recent scholarship on the outbreak of the Scottish Revolution, which has stressed the diverse and contested nature of what has come to be known as the ‘Covenanting movement’.4 They also shed further light on Glasgow at that time. The behaviour of the town’s civic leaders during 1638 has posed something of a puzzle for historians, who have found evidence of both Covenanting zeal and royalist sympathies.5 This chapter explores Glasgow’s reception of the National Covenant during the crucial year of 1638 and surveys the history of the burgh over the preceding three decades to provide context for that discussion. The chapter finds that Glasgow’s responses to the Covenant were complex and varied during 1638, as might be expected from a town that had grown and transformed exponentially during the preceding decades and which continued to undergo significant social change. It is clear, however, that Glasgow’s civic leaders tended toward support for the crown rather than the Covenanters. They took this stance despite the opportunity that the nascent revolution provided them to remove the archbishop of Glasgow as the town’s feudal superior and take over full control of local government. By 1638, Glasgow was the second largest burgh in Scotland and home to two parishes served by several ministers, a university, a growing local economy and a complex system of urban courts. Throughout the year, Glasgow’s leaders were also operating in an environment of unprecedented controversy and public debate.6 The burgh’s often conflicting and cautious responses to the National Covenant during 1638 reflected the town’s social complexity and the contentious political climate, but also provide evidence of enduring loyalty to the crown.

3 Baillie,

L&J, I, pp. 488–9. Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), pp. 29–121; Alexander Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602– 1662): Politics, Religion and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 57–69, 226–7; Alexander Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the Mind of Robert Baillie, 1637–1662’, SHR, 93 (2014), 29–55; Salvatore Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities and Opposition to the National Covenant, 1638’, SHR, 97 (2018), 12–37. 5 See Allan Macinnes, ‘Covenanting, Revolution and Municipal Enterprise’, History Today, 40 (1990), 10–16 for Glasgow’s support for the Covenant and Andrew Lind, ‘Battle in the Burgh: Glasgow during the British Civil Wars, c.1638–1651’, Journal of the Northern Renaissance (forthcoming, 2020) for evidence of royalist support. 6 Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 29–121; Laura A. M. Stewart, ‘Introduction: Publics and Participation in Early Modern Britain’, Journal of British Studies, 56 (2017), 709–30; Paul Goatman, ‘The National Covenant, 1638: Religion and Politics’, in A Companion to the Scottish Reformation, ed. Ian Hazlett (Leiden, forthcoming 2020). 4

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Civic Reform and Social Change in Glasgow, 1605–38 The term civic reform is used in this chapter to describe the modernisation of secular local government that took place in Scottish towns during the reigns of James VI and I and Charles I. As the work of Michael Lynch has shown, this was closely tied to processes of Scottish state formation, demographic change and the multiplication of parishes in many towns after the Reformation.7 Glasgow underwent significant economic change in this period. The first four decades of the seventeenth century were a time of economic growth for Scotland in general and the Clyde Valley in particular, and this helped to concentrate wealth and power in the hands of Glasgow’s merchant elite. Jennifer Watson’s analysis of Scottish overseas trade between 1597 and 1645 has shown that the region experienced economic diversification as well as expansion. Exports in many traditional commodities, such as sea fish, animal skins and wool, fell, for example, while those of raw materials such as coal and salt increased, and the trade in whisky rose steadily after falling from a high point at the end of the 1620s. The major economic success story for Glasgow in this period was the town’s evolution into an entrepôt for the first time, specialising in the re-export of goods.8 Between 1624 and 1639 customs duties payable on re-exports from the Clyde region increased from a negligible level to over £1,400 per year.9 The town also benefited from a sharp increase in the overland linen trade with England after the Union of Crowns in 1603.10 This economic success led to a gradual rise in the amount of tax that the town paid to the Convention of Royal Burghs, from 3.5 per cent of the overall total in 1591 to 5.5 per cent in 1635 and 6.5 per cent by 1649. Perhaps even more significantly, estimates suggest that between 1610 and 1660 the town’s population nearly doubled, from 7,644 to 14,678. This rapid growth made Glasgow Scotland’s second most populous burgh by 1639, behind Edinburgh but ahead of Aberdeen.11 At the same time, Glasgow’s urban courts underwent extensive modernisation, which transformed the town’s system of municipal administration from one of oversight, based on the archbishop of Glasgow’s burgh court, to something far more sophisticated and complex, dominated by the merchant 7 Michael Lynch, ‘Introduction: Scottish Towns, 1500–1700’ and ‘The Crown and the Burghs 1500–1625’, in The Early Modern Town in Scotland, ed. Michael Lynch (Worcester, 1987), pp. 16–17, 28–9, 73–5; Michael Lynch, ‘Continuity and change in urban society, 1500–1700’, in Scottish Society, 1500–1800, ed. Rab Houston and Ian D. Whyte (Cambridge, 1989), pp. 86–90. 8 James McGrath, ‘The Medieval and Early Modern Burgh’, in Glasgow, Volume 1: Beginnings to 1830, ed. Tom Devine and Gordon Jackson (Manchester, 1995), p. 48; Gordon Jackson, ‘Glasgow in Transition, c.1660–c.1740’, in Glasgow, Volume 1: Beginnings to 1830, ed. Tom Devine and Gordon Jackson (Manchester, 1995), p. 48, pp. 69–78. 9 Jennifer Watson, ‘Scottish Overseas Trade, 1597–1645’, 2 vols (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2003), I, pp. 29–32, 38, 59, 70, 76, 86, 94, 101, 154, 187–8. 10 McGrath, ‘The Medieval and Early Modern Burgh’, p. 42. 11 Ibid., pp. 46–8.

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guild. Much of this change took place gradually and would continue during the 1630s, but the basis of a hybrid constitution fell into place almost by accident in 1605. This was the result of two almost simultaneous but unrelated events: James VI and I’s appointment of John Spottiswood as archbishop of Glasgow and his arrival in the burgh in January, and the town council’s ratification of Glasgow’s Letter of Guildry on 9 February.12 The Letter of Guildry was the centrepiece of a broad programme of civic reform introduced by the crown’s appointee as provost, Sir George Elphinstone of Blythswood, during the uncertain few years after the Union of Crowns, which was designed to facilitate Glasgow’s transition from an archiepiscopal to a royal burgh. The Letter of Guildry created a new tier of elite burgesses, the guild, who enjoyed more privileges than the rest of the urban community, but said nothing about who should serve on the town’s magistracy.13 This was settled only by letters sent from the king to the town’s magistrates in October and November 1606.14 The Letter of Guildry also established new institutions that enabled a sophisticated cursus honorum, or ‘career ladder’, to develop within local government.15 It put in place a dean of guild’s court, for overseeing mercantile activity, and a deacon convenor’s council, for regulating the crafts and protecting their interests. In addition, and as part of a gradual process after 1605, Glasgow’s town council grew into the most important institution of local government owing to its versatility and because it was responsible for implementing central government policy at the local level, such as organising the constables of the Justice of the Peace courts after 1610 and collecting increasing amounts of royal taxation.16 The town council’s importance was reflected in the fact that the provost and bailies (junior magistrates) regularly attended its meetings as ordinary town councillors.17 The burgh court itself, on the other hand, declined in importance in this period. Whereas, prior to 1605, the court had been the central institution of local government, it had become just one among a number of other urban courts by c.1620. The burgh court continued to play a key role in the prosecution of petty crime, 12

OLEAS, I, pp. 12–13; ‘Letter of Guildry and relative documents’, in James Marwick (ed.), Charters and other Documents Relating to the City of Glasgow, A.D. 1175–[1707], 3 vols (1894–06), I, pp. dcv–dcvii. 13 ‘Letter of Guildry and Relative Documents’, Marwick, Charters, I, pp. dcv–dcvii. 14 James Marwick (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Glasgow, 1573–1642 (Edinburgh, 1914), I, pp. 255–6; OLEAS, I, pp. 207–10. These letters were James’s response to a conflict that took place in the burgh between Sir George Elphinstone of Blythswood and Sir Matthew Stewart of Minto during July 1606. 15 Similar changes were taking place in English towns during the same period. See Robert Tittler, The Reformation and the Towns in England: Politics and Political Culture, c.1540–1640 (Oxford, 1998), pp. 222–3, pp. 242–3. 16 See McGrath, ‘The Medieval and Early Modern Burgh’, p. 33 for the increasing importance of the town council in this period. 17 Paul Goatman, ‘Urban Politics and Civic Society in Glasgow during the Reign of James VI, c.1585–1625’ (PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 2017), pp. 180–1.

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but several of its functions were steadily delegated to the dean of guild court and town council. By the 1620s the guild brethren, whether merchants or craftsmen, had the opportunity to serve in several different areas of the civic administration, including on the burgh court, town council, dean of guild court or deacon convenor’s council. In addition, after 1610, funds accruing to the town’s common good accounts increased steadily, primarily owing to the rising customs that could be levied from residents’ use of the town’s mills. This provided the modernising civic administration with greater spending capacity and therefore more power.18 These expanding economic and civic horizons culminated in the building of a new tolbooth during 1626 and 1627, at the intersection of the town’s two main thoroughfares, the High Street and the Trongate. The tolbooth would serve as the seat of local government until 1814.19 Visitors to the city were immediately impressed by the structure. In 1636 Sir William Brereton referred to it as ‘a very fair and high-built house … the fairest in the kingdom’, while in the 1650s the English soldier Richard Franck described it as ‘a very sumptuous, regulated, uniform fabrick, large and lofty … infinitely excelling the model and usual build of town halls; and is, without exception, the paragon of beauty in the west’.20 A Latin inscription was carved above the foot of the tolbooth’s central fore-stair, which, translated, read: ‘This house doth hate all wickedness, loves peace but corrects faults, observes all laws of righteousness, and elevates good men’. This motto provides a sense of the way in which the patrician town council viewed its role within the local community.21 The tolbooth was an expression of civic authority and a physical manifestation of the modernisation that had taken place in Glasgow during the first few decades of the seventeenth century. A closed crown spire sits atop the tolbooth steeple as a symbol of the two sources of authority upon which the town council’s position rested by the mid-1620s: the sovereign Scottish crown and the Protestant Kirk.22 18

McGrath, ‘The Medieval and Early Modern Burgh’, p. 55. Extracts, pp. 352–3, p. 358; Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland, Tolbooths and Town-houses: Civic Architecture in Scotland to 1833 (Edinburgh, 1996), pp. 98–101. 20 Peter Hume Brown (ed.), Early Travellers in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1891), p. 151, p. 191. 21 James F. S. Gordon (ed.), Glasghu [i.e. Glaschu] Facies: A View of the City of Glasgow … By John M’Ure, alias Campbel … Glasgow … MDCCXXXVI, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1873), I, pp. 255–6; Royal Commission on the Ancient and Historical Monuments of Scotland, Tolbooths and Town-Houses, p. 100, p. 224. 22 See Laura A. M. Stewart, Urban Politics and the British Civil Wars: Edinburgh, 1617–53 (Leiden, 2006), p. 112, p. 131; Tittler, The Reformation and the Towns, p. 14, 22, pp. 254–69, p. 338; Robert Tittler, Architecture and Power: The Town Hall and the English Urban Community, c.1500–1640 (Oxford, 1991), especially pp. 21–2, 89–97, 128, 157–9; Phil Withington, ‘Two Renaissances: Urban Political Culture in Post-Reformation England Reconsidered’, Historical Journal, 44 (2001), 253. The closed crown spire has long been seen as a representation of sovereign, imperial Scottish kingship, but is usually only to be found on church buildings, such as St Giles’ cathedral in Edinburgh or King’s College, Aberdeen. See Roger Mason, 19 Marwick,

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Despite these rapid changes, the nature of Glasgow’s provostship, the office of the town’s chief magistrate, began to change perceptibly only during the 1630s. It was in 1634 that Archbishop Patrick Lindsay opened up the provostship for the first time to the wealthy merchant elite who dominated Glasgow’s guild. Although he would prove to be an unpopular archbishop, his elevation to the see marks an important moment in Glasgow’s civic history. His first appointment as provost was William Stewart, a graduate of Glasgow University and a member of the Minto Stewart kindred, who had been influential in the region for generations, but he appointed Patrick Bell in 1634 and Colin Campbell in 1636.23 Both Bell and Campbell had served as dean of guild and depended for their wealth primarily upon their mercantile activity rather than land or government patronage, as had been the case with the previous generation of provosts.24 Prior to 1632, the archbishops of Glasgow, John Spottiswood (1605–15), James Law (1615–32) and Lindsay himself (from 1632), had relied upon a small coterie of influential merchant–lairds who were all closely connected to local landed families. Between 1609 and 1632 only four men served as provost: James Inglis, James Stewart of Flock, Gabriel Cunningham and James Hamilton. Gabriel Cunningham was the second son of an Ayrshire laird, John Cunningham of Baidland, who was himself the grandson of William Cunningham of Craigends and therefore a distant patrilineal descendent of Alexander Cunningham, the first earl of Glencairn.25 James Stewart of Flock was another member of the Minto Stewart kindred and James Inglis seems to have become part of that family through marriage to Marion Stewart.26 The appointments of James Stewart and James Inglis to the provostship highlight the continued influence of the Minto Stewart family in Glasgow into the 1630s. James Hamilton, who first became provost in 1614, was also the second son of a laird, James Hamilton of Torrence. Either Torrence or his own father had been provost of Glasgow in 1550–51 and a servitor to James Hamilton, earl of Arran and duke of Châtelherault, during the 1560s, and he was certainly a member of the duke’s wider kindred.27 Hamilton proved to be a loyal servant of the crown and as a result was amply rewarded with lands in and around Glasgow. He oversaw the trial and execution of the Jesuit martyr John Ogilvie in 1615 Kingship and the Commonweal: Political Thought in Renaissance and Reformation Scotland (East Linton, 1998), p. 130. 23 James Anderson and James Gourlay (eds), The Provosts of Glasgow from 1609 to 1833 (Glasgow, 1942), pp. 9–15; Sir John Stewart of Minto had served as provost of Glasgow from 1565 to 1573 and his son, Matthew Stewart of Minto, had served in 1581–2 and from 1586 to 1600. 24 GCA, B4/1/1, fols 148r, 161r, 171v, 183r, 196r–v; GCA, B4/1/2, fols 1v, 8v, 17v, 26v. 25 James Paterson, History of the County of Ayr: With a Genealogical Account of the Families of Ayrshire, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1847), I, p. 427; Anderson and Gourlay, Provosts of Glasgow, p. 9. 26 Anderson and Gourlay, Provosts of Glasgow, p. 1; James Anderson, The Burgesses and Guild Brethren of Glasgow, 1573–1750 (Edinburgh, 1925), p. 85. 27 James Anderson, Historical and Genealogical Memoirs of the House of Hamilton: With Genealogical Memoirs of the Several Branches of the Family (Edinburgh, 1825), pp. 477–8.

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and from June 1619 served on the renewed High Commission, charged with prosecuting dissenters from the Perth Articles.28 As reward for this service he received several charters under the Great Seal. In August 1609 he received land within the burgh of Glasgow itself, and in December 1611, together with his wife and heirs, he was given those of Meikill and Little Aikenhead. In January 1616 he was granted the lands of Langside.29 Hamilton married twice, both times into well-established mercantile Glasgow families with Catholic connections.30 The other provosts who served in this period also benefited materially from royal service and their close relationship with the archbishop. James Inglis, for instance, held a series of lucrative tacks (leases) of the royal customs between 1609 and 1618.31 After 1609, Glasgow’s provosts also became the town’s only commissioners to parliament. There had been some diversity among Glasgow’s parliamentary commissioners prior to 1600, but after 1609 the position was reserved only for the provost.32 The process of civic reform that took place in Glasgow during the first four decades of the seventeenth century was therefore a gradual one after the initial ratification of the Letter of Guildry in 1605 and the provostship began to become truly representative of the town’s mercantile elite only after 1634. Glasgow and the National Covenant in 1638 As William Wilkie’s letters to Walter Balcanquhall demonstrate, those serving at the highest level of Glasgow’s civic administration remained loyal to the crown throughout 1638. Indeed, it is as likely that Charles I chose Glasgow as the venue for the General Assembly that year because of the town’s loyalty as its proximity to the Scottish estates of his commissioner James Hamilton, the marquis of Hamilton.33 Despite Robert Baillie’s claim in April 1638 that all the towns apart from Aberdeen, Crail and St Andrews had signed the first version of the National Covenant, there is evidence that Glasgow’s magistrates and town council continued to debate its merits in September. On 8 September, 28

Robert Pitcairn (ed.), Ancient Criminal Trials in Scotland, 3 vols (Edinburgh, 1833), I, p. 352; OLEAS, II, p. 387. 29 John M. Thomson et al. (eds), Registrum Magni Sigilli Regum Scotorum, 1609–1620 (Edinburgh, 1888), pp. 51, 224, 496–7. 30 John Durkan, ‘Miscellany: John Ogilvie’s Glasgow Associates’, Innes Review, 21 (1970), 153–70. 31 John H. Burton et al. (ed.), The Register of the Privy Council of Scotland, first series (Edinburgh, 1877) [RPCS, first ser.], VIII, pp. 589–90, 810–13; IX, p. 269; X, pp. 690–1; XI, p. 91; OLEAS, II, p. 581. 32 Margaret Young, The Parliaments of Scotland: Burgh and Shire Commissioners, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1993). 33 Macinnes, ‘Covenanting, Revolution and Municipal Enterprise’, pp. 10–11. Charles was advised by Walter Balcanquhall that a General Assembly was inevitable, and the king’s only option was to choose where it would be held. See Baillie, L&J, II, pp. 467–8.

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the council considered a report from John Barnes, the town’s commissioner to the most recent meeting of the Convention of Royal Burghs held at Stirling in July, which ‘intimat the act [of the Convention] sett doun anent the subscryving of the lait new covenant’. The entry suggests that the Convention had called for subscription by any towns still holding out, although the records for that gathering do not survive.34 Given Patrick Bell’s dissemination of the King’s Covenant among the burgesses of Glasgow, it is also perhaps not surprising that it received a rousing response when it was read aloud at the town’s market cross. On 22 September Baillie complained that ‘it was applauded to by the town, by too many with too much joy, without any number of protesting’.35 Two days later, Glasgow’s provost and bailies (junior magistrates) wrote to Hamilton to thank him for his efforts in promoting the King’s Covenant and praising Charles’s decision to hold a General Assembly.36 By then, the town council’s strategy of holding out against the Covenanters and waiting to see which way the political winds would blow seemed to have worked. Once they felt sure that Charles had regained the initiative, they reconfirmed their support for the crown. The magistrates took this stance despite the fact that their relationship with the archbishop had deteriorated during the 1630s. Allan Macinnes has noted the ‘constitutional sparring’ that was an almost constant feature of Patrick Lindsay’s time as archbishop. This saw the magistrates and town council frequently submit their leets for the magistracy to him either late or in an irregular manner, in an attempt to undermine him as he made his appointments.37 These tensions bubbled over in October 1636, when Charles I ratified Glasgow’s royal burgh charter of 1611, but did so ambiguously, retaining the archbishop’s right to appoint the magistrates and allowing for confusion over who actually owned the burgh lands.38 The following month, the magistrates and town council commenced legal proceedings against Lindsay. In a ‘Memorial on behalf of the city against the archbishop’ they complained that ‘The Archbishop of Glasgow oppones againis the charter of Glasgow and alleges that he has the city of Glasgow erected in ane regality to him and that therefore he is prejudged by this gift in the right of the town pertaining to 34 Marwick, Extracts, p. 391; Baillie, L&J, I, p. 63; Manuscript records for the Convention of Royal Burghs are almost complete from the early 1580s until 1631 and then wanting until 1649. These were published by James Marwick in the late nineteenth century in James Marwick (ed.), Records of the Convention of the Royal Burghs of Scotland, 7 vols (Edinburgh 1866–1918). Alan MacDonald and Mary Verschuur have recently published newly found records from 1555, 1631–6 and 1647–8, but the records remain missing between 1636 and 1647. See Alan MacDonald and Mary Verschuur (eds), Records of the Convention of Royal Burghs, 1555; 1631–1648, Scottish History Society (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 4–5. 35 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 106; Charles by the Grace of God, King of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1638), pp. 1–30. 36 NRS, GD406/1/442. 37 Macinnes, ‘Covenanting, Revolution and Municipal Enterprise’, p. 11. 38 ‘Charter by King Charles I’, in Marwick, Charters, II, pp. 475–6.

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him as his city and to the burrow acres as his lands.’39 The crown intervened and the matter appears to have been resolved relatively quickly, albeit to the frustration of the civic authorities, who grudgingly granted a bond to Lindsay in December agreeing that Charles’ new charter ‘should in no respect be prejudicial to the archiepiscopal see’.40 Also during 1636, the town council quarrelled with the archbishop over who should pay the stipend of Robert Wilkie, the minister who served in the town’s Blackfriars parish. The town appealed directly to the king but again received short shrift, in the form of a perfunctory letter stating that Lindsay was ‘overburdened in maintenance of more of your ministry than in reason he is tied unto, or by law obliged, or (in regard of the meanness of his bishopric) he is able to do’.41 The legal wrangling in 1636 ultimately reinforced Lindsay’s authority and confirmed that he had the backing of the crown, despite his unpopularity. However, this antipathy between the town council and the archbishop did not translate into the council supporting the Covenanters. During the petitioning campaign against the Book of Canons and Book of Common Prayer, which reached its height in 1637, the actions of Glasgow’s civic leaders indicate that they were divided. The town participated in the petitioning campaign, and riots against the Prayer Book had taken place in the burgh during August 1637, but it is clear that those at the senior levels of the civic administration had misgivings about opposing the crown. They also struggled to keep pace with political events. On 20 September 1637, the ‘burgh and citie of Glasgow’ presented its own supplication to the privy council, asking that parliament or the General Assembly be permitted a vote on the Prayer Book, in which they had found ‘many things therein so farr discrepant from the forme of the public worship of God’.42 The following month, Glasgow signed the major ‘national’ petition of 18 October, but the signatory was Walter Stirling, an ordinary, albeit senior, guild member and burgess. In the case of many of the other burghs subscribing that petition, it was the provost who signed.43 This suggests a degree of subversion in Glasgow when it came to support for the petitioning campaign. Glasgow’s provost at that time was James Stewart younger of Flock, a close supporter of Archbishop Lindsay,

39

GCA, A1/64/17. ‘Bond granted by the Provost, Bailies and Councillors of the Burgh and city of Glasgow to the Archbishop, Chapter and College of Glasgow, 6 December 1636’, Marwick, Charters, II, p. 477. 41 GCA, A1/64/16; Marwick, Charters, I, p. 79. 42 John Leslie, A Relation of Proceedings Concerning the Affairs of the Kirk of Scotland: From August 1637 to July 1638, ed. James Nairne (Edinburgh, 1830), p. 48. 43 D. H. Ogilvie, ‘The National Petition to the Scottish Privy Council, October 18, 1637’, SHR, 3 (1925), 241–8; D. Hay Fleming (ed.), ‘Scotland’s supplication and complaint against the Book of Common Prayer (otherwise Laud’s Liturgy), the Book of Canons and the Prelates, 18th October 1637’, Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, 60 (Edinburgh, 1927); Archibald Ewing, View of the Merchant’s House of Glasgow (Glasgow, 1866), p. 551. 40

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and it seems that he may have been reluctant to rebel against the crown and turn against his patron in October 1637.44 Furthermore, other members of Glasgow’s merchant elite opposed the Convention of Royal Burghs’ pro-Covenanting stance in 1638. Once the National Covenant had been signed in Edinburgh by the Scottish nobility and lairds on 28 February it was presented to the burgh commissioners and the wider population of Edinburgh for subscription over the next two days.45 The Convention then moved swiftly, immediately organising an extraordinary meeting in the city, where it adopted the Covenant and called upon all the burghs to subscribe. At the meeting of the Convention that took place in Stirling in July, Glasgow’s representative, Colin Campbell, resigned his commission as soon as he arrived in the town because he was unable to comply with the Convention’s position, which ‘disapoyntit the toun [of Glasgow] thairanent without any lawfull excuise and neglecting the public effairis’ and meant that John Barnes had to be appointed as his replacement.46 During the summer of 1638, protests against the Covenant by merchants and physicians in Glasgow were so fervent that the Covenanting leadership despatched a commission to the city to restore order at the end of July.47 The behaviour of Glasgow’s representatives during the General Assembly in November and December also suggests that they were hedging their bets and leaning toward support for the crown. In November the town council elected Patrick Bell, the new provost, as the burgh’s commissioner to the assembly. At the same time, they ordered that he should not vote on any issue at the assembly without first consulting the council and magistracy and following their advice.48 Two key issues arose during the assembly that required Bell to consult with the council in this way. The first was whether the assembly should continue to sit after the departure of the king’s commissioner and Charles’s order for the assembly to disband and the second concerned the assembly’s key series of votes on whether episcopacy, the Five Articles of Perth and a number of earlier General Assemblies should be outlawed.49 Although the latter group of issues was considered separately at the assembly, Bell brought them before Glasgow’s town council for one vote. On the first matter, the town council voted overwhelmingly that the assembly should continue to sit. On the second, however, they could not come to a decision. The town clerk recorded that Bell ‘could not get intimat to thame at all occatiounes nor thame convenit to that effect … the said provost could not get thame comodiouslie convenit for giving

44

Anderson and Gourlay, Provosts of Glasgow, p. 14. David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44: The Triumph of the Covenanters (Newton Abbot, 1973), p. 83. 46 Marwick, Extracts, p. 390. 47 Macinnes, ‘Covenanting, Revolution and Municipal Enterprise’, p. 15. 48 Marwick, Extracts, p. 393. 49 Marwick, Extracts, pp. 394–5. 45

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of their opiniounes to him anent the saidis matters’.50 The council therefore permitted Bell to ‘vote for them and in their names to the annulling of those assemblies cravat to be annulled, with the five articles concluded at Perth’s assembly, and to the abrogating and abjuring of bishops and episcopacy’, and approved of whatever the provost ‘has done or shall do hereafter conform thereto’.51 Bell was therefore allowed to vote on these matters at the assembly as he saw fit. Of course, the assembly voted to outlaw episcopacy, the Perth Articles and the earlier General Assemblies, decisions that would later be codified in an addendum to the National Covenant, known as the Glasgow Declaration, but historians have noted the presence of factions at the assembly and the high degree of political management necessary to get the votes through.52 Andrew Lind has suggested that Bell was part of a royalist group at the assembly, led by Hamilton and William Alexander, the earl of Stirling, which included members of the Glasgow presbytery and staff from the university.53 On the eve of the assembly, Baillie wrote that this group had subscribed the ‘King’s Covenant’, which corroborates the first of William Wilkie’s letters to Balcanquhall.54 The clerk of the assembly wrote in his diary that there was a strong royalist presence at the assembly, despite the Covenanters’ attempts to manage attendance. A few days prior to the vote on the bishops, ‘many scores’ of commissioners intended to vote against their removal. Baillie later complained about the ‘town of Glasgow’s backwardness’ at the assembly, which frustrated other aspects of the Covenanters’ agenda.55 It is possible that Glasgow’s commissioner, Patrick Bell, was a key member of a royalist faction at the assembly, actively working against the Covenanters. As Wilkie’s letters show, if the heady atmosphere of the assembly fostered any enthusiasm for the nascent Covenanting revolution amongst Glasgow’s representatives, this had dissipated by early 1639. There is also evidence that staff at Glasgow University and members of the town’s ministry voiced support for the crown rather than the Covenanters throughout 1638. The local ministers, in particular, found themselves deeply divided over the National Covenant. As Lind shows in this volume, ministers from across Scotland campaigned against the National Covenant in 1638. They did so for a variety of reasons, ranging from loyalty to the crown to the belief that the Covenant was illegal and fear of social disorder. In many cases, ministers opposed the Covenant and were then challenged by their congregations, who 50

Ibid. Ibid. 52 Thomas Pitcairn (ed.), Acts of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, 1638–1842 (Edinburgh, 1843), p. 31; Roger Mason, ‘The Aristocracy, Episcopacy and the Revolution of 1638’, in Covenant, Charter and Party: Traditions of Revolt and Protest in Modern Scottish History, ed. Terry Brotherstone (Aberdeen, 1989), pp. 7–24, at pp. 19–22; Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the Mind of Robert Baillie’, p. 40. 53 Lind, ‘Battle in the Burgh’; NRS, GD406/1/596. 54 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 106. 55 Wariston, I, p. 171. 51

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often supported it.56 Glasgow fits into this pattern. While we have seen that Glasgow’s system of civic administration developed gradually after 1605, based on the constitutional settlement established by the Letter of Guildry, the town’s parochial system was put in place relatively swiftly between 1588 and 1599, during a period of presbyterian hegemony.57 In July 1599, the town council officially divided the burgh into two parishes for the first time, with the main places of worship being the High Kirk, in Glasgow cathedral, and the Tron Kirk, on the Trongate, although the council objected to paying for additional ministers or the construction of new churches.58 Although the archbishops took over the appointment of ministers following their reinstatement after the Union of Crowns, they otherwise left Glasgow’s system of parishes largely untouched. By 1638 at least five ministers served in the town. In April Robert Baillie described their divided loyalties, stating that ‘Mr John Bell and Mr Robert Wilkie are passionately for it [the Covenant] … Mr John Maxwell, Mr John Bell younger and Mr Zachary [Boyd], they are not only withdrawers of their hands, but all of them pathetic reasoners against it’. He added that he feared ‘red war among the clergy of that town’.59 Glasgow’s ministry continued to be divided over the Covenant in September. In a letter to Hamilton written on 24 September the presbytery declared its support for the King’s Covenant, but the signatures of two of Glasgow’s ministers, John Bell senior and Robert Wilkie, were conspicuously absent.60 Staff at Glasgow University shared many of the concerns about the National Covenant that were raised by the civic administration and members of the clergy. Recent work by Steven Reid and Salvatore Cipriano has shown that the university was among the staunchest opponents of the Covenant during 1638. In April, Baillie wrote that: ‘the greatest opposites in the West to this subscription are our friends in Glasgow: all the Colledge without exception’.61 The university’s principal, John Strang, was persuaded to subscribe the National Covenant in July, but endorsed it only ‘so farr as that Confession was not prejudiciall to the King’s authority, the office of Episcopall government itself, and that power which is given to bishops by lawfull Assemblies and Parliaments’.62 By 24 September, however, his view had changed and he was among those who 56

See, for example, Burntisland parish, where the incumbent minister, John Michaelson, came into conflict with his parishioners during the spring of 1638 for refusing to either subscribe the Covenant or allow it to be read aloud in his kirk. Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 103–5. 57 Robert Wodrow, Collections upon the Lives of the Reformers and Most Eminent Ministers of the Church of Scotland, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1834), II, p. 8. 58 Marwick, Extracts, pp. 195–6. 59 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 63. 60 NRS, GD406/1/445. 61 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 63. 62 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 67; Steven J. Reid, ‘“Ane Uniformitie in Doctrine and good Order”: The Scottish Universities in the Age of the Covenant, 1638–1649’, History of Universities, 29 (2017), 19.

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signed the presbytery’s congratulatory letter to Hamilton.63 He would eventually write a defence of the King’s Covenant, describing it as ‘the best and strongest meane, that ever wes agried upoun be publick authoritie, to preserve the puritie of religion’ and calling for Scots to unite behind it and support the crown. He also, mistakenly as it turned out, argued that Charles I desired a peaceful resolution to the Scottish crisis.64 During the General Assembly in November, Strang left alongside Hamilton but then returned as commissioner for the universities. Along with representatives from the other colleges, he eventually subscribed the National Covenant with the added Glasgow Declaration, but his relationship with the Covenanters remained an uneasy one. The assembly was so concerned about the university’s continued resistance to the Covenant that it appointed a commission to visit the college immediately and report its findings at the next General Assembly, to be held in Edinburgh in July 1639.65 Conclusion This chapter has drawn attention to the support for the crown that existed in the highest echelons of Glasgow’s civic administration, magistracy and town council, as well as among the ministry and within the university, throughout 1638 and into early 1639. We have also seen evidence of Covenanting support, and Glasgow is best seen as a divided town at the outbreak of the Scottish Revolution. Andrew Lind has charted the deepening of these divisions throughout the years of Covenanting rule, which were exacerbated by flashpoints such as the town’s occupation by James Graham, the marquis of Montrose, in 1645 and the Engagement crisis of 1647–8. He has shown royalism to be an enduring force in Glasgow and his investigations into that subject are ongoing and need not be repeated here.66 However, this chapter has provided some insight into the nature of Covenanting and royalist allegiance during the Covenanters’ rebellion and, more broadly, the relationship between revolution and social change in mid-seventeenth-century Scotland. Glasgow underwent social and economic change as profound as anywhere else in the country during the first four decades of the seventeenth century, yet this did not necessarily translate into natural support for the Covenanting revolution.67 Similarly, the relationship between the town council and the archbishop of Glasgow, Patrick Lindsay, was breaking down during the 1630s. Subscribing the National Covenant provided a chance to remove him and complete a long process of civic reform, 63

NRS, GD406/1/445. NLS, Wodrow Folio, XXXI, fol. 9r; Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities’, p. 28. 65 James Gordon, History of Scots Affairs, from MDCXXXVII to MDCXLI, 3 vols (Aberdeen, 1841), II, p. 163; Reid, ‘“Ane Uniformitie in Doctrine and good Order”’, p. 20. 66 Lind, ‘Battle in the Burgh’. 67 This link has been made most clearly by Walter Makey, The Church of the Covenant, 1637–1651: Revolution and Social Change in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1979). 64

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but this opportunity does not seem to have been taken. Therefore, we cannot simply equate Scottish royalism with support for episcopalianism; like support for the Covenanters, it was complex and changeable.68 For Glasgow, 1638 marked the end of a long period of relative peace and civic reform. It signalled the beginning of an era characterised by religious and political turmoil, when modernisation like that undertaken during the first four decades of the seventeenth century was no longer possible.

68 For

an equation between Royalism and episcopalianism, see Glenn Burgess, British Political Thought, 1500–1660: The Politics of the Post-Reformation (Basingstoke, 2009), pp. 204–5.

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3 United Opposition? The Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant1 Russell Newton On 20 July 1638, when the Covenanters arrived in Aberdeen with the aim of gathering further subscriptions for the National Covenant, they encountered their most formidable opponents to date: the Aberdeen Doctors.2 This group of ministers and academics – Robert Baron, John Forbes of Corse, William Guild, William Leslie, Alexander Ross, Alexander Scroggie and James Sibbald – who all held doctorates of divinity, raised a series of questions, or demands, challenging different aspects the National Covenant. They placed the central tenets of the Covenant under scrutiny. They questioned its necessity in light 1 I am grateful to Mr Nathan Hood, Dr Chris Langley and the anonymous reader for their comments on earlier versions of this chapter. I am also thankful to Dr Aaron Clay Denlinger for allowing me to see a copy of his chapter in The History of Scottish Theology in advance of its publication. 2 For discussions of the Aberdeen Doctors, see Donald Macmillan, The Aberdeen Doctors: A Notable Group of Scottish Theologians of the First Episcopal Period, 1610–1638 and the Bearing of their Teaching on Some Questions of the Present Time (London, 1909); James D. Ogilvie, ‘The Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant’, Publications of the Edinburgh Bibliographical Society, 11 (1921), 73–82; G. D. Henderson, Religious Life in Seventeenth-Century Scotland (Cambridge, 1937); G. D. Henderson, The Burning Bush: Studies in Scottish Church History (Edinburgh, 1957); David Stewart, ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” and the Covenanters’, RSCHS, 22 (1984), 35–44; Martyn Bennett, The Civil Wars Experienced: Britain and Ireland, 1638–1661 (London, 2000), pp. 1–16; Aaron Clay Denlinger, ‘“Men of Gallio’s Naughty Faith?”: The Aberdeen Doctors on Reformed and Lutheran Concord’, Church History and Religious Culture, 92 (2012), 57–83; Steven J. Reid, ‘Reformed Scholasticism, Proto-Empiricism and the Intellectual “Long Reformation” in Scotland: The Philosophy of the “Aberdeen Doctors”’, in Scotland’s Long Reformation: New Perspectives on Scottish Religion, c.1500–c.1660, ed. John McCallum (Leiden, 2016), pp. 149–78; Simon J. G. Burton, ‘Disputing Providence in Seventeenth-Century Scottish Universities: The Conflict between Samuel Rutherford and the Aberdeen Doctors and its Repercussions’, History of Universities, 29 (2017), 121–42; Aaron Clay Denlinger, ‘The Aberdeen Doctors and Henry Scougal’, in The History of Scottish Theology: Volume I, Celtic Origins to Reformed Orthodoxy, ed. David Fergusson and Mark W. Elliott (Oxford, 2019), pp. 279–95.

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of the Scots Confession (1560) and given the removal of the Scottish book of canons and Scottish prayer book.3 They challenged the Covenanters’ interpretation of the Negative Confession (1581).4 They also disputed their positions on issues of episcopacy, the Five Articles of Perth and resistance to the king.5 The Aberdeen Doctors’ Generall Demands presented a robust challenge to the Covenanting position. As Salvatore Cipriano has shown, they were not the only opponents of the National Covenant – academics at Glasgow and St Andrews raised questions too – but the Doctors did offer some of the most substantial critiques of the Covenanters’ arguments.6 In November 1638 Robert Baillie lauded them as ‘the learnedest … of our opposites’.7 Viewed through the initial period of conflict, the Aberdeen Doctors appear to have been resolute opponents of the National Covenant. Indeed, the image of the Doctors as a unified and defiant group of anti-Covenanting rebels has long been commonplace in the historiography. In his 1906–9 Hastie Lectures Donald Macmillan emphasised the Doctors’ homogeneity, noting that they shared ‘perfect concord and true friendship … working in harmony and dragging the same yoke … there was no jealousy among them, and their common aim was to aid the intelligence of their pupils and to bring them mutual help’.8 While this assessment pertained specifically to the Doctors’ joint intellectual endeavours, Macmillan also argued that ‘the views of Dr. John Forbes’ on the Five Articles of Perth ‘were shared, more or less fully, by the rest of the Aberdeen Doctors’.9 This tendency to amalgamate the views of the Aberdeen Doctors has contributed to a perception that the Aberdeen Doctors were a completely united group of anti-Covenanters. Upon further inspection, however, the reality was somewhat more complicated. While the Doctors had much in common with one another, there were important differences in how they responded to, and negotiated, the National Covenant both before and after the original publication of their Generall Demands. The chapter begins by challenging the scholarly consensus that there were only six doctors. It argues that by counting William Guild among the Doctors, the diversity of their opinion is more readily apparent. Secondly, it seeks to show that there were shifts within the Doctors’ individual and collective positions in the lead-up to the 1638 General Assembly. Finally, this chapter suggests that a longer chronological framework is needed in order to assess more accurately how the Aberdeen Doctors navigated the National Covenant and to 3 Anon., Generall Demands, Concerning the Late Covenant; Propounded by the Ministers and Professors of Divinitie in Aberdene (Aberdeen, 1638), pp. 12, 33. 4 Anon., Generall Demands, pp. 4, 14, 20–1, 33–4. 5 Anon., Generall Demands, pp. 25–9, 38–40. 6 Salvatore Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities and Opposition to the National Covenant, 1638’, SHR, 97 (2018), 12–37. 7 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 97. 8 Macmillan, Aberdeen Doctors, pp. 50–1. 9 Macmillan, Aberdeen Doctors, p. 140.

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understand how their unity eventually fractured. This chapter seeks to shed light on how the Doctors negotiated the National Covenant between 1638 and 1644, resisting the temptations to view them as a unified group or to side-line figures who defy easy categorisation. By exploring the differences and evolutions in their responses, it presents a more complicated picture of the Aberdeen Doctors, demonstrating a spectrum of opinion within their ranks and highlighting the need for sensitivity when discussing the National Covenant’s opponents. Seven Doctors One of the primary reasons for the enduring myth of the Aberdeen Doctors’ unity is the convenient tendency to remove William Guild (1586–1657) – minister of the East Kirk in New Aberdeen – from their number. This proclivity to overlook Guild when discussing the Doctors stems from the fact that many of the later editions of the Generall Demands made no mention of him. In these editions, which were printed with the Covenanters’ answers and the Doctors’ replies, only six Doctors were listed: Baron, Forbes, Leslie, Ross, Scroggie and Sibbald.10 This has led some historians to conclude that this group represented the core of the Aberdeen Doctors.11 If the Aberdeen Doctors’ identity is to be evaluated on the basis of sustained opposition to the Covenant, then it is understandable that Guild should be excluded. If, however, it is judged on the basis of a shared location (Old or New Aberdeen), occupation (academics or ministers), qualification (doctorate of divinity) and reservation about the National Covenant, then Guild qualified as one of their number. Furthermore, he meets Steven Reid’s definition of the Doctors as ‘those who signed the “Generall Demands” of 1638’.12 An early edition of the Generall Demands, misspelt Genelall Demands, which was printed by Edward Raban and is preserved in the Laing Collection in Edinburgh University Library, makes it clear that Guild – ‘D.D. Minister at Aberdene’ – was one of the signatories.13 The removal of Guild’s name in later editions was a consequence of his decision to sign the Covenant on 30 July 1638 (albeit with limitations that demonstrated his uneasiness with the Covenanters’ positions on episcopacy, the Five Articles of Perth and resistance to the king). This does not, however, negate the fact that he was one of the Aberdeen Doctors. It simply serves as the earliest example of variation in how the Doctors responded to, and negotiated, the Covenant. Guild’s subscription offers important evidence of the diversity of opinion among the Aberdeen Doctors, but it is rarely treated as such because he is so often categorised as somehow separate from the Doctors. Guild’s initial 10

This includes editions printed in Aberdeen, Edinburgh and London in 1638. For example, see Henderson, The Burning Bush, pp. 84–5. 12 Steven J. Reid, ‘“Ane Uniformitie in Doctrine and Good Order”: The Scottish Universities in the Age of the Covenant, 1638–1649’, History of Universities, 29 (2017), 17. 13 EUL, La. I 296/2. 11

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association with the Doctors is sometimes acknowledged, but he is usually portrayed as an outlier – a stain on the Doctors’ otherwise unblemished record of cohesive opposition to the Covenant. In 1909 Macmillan argued that Guild ‘merits scant treatment’ since ‘he very quickly deserted his friends and trimmed his sails to catch the popular breeze’.14 In 1921 James Ogilvie adopted a similar view, accepting the judgement of a seventeenth-century critic who suggested that Guild was fickle, turning like ‘the weather-cock’.15 In 1937 G. D. Henderson argued that the other six divines ‘are generally called the Aberdeen Doctors’, adding that there ‘was also Wm Guild who deserted to the Covenanting side’.16 This proclivity to isolate Guild from the Doctors has continued, and in some cases has even been exaggerated, in more recent scholarship. In 1984 David Stewart argued that ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” were a group of six ministers in Aberdeen who had all received the degree of Doctor of Divinity’, neglecting even to mention Guild.17 Aaron Denlinger’s otherwise excellent recent work on the Aberdeen Doctors’ theology also failed to reference Guild.18 Other scholars have acknowledged Guild, but have been reluctant to afford him full membership of the Doctors. Steven Reid stated that Guild ‘initially supported the “Doctors”’, giving the impression that he was not actually one of them.19 Similarly, Simon Burton did not count Guild among the core group of the Aberdeen Doctors, describing him simply as ‘their colleague’.20 These trends are the logical consequence of the longstanding habit of separating Guild from the Aberdeen Doctors on the basis of his subscription. The possibility that Guild should be considered a proper member of this group of academics and clergymen is rarely entertained. This has allowed the fundamental unity of the Aberdeen Doctors to be preserved, but it has done so by offering an over-simplified, and ultimately unsatisfactory, account of the Doctors that turns a blind eye to their differences. This in turn provides a somewhat one-dimensional impression of the Covenant’s opponents. When, however, we start with the assumption that there were seven, rather than six, Aberdeen Doctors, a more complicated picture of the Doctors begins to emerge. For a start, the notion of a united opposition almost immediately begins to crumble, since Guild represents an individual who was both a Covenanter, albeit perhaps a somewhat reluctant one, and one of the Doctors. This alerts us to the plurality of opinion between the Doctors in July 1638 (as 14 Macmillan,

Aberdeen Doctors, pp. 48–9. Ogilvie, ‘The Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant’, 75. 16 Henderson, Religious Life in Seventeenth-Century Scotland, p. 42. 17 Stewart, ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” and the Covenanters’, 35. 18 Denlinger, ‘“Men of Gallio’s Naughty Faith?”’, 57–83; Aaron Clay Denlinger, ‘Swimming with the Reformed Tide: John Forbes of Corse (1593–1648) on Double Predestination and Particular Redemption’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 66 (2015), 67–89; Denlinger, ‘Aberdeen Doctors and Henry Scougal’, 279–95. 19 Reid, ‘“Ane Uniformitie in Doctrine and good Order”’, 21. 20 Burton, ‘Disputing Providence in Seventeenth-Century Scottish Universities’, 122. 15

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well as to the diversity of ways to be a Covenanter) and prompts us to question how united the Doctors were in the period leading up to this point. Crucially, recognising Guild’s membership opens up an avenue for analysing the varying forms and degrees of opposition to the National Covenant. Even before the Generall Demands were first published in July 1638, differences can be detected in their respective approaches to the Covenanters’ arguments. In A Peaceable Warning to the Subjects in Scotland, written in April 1638, John Forbes (1593–1648) – Professor of Divinity at King’s College in Old Aberdeen – appealed for his fellow Scots not to ‘breake the Bond of Peace, and Christian brotherhood, for the diversitie of Opinions amongst us, in these œconomicall and rituall Controversies’.21 Likewise, in To the Nobilitie, Gentrie, Burrowes, Ministers, and Others of the Late Combination in Covenant, a Friendly and Faythful Advice, written in June 1638 and circulated in manuscript (although published a year later), Guild expressed his desire that ‘the Peace of Church and Kingdome may now be setled’.22 Beyond this shared desire for peace, however, the foci of their arguments were distinct. On the one hand, Forbes was principally concerned with the Negative Confession. He sought to challenge the Covenanters’ appeals to the authority of the Negative Confession, arguing that it ‘was no perpetuall Law, but a temporarie Mandate’.23 On the other hand, Guild focused on the threat posed by the Covenant to the king’s authority, exhorting his fellow countrymen to act ‘lyke loyall Subjectes’.24 His argument was made, at least partly, on the basis that to resist one’s sovereign was a ‘Jesuiticall and damnable doctrine’.25 So, while Forbes and Guild were united in a desire for peace, their diagnoses of the key issue to be addressed were different. Though it is possible that they coordinated their critiques to cover multiple areas of contention, their subsequent responses to the Covenant suggest that Forbes and Guild had genuinely distinct concerns. These differences, although subtle, are indicative of the diversity of opinion among the Aberdeen Doctors, even before the Covenanters arrived in Aberdeen in July 1638. Of course, one might argue that such differences were quite minor and that, in any case, they receded as the threat of the Covenanters’ imminent arrival increased. Indeed, there are sound reasons for making such a claim. Yet it would be a mistake to assume that the Doctors’ individuality disappeared permanently: Guild’s subscription proves otherwise. His primary concern was not the Covenanters’ authority to interpret the Negative Confession, but the practical implications of their decisions for the king’s authority. So, when he found a way to circumvent this concern, he was content to subscribe. Nor was 21

John Forbes, A Peaceable Warning to the Subjects in Scotland (Aberdeen, 1638), p. 20. Guild, To the Nobilitie, Gentrie, Burrowes, Ministers, and Others of the Late Combination in Covenant, a Friendly and Faythful Advice (Aberdeen, 1639), p. 7. 23 Forbes, A Peaceable Warning, p. 16. 24 Guild, To the Nobilitie, p. 5. 25 Guild, To the Nobilitie, p. 5. 22 William

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Guild the only Doctor to have considered signing the National Covenant. According to a letter written by George Gordon, the marquis of Huntly, on 7 August 1638, Forbes considered following Guild’s lead and was persuaded to maintain his opposition only by Gordon’s intervention.26 Such details could easily be overlooked. Yet Gordon’s startling report, made just eight days after Guild’s subscription, highlights how much the Doctors were influenced by Guild’s decision. For the Doctors, Guild could not be dismissed as easily as he has been by some historians. He was an important member of their group and, according to Gordon, his decision led at least one other Doctor to consider seriously subscribing the Covenant. Shifting Positions Owing to the prevailing emphasis on the Doctors’ unity there can be a tendency to overlook the shifts in their individual and collective positions. Yet both before and after Guild’s subscription to the National Covenant in late July 1638 one can find examples of how the Aberdeen Doctors nuanced and refined their positions in response to changing circumstances. There appears to have been a shift, for example, in the underlying logic of the case against the Negative Confession between Forbes’ A Peaceable Warning and the Doctors’ Generall Demands. At the very least, there was some degree of expansion of his thought. In A Peaceable Warning, Forbes had argued that the Negative Confession’s ‘Mandate is now long agoe expyred’, claiming that it ‘hath not, at this present tyme, anie publick Authoritie at all: neyther are the Ministers now obliedged to require, nor the Parochiners to give subscription thereto’.27 He considered whether the Negative Confession should be renewed, although he concluded that it should not: ‘Saving better judgement, it seemeth not to bee convenient … because of some ambiguities and no small Difficulties there-in.’28 This much was consistent in the Generall Demands, which began by querying: ‘How they can enforce upon us, or upon our People, who are no wayes subject unto them, their Interpretation of the Articles of the Negative Confession?’29 Both documents questioned the legitimacy of the Covenanters’ interpretation of the Negative Confession, particularly pressing on their condemnation of episcopacy and the Five Articles of Perth. However, the Generall Demands also advanced Forbes’ argument in significant ways. Forbes argued that the Covenanters’ position condemned ‘the Doctrine and Practise of sound Antiquitie, and of manie Famous Reformed Kirks, in Britane, France, Germanie, and else-where’.30 For him, the primary issue was that the 26

NRS, GD406/1/764, fol. 1r. A Peaceable Warning, pp. 16–17. 28 Forbes, A Peaceable Warning, p. 18. 29 Anon., Generall Demands, p. 3. 30 Forbes, A Peaceable Warning, p. 19. 27 Forbes,

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Negative Confession represented a divergence from historic Christian practice and jeopardised the Scottish Kirk’s relations with other Reformed Churches. The Doctors collectively articulated a similar position in the sixth demand, almost certainly under Forbes’ influence. However, this was preceded by an argument against authority that is not found in Forbes’ A Peaceable Warning. The Doctors challenged the Covenanters’ claims to be able to offer a definitive interpretation of the Negative Confession by asking: ‘Who are the Interpreters of that Confession? that is, Whether all the subscrybers, or onlie those Ministers conveaned in EDINBURGH, in the ende of Februarie, who set it downe?’31 In either case, the Doctors rejected the authority for the Covenanters’ interpretation. If the Covenanters answered that it was all the subscribers, the Doctors replied: ‘what reason have wee to receave an Interpretation of that Confession from Laickes, ignorant people, and Children?’32 While, if it was the ministers present in Edinburgh, when the Covenant was first signed, they questioned: ‘what power and authoritie had they over their Brethren, to give out a judiciall Interpretation of these Articles of Fayth, and to inforce their Interpretation of these Articles upon them?’33 Of course, A Peaceable Warning and the Generall Demands both rejected the Covenanters’ interpretation and shared many common arguments, yet by placing this argument first it appears that there was at least a shift in emphasis. Collectively the Aberdeen Doctors placed a greater emphasis on the lack of Kirk-wide assent to the Covenanters’ interpretation of the Negative Confession than Forbes had done individually. So, while the tendency to think of the Aberdeen Doctors as a group is unavoidable, we must recognise that the individuals within this group adopted positions that were of less significance to them personally for the sake of their collective voice. Far starker, however, was a shift in the Aberdeen Doctors’ collective position in the autumn of 1638, as preparations ramped up for the General Assembly that was to be held in Glasgow later that year. Having opposed subscription to the Negative Confession, the Aberdeen Doctors (minus Guild) made the decision to sign the King’s Covenant – which included the Negative Confession – on 5 October 1638.34 They did so with seven qualifying statements: they condemned ‘Popish’ errors; refused to abjure episcopacy; rejected any condemnation of the Five Articles of Perth; maintained that ‘the National Kirk of Scotland, have no power to make any perpetual Law which God before hath not made’; denied that presbyterianism was immutable; maintained the possibility for future changes in the kirk; and insisted that by making this oath they did not intend to ‘lay any further Bond upon our posterity, than the Word of God

31 Anon.,

Generall Demands, p. 14. Generall Demands, p. 14. This sort of argument may have precipitated the complaints raised both before and during the Glasgow Assembly about the role of lay elders in electing commissioners. See Peterkin, Records, pp. 101, 111, 116–18, 125. 33 Anon., Generall Demands, pp. 14–15. 34 Peterkin, Records, pp. 92–3. 32 Anon.,

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doth’.35 The Doctors declared that it was in ‘this sense … and not otherwise’ that ‘we subscribe the said Confession, and the general Bond annexed thereto [the anti-Catholic band of 1589], at Aberdeen’.36 In many respects, the Doctors’ subscription of the King’s Covenant mirrored Guild’s somewhat hesitant subscription to the National Covenant just sixty-seven days earlier. Both hedged their subscription with qualifying statements on issues such as episcopacy and the Articles of Perth. Although they ultimately signed different covenants, their approaches were quite similar. We do not know what led the Doctors to sign the King’s Covenant. It seems likely that they lent their support to this document – while still registering their own ambivalence – in the hope of offering a plausible and palatable alternative to the National Covenant. In any case, this episode highlights how there were small, but significant, shifts in the collective position adopted by the Aberdeen Doctors. It certainly indicates that there was some degree of movement towards Guild’s cautious Covenanting position. The Aberdeen Doctors’ subscription of the King’s Covenant also serves as a valuable reminder of the extremely volatile nature of events in 1638. The situation was fluid and not only were individuals’ reasons for supporting or opposing the Covenant varied, but their positions often changed quickly.37 Writing in his own capacity in April 1638, Forbes expressed his fundamental opposition to subscribing the Negative Confession; yet, six months later, he had done precisely that as one of the Aberdeen Doctors. Rapidly changing events required individuals to find new ways to negotiate and articulate their opposition to the National Covenant. At times this meant compromising on certain issues – in this case subscription of the Negative Confession – in order to maintain an overall opposition to the Covenanters’ attacks on episcopacy and the Five Articles of Perth. Diverging Responses In his article ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” and the Covenanters’, David Stewart took December 1638 as the endpoint for his analysis of the Aberdeen Doctors’ response to the National Covenant, noting that the ‘Glasgow Assembly removed all the “Doctors” held dear’.38 Indeed, the General Assembly had made its opposition to episcopacy and the Articles of Perth more explicit than had been the case in the National Covenant. The Glasgow Declaration left no room for either Doctors such as Guild, who had signed the National Covenant 35 Peterkin,

Records, pp. 92–3. Records, p. 93. 37 Alexander Campbell’s recent work has highlighted some of these dynamics with reference to Robert Baillie. For example, see Alexander D. Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662): Politics, Religion and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 41–5. 38 Stewart, ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” and the Covenanters’, 43. 36 Peterkin,

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with limitations, or Doctors such as Baron, Forbes, Leslie, Ross, Scroggie and Sibbald, who had signed the King’s Covenant with qualifying statements, to manoeuvre. As a result, all seven Doctors found themselves in a similar position to one another at the beginning of 1639. With their respective compromises quashed, the Doctors had to work out, once again, how they would respond to the changing circumstances. By extending the chronological focus beyond December 1638 and examining the Doctors’ responses to the Covenant between 1639 and 1644 we not only see how their opposition to the National Covenant failed, but also gain a much clearer sense of how their unity fractured. In the early months of 1639, the Aberdeen Doctors maintained a low profile and appear to have gone about their business unperturbed, which may suggest some degree of toleration on the part of the Covenanters. However, the outbreak of the Bishops’ War in March 1639 ruptured this relatively short period of peace. By 25 March news had reached Aberdeen ‘of the coming of the southern armie’.39 In late March six of the seven Doctors fled from Aberdeen. On 28 March four of them boarded a boat in Torry: Baron, Leslie and Sibbald headed to England, with the aim of visiting the king, presumably to petition him on these matters. Guild departed with them, although he travelled to the Continent instead.40 John Spalding indicated that Ross also intended to board the boat, only remaining behind because of sickness. The other Doctors also abandoned Aberdeen. Scroggie went into hiding in the countryside.41 Forbes escaped to rural Aberdeenshire. He initially went to Corse, thirty-three miles north-west of Old Aberdeen, but moved to Buchan in northern Aberdeenshire when he became aware that summons were being issued against him.42 This must have been a particularly stressful period for Forbes, especially given that his daughter, Elizabeth, had died less than three weeks earlier, on 7 March.43 It is clear that by March 1639 the Doctors had become largely ineffective as opponents of the Covenant. Their flight from Aberdeen ensured their survival for a little longer, but it was also the last time that they had any kind of unified opposition against the Covenanters. As the Doctors returned to Aberdeen over the following months their positions started to diverge further. Whether on principled grounds, or simply in response to the strain of conflict and warfare, the Doctors’ unity began to fracture. The most straightforward positions to assess are those of Alexander Ross and Robert Baron, since both died in August 1639. Ross died on 11 August ‘in his own house’, having suffered with illness since at least March, while Baron, having fled to England, fell ill and died in Berwick on 19 August.44 There is 39

AUL, MS 635, fol. 173. John Spalding, The History of the Troubles and Memorable Transactions in Scotland From the Year 1624 to 1645, 2 vols (Aberdeen, 1792), I, p. 120. 41 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 120. 42 AUL, MS 635, fol. 173. 43 AUL, MS 635, fol. 173. 44 Ian M. Thompson, ‘Baron, Robert’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, ed. H. C. 40

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no evidence to suggest that either man reneged or modified their earlier views concerning the National Covenant, so their positions should be regarded as essentially consistent with those of the other Doctors in early 1639. Despite Baron’s death, however, the Covenanters evidently still perceived his views as a threat, because they went to the trouble to scrutinise them in depth. At the General Assembly held in Aberdeen in 1640 his theological positions were examined in detail. Baillie claimed that ‘poor Baroun, otherwayes an ornament of our nation, we found hes been much in multis the Canterburian way: great knaverie and direct intercourse with his Grace we fand among them, and yet all was hid from us that they could’.45 While Baron’s views were interrogated posthumously, he was not subjected to the personal scrutiny of some of the other Doctors. One can only speculate about the ways in which Baron and Ross might have negotiated the Covenant had they lived until the General Assembly at Aberdeen in 1640 or beyond. At the other end of the spectrum was William Guild, who had experienced something of a change of heart during his sojourn to the continent.46 Upon his return to Aberdeen, in October 1639, Guild threw his lot in with the Covenanters and subscribed the National Covenant without his earlier caveats. This subscription without reservation represented a far more dramatic departure from the other Doctors’ positions than his subscription in July 1638, but even this did not lead to a breakdown of relations with them. Forbes recorded hearing nine of Guild’s sermons between November 1639 and March 1643, and spoke of them in highly positive terms.47 Nonetheless, Guild’s conversion to the Covenanting cause was so thorough that in August 1640 he was deemed an acceptable choice for the role of principal of King’s College.48 Following Baron and Ross’ deaths and Guild’s shift towards a more fervent Covenanting position, the Aberdeen Doctors were effectively reduced to four in number: Forbes, Leslie, Scroggie and Sibbald. Between April and August 1639 all four men had returned to Aberdeen. Forbes arrived back on Tuesday 16 April and immersed himself in local ministry, participating in the Synod of Aberdeen and preaching in New Aberdeen the following Sunday.49 The reappearance of the ‘Southern armies’ in Aberdeen in the late spring briefly drove him back into hiding at Corse between 24 May and 10 June 1639.50 By Sunday 28 April Scroggie had resumed his preaching duties in Old Aberdeen, having ‘lived

G. Matthew and Brian Harrison, 60 vols (Oxford, 2004), IV, p. 18. 45 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 248. 46 For a more detailed discussion of Guild’s visit to the continent and shifting views on the Covenant see Russell Newton, William Guild and Moderate Divinity in Early Modern Scotland (Edinburgh, forthcoming). 47 AUL, MS 635, fols 230–1, 264–5, 292–4, 383–4, 437–8, 460–1, 476. 48 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, pp. 250–1. 49 AUL, MS 635, fol. 173. 50 AUL, MS 635, fol. 173.

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obscurely in the country since March’.51 Leslie and Sibbald, who had both fled further afield, ‘came home with the town’s commissioners’ in August 1639.52 Sibbald resumed his ministerial duties, but Leslie was deposed from his position as principal of King’s College.53 In light of their ongoing refusal to subscribe the National Covenant, Forbes, Sibbald and Scroggie experienced increased scrutiny, which meant that they had to find more creative ways to negotiate the Covenant (Leslie avoided the same level of interrogation by virtue of having already been deposed). All three men remained opposed to the Covenant during 1639, but there is evidence of some alteration of their practice in accommodation to the Covenanters. On 3 November 1639, for example, Sibbald administered communion to the people sat at the table, rather than on their knees.54 This was a break from the practice articulated in the Five Articles of Perth and marked some degree of conformity with Covenanting practice. This communion was administered in conjunction with Guild, which suggests that his new-found Covenanting resolve may have prompted the change. Forbes participated in this communion in New Aberdeen, but did not mention the change in practice (presumably considering it adiaphora).55 Similarly, on 1 December 1639 Scroggie administered communion to the people in Old Aberdeen sat down, having exhorted them to ‘obey the ordinances of the kirk’.56 John Spalding’s comments on the events reveal his level of surprise at this change: ‘strange to see such alterations! one year giving the communion kneeling, by virtue of an act of parliament founded upon Perth articles; and the self-same minister to give the communion after another manner, sitting, at the command of the General Assembly, unwarranted by the king.’57 Yet Spalding’s surprise does not appear to have been mirrored among the Doctors. Forbes was present on this occasion, but once again neglected to mention this alteration to liturgical practice. Instead, he noted that he ran ‘greedilie to the Lords table’.58 The fact that Forbes did not comment on this important change in either November or December suggests either that it was not particularly controversial or that the Doctors had simply resigned themselves to the necessity of such compromises. The fact that Sibbald and Scroggie implemented these changes, and that Forbes participated in the communion celebrations without comment, indicates that they were probably under ongoing pressure from the Covenanters to conform. 51 Spalding,

History of the Troubles, I, p. 142. History of the Troubles, I, p. 195. 53 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 195. 54 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 197. 55 AUL, MS 635, fol. 230. For further discussion of the Doctors’ irenicism, see Denlinger, ‘Aberdeen Doctors and Henry Scougal’, 283–5. 56 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 200. 57 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I. p. 200. 58 AUL, MS 635, fol. 249. 52 Spalding,

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Nor were these the only changes. On 22 December 1639 Sibbald – again, with Guild – ‘admonished the people not to keep Yool-Day’, which Spalding equated with the Covenanters’ practice.59 Once again, Guild’s influence on the Aberdeen Doctors is clear. His shift to subscribe the Covenant appears to have had practical implications for Sibbald’s ministry in New Aberdeen. Whilst Sibbald had not subscribed personally, he appears to have felt obligated to observe Covenanting practices in his parish ministry. Negotiation of the Covenant became yet more complicated for the three Doctors in early 1640. On Thursday 13 February David Lindsay, moderator of the Aberdeen Presbytery, informed his fellow ministers that they would be required to subscribe the Covenant, along with a clarifying explanation from the 1639 General Assembly, at the next presbytery meeting. It is not clear how everyone responded to this news, but Sibbald made it known that he would not subscribe.60 Events escalated quicker than these ministers might have expected. The following Sunday, 16 February, Guild read out the Covenant and accompanying explanation in New Aberdeen after his sermon and encouraged his parishioners to sign. All too aware of these changing circumstances, Scroggie encouraged one of his parishioners to ‘use the imprinted family exercise, morning and evening’.61 In making this recommendation, Scroggie was effectively encouraging him to worship in private in order to avoid subscribing the Covenant. The moment for free debate and opposition to the National Covenant had evidently passed. For those who remained opposed to the Covenant, the religious and political landscape in Scotland was becoming increasingly difficult to navigate and so, for many, the simplest course of action was to avoid situations where they might be compelled to subscribe. For Forbes, Scroggie and Sibbald the issue came to a head at the 1640 General Assembly, held in Aberdeen. When the Assembly commenced on 28 July these Doctors, having been summoned to appear, were interrogated about their views on various points of theology, including issues directly pertaining to the National Covenant, but also tangentially related issues such as their views of the Canons of Dort. The proceedings from the Aberdeen Assembly record that ‘Rigorous proceedings were adopted against the Aberdeen Doctors who had repudiated the Covenant’.62 Despite this adversarial context, these three Doctors were steadfast in their opposition to the National Covenant’s condemnation of episcopacy and the Five Articles of Perth. Robert Baillie recorded that ‘Dr. Sibbet [Sibbald], Forbes, and Scroggie, were resolved to suffer martyrdome before they subscryved any thing concerning Episcopacie and Perth Articles’.63 The Assembly’s judgement against the Doctors was damning: ‘Dr Sibbald was 59 Spalding,

History of the Troubles, I, p. 200. History of the Troubles, I, pp. 203–4. 61 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 210. 62 Peterkin, Records, p. 292. 63 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 248. 60 Spalding,

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deposed for alleged heterodoxy and contumacy, and was ordained to be further proceeded against, if he did not give speedy satisfaction. Doctors Forbes and Scroggie were found guilty of Arminianism, etc., but were allowed a year to repent.’64 It is interesting to note that while Forbes, Scroggie and Sibbald appear to have been equally opposed to the Covenant, the Assembly varied its judgements against them. Baillie’s account offers a fascinating insight into how they were perceived. Sibbald’s adoption of Covenanting practices regarding communion and Christmas clearly did little to ingratiate him, since Baillie reported that ‘Dr. Sibbald in manie points of doctrine was found verie corrupt; for the which we deposit him.’65 His assessment of Scroggie was only marginally more forgiving: ‘Dr. Scroggie, ane old man, not verie corrupt, yet perverse in the Covenant and service book.’66 In comparison, however, Baillie looked quite favourably on Forbes. While he claimed that Forbes’ treatises were ‘full of a number of popish tenets … intending directlie reconciliation with Rome, farther than either Montague, or Spalato, or any I ever saw’, he also reported that ‘Dr. Forbes’s ingenuitie pleased us so well, that we have given him yet tyme for advysement.’67 Forbes claimed that the General Assembly declared him to be ‘orthodox, and nether papist nor arminian’ on 5 August 1640, although they still required him to ‘journey and go to Edinburgh … and ther confer with the brethren of that presbytrie, anent the Covenant’.68 Forbes’ jubilant mood was, however, short lived. The General Assembly’s decisions ultimately led to another fracturing of the Aberdeen Doctors’ opposition to the National Covenant, as Forbes, Scroggie and Sibbald responded differently to the verdicts passed against them. Sibbald took the most resolute stance against the National Covenant. Following his removal from his position at the West Kirk in New Aberdeen he went into exile in Ireland, where Gordon records that he was ‘placed minister at Dublin till his deathe’.69 He maintained some degree of contact with his Scottish colleagues and wrote to the 1641 General Assembly, although this was simply to request the return of his books, which had been kept by the previous Assembly for examination, rather than to re-engage in debates over the National Covenant.70 The Assembly agreed to return his books, excluding his sermons, which were transported to him via Robert Petrie in Edinburgh.71 Their refusal to return his sermons, which they claimed ‘smelled of Arminianism’, suggests that they

64 Peterkin,

Records, p. 292. L&J, I, p. 248. 66 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 248. 67 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 248. 68 AUL, MS 635, fol. 382. 69 James Gordon, History of Scots Affairs, From MDCXXXVII to MDCXLI, ed. Joseph Robertson and George Grub, 3 vols (Aberdeen, 1841), III, p. 230. 70 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 365. 71 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 365; Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, p. 315. 65 Baillie,

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thought that Sibbald could not be trusted, even in exile.72 This exchange thus reminds us that, while Sibbald may not have been particularly outspoken post-1640, he remained an opponent of the National Covenant. Forbes’s response to the General Assembly was not as decisive as Sibbald’s. Despite the favourable verdict from the Assembly, things were far from settled. His diary entries from August 1640 reveal that he experienced severe spiritual anxiety in the days after the Assembly. On 20 August 1640 he recorded how his tenants had been threatened and were pleading with him to ‘provide men and armes and means to assist this ware in defence of the Covenant’.73 Yet he struggled to know how to respond. The General Assembly’s decision appears to have left him in a state of paralysis: ‘I my self am not sufficientlie resolved nor persuaded that I may give with a safe conscience, or bid my tennants give any such assistance, nether am I able to repell the threatned violences from my Tennants and land.’74 While the General Assembly’s decision had afforded Forbes a temporary reprieve, this was of no benefit to his tenants. He also feared that his visit to Edinburgh might force him to compromise his principles, complaining of ‘the perill of hurting my conscience through my own weakness’.75 In the ensuing months, Forbes avoided going to Edinburgh and seems to have settled on a strategy of evasion. More than twenty months after the Aberdeen Assembly, on 19 April 1642, he had still not fulfilled the Covenanters’ request.76 In April 1644 he set sail for Holland having not signed the Covenant.77 From these actions it is clear that Forbes’ opposition to the National Covenant was significantly dampened after 1640, even if it was not completely extinguished. Exile was preferable to ongoing conflict with both the Covenanters and himself. In comparison with Sibbald and Forbes, Scroggie capitulated to the Covenanters’ agenda following the 1640 Assembly. In his account of the 1641 Assembly, Baillie reported that on Friday 6 August 1641 ‘Dr. Scroggie of Aberdeen supplicat to be admitted to our Covenant’. The outcome of this request was that: ‘The tryall of his repentance was remitted to the Provinciall Synod.’78 Whereas Forbes evaded his meeting with the Covenanters in Edinburgh, Scroggie appeared before the Aberdeen Presbytery on Thursday 26 May 1642. At this meeting Scroggie made a startlingly full recantation of his earlier views: Wherefore, clearly discerning my former mistakings in opposing the national covenant of this kirk and kingdom, I do now pass from all the reasons and arguments spoken or given out by myself alone, or others, either before or at the late assembly, at Aberdeen, 72 Spalding,

History of the Troubles, I, p. 315. AUL, MS 635, fol. 397. 74 AUL, MS 635, fol. 397. 75 AUL, MS 635, fol. 397. 76 Spalding, History of the Troubles, II, p. 7. 77 AUL, MS 635, fol. 481. 78 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 373. 73

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THE ABERDEEN DOCTORS AND THE NATIONAL COVENANT against our subscribing thereof, in as far as they militate against the covenant, or utters any thing to the prejudice thereof.79

In addition to this renunciation of his former opposition to the National Covenant, Scroggie specifically condemned the Roman Catholic Church, the service book, the book of canons, the use of religious images in worship, the use of altars (and kneeling before them), the use of sacrificial language for the Lord’s Supper and the administration of the last rites.80 Such condemnations were markedly similar to those required by the Kirk from individuals who had fallen into Catholic error.81 Scroggie also renounced the arguments that he had made on the basis of Matthew 26:32 and Romans 13:2 against those who engaged in varying forms of resistance for the ‘defence of this nation’, noting that these verses were ‘misapplied’.82 For the avoidance of doubt, he also added that ‘if any other thing be found, set out by me, or others about Aberdeen, contrary to the just and lawful cause of the covenant, I disclaim them all’.83 Scroggie’s repudiation of the Aberdeen Doctors’ position was comprehensive. The timing of this declaration is also interesting, since it was made well before Forbes fled to the continent in 1644. In other words, Scroggie’s decision to renounce the Aberdeen Doctors’ opposition to the National Covenant cannot be explained away by his being left in an isolated position. If he had wanted to maintain his opposition to the Covenant he almost certainly would have enjoyed Forbes’ support. Instead, his actions serve as firm evidence of the increasingly divergent responses among the Aberdeen Doctors, and of the gradual disintegration of their collective voice, as the practical implications of their opposition to the Covenant became clear. Conclusion This chapter has sought to argue that the story of the Aberdeen Doctors and the National Covenant is more complicated than is often acknowledged. It is not one of straightforward opposition. The Doctors did not, as Macmillan suggested, share ‘perfect concord’.84 This chapter has sought to challenge this underlying assumption on three fronts. First, it argued that the tendency to exclude William Guild from among the number of the Aberdeen Doctors has given the misleading impression that the Doctors were an entirely cohesive group. Yet, when he is included, as he surely should be, a greater diversity of views is apparent both before and after the initial publication of the Generall 79 Spalding,

History of the Troubles, II, p. 16. History of the Troubles, II, p. 17. 81 Margo Todd, The Culture of Protestantism in Early Modern Scotland (London, 2002), p. 157. 82 Spalding, History of the Troubles, II, p. 17. 83 Spalding, History of the Troubles, II, p. 17. 84 Macmillan, Aberdeen Doctors, p. 50. 80 Spalding,

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Demands. Second, this chapter challenged the implicit belief that the Doctors’ opposition was unchanging. It demonstrated that there were important shifts in their collective position during 1638, most significantly on the Negative Confession. Third, it sought to revisit the chronological parameters typically adopted for the study of the Aberdeen Doctors’ opposition to the National Covenant, arguing that when their positions are considered within a longer time frame it becomes clear that there was significant diversity in how they responded to and negotiated the National Covenant. While the Doctors had much in common with one another, their individual positions were more varied and in a greater state of flux throughout the period between 1638 and 1644 than is often admitted. In early July 1638 all seven Doctors opposed the Covenant and, on the surface, the situation appeared much the same in March 1639. Yet the intervening months saw Guild sign the Covenant with limitations, Forbes almost follow suit and all of the Doctors accept the Negative Confession. This shift was only the tip of the iceberg though, for the Doctors were forced to repeatedly modify the basis for their opposition as they navigated the ongoing changes in the political and religious landscape of the mid-seventeenth century. In hindsight, some of their number thought that they had conceded too much too quickly. In 1640 Forbes lamented the ‘diminishing of our reasons … for not subscriving the Covenant’.85 He felt that they had given too much ground. Yet this complaint only serves to highlight the diversity of opinion within this relatively small group. Some presumably felt concessions were necessary, while others were less sure. What is clear is that the Doctors’ initial opposition to the National Covenant failed to effect any lasting change and so it was necessary to adapt. Following his return from the continent, Guild accepted the Covenant in 1639 and, although he held out for significantly longer, Scroggie also subscribed in 1642. This point alone presents a challenge for much of the existing literature concerning the Doctors. If Guild is to be excluded from their number because he signed the National Covenant with limitations, then surely the same verdict must be passed against Scroggie, who repudiated the Doctors’ position quite decisively at a meeting of the Aberdeen Presbytery. Even among those who did not subscribe it is apparent that they still had to negotiate the Covenant in very practical ways. Sibbald and Forbes eventually went into exile, rather than subscribe. Yet these facts alone do not tell the full story. For, as we have noted already, Forbes flirted with the idea of signing the Covenant with limitations in 1638 and in 1640 agreed to meet with the Covenanters in Edinburgh. Although Forbes did not, in the end, join the Covenanting cause, this should not disguise the fact that there were moments when it appeared a possibility. Even the likes of Sibbald, who the Covenanters concluded was ‘verie corrupt’, accepted some of the Covenanters’ practices, if not their overarching objectives. In late 1639 he administered communion to people at the table – the form preferred by the 85

AUL, MS 635, fol. 392.

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Covenanters – rather than by kneeling, as per the Five Articles of Perth. Leslie’s deposal from his post at King’s College in August 1639 shielded him from the brunt of the controversy at the General Assembly in Aberdeen, while the deaths of Ross and Baron in the same month spared them the ongoing quandary over how best to navigate the Covenant. The Aberdeen Doctors’ response to the National Covenant was complicated, shifting, and far from united. Among their number there were a plurality of responses to the Covenant, which changed over time. This is not particularly surprising, but this reality serves to highlight the problems associated with assuming there was a rigid dichotomy between Covenanters and anti-Covenanters. On the face of it, the Aberdeen Doctors are archetypal anti-Covenanters – after all, they are a clearly identifiable group of opponents of the National Covenant – yet two of their number ultimately subscribed, while others conformed to key Covenanting practices. The case of the Aberdeen Doctors serves as a stark reminder that, when it comes to describing the events of the mid-seventeenth century in Scotland, greater sensitivity and a more sophisticated taxonomy are required if we are to appreciate the full spectrum of positions that were held.

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4 Allegiance, Confession and Covenanting Identities, 1638–51 Jamie McDougall The purpose of this chapter is to understand how and why divergent opinion groups emerged in the first decade of the Covenanting venture at national and local level. By analysing how the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant were drawn up and received, it will show that multiple interpretations emerged from at least as early as 1639. These divergent interpretations centred on two main points: monarchical allegiance and ecclesiastical government. Designed to appeal to a broad base of opponents to Charles I’s ecclesiastical policies, the National Covenant was ambiguously worded. Although the wording of the Solemn League and Covenant was slightly more forthright regarding allegiance and confession, subscription to both covenants led to a variety of positions emerging. Successive Covenanting governments sought to enforce universal adherence to particular interpretations of the covenants through resubscription campaigns in 1639 and 1648. Rather than unify the nation under one banner, the resubscription campaigns brought underlying tensions to the surface, fostering the development of a variety of positions at local level and entrenching division. The development of royalist, episcopalian, hardline and conservative Covenanting positions from 1638 to 1649 is analysed in detail here. It is argued that Covenanting encompassed a broad spectrum of ideas and the engagement of ordinary people through subscription campaigns allowed for the development of conflicting and highly fluid opinion groups both at national level and in the localities of Scotland. The emergence and growth of divergent Covenanting positions is something that has not been given substantial attention in the historiography of this period. In 1973 David Stevenson first wrote of ‘royalist covenanters’, and Edward Cowan’s work on James Graham, first marquis of Montrose, provides a clear analysis of how a Covenanting leader also held strong royalist inclinations.1 Few other works seriously engage with this issue. Barry Robertson’s 2014 monograph highlights the complexity of royalist thought in Scotland and Ireland but the relationship between royalism and Covenanting remains 1 David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44: The Triumph of the Covenanters (Newton Abbot, 1973); Edward J. Cowan, Montrose: For Covenant and King (London, 1997).

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largely unexplored in the historiography.2 An exception is Scott Spurlock’s 2013 article, which highlights the contested nature of Covenanting, arguing that unresolved issues such as monarchical allegiance caused divisions from the start.3 There is substantial scope to examine this further, particularly in regard to how debates surrounding the nature of Covenanting played out on the ground. Laura Stewart’s 2016 monograph offers a lucid analysis of the Engagement crisis at national and local level, but does not engage with earlier schisms.4 Contributors to this volume have offered valuable insights into the relationship between episcopacy and Covenanting. In particular, through an analysis of Robert Baillie’s writings Alexander Campbell has convincingly shown that a prominent Covenanting figure was not opposed to a form of episcopalian Church government.5 This chapter, therefore, focuses more heavily on the issue of monarchical allegiance while providing an overview of how ideas surrounding Church government contributed to the development of Covenanting positions. It provides fresh insights into the emergence of conflicting and highly fluid Covenanting opinion groups and utilises a wealth of evidence from kirk session and presbytery records. These records contain details of the subscription process, providing insight into the ideas that were received at a local level, areas of controversy and how localities experienced Covenanting. The Covenanting Spectrum, 1638–43 When swearing and subscribing the National Covenant in spring and summer 1638, the subscribers recognised that current ecclesiastical policies, or ‘novations’, were contrary to both the 1580 Negative Confession and the laws of Scotland. They then promised to ‘continue in the profession and obedience of the Foresaid religion’ and ‘stand to the defence of our dread Sovereign, the King’s Majesty, his Person and Authority, in the defence and preservation of the foresaid true Religion, Liberties, and Lawes of the Kingdome’.6 Much has been written on the theology and political thought of the early Covenanters, but, put simply, the February 1638 covenant had two aims: to defend the ‘true 2

Barry Robertson, Royalists at War in Scotland and Ireland 1638–1650 (Farnham, 2014). R. Scott Spurlock, ‘Problems with Religion as Identity: The Case of Mid-Stuart Ireland and Scotland’, Journal of Irish and Scottish Studies, 6 (2013), 1–29. 4 Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), ch. 6. 5 Alexander Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662): Politics, Religion, and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Martlesham, 2017); Alexander Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the Mind of Robert Baillie, 1637–1662’, SHR, 93 (2014), 29–55. See Jamie McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, RSCHS, 47 (2018), 3–30; Chris R. Langley, Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 (London, 2016), pp. 22–34. 6 ‘The National Covenant’, in Scottish Historical Documents, ed. Gordon Donaldson (Edinburgh, 1974), pp. 194–201. 3

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religion’ and to uphold the monarchy.7 Incidentally, what exactly constituted the true religion and what to do if defence of religion and monarch became incompatible were the two main issues that caused division from the start at elite and local level. Understanding the causes of division in the first five years of the Covenanting venture is the focus here, and evidence is utilised from a range of contemporary writings and local records to show that Covenanting ideas were by no means monolithic and encompassed a spectrum of different standpoints. Of particular importance in the divergence of Covenanting interpretations are the ways in which the Negative Confession was understood, the King’s Covenant of September 1638, the Glasgow Declaration of December 1638 and the defection of Montrose in 1640. The main contention of this chapter is that Covenanting ideas were highly fluid and the text of the covenant was sufficiently vague to allow for the existence of multiple interpretations. This is clear not only from an examination of the text itself, but from an analysis of the subscription process. Laura Stewart has recently highlighted some of the radical ways in which the covenant could be interpreted.8 The majority of evidence suggests, however, that the covenant engendered different responses on the ground that were often dependent on the degree to which subscription was enforced and how it was explained by the minister in church. Of the surviving twelve kirk sessions and eight presbyteries that record subscription in 1638, three kirks (25 per cent of those for which records survive) and three presbyteries (37 per cent) describe the covenant as a confession or renewal.9 For example, Lasswade kirk session recorded that ‘the confession of faith was publiclie red with great joy and hands holdine up’, and the records of Perth Presbytery state that ‘the covenant with God [was] renewed and subscrived’.10 The evidence base is too small to draw any robust conclusions on this point, but it is fair to say that some of those who subscribed the covenant in 1638 understood this act as simply being a renewal of the Negative Confession. This is an important point to recognise, as the Negative Confession was solely a denunciation of Catholicism, it made no mention of Church government and 7 For example, see Edward J. Cowan, ‘The Making of the National Covenant’, in The Scottish National Covenant in its British Context, ed. John Morrill (Edinburgh, 1990), pp. 68–89; Sharon Adams, ‘In Search of the Scottish Republic’, in Scotland in the Age of the Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 97–114; John D. Ford, ‘The Lawful Bonds of Scottish Society: The Five Articles of Perth, The Negative Confession and the National Covenant’, Historical Journal, 37 (1994), 45–64; James B. Torrance, ‘Covenant or Contract? A Study of the Theological Background of Worship in Seventeenth-Century Scotland’, Scottish Journal of Theology, 23 (1970), 51–76. 8 Stewart, Rethinking, ch. 2; Laura Stewart, ‘Authority, Agency, and the Reception of the Scottish National Covenant of 1638’, in Insular Christianity: Alternative models of the Church in Britain and Ireland, c.1570–c.1700, ed. Robert Armstrong and Tadhg Ó Hannracháin (Manchester, 2013), pp. 89–107. 9 NRS, CH2/471/2, fol. 3; NRS, CH2/264/1, fol. 37; NRS, CH2/548/1, fol. 67; NRS, CH2/224/1, fol. 229; NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 117; NRS, CH2/299/2, fol. 368. 10 NRS, CH2/471/2, fol. 3; NRS, CH2/299/2, fol. 368.

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was issued by the royal household. In 1638 the Confession could theoretically support presbyterian, episcopalian, royalist, monarchist and anti-monarchical positions. While David Mullan has argued that Wariston and Henderson ‘aimed their artillery’ at episcopacy through the Negative Confession, there is no evidence to suggest that this was widely understood.11 Indeed, John Ford argues that the covenant was ‘no more than a reissue with explanatory appendixes of the Negative Confession; or so it was perceived at the time’.12 As will be shown here, the Negative Confession was used to support a variety of standpoints. Examining responses to the King’s Covenant and Glasgow Declaration further highlights the range of positions available in 1638. The response of Charles I to the creation of the National Covenant was to issue a proclamation through the Privy Council in June 1638 that affirmed his commitment to Protestantism and promised not to ‘presse the practise of the foresaid canons and Service Booke’.13 In September he agreed for a General Assembly to meet in December 1638 and a parliament in May 1639 before ordering the resubscription of the Negative Confession with a 1590 band that was similarly anti-Catholic in tenor and purpose. This became known as the King’s Covenant. It was printed in Edinburgh and subscribed by James Hamilton, third marquis (and later first duke) of Hamilton and twenty-eight other noblemen, including the earls of Traquair, Roxburgh, Southesk, Mar and Marischal.14 The accompanying orders to subscribe stated that ‘it hath been, to the disgrace of governement, disperst and surmised throughout this Our Kingdome, that some of Our Subjects have exercised such illimited and unwarranted power’. Thus, Charles reissued the Negative Confession and 1590 band in order ‘to give Our Subjects full assurance, that we never intend to admit of any change or alternation in the true Religion already established and professed in this Our Kingdome’.15 As with Wariston and Henderson, Charles used the Negative Confession to support his standpoint. The intention of the King’s Covenant was threefold: first, to denounce those who drew up the covenant; second, to provide assurances that Charles was committed to Protestantism; and, third, to revive the sixteenth-century tradition of bonding being directed by the monarch. The 1638 covenant was the first time a national band had been drawn up without the explicit permission of the monarch.16 11 David G. Mullan, Episcopacy in Scotland: The History of an Idea, 1560–1638 (Edinburgh, 1986), pp. 180–3. 12 Ford, ‘The Lawful Bonds of Scottish Society’, 46–54. 13 David Masson et al. (ed.), Register of the Privy Council of Scotland. Second Series, 8 vols (Edinburgh, 1881–1933) [hereafter RPCS], VII, p. 33. 14 One of the few surviving copies is held at the National Library of Scotland. See NLS, MS. 34.5.15. 15 Ibid. 16 For further discussion on this point, see Jamie McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters in Scotland 1638–1679’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 2018), pp. 36–42.

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Latent grassroots royalism is evident in some local records that relate to the swearing of the National Covenant and the King’s Covenant in 1638. Kirkcaldy Presbytery experienced difficulty with Andrew Lermouth, minister of Markinch, and John Michaelson, minister of Burntisland, for refusing to subscribe the covenant. Michaelson supposedly accused the Covenanters of ‘taking the crowne aff the kings majesties head’ and ‘called the covenant a blak covenant’. Lermouth, on the other hand, reportedly called the Covenanters ‘perjured’. Both continually refused to subscribe the covenant and were deposed in February 1639.17 Another minister who displayed royalist tendencies was James Douglas, minister of Douglas. Lanark Presbytery rigorously pursued him for twelve months until he eventually acquiesced and subscribed the covenant. His initial reason for refusing was that ‘he had latlie subscryved the Confession and generall band which had been presented to the kirk of Douglass by the authority of king and Counsell and therfoir could not now subscryve this covenant’.18 This is the only reference to the King’s Covenant found in the church records, which suggests that it was not widely subscribed. However, from this evidence it appears to have been subscribed in Douglas. David Stevenson argued that it was not widely subscribed as Charles entrusted leading Covenanters with its circulation.19 The King’s Covenant has since largely been ignored by historians and the few surviving copies have not been examined. One surviving copy holds 1,100 signatures from the Angus region of Scotland. It appears to have been promoted by James Carnegie, second earl of Southesk, and contains names from all social ranks. In Arbroath the names of maltmen, tailors and cordmen are recorded.20 This evidence, combined with the probable subscription of it in Douglas, suggests that the King’s Covenant was more widely subscribed than has previously been recognised. Although some opposed the National Covenant on royalist grounds, the two ideologies were not incompatible. Once the Covenanters had established themselves in government, they engaged in warfare with Charles I in the north of England between 1639 and 1641. These conflicts, known as the ‘Bishops’ Wars’, resulted in the first major schism in the Covenanting venture. The marquis of Montrose had been an active supporter of the National Covenant and was a leader in the north-east who actively garnered subscriptions. His understanding of Covenanting rested on loyalty to the monarch as well as presbyterianism and he could not reconcile war with Charles with his interpretation of the National Covenant. In August 1640 Montrose drew up the Cumbernauld band, which he and at least eighteen other noblemen subscribed. They promised to ‘heartily bind and oblige ourselves, out of duty to all these respects above mentioned [religion, king, country and covenant], but chiefly and mainly that Covenant 17 NRS,

CH2/224/1, fols 229–59. For detailed analyses of these cases, see Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 103–7; McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, pp. 15–16. 18 NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 130. 19 Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, p. 110. 20 NLS, MS 34.5.15.

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… to wed and study all public ends which tend to the safety both of Religion, Laws, and Liberties of this poor kingdom’.21 The only surviving copies are in print and list the subscribers as Montrose, the earls of Marischal, Atholl, Mar, Galloway, Kirkcudbright, Perth, Wigton, Kinghorn, Seaforth, Home, Lord Erskine (son of Mar), Lord Johnston, Lord Boyd, Lord Almond, Viscount Stormont, Lord Drummond, Lord Lour and his son the Master of Lour.22 The subscribers did not disown the National Covenant, but rather asserted that the current direction in which the regime was going did not fit with their understanding of Covenanting obligations. Thus, the issue of whether or not it was permissible under the Covenant to openly rebel against the king caused the first major schism in the Covenanting leadership. The Covenanter government, at this point led by Archibald Campbell, eighth earl and latterly first marquis of Argyll, could reconcile war with Charles in the defence of presbyterianism. Royalist Covenanters, led by Montrose, broke away as they believed defence of the monarch to be a Covenanting imperative. It has been argued here that there were early royalist interpretations of the covenant and that royalism and Covenanting were not incompatible. Episcopalian and Covenanting ideas could also be reconciled, especially prior to the General Assembly meeting in December 1638. The February version of the National Covenant made no mention of Episcopacy and in theory could be subscribed by an episcopalian. The episcopalian intellectual William Guild and Robert Reid, minister of the Aberdeenshire parish of Banchory-ternan, subscribed a covenant in July 1638 while reserving their right to support Episcopacy and Charles I, and there were no depositions of ministers in the far north and north-east in a substantial purge of ministers in 1638–9.23 Regional differences played a significant role in how the covenant was received and interpreted. While episcopalians in the north and north-east were often permitted to show minimal support for the covenant, areas in the central belt and particularly the west were far stricter. James Douglas, minster of Douglas (discussed above), not only held royalist sympathies but also opposed the covenant on grounds of Church government. This was uncovered by Lanark Presbytery after the General Assembly met in December 1638 at Glasgow. This session ignored orders to disband from Hamilton, the king’s commissioner, and went on to ratify the National Covenant, excommunicate eight of the fourteen Scottish bishops and add an anti-episcopal declaration to the covenant along with an order to resubscribe it with the declaration. This declaration stated 21

John Lumsden, The Covenants of Scotland (Paisley, 1914), pp. 255–6. L&J, II, pp. 467–8; Mark Napier (ed.), Memorials of Montrose and his Times, I (Edinburgh, 1848), pp. 254–5; Cowan, Montrose: For Covenant and King, pp. 97–8. 23 James Shirrefs, An Inquiry into the Life, Writings, and Character, of the Reverend Doctor William Guild, One of the Chaplains in Ordinary to his Majesty King Charles I; and Founder of the Trinity Hospital, Aberdeen (Aberdeen, 1798), p. 49; Scott, Fasti, VI, p. 80; McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, p. 14; David Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers in the Church of Scotland under the Covenanters, 1638–1651’, Church History, 44 (1975), 324–6. 22 Baillie,

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that the Five Articles of Perth and government of the Church by bishops was unlawful.24 When pressing Douglas to subscribe it, Douglas attested that he could not because the covenant was now ‘against Episcopacie according to the Assemblies declaration of the Confession’.25 He eventually subscribed after being threatened with deposition. The anti-episcopal element of Covenanting was clearly pressed more heavily in some areas than others, which meant that understandings of Covenanting obligations varied. Moreover, subscription to the Glasgow Declaration was patchy at best. None of the surviving church minutes record resubscriptions in 1639 and surviving copies vary significantly.26 A covenant from the Peeblesshire area contains the Glasgow Declaration, with only 22 per cent of those who subscribed the original text signing underneath the additional declaration.27 Thus, how people understood Covenanting could vary significantly. There were not only royalist interpretations, but episcopalian ones too. Even after the addition of the Glasgow Declaration it was possible in theory to remain a Covenanter and an episcopalian, particularly in areas where the Covenanting government did not have a strong presence. During the first few years of the Covenanting venture a range of interpretations was evident across the social spectrum. In many ways, interpretations rested on the Negative Confession. It formed a key part of both the National Covenant and the King’s Covenant and several local records describe the covenant subscription as a renewal. As chapter five in this volume will show, it also formed part of the Aberdeen Doctors’ opposition to the National Covenant. Evidence of subscription to the King’s Covenant shows that royalist ideas did receive exposure on the ground. Montrose’s defection in 1640 is the first time a clearly identifiable group of Covenanters emerges outwith the mainstream. It was certainly possible for episcopalians to subscribe the covenant, particularly before the addition of the Glasgow Declaration and in certain areas, such as the north-east. The most effective way of conceptualising the Covenanters from 1638 to 1643 is on a spectrum that includes presbyterians, episcopalians and royalists. Covenanting Controversy, 1643–8 The remainder of this chapter analyses the further fracturing of the Covenanting venture following the creation of the 1643 Solemn League and Covenant. Ordinary people were once more required to enter into a covenant with God, but this time Scotland, England and Ireland were all to be united under a three-kingdom covenant. Montrose refused to subscribe, as a condition of 24 Church of Scotland, Acts of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, 1638–1842 (Edinburgh, 1843), pp. 1–35. 25 Ibid., p. 141. 26 See McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, pp. 12–14. 27 NLS, MS. 20.6.16.

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entering into this covenant was Scottish military support to the English Parliamentarians in the civil war. He led a royalist uprising in Scotland that received support primarily from the northern areas of Scotland – a movement that sparked the proliferation of royalism in non-Campbell Gaelic Scotland. The role of Episcopacy was a little clearer in the text of the Solemn League and Covenant, but there was still scope for congruence after 1643. In October 1648 the commission of the General Assembly ordered a renewal of the Solemn League and Covenant alongside an acknowledgment of public sins. This was a hardline response to a major schism that opened up at the beginning of the year, when conservative Covenanters felt uneasy with the imprisonment of Charles I in England and gained support in the Scottish parliament for the Engagement: an attempted rescue of the king in return for the implementation of presbyterianism in the three kingdoms. The Engagement controversy and the resulting hardline backlash is the final point of analysis here. It is argued that the ambiguous wording of the covenants allowed for different standpoints to be justified, which in turn created division. At each moment of controversy, ordinary people were engaged through oath taking, fasting and petitioning, which meant that a variety of Covenanting identities were prevalent at all social levels. The Solemn League and Covenant was drawn up as a result of an uneasy alliance between the Covenanting government in Scotland and the English Parliamentarians. The Covenanters had pushed for establishing uniformity of religion with England as early as 1641, during peace negotiations after the Bishops’ Wars. Their advances were rejected, but in 1643 circumstances had changed. In need of military support for their campaign against royalist forces, the English parliament agreed to establish a uniform standard of Church government under the terms of a three-kingdom covenant in return for military aid. The mixed set of motivations on all sides for entering into this covenant is reflected in the vague wording of the six-point oath itself. First was a promise to maintain the separate Churches in the three kingdoms but establish a uniform standard of Church government, worship and confession of faith. Second was to eradicate Catholicism and prelacy. Third was to preserve the rights and liberties of parliament and the king’s majesty.28 The second and third articles would later be the source of much controversy. Whether or not the second article bound the nation and subscribers to the eradication of Episcopacy was a source of contention on the establishment of an episcopalian form of Church government on the restoration of Charles II. The third article caused the conservative–hardline split in 1648: is it permissible to imprison the monarch and prioritise the rights of parliament above those of the crown? The final three articles contained pledges to bring to trial those who had hindered the Reformation, preserve the 1641 Treaty of

28

Church of Scotland, Acts of the General Assembly, pp. 73–92.

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London and defend all those who entered into the covenant.29 It was printed and sent for subscription in the three kingdoms in autumn 1643. Despite having clearer aims than the original text of the National Covenant, the Solemn League and Covenant could still encompass a range of standpoints. As outlined above, article two consisted of a promise to eradicate Catholicism and prelacy. In the final drafting of the Solemn League, the English commissioners added an explanatory note in parentheses explaining ‘that is, Church government by Archbishops, Bishops, their Chancellors and Commissaries, Deans, Deans and Chapters, Archdeacons, and all other ecclesiastical officers depending on that hierarchy’.30 There is no evidence of episcopalian support for the Solemn League in Scotland, but the issue did rear its head at the establishment of an episcopalian form of Church government in 1662. Writers such as Andrew Honyman, Robert Leighton and Robert Baillie did not oppose this Church settlement, despite being supporters of the Solemn League and Covenant in 1643. Honyman and Leighton both argued that ‘prelacy’ in the text of the Solemn League referred to English Church hierarchies and not traditional Scottish Episcopacy.31 Their standpoint is supported by the fact that the explanatory note added to the second article was done during the final review of the draft in England and refers to ecclesiastical positions that had not been part of the Scottish Church since the Reformation. Thus, while the episcopalian Covenanting voice was absent in 1643, there was ideological space for episcopalians to subscribe. Moreover, article two became of paramount importance after 1662 and was used by conformists to argue for a congruence between Covenanting and episcopacy. The main opponents to the Solemn League in Scotland were a variety of different groups of royalists who primarily stemmed from the north-east and Highlands. Perhaps the most significant impact Covenanting had on the Highland region was the strengthening of latent royalism among certain clans. The royalist Covenanter Montrose led a northern army against the Covenanting government which led to civil war in Scotland throughout 1644 until the battle of Philiphaugh on 12 September 1645. He was joined by the Catholic royalist Alasdair MacColla, who brought an army of Irish Catholic confederates to Scotland in support of the rising. This unusual alliance of convenience between a presbyterian and a Catholic succeeded in drawing Scottish troops away from England and was an important moment in the Highland experience of Covenanting and royalism. The 29

Ibid. Samuel R. Gardiner (ed.), The Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution 1628–1660 (Oxford, 1889), p. 188. 31 Andrew Honyman, The Seasonable Case of Submission to the Church-Government as Now Re-Established by Law, Briefly Stated and Determined (Edinburgh, 1662), pp. 19, 32–3; Robert Leighton, ‘A Modest Defence of Moderate Episcopacy, As established in Scotland at the Restoration of King Charles II’, in The Works of Robert Leighton, ed. Rev. G. Jerment, 5 vols (London, 1808), V, p. 79. 30

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works of Macinnes, Kennedy and Robertson have shown that Covenanting was certainly not absent in the Highlands and garnered support particularly from areas where the Reformation was successful, such as Argyllshire, Perthshire, Sutherland and Caithness, as well as southern parts of Ross. 32 Indeed, one of the most prominent Covenanting leaders was the marquis of Argyll: a Highland nobleman. A full analysis of Covenanting in the Highlands requires significantly more space than is available here.33 The relevance of the Highland element to this discussion lies in the complex relationship with royalism. The catalyst for the outbreak of war in 1644 was the Solemn League and Covenant, but opposition to Clan Campbell and the resultant awakening of royalist tendencies provided the driving force. Montrose supported a vision of the Covenanting that was not consistent with war with Charles. Others who joined the royalist uprising in 1644 did so for a variety of reasons. The biggest impact Covenanting had on the Highlands was a strengthening of royalist sentiment in certain parts of this region, particularly among clans that held long-standing feuds with the Campbells. Clan Donald held a centuries-long feud with Clan Campbell and, unsurprisingly, support for the rising came heavily from MacDonald lands. Indeed, Alasdair MacColla was born in Colonsay into the Clann Iain Mhòir branch of Clan Donald. He was brought up in Clan Donald lands in Ulster and he and the earl of Antrim and MacDonalds of Sleat had been treating with Charles I as early as 1640 to regain land lost to the Campbells in the western isles in return for military aid.34 An anonymous pamphlet describing the arrival of Montrose at Athol and the raising of troops there described how the multitude ‘call’d out with one voice, they would have no more of King Campbelle Government; they would either loose their lives, or have King Stuart to his owne place again’.35 Thus, a certain brand of royalism was awakened in parts of the Highlands as a result of the creation of the Solemn League and Covenant 32

Allan I. Macinnes, The British Confederate: Archibald Campbell, Marquess of Argyll, 1607–1661 (Edinburgh, 2011), p. 200; Allan Kennedy, ‘“A Heavy Yock Uppon Their Necks”: Covenanting Government in the Northern Highlands’, Journal of Scottish Historical Studies, 30 (2010), 93–112; Barry Robertson, ‘The Covenanting North of Scotland, 1638–1647’, Innes Review, 61 (2010), 24–5. 33 For a more detailed analysis, see McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters’, pp. 78–82; R. Scott Spurlock, ‘Confessionalization and Clan Cohesion: Ireland’s Contribution to Scottish Catholic Renewal in the Seventeenth Century’, Recusant History, 31 (2012), 171–94; Allan I. Macinnes, ‘The First Scottish Tories?’, SHR, 67 (1988), 56–66. 34 David Stevenson, Highland Warrior: Alasdair MacColla and the Civil Wars (Edinburgh, 1994), p. 53; John A. MacLean, ‘The Sources, Particularly the Celtic Sources, for the History of the Highlands in the Seventeenth Century’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Aberdeen, 1939), pp. 2–3. 35 A True Relation of the Happy Successe of His Majesties Forces in Scotland under the Conduct of the Lord James Marquisse of Montrose His Exellencie, Against the Rebels there (Edinburgh, 1644), p. 6.

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and the increasing influence of Argyll in the Covenanting government. It is likely that the clans who supported the rising supported Charles I only as long as it trumped Campbell authority. However, this had a lasting impact on the political culture of the Highlands and is one of the most important and overlooked ramifications of the Covenanting venture. As David Findlay opines, the ‘tradition of Highland Royalism was born in the 1640s, in a conflict that was both a Gaelic civil war and a national war with imperialistic undertones’.36 Royalism of a rather different nature is evident among mainstream Covenanting ranks at the Engagement of 1647–8. A major split in the Covenanting ranks ensued, which rested on contrasting interpretations of the Solemn League and Covenant. Drawn up as a result of Charles’ imprisonment after the end of the first civil war in England, the Engagement was led by Hamilton and had the aim of restoring the king to his full power in return for the implementation of presbyterianism for a three-year trial period in the three kingdoms. This conservative faction of Covenanters gained enough strength to pass a parliamentary act in support of the Engagement as Scottish forces led by Hamilton prepared to invade England. Parliament declared that the Engagement was consistent with ‘the endis of the Covenant for defence and reformatioun of religion, the honor and happines of the king and his royal posteritie and the peace and saifety of this kingdome’.37 The 1648 session of the General Assembly opposed the Engagement, thus marking the establishment of a conservative–hardline schism. For the hardliners, any deal with Charles had to rest on his subscription of the covenants. The act of the General Assembly opposing the Engagement stated that: the duty in preserving and defending his Majesty’s person and authority is, by the third article of the Covenant, qualified with and subordinate unto the preservation and defence of the true religion and liberties of the kingdoms; there is no such qualification nor subordination observed in the present Engagement, but, on the contrary, it is so carried on, as to make duties to God and religion conditional, qualified, limited; and duties to the King absolute and unlimited.38

At the heart of the split between conservatives and hardliners was different interpretations of the third article of the Solemn League and Covenant. Conservatives understood this article to be a promise to maintain the king’s majesty alongside the rights and liberties of parliament and religion and therefore viewed the Engagement as a means of upholding the Solemn League and Covenant. For hardliners, defence of the monarch was conditional on the preservation of the ‘true religion’. As the Engagement did not require Charles to subscribe the covenants, it therefore placed the preservation of the monarchy above religion and broke the covenants. 36

David Findlay, ‘Divine Right and Early Modern Gaelic Society’, in Rannsachadh Na Gàidhlig 2000, ed. Colm Ó Baoill and Nancy R. McGuire (Aberdeen, 2002), p. 248. 37 RPS, 1648/3/213. 38 Church of Scotland, Acts of the General Assembly, pp. 166–200.

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By embracing federal theology in their opposition to Charles I in 1638 and creating a national covenant, the leaders of the Covenanting venture made everyone culpable for pursing the aims of the covenant.39 Thus, when there was a divergence of opinion, competing groupings attempted to enforce their ideas to ensure ideological conformity. This is evident in 1638 when the General Assembly ordered the National Covenant to be resubscribed with the Glasgow Declaration: a clause which outlined that session’s interpretation of the covenant. There were several similar attempts in 1648 by the two competing factions. It is important to note that neither hardliners nor conservatives wanted to engage the localities in discussion and debate. Rather, they wanted to enforce ideological conformity to their ideas and fulfil the national aspect of Covenanting. Robert Baillie notes that the duke of Hamilton and other leading Engagers attempted to gain widespread subscription to the act of parliament for the Engagement, but without the support of the Church this attempt was futile.40 The hardliners responded with an extensive petitioning campaign. Laura Stewart offers a lucid analysis of this campaign, showing how the General Assembly effectively garnered support from many localities.41 At this moment, there is some evidence of hardline Covenanting ideas at local level. The petition of the presbytery of Biggar argued that by supporting the Engagement parliament risked spreading ‘the episcopall disease’, which would make them ‘enemies of the Covenant’.42 By referencing Episcopacy in its petition against the Engagement, this presbytery was taking a stance that became common among hardliners: that the Engagement was not only a breach of the covenants, as it prioritised defence of the monarch above all else, but an action that would probably pave the way for the reintroduction of episcopalianism owing to Charles’ track record and evident favour for that form of Church government.43 An armed communion service was held in response to the Engagement at Mauchline, Ayrshire, in June 1648.44 It was organised and directed by the hardline ministers Thomas Wylie, William Adair, William Guthrie, Gabriel Maxwell and John Nevoy. Around 2000 people attended, many of whom were armed, and a skirmish ensued when leading Engager John Middleton arrived with six troops of horse, resulting in the death of many hardliners.45 Motivations for attending probably included ideology and opposition to the heavy levying of troops from the western region. Moreover, noble support for the Mauchline rising 39

R. Scott Spurlock, ‘State, Politics, and Society in Scotland, 1637–60’, in The Oxford Handbook of the English Revolution, ed. Michael J. Braddick (Oxford, 2014), p. 367. 40 Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 44–7. 41 Stewart, Rethinking, ch. 6. 42 NRS, CH2/35/1, fol. 203. 43 For example, see George Gillespie, An Usefull Case of Conscience (Edinburgh, 1649), p. 29. 44 Neil McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters: The Later Covenanters in Scotland c.1648–1682’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Strathclyde, 2016), pp. 22–6. 45 Ibid.

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was minimal, and this incident provides an early example of a grassroots hardline interpretation of the covenants at a moment when parliament took a conservative stance. The events of the following four months resulted in the further entrenchment of the hardline–conservative split. The Engagement army was routed by the New Model Army at Preston in August 1648. This created a power vacuum in Scotland which the hardliners quickly filled. Argyll led a western army that marched on Edinburgh with the support of Cromwell and seized control of the capital. The commission of the General Assembly met in September 1648 and addressed what they perceived to be a covenant-breach by ordering the resubscription of the Solemn League and Covenant alongside a ‘Solemn Acknowledgement of Public Sins and Breaches of the Covenant, and a Solemn Engagement to all the Duties contained therein, namely, those which do in a more special way relate to the dangers of these times’. Essentially, in order to right the wrongs of the Engagement the commission decided that a covenant resubscription was necessary. Moreover, it was accompanied by this Solemn Acknowledgment and Engagement: a six-point list of duties that reflected the commission’s interpretation of the Solemn League and Covenant. The fundamental stance of the Solemn Acknowledgment and Engagement was that anything that gave the monarchy unlimited power, threatened the covenanted union with England or weakened the Scottish Kirk was a breach of the Solemn League and Covenant.46 It ended by demanding the ‘debarring [of] persons accessorie to the Engagement from Covenant and Communion’.47 While the covenants of 1638 and 1643 had attempted to encompass everyone, to renew the covenant in 1648 each subscriber had to either prove that they played no part in the Engagement or repent for their actions before being permitted to subscribe or take communion. This was a major moment in the Covenanting venture that has been too readily overlooked by historians. Not only did the hardliners press their interpretation onto the posterity, but admittance to the communion table – the corporate body of Christ – depended on accepting this interpretation. They posed that the Engagement was a fundamental breach of the covenants and no Engager was worthy of being part of the Covenanting nation. The stance that the hardliners took and the highly effective resubscription campaign ensured that no compromise could be met between the two sides. The vast majority of surviving kirk session and presbytery records contain detailed cases of people being pursued for their involvement in the Engagement before being permitted to resubscribe the covenant.48 Some of the more remarkable cases see members of the nobility and gentry – such as Lord William Cochrane, one of the biggest landowners in the west of Scotland – being barred from 46

‘The Solemn Acknowledgement of Publick Sins and Breaches of the Covenant, and a Solemn Engagement to all the Duties contained therein, namely, those which do in a more special way relate to the dangers of these times’, in RCGA, II, pp. 80–8. 47 Ibid. 48 For a detailed analysis, see McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters’, pp. 87–97.

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covenant and communion by Ayr Presbytery.49 Clergy, volunteer soldiers and those pressed into the Engagement army were also rigorously pursued. Indeed, one of the largest purges of the ministry took place after the hardline regime took control in August 1648, with at least seventy-two ministers being deposed by mid-1649.50 The presbytery of Dalkeith listed those who were to be ‘secluded from the covenant’, which included heritors and captains as well as ‘such as voluntarilie cowntenanced … and to all women malignantlie disposed’.51 The inclusion of volunteers and women as well as leaders of the Engagement shows that the Solemn Acknowledgment and Engagement was rigorously pursued. Moreover, this level of rigour was not uncommon. The kirk sessions of South Leith, Dunfermline, Wemyss, Corstorphine, Kilconquhar and Kelso all pursued soldiers, whether pressed or volunteered, as well as leaders.52 This demonstrates that the hardline interpretation of the covenants received significant exposure on the ground. However, the fact that a number of Church courts from a fairly broad geographical area proceeded against people from all social ranks suggests that the Engagement itself also had a grassroots element. Thus, the two dominant Covenanting positions in 1648 received exposure on the ground as competing groups attempted to fulfil the national aspect of Covenanting by imposing their interpretations onto the population at large. After the creation of the Solemn League and Covenant in 1643 Covenanting opinion broadly split three ways. Royalist Covenanter Montrose refused to subscribe and revolted against the regime. He and his band of followers believed that the National Covenant explicitly demanded loyalty to Charles I and could not reconcile war against the monarch. One of the consequences of the Covenanting venture was a royalist backlash in non-Campbell Gaelic Scotland, evident from at least as early as the revolt in 1644. Conservative Covenanters emerged as an identifiable opinion group at the end of 1647. They felt that the imprisonment of Charles I was a step too far and a breach of the third article of the Solemn League and Covenant. Opposing them were the hardliners, who argued that the defence of the true religion and rights and liberties of parliament took precedence over loyalty to the monarch, also using the third article of the Solemn League to support their stance. These opinion groups were fluid and evident at local as well as national level. Owing to the dualistic national and personal aspects of Covenanting, ordinary people were exposed to the main issues of debate through oath taking and petitioning.

49

NRS, CH2/532/1, fol. 343. Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers’, 329–30. 51 NRS, CH2/1284/1, fols 26–7. 52 NRS, CH2/716/5, fol. 425; NRS, CH2/592/1/1, fols 85–6; NRS, CH2/365/1, fols 146–7; NRS, CH2/124/1, fols 26–7; NRS, CH2/210/1, fol. 191; NRS, CH2/1173/3, fols 29–30. 50

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Conclusion This chapter has shown that issues surrounding confession and allegiance led to the development of several different Covenanting positions. The initial subscription to the National Covenant in February 1638 encompassed a spectrum of people including presbyterians, episcopalians and royalists. The tumultuous events of the following decade were, to a large degree, caused by the ambiguity of the original covenant, as competing factions sought to promote their understanding of Covenanting obligations onto the posterity. This resulted in the emergence of fluid opinion groups that cut across the social spectrum. One of the most significant ramifications of the Covenanting venture was the engagement of ordinary people through subscription campaigns. Although those who led the competing factions did not intend debate to occur at local level, people of all social ranks in the localities took sides depending on their interpretation of Covenanting, a point which is particularly evident at the Engagement crisis and subscription to the Solemn Acknowledgment. However, these opinion groups were by no means set in stone. The hardline grouping split into Protesters and Resolutioners in 1650 over how to respond to military defeat, and there was a significant shifting of positions for at least the following thirty years as individual and corporate interpretations of Covenanting obligations swung in response to altering political landscapes. The inclusion of ordinary people in the Covenanting venture meant that there were multiple interpretations of Covenanting at local level. After the General Assembly was disbanded by the Cromwellian regime in 1653 the localities were left to interpret the tumultuous events of the 1650s and Restoration period without national Church leadership. Conformity to an Erastian episcopalian Church after 1662 was a hotly contested issue and one directed by how people understood confessional and monarchical allegiance. Some conformed outright, others refused to co-operate with Charles II’s regime, and there was a substantial middle ground. While practicalities undoubtedly played a significant part, each post-Restoration position rested on the issues of monarchy and Church government outlined in this chapter.

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5 Reading John Knox in the Scottish Revolution, 1638–50 Chris R. Langley Over the course of the early modern period Protestant polemicists engaged themselves in searching for historical precedent to explain their very existence and to buttress their increasingly vehement arguments against the Catholic Church and the papacy.1 History was a treasure trove of examples that were ‘appropriated and used as though there were no temporal distance’, with little sense of what we may now consider anachronism.2 As antagonisms between Catholics and followers of reformers such as Luther and Calvin grew in volume, so too did the need to establish a historical precedent for these ecclesiastical newcomers. Reformers were desperate to cast their actions as restorations of a lost past rather than innovations as Protestants across Europe attempted to ‘recapture a lost era of apostolic purity … and primitive simplicity’.3 In England, an interest in finding historical precedents to justify the royal supremacy and Church settlement created a type of ‘Protestantized antiquity’ that firmly rooted the new theologies in the legal and cultural milieu of their host territory.4 In addition to emphasising their own historical roots, Reformers insisted that the Catholic Church had bastardised true doctrine and built up centuries of false practices not contained in the Bible.5 Reformation entailed significant rewriting and appropriation of Christian history. 1 Anthony Grafton, ‘Church History in Early Modern Europe: Tradition and Innovation’, in Sacred History: Uses of the Christian Past in the Renaissance World, ed. Katherine Van Liere, Simon Ditchfield and Howard Louthan (Oxford, 2012), pp. 5–9; Felicity Heal, ‘What Can King Lucius Do for You? The Reformation and the Early British Church’, English Historical Review, 120 (2005), 597–610. 2 Bruce Gordon, ‘The Changing Face of Protestant History and Identity in the Sixteenth Century’, in Protestant History and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Europe, ed. Bruce Gordon, 2 vols (Aldershot, 1999), II, p. 11. 3 Alexandra Walsham, ‘History, Memory, and the English Reformation’, Historical Journal, 55 (2012), 902; John M. Headley, ‘The Reformation as Crisis in the Understanding of Tradition’, Archiv für Reformationsgeschichte, 78 (1987), 5–23. 4 Benedict S. Robinson, ‘“Darke Speech”: Matthew Parker and the Reforming of History’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 29 (1998), 1061–70. 5 William G. Naphy, ‘“No History Can Satisfy Everyone”: Geneva’s Chroniclers and

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In Scotland, controversies about the ‘pre-history’ of the Reformed Church had been put to bed by the start of the seventeenth century – Scotland was a Protestant country and, the polemicists insisted, always had been.6 From the last decades of the sixteenth century, the type of Protestantism at stake became the focal point of scholarly discussion. On the one hand, writers such as the future archbishop of St Andrews, John Spottiswood, referenced a ‘non-papal non-presbyterian’ type of Church brought to Scottish shores by the disciples of John. This protected Scotland from claims that it owed its Christianity to English missionaries (and was therefore subservient to Canterbury or York) but also underlined how an episcopal hierarchy had historical precedent.7 Conversely, other writers emphasised nascent forms of presbyterianism that had originated in Scotland. Writings by George Buchanan highlighted the significant role of the culdees – an equivalent of lay elders – in the early Scottish Church.8 These writings were picked up with enthusiasm by subsequent opponents of episcopacy, culminating in the subscription of the National Covenant in 1638 and the General Assembly at Glasgow at the end of 1638 that abolished Scotland’s episcopal structure. Interest in how Protestants engaged with the distant past largely overlooks how contemporaries in the mid-seventeenth century understood their immediate predecessors. To date, most of the work in this area has explored the Covenanters’ engagement with sixteenthcentury political writings – particularly those addressing the legality of resistance to a monarch.9 Emerging Religious Identities’, in Protestant History and Identity in Sixteenth-Century Europe, ed. Bruce Gordon, 2 vols (Aldershot, 1996), II, pp. 35–7. 6 Roger A. Mason, ‘“Usable pasts”: History and Identity in Reformation Scotland’, SHR, 76 (1997), 56–7. 7 Colin Kidd, British Identities before Nationalism: Ethnicity and Nationhood in the Atlantic World 1600–1800 (Cambridge, 1999), pp. 125–30; John H. S. Burleigh, ‘The Scottish Reformation as Seen in 1660 and 1760’, RSCHS, 13 (1959), 241–56. 8 John Coffey, ‘George Buchanan and the Scottish Covenanters’, in George Buchanan: Political Thought in Early Modern Britain and Europe, ed. Caroline Erskine and Roger A. Mason (Farnham, 2012), pp. 195–6; Colin Kidd, Union and Unionisms: Political Thought in Scotland, 1500–2000 (Cambridge, 2008), pp. 51–2; Kidd, British Identities, pp. 128–30; Mason, ‘“Usable pasts”’, 54. 9 Edward J. Cowan, ‘The Political Ideas of a Covenanting Leader: Archibald Campbell, Marquis of Argyll 1607–1661’, in Scots and Britons: Scottish Political Thought and the Union of 1603, ed. Roger A. Mason (Cambridge, 1994), p. 248; Caroline Erskine, ‘The Political Thought of the Restoration Covenanters’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 155–72; David Stevenson, ‘The early Covenanters and the federal union of Britain’, in Scotland and England 1286–1815, ed. Roger A. Mason (Edinburgh, 1987), pp. 177–8; Carl R. Trueman, ‘Introduction’, in Reformed Orthodoxy in Scotland: Essays on Scottish Theology 1560–1775, ed. Aaron Clay Denlinger (London, 2015), pp. 16–26; Ryan McAnnally-Linz, ‘Resistance and Romans 13 in Samuel Rutherford’s “Lex, Rex”’, Scottish Journal of Theology, 66 (2013), 140–58; Arthur H. Williamson, Scottish National Consciousness in the Age of James VI: The Apocalypse, the Union and the Shaping of Scotland’s Public Culture (Edinburgh, 1979).

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This chapter describes how Covenanter leaders diverged on the ways in which they interpreted the actions of figures such as John Knox for their own, factious, time. Recent work has illustrated how the Covenanting movement was not particularly unified and could hold widely divergent opinions on the reasons behind Covenanting and the justification for resisting the monarch in the first place.10 While some historians have identified how the types of source used by Covenanters and their opponents could differ, this chapter explains how the Covenanters themselves could not settle on one single way to incorporate John Knox into their own legislative and theological agenda. Such fault lines illustrate the ‘bifurcation’ of ideas that ‘existed in the very soul of Reformed piety’ in Scotland.11 Constructing Knox, 1638–9 The text of the National Covenant invoked the memory of the first two generations of Scottish Protestant reformers as the benchmark for Reformed purity. The authors framed their protest as a restoration or ‘recovery’ of ‘the purity and liberty of the Gospel as it was established and professed’ prior to Jacobean and Caroline ‘novations’ in worship. The idea of recovering a less adulterated form of worship explicitly connected the text of the National Covenant with an imagined past of which the authors provided only tantalising glimpses. They argued that the changes to the Kirk’s liturgy had no foundation in Scripture, were not approved by any Scottish legislative body and, critically, were contrary to ‘the intention and meaning of the blessed reformers of religion in this land’. In the absence of any visible sign of providence, the authors of the National Covenant noted that their actions allowed them to ‘join such a life and conversation as beseemeth Christians who have renewed their covenant with God’. By appealing to the first reformers, those good Christians, the authors of the National Covenant, placed their protest in a long arc of Protestant history and positioned themselves as the legitimate interpreters of Scotland’s Protestant heritage. Unsurprisingly, the National Covenant’s authors frequently compared their own actions with those of sixteenth-century religious reformers. In February 1637 Archibald Johnston of Wariston recorded in his diary how opposition to royal ecclesiastical policies would lead to a future that ‘wil be the gloriousest day that ever Scotland saw since the Reformation’. More conservative thinkers, such as Sir Thomas Hope of Craighall, recorded how he ‘conceivit and cleirlie 10

Alexander D. Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662): Politics, Religion and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Woodbridge, 2017); John Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions: The Mind of Samuel Rutherford (Cambridge, 1997); David G. Mullan, ‘Theology in the Church of Scotland 1618–c1640: A Calvinist Consensus?’, Sixteenth Century Journal, 26 (1995). 11 David G. Mullan, Scottish Puritanism 1590–1638 (Oxford, 2000), p. 8.

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seine [the National Covenant] to be the gretest good that ever happenit to Godis Kirke since the Reformatioun’. The Reformation was a useful yardstick to measure the potential benefits of the nascent Covenanting movement. Such comparisons were based, as far as the limited evidence suggests, on a close interest in the texts of Reformation histories. Wariston pored over histories of the early part of the Protestant protest and was ‘confirmed in his judgement’ by ‘our martyrs and reformers’, specifically Patrick Hamilton, George Wishart and John Knox. During the spring and summer of 1637 Wariston eagerly recorded his reading of histories describing the Protestant justification for the Dutch Revolt, in addition to his usual material from Scottish reformers. His reading material became increasingly radical, including controversial interpretations of Romans 13 by David Paraeus. Wariston would later thumb the pages of Knox and Buchanan that discussed obedience when facing potential conflict with the crown. Manuscript copies of Knox’s Historie were circulating throughout the 1630s and influenced a number of prominent theological tracts.12 The General Assembly that convened in Glasgow in November 1638 represented an attempt by Covenanter leaders to establish their historical legitimacy by connecting their efforts to a lineage of Protestant authority. Specifically, the Assembly discussed the types of reform described by the 1581 Confession of Faith, the document on which the National Covenant was based.13 Discussions over the place of bishops in this system pivoted on the way the Scottish episcopate had developed in the sixteenth century and how Knox had tolerated the appointment of ‘superintendents’ to oversee diocesan affairs after 1560. Ministers could not agree if bishops were tolerated in Knox’s original vision or indeed they had ever been a legitimate part of the Kirk.14 The Assembly quickly found itself in an interpretative black hole. On 10 December the moderator, Alexander Henderson, asked if the ceremonies introduced by Jacobean and Caroline bishops should be removed ‘by the confession of Faith, as it was meaned and professed in the year 1580, 1581, 1590, 1591’.15 This was no simple task. In his report of the meeting, Robert Baillie noted ‘the doubts which were now grown frequent’ among the Assembly’s members about how to interpret ‘doctrine and discipline, as they were understood in the [15]80 year’. Some in the Assembly ‘did alleadge Episcopacie was part of our discipline then avowed, others that then it was disavowed’.16 The clerk, Archibald Johnston of Wariston, presented historical documents from 1576 to 1596 and argued that episcopacy was in no way a legitimate part of the Church system when the Confession was framed. Robert Baillie was not so sure. Baillie 12

Wariston, I, pp. 115–16. Joseph Marshall, ‘Reading King James VI and I in the Civil War’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1999), pp. 135–7. 14 Henderson cited the Helvetic Confession and Knox’s own practices while minister to the English congregation in Geneva as a rebuttal of the Perth Articles. Peterkin, Records, p. 33. 15 Peterkin, Records, p. 33. 16 Baillie, L&J, I, pp. 158–9. 13

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recorded how ‘Episcopacie simpliciter’, like ‘in our churches dureing Knox’s dayes, in the person of the Superintendents’, was in no way condemned by the Confession. The interpretative challenges presented by the Confession of Faith left Baillie ‘as dumb as a fish’, as ‘the question was formed … in such tearmes, as I professe I did not well … understand, and thought them so cunninglie intricate, that hardlie could I give answer’. While Baillie’s thoughts were symptomatic of a silent majority in the Assembly who held doubts over how to proceed, it was the challenge of how to interpret the first- and second-generation reformers that sat at the heart of the Assembly’s difficulties.17 The subsequent pronouncement that officially abjured episcopacy glossed over these interpretative challenges. As the Assembly concluded, the leadership presented a single view of Scotland’s Reformed past that deliberately ignored problematic aspects of Scottish Reformed history. The clerk recorded triumphantly how, after long deliberation, the Assembly had resolved upon ‘the true sentence and meaning of the Confession of Faith … that shows a incompatabilitie betwixt Episcopall Government and Presbyteriall Power’.18 The following day, Alexander Henderson, as moderator of the Assembly, moved to ‘blesse God’ that ‘our Reformers hes gone so far on’ in establishing the foundations for further reform.19 Henderson underlined the importance of controlling interpretations of the Reformed past in his sermon prior to the Assembly’s close. The moderator lauded his colleagues’ efforts: The yondest of our wishes was to have bein at our first reformation; and now, in his graceous dispensation, their measures are restoired to us; and, if it be not so, let us blame ourselves; for yee see how the Lord, in his providence, hes given us the occasioun and opportunitie, that all things may be done in the hous of God, and according to our former integritie, and which, I trust, I am assured, is according to the will of God.20

Henderson’s concluding exhortation placed the Assembly’s actions in a lineage of Protestant reform. In this scheme, the Assembly’s members imagined themselves as part of the original reformers’ vision for change and restored their accomplishments following a period of what the moderator saw as corruption. The use of the pronoun ‘us’ and the possessive pronoun ‘our’ reminded listeners of their part in history, not as innovators but as vehicles to continue the work set in motion by the first generation of reformers. Henderson’s hopes for interpretative unity within the Covenanting movement over its historical roots were fanciful and faced another challenge at the General Assembly in Edinburgh the following year.21 The king’s commissioner at the 17

Alexander D. Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the mind of Robert Baillie, 1637–1662’, SHR, 93 (2014), 34–40. 18 Peterkin, Records, p. 168. 19 Peterkin, Records, p. 169. 20 Peterkin, Records, p. 190. 21 The General Assembly that met in 1639 does not receive the same amount of scholarly attention as the Glasgow Assembly of the previous year. That it is largely overlooked or

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Assembly of 1639, John Stewart, earl of Traquair, used the contentious subject of the Covenanters’ views on Church history as a delaying tactic when tasked with blocking the ratification of the act abolishing episcopacy. Traquair conferred with leading Covenanters and asked for confirmation that ‘episcopacie itselfe was so farre contrare to the constitutions of this Kirk and Reformation thereof’ that it required wholesale abolition. The Assembly’s moderator, David Dickson, responded that episcopacy was ‘contrare the confession of Faith and Constitutions of this Kirk, from the beginning, and the intention and meaning of the Kirk from the Reformation’. Traquair would not relent and Alexander Henderson, the moderator of the Assembly at Glasgow, added that ‘I verilie thinke so farre as ever I learned, that our Church, from the beginning, had a intention to establishe [Church] governement by Assemblies’ rather than by bishops. However, Henderson accepted that ‘it is also evident by the ecclesiasticall historie, that the Church hath been still vexed with Episcopacie’. Henderson claimed that Knox’s superintendents were only examiners of the Church and relegated all other men who had been styled bishops since the Reformation as rapacious and self seeking. Andrew Ramsay concurred and told the Assembly that episcopacy was a manmade invention and had acted as a ‘barr of all good reformation’. Traquair’s questioning initially did little to break the Covenanters’ coalescence around a general exposition of Scottish Church history. Such unity was to be short lived. The Assembly’s discussions quickly became bogged down in the same interpretative problems that had almost paralysed the Glasgow Assembly in 1638 when it discussed how to date the start of the Scottish Reformation. An unnamed member of the Assembly asked ‘whither the Clerk should begin at the year 1560 or at the year 1580’ in finding historical precedents for and against episcopacy. That we do not know if Traquair had instructed this minister to pose such a contentious question or if it developed independently is largely irrelevant: the resulting tensions reveal some of the fault lines in Covenanter interpretations of the Protestant past. Traquair could not have been ignorant to the chaos that would ensue and mischievously suggested that the Assembly consider the year 1560 as the start of Scotland’s Reformation, as ‘it seemes that this worke have had its beginning from the 1560 year of God, and hath had a continuall progresse ane way or other ever since’.22 Traquair’s intervention was an attempt to force the Assembly to discuss Knox’s ambiguous position on episcopacy. One of the Covenanters’ leading noble leaders, the earl of Argyll, suggested using 1580 because it was the date of the Confession of Faith. The hardline John Campbell, Baron Loudoun, however, insisted that 1560 was the key date as ‘episcopacie came still under consideration’, even if it had a different name. In the context of the open forum of the Assembly, the glossed over in accounts of the period stems from the lack of any eyewitness accounts of the event. See David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 2003), pp. 111–26. 22 Peterkin, Records, p. 248.

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Covenanters could not coalesce around one interpretation. After a lengthy recess to discuss the matter, clerical leaders returned and agreed on a compromise of 1575: accepting Loudoun’s concerns but sidestepping the issue of how to define the superintendents of Knox’s time.23 Traquair knew he was poking a hornet’s nest and his efforts revealed the discomfort within the Covenanting movement over how best to accommodate the different stages of the sixteenth-century Reformation within their own legislative agenda. Once the Assembly had agreed on 1575 as a starting point, the Covenanting leadership moved with disarming speed to quickly reunite the meeting around one interpretation of the Protestant past. All subsequent discussions in the Assembly deftly sidestepped Knox, superintendents and the complexities of Scottish ecclesiastical history and returned to talking about Reformation in more general terms. For example, Henry Rollock, the minister of Trinity College, Edinburgh, told the Assembly: There is nothing left for me to say; only I thinke surely we may reckon ourselves to be like these that dreame; for who would have thought within these few yeares to have heard in any convention of the Kirk of Scotland, such ane Act as this so publictlie read … and these that knowes the difficulties that this poore Church hes laboured under, may justlie in this respect, thinke this day a beginning of joyfull dayes, and I am confident that all that hes ane tender eye to the good of this Church, are wakened with such a sweet sunshyne day, above the darke cludy dayes that past before.24

What it meant to know ‘the difficulties’ of the past was left to the members’ imaginations. Other senior members of the Assembly shared similarly vague comments about the past. William Livingston, minister of Lanark, reflected on ‘the many corrupt Assemblies that hath biene in this Church since the Reformation, I have [not] beene absent for fear of them … I saw them, and the corruptions of them; and … to have seene such an Assembly as this. And now I have seene it, and blessed the Lord for it’.25 In a revealing entry, as if to emphasise the connection to the Kirk’s past, the clerk recorded how John Weymss ‘could scarce get a word spocken for teares trickling doune along his gray hairs, like droppes of rain or dew upon the toppe of the tender grasse, and yet withal smyling for joy’. Weymss told the Assembly ‘I doe remember when the Kirk of Scotland had a beautiful face’ and he thanked colleagues for restoring it to its former glory.26 These men represented very real connections to the Kirk’s immediate past but even the oldest members of the Assembly would have barely remembered the Kirk of the 1570s. Their memories and their emotional outpourings smoothed over the difficulties of reconciling the finer points of Reformed history. While the General Assemblies of 1638 and 1639 had made history, discussions within the meetings reflected significant differences 23 Peterkin,

Records, pp. 249–50. Records, p. 251. 25 Scott, Fasti, III, pp. 306–7. 26 Peterkin, Records, pp. 251–2. 24 Peterkin,

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in interpretation among both lay and clerical members of the Covenanting movement. The Covenanter leaders framed their efforts as a restoration of the Kirk’s past rather than an innovation to change it. Little wonder that an anonymous Latin poet wrote of 1638: If any of our forefathers should arise From natures cold bed, and lift up his eyes Behold the Heavens renew’d, the Earth refin’d The glory of all the Elements sublim’d.27

The General Assemblies of 1638 and 1639 were heavily choreographed to ensure that this loose ideological message continued to unify the wide range of lay and clerical opinion that had signed the National Covenant. However, the assemblies also revealed the tensions within the nascent Covenanting movement over how Scotland’s Reformation history should be interpreted, particularly pertaining to the legitimacy of the episcopate. The two royal commissioners present at the General Assemblies of 1638 and 1639 – Hamilton and Traquair, respectively – were aware of these divisions and used them to overwhelm the Assembly by placing it into an interpretative maze. Both Assemblies were consequently dominated by efforts to resolve conflicts over Scottish Reformation history and the ambiguities of the first Reformers’ actions. Knox the Incendiary By the outbreak of the Bishops’ Wars in 1639, Henderson, Dickson and other leading Covenanters had done little to resolve the internal tensions over Reformation history that we have seen bubbling under the surface of the Covenanting movement. The main achievement of the Covenanter leaders in this period was to maintain this loose unity at all. This left key figures of Reformation history – particularly John Knox – in an awkward position: while Covenanter leaders regularly referenced the early Reformers, they had not fully accommodated figures such as Knox into their ideology. In the years that followed the General Assembly of 1639, anti-Covenanters were quick to engage with Knox’s ideas and his memory in varying ways, from coopting him into a different version of Scottish Protestant history to castigating him as an incendiary. With Knox’s position in flux, Covenanter leaders promoted the first full publication of Knox’s Historie of the Reformatioun in order to place the National Covenant into a longer lineage of legitimate ecclesiastical protest. While Knox’s Historie may have been based on crude ‘dualities of … good and evil’, subsequent interpretations of his work accommodated Knox in often vastly different ways.28 27

NLS, Wodrow Folio, XXIX, no. 7. My thanks to Dr Jamie Reid Baxter for sharing the English translation with me. 28 Mason, ‘“Usable pasts”’, 58.

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As Knox’s position in the Scottish Church was left unresolved by the General Assemblies of 1638 and 1639, opponents of the National Covenant moved to accommodate Knox into their own narratives. Critically, texts such as John Spottiswood’s history of the Church of Scotland – completed in November 1639 but not published until 1655 – extrapolated the meaning of Knox’s actions for their own time. As the former archbishop of St Andrews, Spottiswood saw in Knox’s story a template for his own time. Knox was the most cited reformer in Spottiswood’s narrative of the sixteenth century and the pivotal figure in bringing about religious change. The experience of Spottiswood’s Knox mirrored that of the Scottish episcopate after 1638: suffering at the hands of angry mobs and illegitimate plebian unrest. Knox, Spottiswood told readers, was ‘condemned for an heretick, and burnt in effigie, at the Mercat-crosse of Edinburgh’ in July 1556 and forced to stay in exile in Geneva. Upon his return, when preaching against images in Perth, ‘some of the common sort’ of the congregation took over and started to violently remove statues, much to Knox’s chagrin. Knox, like the bishops of Spottiswood’s time, was part of the persecuted remnant – misunderstood by the laity and forced into exile.29 Critically for Spottiswood, Knox’s place in the Reformed narrative was not affected by some of his more radical thoughts. Spottiswood contended that the sections in Knox’s Historie that had him reveling in the deaths of Cardinal Beaton and Mary of Guise were false, and that, ‘though that history be ascribed to John Knox, it is sure that he did not penne the same’.30 As such, Spottiswood urged readers to reject the corpus of material from which all of Knox’s most controversial ideas were taken but to accept him as an example of well-meaning religious change. Spottiswood’s portrayal of Knox was, for anti-Covenanters, unusual. Less charitable opponents were more than happy to attribute radical ideas to Knox and target them in their polemical exchanges with Covenanter leaders. The 1639 General Assembly meeting was occupied with reviewing the contents of one such tract: Walter Balcanquhall’s A Large Declaration. Balcanquhall, dean of Rochester (and then Durham in 1639) and one of the crown’s key informants on Scottish ecclesiastical affairs, attacked the Covenanters as men ‘who give themselves out to be the onely Reformers of Religion’ but ‘have taken such a course to undermine and blow up the Religion Reformed’.31 To Balcanquhall, the Covenanters served the interests of Rome by destabilising the Kirk.32 Balcanquhall did not name Knox or Buchanan, but his references to loyalty framed the Covenanters as part of a long line of Scottish incendiaries. 29 John Spottiswood, The History of the Church of Scotland, Beginning the Year of Our Lord 203, and continued to the End of the Reign of King James VI of Ever Blessed Memory (London, 1655), p. 121. 30 Spottiswood, History, p. 85. 31 Leonie James, ‘This Great Firebrand’: William Laud and Scotland 1617–1645 (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 136–8. 32 Balcanquhall, Large Declaration, p. 3.

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John Corbet, the ejected minister of Bonhill, Dunbarton Presbytery, developed these themes in his pamphlet The Epistle Congratulatorie of Lysimachus Nicanor, a satire in which a fictional Jesuit author praises the actions of the Covenanters. Corbet cited Knox’s ‘imperious’ letter to Mary of Guise in which he threatened that ‘they should be compelled to take the Sword of just defence; and protested that without the reformation which they desired, they would never be subject to any mortall man’. Corbet explicitly connected the actions of the 1630s to those of Knox’s time by perverting the Covenant’s claim to historical legitimacy: ‘you doe well (as you say in your Covenant) to follow the laudable example of your Progenitors, as dutifull children, according to that Wiseman, Here, the children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding, for I give you a good doctrine; for sake you not my law’.33 The Covenanter leader’s noble ancestors, claimed Corbet, were nothing more than incendiaries whose views accorded more closely with those of Catholic conspirators than with the Reformed Churches.34 Balcanquhall and Corbet’s comments about loyalty provided a template for subsequent polemical tracts. The former bishop of Ross, John Maxwell, completed several anti-Covenanting pamphlets after 1638, but it was his 1644 piece An Answer by Letter to a Worthy Gentleman that reflected most critically on the role of protest in the initial Protestant Reformation. Maxwell cited Knox’s Letter to the Commonality of 1558 and his History to condemn the Covenanters’ position on obedience.35 Mirroring Lysimachus Nicanor, Maxwell claimed that, when offered an olive branch by Mary of Guise, the reformers did exhort those of their Faction to encourage themselves in the Lord, to stand upon their guard, like to the re-builders of Jerusalem and the Temple, with the Sword in one hand, and the Bible in another; wherein they gave the Queene many times the lye and abused her with reproachfull and contumelious speeches.36

Maxwell concluded that such behaviour was symptomatic of Knox’s disloyalty and ‘gave life to this tumultuary reformation’.37 Like the Aberdeen Doctors, Maxwell was aware that he could not fully condemn the actions of reformers such as Knox out of hand. Indeed, he claimed that ‘some will now say, that I speake too hardly of our first Reformers and Reformation’. Maxwell characterised Knox’s reformation as overly chaotic and, ultimately, as sowing the seeds for the problems of his own time. The former bishop observed how he did ‘dayly heartily bewaile that, that too 33

John Corbet, The Epistle Congratulatorie of Lysimachus Nicanor (n.p., 1640), pp. 40–1. Robert Baillie organised two responses to Corbet’s work: one for a British and one for a continental audience. See Robert Baillie, Ladensium Autokatakrisis: The Canterburians Self-Conviction (London, 1640); William Spang, Rerum nuper in regno Scotiae gestarum historia (Gdansk, 1641). 35 Jane Dawson, John Knox (New Haven, CT, 2015), p. 8. 36 John Maxwell, An Answer by Letter to a Worthy Gentleman (Oxford, 1644), pp. 39–40. 37 Maxwell, An Answer by Letter, p. 36. 34

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too much Idolized Reformation’ stemmed from ‘an excessive hatred against Poperie’ and, as a consequence, ‘did run too much to the other extreame; that goodly Order and Government of the Church was shouldered out’. If Maxwell could not disown Knox, he could certainly reposition him as an errant voice in Scotland’s narrative of reform. He stressed that Knox was a dangerous figure who had served to endanger – rather than promote – the course of Protestantism. Maxwell contrasted Knox with the likes of Patrick Hamilton and George Wishart (fittingly styled in Maxwell’s narrative as ‘Wise-heart’) ‘who before Knox his time did preach Truth, cast downe the errors of Rome in the peoples hearts, were farre from stirring up the subjects against lawfull Authorities and like the ancient Martyrs, did suffer patiently, and seale the Truth of the Gospel with their bloud’. Knox was an incendiary who should have been controlled. Maxwell was clear in his assessment of Knox’s legacy, claiming that he was ‘certaine that Church had beene more happy; nor had we seen such Robberie and deformitie in the Church’ if Knox had been kept in check by authority. He concluded by claiming that ‘ordinarie sinnes in them, and us, and our fore-fathers, have brought us to be plunged in those almost inextricable miseries’. In a final twist, Maxwell presented the crown as the lawful authority in bringing reform to fruition. To Maxwell, Scotland ‘had never an orderly and warrantable Reformation, till it was happily begun and advanced by King James, when he tooke the Government in his own hands, and was like to come to a great perfection under the Government of our most gracious Soveraigne King Charles’. If the Covenanter leadership wanted to reach back and connect with Knox, Maxwell tried to outdo them by stretching back beyond him, while also promoting the Stuart monarchy. The attempts at refining Knox’s position in Scotland’s reformation by the likes of Balcanquhall, Corbet and Maxwell precipitated a response from Covenanter leaders. The appearance of David Buchanan’s complete edition of John Knox’s Historie of the Reformatioun with booksellers in London and Edinburgh in 1644 highlighted the first real effort to defend Knox and incorporate him more fully into Covenanter views of the Kirk’s history. Buchanan’s brief introductory narrative identified a persistent godly thread in the history of the Scottish Church that had been thwarted by corrupt interests. Prior to the Reformation, ‘by cunning Devices, impudent Lyes, continued and crafty Plots, under specious Pretexts, and open Oppreßion, Tyranny, and Cruelties’ continued to operate within Scotland. Importantly for Buchanan, despite the abdication of Mary Queen of Scots in 1567, ‘the enemies of God, and of his People, have not been sleeping’ and were still operating to subvert Protestant interests in his own time.38 Buchanan’s introduction provided ‘a backbone for an account of the degeneration of Scotland’s primitive purity through

38 John Knox, The Historie of the Reformation of the Church of Scotland, ed. David Buchanan (Edinburgh, 1644), not paginated.

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exposure to Roman idolatry, ambition, and avarice’.39 Lest the reader be left in any doubt, Buchanan ended his preface with a bombastic justification of the relevance of his volume: Here we shall observe, in these Countreys, in these last yeers, such Riddles of State and Church, as have hardly been heard of: A Protestant Prince makes one Protestant Nation fight against another, for the Protestant Religion, which have been thought of one and the same Doctrine, for the main: One Church thunders Curses against another. Then, a Prince misled, with the ayd of Papists and Atheists, spoyling and destroying the professors of the Truth, because they professe it, for the good and advancement of the Protestant Religion.40

By adding contemporary details to Knox’s Historie, Buchanan linked the cause of the 1640s to the first struggles of the Scottish reformers. Buchanan’s efforts overlooked the problems of such a neat rehearsal of history. In A Short and True Relation of Some Main Passages of Things, published in London in 1645, Buchanan valorised the early reformers’ zeal to further the Protestant agenda and stressed how the reformers were role models for his own time. He reflected positively on John Knox and George Buchanan in ‘how freely they spoke and writ, at all times, and upon all occasions, when the Church and State were concerned, without fear of any man or Assembly whatsoever; having nothing before their eyes, but the glory of God, and the good of his people’. Buchanan stressed that, like men of his own day, the reformers were ‘weak and infirm’, but ‘their stout zeal to the publike was admirable, and is ever to be remembred by us; not onely to their praise, but also to spur us up to imitate them in this heroike vertue’. These two men were exemplars of the type of godly heroism David Buchanan felt wholly relevant (and necessary) to the mid-seventeenth century. He was aware of the counter argument that times change, but his response was uncompromising: It is true, we live now in another age, which is worse than that of these men: Wherefore, we must then strive with greater zeal and vertue, to oppose the wickednesse of this time: For although, by a prudentiall preventing and declining, by clear-seeing men, many plots and devises of the wicked, may be for a time shunned: Yet, there is no way to make the wicked leave or weary of resisting and oppressing goodnesse, but by a vigorous and stout opposing them. Besides, although the Cards be new we play with all; yet it is the same very Game that our Fathers had in Scotland.41

The political context of the seventeenth century might have differed from that of the sixteenth, but the fundamental point that Buchanan expressed in his preface to Knox’s Historie remained as true as ever: the enemies of the 39

Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), pp. 132–3. 40 Knox, Historie, not paginated. 41 David Buchanan, A Short and True Relation of Some Main Passages of Things (London, 1645), pp. 12–13.

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godly would not stop. Like Knox, Buchanan felt that contemporaries in his own time were obliged to act. The Covenanters’ struggle was both similar and fundamentally connected to the activities of the first reformers. The Lack of a Covenanting Consensus Buchanan’s edition of Knox’s Historie did little to stem the tide of anti-Covenanter polemic. In response, Kirk leaders made a concerted effort to develop a historical narrative that promoted their connections to Knox while also answering his critics. This process centred on developing the work of David Calderwood, the elderly minister of Pencaitland, Dalkeith Presbytery, and unofficial chief historian for the regime. Calderwood had finished writing a history of the sixteenth century in 1631 but was working to bring his narrative up to date by including references to recent, Covenanter, history. His efforts were actively supported by the Kirk leadership. In February 1645 the General Assembly recorded a motion ‘for revising the Labours of a Brother, upon the continuation of the History of this Kirk, and thereafter to cause Print them’.42 Perth Presbytery received more instructions from the commissioners of the General Assembly in early 1646, instructing that ‘some brethren be chosen for to remark and observe the cheifest passages of gods gratious dealling since the begining of this work’.43 Brechin Presbytery received the same instruction the following month, appointing two ministers ‘to give Informatione of particulars for wreatting the histories of the Laitt troubles’.44 Throughout this period, provinces received a steady stream of such instructions in order to furnish material for an officially authorised historical narrative. When a revised edition of Maxwell’s An Answer by Letter appeared under the title The Burthen of Issachar in 1646, Covenanter leaders were determined to respond with a new defence of their reading of history. The revised edition of Maxwell’s text was even more explicit than the first and included marginal notes connecting the illegal actions of Knox to those of the Covenanters.45 Calderwood’s labours were of immense importance in furnishing writers with legitimising historical material. Writing from London, Robert Baillie dispatched a letter to Calderwood in May 1646 along with a copy of The Burthen of Issachar. He informed his colleague that It is full of odious histories, and matters of fact, whereof all of us are allutterlie ignorant. If you will be pleased to be againe at the paines to send us up some informations for our help against his wicked narrations, we shall readilie say something in answer to him. Haste is requisite: so soone as yow may, we will expect to hear from

42 Peterkin,

Records, p. 432. NRS, CH2/299/1, fol. 520. 44 NRS, CH2/40/1, fol. 71. 45 See John Maxwell, The Burthen of Issachar (London, 1646), p. 27. 43

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Chris R. Langley yow; whom we pay God to assist in all your labors, especiallie in your Historie of our Church, which is more necessare than yow, or many there, would believe.46

Baillie had previously relied on Calderwood’s cache of historical documents and precedents but now urgently needed the latest part of Calderwood’s project. Baillie reiterated his desire for Calderwood to finish his history in August of the same year.47 Desperate to pen a response and unable (or unwilling) to wait for other Covenanter leaders to act, Baillie wrote a rejoinder to Maxwell’s work under the title An Historicall Vindication of the Church of Scotland. Reflecting his different views on how the reforms of his own time should proceed, Baillie’s presentation of Knox differed markedly from those by the likes of David Buchanan by emphasising that Knox had royal consent to act as he did.48 Baillie insisted that action against Mary of Guise was entirely acceptable because Protestantism had already been established by law in 1542 when the earl of Arran – then regent to the infant queen – promoted some forms of Protestant worship. Therefore, protests against Mary of Guise that occurred after 1542 were sanctioned by law. To Baillie, the fact that Arran’s actions were not confirmed by a sovereign until the Reformation Parliament of 1560 ‘makes nothing against its validity’. Once approved by Arran, the legally recognised ruler of the realm at that moment, any reasonable actions to defend Reformed religion were valid even if a subsequent magistrate ‘doe cry it down, and persecute it for errour’.49 Baillie was putting the Reformers on the right side of the law. He replaced the brave, sometimes seditious, Knox of Buchanan’s narrative with a man who made only fleeting – but always lawful – appearances in his narrative. Baillie’s presentation of Knox was symptomatic of the divisions that existed within the Covenanting movement: how far could one go in opposing the actions of an unjust monarch? By the end of the 1640s the need for a unified history of the Church of Scotland had become more acute, but Calderwood’s project faced logistical challenges. In October 1647 the commissioners of the General Assembly appointed twelve ministers – Calderwood among them – to consider how best to take the project forward. The commissioners acknowledged the difficulty in the project and tasked the committee with establishing ‘the maner of collecting materials, the method of the work, and everything conduceable therunto’.50 46 Baillie,

L&J, II, pp. 373–4. L&J, II, pp. 384. 48 For more on Baillie’s idiosyncratic reading of the Covenanting revolution, see Campbell, Robert Baillie, pp. 68–9; Campbell, ‘Episcopacy in the Mind of Robert Baillie’, 29–55; Hunter Powell, The Crisis of British Protestantism: Church Power in the Puritan Revolution, 1638–1644 (Manchester, 2015), pp. 100–10. 49 Robert Baillie, An Historicall Vindication of the Government of the Church of Scotland (London, 1646), p. 46. 50 A. F. Mitchell and J. Christie (eds), The Records of the Commissions of the General Assemblies of the Church of Scotland, Scottish History Society, I (Edinburgh, 1892) [hereafter Commissions], p. 319. 47 Baillie,

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The committee returned with its findings on 26 November. It recommended that printed records and manuscripts pertaining to ‘the proceidings in these late tymes’ should be ‘collected together and printed in a booke’. The printing costs would be paid by the Clerk and then reimbursed by payments from provincial synods once complete. The committee had gained the support of the Lord Advocate, Adam Hepburn of Humbie (senator of the College of Justice) and two other notable, godly magistrates to supply key legal documents that remained unprinted. In addition to publishing the document collection, the committee concluded that a separate and ‘perfitt storie’ should also be devised but failed to nominate an author to undertake the task. Particularly notable polemics jolted the Kirk leadership into further and more desperate calls for a sanctioned historical narrative. In December 1647 the commission of the General Assembly, meeting at Edinburgh, discussed the works of the deposed minister Robert Johnston being printed in the Low Countries. Although Johnston had died in 1639, shortly after refusing the National Covenant, new imprints of his work raised alarm. Johnston’s remarks in support of episcopal government during an assessment of the reign of James VI, in which he claimed the young king to have ‘fore-saw a great cloud of troubles to come from the act of Abrogating Episcopacy, and erecting … the Presbyteriall Discipline’, were deliberately provocative.51 Church leaders were particularly concerned with Johnston’s comments on the early reformers. The commissioners commented that Johnston’s history contained ‘very vile and reproachfull speeches against the Reformation of Religion in this Kirk, and against the principall instruments of that Reformation’, namely John Knox and Andrew Melville.52 Much like Maxwell, Johnston framed Knox as an incendiary operating ‘under the pretence of Religion’ and a dangerous ‘beaken apt to have put the whole Kingdome in a posture of War’.53 The republication of Johnston’s work returned Kirk leaders to a familiar theme: how to justify the reformers’ actions against the royal family and, by extension, how to present their own protest. The logistical challenges of writing the histories concealed a more pressing tension within the Kirk leadership: as in 1638 and 1639, they could not agree on the details of the narrative they needed to present. In 1648 Baillie recorded how, despite ‘much speech’ regarding the history project, the work moved slowly.54 In a letter to Rotterdam in 1648, Baillie then revealed the principal reasons for the delay. He wrote of his relief that he had ‘escaped … one of the greatest burdens ever…laid on’ him, in being nominated to write the historical observations of the times. Leaders were concerned that would-be authors of the history should be ultra orthodox. Baillie recorded that ‘had not the opinion of my malignancy 51

Robert Johnston, The Historie of Scotland, during the Minority of King James (London, 1646), p. 161. 52 Commissions, I, pp. 343–5. 53 Johnston, Historie, p. 7. 54 Baillie, L&J, III, p. 60.

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diverted some voices, I … undoubtedly [would have] been oppressed with that charge’. Unfortunately, there was no orthodox consensus. Conclusion Calderwood’s history project foundered in the last years of his life as a result of the lack of consensus over how to present the Kirk’s history. Figures such as Knox and the first generation of reformers remained important to clerics in the seventeenth century, who sought to place themselves in a lineage of Protestant change. In the debates that swept up the Caroline liturgical reforms, Knox was invoked as a general figure of Protestant authority whose writings could be cherry picked for examples in support of most generally Protestant agendas. However, Knox’s position as a legitimate figure of Protestant antiquity shifted when opponents of the National Covenant criticised some aspects of Knox’s Historie, specifically its position on royal authority and insistence on action. As such, Covenanter leaders were desperate to fully co-opt Knox and develop his narrative in a coherent way that closed him off from any opposition. Unfortunately, those who signed the National Covenant were themselves divided on how best to tackle Knox. This split first appeared at the general assemblies of 1638 and 1639, but was quickly glossed over by leading Covenanters, who proclaimed that they had rediscovered the reformers’ true intention and meaning. Rather than the recovery they claimed it to be, the assemblies’ conclusions represented the victory of one very particular interpretation of the sixteenth century. These fractures would continue into the 1640s, as figures such as David Buchanan and Robert Baillie developed wholly different Knoxes. Those wishing to emphasise moderation could in no way disown Knox, but they needed to present his actions as unprecedented, as a one off, and not a template for action for their own time. By so doing, they smoothed some of the jagged edges of Knox’s thought and recast the reformer in a more acceptable seventeenth-century light. Those who wished to take a more radical approach looked to Knox for examples on how protest might be warranted and, more practically, performed. How seventeenth-century reformers reflected on Knox represents one of the fault lines on which seventeenth-century Protestants diverged. The importance of reformers such as Knox was never in doubt, but the significance of their narrative and its application to contemporary concerns remained contested in the centuries that followed.

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6 A Godly Possession? Margaret Mitchelson and the Performance of Covenanted Identity1 Louise Yeoman The history of demonic possession cases in Scotland in which young, often female, adolescents fell into visionary trances, assailed by witches and the devil, is well known, but could there also have been such a thing in Calvinist Scotland as a divine possession where the possessed was believed to be infused by, and in direct contact with, the divine?2 What would such a thing have looked like? A possible contender for such a phenomenon were the inspired speeches delivered by a young female prophet of the National Covenant, called Margaret Mitchelson, who opposed the King’s Covenant in autumn 1638, helping to stiffen Covenanting resolve at a time when they were moving towards the abolition of episcopacy at the Glasgow Assembly in December 1638. Mitchelson had gained fame for her ecstatic revelations. She operated under the auspices of Henry Rollock, minister of Trinity College parish, Edinburgh, and the Covenanting activist Archibald Johnston of Wariston.3 Given the National Covenant’s lack of institutional legitimacy through the usual channels of crown or parliament, continuing public demonstrations of its divine legitimacy at this crucial point were very convenient indeed.4 Mitchelson’s age is unknown, but if David Stevenson’s identification of her as the daughter of James Mitchelson (1585–1625), minister of Yester (or Bothans), 1 The author would like to thank Professor Elizabeth Ewan for her information on the source material for this chapter. She would also like to thank Professor Julian Goodare, Dr Martha McGill and Mr Ciaran Jones for their comments. 2 Brian Levack, ‘Demonic Possession in Early Modern Scotland’, in Witchcraft and Belief in Early Modern Scotland, ed. Julian Goodare, Lauren Martin and Joyce Miller (Basingstoke, 2007), p. 181. 3 David G. Mullan, ‘Mitchel (or Mitchelson), Margaret’, in The New Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women, ed. Elizabeth Ewan, Rose Pipes, Jane Rendall and Siân Reynolds (Edinburgh, 2018); David Stevenson, ‘Mitchelson [Mitchel], Margaret (fl. 1638)’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004); Wariston, I, pp. xxiii–iv. 4 Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), p. 102.

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a son of the family of Mitchelson of Middleton, is correct then it is possible to say that she could be no younger than thirteen in 1638.5 Given her description as a ‘damoseil’, it is unlikely that she was older than her early twenties. If this is so, then she was an orphan who had lost both parents by 1627. She was not in a totally marginal position, however, as one of her brothers became a merchant burgess of Edinburgh and the tutor to the minor children of the family was her father’s brother Samuel, probably the laird of Middleton.6 Margaret Mitchelson was controversial, then and now. According to modern historian David Mullan, her speeches were ‘ravings’, though he wrote more kindly about her in his entry for The New Biographical Dictionary of Scottish Women, mentioning that Rollock ‘was spellbound by her’ and that ‘some noblemen found Christian conviction in listening to her’.7 Indeed, in his chapter in Women in Scotland, c.1100–1750, he cites her as an interesting though notorious example of how Christian women ‘had a real impact on other women and on men through their spiritual counsel’, but concludes that she is an example of ‘remarkable circumstances that do not define the role of women in religious life’.8 David Stevenson concluded that her ‘brief career as a prophetess’ was ‘influential in stirring up zeal for the covenanters’.9 Margaret Mitchelson’s speeches disappeared after her brief career. They are certainly not to be found in the usual places for Covenanting relics. Robert Wodrow, whose collections of manuscripts preserved the accounts of at least four female Covenanting visionaries, some in multiple copies, made no reference to her. It is hard to escape the conclusion that copies of Mitchelson’s speeches were ‘memory-holed’ as an embarrassment to the cause and, if someone had copies c.1700 when Wodrow was collecting, they seemingly did not want to pass them on. However, the silencing of Mitchelson’s inspired tongue has now been ended by Professor Elizabeth Ewan’s studies of the commonplace book of schoolmaster John Bonar of Ayr (b. 1619) in the National Library of New Zealand’s Turnbull Library, which brought to light a copy of one of Mitchelson’s exhortations from 11 September 1638, two days before she met Archibald Johnston of Wariston.10 We can now attempt to say more about Mitchelson and how we might think of her extraordinary religious performances, reminiscent of someone possessed, yet definitely not a demoniac. 5

Stevenson, ‘Mitchelson [Mitchel], Margaret (fl. 1638)’. Ibid.; Scott, Fasti, I, p. 399: F. J. Grant (ed.), The Register of Apprentices of the City of Edinburgh, 1583–1666, Scottish Record Society (Edinburgh, 1906), p. 128; Wariston, I, p. 393. 7 David G. Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, 1590–1638 (Oxford, 2000), p. 167; Mullan, ‘Mitchel (or Mitchelson), Margaret’. 8 David G. Mullan, ‘Women in Scottish Divinity, c.1590–c.1640’, in Women in Scotland, c.1100–1750, ed. Elizabeth Ewan and Maureen M. Meikle (East Linton, 1999), p. 34. 9 Stevenson, ‘Mitchelson [Mitchel], Margaret (fl. 1638)’. 10 John Durkan, Scottish Schools and Schoolmasters 1560–1633, ed. Jamie Reid Baxter, Scottish History Society (Edinburgh, 2006), p. 198: NLNZ, MSY 6821, p. 1363. 6

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The idea of godly or divine possession is well established in the scholarship of medieval female piety outside Scotland. Nancy Caciola speaks of the ‘divinely possessed laywoman’ as a new phenomenon which grew up from the thirteenth century onwards, alongside but quite distinct from demonic possession.11 She defined divine possession as the ‘indwelling, penetrative, and unitive character of medieval women’s relationship to Christ or the Holy Spirit’, including Christ speaking through her, ‘self-identity with the spirit of God, as the woman speaks divine prophecies, reads the minds of others, and in a sense becomes part of the Godhead’ through a mystical marriage with Christ the bridegroom. Such women showed ‘constant contact with God … being physically and intellectually transformed by this union’. She adds that: There were moments when their state of possession was particularly overwhelming and intense. It was during these times that the individual entered into trances, witnessed visions, and gained access to prophetic revelations. Indeed, women’s claims to be divinely inspired seers were predicated largely on the visions and revelations they reported having received during trances, which represented the apotheosis of their possession. These trances are described as states that transcended bodily boundaries and individual self-consciousness. Either the woman’s spirit would leave her body entirely and visit supernatural realms, or it would recede into her deepest depths, relying only on her ‘interior senses’.12

The individual might become ‘rigid, immobile, and insensible’ during these trances, as if dead. This state of divine possession was hotly contested by male theologians. Moshe Sluhovsky speaks of the ‘muting’ of this kind of ‘divine possession’ as ‘a gendered development’ aimed at women, arguing that the ‘ascendancy and popularity of female mystics between the fourteenth and seventeenth centuries compelled the Church to determine who could become a “medium” for divine knowledge, and whether women should or could enjoy this privilege.’ He continues: in the seventeenth century, following the processes of redefinition and the redrawing of boundaries between divine and diabolic possessions, attempts by women (and some men) to gain access to the supernatural by means of transcending the self were deemed demonic, and all forms of ecstatic self-transformation were looked upon with suspicion.13

The backdrop to this was the rise of the witch-hunt, in which, as Caciola points out, discussion of female visionaries and their susceptibility (in their great love for God) to being led astray through ecstasies and trances to display symptoms

11

Nancy Caciola, Discerning Spirits: Divine and Demonic Possession in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY, 2003), p. 56. 12 Ibid., p. 64. 13 Moshe Sluhovsky, ‘Spirit Possession as a Self Transformative Experience in Late Medieval Catholic Europe’, in Self and Self-transformation in the History of Religions, ed. D. Dean Shulman and G. G. Stroumsa (Oxford, 2002), p. 151.

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of demonic possession formed a key part of the thinking of the early and influential demonologist John Nider in his Formicarius.14 By the seventeenth century suspicion of divine possession ran so deeply in France that historian Sarah Ferber could write of the ‘bleak career option’ of ‘positive possession’ of women, where demonic possession became a kind of a gateway through exorcism for spiritual advancement for women such as Souer Jean des Anges. Such a woman might start off by being demonically possessed, but, once properly exorcised and found not be a witch, she could be deemed to have a holy possession and could become a living saint, advancing spiritually to holy visions and raptures with stigmata, angels, divine contact and the ability to prophesy and discern spirits.15 Ferber writes of a sliding scale of rapture. At one end was the ecstatic spiritual who had surrendered her will to that of God and who was rewarded with ecstasies and insight, and a possible reputation for sanctity. At the other end was the witch, whose renunciation of her will, and her baptism, in exchange for extraordinary powers (or at least a belief that she possessed such powers) aligned her totally with the devil. In between lie the possessed, whose state, unlike ecstasy, always involved the devil, but which, unlike witchcraft, could be turned to good ends.16

Ferber argues that, looking at this sliding scale in the light of the history of female affective piety, possession was probably a subcategory of ‘ecstatic spirituality’. While Ferber, Caciola and Sluhovsky have predominantly studied Catholic spirituality, this framework is also useful in considering Scottish Calvinist piety. Forms of ecstatic spirituality, both female and male, were well known and attested among radical presbyterians.17 The Calvinist conversion experience, which released believers from much of their fear of Hell, could be a gateway to rapture for Scotland’s saints and a cure for demonic attacks in ways that sound very similar to the possession spectrum delineated by historians of female piety elsewhere in Western Europe.18 Conversion could show manifestations ranging from divine to demonic, from demoniac to saint. It was a style of piety that could 14 Caciola,

Discerning Spirits, p. 212. Sarah Ferber, ‘The Medieval Holy Woman as Role Model for the Possessed’, in The Oxford Handbook of Witchcraft in Early Modern Europe and Colonial America, ed. Brian Levack (Oxford, 2013), p. 582: Sarah Ferber, Demonic Possession and Exorcism in Early Modern France (London, 2004), p. 8. 16 Ferber, Demonic Possession, p. 115. 17 Louise Yeoman, ‘Away with the Fairies’, in Fantastical Imaginations: The Supernatural in Scottish History, ed. Lizanne Henderson (Edinburgh 2009), pp. 29–46; Louise Yeoman, ‘Heart-work: Emotion, Empowerment and Authority in Covenanting Times’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of St Andrews, 1991), pp. 24–6, 184, 191–3, 263–6, 268–71; Louise Yeoman, ‘Archie’s Invisible Worlds Discovered: Spirituality, Madness and Johnston of Wariston’s Family’, RSCHS, 27 (1997), 161–3, 172–3: Louise Yeoman, ‘The Devil as Doctor: Witchcraft, Wodrow and the Wider World’, Scottish Archives, 1 (1995), 95–9. 18 For example, in resolving the terrors of the demonically possessed Christian Shaw. See Yeoman, ‘The Devil as Doctor’. 15

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produce marked somatic and mental manifestations of anxiety and joy – fainting, weeping, sobbing, falling down as if struck dead, falling into trances – and it was intimately connected with supernatural encounters, both divine and demonic. Michelle Brock has noted the important presence of the demonic in the affective conversion-centred piety of Scottish Calvinism in her book Satan and the Scots, and considered it in terms of Scotland’s puzzling history of recording so few demonic possession cases until the very late part of the witch hunt in the 1690s and early 1700s. ‘For much of the early modern period’, she points out, ‘outward physical possession did not have a place in the cultural script in Scotland. Due to the emphasis on innate depravity and the belief in predestined reprobation, demonic possession was, in a subtle, spiritually intrinsic sense, a constant component of Reformed Protestantism.’19 Roark Atkinson went further in his article about the Satanic encounters of believers in the 1740s revival at Cambuslang, which he considered in the light of the end of the witch hunts, speaking of understanding ‘the vigorous efforts ministers made to ween people off of witchcraft accusations’ by ‘focusing on the conversion experience, which essentially worked as a form of exorcism’.20 Martha McGill’s recent discussion of spiritual discernment develops this type of thinking further, noting that if Calvinists could experience divine possession ‘it (probably) did not entail rapturous visions of the Catholic tradition, but once one was possessed by the Holy Spirit, discernment became straightforward … To recognize angels, the optimal technique was to become one.’21 David Mullan has written extensively on the range of experiences connected with this kind of affective conversion-centred piety. He too has noted the occurrence of both the demonic and raptures in his Narratives of the Religious Self in Early Modern Scotland; however, he preferred to characterise visionary or rapturous experiences, especially of women, as ‘visualization of scripture’ in the ‘imaginative spaces generated by the Bible where a number of women carried on their religious quest’.22 However, his discussion of visions did not focus on women whose narratives might be candidates for cases of ‘godly possession’ or ‘folk trance’ (such as Barbara Peebles or Janet Fraser, or the child visionary Donald McGrigor’s daughter). He focuses on other examples, such as Grizell Love (who exceptionally insisted that her remarkable visions were not a trance), characterising her as ‘really visualizing Scriptures’ with which she was ‘familiar’.23 19

Michelle D. Brock, Satan and the Scots: The Devil in Post-Reformation Scotland c.1560–1700 (Abingdon, 2016), p. 233. 20 Roark Atkinson, ‘Satan in the Pulpit: Popular Christianity during the Scottish Great Awakening, 1680–1750’, Journal of Social History, 47 (2013), 43, 364. 21 Martha McGill, ‘Angels, Devils, and Discernment in Early Modern Scotland’, in Knowing Demons, Knowing Spirits in the Early Modern Period, ed. Michelle D. Brock, Richard Raiswell and David Winter (Cham, 2018), p. 261. 22 David G. Mullan, Narratives of the Religious Self in Early Modern Scotland (Burlington, 2010), p. 125; though Barbara Peebles is mentioned in another context on p. 273. 23 Ibid., pp. 121–6.

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While this is an important observation and the scriptural content of most of these visions or raptures was high (and one would expect it to have been so in women and girls steeped in the Bible), it leaves out elements that certainly did not come from scripture, such as witches coming into the bedroom and dancing, in the case of Grizell Love, Satan making a noise like a pistol shot near her, Donald MacGrigor’s ten-year-old daughter hearing a cry like an owl, and then seeing witches, the devil appearing to her in the shape of a black man and an ox, or the devil appearing to Janet Fraser in the form of a bee and a black man and a bony hand.24 ‘Visualisation’ can imply deliberateness or conscious production, yet Barbara Peebles spoke of how ‘all the power went out of my body’. She also talked of ‘falling dead’, ‘speechlesse’ and ‘dumb’, and later fell dumb for four days. Donald McGrigor’s daughter suffered what were described as ‘fitts’, while the later Cameronian visionary Janet Fraser lay for hours at a time motionless, as if dead.25 There was a potential role here for godly women to fall into trances, to see visions, to utter inspired speeches and prophecies or to act as one taken over by the spirit, which could perform a legitimating function, showing that God was raising up the weak against the strong, giving a direct message that he was on-side with what the rebellious godly party was doing.26 However, it was a role that walked a perilous tightrope, precisely because of beliefs that ‘women made better targets for the devil’, who, as any well-informed seventeenth-century person would know, liked to manifest himself as an angel of light.27 Despite this potential vulnerability, at crucial political stages for the National Covenanting movement, female Covenanting ecstatics stepped up to prophesy on the basis of raptures. The first and most important of these cases, and the only one that fully went public, involved a young woman, Margaret Mitchelson, as the star performer. Piety and Covenanting Legitimacy Margaret Mitchelson’s brief public career began with a man who came late to the cause of opposing the Scottish Prayer Book: Henry Rollock, the minister of Trinity College, Edinburgh. According to David Mullan, Rollock was a very late convert to the anti-prayer book cause, a convinced episcopal minister who had nearly become a bishop and who stood out in favour of the prayer book almost until the last minute before flipping sides to the movement which became the 24 NLS, Wodrow Quarto, LXXII, fols 108r–108v; EUL, DC.8.110, fols 3r–3v; NRS, GD157/1880. 25 NLS, Wodrow Quarto, XXVI, fols 283v–6v; EUL, DC.8.110, fol. 4r; NRS, GD157/1880. 26 McGill, ‘Angels, Devils, and Discernment’, pp. 257–8. 27 Ibid., pp. 262; 2 Corinthians 11:14 ‘And no marvel; for Satan himself is transformed into an angel of light.’

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Covenanters.28 From as early as 1634, Rollock had an important admirer of his preaching: the future co-author of the National Covenant and exemplar of affective presbyterian piety, Archibald Johnston of Wariston.29 But after Rollock changed sides in 1637 and joined the movement against the service book in the run-up to the National Covenant, Wariston found something else to admire in him – a new and enthralling talent in emotional prayer of the sort that was to become a ‘growing preference’ of Covenanter ministers.30 Wariston was quickly impressed when Rollock told him of the ‘wonderful work of God with ane poore damaseil’ called Margaret Mitchelson and offered to introduce them on 13 September 1638. Wariston described how her: saule was full to the brim and to the overflouing of the most sensible conceptions and expressions of the greatnes, goodnes, and glorious excellency of King Jesus; it was admirable to hear and seie the varietie of hir expressions and conceptions on that subject, with the continuat bensel31 and conbined concurrence of al the faculties of hir saule and affections of hir heart, in every conception and expression, quhilk sundry tymes cust hir in great soundings, reboundings, and suerfings.32

Recollecting it the next day, Wariston elaborated that these were ‘strainge, lyvly, pouerful expressions and meditations of Chrysts might, sueatnes, and excellencie’.33 This was quite a performance of inventive speech, fainting, reverberations in the body and sobbing. Mitchelson’s utter intensity was focused on the wonderfulness of Jesus, reminding everyone that Jesus was the king who mattered (a clear, yet unspoken, contrast with Charles I). Wariston took it as an omen that God was with the Covenanters and recorded in his diary that ‘The sight of hir … wes the best prognostication we could learne for our busines.’34 In the absence of authorisation from the king, parliament or General Assembly, the Covenant had to derive its legitimacy from other sources. Laura Stewart notes how these sources involved a ‘context of mass petitioning, crowd actions, political performances, oppositionist sermons, and the circulation of print and scribal polemic’, which were all part of ‘a specific crisis’ that ‘turned the people into a public’, producing ‘a set of spaces in which people from across the social spectrum were able to take part in debate and, at some level, critically assess competing claims about who or what best represented the common good’.35 The Covenanters had to engage with different audiences by ‘the skilled and creative use of these different forms of media’ to create ‘spaces in which 28 Mullan,

Scottish Puritanism, p. 76. Wariston, I, pp. 201–2. 30 Ibid., p. 306; Brian Spinks, ‘The Origins of the Antipathy to Set Liturgical Forms in the English-Speaking Reformed Tradition’, in Christian Worship in Reformed Churches Past and Present, ed. Lukas Vischer (Grand Rapids, MI, 2003), p. 78. 31 A state of mental tension, excitement or eagerness. 32 Wariston, I, pp. 384–5. 33 Sweetness. 34 Wariston, I, p. 385. 35 Laura A. M. Stewart, ‘Authority, Agency and the Reception of the Scottish National 29

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debate could occur and thereby began the process of forming a “public”’.36 Part of this had been the religious theatre of swearing and signing the Covenant itself, which also involved women.37 This produced the emotional and revivalistic scenes so well described by Nathan Hood.38 The experience of swearing the Covenant could recapitulate or initiate the experience of conversion in the hands of a minister steeped in affective piety. Audiences could experience involuntary communal outbursts of groaning, sobbing and weeping, seen as clear manifestations of the work of the Holy Spirit in softening and regenerating hearts. It is in this context of affective piety that Wariston and Rollock’s ‘discovery’ of Mitchelson and her role as a public performer should be seen. The fullest description of her performances, given by a hostile source, states that she was laid in a large bedchamber that was always crowded to the doors and, ‘when her fitts came upon her, she was ordinarly throwne upon a downe bedd, and, ther prostrate, with her face downwards, spocke’.39 This narrative perhaps attempted to cast Mitchelson as the false prophetess Jezebel of the Book of Revelation, making her a tool of Antichrist, as opposed to her filling the role of the godly prophetess Hulda associated with the doctrine of national covenanting in the Old Testament under King Josiah.40 The latter was probably much more what Wariston and Rollock had in mind: a modern-day Hulda to validate the National Covenant in its hour of need before a General Assembly could ratify it. The spectacle of Mitchelson’s prophesying was immensely popular. Even hostile witnesses agreed that ‘Great numbers of all rankes of people wer her dayly hearers’ and that ‘befor she beganne to speacke it was made knowne through Edinburgh’, and that ‘she was spoken of as a person inspired of God, and her words were recited as oracles’. People of the best quality came to see her and were deeply moved by her performance. The hostile Large Declaration described how ‘The joy which her auditors conceived for the comfort of such a messenger from Heaven and such messages as she delivered from thence, was many times expressed by them in teares.’41 Mitchelson’s spirit-filled performances perhaps allowed listeners to relive the excitement and sense of Covenanting purpose: being convulsed with godly sorrow for sin and overwhelmed by God’s astonishing mercy to the sinner, displaying through tears the Holy Spirit at work in the soul, participating in godly repentance for being led astray by the Five Articles of Perth and Covenant of 1638’, in Insular Christianity: Alternative Models of the Church in Britain and Ireland, c.1570–1700, ed. Robert Armstrong and Tadhg Ó hAnnaracháin (Manchester, 2013), p. 98. 36 Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 2, 8, 90–1. 37 Stewart, ‘Authority’, pp. 90–1, 96. 38 See Chapter 1. 39 James Gordon, History of Scots Affairs, From MDCXXXVII to MDCXLI, ed. Joseph Robertson and George Grub, 3 vols (Aberdeen, 1841), pp. 131–2. 40 Kings 22:14; 2 Chron. 34:22. See also Yeoman, ‘Away with the Fairies’, p. 37. 41 Gordon, History of Scots Affairs, pp. 131–2.

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other formalities in worship. It was more evidence that God was at work and accepting the contrition of the Covenanters. Royalist commentators perceived Mitchelson as at best mentally disturbed and at worst a fraud, and were keen to discredit her speeches. According to James Gordon, author of the History of Scots Affairs, Mitchelson had fits of distraction ‘which savoured at best but of sencelesse simplicitye’, while Walter Balcanquall’s Large Declaration framed her actions as feigned, as ‘she hath been for many yeeres distracted by fits’, and ‘the crying up of this Maid, did look something like a Romish imposture’.42 Balcanquall sneered that ‘shee was well skilled in the phrases of the scripture, and had a good memorie, so that shee could remember the bitter invectives, which both in the Pulpits and elsewhere shee had heard made against the Bishops and the Service-booke’.43 Further, opponents criticised her form of expression, claiming that it was ‘holy tautologicall nonsence … impertinent repetitions of Scripture sentences, mixed with some new phrases that wer not Scripture langwage’.44 It is true that what she said was not extraordinary or unique, and that her metaphors about the greatness of God, such as ‘O that evrie hair of my head wer mightie [to] praise thee, tho I schould seim a wonder, a wonder to the world I cair not for that seing I may [praise?] thee my love’, were the kind of expression that might be expected in ex tempore prayer from an adherent of presbyterian affective piety, which would not be to the taste of those who shunned such forms of worship.45 However, her enemies also, quite reasonably from their point of view, objected to Mitchelson’s message ‘when shee spake of Christ, she ordinarily called him by the name of Covenanting Jesus: The summe of her speeches for the most part was, that it was revealed unto her from God, that their Covenant was approved and ratified in Heaven.’ By contrast, Mitchelson’s expressions of piety condemned the rival King’s Covenant as ‘an invention of Sathan’.46 Mitchelson’s public display of emotive piety involved her falling into insensible trances, after which she spoke of what she had experienced. Wariston described her as being ‘transported in heavinly raptures’, but, unlike other contemporary mystics, who focused on describing visits to Heaven, Mitchelson is not recorded as referencing any divine meetings or angelic intermediaries. Rather, Mitchelson’s raptures contained a recurring focus on the wonder and loveliness of Jesus with frequent references to heaven. Whether she was speaking to Jesus, as later visionary Barbara Peebles did, or having visions of heaven, is not made clear.47 Mitchelson’s raptures were made all the more emphatic by the ways in 42 Gordon,

History of Scots Affairs, pp. 131–2, Balcanquhall, Large Declaration, pp. 226–7. Large Declaration, pp. 226–7. 44 Ibid., pp. 226–7. 45 NLNZ, MSY 6821; Spinks, ‘The Origins of the Antipathy’, pp. 77–8. 46 Balcanquhall, Large Declaration, pp. 226–7. 47 Yeoman, ‘Away with the Fairies’, pp. 29–46. 43 Balcanquhall,

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which they were delivered. In particular, her rhythmic repetition of certain phrases gave her words greater emotional emphasis. The fragment which has survived begins: Margaret Mitchel … being wakened out of a transe, upon the ii of September 1638, uttered these words, at 2 houres in the morning: ‘The Spiritual Pharaohes gotten the foil, the valiant conquerour hes win the victorie praise, praise, praise to his name now and ever’ with that she ceaset a while and begin’th after this manner. ‘Praise, praise, praise, for choosing such ane kirk for thy bryde, Lord put on the garments, that belongs to the bryd of such ane gloriouse king, and deck thy spouse, thy self. For the smel of thy oyntments is sweet to me.’48

The ‘spiritual pharaoh’ is an expression found in a contemporary books of godly sermons.49 It normally refers to the pope, equating the Reformation with Moses bringing the people out of Egypt and paganism to the reformed promised land of proper worship, but at the height of the propaganda war between Covenanters and Charles I, where he was being charged with leading the nation back into popish captivity, it could equally well be applied to Charles being thwarted in his designs over the prayer book.50 The writing of the early presbyterian minister and pioneer of this kind of affective piety, James Melville, contains a poem suffused with imagery of the Song of Songs about the Kirk of Scotland as Christ’s bride, often seeing her as a fallen woman losing her purity to idolatrous ceremonies.51 Nathan Hood’s chapter in this volume draws attention to Mitchelson’s original patron, Henry Rollock, who at the swearing of the Covenant at Trinity Kirk, mentioned above, used a similar image from Jeremiah 3, where he conceived of the city of Edinburgh as ‘the adulterous wife of God … whom through the Covenant God was reclaiming’.52 Mitchelson drew further on the Song of Songs in a common trope of affective piety where Jesus was seen as the bridegroom and the worshipper, who has fallen in love with him and sees her/himself as his bride, must be purged by godly sorrow and repentance for sin, praising and longing for him.53 48

NLNZ, MSY 6821. For instance, in Richard Sibbes ‘The Saint’s Safety in Evil Times’, printed in The Saint’s Cordials, second edition 1637 in Alexander Balloch Grosart (ed.) The Complete Works of Richard Sibbes, I (Edinburgh, 1862), p. 310. 50 Randall Martin (ed.), Women Writers in Renaissance England: An Annotated Anthology (Abingdon, 2014), p. 52. 51 Louise Yeoman, ‘James Melville and the Covenant of Grace’, in Older Scots Literature, ed. Sally Mapstone (Edinburgh, 2005), pp. 574–83; see his poems ‘The Reliefe of the Longing Soule’, ‘The Black Bastel’ and ‘David’s Tragique Fall’. 52 Hood, ‘Corporate Conversion Ceremonies’. 53 See Mullan, Narratives of the Religious Self, pp. 317–8. See also the poems of Elizabeth 49

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THE PERFORMANCE OF COVENANTED IDENTIT Y Praise, praise, praise. I am black my Love, I am black my Lord, I am black wash, washe, washe me in the fountain, O to be weighted, weighted, weighted, with the sweet name of King Jesus. Thow art incomprehensible my Love. Lord give give thou us apprehensive knowledg, my dove, my Love, my fair one come away. Praise, praise, praise, for that ever I knew thee my Love, for the thornie way that thow hes brocht [me?] to thee for now I sie they were bot all consolations.

She also touches on the bridal joy of forgetting ‘the formalitie of my fathers house’, presumably a reference to the Church before the Covenant and the Five Articles when compared with the pure worship of ‘thy [Jesus’s] fathers kingdome’. Mitchelson explicitly prays for conversions, hoping that the Lord would ‘mak many new births to praise’. This suggests that Margaret’s Mitchelson’s debt to Rollock and his preaching needs to be acknowledged. She was his gifted young protege, riffing on the same themes that he used in the swearing of the National Covenant. Her meditations also drew on other scriptural images such as Isaiah 40, underlining the amazingness of God and his mercy and how we ought to compulsively praise him with all our might: O that evrie member of my bodie wer ane mouth to praise the, O that evrie pickel of the sand of the sea were a nation to praise the, O King creat many nations to praise thy name. O Lord wil thow creat thousands of nations to praise thee my Love. O that evrie drop of the ocean were a nation to praise the Lord, Lord wil thow creat thowsand, thousands to praise thee.54 O my Love the heavn of heavns is not able to contain the praise. O that evrie hair of my head wer mightie to praise thee, tho I schould seim a wonder, a wonder to the world I cair not for that seing I may praise thee my love.55

Even if Rollock may have been an exemplar, Mitchelson’s performances were powerful enough in their own right that they inspired devotion to her and imitation in others. One of Margaret’s male observers, Johnston of Wariston, was impressed enough with her talent in this respect that he tried one of her

Melville Lady Culross as discussed by Jamie Reid Baxter (ed.), Poems of Elizabeth Melville, Lady Culross: Unpublished Work from Manuscript with ‘Ane Godlie Dreame’ (Edinburgh, 2010), p. 111: Jamie Reid Baxter, ‘Elizabeth Melville, Lady Culross: New Light from Fife’, Innes Review, 68 (2017), 55–6. Nathan Hood has drawn attention to the importance of godly sorrow as an emotion associated with swearing the Covenant: Hood, ‘Corporate Conversion Ceremonies’. 54 Compare Isaiah 40 and Psalm 139. 55 NLNZ, MSY 6821.

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meditations at home a few days after meeting her. Wariston’s diary entry is worth rehearsing at length: At night about six hours … I cust by my book, begoud to walk, and, upon the remembrance of the damasels strainge, lyvly, pouerful expressions and meditations of Chrysts might, sueatnes, and excellencie, I resolved to try the sam meditation; and, evin at the entreie of plunging my thoughts and bending my sprit fixedly thairupon, I was drouned in a bottomles deep. I got the world (me thought) and al that thairin is, evin the heavins and al creaturs, fadamed about as ane globe glasped within my thoughts, quhilk ranged about al the circumference thairof, height, deipth, lenth, and breadth; bot, quhen from the work I begoud to circle my thoughts about a Deytie quhos workmanschip it was and a keiking glasse of his pouer, wysdome, greatnes, and gloriousnes, heir my sprit sunk and evanisched quhen I thought of the Lords creating, preserving, ruling all and ten thousand alls mor if thair wer, only and soly from his auin will and pleasure, be comunication of his being and subsistence … In every thought I plumbed ane unsearchable deip.56

In observing Wariston, we get some idea of Mitchelson’s methods. Here, her male social superior was impressed by her affective piety and tried to learn from her.57 He was also captivated by where this sort of affective piety took him in terms of spiritual joy: I thought upon the infinit love of God in redeeming som of lost mankind … Heir my heart failed me and my apprehension fell schort quhen I thought … of the just reason of the saints continual prayses in heavin … and reflects upon thair present injoying eternallie the kingdome of heavin, and doeth perpetualy admire and adore the love of that infinit God, quhos unitie in trinitie and trinitie in unitie is a mysterie posessing my thoughts, as also the reasons of thair bended praysings of the Lord in this earth upon the Sprits testifying to thair consciences that thair aeternal election, as nou to Margret Mitchel.58

This is the kind of piety that both Wariston and Mitchelson shared with Elizabeth Melville Lady Culross.59 It is quite possible that Lady Culross was known to Wariston or an influence on him through her connection with his grandmother Rachel Arnot, whom Wariston noted as having been a key influence on his precocious piety.60 However, it was Mitchelson’s communication of her experience, not through poetry but through rapturous speeches and taught visualisation, that had the most significant impact on Wariston. The visualisation began to produce somatisation when Wariston compared his sinful deservings to this magnificent and comforting God: my body quaiked and trimbled al for feare, with ane cold schuddring through al my body especyaly at the roots of my haire, til it was setled againe by ane new intimation 56

Wariston, I, pp. 386–7. Narratives of the Religious Self, p. 125. 58 Wariston, I, pp. 386–7. 59 Reid Baxter, Poems of Elizabeth Melville, p. 111. 60 Reid Baxter, ‘New Light from Fife’, 49: NLS, MS. 6248, pp. 35–9. 57 Mullan,

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THE PERFORMANCE OF COVENANTED IDENTIT Y of reconciliation from above quhilk maid me with great libertie and assurance cust saule, body,etc. the good cause al over upon my Lord Jesus and in his airmes … Al this tyme for ane long houre and ane half I got ane great libertie and motion; blissed be the naime of the Lord for it.61

Wariston, recollecting his experience in the tranquillity of his writing, was able to give a more eloquent account of his meditation than Mitchelson’s amanuensis provided of her speeches, but his bodily manifestations show how what began as a voluntary exercise could produce involuntary results. The impact of Wariston’s rapture went beyond a voluntarily assumed bodily posture or gesture such as kneeling, and became far more extreme.62 There is an even more striking parallel to Mitchelson and her visualisations and raptures in Wariston’s piety that predates his first meetings with her. A year before his first encounter with Margaret, on 23 April 1637, he recorded in his diary an experience labelled ‘ane extasie’: Sunday, 23 Apryle, Betuixt 3 hours and six at night in my auin chalmer, quhyle I was walking al alone and meditating on the nature, essence, naimes, attributs, words, works of a Deitie, my quhol body took a schuddring, and extream coldnes seased on al my joints especyaly on the roots of my haire quhilk stood al steave, bent up fra the croun of my head; my eies stood brent open, never closing albeit rivers of tears ran doun my scheaks; my tounge strokin dumb; my hands at will nou reatched out as it wer to receive a Deitie, nou glasped in as it wer to inclose and imbraice a Deitie receaved; this was the temper of my body, quhyl in al this tyme my saul was transported out of myselth and fixed upon the immediat vision and fruition of ane incomprehensible Deitie, lyk lightnings glauncing in at a windou; first his nature in general, then the Unitie in Trinitie, Trinitie in Unitie, then his attributs of justice, mercie, pouer, presence, wysdom, treuth, then his works… then the application of al to my auin saul … At the glaunce of every on after another the schuddring wakned, my haire bended and a neu rusch of tears gusched out; thir glaunces wer presented, and went by lyk spectacles on a theatre quhyl my saul was crying without utterance, Deitie, Deitie, I adore, I adore, I adore.63

Wariston used spiritual visualisations and the thoughts they produced to arouse his emotions to such a pitch that bodily manifestations over which he had no control followed: ‘I thought at this tyme that my Jesus took my heart in his hand and knet it and wrapped it within the heart of God, so that I found God as it wer within my heart posessing and filling al the hirnes and holes thairof.’64 There is little difference in Wariston’s form of affective piety and Mitchelson’s practices a year later, except that she fell insensible before waking and delivering her speeches and that she managed to put in longer shifts of inspired prayer even than Wariston, sometimes from two in the afternoon to three 61

Wariston, I, pp. 386–7. On postures and gestures at swearing the National Covenant, see Hood, ‘Corporate Conversion Ceremonies’. 63 Wariston, I, pp. 252–3. 64 Ibid. 62

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o’clock in the morning.65 Even so, her practices were not so far removed from Wariston’s own habits. According to his nephew, Gilbert Burnet, Wariston ‘went into very high notions of lengthened devotions, in which he continued many hours a day. He would often pray in his family two hours at a time, and had an unexhausted copiousness that way.’66 In a significant way, Wariston and Mitchelson were soul mates. Gendered Piety But there was one vital difference. Wariston could loose his tongue and feel his soul transported, but this was not a public performance. As an early modern man of the landed classes, Wariston could keep his most extreme performances of affective piety in his closet or private prayer group, or safely written down in a diary for circulation to select friends, and then act and speak publicly in a variety of forums to further his cause. He did not need to make a public spectacle to get a hearing. No doubt if Wariston had thought publicly exhibiting himself falling into ecstasies would have furthered the cause of the National Covenant he would and could have done it: as we have seen, he knew how to work himself up into a possession-like state where involuntary experience takes over from the directed and voluntary. Instead, this role fell to a young woman, and that might be because for a woman to be heard speaking publicly and to be taken seriously politically as a spiritual leader was a much harder thing. Mitchelson could not pursue a public calling in the ministry, nor did she have the resources to become an important female patron to ministers, meaning that she was left with something akin to Ferber’s ‘bleak career option’ for women of ‘positive possession’. Despite its peril for the female reputation, such a route might give meaning and purpose, especially for someone who was (very probably) an unmarried orphan wielding little social power, even in godly circles.67 Even her social betters found their public role as females to be circumscribed. No less a person than Elizabeth Melville Lady Culross, poet, writer and eminent activist in the presbyterian resistance to James VI’s Five Articles of Perth, could not speak publicly or pray publicly to give guidance to the resistance movement. At the Kirk of Shotts revival of 1630 She went into the bed, and drew the curtains, that she might set herself to prayer. William Ridge of Adderny coming into the room, and hearing her have great motion upon her, although she spake not out, he desired her to speak out, saying, that there was none in the room but him and her woman, as at that time there was no other. She

65

Ibid., pp. 384–5. Narratives of the Religious Self, p. 248. 67 Ferber, ‘The Medieval Holy Woman’, p. 582. 66 Mullan,

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THE PERFORMANCE OF COVENANTED IDENTIT Y did soe, and the door being opened, the room filled full. She continued in prayer, with wonderfull assistance, for large three hours’ time.68

This was an incredibly eminent, talented, mature and powerful woman, yet she could rarely speak or pray publicly. Praying publicly with Mitchelson may likewise have been problematic for men. James Gordon recounted a hostile anecdote in which Rollock, ‘who often came to see her, said that he thought it was not good manners to speacke whilste his Maister [Jesus or the Holy Spirit] was speacking’.69 Gordon may be hinting that this was a cunning way to avoid the scandal of joining in prayer with her in public. The key as to why this might have been scandalous probably lies in Bryan Spinks’s deduction that ‘conceived or free prayer was regarded as a ministerial gift, not a general one. Lay-led worship could, and should, use set prayers.’70 This was perilously close to treating a woman as a minister and acknowledging that a female could have the cherished gift of ex tempore prayer, which was becoming almost a sine qua non for radical Covenanter ministers such as Rollock,71 who was noted for his gifts in this matter.72 How was Mitchelson able to get a powerful public platform from her bedroom ‘pulpit’? Young women or girls, by dint of having little expected of them intellectually, could sometimes excuse their words as not being theirs but being direct supernatural inspiration, because it was thought they would not be capable of such conceptions unaided. Emilia Geddie (1665–81) was noted for her preternatural godly abilities of pious sayings, having the ability to rebuke adults and confer with ministers from the age of three to her death at sixteen.73 In 1697 eleven-year-old demoniac Christian Shaw suddenly turned from victim of possession to supposedly being able to publicly preach as she confounded the invisible ‘witch’ Katie Campbell with scriptural reasoning and exhortation.74 Donald McGrigor’s ten-year-old daughter, after falling into trances and having visions, could suddenly talk about the test acts, indulgences, conformity and whether unbaptised children go to heaven.75 Being young and female could lead to a presumption of direct supernatural inspiration. 68

W. K. Tweedie (ed.), Select Biographies, Wodrow Society, I (Edinburgh, 1845), pp. 346–7. History of Scots Affairs, p. 132. 70 Spinks, Christian Worship, p. 79. 71 Ibid., p. 78. 72 Wariston, I, p. 306. 73 Louise Yeoman, ‘Geddie, Emelia [Emilia]’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (2004). 74 Yeoman, ‘The Devil as Doctor’, pp. 95–9. Professor Julian Goodare is editing documents on Christian Shaw’s case, including A True Narrative of the Sufferings and Relief of a Young Girle (1698) and the ‘Bargarran Witches Manuscript’ in the Mitchell Library in Glasgow, which represents an earlier recension of the ‘narrative’. He has pointed out to me that the earlier version omits the confrontations between Shaw and Katie Campbell. However, the printed edition was ‘gathered’ from multiple hands and this may simply have been on a separate piece of paper now lost. 75 EUL, Dc.8.110, fol. 8v. 69 Gordon,

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In Margaret’s case, if we judge from the way Wariston was able to emulate her exercises and produce physical manifestations and raptures, we observe how possessions were a mixture of the voluntary and the involuntary, with strong emotions producing cathartic speech and bodily manifestations that were interpreted as preternatural. Surrounded by advocates including a radical and respected Covenanter minister and the most prominent lay Covenanting activist, who interpreted the Spirit as speaking through her, Mitchelson became a Scottish version of a ‘divinely possessed laywoman’, drawing on her matrimonial and mystical union with Christ to speak with authority in a Church that had closed that public role off from women. The Glasgow Assembly The manuscript fragment of Mitchelson’s speech from September shows her cheering on Covenanters who must have realised, as the autumn of 1638 drew on, that war with Charles I could not be too far away. She reassured them that they followed: King Jesus, that victoriouse captaine, he that never tint a battel, O that conquerour in the tribe of Judah, the lord of hoasts … stand stil and sie the salvation of the Lord, What wald thow doe and thow had the battel to fight when thow is fainting come to, stand [stil?] and behold it, faint not Sion: thy captane is the valiant conquerour, the Lord of hoasts is his name, praise to thee my lord the captane.76

We have seen already that Charles I was being inveighed against as ‘The Spiritual Pharaoh’ and that the King’s Covenant was probably being described as an ‘invention of Sathan’. According to Wariston, Mitchelson also spoke strainge things for the happy succes of Gods cause and Chryst croune in this kingdome quhilk was already inacted in heavin and this in the audience and to the astonischment of many thousand quherby our noblemen, especyaly som doubtsome of befor, wer strongly confirmed and incouraged to had hand to this great work of God.77

At this point in late October 1638, as the crucial Glasgow Assembly approached, Wariston brought Mitchelson into his own house and invited prominent Covenanters to speak and to pose questions to her.78 He recorded how she held forth before the marquis of Argyll and other Covenanting nobles, such as the earl of Rothes, Glencairn, Lords Yester, Balmerino and Kilpont, the laird of Dun, prominent judges lords Craighall and Durie and the Lord Advocate. He described Mitchelson as expressing herself ‘pouerfully and pertinently’ to this audience and noted with satisfaction: ‘My heart prayed at thair incoming that 76

NLNZ, MSY 6821. Wariston, I, p. 393. 78 Wariston speaks of bringing Margaret into his family on 23 October 1638. See Wariston, I, p. 395. 77

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the Lord wald speak appositly in hir to them, and I sau my petition heard.’79 She spoke to them ‘anent bischops, neu covenant, the halfing and pairting the chyld of Gods treuth, the mainteaners or dissemblers with the disturbers of the peace of Zion, of the perfection of this reformation of the land both inwardly and outwardly’.80 Mitchelson’s outpourings may have referred to the growing tensions over the role of episcopacy in the Church of Scotland and perfecting the outward reformation of the land promised in the National Covenant. As the General Assembly approached, Mitchelson’s was a message against compromise and a warning against backing down in God’s cause. That Wariston was willing to introduce Mitchelson to the leadership at this crucial juncture reflects the importance he placed on her.81 His confidence was such that he not only conversed with her and rehearsed sermons he had heard to her, but listened to her when he had failed to attend sermons in person. On 12 November 1638, having written all Sunday instead of going to church, Wariston notes how ‘Upon Mononday night, to suply my want of Sundays sermons … the Lord loosed again Margret Mitchels tounge to speak straingly fra 2 afternoone til 3 hours in the morning.’82 Mitchelson’s expressions clearly provided a huge personal comfort to him. Just prior to the Assembly’s opening, Wariston recorded how ‘this night I thought the Lord had need to suply the deficiencies of his servants quho cannot get tyme or leasure to studie at al, and that the Lord wald contineu Margrets raptures and expressions til this great busines wer setled’.83 As the Assembly neared, Mitchelson’s influence started to recede from view, finally disappearing altogether. Wariston claimed he was too busy to write his diary and there is a gap from 21 November until 20 January 1639, during which time Mitchelson becomes invisible. It is impossible to be sure that Mitchelson went to the Assembly, because Wariston’s references to her are ambiguous: on 6 November, as he busied himself with preparations for the Assembly, he ‘recomended Margret to the Lords direction, bot my heart wissed and prayed for hir staye’. On his return, he noted ‘schoe had spokin sundry tymes during the Assemblee, and once after our coming Home’.84 There is no record that Mitchelson spoke in Glasgow during the Assembly’s sitting and Wariston’s account of what he did there fails to mention her.85 In the period after the Glasgow Assembly we learn that on 7 January 1639 Mitchelson had gone to the country to see her ‘guidame’ and that later, when Helen Hay, Wariston’s wife, was delivered of a son and in poor health, Margaret ‘fel seik 79

Ibid., p. 396. Ibid. 81 Ibid., pp. 384–5. 82 Ibid., pp. 395, 399. 83 Ibid., p. 397. 84 Ibid., p. 406. 85 Wariston’s new female praying partners were Lady Loudoun and her daughter. See ibid., pp. 39, 399, 406. 80

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for greif of my wyfes seaknes’; finally, on 1 February, she had fallen ‘extream seak’, and then the references stop.86 Only one member of the Johnston of Wariston family ever spoke of Mitchelson again – Gilbert Burnet, Wariston’s nephew who became a bishop. Though born in 1643, he was in a position to speak to close family members who were deeply involved at the time, including Wariston himself, whom he accompanied to the scaffold. Writing in the 1670s, his theory was that Mitchelson had ‘the vapours’: She was called an impostress by many, but those who understood nature better, knew the root of her distemper, which to have called so at that time had met with a high censure: though, it afterwards abating, they were willing to defend it under that notion, and counted them favourable who believed no worse of it.87

This is not too surprising, as Burnet was writing in a different age, when ‘Episcopalians increasingly distanced themselves from this style of emotional piety, denigrating what they saw as dangerous enthusiasm’; however, the sudden cessation of Mitchelson’s usefulness coinciding so closely with the Glasgow Assembly may also point to similar fault lines within the presbyterian party; possibly someone like the more conservative Covenanter minister Robert Baillie, who continually fretted about ‘Brounisme’ and later about private meetings for prayer, may have reined Wariston and Rollock in.88 Conclusion The routes that were open to Wariston and Rollock to exercise their gifts were not available to women such as Margaret Mitchelson. Men too had spiritual gifts of inspired speech and rapture that were not meant to be under their control, but in public they were still expected to manifest those divine gifts on cue in the correct settings – the pulpit, the prayer meeting, the communion table – and they learned that through example and training. Women, however, could legitimately manifest their charismatic gifts only at home or in private. Men could be ‘beyond themselves’, be ‘transportit’ and have ‘strange motions’ upon them in public settings, but they were still allowed to be upright and conscious. A woman, however, needed to be more noteworthy to gain a similar hearing, 86

Ibid., pp. 409, 410. Gilbert Burnet, The Memoirs of the Lives and Actions of James and William, Dukes of Hamilton and Castle-Herald (Oxford, 1852), p. 83, my emphasis. 88 Alasdair Raffe, ‘Female Authority and Lay Activism in Scottish Presbyterianism, 1660–1740’, in Religion and Women in Britain, c.1660–1760, ed. Sarah Apetrei and Hannah Smith (Farnham, 2014), p. 62; Alexander Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662) (Woodbridge, 2017), pp. 101, 103; Bryan Spinks, Sacraments, Ceremonies, and the Stuart Divines: Sacramental Theology and Liturgy in England and Scotland, 1603–1662 (Aldershot, 2002), pp. 165–6. 87

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leaving those who were not of very high status to seek more questionable routes to a public hearing through ecstatic display or visions, which could lead to accusations of mental illness, of feigning their gifts or of being possessed. Sarah Ferber contends that ‘possession was arguably a subcategory of ecstatic spirituality’ and that ‘performances of the possessed as demons under exorcism were the functional equivalent of the raptures of ecstatics’ and were characterised by similar symptoms.89 The two phenomena lie close to one another. This may have been a traditional way for ecstatically gifted women to get a public hearing. In the Covenanting world it may not have been so far removed from the kind of renowned godly minister who could publicly manifest public displays of affective piety, but no woman, not even Lady Culross earlier in the century, could be allowed that role of more controlled, conscious, directed public raptures. The mode of female affective piety was different and took more extreme forms: falling down, uttering inspired speeches and having visions. In time, Mitchelson’s audience and promoters seem to have tired of this sacred drama, perhaps because it had accomplished its end. The great aim of Wariston and his Covenanting colleagues to call a General Assembly and abolish episcopacy was achieved and Margaret, and her form of ecstatic female piety, largely disappeared from the Covenanting leadership.

89 Ferber,

Demonic Possession, p. 115.

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7 Royalism, Resistance and the Scottish Clergy, c.1638–41 Andrew Lind The traditional view of clerical resistance to Covenanting rule is best summarised by James Hewison, who argued in 1913 that ‘here and there throughout Scotland were to be found little islands of nonconformity, small oases in the great expanse of uniformity’. These little islands were believed to be inhabited by ‘sparse gatherings of staunch episcopalians adhering to their uncovenanted priests and professors’.1 Gordon Donaldson added to this in 1966, arguing that the north of Scotland was a heartland of clerical nonconformity under the Covenanters because of the region’s religious and political conservatism. Donaldson believed that this conservatism had created a province of religious moderation that naturally aligned more with Caroline episcopalianism than with Covenanting presbyterianism.2 While this view has been challenged in recent years for failing to fully appreciate the complexities of religious development and identity in the region, there remains the general consensus that clerical opposition to the Covenant emanated out from Aberdeen and that it was defiantly episcopalian in nature.3 This opinion has been reinforced by the disproportionate attention the ‘Aberdeen Doctors’ have received within the historiography. The Doctors were a group of seven divines and ministers from Aberdeenshire, predominantly based within King’s and Marischal Colleges, Aberdeen.4 In 1638 the Doctors mounted a public defence of Charles I and episcopacy across two printed pamphlets that sought to discredit the 1

James King Hewison, The Covenanters, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1913), I, p. 274. Gordon Donaldson, ‘Scotland’s Conservative North in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries’, Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, 16 (1966), 65; Gordon Donaldson, Scottish Church History (Edinburgh, 1985), pp. 191–203. 3 Gordon DesBrisay, ‘“The Civill Warrs Did Overrun All”: Aberdeen, 1630–1690’, in Aberdeen before 1800: A New History, ed. E. Patricia Dennison, David Ditchburn and Michael Lynch (East Linton, 2002), pp. 238–66; Catherine McMillan, ‘Keeping the Kirk: The Practice and Experience of Faith in North East Scotland, 1560–1610’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2016); Barry Robertson, ‘The Covenanting North of Scotland, 1638–1647’, Innes Review, 61 (2010), 24–51. 4 For more detail on the Aberdeen Doctors, particularly William Guild, see Russell Newton’s chapter in this volume. 2

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Covenanters’ theological and political justifications.5 The Doctors accused the Covenanters of acting without authority in enforcing subscriptions to a dangerous interpretation of the 1581 Negative Confession, which they equated with political subversion and doctrinal misappropriation.6 Much has been written on the brief war of words waged by the Doctors against the Covenanters in the summer of 1638, yet few attempts have been made to survey the wider clergy in order to assess how representative their ideology was.7 One such study is Salvatore Cipriano’s re-evaluation of opposition to the Covenant within Scotland’s universities. Cipriano has shown that the intellectual elites of St Andrews and Glasgow joined the Aberdeen Doctors in their opposition to the National Covenant.8 Cipriano argued that the Aberdeen Doctors were just the tip of the iceberg, stating that there was ‘extensive, if ad hoc, opposition to the Covenant among Scotland’s professoriate’.9 The presence of a printing press (and a sympathetic printer) in Aberdeen meant that the Doctors could publicise themselves far more easily than their colleagues in Glasgow or St Andrews, which has resulted in other anti-Covenanters’ manuscript materials featuring less prominently in the historical record than the Doctors’ printed tracts.10 However, this corpus contains invaluable insights, including a 1638 tract written by John Strang, principal of the University of Glasgow, who warned that the ‘lamentable division of this church’ was ‘opening a door for the papistes’. Strang refuted the Covenanters’ unauthorised renewal of the 1581 confession with a new band of allegiance as ‘dangerous, at the least dishonourable unto 5 Anon.,

Generall Demands, Concerning the Late Covenant, Together with the Answers of those Reverend Brethren to the Sayd Demands: As also the Replyes of the foresayd ministers and professors to their Answers (Aberdeen, 1638); Anon., The Second Answers of Some Brethren of the Ministrie to the Replies of the Ministers and Professours of Divinitie in Aberdene, Concerning the Late Covenant. Also, Duplies (London, 1638). 6 Anon., Generall Demands. 7 Aaron Clay Denlinger, ‘“Men of Gallio’s Naughty Faith?”: The Aberdeen Doctors on reformed and Lutheran Concord’, Church History and Religious Culture, 92 (2012), 57–83; John Ford, ‘The Lawful Bonds of Scottish Society: The Five Articles of Perth, The Negative Confession and the National Covenant’, Historical Journal, 37 (1994), 46–64; G. D. Henderson, The Burning Bush: Studies in Scottish Church History (Edinburgh, 1957), pp. 75–93; Hewison, Covenanters, I, pp. 276–9; James D. Ogilvie, ‘The Aberdeen Doctors and The National Covenant’, Publications of the Edinburgh Bibliographical Society, 11 (1921); Steven J. Reid, ‘Reformed scholasticism, proto-empiricism and the intellectual “Long Reformation” in Scotland: The philosophy of the “Aberdeen Doctors”, c.1619–c.1641’, in Scotland’s Long Reformation: New Perspectives on Scottish Religion, c.1500–c.1600, ed. John McCallum (Leiden, 2016), pp. 149–78; David Stewart, ‘The “Aberdeen Doctors” and the Covenanters’, RSCHS, 22 (1986), 35–44. 8 Salvatore Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities and Opposition to the National Covenant, 1638’, SHR, 97 (2018), 12–37. 9 Ibid., p. 15. 10 John P. Edmond, The Aberdeen Printers, 1620–1736 (Aberdeen, 1886), p. 4–32; Alastair Mann, The Scottish Book Trade, 1500–1720 (East Linton, 2000), pp. 9–11.

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awthoritie’. He went on to defend Charles I as having conducted himself as a true Christian prince, especially in his urging of his subjects to sign the 1638 King’s Covenant as an authorised alternative to the National Covenant. Strang remarked that ‘we ar obliged to obey our superioris in all thaire lawfull commandementis’ and that ‘no man can doe dewtie to god, who rendereth not dewtifull obedience to his king’.11 The ideological similarities between the Doctors and other intellectual clergymen such as Strang show that there was a royalist reaction to the mobilisation of the National Covenant among some of the clergy, who saw the Covenanters’ actions as seditious and destabilising. This prompts the question: can this rhetoric be identified among parish clergy? Thanks to David Stevenson’s 1975 paper on the ‘Deposition of Ministers in the Church of Scotland Under the Covenanters, 1638–1651’, we have a far better understanding of how the Covenanting Kirk oversaw an aggressive policy of clerical purging in the years after the Covenanters’ seizure of power.12 By calculating the number and distribution of depositions (the forced ejection of a minister from his charge), Stevenson found that there were at least 236 depositions between 1638 and 1651, indicating that levels of nonconformity under the Covenanters were much higher than previously assumed.13 This analysis found that there were two main phases of purging within the Covenanting Kirk (as the Covenanters took power between 1638 and 1639, and between 1648 and 1650, when Engagers and lukewarm moderates were purged) and that depositions showed a much more varied geographic distribution than the historiography would have suggested, indicating that nonconformity was not confined to the north-east.14 Stevenson’s survey also revealed the prevalence of ministers deposed for malignancy (royalism) and not just episcopalian loyalties.15 Despite these promising findings, little has been done to build upon Stevenson’s survey, meaning that much of the rich detail from these deposition cases has been left unexplored. Nevertheless, recent work on the reception of the covenants within local communities has shown that there was a range of responses. Laura Stewart has concluded that communities reacted in different ways to the National Covenant, 11

NLS, Wodrow Folio, XXXI, no. 2, fols 7–24; Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities’, 25–9. Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers in the Church of Scotland Under the Covenanters, 1638–1651’, Church History, 44 (1975), 321–35. 13 Using Hew Scott’s Fasti Ecclesiae Scoticanae: The Succession of Ministers in the Church of Scotland from the Reformation (Edinburgh, 1920), Stevenson recorded 236 depositions between 1638 and 1651. My own survey of the Fasti found that there were 222 depositions. As Stevenson did not include a breakdown of his findings it is difficult to pinpoint the reason for the discrepancy between our figures. One possibility is that Stevenson included suspensions within his total. I recorded sixteen suspensions in this period but did not combine them with formal depositions. If these sums are combined the total is 238, which is comparable with Stevenson’s 236. Both sets of figures exclude the deposition of the fourteen bishops in 1638, but they both include the deposition of John Guthrie, bishop of Moray, from his ministerial charge in Elgin in 1639. See ibid., pp. 321–3. 14 Ibid., p. 333. 15 Ibid., pp. 327–9. 12 David

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with many hosting enthusiastic signings, others shunning it completely, and some showing little interest one way or the other.16 Moreover, the physical act of signing or swearing the Covenant varied from person to person. For some ‘it was a profoundly moving and memorable experience’, while ‘it must simultaneously have placed others under considerable emotional and psychological strain’.17 Chris Langley’s survey of parish communities between 1638 and 1660 identified a number of cases where ministers took an ideological stand in their pulpit, preaching either in favour of the Covenant or against it.18 Overall, Langley argued that the majority of the ministry avoided conflict, evading firm declarations of loyalty and remaining dogmatically pragmatic throughout. He has warned against a binary distinction between Covenanters and non-Covenanters, arguing that this hides the true pragmatism of clerics who were adept at blurring the lines of loyalty when it suited them to do so.19 For many clergymen, this was undoubtedly true. However, there were individuals who took a stand for one side or the other. It is the clergymen who sided with the king who are the subject of this chapter. In order to use the term royalist to identify these individuals, it is necessary to explain how this chapter defines royalism.20 Like most factional labels, an exact and entirely satisfying definition remains elusive. The historiography of the English Civil Wars has gradually moved away from identifying royalists as part of the dichotomy of constitutionalists and absolutists.21 Instead, historians of the period have migrated towards a much broader definition of royalism incorporating individuals from various political, religious and social backgrounds.22 As a result of this, scholars now describe royalism in England 16

Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), pp. 107–15. 17 Ibid., pp. 111–12. 18 Chris R. Langley, Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 (London, 2016), p. 66. 19 Ibid., p. 82. 20 For a fuller discussion of the definition of Civil Wars royalism within a Scottish context see Andrew Lind, ‘“You may take my Head from my Shoulders, but not my Heart From My Soveraigne”: Understanding Royalist Allegiance during the British Civil Wars, c.1638–1651’, in Loyalty to the Monarchs of Late Medieval and Early Modern Britain, c.1400–1688, ed. Matthew Ward and Matthew Hefferan (Basingstoke, forthcoming). 21 Glenn Burgess, The Politics of the Ancient Constitution: An Introduction to English Political Thought, 1603–1642 (University Park, PA, 1993); James Daly, ‘Could Charles I be Trusted? The Royalist Case, 1642–1646’, Journal of British Studies, 6 (1966), 23–44; James Daly, ‘John Bramhall and the Theoretical Problems of Royalist Moderation’, Journal of British Studies, 11 (1971), 26–44; James Daly, ‘The Idea of Absolute Monarchy in Seventeenth-Century England’, Historical Journal, 21 (1978), 227–50; Ronald Hutton, ‘The Structure of the Royalist Party, 1642–1646’, Historical Journal, 24 (1981), 553–69; Ronald Hutton, The Royalist War Effort, 1642–1646, 2nd edn (London, 1999); David L. Smith, Constitutional Royalism and the Search for Settlement, c.1640–1649 (Cambridge, 1994); J. P. Sommerville, Royalists & Patriots: Politics and Ideology in England, 1603–1640, 2nd edn (London, 1999). 22 Jerome De Groot, Royalist Identities (London, 2001); Barbara Donagan, ‘Varieties of Royalism’, in Royalists and Royalism during the English Civil Wars, ed. Jason McElligott and

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as a conservative alliance, creed or spectrum incorporating individuals from various political, religious and social backgrounds united in their loyalty to Charles I. Attachment to personal honour, loyalty to the king, the preservation of societal order and the defence of high Anglicanism/episcopalianism have all been identified as the foundations of the royalist faction in England.23 While this open-ended definition of royalism presents issues of its own, namely its imprecise nature, it has enabled a far more rewarding discussion of the nature of royalism and a greater appreciation of the diversity of those who pledged themselves to the king’s cause. Despite this, the historiography of royalism remains predominantly Anglocentric, with Irish and Scottish royalism failing to attract the same level of scholarly attention.24 Historians who have discussed Civil Wars-era royalism in Scotland – namely David Stevenson, John Scally and Edward Cowan – have tended to emulate the English dichotomy, identifying two ideologically distinct Scots royalist factions variously labelled moderate and extreme royalists; monarchists and pure royalists; Hamiltons and Montrosians; or simply the War and Peace parties.25 Barry Robertson is the only Scottish historian to have advocated for an adoption of the open-ended definition of royalism, but even he found himself referring to factional identities within his study on noble royalism in Scotland and Ireland.26 Part of this obsession with factions is undoubtedly derived from the fact that previous analysis of Scottish royalism has focused almost entirely on the nobility. While factions and parties David L. Smith (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 66–88; Jason McElligott, Royalism, Print and Censorship in Revolutionary England (Woodbridge, 2007); David Scott, ‘Rethinking Royalist Politics, 1642–9’, in The English Civil War: Problems in Focus, ed. John Adamson (Basingstoke, 2009), pp. 36–55. 23 De Groot, Royalist Identities, p. 94; Donagan, ‘Varieties of Royalism’, 73–5; Smith, Constitutional Royalism, p. 318; R. Malcolm Smuts, Court Culture and The Origins of a Royalist Tradition in Early Stuart England, 2nd edn (Philadelphia, 1999), pp. 287–8. 24 For studies that discuss royalism in Ireland see Robert Armstrong, ‘Ormond, the Confederate Peace Talks and Protestant Royalism’, in Kingdoms in Crisis: Ireland in the 1640s, ed. Michaél Ó Siochrú (Dublin, 2010), pp. 122–40; Robert Armstrong, Protestant War: The ‘British’ of Ireland and the Wars of the Three Kingdoms (Manchester, 2005); J. C. Beckett, The Cavalier Duke: A Life of James Butler, First Duke of Ormond, 1610–88 (Belfast, 1990); Donal F. Cregan, ‘An Irish Cavalier; Daniel O’ Neill in the Civil Wars, 1642–1651’, Studia Herbernica, 4 (1964), 104–33; Breandan Ó Buachalla, ‘James our True King: The Ideology of Irish Royalism in the Seventeenth Century’, in Political Thought in Ireland since the Seventeenth Century, ed. D. George Boyce, Robert Eccleshall and Vincent Geoghegan (London, 1993), pp. 7–35; Barry Robertson, Royalists at War in Scotland and Ireland 1638–1650 (Farnham, 2014). 25 Edward J. Cowan, Montrose: For Covenant and King (London, 1977), pp. 138–9; John Scally, ‘Counsel in Crisis: James, third Marquis of Hamilton and the Bishops’ Wars, 1638–1640’, in Celtic Dimensions of the British Civil Wars, ed. John R. Young (Edinburgh, 1997), pp. 18–29; John Scally, ‘Constitutional Revolution, Party and Faction in the Scottish Parliaments of Charles I’, Parliamentary History, 15 (1996), 68–71; David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44: The Triumph of the Covenanters, rev. edn (Edinburgh, 2003), pp. 207 and 263–4; Robertson, Royalists at War, p. 21. 26 Robertson, Royalists at War, pp. 20–1, 37, 125–36.

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certainly existed and coloured royalist allegiance, the use of these labels outside the nobility is problematic, as it suggests that individuals from lower echelons of society identified with the ideological factions of the nobility. For this reason, this chapter will adopt a flexible definition of royalism in Scotland, defining it as a conservative coalition built upon non-conditional loyalty to Charles I and the rejection of Covenanting ideology. Like their Covenanting counterparts, it is important to remember that royalist clergymen varied in their political and theological fervour, but they retained a fundamental commitment to the king’s authority and cause. This chapter will use depositions, church court records and surviving letters and tracts to identify and analyse parish ministers who rejected the Covenanters and supported the king’s cause. Focusing on the period 1638 to 1641, when the National Covenant remained unauthorised by the king, it will be argued that this group of ministers can be most accurately described as royalists, defending Charles I against the designs of the Covenanters. This analysis will be divided into two parts. First, the responses of the royalist clergy to the National Covenant between 1638 and 1641 will be discussed and the scale of royalism within the ministry will be assessed. Secondly, evidence of the language used by royalist ministers will be examined to gauge their ideology and the degree to which this was similar to the views expressed by other prominent Scots royalists. The church court records used here were never intended to provide an accurate depiction of royalist beliefs; however, if they are read against the grain vital details can be gleaned. It is hoped that this analysis will not only encourage further discussion of the role the royalist clergy played during the Civil Wars (1638–51) but also ask fundamental questions of our understanding of royalism in Scotland as a whole. The Royalist Reaction, 1638–41 From the moment the National Covenant was signed in Edinburgh in 1638 parish clergy became the foot soldiers in a battle for public consensus and support. Through their pulpits they could encourage resistance or foster support for the Covenant or the king. Consequently, this made their reaction to the Covenant vitally important for both their relationship with their congregations and their affiliation with the royalist and Covenanter factions. If so inclined, ministers in 1638 had four ways to resist the Covenanters: they could simply refuse the National Covenant; they could sign the rival King’s Covenant (the authorised version of the 1581 Confession, promoted by the royalist faction during the autumn of 1638); they could request to sign the Covenant with reservations; or they could abandon their charge and flee to England or Ireland. For those who refused the National Covenant, the success and longevity of their resistance was primarily dictated by their locality. For some, the decision to turn away from the Covenant created social conflict. A well-known example of 130

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this occurred in the Fife parish of Burntisland, across the Forth from Edinburgh.27 John Michaelson had been the minister of Burntisland, presbytery of Kirkcaldy, for twenty-two years when the Covenant was first brought to his parish. When he was called upon to swear the Covenant and oversee its subscription by the presbytery he flatly declined. Michaelson refused to acknowledge the legitimacy of the Covenant, publicly denouncing it as a ‘blak covenant’ and accusing all who signed of ‘taking the crowne aff the kings majesties head’. Alongside this, Michaelson defended the Caroline episcopacy and maintained the practice of the 1618 Five Articles of Perth.28 His steadfastness drew the ire of Covenanter supporters within his congregation and local burgh council. After six weeks of tense negotiations with Michaelson, the burgh council invited the minister of neighbouring Leslie, John Smith, to the parish to oversee the subscription of the Covenant. Michaelson’s relationship with his congregation remained fraught until he was finally deposed by the General Assembly in February 1639.29 The level of conflict in Michaelson’s case is far from uncommon. David Mitchell, minister of the Old Kirk (Edinburgh), wrote to John Leslie, bishop of Raphoe, in March 1638, lamenting the ‘pitifull plunge this Church and Kingdome is in’. Mitchell recounted to Leslie how he had been chased through the streets by a swordwielding gang and branded a ‘Papist villaine’ for rejecting the Covenant, and that ‘the true Pastors are brought in to Edinburgh, to cry out against vs wolves’.30 However, ministers who refused the Covenant between February and November 1638 in other areas seem to have been met with little resistance. The parishes of Duffus (Elgin), Douglas (Lanark) and Carmichael (Lanark) were among those who did not oversee subscription drives for the National Covenant. Apart from repeated calls from Covenanters within their presbyteries to produce subscriptions, the ministers of these parishes seem to have been allowed to continue their duties unmolested.31 Elsewhere, refusing to sign the Covenant, but allowing its subscription within the parish, enabled some ministers to protect their own consciences without creating conflict or drawing the attention of the increasingly powerful Covenanting Tables. William Clogie, minister of the first charge of Inverness, and Alexander Fraser, minister of Petty, were noted to have refused the Covenant in April 1638 when local Covenanters tried to collect subscriptions in Inverness-shire. They did so alongside a number of prominent burgesses and local gentlemen, who defended their decision to refuse as ‘their toune lay invyroned amidst the Hielands, and named the Laird of Graunt and McIntosh, who had not subscryvit; notwithstanding, they wold

27

Jamie McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters in Scotland 1638–1679’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 2018), 53; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 103–7. 28 NRS, CH2/224/1, fol. 253. 29 NRS, CH2/523/1, fols 149–51; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 103–6, 109–10. 30 NLS, Wodrow Folio, LXVI, no. 49. 31 NRS, CH2/96/1/1, fol. 28; NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 118; McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters’, pp. 52–4.

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not be a hinderer to any of the toune that wer willing to goe on’.32 This stance, and the support of local elites, allowed Clogie to refuse the Covenant until 1640, when the pro-Covenanting provost of Inverness, John Ross, petitioned the local presbytery to make an example of the minister for his refusal to sign the Covenant. Clogie’s refusal to subscribe, even in 1640, suggests that his decision was more personal than his original declaration suggests.33 In areas where royalist lay support was more pronounced the royalist clergy could rely upon more vocal backing. The obvious example here is Aberdeen. Buoyed by the Aberdeen Doctors and supported by the local burgh council and the marquis of Huntly, royalist ministers were encouraged to promote the King’s Covenant, speak out against the Covenanters and repress any attempt to collect subscriptions for the National Covenant.34 Such was their success that when Andrew Fraser, Lord Fraser, attempted to read out a pro-Covenanting protestation at Aberdeen’s mercat cross Huntly had to intervene after members of the audience tried to rip the paper out of Fraser’s hands.35 Royalist sympathy among the clergy was perhaps most clearly expressed with the signing of the King’s Covenant. During the autumn of 1638 extensive subscription campaigns for the King’s Covenant were overseen by prominent royalist nobles, namely the marquis of Hamilton, the marquis of Huntly, the earl of Southesk and the earl of Traquair. Crucially, the King’s Covenant did not attempt to counter the National Covenant theologically; instead, it sought to undermine the National Covenant’s legitimacy and re-establish the crown’s authority.36 The success of the King’s Covenant has been questioned in the past, largely because Hamilton employed prominent Covenanters in its distribution, hoping to bring them back into the royal fold. However, many Covenanters simply refused to disseminate the King’s Covenant and made excuses when questioned.37 Despite this, surviving records show that a number of ministers signed it. A surviving copy of the King’s Covenant from Southesk’s subscription campaign in Angus between September and October 1638 contains 1133 subscriptions, nine of which belong to ministers from the area.38 Signing the King’s Covenant gave royalist ministers an official means to refuse the National Covenant. James Douglas, minister of Douglas (Lanark), refused calls to sign the National Covenant in October 1638, stating that ‘he had latlie subscryved the 32

John Leslie, A Relation of Proceedings Concerning the Affairs of the Kirk of Scotland, from August 1637 to July 1638 (Edinburgh, 1830), pp. 98 and 104–7. 33 NRS, CH2/553/1, fols 69–70. 34 John Stuart (ed.), Extracts from the Council Register of the Burgh of Aberdeen, 1625–1642 (Edinburgh, 1871), pp. 137–8; NRS, GD406/1/757. 35 NRS, GD406/1/450. 36 Kirsteen M. MacKenzie, ‘Restoring the Nation? Hamilton and the Politics of the National Covenant’, International Review of Scottish Studies, 36 (2011), 67–91. 37 Stevenson, Scottish Revolution, p. 110. For example, see NRS, GD406/1/454. 38 NLS, MS 34.5.15. I am very thankful to Jamie McDougall for bringing this to my attention.

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Confession and generall band which had been presented to the kirk of Douglass by the authority of king and Counsell and therfoir could not now subscryve this covenant’.39 In Glasgow the King’s Covenant was particularly successful among the ministry, with a number of clerics who had previously subscribed the National Covenant signing it.40 Nine clergymen from the Presbytery of Glasgow, including John Strang, wrote a letter to Hamilton to pledge their support and commending the king’s use of this Covenant to repair the divisions within the kingdom and reinstate order.41 However, genuine fear of perjury also limited the effectiveness of the King’s Covenant, especially among those who had begrudgingly signed the National Covenant but who were deeply conflicted about renouncing their oath. One of the ruling elders in the Presbytery of Ellon, John Kennedy of Kermuck, refused to subscribe the King’s Covenant despite his support for the marquis of Hamilton, as he ‘could not perjure himself and leave his covenant [the National Covenant]’.42 Importantly, this shows that signing the National Covenant or King’s Covenant was not in itself a firm declaration of allegiance. For royalists, signing the King’s Covenant was only one of a number of ways of resisting the Covenanters. In an attempt to negate some of this resistance, a handful of ministers were permitted by Covenanter leaders to sign the National Covenant with reservations, normally to protect the individual’s loyalty to Charles I or their commitment to episcopacy. The most detailed example that survives is that of William Guild, minister of the second charge of Aberdeen. Guild was a chaplain of Charles I and an early member of the Aberdeen Doctors, but he was convinced to sign the National Covenant in the summer of 1638 along with another minister, Robert Reid of Banchory-Ternan, with three ‘limitations’: That we acknowledge not, nor yet condemn, the Articles of Perth, to be unlawful or heads of Popery, but only promise (for the peace of the church, and other reasons) to forbear the practice thereof for a time. Secondly, That we condemn not episcopal government, secluding the personal abuse thereof. Thirdly, That we still retain, and shall retain, all loyal and dutiful subjection and obedience, unto our dread Sovereign the King’s Majesty.43

By agreeing to temporarily forsake the observation of the Articles of Perth, Guild and Reid were allowed to safeguard their doctrinal position and their 39

NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 130; McDougall, ‘Covenants and Covenanters’, p. 54. L&J, I, pp. 482–3. 41 NRS, GD406/1/445. 42 Kermuck was also part of the group who left the Glasgow Assembly (1638) alongside the marquis of Hamilton in protest against the Covenanters actions. Despite this, by 1644 he had become known as one of Ellon’s prime Covenanters. See John Spalding, Memorialls of the Trubles in Scotland and in England AD 1624–AD 1645, 2 vols (Aberdeen, 1801), I, pp. 121, 182. 43 James Shirrefs, An Inquiry into the Life, Writings, and Character, of the Reverend Doctor William Guild, One of the Chaplains in Ordinary to his Majesty King Charles I; and Founder of the Trinity Hospital, Aberdeen (Aberdeen, 1798), pp. 58–9. 40 Baillie,

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loyalty to Charles I. This remarkable agreement shows the middle ground on which moderate Covenanters and royalists could parley. However, this practice was exceptional, with only a handful of occurrences noted, all seemingly authorised by the Covenanting commission sent to Aberdeen in July 1638.44 As the political situation developed in the months after Guild’s signing of the Covenant, his limitations would have been considered totally incompatible with the acts passed by the Glasgow Assembly (November and December 1638), especially the Glasgow Declaration, which added an anti-episcopal statement to the National Covenant. Guild is believed to have fled to Holland in 1639 when asked to re-sign the Covenant without limitations, but returned soon after to take up the position of rector in King’s College, Aberdeen, at which point he subscribed the Covenant in full.45 The final option open in 1638 to parish ministers who rejected the Covenant was to flee to avoid subscription. Between 1638 and 1639 six ministers were deposed by the General Assembly for abandoning their charge because of their refusal to sign the Covenant.46 One was George Wishart, minister of the second charge in St Andrews and future supporter and biographer of James Graham, marquis of Montrose. Wishart was deposed in 1638 for deserting his parish for the space of eight months, having fled to England in the aftermath of the first signings of the Covenant. In his deposition, Wishart was accused of ‘rayling against the Covenant and saying that he should never come in his pulpit if the Covenant were red in it’.47 However, there were risks associated with fleeing. Desertion was often taken as evidence of guilt. William Morton, minister of the second charge of South Leith, fled from his parish to avoid subscribing the Covenant, but in his absence his house was raided by local Covenanters, forcing him to seek permanent refuge in England.48 Even if refuge could be found, ministers who had fled their parishes often became destitute, struggling to support themselves without their stipend. This even applied to the Scottish bishops who were deposed in December 1638. Patrick Lindsay, former archbishop of Glasgow, wrote several letters to senior royalists at Charles I’s court between 1639 and 1641, begging them to petition the king on his behalf for financial aid and reminding them that ‘I have suffered verie much for my fidelitie and obedience in his service’.49 Rejecting the Covenant became far more difficult following the Glasgow Assembly. Intended as a way of reasserting the crown’s authority, the Assembly backfired spectacularly, handing over control of the Kirk to the Covenanters. The Covenanter-controlled Assembly acted quickly against any within the clergy 44 Cowan,

Montrose, p. 55; Stuart, Extracts, pp. 128–30. John Spalding, The History of the Troubles and Memorable Transactions in Scotland in the Reign of Charles I (Aberdeen, 1829), p. 146. 46 Scott, Fasti, I, pp. 2, 28, 165–6; II, pp. 61–2; III, pp. 44, 289; V, p. 238. 47 Peterkin, Records, p. 182. 48 Scott, Fasti, I, pp. 165–6; NRS, CH2/716/3, fol. 212. 49 NRS, CH8/101. 45

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who opposed the new regime in an attempt to suppress opposition before it could take root. It began by outlawing episcopacy and abolishing the Five Articles of Perth.50 To ensure that the newly covenanted Kirk remained pure and secure from internal threats (including negligence as well as malignancy), the Assembly ordered that those who were slovenly in their responsibilities, guilty of moral offences (such as adultery or drunkenness), had deserted their congregations, practised erroneous doctrine or failed to comply with the General Assembly were to be deposed from their charge. All ministers who had not signed the National Covenant were ordered to do so or face censure, and it was forbidden to sign or promote the King’s Covenant.51 Once deposed, a minister was barred from performing ministerial duties and from enjoying the support of his benefice, which included the minister’s stipend and any accommodation associated with the charge.52 More so than in 1638, from 1639 onwards to resist the Covenanting Kirk was to risk livelihood and standing. Any minister who fought his deposition was to be excommunicated from the Kirk, marking them within their community as a dissident.53 In the year following the Glasgow Assembly, forty-six ministers were deposed for refusing the Covenant, rejecting the authority of the General Assembly, practising ‘erroneous’ doctrine or deserting their charge, representing the largest purge of the Scottish clergy since the Reformation.54 The new powers granted to the Covenanter leadership via the General Assembly emboldened them to take action against ministers who had quietly resisted the Covenant in 1638. Conversely, the actions of the Covenanters also seem to have incensed many of these ministers, bringing them into direct conflict with the Covenanter authorities. Andrew Learmouth, minister of Liberton (Edinburgh), was deposed in 1639 for publicly speaking out against the Covenanters, calling them perjurers, while Henry Scrimgeour, minister of Forgan (St Andrews), employed almost identical rhetoric to John Michaelson, affirming that ‘the nobles were taking the crown off the King’s head to set on their own’ and calling the Covenant ‘a black Covenant’.55 This type of language is common within the accounts of royalist ministers investigated by the Covenanter authorities in 1639. James Forsyth, minister of Kilpatrick (Dumbarton), repeatedly refused the Covenant and preached to his congregation that it was ‘seditious, treasonable, and Jesuitick’.56 Similarly, John Gordon, minister of the second charge in Elgin, was reported to the presbytery after he was heard calling the Covenanters ‘rebells and commone traitors’.57 John Lindsay, minister of Carstairs (Lanark), received 50 Peterkin,

Records, pp. 28–34. Ibid., pp. 35–40. 52 Ibid., p. 160. 53 Ibid., p. 38. 54 Scott, Fasti, I–VII; Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers’, pp. 321, 325. 55 NRS, CH2/224/1, fol. 253; Scott, Fasti, V, p. 203. 56 Baillie, L&J, I, pp. 89, 162–3. 57 NRS, CH2/271/1, fols 107–10. 51

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a number of complaints from a group of ‘gentlemen’ in his congregation who had taken great exception to the minister’s ‘malitious railing and speaking disgracefullie against the Covenant and Covenanters’.58 Ministers who refused to comply with the Covenanters or showed any deviation from godly doctrine soon found themselves under investigation if word reached their presbytery or the Covenanter leaders in Edinburgh. John Crichton, the minister of Paisley (Glasgow), received forty-eight complaints of erroneous doctrine from members of his congregation between July and December 1638.59 In particular, Crichton’s accusers had taken great offence at his administering of the sacraments in private, indicating his adherence to the Articles of Perth.60 Likewise, William Annand, minister of Ayr, was deposed after it was brought to the General Assembly’s attention that he was known for ‘maintaineing saints days, and many poynts of errouneous doctrine’.61 Resistance could also be more pronounced. Alexander Anderson, minister of Lhanbryd (Elgin), was found to have actively aided royalist forces during the First Bishops’ War (1639), for which he was suspended from his charge.62 There is also evidence that at least five ministers who had fled to England joined Viscount Aboyne’s royalist expedition during the summer of 1639. The Presbytery of Ellon questioned three ministers (Thomas Thoirs, minister of Udny, John Patterson, minister of Foveran, and David Leitch, minister of Ellon) who were reported to have deserted their parishes and fled to Newcastle to join the king’s forces there.63 From Newcastle, the ministers then accompanied Aboyne and his men on their voyage to Aberdeen, which the royalists occupied for the king before the battles of Megary Hill (15 June) and Brig O’ Dee (18–19 June).64 Thoirs was also one of the ministers who walked out of the 1638 General Assembly alongside the marquis of Hamilton in protest against the Covenanters’ actions.65 According to the acts passed by the General Assembly in 1638 and 1639, the presbytery would have been justified in deposing the ministers, or at the very least suspending them. However, the minister overseeing their sentencing, William Mushet, minister of Slaines and Forvie, pardoned the clergymen.66 It seems likely that Mushet’s leniency was due to his own royalist sympathies, for on 21 September 1640 58

NRS, CH2/234/1, fols 121, 123, 142. Records, p. 163. 60 NRS, CH2/294/2, 105–6. 61 Peterkin, Records, 180. Annand was one of two ministers who had preached in favour of the Prayer Book at the Synod of Glasgow and Ayr in August 1637. Baillie, L&J, I, pp. 20–1. 62 Scott, Fasti, VI, 400. 63 NRS, CH2/146/3, fol. 51. 64 Thoirs, Patterson and Leith were accompanied by two other ministers, John Gregorie, minister of Drumoak (Aberdeen), and Frances Thomson, minister of Peterculter (Aberdeen), who had similarly fled to the king. See Scott, Fasti, VI, pp. 50, 71; Spalding, Memorialls, I, p. 199. 65 Spalding, Memorialls, I, p. 199. 66 NRS, CH2/146/3, fol. 51. 59 Peterkin,

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Mushet was ordered to preach a penitential sermon for his own disaffection to the Covenanting regime.67 Clearly, in areas where support for the king was greater than that for the Covenant, royalist ministers could manipulate the mechanisms of ecclesiastical power in order to protect themselves and their comrades. However, it should be noted that, compared with the period between 1644 and 1646, active support within the clergy for royalist military forces appears to have been far more limited.68 The years 1640 and 1641 presented royalist ministers with new challenges. The defeat of the king’s forces in the First Bishops’ War left Scottish royalist military infrastructure in chaos, effectively handing over control of the kingdom to the Covenanters through the Pacification of Berwick (19 June 1639). Matters worsened with the defeat of royalist forces in the Second Bishops’ War (1640) and the humiliating Treaty of Ripon (26 October 1640). A more permanent peace agreement was negotiated during 1641, resulting in the Treaty of London (10 August 1641). This treaty had substantial ramifications for the royalist clergy. As part of the king’s concessions to the Covenanters, Charles agreed to recognise and ratify all acts of the General Assembly and all legislation passed by the Scottish parliament from 1638 to 1641, leaving royalist clergy in the line of fire, stripped of the protective cover of legal justification for their loyalty to the crown.69 This meant that any minister who continued to denounce the Covenant could be pursued by the Kirk with no hope of royal intervention. It also implied that any minister who had publicly denounced the Covenant could be considered by parliament an enemy of the state or ‘incendiary’, whom Charles had conceded were responsible for causing conflicts between 1638 and 1641. While there is no evidence to suggest that any minister was pursued by parliament for this offence, the term was openly associated with those who had resisted the Covenant and shown themselves to have acted ‘against the state and to the prejudice of the peace of this kingdom’.70 It is unclear why ministers were not pursued by the secular courts, but it has been suggested by John Coffey that it was due to the Covenanters’ desire to distance themselves from activities for which they had criticised the Scottish bishops: namely, secular encroachment into the ecclesiastical sphere.71 Alongside these developments in parliament, the General Assemblies of 1640 and 1641 passed a number of acts targeting clergymen who had resisted the Covenant. The 1640 General Assembly ordered that any minister who refused the Covenant should be deposed (despite the fact that ministers had 67 Scott,

Fasti, VI, p. 201. Accounts of ministers aiding royalist military forces are far more common during the period of Montrose’s Royalist rising (1644–6). For example, see NLS, Wodrow Folio XXVIII, no. 24. 69 RPS, 1641/7/5. 70 RPS, 1641/8/184. 71 John Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions: The Mind of Samuel Rutherford (Cambridge, 1997), p. 209. 68

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been deposed for refusing the Covenant during 1639) and that teachers, readers, ministers and university staff members who had not subscribed the Covenant would not be permitted to reside in a burgh, university or college.72 The General Assembly of 1641 added that ministers deposed by the Kirk would not be permitted to take up any charge without providing evidence of their repentance.73 Given the state of royalist prospects, a number of royalist ministers appear to have conformed at this time, but evidence suggests that they maintained their loyalty to the king. Andrew Logie, minister of Rayne (Garioch), had been arrested in 1640 by Covenanter soldiers for refusing to subscribe and was subsequently deposed by the Synod of Aberdeen. However, in 1641 he was granted the opportunity to repent and reoccupy his charge, which he did. Logie was again deposed in 1643 for heresy and his son, Captain John Logie, was beheaded by parliament in 1644 for fighting for the royalist army.74 Even if conformity was offered, presbyteries and synods retained the authority to deny re-entry if ministers refused to repent for their resistance. This was the case for Gavin Hamilton, minister of Carnwath (Lanark), who fled to England in 1639 to avoid subscription to the Covenant, returning in 1640 to find that his charge had been declared vacant in his absence. With the support of his patron, the royalist Lord Dalzell, Hamilton petitioned the presbytery to allow him to take up his office again. However, the presbytery concluded that ‘he had been laitlie in England, and kythed75 himselff opposit to the present work of reformation’, and, ‘having yet given no sufficient proofe of the change of his judgement’, Hamilton was refused and denied any support from the Kirk.76 Of the eighty-three ministers deposed between 1638 and 1641, only fourteen (17 per cent) were reponed by the Covenanting Kirk.77 The extent of the royalist reaction within the clergy between 1638 and 1641 is difficult to assess. If depositions can be used as an indication of scale, of the eighty-three ministers deposed at least fifty-nine (71 per cent) were deprived for opposing the Covenanting regime in some form. This accounts for approximately 6 per cent of the parish clergy in Scotland.78 As Stevenson has already noted, the Covenanters’ reliance upon local cooperation meant that nonconformist ministers were far more likely to be pursued by the Kirk’s courts in areas where Covenanting fervour was strongest.79 The fact that it is possible to identify royalist ministers from all over the kingdom shows that 72

Ibid., p. 279. Ibid., p. 293. 74 Baillie, L&J, I, p. 370; Scott, Fasti, VI, p. 183. 75 Revealed. 76 NRS, CH2/234/1, fol. 151. 77 Of the 222 ministers deposed between 1638 and 1651, only 35 (16%) were reponed. 78 This figure has been produced from survey of Scott’s Fasti and using David Stevenson’s estimate that there were approximately 910 ministers in the Scottish Kirk in 1645. See Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers’, p. 335. 79 This supports Laura Stewart’s argument that there were localities where the Covenanters 73

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anti-Covenanting resistance was geographically diffuse. It also suggests that there were other royalist ministers of whom we have no record. While still clearly a minority, these ministers represent a significant level of clerical resistance against the National Covenant that has largely gone unnoticed. The Rhetoric of Resistance The previous section shows that a minority of parish clergy across the kingdom actively resisted the National Covenant. This section will establish how these ministers articulated their positions and if they shared common ground with the discourse established in print by the Aberdeen Doctors and other prominent royalists, such as Walter Balcanquhall. Balcanquhall was dean of Rochester (and Durham from 1639), a Scots clergyman and senior advisor to Charles I. It was in this capacity that he published A Large Declaration Concerning the Late Tumults in Scotland (1639). The fundamental position of the Doctors and Balcanquhall was that the National Covenant was a dangerous and flawed interpretation of the 1581 Negative Confession that Covenanter leaders were using to sow division between the king and his subjects. The Doctors argued that the Covenant had no legal standing as it had not been authorised by the king or parliament. Moreover, it violated the 1585 act of parliament which outlawed all bands of mutual defence without the king’s authority.80 They accused the Covenanter leaders of beguiling the king’s subjects into an unlawful and unholy war against their sovereign despite Charles I’s concessions in ecclesiastical matters. They lamented the ‘false truths’ spread by the Covenanters, which had resulted in loyal ministers being ‘hated, maligned, and traduced as enemies of the truth, only because our consciences do not suffer us to subscribe to that interpretation’. Undeterred, the Doctors declared that ‘It belongeth not to the people, or communitie of the faithfull, to conteme Authoritie’ and that it was the duty of ministers ‘cloathed with lawful authoritie’ to keep the Kirk free ‘from the pollution of worship’.81 In the Large Declaration Balcanquhall rebuked the Covenanters as ‘following the patterne of all other seditions, they did and doe pretend Religion’. Using religion as a ‘cloak to palliate their intended Rebellion’, Balcanquhall accused the Covenanters of trying to ‘undermine and blow up the Religion Reformed, by the scandal of Rebellion and Disobedience’, which left the Kirk exposed to the forces of counter-reformation and a return to ‘Roman obedience’. Like the Doctors, he also argued that the Covenanters had created this ‘undeserved scandal upon that Religion which we professe’ in order to pursue secular gains and suppress the king’s authority.82 were able to successfully manifest Covenanting ‘publics’. See ibid., pp. 324–6; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 98–102. 80 RPS, 1585/12/15. 81 Anon., Generall Demands …Together with the Answers, pp. 1–31. 82 Balcanquhall, Large Declaration, pp. 1–6.

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The arguments of Balcanquhall and the Doctors share three core themes: the actions of the Covenanters equated to sedition; their religious arguments were a smokescreen for the usurpation of political power; and their religious extremism risked unleashing the forces of anarchy upon the kingdom, leaving it open to reclamation by Rome. While both accounts refuted the religious justifications of the Covenanters, they took care to frame the debate within the secular realm. Balcanquhall and the Doctors were intent on fighting the Covenant politically, not theologically, denouncing the Covenanters as rebels and extremists. James VI and I had expressed a similar attitude to ‘seditious preachers’ in The Trew Law of Free Monarchies (1598), accusing them of spreading division and trying to ‘stir up rebellion under cloake of religion’.83 These arguments indicate a wider royalist ideological stance also seen in secular sources including Archibald Napier’s Letter about Soveraigne and Supreme Power (c.1640) which denounced ‘the arguments and false positions of seditiouse preachers’ who, ‘vailed with the plausible and speciouse pretext of religion’, spread ‘the spirits of division quhilk walk between the king and his people to separate them quhom God hath conjoyned’.84 It is difficult to assess the extent to which royalist ministers were familiar with literature such as The Trew Law of Free Monarchies, but similar rhetoric can be found in oaths of allegiance to the Scottish crown that the clergy had been required to swear since the late sixteenth century. In 1571 the General Assembly ordered that all new entrants to the Kirk were to subscribe the 1560 Confession of Faith and the accompanying oath of allegiance to both the king and the prelacy. This was ratified by the 1610 General Assembly and the parliament of 1612. By 1633 this so-called ‘Bishop’s Oath’ included a clause that recognised ‘his Highnes’s right and prerogative in causes Ecclesiasticall’.85 This illustrates that the majority of the Scottish ministry in 1638 would have sworn some form of oath of allegiance to the crown at some point in their careers, thus explaining their clarity and determination in expressing royalist arguments. Royalist parish ministers were not only aware of these arguments but actively wielded them in their efforts to resist and refute the Covenant. This is most ably expressed in the pamphlets of John Corbet. Corbet had been the minister of Bonhill (Dumbarton), but fled to Ireland in 1639 to avoid subscribing the Covenant, which he saw as a direct attack on the king’s authority. While in Ireland Corbet published two pamphlets, both attacking the Covenanters’ justifications for seizing power and taking up arms against the king. In The Ungirding of the Scottish Armour (1639) Corbet accused the ‘fiery-zealous Faction’ of using the Covenant as a ‘cloak’ in their attempt to 83

James VI and I, ‘The Trew Law of Free Monarchies’, in King James VI and I: Political Writings, ed. Johann P. Sommerville (Cambridge, 1994), p. 71. 84 Archibald Napier, ‘Letter about Soveraigne and Supreme Power’, in The Party-Coloured Mind, ed. David Reid (Edinburgh, 1982), p. 76. 85 John Row, The History of the Kirk of Scotland: from the Year 1558 to August 1637 (Edinburgh, 1842), pp. 358–60.

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subvert royal authority and pursue ‘open Rebellion’.86 Declaring his duty to ‘God, my King and Country’, Corbet urged his countrymen not to follow the Covenant into ‘that Warre which is forbidden by God, adventure not a poore soule upon such an hazard, in resisting superior powers, which is to resist the Ordinance of God’.87 In Corbet’s eyes, the Covenanters were ‘enemies to the Gospell of Christ, to the salvation of peoples soules and to the peace of this Church and Kingdome’ who had ‘advanced their ungodly and Antichristian course, by lies and persecution, by craft and cruelty’.88 Corbet condemned the Covenanters’ actions in enforcing the Covenant ‘with force and violence’ and their suppression of the King’s Covenant. He thus concluded that he could not swear the Covenant, for it would ‘1. Sin against God, 2. Contemne Authority, 3. And abjure my Christian Liberty’.89 In his second pamphlet, The Epistle Congratulatorie of Lysimachus Nicanor of the Societie of Jesu to the Covenanters in Scotland (1640), Corbet took on the persona of a Jesuit priest under the pseudonym Lysimachus Nicanor.90 Throughout the satirical pamphlet, Nicanor revels in the Covenanters’ attacks on Charles I and their supposed realignment with the Catholic Church. Nicanor celebrated the Covenanters’ denunciation of monarchical authority, defending it as necessary in order to ensure their lawful supremacy over the crown.91 These actions and the Kirk’s control over the nobility were seen by Nicanor as essential, arguing that the only way to defend ‘Covenanting without and against Authority’ was to control the mechanisms of state (parliament).92 Without this, he stated that the Covenanters ‘shall never lawfully resist’ Charles I.93 Nicanor advised that if Charles would not content himself with ‘the name of a King’, the Covenanters should continue the legacy of their ‘puritan’ forebears (John Knox and George Buchanan are named) and look to depose him.94 No matter the fate of Charles, Nicanor urged the Covenanters to continue in their rebellion as ‘now a door is opened to let in all Popery, whether the King will or no’.95 In particular, he counselled the Covenanters to continue to force the ‘Commons’ to swear the Covenant while pretending loyalty to the king.96 Alongside this, Nicanor advocated that they carry on suppressing those who spoke out against 86 John Corbert, The Ungirding of the Scottish Armour: Or An Answer to the Informations for Defensive Armes against the Kings Majestie, which were Drawn up at Edenburgh (Dublin, 1639), pp. iii–vi, 1. 87 Ibid., p. 2. 88 Ibid., p. 3. 89 Ibid., p. 55. 90 John Corbet, The Epistle Congratulatorie of Lysimachus Nicanor (Dublin, 1640). 91 Ibid., pp. 3–5. 92 Ibid., pp. 2, 6, 8. 93 Ibid., p. 8. 94 Ibid., pp. 12–15, 44, 46–7. 95 Ibid., p. 36. 96 Ibid., pp. 46–50.

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the Covenant, ignoring their accusations of popery and puritanism, and denouncing them as ‘antichristian’.97 On this point, Nicanor noted how: His Holinesse our Pope, did never laugh more heartily, than when it was told him, that you made the people believe that the book of Common Prayer was penned in Rome, and sent to the King, and that it was nothing but masse turned into English; and that the King was a Papist, and intended to change the Religion. That your Bishops were Pensioners to the Pope, and that all, who would not subscribe your covenant are Papists.98

These pamphlets show an impressive unity with the rhetoric used by the Doctors and Balcanquhall. When compared with the accounts of royalist parish ministers, identical arguments and concerns again appear. David Mitchell, minister of Edinburgh’s Old Kirk, complained in a letter that that those who resisted the Covenant were tarred as ‘papists and adversaries’, and that the Covenanters declared that ‘they are neither good Christians nor good subjects that do not subscribe’. Mitchell believed that ‘when all sall be discharged, Service Booke, Canons, and High Commission, they will not rest there: there is some other designe in their heads’. He noted how the Covenanters safeguarded their power through parliament and the Kirk’s courts, as ‘They sit daylie and make new lawes … They depose Moderators of Presbyteries, and chuse new.’99 As mentioned above, contemporary reports of royalist ministers are filled with similar concerns, attacking the Covenanters for ‘taking the crowne aff the kings majesties head’, being ‘seditious, treasonable, [and] Jesuitick’, or ‘rebells and commone traitors’.100 William Guild, the former Aberdeen Doctor, published To the Nobilitie, Gentrie, Burrowes, Ministers, and Others of this Late Combination in Covenant, A Friendly and Faythfull Advice in 1639, in which he argued that it was false that subjects could take up arms against their sovereign and that any attempt to do so would result in civil strife, which the ‘Romanists’ were eagerly awaiting.101 All of this suggests that there were concerns across the ministry and that there was a shared awareness of why the Covenanter’s actions should be rejected. This is particularly remarkable given the lack of any discernible royalist organisation, suggesting that royalist polemic was attempting to tap into a pre-existing understanding of royal authority and order rather than create a new oppositional position to Covenanting ideology. For royalist ministers, the Covenant and the Covenanters’ agenda were direct attacks upon the king and his authority. It is, therefore, no surprise to find that some ministers appealed for the king’s intervention when they were brought to a church court. One such was William Maxwell, minister of Dunbar (Dunbar), 97

Ibid., pp. 25–6. Ibid., p. 56. 99 NLS, Wodrow Folio, LXVI, no. 49. 100 Scott, Fasti, V, p. 203; NRS, CH2/224/1, fol. 253; Baillie, L&J, I, pp. 89, 162–3. 101 Spalding, History of the Troubles, I, pp. 313–14. 98

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who requested that his case be brought before the king after he was deposed in 1639 for refusing to acknowledge the authority of the 1638 General Assembly.102 Like the royalist pamphlets, ministers seem to have avoided a purely theological defence of themselves and the king. Instead, the focus was consistently on the illegality of the Covenanters’ actions and their own justification for resisting the Covenant. While continuing episcopalian practice within a parish (including adherence to the Five Articles) was an active means of resistance for ministers, there is little evidence of ministers using doctrine as a defence when brought before the Kirk’s courts, apart from their denunciation of the Covenanters as jesuitical or puritanical. Many royalist ministers were deeply episcopalian, as seen in their continued adherence to doctrine approved by the Caroline regime, but it seems that the defence of episcopacy was secondary to the defence of the king’s authority, which they believed was under attack. Interestingly, these findings echo Barry Robertson’s assessment of the royalist nobility, who, he argues, did not view episcopacy as a ‘cause worth fighting for’.103 Portraying the Covenanters as religious extremists enabled royalists to reinforce their defensive position as conservative moderates who were the aggrieved party in this struggle. As such, they were eager to highlight that it was the Covenanters’ endeavours, and not the king’s, that were dividing the kingdom, and that it was the false promises and lies of Covenanting ministers that drew the people against their king, not intentional disloyalty. Conclusion From the analysis above we can draw a number of conclusions. First and foremost, clerical resistance to the National Covenant was more widespread and ideologically unified than has been previously acknowledged. Given that approximately 6 per cent of the clergy were deposed for resistance between 1638 and 1641, and that there were numerous clergymen who opposed the Covenanters at some point during that period but who either slipped into conformity rather than risk deposition or were protected by fellow royalists in their localities (as in Ellon), it is possible to estimate that approximately 10 per cent of the clergy supported the king’s cause, although the extent of their anti-Covenanting resistance varied substantially. Those who rejected the Covenant were not merely clinging on to episcopalian doctrine but opposing what they saw as an attack on both the Kirk and the king. The Covenanters’ desire to have the National Covenant subscribed in every parish, and the royalists’ intention to counter this with the King’s Covenant, forced ministers to evaluate where their loyalties lay. By publicly denouncing the Covenant, fleeing their charge, supporting royalist troops or committing small everyday acts of 102 Scott,

Fasti, I, p. 407. Royalists at War, p. 193.

103 Robertson,

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resistance, such as upholding episcopalian doctrine and maintaining controversial innovations such as the Articles of Perth, ministers could enact local resistance against the Covenanting regime. Crucially, it is clear that failure to sign the King’s Covenant did not imply support for the National Covenant, nor was signing the National Covenant always a committed declaration of support for the Covenanters. However, the General Assemblies between 1638 and 1641 provided the Covenanters with the means to crack down on royalist ministers who resisted the new regime. Compulsory subscription of the Covenant, Covenanting control over depositions and the collapse of military prospects left royalist ministers exposed to the Kirk’s courts. This undoubtedly forced many ministers into conformity, but it is significant that in 1641, three years after the Covenanters’ seizure of power, there were still ministers being brought before the Kirk’s courts for refusing to subscribe the National Covenant.104 It has been argued here that the parish clergymen who rejected the Covenant did so out of loyalty to Charles I, a conviction that the National Covenant was illegitimate and a belief that the Covenanters’ actions risked anarchy and societal disorder. Far from representing diehard episcopalianism nurtured in the conservative north-east, the accounts of these royalist ministers from across Scotland show that their most pressing concern was the defence of royal authority. This ideological position was remarkably consistent among the king’s supporters and deeply rooted in a conservative view of law and order. In royalist eyes, the Covenanters were religious extremists who were destabilising the kingdom with an unjustified war against their sovereign that might allow the forces of the Catholic Church the opportunity to dismantle the reformed religion. The secular denunciation of the Covenanters within these accounts, with accusations of rebellion, sedition and treachery, reveal royalist ministers’ intent to combat Covenanting justifications politically. The extraordinary commonality within these accounts suggests that royalist ministers shared many of the same concerns. Thus, from these accounts, we can state that royalism was a defensive and conservative identity built upon legal authority. Royalist ministers knew they were outnumbered. They decried the spread of lies by the Covenanters, which they believed were drawing the people into rebellion. By 1641 these ministers were abandoned by their king and faced the threat of persecution from the Kirk’s courts. This undoubtedly forced many into conformity until the civil war of 1644–6 tempted some back into the fray.

104 Scott,

Fasti, VI, pp. 249, 385.

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8 The Engagement, the Universities and the Fracturing of the Covenanter Movement, 1647–51 Salvatore Cipriano Writing in July 1650, Robert Blair pressed his friend Robert Baillie, then professor of divinity at Glasgow University, to refrain from defending ministers suspected of supporting the Engagement of 1647. In the previous three years Baillie had come to the support of his colleague and father-in-law, Glasgow principal John Strang, who had been cited for failing to preach against the Engagement and whose orthodoxy and commitment to the National Covenant had come under scrutiny following the discovery in 1646 of his tract defending the rival King’s Covenant. At the 1649 General Assembly Baillie had also refused to vote for the deposition of William Colvill, an Edinburgh minister who had failed to oppose the Engagement. For such actions, Baillie, a leading Covenanter, fell under suspicion of ‘malignancy’ and risked expulsion from his post.1 Blair warned his friend to keep his head down: ‘doe not ye, by intermeddling in that kind, defyle your conscience and destroy your name, which already suffers not a little … Get yow to your book and your work, and meddle not unhappilie to your prejudice.’2 Such was the charged atmosphere in Scotland in the wake of the crisis that began in December 1647, when a faction of Scottish nobles signed the ‘Engagement’, a pact promising military assistance to Charles I, who in turn agreed to authorise the Solemn League and Covenant and establish presbyterian Church government for a three-year period in England. Crucially, neither the king nor his subjects would be compelled to take the Covenant against their consciences, which scandalised the Kirk and portions of the Covenanter nobility.3 The Engagement, however, was not merely an unpopular, and 1 Florence N. McCoy, Robert Baillie and the Second Scots Reformation (Berkeley, CA, 1974), pp. 129–30; Alexander D. Campbell, The Life and Works of Robert Baillie (1602–1662): Politics, Religion and Record-Keeping in the British Civil Wars (Woodbridge, 2017), p. 52. 2 Baillie, L&J, III, p. 105. 3 Samuel R. Gardiner (ed.), The Constitutional Documents of the Puritan Revolution, 1625–1660 (Oxford, 1906), pp. 347–53.

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ultimately failed, military alliance. The treaty and its fallout sowed the seeds of schism in the Kirk that would sunder the Covenanting movement entirely. It sparked a crisis in Scotland that threw into question the entire nature of the Covenanting project and brought to the surface competing visions of what precisely defined covenanted Scotland, who should be responsible for facilitating Scotland’s formation as a godly, covenanted nation and who could be included in that nation. The Engagement, then, was the crucible through which covenanted Scotland would be refashioned. This chapter posits that, between the signing of the Engagement in 1647 and the Cromwellian conquest of 1651, Scotland’s universities were the key venues in which this refashioning took place. Historians such as David Stevenson, Allan Macinnes, Kirsteen MacKenzie and Laura Stewart have recognised the Engagement’s seismic effect on Scottish, and indeed British, politics and religion.4 Stewart’s interpretation is particularly instructive for considering the universities’ relationship to the Engagement’s broader impact on Scottish society. She conceives of the Engagement, and the anti-Engagers’ ensuing seizure of power in September 1648, as a categorical alteration in the nature of Covenanter state-building, which had hitherto rested on broad-based support from all sections of society. It gave way to rule by a faction of Covenanters – anti-Engagers – who were bent on purging opposition from positions of authority. This faction targeted ‘malignants’ – those who supported the Engagement and thus an uncovenanted monarch – who could not be entrusted to lead them.5 Anti-Engagers, in effect, narrowed the definition of what constituted the Scottish nation, while the Protester and Resolutioner factions that subsequently emerged in the Kirk would continue to quarrel over who merited inclusion among the covenanted. For all of these factions, it was one thing to remove opponents from political and religious office; it was another to reform the institutions that produced this governing elite. Thus, as the nature of the covenanted nation was redefined in the wake of the Engagement, the universities that it served also required recalibration. Universities in the early modern period served as the nurseries of the Church and state, and, as such, they were powerful conduits for distilling forms of collective identity.6 The utility of the university had not been lost on the 4

David Stevenson, Revolution and Counter-Revolution in Scotland, 1644–51 (London, 1977), p. 120; Allan I. Macinnes, The British Revolution, 1629–1660 (Basingstoke, 2005), pp. 186–8; Allan I. Macinnes, ‘The “Scottish Moment”, 1638–45’, in The English Civil War: Conflict and Contexts, 1640–49, ed. John Adamson (Basingstoke, 2009), pp. 125–52; Kirsteen M. MacKenzie, The Solemn League and Covenant of the Three Kingdoms and the Cromwellian Union, 1643–1663 (London, 2017), pp. 68–9; Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016), pp. 20–2. 5 Ibid., p. 220. 6 Willem Frijhoff, ‘Patterns’, in A History of the University in Europe, Volume II: Universities in Early Modern Europe (1500–1800), ed. Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 43–110.

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Covenanters, who from 1638 to 1647 oversaw extensive reforms of St Andrews, Glasgow, Aberdeen and Edinburgh universities. This campaign purged anti-Covenanter academics; planted leading Covenanter divines into professorships; revamped philosophical and theological training; and regulated the quality, competency and conformity of all university staff. With a curriculum that instilled practical tuition in logic, rhetoric and divinity, the Covenanters sought to arm students to serve and defend covenanted Scotland.7 The universities were the refineries on which the long-term viability of the covenanted community rested. In the aftermath of the Engagement controlling these institutions became pivotal for leaders in the Kirk, who harboured competing visions of the nature of the covenanted nation: Engager and anti-Engager, Protester and Resolutioner. Scotland’s universities were thus seminaries for the future of the covenanted nation. By examining how the Engagement and resultant Protester–Resolutioner schism reverberated in the universities, this chapter underlines the fractures that emerged about how the covenanted project should proceed and, more immediately, who should be tasked with carrying it out. The first part of this study examines the nature of anti-Engager purges in the universities. It relies on a corpus of underutilised manuscript and printed visitation records within the archives at the St Andrews University Library that highlights the severity and all-encompassing nature of the anti-Engager purges in the universities, as part of a broader effort to redefine the covenanted nation. The second part highlights how the universities factored into the burgeoning crisis that gave way to schism in the Kirk between the Protesters, heirs to the uncompromising anti-Engager vision of limited membership in the Scottish nation, and the Resolutioners, who, in the face of military annihilation at the hands of the English Commonwealth, sought to re-expand inclusion in the covenanted community. Anti-Engager Campaigns in the Universities Parliament authorised the Engagement treaty in March 1648 with the support of the duke of Hamilton and his allies. But after Oliver Cromwell defeated the Engager army at Preston in August 1648 anti-Engagers assumed effective control of the Church and state. They drew fervent support from the south-west, Scotland’s radical epicentre, from which the Whiggamore Raid, the rising that toppled the Engagers, originated. The south-west was also home to the Western Association, an army that saw itself as the true defenders of the Covenant. The anti-Engagers’ grip on power was solidified in January 1649, when parliament, 7 Steven J. Reid, ‘“Ane Uniformitie in Doctrine and Good Order”: The Scottish Universities in the Age of the Covenant, 1638–1649’, History of Universities, 29 (2016), 13–41; Salvatore Cipriano, ‘Seminaries of Identity: The Universities of Scotland and Ireland in the Age of British Revolution’ (unpublished PhD thesis, Fordham University, 2018), chs 2–3.

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now controlled by anti-Engagers, passed the Act of Classes, which barred all ‘malignants’ – Engagers and royalists – from office.8 Anti-Engagers stringently defined inclusion in the covenanted community. ‘Malignants’ were construed as those outside the community because of their betrayal of the Covenant, and had to be removed from positions of authority so as to not corrupt the body politic, which was highlighted by the Act of Classes.9 The act, in effect, gave political strength to the anti-Engagers’ already firm institutional base in the religious sphere: the General Assembly, which met yearly, and its powerful standing committee, the commission of the Kirk, which met regularly and was composed of Scotland’s most influential ministers, opposed the Engagement from the start and served as a bulwark against the Engagers. Even before the Battle of Preston in August 1648, the commission undermined the Engagement by issuing directives to presbyteries that commanded ministers to preach against the treaty, prohibited presbyteries from contributing men to the Engager army and instructed ministers to report brethren who either supported or sympathised with the Engager cause.10 In addition to rooting out ‘malignancy’, any behaviour that suggested either neutrality, lukewarm opposition to the Engagement or conscientious misgivings about the commission’s declarations would invite intervention.11 Indeed, because anti-Engagers always controlled the initiative in the Kirk, they were well positioned to exert particular influence over the universities in areas where they had already begun a campaign to purge ‘malignant’ ministers from their benefices.12 The Glasgow Assembly of 1638 had reintroduced older legislation that endowed the General Assembly with the power to issue commissions of visitation to the universities that evaluated principals, professors and regents.13 Thereafter, the General Assembly and the commission wielded this authority to crusade against the Engagement in the universities. Unequivocal opposition to the Engagement was expected in Scotland’s universities, though it is evident that not all of the professoriate shared the commission’s vision. Members of the staff at St Andrews were among the first to be censured, and ultimately purged, for not opposing the Engagement. In summer 1648 St Andrews presbytery reported John Baron, provost of St Salvator’s College and minister of Kemback, and David Nave, a St Leonard’s regent, for failing to preach against the Engagement and, in Nave’s case, for harbouring Erastian views of the Church.14 Baron was seemingly caught off guard by the aggres8

RPS, 1648/3/19, 1649/1/43. Rethinking, pp. 246–55. 10 RCGA, I, pp. 363, 373–82, 429–31, 519, 520–6; MacKenzie, Solemn League and Covenant, p. 71. 11 Chris R. Langley, Worship, Civil War and Community, 1638–1660 (London, 2016), p. 72–81. 12 David Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers in the Church of Scotland under the Covenanters, 1638–1651’, Church History, 44 (1975), 329–33. 13 Peterkin, Records, p. 34. 14 George R. Kinloch (ed.), Selections from the Minutes of the Presbyteries of St Andrews and 9 Stewart,

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siveness of the anti-Engagers’ campaign: he had wanted time to consider the Engagement’s legality, but his inability to oppose the treaty immediately led to quick intervention by Kirk authorities bent on quashing dissent. The 1648 General Assembly armed the Kirk’s commissioners with the ability to root out ‘malignant’ ministers.15 On 9 August it commissioned a visitation of St Andrews University.16 The commission did not identify Baron or Nave explicitly but, as with prior commissions, the Assembly afforded the visitors a wide remit to intervene in the university’s affairs. The visitors were empowered to evaluate finances and discipline; inspect whether all staff and students were ‘correspondent with the confessione of faith and acts of this kirk’; and remove and replace any staff ‘superfluous, unqualiefied or corrupt’.17 Thus staff members who were deemed nonconforming were liable for censure and ejection. This was the case for Baron, who was suspended at the Assembly.18 The visitation of St Andrews was carried out in late January 1649 and the commission, which included the marquis of Argyll and the ministers Robert Douglas and James Guthrie, reviewed the visitors’ reports in Edinburgh in February. The timing was key, because by February anti-Engagers had gained control of parliament, which in January had passed the Act of Classes and granted letters of horning to the St Andrews visitation’s acts and judgements.19 The visitation report is indicative of the emergence of competing conceptions of the covenanted community. Most strikingly, Nave was found to have called the Western Association ‘Independent rebillis’, a slur that suggested that the Western Association had more in common with the English Independents than with the Covenanters. The regent also admitted to praying openly for the Engager army before the university’s masters and students. The commission, ‘considering how dangerous and prejudiciall to the flourisching of the universities it is that the said Mr David should continew ane professoure and teacher of the youth here’, deposed Nave and ordered Principal George Wemyss to find a replacement.20 The St Leonard’s oeconomus, Patrick Murray, was also reported for his ‘malignancie’, but the commission referred the matter to Wemyss, who was made responsible for deciding whether to eject Murray if the accusations were true.21 The commission also upheld Provost Baron’s suspension and suspended the St Salvator’s regent Thomas Gleg. Each was to be examined at a hearing in June 1649 for ‘their affection to the reformation of religion Cupar, 1641–1698 (Edinburgh, 1837), pp. 44–5; StAUL, UYUY 412, fols 113v–20v. 15 Peterkin, Records, pp. 510, 517. 16 Ibid., p. 519. 17 StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 79–81. 18 Peterkin, Records, p. 519. 19 Evidence, Oral and Documentary, Taken and Received by the Commissioners Appointed by His Majesty George IV…for Visiting the Universities of Scotland, 4 vols. (London, 1837), III, p. 211; RPS, 1649/1/50, 1649/1/31. 20 StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 94–5. 21 Evidence, 3, p. 212; StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 98, 108–9.

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and discipline of this Kirk, according to the present constitution thereof’, while all university staff were to be questioned regarding their competency and orthodoxy.22 Gleg attempted to defend himself by answering the initial ‘libels’ against him; when additional witnesses testified against him, however, he chose to relinquish his post.23 Baron attempted to supplicate to the commission of the Kirk, which deferred his petition to the General Assembly.24 Rather than risk a formal deposition at the hands of his brethren, Baron, like Gleg, chose to demit his provostship, which suggested that he may have thought he could assume another post at a later date.25 The 1649 Assembly also received several ‘informationes’ against the St Salvator’s dean George Martine, regent Alexander Edward and oeconomus Robert Yule.26 While Martine and Edward seemed to have escaped punishment – both their names appear in the Faculty of Arts bursars’ book after 1649 – the visitation commanded St Salvator’s masters to dismiss Yule.27 That as many as half of these academics were not purged suggests that even the faintest suspicion of malignancy invited scrutiny. The reactive nature of anti-Engager purges also affected Aberdeen. Led by the Aberdeen Doctors, both King’s and Marischal colleges had been at the forefront of the opposition to the Covenant in 1638. But the Kirk removed the Doctors from their posts and neutralised their influence shortly after the Bishops’ Wars, and each college was integrated into the Covenanting dynamic, highlighted by the installation of William Guild, a former Doctor who had defected to the Covenanters, as King’s principal in August 1640.28 Though Guild owed his position to the Covenanters, this did not guarantee his safety following the Engagement. In July 1649 the General Assembly commissioned a visitation of Aberdeen and, at the same meeting, the Assembly recommended that John Menzies, professor of divinity at Marischal College, should replace Guild as King’s principal.29 Menzies was a radical Covenanter who later emerged as a leading Independent; he was also on the visitation commission with other uncompromising anti-Engagers, including 22

Evidence, III, p. 211; StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 88, 95–6, 117. Evidence, III, p. 212; StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 118, 136. 24 RCGA, II, pp. 286–7, 286n. 25 Evidence, III, p. 212; StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 118, 135–6. 26 StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 108–9, 120. 27 See e.g. StAUL, UYUY 412, fols 125v, 126v, 127v. Edward later became minister of Crail. Scott, Fasti, V, p. 193. On Yule’s dismissal, see StAUL, UYUY 812, fol. 134. 28 On Guild’s former status as an Aberdeen Doctor, see Russell Newton’s chapter in this volume. On the Covenanters’ campaign against the Doctors, see David Stevenson, King’s College, Aberdeen, 1560–1641: From Protestant Reformation to Covenanting Revolution (Aberdeen, 1990), ch. 5; Salvatore Cipriano, ‘The Scottish Universities and Opposition to the National Covenant, 1638’, SHR, 97 (2018), 29–35. On Guild’s installation, see Cosmo Innes (ed.), Fasti Aberdonenses: Selections from the Records of the University and King’s College of Aberdeen (Aberdeen, 1854), pp. 417–18. 29 Peterkin, Records, pp. 557, 559. 23

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Patrick Gillespie, James Guthrie, John Row and Samuel Rutherford.30 Like the St Andrews visitations, Aberdeen’s visitors were to examine the ‘qualitie’ of all members and remove all staff deemed malignant.31 The visitors deposed Guild, sub-principal Alexander Middleton and two regents, ostensibly for their ‘malignancy’. Menzies, however, refused to leave Marischal.32 The visitors did not have a contingency plan, and Guild remained as principal until he was removed by the Cromwellians.33 Despite the anti-Engagers’ inability to replace Guild at King’s, the bloodletting required replacements amenable to the anti-Engager regime and its vision of a redefined covenanted Scotland. The March 1649 visitation of St Andrews, for instance, set down new rules for electing principals and regents at St Salvator’s and St Leonard’s colleges. Candidates for principal had to be men of ‘good affectione to the publick cause of religion’, while regents must not ‘prove disaffected to the publick cause of religion’ or serve as ‘badd examples in their conversatione’. The commission ordered all candidates to bring testimonials of their competence, piety and orthodoxy.34 Commentators at Glasgow University noted that these rules were ‘punishments’ for the St Andrews masters’ ‘grosse and publick offence’.35 Similarly, the Aberdeen visitors set new rules for regents’ trials at Marischal College in 1650, while a visitation of Glasgow mandated the same, though Glasgow’s moderators resisted this decision and petitioned the General Assembly to maintain the university’s liberty to elect regents.36 Anti-Engagers in the Kirk sought to block malignants from university posts and ensure that only ardent anti-Engagers moulded the minds of Scotland’s future ministers. Given Robert Baillie’s conciliatory nature, one could understand his desire to defend accused Engagers; given the brazenness of the anti-Engager purges, one could also understand why Robert Blair urged Baillie to stay quiet. The anti-Engagers deployed the mechanisms implemented by the Covenanters earlier in the decade to effect change in the universities, but critics justifiably decried what seemed like indiscriminate purging on high, which echoed minsters’ persistent misgivings about the wide authority of the commissioners of the General Assembly.37 One anonymous paper denigrated the anti-Engager 30

RCGA, II, p. 303. P. J. Anderson (ed.), Officers and Graduates of University and King’s College Aberdeen, MVD– MDCCCLX (Aberdeen, 1893), p. 26. 32 RCGA, II, p. 327. 33 Anderson, Officers and Graduates, pp. 69–70; P. J. Anderson and J. F. K. Johnstone (eds), Fasti Academiae Mariscallanae Aberdonensis, 3 vols (Aberdeen, 1889), II, p. 51; John M. Bulloch, A History of the University of Aberdeen 1495–1895 (London, 1895), pp. 121–2; Robert S. Rait, The Universities of Aberdeen: A History (Aberdeen, 1895), p. 157. 34 StAUL, UYUY 812, fols 103–4. 35 NCL, Baill 2/4, p. 127. 36 AUL, MSM 91/4; NCL, Baill 2/4, pp. 124–7. 37 David Stevenson, ‘The General Assembly and the Commission of the Kirk, 1638–1651’, RSCHS, 19 (1975), 59–79. 31

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parliament and criticised the General Assembly’s actions as vindictive and arbitrary. Concerning the visitation of Aberdeen, the author wrote that Another commissione flowed from the generall assemblie, nether of which was rede to the suffering masters. So they might have sentenced them with death as well deprivation in any thing they know of ther power. And the tymes then wer so riged and cruell that they durst neither ask for, nor questione ether power, unles they hade resolved to suffer present sumar excommunicatione.38

The paper further denounced the visitors’ radical inclinations and cast doubt on the motives of anti-Engagers who had gained the initiative in the Kirk. As noted above, radical Covenanters spearheaded the purges at St Andrews and Aberdeen and were bent on expelling those who had, in their eyes, betrayed the Covenants. The purging of officials accelerated in the wake of the Engagement.39 The anti-Engager campaign in the universities does, however, provide essential evidence of the extent to which the Covenanting movement was turning on itself. It foregrounded the movement’s complete deterioration. Among anti-Engagers, the parameters of inclusion in the covenanted community had changed fundamentally. Anti-Engagers would not allow malignants to corrupt the minds of Scotland’s future ministers and magistrates, and drew on the apparatuses of the Kirk to refashion the professoriate and thus redefine the covenanted community in the long term. Indeed, prior to the Engagement, the universities had been key edifices on which the Covenanters aimed to build the covenanted state. In the aftermath of the Engagement the universities became, briefly, bulwarks against malignancy. But in the period immediately preceding the Cromwellian invasion discord among the Kirk’s elite quickly evolved into outright schism. The universities remained at the heart of the mounting dispute and the debates that emerged provide a vivid image of the fault lines that had emerged in the Covenanting movement and of the competing conceptions of not only the role the universities played in forging the covenanted nation but ultimately what that nation would be. The Universities and Schism in the Kirk Anti-Engager hegemony in Scotland crumbled following the execution of Charles I and the Scottish parliament’s proclamation of his son as king. By the Treaty of Breda, Charles II agreed to take the Covenant, but he would not export presbyterianism to his other kingdoms, which provoked a backlash among radical anti-Engagers, who responded by purging all purported malignants from the Scottish army, leaving a depleted force that Cromwell defeated at Dunbar in September 1650. This disaster exacerbated divisions in the Kirk, which revealed fundamental differences in how the Kirk’s ministers envisioned 38 39

NRS, GD305/1/167/13. Stevenson, ‘Deposition of Ministers’; Stewart, Rethinking, pp. 266–7.

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the covenanted nation. In October, Glasgow minister and leading radical Patrick Gillespie authored the Western Remonstrance, which claimed that Dunbar was evidence of God’s displeasure with the Scots’ association with Charles II. His solution proposed additional purges, thus further restricting membership in the covenanted community. Gillespie’s opponents in the commission of the Kirk, however, refused to endorse the Remonstrance.40 The English defeat of the Remonstrant army in December prompted the commission to issue Public Resolutions that readmitted Engagers and royalists into the army, thus re-expanding membership in the covenanted nation.41 Resolutioners were among the moderate majority who, facing an invading English army, supported the king. Even after the Scots’ defeat at the Battle of Worcester in September 1651, the Kirk remained divided among these Resolutioners and Protesters.42 Though Resolutioners predominated, formidable pockets of Protesters were entrenched in Glasgow, where Gillespie led a Protester faction; the presbytery of Stirling; and the burgh of Aberdeen.43 The Protester–Resolutioner schism’s impact on the universities underscores how an intra-Covenanter dispute manifested into a crisis that laid bare the contested nature of what constituted inclusion in the covenanted community in the period preceding the Battle of Worcester. During this time, anti-Engagers had embarked on a campaign to shield the universities from malignancy, but more radical Covenanters, such as Gillespie, had not yet infiltrated the universities in a meaningful capacity. Charles II’s Treaty of Breda prompted some radical Covenanters to further narrow the definition of the covenanted community, exemplified by the purging of the army, but a large majority of ministers did not share this sentiment and opted for a more broad-based understanding of the covenanted nation, anchored in the Resolutions, which was influenced in no small part by the threat of English military conquest. Resolutioners immediately neutralised what they could of Protester opposition. In addition to censuring Protesters, the 1651 General Assembly censured all expectants to the ministry – including divinity students in the universities – who opposed the Resolutions and deposed Gillespie and James Guthrie, the Protesters’ principal agitators, who Baillie, a firm Resolutioner, described as determined on destroying the Kirk and kingdom.44 Among the 40

RCGA, III, pp. 130–2; Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 123–4. L&J, III, pp. 110–29; Robert H. Landrum, ‘Vast Visions and Intransigent Realities: The Anglo-Scottish Union of 1651–60’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Wisconsin, Madison, 1999), pp. 4–5. 42 See Kyle D. Holfelder, ‘Factionalism in the Kirk during the Cromwellian Invasion and Occupation of Scotland, 1650 to 1660: The Protester-Resolutioner Controversy’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 1998). 43 R. Scott Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland: Conquest and Religion, 1650–1660 (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 104–6. 44 Peterkin, Records, p. 636; RCGA, III, p. xii; Baillie, L&J, III, p. 140; Thomas McCrie, The Life of Mr Robert Blair, Minister of St Andrews (Edinburgh, 1848), p. 278. 41 Baillie,

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Protesters, only Samuel Rutherford, an arch-Covenanter who vehemently opposed both the Engagement and the Resolutions, occupied a university post, the highly influential principalship of St Mary’s College, St Andrews, Scotland’s chief seminary and the institution that sat at the apex of the higher education system revitalised by the Covenanters in the 1640s. Rutherford had been translated to St Mary’s in 1647, and he assumed the position full-time after serving as a commissioner at the Westminster Assembly.45 But, while occupying an influential post, Rutherford was but one Protester, if a vocal one, among a number of Resolutioners at St Andrews.46 In his own college was the leading Resolutioner James Wood, who had occupied the chair of ecclesiastical history since 1645.47 In May 1651 Wood, acting in his capacity as rector of St Andrews, penned a letter to the Resolutioner-controlled commission of the Kirk on behalf of the university in which he expressed his institution’s support for the Public Resolutions: ‘It hath been our earnest and sincere desire in these tempestuous times to keepe a straught course, eschewing the dangerous rocks of Malignancie and profanitie upon one hand and of errours and separation on the other.’48 Writing on behalf of Glasgow University, Baillie expressed similar sentiments, that it was essential that the university support the preservation of the ‘Nationall Church’ from both English sectaries and ‘treacherous radicals’.49 Wood and Baillie conceived of two extremes that presented a danger to Kirk unity, and by extension the Covenant: the malignancy of the Engagement and the obstinacy of the Protesters, whose factionalism was equated with the separatist English Independents. In a powerfully worded response to Baillie’s letter, the commission, of which Robert Douglas served as moderator, wrote that: We doe rejoice that the precious seminarie of verity and learning (to which some of us owe our education) hath obtained mercie of God to discerne what is right in a time of such contradiction, and to give their testimonie thereto, while many (not farre from yow) do stirre up themselves and one another to testifie against our just and necessarie Resolutions, whereby the hands of the common enemie is strenthened, the mynds of diverse well affected are shaken, and the hearts of all that rightlie ponder matters are much greeved.

The commission also noted that it was thankful that the Protesters in the south-west, so close to Glasgow University, ‘hath not gained ground upon yow to thinke the more favourable of their way’. The commission urged Baillie and his 45 On Rutherford’s Protester sympathies, see Samuel Rutherford, Letters of Samuel Rutherford, ed. Andrew A. Bonar (Edinburgh and London, 1891), pp. 668–71. 46 John Coffey, Politics, Religion and the British Revolutions: The Mind of Samuel Rutherford (Cambridge, 1997), p. 59. 47 On Wood, see Baillie, L&J, III, p. 121. 48 RCGA, III, pp. 412–14. 49 Ibid., III, pp. 466–8.

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colleagues at the university to be diligent so ‘that many fruitfull plants may spring out of that seminarie’.50 Based on this correspondence with the commission, it is apparent that the Resolutioners, and especially those, like Baillie and Wood, who held university posts, envisioned themselves as the true upholders of covenanted Scotland. Meanwhile, the universities continued to be viewed as the seminaries on which the long-term endurance of the covenanted community rested. The role of the universities had not changed; for the Resolutioners it became essential, however, to keep the Protesters’ competing vision of the covenanted community from gaining influence in these seminaries. Glasgow University emerged as a site of particular contestation because of its location within the Protester stronghold of the south-west. Kirsteen MacKenzie views the burgh of Glasgow as a noteworthy example of a ‘contested space’, where rival representations of authority – Cromwellian and covenanted in the period between 1650 and 1653 – wrestled in an attempt to establish political and religious dominance.51 Such disputes were seemingly endemic to Glasgow, which had for the majority of the 1640s been a centre of repeated power struggles between hardline Covenanters and royalist sympathisers.52 The university thus became a highly politicised arena, and quarrels between the Protesters and Resolutioners over how to best fill vacancies in the university in the aftermath of the Engagement were emblematic of the extent to which the schism in the Kirk resonated in the universities. Moreover, this was not a contest between Covenanters and Cromwellians but an internecine dispute among Covenanters that had important implications for the survival of any semblance of a unified Covenanting movement, made all the more pressing by the proximity of the New Model Army. In the post-Engagement climate the situation at Glasgow was a microcosm of the broader debate over the essence of the covenanted nation. It focused particularly on what the university was to be in this new reality: either an institution to train future governing elites to preserve the Scotland of the Covenant, or a place to engineer a complete refashioning of the nation that would more strictly define membership in the covenanted community.53 50

Ibid., III, pp. 474–5. Kirsteen M. MacKenzie, ‘A Contested Space: Demonstrative Action and the Politics of Transitional Authority in Glasgow 1650–1653’, in Medieval and Early Modern Representations of Authority in Scotland and the British Isles, ed. Kate Buchanan, Lucinda H. S. Dean and Michael Penman (New York, 2016), pp. 68–82. 52 On Covenanting power dynamics in Glasgow, see Paul Goatman and Andrew Lind’s chapter in this volume and Lind, ‘Battle in the Burgh: Glasgow during the British Civil Wars, c.1638–1651’, Journal of the Northern Renaissance (forthcoming, 2020). 53 See Philip S. Gorski, ‘Calvinism and State-Formation in Early Modern Europe’, in State/ Culture: State-Formation after the Cultural Turn, ed. George Steinmetz (Ithaca, NY, 1999), pp. 147–81; Peter A. Vandermeersch, ‘Teachers’, in A History of the University in Europe, Volume II, ed. Hilde de Ridder-Symoens (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 210–55; Willem Frijhoff, ‘Graduation and Careers’, in ibid., pp. 355–415. 51

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In this context, positions of influence, such as divinity professorships, took on added significance. The dispute at Glasgow arose because of two key positions that became vacant in the university in early 1650. In February, David Dickson, Glasgow’s first professor of divinity and a staunch Resolutioner, was translated to the vacant divinity post at Edinburgh University.54 The second vacancy came when the General Assembly accepted Principal John Strang’s retirement in April. At a crucial moment, when the Covenanting movement began to fracture, two influential university posts opened in the radical heartland of the south-west. Robert Baillie would progress into the first divinity professorship, but only in January 1651, nearly a year after Dickson moved to Edinburgh.55 It is likely that during this time Baillie also assumed de facto responsibility of the principalship, thus inundating the professor with work, which prevented Baillie from addressing the Protesters’ destructive pamphlet campaign.56 Baillie did, however, devote a great deal of energy to countering Protester designs on the university. The long layoff between Dickson’s departure and Baillie’s promotion sparked a crisis at Glasgow at the heart of which was James Durham, minister of Glasgow’s Blackfriars Church and a regular member of the commission of the Kirk. Durham was something of a rising star among the covenanted ministry, and many sought his services.57 In 1649, for instance, the College of Justice, citing the great benefit Durham’s presence would have for the local ‘judicatores’, petitioned the General Assembly to transport Durham to the East Kirk of St Giles in Edinburgh, which had been vacant since the death of George Gillespie.58 The General Assembly, however, refused the petition.59 Following Dickson’s translation, however, Glasgow burgh council and the commission of the Kirk called Durham to the vacant professorship at Glasgow, though the commission soon ordered Durham to instead serve as a chaplain to Charles II. By January, Baillie was promoted, while the moderators chose Robert Ramsay, the Resolutioner minister of Glasgow’s High Church, to assume the second divinity professorship. The burgh council, however, seems to have blocked Ramsay’s move, and the second professorship of divinity remained vacant.60 54 RCGA, II, pp. 360–1; John Nicoll, A Diary of Public Transactions and Other Occurrences, Chiefly in Scotland from January 1650 to January 1667 (Edinburgh, 1836), p. 3; Marguerite Wood (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the Burgh of Edinburgh, 1642 to 1655 (Edinburgh, 1938), p. 228. 55 Cosmo Innes (ed.), Munimenta Alme Universitatis Glasguensis: Records of the University of Glasgow, from Its Foundation till 1727, 4 vols (Glasgow, 1854), III, pp. 388–9; EUL, La. II 25/34, fols 28, 50. 56 Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 131–2; James Coutts, A History of the University of Glasgow from its Foundation in 1451 to 1908 (Glasgow, 1909), p. 126; J. D. Mackie, The University of Glasgow 1541–1951: A Short History (Glasgow, 1954), p. 107. 57 George Christie, ‘James Durham as Courtier and Preacher’, RSCHS, 4 (1930), 66–80. 58 NLS, Wodrow Folio, LXV, fols 285–6. 59 Peterkin, Records, p. 557. 60 RCGA, III, pp. 44, 69, 117–18, 133–4; James Marwick (ed.), Extracts from the Records of the

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At first glance, the matter appears to have been little more than a town–gown dispute, with the university taking steps to declare vacancies without the burgh’s approval. But, in truth, by 1651 the Glasgow burgh council began to fall under the influence of the region’s Protester faction, while its leader, Patrick Gillespie, repeatedly angled for further influence within the burgh’s political and religious circles, which included designs on the university.61 In much the same way that Covenanters had labelled Engagers ‘malignants’, Gillespie also employed the language of malignancy in his increasingly anti-royalist polemics. Emboldened by the repeal of the Act of Classes in early 1651, Gillespie characterised the Resolutioners as malignants for their willingness to work with Charles II, and thus portrayed the Resolutioners as the true threat to covenanted Scotland while heralding the minority Protesters as the genuine protectors of the nation.62 This situation created difficulties in March 1651, when James Durham was granted leave from his chaplaincy at the royal court and subsequently laid claim to Glasgow’s divinity post, which he believed it was his ‘duty’ to assume.63 Durham was a capable theologian and pedagogue, but his petition to take up the divinity post had major implications. Despite the division of the Kirk into Resolutioner and Protester camps, Durham has been described as a ‘centrist’.64 Like the Protesters, he had questioned Charles II’s sincerity in the Treaty of Breda and had been hesitant to readmit Engagers into the Scottish army, while he had worked with Gillespie to call a national meeting of Protesters in late September 1650. But Durham also advocated for moderation and reconciliation, and he clashed with his radical brethren in the west. Partisans on both sides would also oppose his calls for ‘union’ in 1651.65 Robert Baillie was determined to keep Durham away from the university. Even though Durham was not a Protester, his willingness to conciliate with a faction who would potentially undermine the Kirk’s institutions essentially disqualified him from being entrusted with the responsibility of teaching divinity.66 Baillie thus wrote to Durham and issued formal protests against his intentions. He cited the legal strictures of Durham’s transportation into royal service and wrote that, because he had been formally translated to court, his university post was officially vacant, and thus Durham ceased to have any unique claim to the position.67 Yet in an April 1651 letter to Andrew Kerr, the clerk of the General Assembly, Baillie made his intentions clear, noting that Durham ‘strengthens much the faction that professe difference from the Public Resolutions, though

Burgh of Glasgow, A.D. 1630–1662 (Glasgow, 1881), p. 198. 61 MacKenzie, ‘Contested Space’, pp. 76–8. 62 NLS, Wodrow Folio, XXV, fols 178–9; Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 557–8. 63 RCGA, III, p. 335; Baillie, L&J, III, p. 148. 64 Holfelder, ‘Factionalism in the Kirk’, pp. 84, 97, 115, 124. 65 Ibid., pp. 19, 84, 97, 124, 137–8, 163–4. 66 Campbell, Robert Baillie, pp. 108–11. 67 Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 149–52, 158–9.

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he as yet professe none’.68 Baillie also sensed Gillespie’s stake in Durham’s claim to the position, which would, according to Baillie’s misgivings, provide an avenue for Gillespie to exert his influence in the university. In another letter to Kerr, Baillie wrote of his preference for Robert Ramsay, remarking that, ‘If God give us Mr. Ramsay, I hope we have peace in our Colledge, and be answerable for our schollers: if Mr. Patrick [Gillespie] get his will of us in this our Universitie, he will be their owne to sow what seed in it they like.’69 This was the key idea for the Resolutioners: if the Protesters gained influence in the universities they would have free rein to plant the seeds that would, ultimately, flower to debase covenanted Scotland at a time when the nation faced pressures from the English Commonwealth. Indeed, in other letters Baillie commented on how Durham’s entrance at Glasgow would be a boon for the Protesters in the west.70 Baillie would ultimately succeed in keeping Durham from the university, and the divinity professorship remained vacant. The Protesters also sought Glasgow’s principalship. Baillie recounts that he was alerted to the fact that Gillespie eyed the vacant post, though Baillie’s Glasgow colleagues thought Gillespie’s claim was ‘exceeding absurd’. Glasgow’s moderators instead encouraged Robert Blair, a Resolutioner and leading Covenanting minister of St Andrews, to take the principalship. Blair, however, declined the post, and the university subsequently elected Ramsay, who had previously failed to enter the second divinity post.71 After receiving approval from the Resolutioner-dominated commission of the Kirk, Ramsay was formally installed in July 1651.72 It was also at this time that the university adopted a resolution prohibiting the principal and divinity professors from holding ministerial posts in the burgh, ostensibly to stop the burgh meddling in the university’s affairs and controlling the professors’ work. The university moderators also declared their freedom to elect principals and divinity professors.73 These were clear attempts to fortify the university against Protester influence. But the new principal died on 4 September 1651, a day after Cromwell’s victory at Worcester, thus leaving Glasgow’s principalship and second divinity chair in the balance during the Cromwellian conquest. The early years of Covenanter rule in Scotland had witnessed a concerted effort to repurpose leading divines into professors in order to educate the next generation of Covenanting churchmen, thus ensuring the long-term survival of the confessional revolution. Parish clergy ministered to a congregation; divinity professors educated the clergy. Thus luminaries such as Baillie and David Dickson (Glasgow) and Samuel Rutherford (St Mary’s) were moved from their

68 69 70 71 72 73

Ibid., III, pp. 146–7. Ibid., III, p. 153. Ibid., III, pp. 155–9. Ibid., III, pp. 237–8; Marwick, Glasgow, A.D. 1630–1662, p. 520. RCGA, III, p. 462; Munimenta, III, p. 368. Munimenta, II, p. 321.

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parishes to the universities, where their talents would have greater influence.74 This was the vision of the leading Covenanter Alexander Henderson, who had in 1639 pressed his brethren to nurture a learned ministry, trained in the universities by accomplished masters.75 A decade later, the values that underpinned this vision had become distorted. James Durham was by all accounts a fine candidate to take up a divinity post, but in the era following the Engagement Durham was a neutral and, as such, could not be trusted by one faction to train the next generation. Durham’s case is a striking example of the way in which the factionalism of the Protester–Resolutioner controversy affected the universities. The central question driving university affairs in Scotland was no longer how to ensure that Scotland’s leading minds educated future ministers in the covenanted mould; rather, it was which faction could exercise the greatest authority over Scottish university education, and thus distil their own competing visions of what made the covenanted nation. Conclusion The Engagement controversy and the Protester–Resolutioner schism that was born from it created the conditions that allowed the English Commonwealth to exploit the Scottish universities to its advantage. Anxiety and discord concerning the nature of the covenanted state, inclusion in the covenanted nation and the future of the Covenanting movement had led to paralysis. The Cromwellian regime seized upon the Scots’ inability to agree on candidates for vacancies to install its own amenable principals and divinity professors. Despite fears that the Cromwellian conquest would bring widespread purging of Covenanters from university posts, this was not the case.76 The regime certainly intended to plant men in the universities who supported the Commonwealth, but the Cromwellian Commission for Regulating the Universities, established in June 1652, took advantage of the series of vacancies instead of purging and replacing academics.77 At Glasgow, Resolutioner fears about the Protesters’ association with Cromwell were confirmed when the Cromwellian commission installed Patrick Gillespie as principal; John Young, an impressionable regent who had yet to be ordained a minister, was planted in the vacant divinity post over Baillie’s vociferous protests.78 At King’s College the commission replaced William Guild, whom the anti-Engagers had previously deposed yet could not replace, with

74

Cipriano, ‘Seminaries of Identity’, pp. 118–29. Records, pp. 238–9. 76 See e.g. Baillie, L&J, III, p. 199. 77 Charles H. Firth (ed.), Scotland and the Commonwealth: Letters and Papers Relating to the Military Government of Scotland, from August 1651 to December 1653 (Edinburgh, 1895), pp. 44–5. 78 GUL, MS Gen 1769/1/24, 27; Munimenta, III, p. 390; Baillie, L&J, III, pp. 205–9, 238–9. 75 Peterkin,

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John Row, a Protester from Aberdeen’s increasingly radical religious milieu.79 The Cromwellian commission also appointed Robert Leighton, minister at Newbattle, to the principalship at Edinburgh, which had been vacant since the death of Principal John Adamson in mid-1651. Leighton was no Protester, but by the late 1640s he had repudiated the Covenanters’ programme and, for the Cromwellians, could potentially help to undermine Covenanter authority in Scotland.80 Cromwellian-appointed university staff, combined with the regime’s eclipse of the General Assembly’s authority in regulating university affairs, was meant to weaken Covenanter influence and consolidate the English conquest. Baillie lamented: ‘All our Colledges are quicklie to be undone’.81 In truth, the universities were becoming undone before the Cromwellian conquest. The Engagement controversy led to a redefinition of the covenanted nation, and the universities, as servants of the Church and kingdom, had to follow suit. But redefinition along anti-Engager lines was fleeting: the snowballing of the Engagement crisis into schism in the Kirk led to new reconceptions of what constituted inclusion in the covenanted community. The Remonstrants, and soon after the Protesters, took up the anti-Engager mantle of further restricting membership in the covenanted nation. The Public Resolutions had at the same time reimagined inclusion in the nation, but the Resolutioners opted for a more expansive vision of the covenanted community in the face of English conquest. As this chapter has illustrated, the long-term endurance of each of these competing visions of covenanted Scotland rested on the abilities of partisans to achieve exclusive influence in the universities in order to control the education and, indeed, the acculturation, of the next generation of churchmen and statesmen. Given higher education’s essential link to the machinery of secular and ecclesiastical power and the formation of collective identities in the early modern period, authorities who promoted competing visions of the covenanted nation had to acquire requisite control of institutions of higher learning. In the early years of the Scottish Revolution, the Covenanters had recognised the power of universities and impressed them into the service of a nascent covenanted state. By 1652, the universities, plagued by internal disputes and external crises, had transformed from the engines of the Covenanting revolution into instruments of the Cromwellian conquest.

79 McCrie,

Robert Blair, p. 301; Anderson, Officers and Graduates, p. 26. On radical religion and Independency in Scotland under Cromwell, see Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland, ch. 4. 80 Crawford Gribben, ‘Robert Leighton, Edinburgh Theology and the Collapse of the Presbyterian Consensus’, in Enforcing Reformation in Ireland and Scotland, 1550–1700, ed. Elizabethanne Boran and Crawford Gribben (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 159–83. 81 Baillie, L&J, III, p. 244.

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9 Remembering the Revolution: Memory, Identity and Ideology in Restoration Scotland Neil McIntyre Memory, and the processes by which individuals, groups or communities remember, represent or forget the past, has been a burgeoning field of study since the early 1990s. In 1992 the anthropologist James Fentress and historian Chris Wickham collaborated on a project which probed the concept of ‘social memory’. They sought to provide new perspectives on the past by considering how the philosophy and psychology of remembering contributed to the self-definition of such diverse societies as medieval Iceland and modern Brazil.1 Indeed, such geographical and chronological versatility has become a marked feature of memory studies. This work was followed in 1995 by a translation of a seminal article on collective memory and cultural identity by the German Egyptologist Jan Assmann, which was originally published in 1988.2 Building on the markedly different approaches taken by the sociologist Maurice Halbwachs and the art historian Aby Warburg earlier in the twentieth century, Assmann developed a theory of cultural memory that articulated the complex interaction between memory, culture and society. Since then, an avalanche of studies on memory has been produced by scholars across a range of academic disciplines.3 In fact, memory studies can claim quite persuasively to be a truly interdisciplinary exercise at a time when interdisciplinarity is much vaunted.4 The study of memory has been of no less interest to historians of early modern England. Most notably, Daniel Woolf, Alexandra Walsham and Andy 1

James Fentress and Chris Wickham, Social Memory (Oxford, 1992). Jan Assmann and Jan Czaplicka, ‘Collective Memory and Cultural Identity’, New German Critique, 65 (1995), 125–33. 3 The literature is vast, but see most recently Judith Pollmann, Memory in Early Modern Europe (Oxford, 2017). 4 Jeffrey K. Olick and Joyce Robbins, ‘Social Memory Studies: From “Collective Memory” to the Historical Sociology of Mnemonic Practices’, Annual Review of Sociology, 24 (1998), 105–40; Astrid Erll and Ansgar Nünning (eds), Cultural Memory Studies: An International and Interdisciplinary Handbook (Berlin, 2008). 2

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Wood are each identified with the exploration of early modern memory.5 Matthew Neufeld has also published on the legacy of the British civil wars for cultural memory in later Stuart England.6 This work drew a riposte from Edward Legon in his 2015 dissertation on seditious memories in England and Wales. Legon argued, quite rightly, that Neufeld over-privileged the royalist interpretation of events and assumed that those who supported the Stuarts were able to ‘invent’ the past with impunity after 1660.7 Yet both scholars approach the subject as if New British History had never happened. Where Ireland or Scotland fit into their picture is presently unclear.8 The omission of Scotland in the work of Neufeld and Legon raises a more general point: there has been no comparable work carried out on early modern Scotland or, indeed, Scottish memories of the mid-century upheavals. The reason for this is not entirely clear, but it is certainly surprising given that the study of oral history has been so well developed in Scottish curricula in recent years. From an early modern perspective it is all the more surprising given that the pervasive influence of the National Covenant (1638) and Solemn League and Covenant (1643) on Scottish culture has long been recognised.9 As such, this chapter represents the first attempt to examine the ways in which memories of specific events in the Covenanting past came to shape both thought and practice in Restoration Scotland. It will argue that an assessment of how Scotland’s covenants were remembered – and reimagined – can greatly enhance our understanding of the Restoration settlement and its subsequent enforcement north of the border. In particular, it aims to demonstrate the significance of the period from 1648 to 1651 – that is, from the Engagement crisis to the collapse of a radical Covenanting faction that came to power in 1649. Competing interpretations of these years created a combustible mix of views that found expression in the extent to which people conformed to or dissented from the post-revolutionary government in Church and state. In other words, there was both consensus and conflict in this process of social remembering: consensus on the designation of these years as a key period in the recent past, but conflict over their reconstruction and meaning. Thus, the chapter is concerned less 5 Daniel Woolfe, ‘Memory and Historical Culture in Early Modern England’, Journal of the Canadian Historical Association, 2 (1991), 283–308; Alexandra Walsham, The Reformation of the Landscape: Religion, Identity and Memory in Early Modern Britain and Ireland (Oxford, 2011); Andy Wood, The Memory of the People: Custom and Popular Senses of the Past in Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2013). 6 Matthew Neufeld, The Civil Wars after 1660: Public Remembering in Late Stuart England (Woodbridge, 2013). 7 Edward Legon, ‘Remembering Revolution: Seditious Memories in England and Wales, 1660–1685’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University College London, 2015), pp. 23–4. 8 For an overview of this historiographical trend, see Glenn Burgess (ed.), The New British History: Founding a Modern State, 1603–1715 (London, 1999). 9 See, most recently, Clare Jackson, Restoration Scotland, 1660–1690: Royalist Politics, Religion and Ideas (Woodbridge, 2003) and Alasdair Raffe, The Culture of Controversy: Religious Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012).

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about whether the period was a turning point in Scottish history than with its representation as a watershed moment in the minds of Restoration Scots. There are other benefits to this approach. Historiographically, the Revolution and Restoration periods in Scotland have tended to be assessed in isolation. The Covenants, Cromwell and the Restoration have each attracted their own historians, but seldom do they traverse this rigid periodisation.10 By considering how Restoration Scots reflected on the recent past, this chapter aims to reconnect the later seventeenth century with the previous decades of controversy, warfare and dislocation. And, while the chapter does not intend to overemphasise the importance of the years 1648 to 1651 in Scottish collective memory to the exclusion of other events from 1637 onwards, it will suggest that they provide a useful point of entry to examine attitudes, identities and ideologies after 1660. The ’49 and the Shaping of Restoration Memory Before looking at memories of the period, it is necessary to sketch the events that preoccupied the Scots from 1648 to 1651.11 In December 1647 the earls of Lanark, Loudoun and Lauderdale concluded a covert treaty with Charles I known as the ‘Engagement’. Lanark’s brother, the duke of Hamilton, then fronted a faction in the Scottish parliament that challenged and outmanoeuvred the hitherto unrivalled dominance of the marquis of Argyll, who had become the undisputed leader of the Covenanting regime in the 1640s. However, the General Assembly of the Church refused to back the treaty, arguing that its terms would not sufficiently secure the covenanted reformation in the three kingdoms. The breach between Church and state led to a crisis of authority as each claimed to embody the national interest, but Hamilton was ultimately successful in raising an army to rescue the king – which was defeated comfortably by the New Model Army at Preston on 17 August 1648. This failure precipitated an uprising by its opponents that had the support of Oliver Cromwell. When the Scottish parliament sat again in January 1649, it was purged of Engagers. With only sixteen nobles in attendance, a raft of legislation was passed that promoted a measure of social restructuring and godly discipline. Restoration Scots recalled this period (some wryly, others seriously) as ‘the ’49’ or ‘the rule of the saints’. However, after declaring the young Charles Stuart as king of Great Britain and Ireland following the execution of his father – both deeply 10

See David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–44: The Triumph of the Covenanters, rev. edn (Edinburgh, 2003); Frances D. Dow, Cromwellian Scotland, 1651–1660 (Edinburgh, 1979); Julia Buckroyd, Church and State in Scotland, 1660–1681 (Edinburgh, 1980); Allan I. Macinnes, Charles I and the Making of the Covenanting Movement, 1625–41 (Edinburgh,1991); R. Scott Spurlock, Cromwell and Scotland: Conquest and Religion, 1650–1660 (Edinburgh, 2007). 11 For these events in full, see David Stevenson, Revolution and Counter-Revolution in Scotland, 1644–51, rev. edn (Edinburgh, 2003), pp. 68–102; Allan I. Macinnes, The British Revolution, 1629–1660 (Basingstoke, 2005), pp. 186–92.

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divisive issues among the remaining Covenanters in power – the regime was twice defeated in battle and then terminated upon Scotland’s incorporation into the English Commonwealth. With the return of Charles II from exile in May 1660, the Scottish nobility were eager to recover their political and economic fortunes after the Covenanting Revolution had ultimately served to erode rather than reinforce their power. The subsequent constitutional settlement is well known to historians and has been analysed by John Young and Gillian MacIntosh.12 However, the importance of particular acts has been overlooked and the language of the legislation has not been considered in detail. The vocabulary used in the parliamentary sessions served to shape how the Covenants ought to be remembered. As Covenanting discourse had predominated in Scotland for nearly two decades, the recent past had to be reframed to delegitimise the Covenants. The events of 1648–51 played a leading role in this process. Memories of this period made a major contribution to the shape of the 1661–2 settlement. Most obviously, a specific act was passed that formally approved the Engagement of 1648 and annulled the parliament of 1649.13 The complexity of the events could not be easily accommodated within the proposed rescissory act and, consequently, were reaffirmed in Restoration minds as a distinctive phase of the civil wars. They were also accorded precedence in the legislative programme. The specific act passed first on 9 February 1661 and the general rescissory act followed nearly two months later on 28 March.14 Styled ‘the late unlawful Engagement’ in 1649, the endeavour was now recast as ‘an honourable, just, necessary and seasonable discharge of that indispensible duetie’ owed to ‘his late majestie of glorious memorie’. The radical Covenanter leaders were then charged with having gathered ‘mutinous commons’ and ‘seditious preachers’ to entrench an oligarchy that had usurped authority and imposed ‘base restrictions and limitations’ on kingship. It was studiously forgotten that the same parliament had treated with Charles at Breda and supported his claim to the throne until the bitter end. Nevertheless, these memories, and the partisan vocabulary used to describe them, gave the Restoration state a language ready-made for its forthcoming drive against political sedition and religious dissent. This reimagining of the past was reinforced by an act that condemned the delivery of Charles I by the Covenanting army to the English parliament in January 1647.15 The act was now stated to have been ‘concludit by a prevalent 12

John R. Young, The Scottish Parliament: A Political and Constitutional Analysis (Edinburgh, 1996), pp. 304–23; Gillian I. MacIntosh, The Scottish Parliament under Charles II (Edinburgh, 2007). See Alasdair Raffe, ‘Presbyterian Politics and the Restoration of Scottish Episcopacy, 1660–1662’, in ‘Settling the Peace of the Church’: 1662 Revisited, ed. N. H. Keeble (Oxford, 2014), pp. 144–67. 13 RPS, 1661/1/67. 14 RPS, 1661/1/158. 15 RPS, 1661/1/74.

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partie against the judgement of many of his majesties’ loyall subjects’ and so to be ‘expunged out of all records and never to be remembred, but with due abhorrence and detestation’. Indeed, in an exercise of damage limitation, the legislators were at pains to emphasise that the delivery of the king was ‘not to be lookt upon as the deid of the kingdome’ but rather ‘as the act of a few disloyall and seditious persones’. It was noted explicitly that the statute was a mnemonic: those who had opposed this course and then supported the Engagement were ‘heer recorded for their due honour, and for which their memorie will in all ages receave a famous celebration’. At the same time, those holding a contrary interpretation were to be pursued as ‘the vildest of traitours’. The subsequent trials of Argyll and the minister James Guthrie in 1661 were effectively contests over memory that hinged on a reinterpretation of the recent past.16 A fixation on these events presented an opportunity for the ambiguity and fluidity of political and religious allegiances from 1638 to be obscured. With so many former Engagers acquiring high office at the Restoration – most notably the king’s commissioner, the earl of Middleton; the secretary of state, the earl (and later duke) of Lauderdale; and the chancellor, the earl of Glencairn – the parliamentary sessions were able to play down the initial enthusiasm for and nationwide participation in the Covenanting cause by concentrating on the supposed disloyalty of the anti-Engagers, the radical regime and the Remonstrants: a group of Covenanters from the south-west who had issued a controversial remonstrance in October 1650. Moreover, memories of this past were used to justify the composition of the Restoration government. As the Clerk Register, Sir Archibald Primrose, remarked, ‘Never wes yr a Parl. so frank for the king, and nothing can be of so great discouragment to them as to sie any who have beene always against the king, espealie in these unhappie yeeres 1649 and 1650.’17 Certainly, Charles had not forgotten those fateful years. James Kirkton, a nonconforming presbyterian who had come of age during ‘the rule of the saints’, conceded they were ‘a sort of men hated by the king above all mortals’.18 Features of the ecclesiastical settlement were also a direct response to ‘the ’49’. Memories of clerical opposition to the Engagement and clerical intrusion in the politics of the radical regime ensured that the Church was hereafter subordinate to the state. As the archbishop of St Andrews, James Sharp, recalled, ‘our ministers in the 48 were so deeply interested in such affairs that they framed to themselves new and strange principles which the Remonstrators afterwards hammered into a model of sedition’. Indeed, he and others were ‘convinced that the doctrine of the 48 and 49 hath been fatal to these kingdomes, and 16

For Argyll, see Allan I. Macinnes, The British Confederate: Archibald Campbell, Marquess of Argyll, c.1607–1661 (Edinburgh, 2011), pp. 294–303. For Guthrie, see RPS, M1661/1/16, 31, 32, 34, 54; A1661/1/67, 68, 90. 17 Osmund Airy (ed.), The Lauderdale Papers, 3 vols (London, 1884), I, p. 63. 18 James Kirkton, The Secret and True History of the Church of Scotland from the Restoration to the Year 1678, ed. Charles K. Sharpe (Edinburgh, 1817), p. 71.

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… cannot stand with the stability and quiet of any state’.19 Not only were the presbyterian clergy deemed to have subverted the traditional leadership of the Scottish nobility, Covenanting ideologues had incited popular resistance to authority. Sharp later drew a mnemonic line from that period to the Pentland Rising of 1666 when he expressed his frustration that ‘the king’s ministers, especially persons of noble blood and abilities, doe not more vigorously and avowedly bestirr themselves for the opposing and suppressing that spirit which hath been so fatal to monarchy and nobility in these late times’.20 Similarly, the act that recovered the rights of patrons represented a direct response to the radical regime and its abolition of patronage on 9 March 1649. The latter had itself drawn on the relationship between memory and the law to make the case for abolition: it was argued that the right of patrons to present ministers to vacant churches was founded ‘onlie on the commoun law and is a custome popish brought into this kirk in the times of ignorance and superstitioune’. At the same time, it drew on collective knowledge of the Second Book of Discipline (1578) and ‘several acts of general assemblies’ to point out that patronage was ‘an evill and bondage under which the Lord’s people and ministers of this land have long groaned’.21 By way of legal contrast, the 1662 act asserted that the right of presentation was established by ‘antient and fundamentall lawes’ and had been wrested from patrons only by ‘the violence and unjustice of these late troubles and confusions’.22 As is well known, those ministers who did not obtain presentation from their patron or collation from a bishop were ejected from the Church of Scotland from 1662.23 The ecclesiastical settlement was accompanied by a treatise which made the case for conformity: A Seasonable Case of Submission to the Church-Government (1662) by the Covenanter-turned-bishop Andrew Honyman. As well as outlining the history of episcopacy in Scotland since the Reformation, Honyman challenged the ‘popularly pleaded’ notion that the obligation of the Covenants prevented clerical compliance.24 Again, the 1648–51 period was isolated when he reflected on the recent past. Like Sharp, ire was directed at those ministers whom he believed had incited the Remonstrants to overturn the established order: It may be remembred, that those who owned the western Remonstrance, did justifie their seditious Engagments and renting proceedings … upon their sensing the obligation of the Covenant … and if so, sure it concerneth the Ministers of this Church, to vindicate the Doctrine thereof, in the point of that respect and obedience 19 Airy,

Lauderdale Papers, II, app. B, pp. lxxii–lxxiii. Ibid., p. xxxix. 21 RPS, 1649/1/240. 22 RPS, 1662/5/15. For the patronage dispute in early modern Scotland see Laurence A. B. Whitley, A Great Grievance: Ecclesiastical Lay Patronage in Scotland until 1750 (Eugene, OR, 2013). 23 See Ian B. Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters 1660–1688 (London, 1976). 24 Andrew Honyman, The Seasonable Case of Submission to Church-Government as Now Re-Established by Law, Briefly Stated and Determined (Edinburgh, 1662), pp. 20, 21. 20

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MEMORY, IDENTIT Y AND IDEOLOGY IN RESTORATION SCOTLAND to the Civil Magistrate … which hath been stain’d by these corrupt principles and positions, and the undutifull practices, flowing from the same in these years past.25

The message from the episcopate was clear: the Covenants demonstrably led to anarchy. Memory of this apparent fact was invoked regularly to shut down political debate. When the king received a paper from the earl of Cassillis on behalf of an aristocratic delegation that complained about government policy in 1678, he remarked that such men were fools destined to repeat the mistakes of the past: that is, if rebellion were attempted in Scotland, it would ‘come into England, and that England should turne Common welth, Scotland wold be a province nixt summer after’.26 Somewhat ironically, after episcopacy had been restored in 1662, a petition from the synod of Glasgow questioned the royal supremacy in ecclesiastical affairs after the king’s prerogative had circumvented the Church in order to license a number of nonconforming clergymen.27 An outraged Charles complained that ‘this damned paper shewes Bishops and Episcopall people are as bad on this chapter as the most arrant Presbyterian or Remonstrator’.28 Comments such as these were indicative of the way in which memories of the ‘the ’49’ came to structure the negative stereotyping of Scottish presbyterians, who were characterised variously as hypocritical, rebellious, subversive, excessively argumentative and unreasonably zealous. The first dialogue of Gilbert Burnet’s treatise A Modest and Free Conference Betwixt a Conformist and a Non-conformist (1669) drew these disparate strands together in its condemnation of presbyterians: How did your Leaders complain of Bishops their medling in matters of State: and yet when the Scene turned, how absolutely did they govern? Church-men grew the advisers of all businesses, Juntoes held in their houses. And how impudently did the Church countermand the State Anno 1648? … And after the Tragical Catastrophe of the unlawfully called unlawful Engagement, they barred the Nobility from their priviledges as Peers.29

The fourth dialogue, meanwhile, painted ‘the rule of the saints’ as the culmination of presbyterian despotism: You know what work your Leaders occasioned, both to his Royal Grandfather, and Father, and to Himself. You had involved the Nations in blood; and not satisfied with this, after you got all the security you could demand, you engaged with his enemies in England, against him; you opposed the design of delivering his Father, Anno 1648 … and your tyranny (1649) against the Nobility, had justly irritated them against you.30 25

Ibid., p. 42. Original emphasis. Lauderdale Papers, III, p. 102. 27 See Neil McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters: The Later Covenanters in Scotland, c.1648– 1682’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Strathclyde, 2016), pp. 145–86. 28 Airy, Lauderdale Papers, II, p. 139. 29 Gilbert Burnet, A Modest and Free Conference Betwixt a Conformist and a Non-conformist, about the Present Distempers of Scotland (n.p., 1669), pp. 12–13. 30 Ibid., pp. 62–3. 26 Airy,

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Here again, memory of the recent past was interpreted to blacken reputations and justify the polity and policies of the Church. However, it was not just opportunists or the vengeful who remembered the period darkly. Former revolutionaries expressed their own regret now it appeared that God’s displeasure with the Stuart royal family had abated. In his diary Alexander Brodie, a laird from the north-east who became an important figure in the radical Covenanting regime, agonised over the past as he tried to make sense of the present. He also recorded several interesting conversations with Archbishop Sharp. On 11 June 1662 he confessed he would ‘not deffend 49 and mani things don befor’, although he later argued that ‘thes of 49 wer not great opposers against the king then the [Engager] Parliament befor’ and should not be ‘stigmatized mor then other parties that wer involvd in the common calamiti’.31 Concerned that the king’s commissioner was ‘unexoribl’ in his malice towards him and his friends – Middleton harboured a grudge against all presbyterians having done repentance in sackcloth for his role in the Engagement crisis – Brodie was well aware that leading officials were reshaping the past to prevent inquiry into their own questionable conduct during the 1640s.32 The ’49 and the Making of Presbyterian Dissent Thus far the chapter has focused on how those in office exploited the events surrounding 1649. While this was pragmatic on their part, it should not necessarily be viewed as unprincipled. Many believed that the divisions stoked by the Covenants were the root cause of the successful conquest of Scotland by Cromwell and his army. Therefore, those who ushered in the Restoration engaged in a process of patriotic self-fashioning as they sought to recover Scottish sovereignty. Conversely, as the earls of Crawford and Lauderdale and the Lord Sinclair stated in their correspondence, those radical Covenanters, and especially the Remonstrants, ‘we doe not looke on as Scotsmen’.33 However, their attempts to shape how this past was remembered did not go unchallenged. Those enthusiastic participants in the Covenanting cause and their kin concurred with the lawyer James Stewart of Goodtrees’s assertion that ‘the memory of these memorable wayes shall never be buried, but shall stand as exemplary monuments to succeeding generations’. Viewing the Restoration settlement as a sinful enterprise (in so far as it amounted to a case of collective apostasy and perjury) that had in fact served to ‘revive afresh the memory’ of the Covenants, it was considered vital that those who had given their lives to the 31

David Laing (ed.), The Diary of Alexander Brodie of Brodie MDCLII–MDCLXXX and of his son, James Brodie of Brodie MDCLXXX–MDCLXXXV (Aberdeen, 1863), pp. 257, 265. 32 Ibid., p. 256. 33 Airy, Lauderdale Papers, I, p. 8.

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cause ‘be in perpetual remembrance’.34 The extent and nature of dissent may have varied, but there was a general reluctance to dismiss what had once been widely acknowledged as the ‘cause of God’. The most infamous expression of grassroots resistance to the post-revolutionary regime was the Pentland Rising of 1666.35 Planning appears to have been directed by a shadowy ‘council’ in Edinburgh, but it began prematurely after a scuffle in the village of Dalry in Kirkcudbrightshire led to the capture of Sir James Turner, a former Engager who had been tasked with suppressing dissent in Galloway.36 At its peak, the rebels numbered around 1,000 men in arms. Their manuscript declaration demonstrated that the controversial accession of Charles II had not been forgotten. They reminded the king that he had signed both Covenants and promised to uphold presbyterian government and the ecclesiastical reforms proposed by the Westminster Assembly. As a result, not only were they obliged to uphold the same, and hence their appearance in arms, they were also ‘fully persuaded’ that the Solemn League and Covenant was being ‘misrepresented’ in public.37 To this the rebels attested by renewing it at an outdoor ceremony in Lanark on 26 November.38 In his printed vindication of the rising, Stewart, whose father had been commissary general and a considerable donor to the Covenanting regime, drew on popular opposition to the Engagement at Mauchline Moor in Ayrshire and the subsequent south-western insurrection in order to integrate the Pentland Rising into an active tradition. These events not only suited his ideological purpose but were identified because they ‘may be most recent in our memories’.39 For Stewart, the rebels were doing no more than acting in accordance with this illustrious past. Crucially, the popular opposition had been granted parliamentary approval on 16 January 1649, thus providing a basis in law for the idea that the right of resistance was not restricted to the political community.40 As the apex of the covenanted reformation, Stewart believed it ‘the best Parliament 34

James Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum, or The Peoples Right to Defend Themselves and their Covenanted Religion Vindicated (n.p., 1669), p. 31. The experiences of Scottish veterans after 1660 have yet to be studied, but see Chris R. Langley, ‘Caring for Soldiers, Veterans and Families in Scotland, 1638–1651’, History, 102 (2017), 5–23. 35 See C. S. Terry, The Pentland Rising and Rullion Green (Glasgow, 1905); Caroline Erskine, ‘Participants in the Pentland Rising (act. 1666)’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2009). 36 Andrew Crichton (ed.), Memoirs of the Rev. John Blackadder, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 1826), p. 127; for Turner see David Stevenson, ‘Turner, Sir James (b. c.1615, d. in or after 1689)’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford, 2004). 37 NLS, Wodrow Quarto, XXXII, fol. 123. 38 Crichton, Memoirs of Blackadder, p. 124; Thomas McCrie (ed.), Memoirs of William Veitch and George Brysson (Edinburgh, 1825), p. 28; Thomas Thomson (ed.), Memoirs of his Own Life and Times by Sir James Turner (Edinburgh, 1829), pp. 169, 179–80. 39 See James Dennistoun (ed.), The Coltness Collections, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1842), I, pp. 14–45; Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum, p. 63. 40 RPS, 1649/1/30. For this ideological shift see Neil McIntyre, ‘Representation and

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Scotland did see for many yeers’.41 The citation of acts and proclamations issued by the Scottish parliament and General Assembly in the 1640s would become a consistent feature of nonconforming presbyterians’ insistence that their cause was constitutionally grounded and their actions legitimate.42 Conversely, as he unpacked his case, Stewart argued that anyone who denounced the rising was, by extension, undermining the memory of ‘what was done at the beginning of the Reformation in the dayes of Mr Knox’.43 That is, he laid claim to the history of Scottish Protestantism and its charismatic leader, John Knox, whilst reimagining that history in the image of presbyterian dissent.44 The implication was, of course, that the current government flew in the face of Reformed orthodoxy. He also expressed disgust at the disregard for the memory of those who had contributed to the Covenanting cause across the previous two decades. His adversaries were accused of condemning ‘all those worthies who valiently ventured, and hazarded all for the truth, as Traitors and Rebels; and say, that such of them as lost their lives in that cause, died as fooles die, in rebellion, under the crime of treason’. This also undermined ‘all the Prayers, Teares, Sighs, Groanes, Fastings, Supplications, and other such like meanes, as were used in these exigences’.45 While this emotive passage can be viewed as a shrewd polemical strategy, it suggests that partial or nonconformity could be based as much on the impulse to preserve the memory of human suffering as on matters of ideology. Stewart’s wider argument, that the Scottish monarchy had been limited since its inception, also drew particular attention to events in and after 1649. He noted that Scottish kings had always entered into covenants with their people, although this remained unproven despite his copious references to George Buchanan’s Rerum Scoticarum Historia (1582). However, it was undeniable that Charles II had pledged himself to the National Covenant and Solemn League and Covenant several times, both before and during his coronation at Scone Abbey on 1 January 1651.46 Stewart recalled that they were taken ‘explicitly, and in plaine tearms, with all the solemnities Resistance in Restoration Scotland: The Political Thought of James Stewart of Goodtrees (1635–1713)’, Parliaments, Estates and Representation, 38 (2018), 161–74. 41 Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum, p. 63. 42 The willingness to deploy the symbolism and injunctions of authority in justifications of crowd action has been identified as one of the defining characteristics of early modern popular politics. See Andy Wood, The 1549 Rebellions and the Making of Early Modern England (Cambridge, 2007), p. 156. 43 Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum, p. 75. Original emphasis. 44 It is certainly questionable how far Knox would have endorsed an uprising that had not secured the leadership of inferior magistrates. For his political thought, see John Knox, On Rebellion, ed. Roger A. Mason (Cambridge, 1994). 45 Stewart, Jus Populi Vindicatum, p. 75. 46 RPS, A1650/5/120; James Haig (ed.), The Historical Works of Sir James Balfour, 4 vols (Edinburgh, 1824), IV, pp. 91–4; The Forme and Order of the Coronation of Charles the Second (Aberdeen, 1651).

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imaginable’ and sufficient enough ‘to ground all which we would inferre to justify the late action’.47 Indeed, the parchment of Charles’s subscription makes clear that his pledges were a great deal more explicit than those made by the rest of the population.48 Memory of the Church’s refusal to back the Engagement was also used polemically by the nonconforming clergy when they debated whether to accept or decline the licences issued by the Scottish Privy Council.49 In The History of the Indulgence (1678), from exile in Rotterdam, the ejected minister of Wamphray, John Brown, scolded those willing to conform by contrasting their presumed weakness with the fortitude of their forbears: ‘What (I say) will after ages say, when they compare this with the valiant and zealous deportment of our Predecessours, and of some, at least, of these same persons Anno 1648?’50 Just as memories of the past could be inspirational, so fear of how one might be remembered could be motivational. The case of the indulged minister of Irvine, George Hutcheson, provides an intriguing example of this: his apparent dithering before the Council was contrasted unfavourably with the outspoken Alexander Blair, who had been present at Mauchline Moor in 1648 and refused the Council’s directives in 1673.51 Indeed, the indulged ministers have sat somewhat awkwardly in the works of later presbyterian historians.52 Were they to be remembered for their refusal to abide the changes wrought by the Restoration, or forgotten on account of their subsequent flirtation with conformity? More generally, the controversies over Indulgence and Accommodation in the 1670s were rooted in memory. Indeed, the debates tended to regress into disputes over the recent past. In his attack on Robert Leighton, then bishop of Dunblane, the exiled minister Robert MacWard drew on the authority of collective memory. After Leighton had described the Covenants as ‘wretched snares’ in a series of letters, MacWard appealed to ‘the remembrances of thousands’ when asserting that the oaths and subscriptions were ‘attended with more sincere mournings, serious repentances, and solid conversions, then almost hath been in any dispensation of the Gospel since the dayes of the Apostles’.53 He also utilised the memory of Leighton’s own taking of the Covenants to tarnish his character: ‘the truth is, the Author hath wickedly broken the Covenant, and to disguise it, he would have the world believe, that all who remain faithful are caught in the briars, and detained against their wills’. 47 [Stewart],

Jus Populi Vindicatum, p. 139. I am grateful to Dr Jamie McDougall for this reference. 49 The licenses were issued in 1669 and 1672. They comprehended 42 and 88 ministers respectively. See McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters’, apps 1.1 and 1.2. 50 John Brown, The History of the Indulgence (n.p., 1678), p. 12. 51 Robert Wodrow, The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, from the Restauration to the Revolution, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1721–2), I, pp. 358–9. 52 See James K. Hewison, The Covenanters, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1913). 53 Robert MacWard, The Case of the Accommodation (n.p., 1671), p. 44. 48

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By his apparent track record of ‘lukewarm indifferency’ the bishop was not to be trusted in the ensuing negotiations, which were broken off in January 1671.54 Nearly two decades after the Restoration settlement the contest over memory between upholders of the Covenants and the Restoration regime continued. It was on 30 May 1679 – the anniversary of the Restoration and the king’s birthday – that a group of around fifty armed horsemen led by Robert Hamilton rode to Rutherglen to testify against defections from the covenanted reformation.55 In a carefully stage-managed event they extinguished the celebratory bonfires, affixed their testimony to the market cross and burned the printed editions of the egregious parliamentary acts in a belated response to the burning of the Covenants in 1661.56 This spectacle was an example of memory in action: memories of the past were being invoked in a ritualistic public performance in order to frame their demand for repentance from backsliding men and women. Only then would God’s wrath be averted from the covenanted nation. The events of 1649 resurfaced in the divisions that compromised the Bothwell Rising thirty years later. A reaction against an escalating campaign of political and religious repression, the rising was launched after a contingent of armed dissenters had defeated government forces at Drumclog in Lanarkshire. The battle of Drumclog had itself stemmed from an outdoor meeting (‘conventicle’) held nearby at Loudoun Hill.57 The hill lies midway between south-west Lanarkshire and north-east Ayrshire and was surrounded by parishes that had shown a strong affinity for the Covenants, such as Eaglesham, Strathaven, Lesmahagow, Muirkirk, Auchinleck, Mauchline and Galston. It was the same geological rendezvous point for anti-Engagers prior to the battle of Mauchline Moor.58 The recurrence of specific outdoor conventicle sites hints at the relationship between memory and the landscape in the Covenanting tradition. Other examples might include Torwood in Stirlingshire and Pitscottie Moor in

54

Ibid., p. 46. For Leighton, see David Allan, ‘Reconciliation and Retirement in the Restoration Scottish Church’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History 50 (1999), 251–78, and Crawford Gribben, ‘Robert Leighton, Edinburgh Theology and the Collapse of the Presbyterian Consensus’, in Enforcing Reformation in Ireland and Scotland, 1550–1700, ed. Elizabethanne Boran and Crawford Gribben (Aldershot, 2006), pp. 158–83. 55 James Russell, ‘Account of the Murder of Archbishop Sharp’ in Kirkton, Secret and True History, pp. 437–9. 56 Robert Wodrow, The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, from the Restauration to the Revolution, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1721–2), II, p. 44. 57 Ibid., II, p. 46. For outdoor meetings, see Neil McIntyre, ‘Presbyterian Conventicles in the Restoration Era’, RSCHS, 45 (2016), 66–81. 58 Baillie, L&J, III, p. 48. According to Blind Harry’s poem The Wallace (c.1477), Sir William ambushed an English force at Loudoun Hill in 1296. It was at the same location a decade later that Robert Bruce claimed his first major military victory. Intriguingly, The Life and Acts of the Most Famous and Valient Champion, Sir William Wallace and The Actes and Life of the Most Victorious Conqueror, Robert Bruce were both published by Gideon Lithgow at Edinburgh in 1648. For references to Loudoun Hill in these texts, see pp. 25–7, 141–50.

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Fife.59 Given the secrecy of their organisation and the oral transmission of their arrangements, it can be suggested tentatively that partial or nonconformists came to associate unofficial religious meetings with topographical landmarks in the local area. The continued importance of these sites to the tradition led to the placing of memorials and gravestones for those who lost their lives in the field. These memorials are, however, highly contentious in their manipulation of memory: they frame a specific reading of the Restoration, were laid several years after the event and are often at a physical distance from the event they are commemorating. This is no less true for the monument memorialising the death of Archbishop Sharp, which sits around half a mile from the site of his unplanned murder on Magus Moor. While camped in Lanarkshire the rebels separated into two factions, with debates in their council of war effectively a rerun of the disputes that had sundered the Covenanters earlier in the century. The protagonists were well aware of the parallels. One group picked up the mantle of the Remonstrants by insisting that the rebel force be nothing less than an unblemished army of the godly. They also demanded a declaration that testified against all defections from the Covenants since 1648 by appealing to A Solemn Acknowledgement of Publick Sins and breaches of the Covenant, which was issued by the Church in the wake of the Engager defeat.60 The importance and legacy of this document has gone unnoticed despite it acquiring canonical status among those presbyterian churches that derive their identity from the Scottish Covenanting tradition.61 In short, the document outlined the ‘sins of the kingdomes’ and was read before congregations prior to the renewal of the Solemn League and Covenant in December 1648. It subtly reframed the Covenanting cause as an exclusive venture, served as an ideological precursor to the infamous Causes of the Lord’s Wrath against Scotland (1653), and was later incorporated into the renewal of the Covenants at Lesmahagow in 1689.62 Notably, the year of publication for this renewal was described as ‘the 40th year of our public breach of covenant’, thereby giving a sense of how memories of the Covenanting past could inform contemporary chronology. Above all, the Solemn Acknowledgement was favoured by militant presbyterians because of its strictures against ‘malignancy’: a pejorative term for opponents of the Covenants popularised in the 1640s. It continued to influence the militant platform well into the eighteenth century.63 59

Peter Hume Brown (ed.), Registers of the Privy Council of Scotland, third series, 14 vols (Edinburgh, 1908–33), IV, p. 239. 60 A Solemn Acknowledgment of Publick Sins and breaches of the Covenant (Edinburgh, 1648). 61 Neil McIntyre and Jamie McDougall, ‘Reframing the Covenant: The Reception and Legacy of “A Solemn Acknowledgement” (1648) in Scotland and Beyond’ (forthcoming). 62 James Guthrie and Archibald Johnston of Wariston, The Causes of the Lords Wrath against Scotland (n.p., 1653); The National Covenant and Solemn League & Covenant, with the Acknowledgement of Sins and Engagement to Duties, as they were Renewed at Lesmahego (n.p., 1689). 63 See A True Coppie of the Declaration published at Sanquair (n.p., 1693); The National Covenant and Solemn League & Covenant, with the Acknowledgement of Sins and Engagement to Duties, as

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The ideological platform of militant dissenters in the 1680s, many of whom were of a younger generation and had not experienced the civil wars directly, viewed ‘the rule of the saints’ as a golden age of godly government. Like Stewart of Goodtrees, these dissenters framed 1649 as the successful culmination of the covenanted reformation and the perfecting of Church–state relations. While, for some, such appeals to this past were neither judicious nor desirable, on account of its propensity to divide presbyterians, this did not stop a vocal minority claiming it for themselves as self-appointed torch-bearers and interpreters of the Covenanting tradition. Having separated from their erstwhile presbyterian brethren, their Lanark Declaration (1682) was uncompromising in its stated aim of restoring the constitution of Church and state to the year 1649.64 In fact, their practice of making public declarations and testimonies was in imitation of the General Assembly during that period. However, their social dynamics and lack of clerical or aristocratic support served to confirm in elite minds that the Covenants had unleashed subversive forces that needed to be checked at any cost. Conclusion An appreciation of how the years 1648 to 1651 were remembered in Scotland can give us a fuller understanding of the political and religious landscape after 1660. As we have seen, the turmoil of that period influenced the constitutional settlement of 1661–2, the subsequent relationship between Church and state and the attitudes of those staffing the new regime. Whether principled, pragmatic or – more likely – a combination of the two, officials used the radicalism of Covenanting from 1649 as a smokescreen for the more complex and nuanced reality of political and religious allegiances in the 1640s. If the Covenanting movement was to be remembered at all, it was as a puritanical faction that had subverted the established order. This reshaping of the past was, however, contested by nonconforming presbyterians, whose ideas and practices were informed by memories of the same period. The final years of Covenanting hegemony provided them with a sense of continuity and legitimacy when challenging or defying government directives, but the ideological fissures that had compromised the covenanted reformation were duly replicated as a result. they were Renewed at Douglas (n.p., 1712); The Declaration, Protestation and Testimony of a Poor, Wasted, Desolate, Misrepresented and Reproached Remnant of the Suffering Anti-popish, Anti-Prelatick, Anti-Erastian, Anti-Sectarian, True Presbyterian Church of Scotland (n.p., 1715); The True Copy of the Declaration published at Auchensaugh nigh Dowglas (n.p., 1719); The True Copy of the Declaration and Testimony published at Mount-Herick near Crawfurd-John (n.p., 1741); Reformed Presbytery, Act, Declaration and Testimony for the whole of our covenanted Reformation (n.p., 1761). 64 James Renwick and Alexander Shields, An Informatory Vindication of a Poor, Wasted, Misrepresented Remnant of the Suffering, Anti-Popish, Anti-Prelatick, Anti-Erastian, Anti-Sectarian, true Presbyterian Church of Christ in Scotland (n.p., 1744), p. 96.

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Nevertheless, work remains to be done before we have a complete picture of how the Covenanting Revolution was remembered collectively. While this chapter has highlighted something of the texture of seventeenth-century memories regarding the Covenants, there is scope for closer scrutiny of the memories of those lower down the social ladder. Anecdotal evidence of popular memory does exist, but it is beyond the scope of this study to undertake a systematic assessment. For now, it can be concluded that the era of ‘the ’49’ was revered by presbyterians on either side of the Atlantic Ocean well into the eighteenth century.65 It continued to represent an ideological touchstone and reinforced a sense of righteousness among the presbyterian remnant in North America. By that time, however, memory of ‘our renowned Ancestors’ in the Restoration period had superseded the era in which the Covenants were originally sworn and subscribed.66

65 See

the contributions to Joseph S. Moore and Jane G. V. McGaughey (eds), ‘Holy Heritage: Covenanters in the Atlantic World’, Journal of Transatlantic Studies, 11 (2013), 123–230. 66 Renewal of the Covenants, National and Solemn League; A Confession of Sins, and Engagement to Duties; and a Testimony; As they were Carried on at Middle Octarara in Pensylvania, November 11. 1743 (n.p., 1748), p. xix.

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10 The Legacy of the Covenants and the Shaping of the Restoration State Allan Kennedy In preparation for an upcoming meeting of the Scottish parliament, the first since his return to British shores, in December 1660 Charles II instructed his parliamentary commissioner, John Middleton, 1st earl of Middleton, to ‘indeavor that our Antient Royall prerogative be asserted’, ‘just Liberties of our people [be] setled as they enjoyed them under our Royall ancestors’.1 This sense that Charles II’s government represented a conscious turning back of the clock to the constitutional and political conditions prevailing before the Covenanting revolution pervaded the political culture of late seventeenth-century Scotland. Historians, however, have seldom been taken in by such protestations of official amnesia, recognising instead that the Restoration state was very far from being a perfect resurrection of its ante bellum forerunner. Simultaneously, continuities with the 1640s can also be traced; as Gordon Donaldson influentially put it as long ago as 1965, the Covenanting revolution in some ways ‘found its fulfilment rather than its negation under Charles II’.2 Building upon such thinking, this chapter explores how the experience of the Covenanting period influenced political developments during the Restoration. It will begin by surveying the constitutional settlement of the early 1660s, considering the ways in which it represented both a reaction against the Covenanting state and a continuation of it. The chapter will then move on to explore the Covenants’ role in helping map out a Restoration-era political philosophy that emphasised stringent repression of seditious sentiment under the aegis of a strong monarchy. Finally, the chapter will trace the influence of these two factors in shaping the institutions and political culture of the Restoration, focusing in turn on Church–state relations, government militarism, the role of parliament and the rise of what might be termed the ‘impersonal’ state.

1 2

Osmund Airy (ed.), The Lauderdale Papers, 3 vols (London, 1884–5), I, p. 39. Gordon Donaldson, Scotland: James V to James VII (Edinburgh, 1965), p. 358.

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Reaction and Retention The Restoration settlement, as it emerged during the course of Charles II’s first parliament between 1661 and 1663, was unambiguously conservative in ethos.3 A model was provided by parliament itself, not only because elections to it were carefully managed to ensure a royalist majority, but also because its very structure was based on the pre-1638 legislature rather than its more empowered Covenanting successor. Symbolic of this change was the resurrection of the Lords of the Articles, the notorious steering committee through which James VI and Charles I had sought to control the legislative agenda. Under the guidance of Middleton, parliament proved enthusiastically compliant to royal ambitions and quickly unpicked all the key elements of the Covenanting constitution, culminating in the sweeping Act Recissory of March 1661, which annulled all legislation passed since 1633. A similar turning back of the clock was achieved in almost all other areas of public life. The royal burghs received blanket ratification of their charters in March, signalling their return to ante bellum status. The Court of Session, the supreme civil court abolished by Oliver Cromwell, was restored in April, at the same time as the tangled structures of criminal justice, including both public jurisdictions such as sheriffships and the private heritable jurisdictions enjoyed by landholders, likewise returned. Even the most daunting of the Covenanters’ legacies eventually had to submit to conservative remodelling when, in May 1662, parliament consented to Church government through full diocesan episcopacy of the pre-1638 variety, thereby sweeping away the presbyterian structures that had characterised the Covenanting state.4 It would, however, be a mistake to assume that the Restoration settlement was unthinkingly reactionary. In some important respects, the Covenanting state directly informed its successor. This can be traced in parliament, which, despite its conservatism, retained some of the Covenanters’ reforms. Not least, it met more frequently; while Charles I had held only one session of parliament prior to the Covenanting revolution, Charles II and James VII convened a meeting of the Estates, on average, once every two years. Procedurally, too, legacies from the Covenanters can be traced. The doubling of the shire vote, which strengthened the voice of the gentry by giving each of the two representatives from individual sheriffdoms a personal rather than a shared vote, was 3 Ronald A. Lee, ‘Government and Politics in Scotland 1661–1681’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Glasgow, 1995), pp. 13–39; John R. Young, The Scottish Parliament 1639–1661: A Political and Constitutional Analysis (Edinburgh, 1996), pp. 309–20; Clare Jackson, Restoration Scotland, 1660–1690: Royalist Politics, Religion and Ideas (Woodbridge, 2003), pp. 48–59; Gillian H. MacIntosh, The Scottish Parliament under Charles II (Edinburgh, 2007), pp. 15–28; Maurice Lee, ‘Dearest Brother’: Lauderdale, Tweeddale and Scottish Politics, 1660–1674 (Edinburgh, 2010), pp. 6–11; Gillian H. MacIntosh, ‘“Royal Supremacy Restored”? Scottish Parliamentary Independence in the Restoration Era, 1660–1688’, Parliaments, Estates and Representation, 32 (2014), 151–4. 4 RPS, 1661/1/13, 1661/1/158, 1661/1/191, 1661/1/235, 1662/5/9.

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retained, even while its intended corollary, the liquidation of the clerical estate, was not. The appointment of specialist committees to scrutinise individual pieces of legislation or consider specific issues also continued, albeit on a much more restricted scale. The general assumption, characteristic of the 1640s but not earlier decades, that parliament should be a forum for free and open debate persisted after 1660, even in the face of repeated royal efforts to curtail this liberty.5 While, therefore, it did not retain the expansive powers and bureaucracy of its Covenanting predecessor, the Restoration parliament was equally no straightforward throwback to the early seventeenth century. Instead, institutional conservatism was tempered by preserving some of the key procedural innovations of the 1640s. A more nebulous legacy from the Covenanting era was the increasing utilisation of oath-taking as a means of securing obedience. The Covenants themselves, while from one perspective a tool for articulating and entrenching popular resistance to Charles I, had also been a test of political acceptability and fitness for office.6 The Restoration regime co-opted this idea.7 One of its first acts was to impose a new oath of allegiance recognising Charles II’s sovereignty and prerogatives. Shortly thereafter, another oath was imposed abjuring the Covenants. Both of these oaths became prerequisites for holding public office and, with a few exceptions, they were uniformly accepted.8 The Test Act of 1681 was rather more contentious.9 Formulated in response to a period of political turmoil across the British Isles, in particular efforts in England to disinherit Charles II’s Catholic brother and heir-presumptive James, duke of York, the Test sought to protect both Protestantism and James’ succession. However, it bound its swearers to uphold the Protestant religion as established by law, including royal supremacy, which made many people uneasy given the likelihood of a Catholic king. Equally, the Test defined Protestantism with reference to the 1567 Confession of Faith, which had acknowledged rights of lawful resistance and declared Christ to be head of the Church – hardly the stuff of royal supremacy. The Test’s manifest contradictions elicited much resistance and sparked a purge of office-holders, with the most high-profile victim being Archibald Campbell, 9th earl of Argyll, whose refusal to take the Test without qualification led ultimately to his conviction for treason.10 5

MacIntosh, “Royal Supremacy Restored?”, 155–7; Gillian H. MacIntosh and Ronald J. Tanner, ‘Balancing Acts: The Crown and Parliament’, in The History of the Scottish Parliament: Parliament in Context, 1235–1707, ed. Keith M. Brown and Alan R. MacDonald (Edinburgh, 2010), pp. 24–6. 6 David Stevenson, The Scottish Revolution, 1637–1644, rev. edn (Edinburgh, 2003), pp. 85–6, 289–90. 7 Alasdair Raffe, ‘Scottish State Oaths and the Revolution of 1688–1690’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 180–3. 8 RPS, 1661/1/88, 1662/5/70; Airy, Lauderdale Papers, I, p. 63. 9 RPS, 1681/7/29. 10 Alastair Mann, James VII: Duke and King of Scots, 1633–1701 (Edinburgh, 2014), pp. 144–5.

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Oath-taking was not restricted to universal political tests, however. It became a favoured weapon deployed against the regime’s highest-profile opponents: dissenting presbyterians. Thus, in 1670, nonconformists were required to sign an oath declaring that they would not ‘upon any pretext or collour, ryse in armes against the king’s majestie’ and would not ‘assist nor countenance any who shall rise in armes’.11 Four years later leading landlords were asked to swear an oath to ensure that none of their dependents attended conventicles, something that they would achieve, of course, by administering further oaths to that effect.12 The placing of this (much-resented) requirement upon local luminaries was directly inspired by government policy towards the Highlands, where oath-taking had been a feature since 1661. Chiefs and leading landlords were repeatedly asked to provide bonds of caution, although the model here came as much from James VI, who had introduced bonding of this kind in 1587, as from Covenanting practice.13 The proliferation of state oaths after 1660 was a direct continuation of Covenanting tradition, but it also reflected the fundamental insecurity of the Restoration regime. Forcing subjects to swear oaths was designed both to cement the loyalty of faithful individuals and to smoke out those ill-inclined towards the regime. In this way, too, their presence reflected the influence of the Covenanting era on Restoration developments. But the most obvious point of continuity between the Covenanting and Restoration states surrounded the government’s fiscal capacity. Thanks largely to the burdens of near-constant warfare, revenue-raising was more intense during the 1640s than at any previous point in Scottish history. Much of the Covenanters’ financial base came from subsidies paid by the English parliament, while other ad hoc sources, such as confiscation of royalist land, were also important. However, the Covenanters additionally benefited from a much higher tax yield, estimated in one recent study to represent double the revenue extracted by the regimes of James VI and Charles I over similar timescales.14 This was achieved with the aid of significant fiscal innovation, and many of the Covenanters’ reforms were quietly retained at the Restoration. Most obviously, two of the main taxes of the 1640s survived. Customs levied on foreign imports, pioneered in 1644, was granted to Charles II for life in 1661 with the aim of raising £480,000 annually. Similarly, the assessment, a land tax introduced in 1645 and based on more efficient and up-to-date land valuations, was reintroduced as a one-off levy in 1660, and then again in 1667, although admittedly only after attempts to revert to ante bellum land taxes had

11

RPS, 1670/7/14. RPCS, IV, pp. 197–200. 13 Allan Kennedy, Governing Gaeldom: The Scottish Highlands and the Restoration State, 1660–1688 (Leiden, 2014), pp. 187–93; RPS, 1587/7/70. 14 Laura A. M. Stewart, ‘Fiscal Revolution and State Formation in Mid-Seventeenth-Century Scotland’, Historical Research, 84 (2011), 460. 12

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proved unsuccessful.15 It was designed to raise a nominal £864,000 per year and, although theoretically levied only for short periods, became a de facto permanent tax for much of the 1670s and 1680s.16 The influence of Covenanting reforms was also felt in the means of these taxes’ collection. The Covenanters’ efforts to strengthen central supervision through its parliamentary committees found echoes in the energetic Treasury Commission (1667–71), which, as well as conducting a comprehensive audit of income and spending, appointed a single cashkeeper, William Sharp, into whose hands all monies were to be paid.17 Similarly, the Covenanters’ efforts to extend the tax-collecting bureaucracy into the localities foreshadowed the Restoration-era practice of appointing shire-level committees to oversee collection of both the excise and the cess, committees that would, in turn, pass revenue on to a centrally appointed collector.18 None of this should be pushed too far; revenue collection remained generally haphazard and ad hoc, and tax-farming was also used extensively. Nonetheless, there were clear efforts to rationalise and modernise the system, and in this sense the finances of Restoration Scotland owed considerably more to the heritage of the 1640s than to Charles I and his predecessors. Re-imagining the State Very early in its life Charles II’s government, and its supporters in print, developed an understanding of both the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant as flatly illegal.19 Indeed, this was built into the fabric of the regime through the oath of allegiance required from all office-holders after 1662, which included a specific repudiation of both documents.20 The Covenants’ unlawfulness was asserted with reference to a number of broad arguments, most of them collated by Gilbert Burnet in his Vindication of the Authority, Constitution, and Laws of the Church and State of Scotland, published in 1673. Firstly, the Covenants, Burnet argued, were ‘made on purpose to exclude Episcopacy’, but since rule by bishops had been legitimately founded in law prior to 1638 ‘it is to be submitted to, notwithstanding the Oath made against it’. Secondly, the Covenants presumed to involve subjects in matters, principally Church government, that were properly within the prerogative of the Crown. 15

Lee, ‘Government and Politics’, pp. 200–2. David Stevenson, ‘The Financing of the Cause of the Covenants, 1638–51’, SHR, 51 (1972), 103–7; NRS, PA11/12, fols 64r–67r; RPS, 1661/1/160, 1667/1/10. 17 Lee, ‘Politics and Government’, pp. 120–1; Athol Murray, ‘The Scottish Treasury, 1667–1708’, SHR, 45 (1966), 98. 18 RPS, 1661/1/160, 1667/1/10. 19 Alasdair Raffe, The Culture of Controversy: Religious Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012), pp. 68–76. 20 RPS, 1662/5/70. 16

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Thirdly, and following on from these two points, the Covenants represented an illegal check on subjects’ rightful duties of obedience to civil authority, a duty which ‘no private oath of theirs can make void’. Finally, Burnet challenged the free and voluntary nature of the Covenants. The common people, he thought, had been hoodwinked by zealous ministers into taking an oath they did not understand, while many of the better sort had taken the Covenants only under threat of being declared ‘Enemies to God, the King and the Country’ and having ‘their persons … seized on, and their goods confiscated’. This was no elective covenant with God; it was tool of oppression and tyranny.21 In sum, the arguments presented by Burnet (and others) sought to establish that both the National Covenant and the Solemn League and Covenant had been illegal by definition. That meant, of course, that they imposed no obligations on Restoration-era Scots, but it also implied that everything done in their names during the 1640s, including the construction of the revolutionary state, was ipso facto unlawful. But Restoration revisionism did not stop at establishing the mere technical illegitimacy of the Covenants. Instead, the act of Covenanting came to be painted as inherently, indeed consciously seditious. This reinterpretation was made plain in an anonymous pamphlet, printed in London in 1663, outlining the alleged crimes of Archibald Johnston of Wariston, in which it was confidently stated that he and other radical Covenanters had conspired to sabotage the Scottish war effort against Cromwell in 1650–1. They had even, it was claimed, sought to deliver Charles II ‘as they had done his Blessed Father, into the hands of the English, for another rounder sum of money, which Treason they would have vailed still by the Covenant, to their interpretation whereof the King must be submitted’.22 In this narrative, the Covenants are stripped of all honourable intent and become nothing more than devious cloaks for treason. Such thinking endured throughout the Restoration, underlying the claim of William Douglas, 1st duke of Queensberry, while serving as James VII’s commissioner to parliament in 1685, that the National Covenant served as the ‘Idol’ of radical presbyterian sects, encouraging them to ‘declare themselves no longer His Majesties Subjects’ and ‘to forefeit all of us who have the honour to serve him in any considerable station’.23 The Covenants, then, were not only illegal; they were also fundamentally incompatible with loyal principles. The equation of Covenanting with sedition fed into a wider intellectual climate tending to paint any resistance to or flouting of royal authority as a matter of public security. The robust opposition to the policies of Charles II’s secretary of state, John Maitland, duke of Lauderdale, which began to emerge 21

Gilbert Burnet, A Vindication of the Authority, Constitution, and Laws of the Church and State of Scotland (Glasgow, 1673), pp. 249, 261–3. 22 Anon., The Crimes and Treasons of Archibald Johnston, Laird Wariston (London, 1663), p. 7. 23 His Majesties Gracious Letter to the Parliament of Scotland with the speeches of the Lord High Commissioner and the Lord High Chancellor (Edinburgh, 1685), pp. 6–7.

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in parliament in the 1670s, was bluntly condemned by the king himself as a barefaced attack on his authority.24 Similarly, little leeway was given to those who resisted the episcopalian Church settlement; as Lauderdale put it darkly in 1661, ‘any opposition will be construed to have a worse design at bottom’ – a stance that, of course, became self-fulfilling when stringent repression of presbyterian dissenters provoked armed rebellion in 1666 and again in 1679.25 Highlanders, too, fell foul of this sensitivity to challenge. Their alleged penchant for banditry was not simply a law and order issue, but a ‘Reproach to the Government’, while their insistence on organising themselves into clans necessarily compromised their loyalty because it made them ‘blindly follow their Masters commands’.26 Thus, chiming with the new conceptualisation of the Covenants as inherently disloyal, Restoration-era authorities tended to assume that any and all examples of resistance to government authority were potentially seditious and capable of undermining political stability. Perhaps not surprisingly, given its paranoid attitude towards opposition, Restoration political culture often placed a particular premium on the maintenance of order. Here, the spectre of the mid-century troubles loomed large. In a celebratory sermon delivered at Aberdeen in June 1660, Alexander Scroggie, one of the famous Aberdeen Doctors who had rejected the National Covenant twenty years previously, painted a nightmarish picture of Scotland’s sufferings under the Covenanters and the Commonwealth, emphasising a weak and schismatic Church, rampant violence and disorder, disruption of social structures, tyrannical government and widespread impoverishment. Against this backdrop, the returning monarchy was to be heartily welcomed as a bulwark of order.27 Such thinking was increasingly used to justify dubious or repressive activities – such as state secrecy, taxation without consent, curtailment of private property rights or summary justice – on the grounds that, whatever injuries resulted from an over-zealous government, they were preferable to anarchy. As the Lord Advocate, George Mackenzie of Rosehaugh, put it in memorandum to Charles II in 1679, ‘two or three only can suffer by the Latitude allowd to yow, wheras many thousands may suffer by restricting yow’.28 The Restoration regime could therefore draw upon a body of contemporary political thinking that placed greater emphasis on the preservation of civil order than on locating precise boundaries to royal power. 24 Airy, Lauderdale Papers, III, 149–50. On the details of the opposition, see MacIntosh, Scottish Parliament, chs 5–6. 25 Quoted in Julia Buckroyd, Church and State in Scotland, 1660–1681 (Edinburgh, 1980), p. 42. 26 George Mackenzie, A Vindication of His Majesties Government, & iudicatures, in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1683), p. 9; Anon., Some Reasons why Archibald Campbell Sometime Lord Lorne, Ought not to be Restored to the Honour and Estate of his Late Father Archibald sometime Marquess of Argyly (1661), pp. 1–2. 27 Alexander Scroggie, Mirabilia dei, or, Britannia gaudio exultans (Edinburgh, 1660), p. 11. 28 Quoted in Jackson, Restoration Scotland, p. 135.

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This intense focus on maintaining order was characteristic of much seventeenth-century political philosophy throughout Europe and provided crucial underpinning for theories of absolute monarchy.29 The same prescription emerged in Restoration Scotland, with Rosehaugh being its most eloquent proponent.30 Setting out his ideas extensively in his Jus Regium of 1684, Rosehaugh argued that all monarchies should properly be regarded as absolute in the absence of demonstrable constitutional limitations. Scotland, he contended, had no such limitations, and therefore its king was ‘a Soveraign Monarch, Prince, Judge and Governour, over all Persons, Estates and Causes, both Spiritual and Temporal’, resistance to whom was ‘expresly forbid by the Laws of God and Nature’.31 This was not only legally incontrovertible but also advantageous, since only a strong, absolute monarch, free from ‘the impetuous caprices of the Multitude’ and ‘the incorrigible Factiousness of Nobility’, could offer secure and orderly government.32 Even those lacking Rosehaugh’s enthusiastic royalism could find common ground over the need for strong civil power. Robert Leighton, the moderate bishop of Dunkeld and later archbishop of Glasgow, came at the issue from a theological perspective in his unpublished treatise The Rule of Conscience. Here he cautioned against excessive reverence for conscientious scruples; conscience, Leighton maintained, was informed by God’s grace, but it was rooted in human reason and was not, therefore, to be treated as a divine voice. The relevance of these comments to followers of the Covenants was clear, and furthermore, they led Leighton to propose a doctrine of ‘passive obedience’, signifying the total immunity of civil magistrates from legitimate challenge: If the powers on earth command any thing contrary to the express command of God, we are no ways to give alike obedience, for it is better to obey God than man … But in noways are we to resist. Resistance is absolutely forbidden, and that upon pain of condemnation, and thus even when the powers were tyrannical in passing many oppressive acts.33

Of course, this royalist programme of expansive royal authority did not go unchallenged, and was opposed by a lively body of contractual thinking

29

J. P. Sommerville, ‘Absolutism and Royalism’, in The Cambridge History of Political Thought 1450–1700, ed. J. H. Burns (Cambridge, 1991), pp. 350–1. 30 Karin Bowie, ‘“A Legal Limited Monarchy”: Scottish Constitutionalism in the Union of the Crowns, 1603–1707’, Journal of Scottish Historical Studies, 35 (2015), 144–5; Jackson, Restoration Scotland, pp. 53–9. 31 George Mackenzie, Jus Regium: Or, The Just and Solid Foundations of Monarchy in General; And more especially of the Monarchy of Scotland (London, 1684), pp. 34–5, 113. 32 Ibid., p. 42. 33 Robert Leighton, ‘The Rule of Conscience’, in The Party-Coloured Mind: Prose Relating to the Conflict of Church and State in Seventeenth Century Scotland, ed. David Reid (Edinburgh, 1892), p. 157.

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about monarchy.34 Such ideas, however, remained very much on the margins. The dominant conception of the state in Restoration Scotland, informed by the mid-century troubles, emphasised powerful monarchy and limited freedom. Rebuilding the State The emergence of an intellectual climate that was both staunchly anti-Covenanting and amenable to authoritarian monarchical rule had profound implications for the shape of the Restoration state. This was most obviously the case in the ecclesiastical sphere, specifically over the issue of Church government, which had already been subject to recurrent tension for a century. The compromise worked out under James VI, whereby Scotland had an essentially presbyterian Church but with a hierarchy of bishops draped over the top, had of course been abolished by the Covenanters. Despite initial hopes in some quarters that the Restoration regime might retain at least some of this Covenanting framework, Charles II’s personal preference for rule by bishops helped ensure that their return was central to the Church settlement imposed in 1662.35 Yet, while the Restoration Kirk’s mixture of a presbyterian-style hierarchy of church courts and full diocesan episcopacy was familiar, the political context was quite distinct. The covenanted Kirk had wielded significant secular influence, especially between 1648 and 1650, when a radical grouping sometimes known as the ‘Kirk Party’ dominated Scottish governance and imposed a virtual theocracy.36 The Restoration monarchy was determined not to repeat this experience, and as a result tight governmental control over the Church was built into the Restoration state.37 The re-establishment of episcopacy in 1662 was accompanied by an assertion that Charles II’s ‘royall prerogative’ including ‘supremacie in causes ecclesiasticall’.38 Any lingering doubts as to the extent of the monarchy’s claimed competence over religious affairs were dispelled by the Act of Supremacy, passed in 1669, which declared sweepingly that Charles had ‘supream authority and supremacie over all persons and in all causes ecclesiasticall within this kingdom’, extending to ‘the ordering and disposall of the externall government and policie of the church’.39 If the Restoration Kirk was 34 Jackson,

Restoration Scotland, pp. 64–72; Caroline Erskine, ‘The Political Thought of the Restoration Covenanters’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 155–72; Bowie, ‘Scottish Constitutionalism’, pp. 145–6. 35 Buckroyd, Church and State, pp. 22–40; RPS, 1662/5/9. 36 Walter Makey, The Church of the Covenant 1637–1651: Revolution and Social Change in Scotland (Edinburgh, 1979), pp. 75–81. 37 Jackson, Restoration Scotland, pp. 114–20. 38 RPS, 1662/5/9. 39 RPS, 1669/10/13.

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more firmly Erastian than anything that had gone before, it was also much less accommodating of dissent.40 The general suspicion that nonconformity represented political danger was clearly articulated by parliament in 1662: His majestie, considering that under the pretext of religious exercises, diverse unlawfull meitings and conventicles (the nurseries of sedition) have been keept in private families, hath thought fit… heirby [to] discharge all private meitings or conventicles in houses which, under the pretence of or for religious exercises, may tend to the prejudice of the publict worship of God in the churches, or to the alienating the people from their lawfull pastors, and that duetie and obedience they ow to church and state.41

Such thinking underpinned the evolution of the Restoration’s penal laws.42 Often these aimed to prevent presbyterian ministers from holding parish charges; this was certainly the aim of the Act of Presentation and Collation of 1662, which, in ejecting ministers unable to secure lay presentation to their parishes, led to the loss of perhaps one-third of the Scottish ministry. The government also sought to stamp out illegal preaching and lay nonconformity by imposing a range of penalties, with the most notorious attempt being the ‘Clanking Act’ of 1670, which made preaching at illegal prayer meetings, known as ‘conventicles’, punishable by death, and mandated heavy fines for anyone attending them.43 The zeal with which the state enforced these laws varied, being interspersed with efforts at accommodation with moderate presbyterians, particularly through Indulgences issued in 1669, 1672 and 1679.44 Moreover, during the brief reign of James VII, whose desire for Catholic emancipation led him to declare near-complete religious toleration in 1687, nonconformists enjoyed a real degree of freedom.45 Nonetheless, these brief interludes did not fundamentally alter the overall religious position of the Restoration state, which was both unmistakably Erastian and strongly hostile towards dissidence. Authoritarian impulses spurred by collective rejection of the Covenanting past were also instrumental in providing the Restoration regime with its strongly militarised character. Of course, the Covenanting regime itself had been a highly martial one, whose nationwide system of military recruitment saw, at its height, about 3 per cent of the Scottish population under arms.46 Charles II and James VII fostered a comparable, though less extensive, state of permanent military preparedness. The core mechanism was a standing army, a peace-time first in Scotland. It was initially very small, perhaps 900 men, but successive expansions 40 Raffe,

Culture of Controversy, pp. 52–4. RPS, 1662/5/21. 42 Ian B. Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters 1660–88 (London, 1976). 43 RPS, 1662/5/15; 1670/7/11. 44 Buckroyd, Church and State. 45 Jeffrey Stephen, Defending the Revolution: The Church of Scotland 1689–1716 (Farnham, 2013), pp. 1–17. 46 Edward M. Furgol, ‘Scotland turned Sweden: Scottish Covenanters and the Military Revolution, 1638–1651’, in The Scottish National Covenant in its British Context, ed. John Morrill (Edinburgh, 1990), pp. 138–41. 41

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brought it up to about 3,000 by the 1680s.47 A standing army brought another new innovation – permanent military garrisons, of which there were four by the 1670s, at Edinburgh Castle, Stirling Castle, Dumbarton Castle and the Bass Rock, this latter also functioning as a state prison.48 The modest military muscle provided by the standing army was from the later 1660s augmented by the creation of the militia. Raised at private expense on a shire-by-shire basis, this force was first mooted in 1663, when a size of 20,000 foot and 2,000 horse was outlined. No militia was actually raised until 1668, and even thereafter it never reached its full potential size, largely because certain shires – most notably in the south-west and the Highlands – tended to be deemed too unreliable to arm. Nonetheless, the militia provided the lion’s share of the government’s military capacity for the remainder of the Restoration.49 Yet there was a key difference between the militarism of the 1640s and that of the 1660s and beyond. Under the Covenanters, Scotland had been mustered largely for war. During the mostly conflict-free Restoration, by contrast, militarism was explicitly geared towards domestic security. As the 1663 militia act put it: forces are to be in readinesse, as they shall be called for by his majestie, to march to any parte of his dominions of Scotland, England or Ireland for suppressing of any forraigne invasion, intestine trouble or insurrection, or for any other service whairin his majesties’ honour, authority or greatness may be concerned.50

Despite the provocative insinuation that Scottish forces might be used against dissidents in England and Ireland, the main target of military repression was in fact the Covenanters themselves. Sometimes this took the form of surgical campaigns against specific locales or persons, as in 1663, when rioting in the Kirkcudbright area, precipitated by efforts to impose government-friendly ministers, was met with an order for the deployment of up to 300 troops, although in the event no more than 160 seem to have made their way to the region.51 Increasingly, however, military repression began to look like a general policy towards the Covenanting south-west, and this tendency reached its infamous zenith with the deployment in 1678 of the ‘Highland Host’. This 8,000-strong force, principally composed of clan levies from the southern and eastern fringe of the Highlands, fortified with secondments from the militia and regular army, was dispatched to the south-western shires in February with a brief to disarm all opposition, enforce the laws and generally crush dissent. The Host left after only 47

Lee, ‘Government and Politics’, pp. 153–4. NRS, E26/11, fols 220–2. 49 RPS, 1663/6/64; RPCS, II, pp. 438–40; Lee, ‘Government and Politics’, pp. 37–8, 171–3; Lee, ‘Dearest Brother’, pp. 127–9, 184–6; Bruce P. Lenman, ‘Militia, Fencible Men, and Home Defence, 1660–1797’, in Scotland and War AD79–1918, ed. Norman MacDougall (Edinburgh, 1991), pp. 170–92. 50 RPS, 1663/6/64. 51 RPCS, I, 257–9, 446–7. 48

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a few months, having done nothing to quell presbyterian disaffection.52 Despite the abject failure of the Highland Host, military repression continued into the 1680s. Indeed, by the middle of that decade armed occupation, coupled with frequent summary justice enthusiastically deployed by the likes of John Graham of Claverhouse, had become so stringent that this period entered presbyterian martyrology as the ‘Killing Time’.53 The military resources of the Restoration state were also used to assist in revenue collection. Legislative underpinning was provided by the Scottish parliament, which, in granting the excise tax in perpetuity in 1661, simultaneously authorised the use of troops to ‘quarter upon the deficients or imprisson thair persones till payment be made’.54 Stationing troops upon the lands of tax delinquents in this way was doubly advantageous from the government’s perspective, since it would (hopefully) enhance the tax-yield, while in the meantime shifting the cost of maintaining soldiers onto private shoulders. Action was not long in coming; troops were quartered on tax deficients in Glasgow in 1661 and in Argyll, Inverness-shire, Sutherland, Stirlingshire and Renfrewshire (and probably many other locations as well) throughout 1662.55 The policy persisted throughout the Restoration, being targeted largely at non-payers of the excise and the cess and becoming particularly ubiquitous following the formation of the militia in 1668–9, for whom it became something of a bread-and-butter activity. Free quarter was at least potentially effective as a revenue-raising tool, but it was also deeply unpopular, occasionally eliciting armed resistance, most notoriously in Lochaber, where a group of several hundred Highlanders attacked a party of soldiers in 1682.56 More importantly, free quarter emerged as a bete noire for the government’s opponents, characterised as an unwarranted invasion of private property rights and therefore a symbol of the regime’s arbitrary and tyrannical nature.57 Such criticisms, however, were to little avail. The government insisted upon both the legality and necessity of free quarter, and it survived to become one of the grounds upon which the eventual overthrow of James VII was justified in the ‘Claim of Right’ adopted by parliament in 1689.58 Restoration mania for militaristic solutions was equally apparent in the Highlands. Here, the ongoing problem – or, at least, perceived problem – of banditry and cattle-theft spawned a range of policies betraying significant strategic uncertainty, but with reliance on force remaining prominent throughout. 52 RPCS, V, pp. 300–7; Buckroyd, Church and State, pp. 124–30; Cowan, Scottish Covenanters, pp. 90–1. 53 Cowan, Scottish Covenanters, pp. 120–33; Mann, James VII, pp. 149–55. 54 RPS, 1661/1/160. 55 Lee, ‘Government and Politics’, p. 155; RPCS, I, pp. 128, 178–9, 213–14, 310, 318–19, 500. 56 J. Drummond, Memoirs of Sir Ewen Cameron of Locheill, ed. J. Macknight (Edinburgh, 1842), pp. 205–7. 57 Jackson, Restoration Scotland, pp. 142–4. 58 RPS, 1689/3/108; Mann, James VII, p. 210.

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Between 1667 and 1678 a succession of de facto lieutenants was appointed with authority to hunt down and punish Highland thieves, and these commissioners were each accorded the right to raise an ‘independent company’ – a private militia probably about 100 strong – to assist in their work. The independent companies were replaced in late 1678 with two ‘Highland companies’, divisions of the regular army, each consisting of 150 men plus officers, charged with maintaining order throughout Gaeldom. When, in 1682, the government replaced the Highland companies with a new judicial commission, militaristic policies persisted in the form of a fresh 150-strong company seconded from the army for the commissioners’ discretionary use. Alongside all these policy shifts, the government made use of other militaristic approaches, most notably in creating or supporting armed watches to guard vulnerable spots throughout the region, or through repeated efforts to establish a permanent garrison of several hundred soldiers at the southern tip of the Great Glen – a dream that would be fulfilled only with the establishment of Fort William by William II in 1691.59 Militarism in the Highlands had little to do with the Covenants directly; after all, the Gaidhealtachd’s relationship with them had been ambiguous at best, and presbyterian dissent was an obviously minority concern in the region throughout the Restoration.60 Nevertheless, the strongly militarised nature of Highland policy can be traced back to the same Covenant-inspired anxieties about the relationship between disorder and sedition that underpinned the period’s broader authoritarian character. A third area in which the memory of the 1640s informed Restoration practice was the rise of parliamentary ‘management’. Conscious that it had been parliament that both drove through the Covenanting revolution and governed the Covenanting state, both Charles II and James VII were determined to maintain tight control over parliament’s activities. Of course, monarchs had attempted to control parliamentary business long before the Restoration.61 But the increased length of sessions after 1660, as well the Estates’ greater remit and wider scope for debate, ensured that effective ‘management’ became ever more important. The key figure in this regard was the commissioner, the king’s personal representative in parliament who took on responsibility for both chairing parliamentary sittings and presenting the government’s programme.62 There were six different commissioners during the Restoration – John Middleton, 1st earl of 59 Kennedy,

Governing Gaeldom, pp. 131–41; Allan I. Macinnes, Clanship, Commerce and the House of Stuart, 1603-1788 (East Linton, 1996), pp. 130–4; Lee, ‘Government and Politics’, pp. 172–3. 60 Allan Kennedy, ‘“A Heavy Yock Uppon their Necks”: Covenanting Government in the Northern Highlands, 1638–1651’, Journal of Scottish Historical Studies, 30 (2010), 93–122; Sherrilynn Theiss, ‘The Western Highlands and Isles and Central Government, 1616–1645’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), pp. 41–58. 61 Julian Goodare, ‘The Scottish Parliament of 1621’, Historical Journal, 38 (1995), 29–51. 62 MacIntosh and Tanner, ‘Balancing Acts’, p. 25.

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Middleton (1661–1662), John Leslie, 6th earl of Rothes (1663–7), Lauderdale (1669–78), James, duke of Albany, later James VII (1681), William Douglas, 1st marquis of Queensberry (1685) and Alexander Stewart, 5th earl of Moray (1686). These men utilised a number of ‘management’ tactics. Support might be bought in advance by promising sweeteners to certain groups or individuals, as in 1681, when Albany secured the acquiescence of the royal burghs to his programme by promising – as it turned out, dishonestly – to restore trading privileges they had lost a decade earlier.63 Attempts could also be made to influence elections, and it was widely rumoured, for example, that selection of commissioners to the 1678 convention of estates had been shaped by significant behind-the-scenes lobbying on the part of Lauderdale.64 In the chamber itself commissioners could attempt to manipulate parliamentary procedure to produce the required ends. Their most important weapon in this regard was the Lords of the Articles, the drafting committee that prepared legislation before it was presented to the full house. Although technically elected, the method of the Articles’ selection as reaffirmed in 1663 – whereby the bishops chose eight nobles, the nobles chose eight bishops and these sixteen chose eight shire and burgh commissioners – left ample room for royal influence, as did the convention of adding the (wholly appointed) officers of state.65 Moreover, the fact that the Articles habitually discussed in secret, as well as the growing tendency to appoint subcommittees for specific pieces of business, offered commissioners still further avenues for exercising influence.66 More crudely, a commissioner might try to overawe the chamber by force of personality, as for example in 1672, when William More, commissioner from Kintore, sought to delay a requested assessment levy by allowing commissioners to consult their constituents. Lauderdale, allegedly ‘hoping here to terrify others’, accused More of subverting the constitution and had him temporarily imprisoned until he publicly apologised.67 Such tactics by no means secured total royal control over parliament, which remained a crucial forum for political opposition, especially in the 1670s, and which could on occasion wholly frustrate royal wishes, most obviously when James VII’s programme for Catholic toleration was blocked during the 1686 session.68 Nonetheless, careful management of parliament was a key plank of 63

James Marwick, Records of the Convention of the Royal Burghs of Scotland, 7 vols (Edinburgh, 1866–1916), IV, p. 26. 64 John Lauder, Historical Observes of Memorable Occurents in Church and State, from October 1680 to April 1686, ed. D. Laing (Edinburgh, 1840), p. 265. 65 Alastair Mann, ‘House Rules: Parliamentary Procedure’, in The History of the Scottish Parliament: Parliament in Context, 1235–1707, ed. Keith M. Brown and Alan R. MacDonald (Edinburgh, 2010), p. 138. 66 MacIntosh, Scottish Parliament, p. 86. 67 RPS, 1672/6/12; George Mackenzie, Memoirs of the Affairs of Scotland from the Restoration of Charles II (Edinburgh, 1821), p. 230. 68 Mann, James VII, pp. 177–80.

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government policy throughout the Restoration, and its rise reflected a clear determination to avoid a repeat of the political and constitutional reverses suffered by Charles I at the hands of the Estates. Alongside the instrumental changes noted above, the Restoration also witnessed a final, more nebulous development. It has long been noted that 1660 represented the resurgence of traditional landed elites whose position had been threatened by first the Covenanting and then the Commonwealth states.69 At the same time, many markers of conventional aristocratic power – such as feuding, private justice, the maintenance of armed retinues and personal control over tenants and dependants – were in obvious decline throughout, and indeed before, the later seventeenth century.70 This apparent contradiction can be resolved by recognising that aristocratic power was increasingly being rechannelled in service of the state.71 All the main political office-holders of the Restoration were noblemen, men such as Middleton (commissioner), John Hay, 2nd earl of Tweeddale (treasury commissioner), or Lauderdale under Charles II, and Moray (secretary of state and commissioner), Queensberry (treasurer and commissioner) or the Drummond brothers, James, 4th earl of Perth (chancellor) and John, 1st earl of Melfort (secretary of state) under James VII.72 Arguably the only real exception was George Gordon of Haddo, a relatively obscure judge appointed chancellor by James VII in 1682, but it is no coincidence that Haddo’s elevation was so deeply resented that his chancellorship lasted less than three years. In any case, as a means of bolstering his authority and credentials, Haddo was ennobled as earl of Aberdeen shortly after coming into post.73 However, the tendency of senior nobles to serve in high political office was simply the most obvious manifestation of a much wider phenomenon. Throughout early modern Europe salaried bureaucracies were generally diminutive and restricted to royal courts. Government at the local level was run by amateur office-holders performing their duties part-time and without salary. Such men (and they were almost always men) were generally of socially respectable – although not necessarily elite – status and they would bring this position with them, thereby enhancing the real-world authority of the office they held. At the same time, office-holding reinforced their standing within the community. It was a symbiotic relationship that blurred the line between

69

Keith M. Brown, Kingdom or Province? Scotland and the Regal Union 1603–1715 (Basingstoke and London, 1992), p. 143. 70 David Stevenson, ‘The Effects of Revolution and Conquest on Scotland’, in Economy and Society in Scotland and Ireland, ed. Rosalind Mitchison and Peter Roebuck (Edinburgh, 1988), pp. 48–57. 71 This echoes an argument developed by Julian Goodare for the reign of James VI (1567– 1625). Julian Goodare, ‘The Nobility and the Absolutist State in Scotland, 1584–1638’, History, 78 (1989), 161–82. 72 Mann, James VII, pp. 165, 170, 176. 73 Mann, James VII, pp. 163, 165.

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government and governed, to the benefit of both.74 In Scotland, whose local government had conventionally operated with very little formal office-holding at all, the magisterial pattern developed slowly across the early modern period. A crucial phase was the reign of James VI, when determined efforts were made to expand bureaucratic structures and to draw elites, including nobles, into them, and thereafter the development of new local offices, principally justiceships of the peace (1609) and commissionerships of supply (1667), cemented these developments.75 Our knowledge of local government in Restoration Scotland specifically remains scant, but evidence from the Highlands suggests that even here, in Scotland’s most notorious periphery, forms of magisterial control were well developed, with local luminaries, often including clan chiefs themselves, regularly holding office at all level of local administration.76 Such engagement was part of a long-term trend that cut across the political turning points of 1638 and 1660 (and, later, 1689 and 1707) and, as such, the development of magisterial government serves as a useful reminder that, however much the Restoration regime differed from its Covenanting predecessor, they both formed part of Scotland’s broader state-formation experience. Conclusion The Restoration state was profoundly influenced by its Covenanting predecessor. In part this merely took the form of a negative reaction, compelling post-1660 Scots to undo the work of the 1640s and return, instead, to the constitutional and political status quo as it had existed under Charles II’s royal predecessors. This reactionary impulse was tempered, however, by a quiet recognition that, in some respects, such as parliamentary procedure or fiscal exaction, the Covenanting state offered a more practicable governing model. More significantly, the memory of the mid-century troubles, and the determination of Restoration leaders to avoid reliving them, helped create an intellectual climate that was hostile to Covenanting as a practice, a posture arrived at because of an underlying certainty that any overt resistance to monarchical authority must be regarded as potentially seditious. That, in turn, fostered a general fondness for the idea of affording generous scope for a strong government to maintain order, 74

Michael J. Braddick, State Formation in Early Modern England, c.1500–1700 (Cambridge, 2000), pp. 347–55; Mark Goldie, ‘The Unacknowledged Republic: Officeholding in Early Modern England’, in The Politics of the Excluded, c.1500–1850, ed. Tim Harris (Basingstoke, 2001), pp. 153–94. 75 Julian Goodare, State and Society in Early Modern Scotland (Oxford, 1999); Julian Goodare, The Government of Scotland, 1560–1625 (Oxford, 2004); F. Bigwod, ‘The Courts of Argyll, 1664–1825’, Scottish Archives, 10 (2004), 27–38; Christopher A. Whatley, ‘Order and Disorder’, in A History of Everyday Life in Scotland, 1600 to 1800, ed. Elizabeth Foyster and Christopher A. Whatley (Edinburgh, 2010), pp. 193–202. 76 Kennedy, Governing Gaeldom.

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robustly if necessary. The practical influence of this was profound, observable in the plurality-averse Erastianism of the ecclesiastical settlement, the tight control of parliamentary business and the prominence of military force as a mechanism of control. The Covenanting past, therefore, ensured the emergence of a reactionary Restoration state that rejected the philosophical foundations of the Covenanting movement and sought to remove any possibility of its re-emergence, while also co-opting or expanding some of its more important administrative and constitutional reforms. In doing so, the governments of Charles II and James VII emerged as simultaneously the most muscular and the most intellectually insecure regimes of the seventeenth century.

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11 Who were the ‘Later Covenanters’? Alasdair Raffe The attitudes and actions of those Scots who remained committed to the Covenants after the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 have been examined many times. Indeed, so much has been written about these ‘later Covenanters’ that my question might seem unnecessary. They can be characterised as critics of the new regime in Church and state, whose conscientious adherence to the Covenants left them on the fringes of mainstream Scottish society until the revolution of 1688–90. Yet few historians have paused to consider the difficulties of definition posed when we write about ‘Covenanters’ in the Restoration period. This chapter discusses three such problems, with the aim of encouraging scholars of seventeenth-century Scotland to be more careful and critical in their choice of vocabulary. My own preference, it will become clear, is to limit the use of the word ‘Covenanter’ to the years before the Restoration. Even readers who are unconvinced by my reasons for doing so will benefit from considering who should be classified as a Covenanter after 1660. Devoted Covenanters among the office-holding elite were excluded from power under Charles II, but many ordinary Scots experienced little disruption after their leaders repudiated the Covenants. Despite the restoration of episcopacy, some Scots did not consider it necessary to dissent from the established Church in order to remain true to the Covenants. Nor did many Scots in this period have occasion to swear the National Covenant or the Solemn League and Covenant. There was a spectrum of attitudes consistent with the Covenants, and yet some historians discussing the years after 1679 have used the term ‘Covenanter’ to refer exclusively to the Cameronians, a radical minority. Scholars have too often accepted without question this group’s noisy assertions of Covenanting purity. The chapter concludes by arguing that the label ‘Covenanter’, because of the unexamined assumptions on which it rests, has encouraged misleading interpretations of Restoration presbyterianism, in which the voices of extremists drown out those of more moderate Scots.

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Covenanters and Dissenters We should begin with a provisional definition and a couple of distinctions. By ‘Covenanter’, I mean adherents of the National Covenant (1638), the Solemn League and Covenant (1643) and the movement of political and ecclesiastical reform to which these engagements gave rise. Note that I use an upper-case ‘C’ for these Covenants and Covenanters. Of course, these are not the only covenants mentioned in early modern sources. The Bible describes God’s relationship with humanity in terms of covenants, and theologians across protestant Europe elaborated the concept to explain the doctrine of salvation. Common to most of these theologians’ schemes were the ‘covenant of works’, according to which the denizens of Old Testament Israel hoped to be saved by following God’s law, and the ‘covenant of grace’, the new system of salvation introduced by Jesus Christ. Covenant theology had influential Scottish proponents, and some of them helped to develop the idea that God could form a covenanted relationship with a particular nation, such as Scotland.1 But not all covenant theologians were or became Covenanters. Historians must take care not to assume that contemporaries discussing the biblical covenants were referring to the seventeenth-century oaths. We also need to distinguish between Covenanters and the practitioners of what Louise Yeoman has called ‘covenanting piety’. Using this phrase to characterise a Scottish version of the affective spirituality found widely among Reformed protestants, she demonstrates that this piety existed from the late sixteenth century, and thus predated the National Covenant. Yeoman also makes clear that not all the devotees of covenanting piety alive in 1638 were willing to swear the Covenant and accept the subsequent presbyterian reforms of the Church.2 We should therefore bear in mind the differences between covenant theologians, the adepts of covenanting piety and Covenanters. With these preliminaries aside, let us turn to the complexities of the term ‘Covenanter’. For the period from the signing of the National Covenant to the Restoration of the monarchy it is fairly clear what we mean when we refer to the Covenanters. In 1638–41 a revolution took place in Scotland. The ideology of the revolution was articulated in the National Covenant. It was a ‘Covenanting revolution’, and Scotland was understood as a ‘covenanted’ kingdom. The revolutionaries defined the limits of acceptable beliefs and actions in the terms of the National Covenant, and subsequently also with reference to the Solemn League and Covenant. Moreover, the revolutionaries sought and achieved national support by requiring subscription to the Covenants.3 Scots who opposed the aims of the Covenanters were marginalised; the Acts of Classes 1

David G. Mullan, Scottish Puritanism, 1590–1638 (Oxford, 2000), ch. 6. Louise Yeoman, ‘Heart-Work: Emotion, Empowerment and Authority in Covenanting Times’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of St Andrews, 1991), preface. 3 See esp. Laura A. M. Stewart, Rethinking the Scottish Revolution: Covenanted Scotland, 1637–1651 (Oxford, 2016). 2

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of 1646 and 1649 removed from office those deemed to have acted against the Covenants.4 After the invasion of Scotland by Oliver Cromwell’s English army in 1650–1, however, opponents of the Covenants again achieved influence. The government upholding the Covenants was defeated and the Covenanters were divided. There was schism in the Church, the radical ‘Protesters’ separating themselves from the more moderate party known as the ‘Resolutioners’. After the Restoration of the monarchy in 1660 the Covenants were suppressed and the presbyterian settlement in the Church overturned. After 1638 the Covenanters were in power and enemies of the oaths were excluded. With the Restoration, the situation was reversed. But while this is generally true of the office-holding elites, the effect of the Restoration on the population as a whole was more subtle. Though most Scots swore the Covenants in the period from 1638 to 1649, few were required to renounce them after 1660. Those who remained committed to the ideals of the Covenants were not necessarily forced into opposition to the Restoration regime. And yet we typically perceive Covenanters in the Restoration period as dissenters, outlaws and rebels. The label ‘Covenanter’ is too often associated with a simplistic understanding of Restoration Scotland. In the 1640s members of the political nation gained and secured their places in public life by swearing the Covenants. From 1663, by contrast, holders of public office were expected to renounce the Covenants. On acceptance of their positions, they were to qualify themselves by swearing as follows: I … doe sincerely affirme and declare … that those oaths wherof the one wes commonly called the Nationall Covenant (as it wes sworne and explained in the yeer 1638 and therafter) and the other entituled A Solemn League and Covenant, wer and are in themselffs unlawfull oaths, and wer taken by and imposed upon the subjects of this kingdome, against the fundamentall lawes and liberties of the same, and that ther lyeth no obligation upon me or any of the subjects from the saids oaths.5

If parliament had imposed this declaration on the nation as a whole, in the manner of the parish-by-parish subscription of the National Covenant, then post-Restoration Covenanters could be clearly defined as those who refused to swear. But instead the declaration was intended to be affirmed only by members of the office-holding elite, not including the clergy. Though most Scots who were chosen for public office swore as required, some eminent men, including William Kerr, third earl of Lothian, and Sir James Dundas, Lord Arniston, declined to make the declaration and remained committed to the Covenants.6 4

RPS, 1645/11/110, 1649/1/43. RPS, 1662/5/70; 1663/6/33. See also Alasdair Raffe, ‘Scottish State Oaths and the Revolution of 1688–1690’, in Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions, ed. Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare (Woodbridge, 2014), p. 180. 6 Clare Jackson, Restoration Scotland, 1660–1690: Royalist Politics, Religion and Ideas (Woodbridge, 2003), p. 149; Alexander Broadie, ‘James Dundas on Seneca, Descartes and the Fall’, in Neo-Latin Literature and Literary Culture in Early Modern Scotland, ed. Steven J. Reid 5

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We do not know how the majority of the population would have responded to the declaration. It is true that the government sometimes used the declaration, and other oaths to which presbyterians objected, to test whether suspected rebels were genuinely a threat to political stability. In the aftermath of the defeated rising of 1666 the Ayrshire dissenter Quintin Dick was offered the opportunity to clear his name by subscribing the declaration. He resisted the temptation and upheld his support for the Covenants.7 But, for most Scots, the principal test of their attitudes towards the Covenants came not from a state oath but from the re-establishment of episcopacy in the Church in 1661–2. We might assume that those who thought that the nation had sworn against episcopacy in the Covenants would generally refuse to conform to the Restoration Church. And yet some erstwhile presbyterians argued that the ecclesiastical settlement was not incompatible with the Covenants, because those engagements did not condemn the specific form of episcopacy introduced in Scotland. Andrew Honyman, minister of St Andrews and later bishop of Orkney, expressed this view in The Seasonable Case of Submission to the Church-Government, as now Re-established by Law (1662), a pamphlet published with the support of the government. Referring to the Solemn League and Covenant, Honyman claimed that it had been ‘resolved in [the English] Parliament, with consent of the Brethren of Scotland’, that the Covenant ‘was only intended against Episcopacy as then established in England’. On this reading, the more moderate variety of episcopacy now settled in Scotland was not ruled out by the second article of the Solemn League and Covenant. Moreover, according to Honyman, the purpose of the National Covenant ‘was not to abjure the Office of Bishops, more then of Presbyters or Deacons, but to abjure the Hierarchy, so far as it was the Popes’.8 Again, Honyman urged that the episcopalian settlement did not contradict the Covenants. We do not know how many found these claims convincing, but perhaps Honyman’s arguments prompted some Covenanters to become episcopalians. These men and women, we might conclude, thought that they could accept the restoration of episcopacy without repudiating the Covenants. Covenanters who were unpersuaded by Honyman, and remained committed to presbyterianism, were not necessarily forced out of the Church. In accordance with an act of parliament of June 1662, ministers who had been settled in and David McOmish (Leiden, 2017), p. 249. Sir James Dalrymple, Lord Stair initially refused the declaration, but Charles II allowed him to swear it with a spoken qualification and Stair retained his office as a senator of the college of justice: John Murray Graham, Annals and Correspondence of the Viscount and the First and Second Earls of Stair, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1875), I, pp. 18–34. 7 Quintin Dick, ‘A brief account’, in David G. Mullan (ed.), Protestant Piety in Early-Modern Scotland: Letters, Lives and Covenants, 1650–1712, Scottish History Society (Edinburgh, 2008), pp. 170–1. 8 Andrew Honyman, The Seasonable Case of Submission to the Church-Government, as now Re-established by Law Briefly Stated and Determined (Edinburgh, 1662), 29, 31. See also Jamie McDougall, ‘Episcopacy and the National Covenant’, RSCHS, 47 (2018), 23, 27–8.

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their churches since the abolition of lay patronage in 1649 were required to seek a presentation from the parochial patron and collation from the diocesan bishop to remain in their charges. They were obliged, in short, to acknowledge the authority of the restored bishops. Over 200 refused to do so and lost their churches.9 But ministers who had been in post before 1649 were not immediately compelled to recognise episcopacy. The Protester William Guthrie, who was ordained at Fenwick, Ayrshire, in 1644, could not be deprived by virtue of the act of June 1662 and did not resign his church in protest against the return of bishops. Instead, he continued to preach in favour of the Covenants, complaining that: our Rulers have judicially broken Covenant to their shame, and the Prelatick party hath voluntarily and deliberatly done it: but is that the deed of the Church of Scotland? I deny; for these that best deserves the name of the one [i.e. of the Church of Scotland], do abominat that deed of theirs, and do cleave to the Covenant, and are suffering, because they will not break it.10

For Guthrie, remaining true to the Covenants did not at this stage require nonconformity. Nevertheless, he and like-minded ministers scrupled to attend the reconvened church courts (held under the bishops’ authority), and were gradually ejected from the Church as a result. Guthrie was deprived of his parish by the archbishop and synod of Glasgow in July 1664.11 A few more lucky presbyterian ministers escaped prosecution and retained their churches, without recognising episcopacy, for much longer. At least six remained in post until the imposition of the Test oath in 1681 finally required ministers as well as lay office-holders to renounce the Covenants.12 For nearly two decades after the restoration of episcopacy their congregations could worship under ministers who thought that they remained true to the principles of the Covenants. We would be wrong to assume that all those who were committed to the Covenants after 1662 dissented from the Church. Yet the label ‘Covenanter’ is often used to suggest that this was the case.13 Some lay people felt obliged to 9 RPS, 1662/5/15; Ian B. Cowan, The Scottish Covenanters 1660–1688 (London, 1976), pp. 49–55. 10 William Guthrie, A Sermon of Mr William Guthrey (n.p., [1664]), p. 44. 11 Scott, Fasti, III, pp. 93–4; Vaughn T. Wells, ‘Guthrie, William (1620–1665)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography; Alasdair Raffe, ‘The Restoration, the Revolution and the Failure of Episcopacy in Scotland’, in The Final Crisis of the Stuart Monarchy: The Revolutions of 1688–91 in their British, Atlantic and European Contexts, ed. Tim Harris and Stephen Taylor (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 94–5. 12 Richard Brown, Drumelzier (Scott, Fasti, I, p. 268); John Sinclair, Ormiston (Scott, Fasti, I, p. 340); John McGhie, Dirleton (Scott, Fasti, I, p. 359); John Langlands, Wilton (Scott, Fasti, II, p. 142–3); Alexander Pitcairn, Dron (Scott, Fasti, IV, p. 202); William Adair, Ayr (Scott, Fasti, III, p. 8–9; Michelle D. Brock, ‘Plagues, Covenants, and Confession: The Strange Case of Ayr, 1647–8’, SHR, 96 (2018), 144. 13 Louise Yeoman, ‘Covenanters’, in The Oxford Companion to Scottish History, ed. Michael Lynch (Oxford, 2001), p. 113; Gordon Donaldson, Scotland: James V to James VII (Edinburgh,

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desert ministers who acknowledged the bishops, or to remain loyal to presbyterians ejected from their parishes. But other presbyterians continued to attend their parish church with a clear conscience after 1662. Remarking on this situation, Ian Cowan argued that the terms ‘presbyterian’ and ‘Covenanter’ misleadingly lumped together nonconformists and conformists. Moreover, he suggested that while ‘adherence to the covenants became the means of establishing a common bond of opposition of a political and religious nature it did not denote unswerving allegiance to their principles’.14 Government coercion, the expectations of their friends and neighbours and the patchy availability of dissenting worship ensured that few Scots avoided attending services conducted by episcopalian ministers at some point in the Restoration period.15 Our studies of late seventeenth-century presbyterianism must recognise this fact, and identify those who dissented occasionally or changed their minds about the Covenants, as well as the consistent nonconformists. Renewing the Covenants The second reason why it can be misleading to talk of Covenanters after 1660 is that very few people swore the Covenants in this period.16 The last occasion on which Scots as a nation engaged themselves to God by affirming a document in the form of a covenant was in December 1648, when the Solemn League and Covenant was renewed. This followed the collapse of the Engagement, an agreement between commissioners representing Scotland and Charles I that led to a Scottish invasion of England in the summer of 1648. Though a majority in the Scottish parliament backed the Engagement, many politicians and churchmen thought that it was contrary to the Solemn League and Covenant. After the defeat of the army of the Engagement at the Battle of Preston in August, the party opposed to the Engagement seized power.17 The result was a reaction against the Engagement and measures to revive among Scots a wholehearted commitment to Covenanting principles. Thus on 6 October 1965), pp. 366, 371, distinguishes between ‘presbyterian’ and ‘covenanting’ sympathies, implying that those holding the latter were in opposition to the regime. Neil McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters: The Later Covenanters in Scotland, c.1648–1682’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Strathclyde, 2016), p. 7, equates ‘Covenanters’ and ‘nonconformists’. 14 Ian B. Cowan, ‘The Covenanters: A Revision Article’, SHR, 47 (1968), 46. Oddly, Cowan called his book about presbyterian nonconformity in the Restoration period The Scottish Covenanters, though perhaps this was at his publisher’s suggestion. 15 See Alasdair Raffe, The Culture of Controversy: Religion Arguments in Scotland, 1660–1714 (Woodbridge, 2012), ch. 7. 16 In this section, I draw on the fuller discussion of renewals of the Covenants in Alasdair Raffe, ‘Confessions, Covenants and Continuous Reformation in Early Modern Scotland’, Etudes Epistémè, 32 (2017), http://journals.openedition.org/episteme/1836. 17 See David Stevenson, Revolution and Counter-Revolution in Scotland, 1644–1651 (London, 1977), ch. 3.

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1648 the commission of the General Assembly ordered a national renewal of the Covenant. The ceremony was to be the culmination of two days of public fasting, on which congregations would repent of the ‘many and grosse breaches’ of the Covenant. Moreover, a new national endorsement of the Solemn League and Covenant would give those too young to swear in 1643 the opportunity to do so. It was presumably because the Engagement particularly contradicted the Anglo-Scottish alliance promised in the League and Covenant that the commission did not require Scots to reaffirm their commitment to the National Covenant as well. Instead, the commission prepared a Solemn Acknowledgment of Publick Sins and Breaches of the Covenant, which ministers were to read to their congregations in preparation for the renewal.18 Of the Scots who swore the Solemn League and Covenant in 1648, very few would thereafter take part in a public ceremony of renewal. There was, indeed, an affirmation of the Solemn League and Covenant in Lanark, on 26 November 1666, by the presbyterian army that had risen against the government and would shortly be defeated in the Pentland Hills.19 On this occasion, the formality of public swearing was surely intended to inspire resolve and solidarity among the presbyterian forces. But even if the rebels sought to represent the body of dissenting opinion, they were a small group. One hostile eye-witness thought that the army numbered at most 1,100 when the Covenant was sworn; a sympathetic account claimed that there were 2,000 men.20 Not many of these could have been swearing for the first time. The great majority of Scots who supported the ideals of the Covenants after 1662 did so without renewing the oaths. As the Restoration period advanced, a generation grew up who had never had the opportunity to swear. Insofar as the term ‘Covenanter’ suggests one who took the Covenants, it gives a misleading impression of the nature of Restoration nonconformity. The younger dissenters could not object to episcopacy because they personally had sworn the Covenants. Instead, they insisted that Scotland remained tied by its corporate engagements in 1638 and 1643, and thus that they were bound by their parents’ oaths.21 Perhaps we could argue that the presbyterians who came

18 RCGA, II, pp. 78–80, 136–9; Natalie Mears et al. (eds), National Prayers: Special Worship since the Reformation: Volume 1: Special Prayers, Fasts and Thanksgivings in the British Isles, 1533–1688, Church of England Record Society (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 494–5; A Solemn Acknowledgment of Publick Sins and Breaches of the Covenant (Edinburgh, 1648). 19 James Wallace, ‘Narrative of the rising at Pentland’, in Thomas McCrie (ed.), Memoirs of William Veitch and George Brysson (Edinburgh, 1825), pp. 404–6; James Kirkton, A History of the Church of Scotland, 1660–1679, ed. Ralph Stewart (Lewiston, NY, 1992), p. 137. 20 James Turner, Memoirs of his own Life and Times (Edinburgh, 1829), p. 170; Andrew Crichton, Memoirs of the Rev. John Blackader, 2nd edn (Edinburgh, 1826), p. 124. 21 The presbyterian arguments were ridiculed in Gilbert Burnet, A Modest and Free Conference betwixt a Conformist and a Non-conformist about the Present Distempers of Scotland (n.p., 1669), pp. 56–8.

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to maturity after the Restoration were not themselves Covenanters, but rather upholders of the idea that Scotland was a covenanted nation. The groups that renewed the Covenants after 1648 were increasingly isolated subsets of Scottish presbyterianism. In March 1689, in the interval between the overthrow of James VII and the reconstitution of government under William and Mary, the radical group known as the United Societies swore both Covenants. Members of the Societies (often called Cameronians) saw themselves as more true to presbyterian principles than the moderate dissenters from whom they had become estranged. Nevertheless, they also thought that their action would ‘revive the memory of’ the Covenants and ‘break the ice for others to renew them more Solemnly’.22 In vain, the Societies wished for a nationwide revival of the Covenants ordered by those in public office. After it became clear that Covenant renewal would not form part of the re-establishment of presbyterianism, members of the Societies and other radical presbyterians could present themselves as the guardians of a Covenanting tradition. But while it was only Cameronians, their sympathisers and, later, members of the Secession Church who renewed the Covenants after 1689, we should not assume that all other Scots had abandoned their support for the oaths.23 As we shall see, this view was strongly challenged by the defenders of the re-established Church of Scotland. Covenanters and Cameronians The third, most important and insidious, problem with the term ‘Covenanter’ after 1660 is its use to refer exclusively to radical groups, as distinct from the broader body of Scottish presbyterians. In the Restoration period presbyterians became divided about how to remain faithful to the Covenants – about which compromises to make, which government commands to accept and which to oppose. Most divisive, perhaps, were the government’s indulgences, issued in 1669 and 1672, which allowed specified presbyterian ministers to preach under licence in named vacant parishes, mostly in areas of strong commitment to presbyterianism. Some presbyterian ministers accepted the indulgences, welcoming the opportunity to preach more freely. Others refused to have anything to do with the policy, arguing that it imposed restrictions on the exercise of the ministry and was thus an invasion of presbyterian principles.24 Some of the refusers agreed to differ with their indulged brethren, retaining a semblance of unity. Others condemned the indulged. After the defeat of the 22

The National Covenant and Solemn League & Covenant, with the Acknowledgement of Sins, and Engagement to Duties, as they were Renewed at Lesmahego, March 3. 1688 (n.p., 1689), p. 32. 23 On the later renewals of the Covenants, see Raffe, ‘Confessions, Covenants and Continuous Reformation’. More generally, see Raffe, Culture of Controversy, esp. pp. 82–92; Colin Kidd, ‘Conditional Britons: The Scots Covenanting Tradition and the EighteenthCentury British State’, English Historical Review, 117 (2002), 1147–76. 24 Raffe, Culture of Controversy, pp. 75–6.

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presbyterian army at Bothwell Bridge in 1679 the most outspoken critics of the indulged ministers were the Cameronians, who reacted angrily against a peace settlement that stopped presbyterian ministers from preaching at outdoor meetings. In their declaration at Sanquhar in June 1680 the Cameronians went beyond complaining about the crown’s policies and renounced their allegiance to Charles II. Thereafter, the group considered itself at war with the government and engaged in acts of violent resistance.25 The Cameronians asserted that their principles were fully in accordance with the Covenants. In the Sanquhar declaration of 1680 they presented themselves as a ‘Remnant’ bearing testimony against the defections of the majority of presbyterians. The Cameronians claimed to ‘walk in’ God’s ‘ways and method’, following the example of earlier generations of Scots who reformed the nation from Catholicism and episcopacy. Thus, the group constituted ‘the representatives of the true Presbyterian Church and Covenanted Nation of Scotland’.26 In a further declaration in 1685 the Cameronians again styled themselves as authentic presbyterians standing for the Covenanting values of the 1640s. They asserted that accepting James VII’s rule was contrary to the principles voiced by the General Assembly in 1649, when Charles II was excluded from power until he signed the Covenants.27 Charles had abrogated his royal authority by abandoning the Covenants, and James VII could have no just right to the throne until he rejected Catholicism and swore the Covenants himself. Other presbyterians condemned the Cameronians’ attitude towards royal authority. As the critics pointed out, the fourth article of the Westminster confession of faith’s twenty-third chapter was clear: ‘Infidelity, or difference in religion, doth not make void the magistrates’ just and legal authority, nor free the people from their due obedience to them.’28 The Cameronians could not renounce their allegiance to Charles II or James VII without contradicting orthodox teaching. This was not merely the doctrine of the Westminster confession; the principle of subjection to monarchs was enshrined in the Covenants themselves.29 Moreover, mainstream presbyterians lamented the 25 James Renwick and Alexander Shields, An Informatory Vindication of a Poor, Wasted, Misrepresented Remnant (n.p., 1707), pp. 173–6. For a full discussion of the Cameronians, see Mark Jardine, ‘The United Societies: Militancy, Martyrdom and the Presbyterian Movement in Late-Restoration Scotland, 1679 to 1688’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Edinburgh, 2009). 26 Renwick and Shields, Informatory Vindication, p. 174; Karin Bowie and Alasdair Raffe, ‘Politics, the People, and Extra-Institutional Participation in Scotland, c.1603–1712’, Journal of British Studies, 56 (2017), 805. 27 Renwick and Shields, Informatory Vindication, pp. 192–204. The declaration cited the general assembly’s ‘Seasonable and Necessary Warning and Declaration’ of 27 July 1649; Church of Scotland, Acts of the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland, M.DC.XXXVIII.-M. DCCC.XLII (Edinburgh, 1843), pp. 203–11. 28 S. W. Carruthers (ed.), The Confession of Faith of the Assembly of Divines at Westminster (Glasgow, 1978), p. 19. 29 William Violant, A Review and Examination of a Book, bearing the Title of the History of the

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extremists’ divisive attitudes, complaining that they had created a schism from the main body of nonconformists. According to the indulged minister William Violant, ‘They have been very injurious to presbyterians, in arrogating to themselves the Title of the True Presbyterian Party, seeing their Principles and Practices are contrary to the Principles of Presbyterians’.30 Similarly, an anonymous writer referred to the extremists as a ‘wilde sort of people whose new principles are as anti presbyterian as disloyal’.31 For their part, the Cameronians denounced the moderate presbyterian dissenters. The 1680s saw lay people conform to the established Church in increasing numbers, and the radicals saw themselves as the only true and consistent presbyterians. After the accession of James VII the Societies were still more isolated. Their leaders complained that James’s attempts to advance toleration for Catholics met with no serious objections from the mainstream presbyterians, ‘from whom might have been expected greater opposition’, but who ‘were sleeping in a profound submission’. When James granted toleration to ‘Moderate Presbyterians’ in 1687 he excluded from the liberty the Cameronians, who claimed to adhere ‘to old Presbyterian principles and Protestations against such a vast Toleration’.32 Remembering the Kirk’s opposition to religious toleration in the 1640s, the militants again posed as the defenders of presbyterian values against the backsliding majority. Beginning in the eighteenth century, a historical tradition developed in which the Cameronians assumed great importance in narratives of the 1680s. The process started in the first major histories of the Restoration period in Scotland. In his Memoirs of the Church of Scotland (1717), the English dissenter Daniel Defoe devoted more than 150 pages to the suppression of presbyterianism under Charles II and James VII. Much of the best evidence of persecution, especially in the years after 1680, concerned the execution of members of the Societies.33 The more systematic and wide-ranging History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland (1721–2), by Robert Wodrow, also gave the Cameronians attention out of proportion to their numbers. Wodrow’s father had been one of the mainstream presbyterian ministers whose caution in the 1680s the Societies condemned. The younger Wodrow was minister of Eastwood, Renfrewshire, in the early eighteenth century, and was troubled by separatists from his congregation who saw themselves as the Cameronians’ successors. He was unsympathetic to the radicals and had no ideological reason for devoting much attention to them. And yet his History was cast as a year-by-year account of presbyterian ‘sufferings’. In the mid-1680s, when most Indulgence (London, 1681), esp. pp. 565–7. 30 Ibid., p. 549. 31 NLS, Wodrow Quarto, XXVI, fol. 208v. 32 James Renwick, The Testimony of some Persecuted Presbyterian Ministers of the Gospel ([Edinburgh?], 1688), p. 9. See also Alasdair Raffe, Scotland in Revolution, 1685–1690 (Edinburgh, 2018), pp. 41–2. 33 Daniel Defoe, Memoirs of the Church of Scotland (London, 1717), pt 3.

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presbyterians were quietly biding their time, much of the evidence available related to the Cameronians’ exploits and executions. Wodrow accordingly wrote at some length about the group, inflating their significance.34 Defoe and Wodrow did little to explain the criticisms voiced by the Cameronians’ rivals in the 1680s. Wodrow expressed his frustration that, ‘In England, and other places where our Scots affairs are very little known, the Cameronians and presbyterians are taken for the same’. He was careful to distinguish what he called the ‘body of presbyterians’ from ‘a few others’ who had separated themselves. Nevertheless, he reassured his moderate presbyterian readers that the Cameronians were neither heterodox nor so extreme as to be unworthy of inclusion in his History. Rendered ignorant by their isolation from ministerial guides, and driven by righteous zeal and intolerable hardships, their violence was understandable.35 And though they were punished for contravening the laws then in force, ‘their bloodshed will, by after generations, be reckoned innocent blood; and the courses taken with, and inhumanities exercised towards them, must certainly be abominated’.36 Defoe, lacking Wodrow’s personal involvement with Scottish religious politics, did less to distinguish between the radicals and moderate presbyterians. For him, the more important allegation was that the Cameronians, like other nonconformists, had been rebels and traitors. This he denied, arguing that the actions of the Societies had resembled the successful resistance to James VII and II in 1688. The fact that Britain’s constitutional monarchy originated in an act of resistance vindicated the Cameronians. They did not oppose Government or Monarchy as such; but Wicked, Perjur’d and Persecuting Governors; These they did oppose, and declare against … on the same Arguments which justify’d the Revolution, and on which the Protestant Succession of Hannover is now founded; to wit, of taking Arms against perjur’d Princes, who break their solemn Compact with God and their People.37

Defoe’s judgement was echoed, and his phrases plagiarised, in William Crookshank’s History of the State and Sufferings of the Church of Scotland (1749).38 This work, more annalistic than Defoe, yet more concise and lively than Wodrow, was reprinted five times before the end of the century. Crookshank, a minister of the Scottish congregation at Swallow Street, Westminster, did not neglect non-Cameronian dissenters, but nevertheless gave the extremists substantial attention. He endorsed the view that the Cameronians’ principles 34

Robert Wodrow, The History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, from the Restoration to the Revolution, ed. Robert Burns, 4 vols (Glasgow, 1828–30); Louise Yeoman, ‘Wodrow, Robert (1679–1734)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. 35 Wodrow, History, III, pp. 202–3. 36 Ibid., III, p. 274. 37 Defoe, Memoirs of the Church of Scotland, second pagination sequence, p. 274. 38 William Crookshank, The History of the State and Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, from the Restoration to the Revolution, 2 vols (London, 1749), II, pp. 121–2.

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were not to be condemned as unpresbyterian but respected as ahead of their time. Whether or not they were true to the Covenants, the radicals were on the right side of history. Wodrow and Crookshank wrote as Church of Scotland ministers who did not see themselves as successors to the Cameronians. Those who published from within the Cameronian tradition, and continued to think of the radicals as true Covenanters, were more inclined to magnify their significance. The Cloud of Witnesses (1714), which printed the last speeches of many of those executed because of their dissent from 1680 to 1688, presented a picture of Scottish religious politics populated entirely by Cameronians.39 The work was republished at least twelve times before 1800. In his edition of 1871 the Reformed Presbyterian minister John H. Thomson compared the speeches to the Claim of Right of 1689, arguing that the executed presbyterians spoke with ‘the voice of liberty’.40 Also reprinted many times were the works of Patrick Walker, an associate of the Societies in his youth who wrote biographies in the 1720s and 1730s of radicals including Richard Cameron and Donald Cargill.41 The farmer and presbyterian historian John Howie of Lochgoin likewise celebrated the contribution of the Cameronians. Not only did he publish a narrative of the United Societies’ activities from 1681 to 1690, which he called Faithful Contendings Displayed (1780), but his oft-reprinted Biographia Scoticana (1775), otherwise known as the Scots Worthies, commemorated the lives of eminent radicals. Of sixty-eight sixteenth- and seventeenth-century men documented in the first edition, nineteen were alive in the 1680s, twelve of whom were associated with the Cameronians.42 Also helping to enhance the reputation of the Cameronians, while tending to identify them as the most faithful Covenanters, were several popular novels set in Restoration Scotland. Sir Walter Scott’s Old Mortality (1816), with its unsympathetic portrayal of the presbyterians at the time of Bothwell Bridge, encouraged the publication of alternative depictions by novelists more friendly to the presbyterian tradition. Like Wodrow’s History, on which they leaned, James Hogg’s The Brownie of Bodsbeck (1818) and John Galt’s Ringan Gilhaize (1823) drew attention to the United Societies’ defiance of the government of Charles II and James VII. Hogg’s setting was the autumn of 1685, towards the 39

A Cloud of Witnesses, for the Royal Prerogatives of Jesus Christ; or, the Last Speeches and Testimonies of those who have Suffered for the Truth, in Scotland, since the year 1680 ([Edinburgh?,] 1714). 40 A Cloud of Witnesses for the Royal Prerogatives of Jesus Christ, ed. John H. Thomson (Edinburgh, 1871), p. xiv. 41 Patrick Walker, Six Saints of the Covenant: Peden; Semple; Welwood; Cameron; Cargill; Smith, ed. David Hay Fleming, 2 vols (London, 1901). 42 Michael Shields, Faithful Contendings Displayed: Being an Historical Relation of the State and Actings of the Suffering Remnant of the Church of Scotland, ed. John Howie (Glasgow, 1780); John Howie, Biographia Scoticana: or a Brief Historical Account of the Lives, Characters, and Memorable Transactions of the most eminent Scots Worthies (Glasgow, 1775).

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end of the so-called ‘killing times’, when the government’s suppression of dissent was felt very largely by Cameronians. Hogg described the presbyterian outlaws in his novel as ‘Covenanters’ or ‘whigs’, who ‘were proscribed, imprisoned, and at last hunted down like wild beasts’.43 Concentrating on presbyterians who stayed at home, praying for better times, would have made for a less dramatic tale. Galt’s Ringan Gilhaize offered a broader historical perspective and acknowledged that the Cameronians were at odds with the mainstream of presbyterians. But while Ringan ‘approved not of their separation from the general presbyterian kirk of Scotland’, he nevertheless joined the glamourous Cameronians in their violent stand against the government.44 S. R. Crockett’s The Men of the Moss Hags (1895), which recounted the story of the Societies from the perspective of the gentleman Alexander Gordon of Earlston, confirmed that the Cameronians were the most interesting presbyterians for the readers of fiction. The creation of the Free Church in the Disruption of 1843 helped to sustain traditional presbyterian values, and with them the historiographical importance of the Cameronians. Monumental commemoration of the radicals, once organised principally by their successors in the Reformed Presbyterian Church or their admirers in the Secession Church, became a more multi-denominational and national activity.45 Old reservations about the Cameronians disappeared from published histories. In his Sketches of Scottish Church History (1841), Thomas M’Crie junior, a minister successively of the Original Secession Church and the Free Church, portrayed the Cameronians as faithful advocates of the Covenanting cause, implying that other presbyterians were backsliders. The ‘death of the heroic [James] Renwick’ in 1688 ‘seemed to have stifled the last voice that had dared openly to assert the cause of religious freedom’, M’Crie wrote. The non-Cameronian majority of presbyterians showed a ‘spirit worn out by long persecution, and which manifested itself, after the revolution, in too tamely submitting to encroachments on their spiritual independence’.46 The Covenanters (1913), by the Kirk minister James King Hewison, wrote the moderates out of the story. The book’s thirtieth chapter, on the 1680s, was concerned almost entirely with the actions and suppression of the Cameronians and with the high political machinations of James VII.47 The range of Scots who revered the Covenants dropped out of sight, and readers were left with a struggle between the extremes. Members of the Societies asserted that they were true Covenanters, and that more moderate presbyterians had wavered in their commitment to the cause. 43

James Hogg, The Brownie of Bodsbeck, ed. Douglas S. Mack (Edinburgh, 1976), p. 10. John Galt, Ringan Gilhaize, or the Covenanters, ed. Patricia J. Wilson (Edinburgh, 1984), p. 266. 45 James J. Coleman, Remembering the Past in Nineteenth-Century Scotland: Commemoration, Nationality and Memory (Edinburgh, 2014), pp. 130–8. 46 Thomas McCrie, Sketches of Scottish Church History: Embracing the Period from the Reformation to the Revolution, 6th edn, 2 vols (Edinburgh, 1850), II, pp. 235, 243. 47 James King Hewison, The Covenanters, rev. edn, 2 vols (Glasgow, 1913), II, ch. 30. 44

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While historians should try to understand why they said this, we should beware of agreeing with them. The Cameronians’ attitude to royal authority depended on a strained interpretation of the Westminster confession, and they rejected presbyterian norms of unity and discipline. Meanwhile, the moderate presbyterians did not renounce the Covenants and endeavoured to justify their own actions in terms of the oaths. Intentionally or otherwise, historians have too often seemed to endorse the Societies’ claim to be the only genuine Covenanters after 1679. Ian Cowan, despite his scrupulousness about labels, referred to the group as ‘the Covenanters or Cameronians’.48 Other scholars have called the Cameronians ‘Covenanters’, sometimes distinguishing them from ‘moderate presbyterians’.49 While it is appropriate to use ‘presbyterian’ and ‘Covenanter’ interchangeably,50 there is a good case for eschewing ‘Covenanter’ entirely in this period. Covenanters and Dissenting Presbyterians The confusion over the term ‘Covenanter’ does not end with the revolution of 1688–90. After 1690 a series of dissenting presbyterian groups argued that they were true upholders of the Covenants and that the re-established presbyterian Church had buried them in oblivion. On one level this was a plausible story. The statute of 1690 restoring presbyterianism did not mention the Covenants, and the crown and leading presbyterians were unwilling for the oaths to be renewed. Moreover, the first General Assembly after the re-establishment of presbyterianism referred to the Covenants only obliquely. Meanwhile, the General Assembly was subject to management, calling into question what presbyterians called the Church’s ‘intrinsic right’ to govern itself. Ministers were required to swear state oaths, an apparently Erastian imposition. Most alarmingly to committed presbyterians, the Anglo-Scottish union of 1707 was in breach of the Covenants.51 More moderate presbyterians, by contrast, claimed that the Church upheld the Covenants after 1690. Presbyterianism had been re-established, they emphasised, the General Assembly was meeting again and the gospel was purely taught 48 Cowan,

Scottish Covenanters, p. 104. For a similar usage, see Alexander du Toit, ‘Howie, John (1735–1793)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography. 49 John Robertson, The Case for the Enlightenment: Scotland and Naples, 1680–1760 (Cambridge, 2005), p. 68; Richard L. Greaves, Secrets of the Kingdom: British Radicals from the Popish Plot to the Revolution of 1688–1689 (Stanford, CA, 1992), pp. 312, 327. 50 Cadoc Leighton, ‘Apocalyptic and History among the Later Covenanters’, Archivium Hibernicum, 68 (2015), 312–32, esp. 313. 51 For a fuller discussion of these criticisms of the Church, see Kidd, ‘Conditional Britons’; Alasdair Raffe, ‘The Hanoverian Succession and the Fragmentation of Scottish Protestantism’, in Negotiating Toleration: Dissent and the Hanoverian Succession, 1714–1760, ed. Nigel Aston and Benjamin Bankhurst (Oxford, 2019), pp. 149–53.

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by ministers across Scotland. ‘We are a Land in Covenant with God’, stated a pamphlet issued in 1698 by the commission of the General Assembly. ‘We Lament for the Breaches thereof, in some by turning to Popery, in many by Prelacy, and many now by Division’.52 According to mainstream presbyterians, it was not members of the Church who departed from the principles of the Covenants, but rather the radical separatists. Ministers were not to be blamed for the union; in 1706, the commission of the General Assembly had publicly protested that the English bishops’ membership of the proposed British parliament was incompatible with the Covenants.53 It was simply misleading for dissenting presbyterians to claim that the Kirk had abandoned the Covenants. As in the 1680s, moderate presbyterians mounted a twin-pronged attack on the extremists’ principles. First, members of the Church condemned the most radical presbyterian nonconformists for their disloyalty to Scotland’s monarchs. After the revolution, the United Societies continued to argue that, like Charles II in 1650, kings and queens derived their legitimacy from taking the Covenants. Consequently, these dissenters refused to recognise William and Mary, Anne and the Georges, who had no intention of swearing the Covenants. Writing in 1715, the minister John Pollock declared that nonconformists who disowned the civil magistrate were ‘acting contrary to Presbyterian Principles’. He argued that the Westminster confession and the Covenants required allegiance to monarchs, including those of a different religion.54 Dissenters denied that they were ready to support the Stuart claimant to the throne, but their critics could allege that they flirted with Jacobitism.55 The moderates’ second line of criticism was that the nonconformists illegitimately separated from the Church, and thus failed to observe the Covenants’ strictures in favour of unity and against schism. In the 1690s Alexander Shields, formerly a preacher to the Societies but now a Kirk minister, argued against his erstwhile peers who claimed to continue the Cameronian tradition through their nonconformity. Since uniting with the re-established Church in 1690, Shields claimed (echoing phrases of the Solemn League and Covenant) that he had been ‘promoting Reformation in Doctrine, Worship, Discipline and Government, and opposing Popery, Prelacy, Erastianism, Sectarianism, and whatsoever is contrary to Sound Doctrine and the Power of Godliness, according to the Word of God, 52

A Seasonable Admonition and Exhortation to some who Separate from the Communion of the Church of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1699), p. 7. 53 Karin Bowie (ed.), Addresses Against Incorporating Union, 1706–1707, Scottish History Society (Woodbridge, 2018), p. 49. 54 John Pollock, An Essay, upon the Following Questions (Dumfries, 1715), p. 11. 55 The True Copy of the Declaration Published at Auchensaugh nigh Douglas ([Edinburgh?,] 1719), pp. 22–3; Protesters Vindicated: or, A Just and Necessary Defence of Protesting Against, and Withdrawing from this National Church of Scotland ([Edinburgh?,] 1716), sig. ++r.; [?Alexander Robeson,] Mene Tekel: or Separation weighed in the Balance of the Sanctuary and found Wanting (Dumfries, 1717), pt. 1, pp. 72–3.

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Confession of Faith, and Covenants, etc.’ Shields alleged that the separatists’ alternatives to his course were either to remain aloof from all Churches or to become Independents. In either case, they compromised the principles of the Covenants. ‘What shall become of Presbyterian Government, and our Testimony for that against Independency, Sectarianism and Schism’, Shields asked.56 In this way, members of the Church fought back against separatists who claimed to be acting in accordance with the Covenants. Shields’s former colleague in the United Societies, Thomas Linning, attacked John Macmillan, minister to the United Societies, in 1709. ‘You are no Covenanter’, Linning wrote, ‘being bound to Unity in our Covenants’.57 Criticising the dissenting preacher John Hepburn in 1717, another writer pointed out that ‘notwithstanding he hath cryed up the Covenant for many Years, yet he hath never had a Communion, tho’ he knows he would have by the Covenanters been laid under Censure, for neglecting to Communicate’.58 When Macmillan and Hepburn condemned the Church as untrue to the Covenants, they were speaking hypocritically. A similar argument could be used against divisive figures within the Church. In the early 1730s, when a group of ministers around Ebenezer Erskine and John Currie took a particularly strong stand against lay patronage, their rivals condemned their use of divisive tactics. ‘Do you not remember that we are, by our Covenants, sworn against Schism’, one asked. ‘It may be thought strange that some People, who profess a great deal of respect to the Covenants, instead of extirpating Schism, fall upon Ways and Means to propagate it.’59 Later in the decade, after Erskine had seceded from the Church, Currie defended it from the opposition of his former ally. ‘While the Church of Scotland remains a true Church of Christ, having pure Standards, requiring no sinful Terms of Communion of us, unless we break Covenant-engagements, we are obliged to remain in that Church’, he maintained.60 In the early and mid-eighteenth century, then, many of the presbyterians who most noisily asserted their fidelity to the Covenants acted against two of the oaths’ central principles. As in the 1680s, by calling the Cameronians (or Seceders) ‘Covenanters’, we risk implying that mainstream presbyterians had abandoned the Covenants. Not only did most members of the Church think that they upheld the Covenants, but they convincingly questioned the dissenters’ Covenanting credentials. 56

Alexander Shields, Church-Communion enquired into: or a Treatise against Separation from this National Church of Scotland ([?Edinburgh,] 1706), pp. 15, 68. 57 Thomas Linning, A Letter from a Friend to Mr John Mackmillan, wherein is Demonstrate the Contrariety of his Principles, and Practices, to the Scripture, our Covenants, Confession of Faith, and Practice of Christ ([?Edinburgh], 1709), p. 5. 58 Robeson, Mene Tekel, app., 7. See Church of Scotland, Acts of the General Assembly, p. 56. 59 A Defence of the Church of Scotland. Being some Remarks, by way of Query, on Three Sermons (Edinburgh, 1733), p. 83. 60 John Currie, An Essay on Separation: or, a Vindication of the Church of Scotland (Edinburgh, 1738), p. 45.

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Conclusion The term ‘Covenanter’ is appropriate for the years from 1638 to 1660, but it has encouraged some misconceptions about the period after the Restoration of the monarchy. Only for an elite of office-holders did the Restoration settlement impose a straightforward choice between obedience and loyalty on the one hand and commitment to the Covenants on the other. Supporters of the Covenants were not inevitably at odds with the Restoration regime, and some did not dissent from the Church. Few renewed the Covenants or joined the Cameronians. Nevertheless, historians have too often implied that extremist figures were typical ‘later Covenanters’, or that more moderate presbyterians abandoned their Covenanting principles after 1679 or 1689. Scholars have been insufficiently critical of a mythologised perspective that celebrates zealots and martyrs, while unfairly denigrating the many Scots who remained sympathetic to presbyterianism but were forced to compromise in their commitment to the Covenants. To establish a balanced interpretation of support for the Covenants after the Restoration, then, we need more studies of mainstream presbyterianism. Rather than foregrounding the behaviour of former Protesters in the 1660s, we should consider what became of the Resolutioners who refused to accept episcopacy. As many as half of the presbyterian ministers deprived in 1662–3 were willing to preach again in parish churches under the indulgences of 1669 and 1672.61 We know too little about their reasons for doing so. What was the experience of lay people who attended conventicles in the 1670s, returned to their parish churches in the 1680s and then joined presbyterian congregations under James VII’s toleration in 1687?62 In short, historians should pay more attention to the porous boundary between nonconformity and conformity after the Restoration. Another implication of my argument is that we should recognise the ways in which the significance of the Covenants changed after the Restoration. From 1638 to the Cromwellian conquest of 1650 the Covenants formed part of the constitution of Scotland, prescribing limits within which new laws and government policies could be developed. After 1660 the Covenants did not restrict the king and the government in this way; instead, it was individuals who considered themselves bound by the oaths. In these circumstances, Scots made their own decisions about whether and how to adhere to the Covenants. This helps to explain why there were so many plausible ways of attempting to remain true to the oaths. Studies identifying continuities between the years before and after the Restoration are valuable,63 but we should not forget that Scottish presbyterians existed in a quite different 61 Cowan,

Scottish Covenanters, p. 79. Scotland in Revolution, chs 2–3. 63 See esp. McIntyre, ‘Saints and Subverters’. 62 Raffe,

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context after 1660. They were not ‘later Covenanters’, we might conclude, but among the first in Scotland to experience the personal dilemmas of protestant pluralism.

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Bibliography Manuscripts Aberdeen Aberdeen University Library MS 635 – Diary or ‘Spiritual Exercises’ of John Forbes of Corse MSM 91/4 – Marischal College Visitation Papers (1636–1717) Edinburgh Edinburgh University Library DC.8.110 – ‘Admiranda et Notanda’ (n.d.) La. I 296/2 – General Demands Concerning the Late Covenant (1638) La. II 25/34 – Pamphlet in Reference to the Solemn League and Covnant (?1650) National Library of Scotland (NLS) MS. 20.6.16 – The National Covenant (1638–9) MS. 34.5.15 – The King’s Covenant (1638) MS. 6248 – Transcript of Volumes XVII-XVIII of the Diary of Archibald Johnston of Wariston (1655-6) Wodrow Folio, XXV – Covenanting Papers (1636–41) Wodrow Folio XXVIII – Tracts and Papers Relating to Current Affairs (1685–1710) Wodrow Folio, XXIX – Papers Relating to Scottish Political and Ecclesiastical History (1531–1650) Wodrow Folio, XXXI – Papers, containing Miscellaneous Material (1610–1712) Wodrow Folio, LXV – A Volume of Miscellaneous Church and State Papers (1639–50) Wodrow Folio, LXVI – Original Letters (1606–42) Wodrow Quarto, XXVI – Papers Relating to Presbyterian Dissent (1622–85) Wodrow Quarto, XXXII – Papers Relating to the Protester-Resolutioner Controversy (1650–3) Wodrow Quarto, LXXII – ‘The Exercise of Grizell Love’ National Records of Scotland (NRS) CH2/35/1 – Presbytery of Biggar Minutes (1644–50) CH2/40/1 – Presbytery of Brechin Minutes (1639–61) CH2/96/1/1 – Duffus Kirk Session Minutes (1631–48) CH2/124/1 – Corstorphine Kirk Session Minutes (1646–85) 215

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241

Index Aberdeen  4–5, 9, 39, 41, 45, 53, 61, 63, 65, 132, 153, 185 King’s College  57, 62, 63, 125, 150–1, 159 Marischal College  125, 150–1 mercat cross  132 presbytery of  66–7, 68 printing press  55, 126 Synod of  62, 66, 138 Aberdeen Doctors  53–69, 77, 98, 125, 133, 139 diversity of opinion among  56–8 Generall Demands (1638)  54, 55, 57, 58, 67–8 Act of Classes  148, 149 Adair, William  82 Adamson, John  160 Angus 75 anti-Catholicism  59, 67, 73, 74, 79, 142, 211 Arbroath 75 Argyllshire 80 Aristotelianism 34 Arminianism 65–6 Aquinas, Thomas  25 Auchinleck 174 Ayr  9, 106, 136 presbytery of  83–4 Ayrshire  174, 200, 201 Baillie, Robert  4, 5, 8, 45, 49, 50, 54, 65, 66, 72, 79, 92–3, 103, 122, 145, 154–8 An Historicall Vindication of the Church of Scotland (1646) 102 Balcanquhall, Walter  39, 45, 49, 97, 112–13 Large Declaration (1639)  97, 111, 139 Banchory-Ternan  76, 133 baptists 9 Baron, John  148–9 Baron, Robert  53, 55, 61 Berwick, Pacification of (1639)  137

Berwick-upon-Tweed 61 Biggar 9 presbytery of  82 Bishops’ Wars  5, 6, 61, 75, 96, 137 Blair, Alexander  173 Blair, Robert  145, 158 Book of Canons  47, 74, 142 Book of Common Prayer  33, 47, 74, 113, 142 riots against  47 Bothwell Bridge, Battle of (1679)  174 Boyd, Zachary  50 Breda, Treaty of (1650)  152, 153, 157 Brechin, presbytery of  101 Brereton, Sir William  43 Brig O’Dee, Battle of (1638)  136 Brodie, Alexander, of Brodie  170 Buchan 61 Buchanan, David  99–100 A Short and True Relation of Some Main Passages of Things 100 Buchanan, George  90, 97 Rerum Scoticarum Historia (1582)  172 Burnet, Gilbert, bishop of Salisbury  118, 122, 169–70, 183–4 Burntisland  50 n.56, 75, 131 Calderwood, David  101–2, 104 Calvin, John  25 n. 28, 89, 108 Cambuslang 109 Campbell, Archibald, 1st marquis of Argyll  40, 76, 80, 149, 165 Campbell, John, of Loudoun  94–5 Cameronians 204–12 declaration of Sanquhar (1680)  205 Carnegie, David, 1st earl of Southesk  75, 132 Carnwath 138 Carstairs 135–6 Charles I  51, 74, 78, 111, 129 ecclesiastical policies  71 execution  8, 165 imprisonment of  78, 84

243

INDEX

loyalty to  126–7, 144 Charles II  8, 85, 152, 157, 166, 179, 180–1, 187–9 allegiance to  204–5 birthday of  174 chaplain to  156 coronation at Scone (1651)  172–3 royal supremacy  169 Chartres, John  21, 26–8 Claim of Right (1689)  190 Clan Campbell  80–1 Clan Donald  80–1 clergy  26, 32, 38, 49–50, 53, 58, 82, 119, 127–31, 134–5, 139–43, 168 deposition of  76, 127, 136–8, 143, 201 Clogie, William  131 Colvill, William  145 communion  22, 63, 83 conventicles  182, 188, 213 Convention of Royal Burghs  41, 46, 48, 192 Corbet, John  98, 99, 140–2 The Ungirding of the Scottish Armour (1639) 140–1 The Epistle Congratulatorie of Lysimachus Nicanor (1640)  98, 141–2 Corstorphine 84 Court of Session  180 Crail 45 Cromwell, Oliver  158, 165, 180, 184, 199 invasion of Scotland  8–9, 85, 213 Crookshank, William  207–8 crying  21, 34, 36–7 culdees 90 Cunningham, Alexander, of Glencairn  44, 167 Cupar (Fife)  9 Currie  21, 26–8, 37 Currie, John  212 Dalkeith, presbytery of  84 Dalry 171 Deer, presbytery of  9 Defoe, Daniel  206 Dick, Quintin  200 Dickson, David  94, 156, 158–9

Dirleton  201 n.12 Disruption, the (1843)  209 Donaldson, Gordon  125, 179 Dort, Synod of  64 Douglas (Lanarkshire)  75, 131, 132–3 Douglas, James  75, 76, 132–3 Douglas, Robert  149, 154 Douglas, William, 1st duke of Queensberry  184, 192 Dron  201 n.12 Drumclog, Battle of (1679)  174 Drumelzier  201 n.12 Drummond, James, 4th earl of Perth 193 Drummond, John, 1st earl of Melfort 193 Duffus 131 Dunbar 142 Battle of  9, 152 Dundas, Sir James, Lord Arniston  199 Dunfermline 84 Durham, James  156–9 Eaglesham 174 Edinburgh  9, 68, 96, 104, 112, 130, 171 Castle 189 Old Kirk  33, 131, 141 printing presses  74 St Giles  33, 43 n. 22, 156 Trinity College  21–2, 28–32, 36–7, 95, 105, 114 The Tables  2, 39–40, 131 university  146–7, 156 Elgin  127 n.13, 135 Ellon  136, 143 presbytery of  133 Engagement, the  7–8, 51, 72, 78, 81–3, 145–60, 164, 202–3 grassroots support  84 invasion of England  83 memory of  164–7, 169–71, 173–5 purge by Anti–Engagers  83–4, 127 response to  81–3 and the universities  145–60 Engagers  see Engagement episcopacy  4, 55, 71, 78, 90, 96, 129, 143, 187, 200 arguments against  92–5, 137

244

INDEX

excommunication of  76 restoration of  79, 169, 187–8 Erastianism  148, 210 Erskine, Ebenezer  212 exile  65–6, 68, 97, 166, 173

Gordon, George, marquis of Huntly  58, 132 Gordon of Haddo, George  193 Govan 39 Graham, James, marquis of Montrose  5, 7, 51, 71, 75–6, 77–8, 79–80, 84, 134, 137 n.68 Cumbernauld band (1640)  75 Graham of Claverhouse, John  189 Guild, William  53, 54, 55–8, 61–4, 133, 142, 150–1 Guthrie, James  149, 153–4, 167 Guthrie, William  201

fasting  26–8, 32, 34, 36, 78, 208 Fenwick 201 Fife 174–5 Forbes, John, of Corse  53, 54, 55, 57, 61, 62, 64–6 A Peaceable Warning to the Subjects in Scotland  57, 58–9 Forgan 135 Foveran 136 Fraser, Alexander  131 Fraser, Andrew, Lord Fraser  132 Fraser, Janet  109–10 Gaidhaeltachd  78–80, 84, 190–1 Galloway 171 Galston 174 Garioch, presbytery of  138 Geddie, Emilia  119 General Assembly  9, 65, 66, 85, 95–6, 101, 112, 120–1, 136–7, 140, 150, 151–2, 153–4, 157–8, 172, 176 commission of the  10, 78, 82, 103, 148 Glasgow (1638)  39, 54, 76, 90, 91–2, 105, 133 n.42, 134, 143, 148 Declaration  51, 60, 74, 77, 134 membership 48–9 Edinburgh (1639)  51, 93–5, 97 Aberdeen (1640)  61, 65–6, 69, 137–8 Geneva 97 Gillespie, Patrick  10, 153, 157, 159 Glasgow  39–52, 133, 153 Blackfriars 156 Dean of Guild  41–2 economic condition of  41 High Kirk  50, 156 occupation of (1645)  51 presbytery of  9 provost of  39, 44–5, 46, 47 synod of  169, 201 Tron Kirk, 50 university  49, 53, 126, 146–7, 154–6, 158–9

Hamilton, James, duke of Hamilton  7, 8, 74, 76, 96, 132, 136, 147–8 Hamilton, Patrick  92 Hay, John, 2nd earl of Tweeddale  193 Henderson, Alexander  22, 32, 74, 92, 93, 94, 158–9 Honyman, Andrew  79 A Seasonable Case of Submission to Church–Government (1662)  168–9, 200 Hope, Sir Thomas, of Craighall  91–2, 120 horning 149 Hutcheson, George  173 Independents  6, 8, 10, 149, 154 Inverness  9, 131–2 Ireland  9, 65 Irvine 173 Israel 198 James VI&I  42, 92 n.13, 103, 118, 140, 180, 182, 187, 194 The Trew Law of Free Monarchies (1598) 140 James VII&II  190, 192–3, 205–8, 213 Johnston of Wariston, Archibald  21–3, 32, 34–8, 74, 105–6, 111–12, 115–16, 119–23 condemnation of  184 reading practices  91–2 Johnston, Robert  103 Kelso 84

245

INDEX

Kemback 148 Kennedy, John, 6th earl of Cassillis  169 Kennedy, John of Kermuck  133 Kilconquhar 84 King’s Covenant  5, 49–51, 59–60, 60–1, 74, 75, 77, 105, 131, 135, 143 Kintore 192 Kirk, the  8–9, 59–60, 83, 93–5, 114, 134–5, 135–8, 145–50, 152–5, 187–8 see also clergy discipline of  30, 103, 149–50, 165, 210 see also General Assembly patronage  4, 168, 200–1, 212 purges of  7, 16, 76, 83–4, 127, 135–8, 148–9 Kirkcaldy, presbytery of  75 Kirkcudbright 189 kneeling  26, 63 Knox, John  1,91, 92, 95–104, 172 Historie of the Reformatioun  92, 96–7, 99–100 Lanark  95, 171, 203 presbytery of  75, 76 landscape 174–5 Lasswade 73 Learmouth, Andrew  135 Leighton, Robert, bishop of Dunblane  79, 160, 174–5, 186–7 Leith  9, 84, 134 Leslie 131 Leslie, John, 6th earl of Rothes  33 Leslie, John, bishop of Raphoe  131 Leslie, William  53, 55, 61 Lesmahagow  174, 175 Lhanbryd 136 Liberton 135 Lindsay, Patrick, Archbishop of Glasgow  44, 46–7, 51 Linlithgow 9 Linning, Thomas  212 Lochaber 190 Logie, Andrew  138 London, Treaty of (1641)  78–9, 137 Lord’s Supper, see communion

Lothian and Tweeddale, Synod of  9 Love, Grizell  109 Lutheranism 30 Lynch, Michael  41 MacColla, Alasdair  79 Macinnes, Allan. I.  2, 3, 46, 146 Mackenzie of Rosehaugh, George  185–6 Macmillan, John  MacWard, Robert  173 Maitland, John, 1st earl of Lauderdale  167, 170, 184–5, 193 Makey, Walter  2 malignancy  146–8, 152–4, 157, 175–6 punishments for  127, 135, 145, 149–51 reintegration of  9 women 84 Markinch 75 Mauchline 174 Mauchline Moor, Battle of (1648)  82–3, 171, 173 Maxwell, Gabriel  82 Maxwell, John  98–9, 101, 103 An Answer to a Worthy Gentleman (1644) 98 The Burthen of Issachar (1646)  101–2 Megary Hill, Battle of (1638)  136 Melville, Andrew  103 Melville, James  114 Menzies, John  150–1 Middleton, Alexander  151 Middleton, John, 1st earl of Middleton  82, 170, 179, 191–2 militia 188–91 ministers, see clergy Mitchell, David  33 Mitchelson, James  105 Mitchelson, Margaret  105–23 Morrill, John  12–13 Morton, William  134 Muirkirk 174 Mure, William, of Rowallan  30 Napier, Archibald  140 National Covenant (1638)  10, 45–8, 71, 72, 90, 91–2, 96, 115, 164, 198 and authority  8, 72–3

246

INDEX

authorship 2–3 federal theology  82 gender roles  105–6, 111–13, 118–20 interpretations of  2–3, 4, 8, 10, 54, 71–7, 127–8, 139–41 memory of  165–70 subscription  4–5, 48, 58, 60, 62, 131–2, 133 barring from  83 emotional responses to  21–32, 35–8 gestures at  32–4 participation in  23–4 persuasion  49, 65 preaching at  28–32 with caveats  62–3, 130, 133–4 Nave, David  148–9 Negative Confession  31, 57, 68, 72, 73, 92, 126, 130 Nevoy, John  82 Newbattle 160 ‘New British History’  12–13, 164 Newcastle Upon Tyne  136 New Model Army  155, 165

Preston, Battle of (1648)  83, 147, 165, 202 Primrose, Sir Archibald  167 Privy Council  74, 173 Protesters  9, 85, 153–9, 199 psalmody  22, 36 n. 100, 115 n.54 Public Resolutions (1650)  154 Resolutioners  9, 85, 152–9, 198

Ormiston  201 n.12 Paisley 136 Paraeus, David  92 Parliament 179–83 Peebles, Barbara  109–10, 113 Pencaitland 101 Pentland Rising (1666)  168, 171, 203 perjury  75, 133, 135, 170, 207 Perth  9, 97 Five Articles of  28, 45, 48–9, 54, 55, 58, 59–60, 63, 69, 77, 112–13, 133, 135, 144 presbytery of  73, 101 Petty 131 Philiphaugh, Battle of (1645)  79 Pitscottie Moor  174–5 preaching, see sermons prelacy, see episcopacy presbyterianism  1, 6, 8, 10–12, 74, 76, 81, 90, 113, 118, 125, 152, 167, 169–171, 175–7, 182, 184–5, 187–90, 197–205, 210–12

Ramsay, Robert  156, 158 Rayne 138 Remonstrants 175 Reformed tradition  22, 25, 27, 33–4, 38, 58, 93 Renfrewshire 190 Restoration  10, 78, 85, 164–77, 197, 202–4 anniversary of  174 ecclesiastical policies  14, 78, 166–8, 187–9, 200 indulgences (1669, 1672)  11, 173, 204–5 opposition to  170–2 royal supremacy  169, 184–5 fiscal policies  182–3, 190–1 nobility 192–4 Ripon, Treaty of (1640)  137 Rollock, Henry  23, 28–32, 95, 105, 110–11, 114 Ross 80 Ross, Alexander  53, 55, 61 Row, John  159 royalism  7–10, 48–9, 51–2, 71–2, 75–85, 113, 126–34, 136–44, 147–8, 153, 155, 157, 180, 186–7 Rutherford, Samuel  6, 154, 158–9 Satan  25, 109, 113 Scroggie, Alexander  53, 55, 61, 62–3, 66–7, 68, 185 Scrimgeour, Henry  135 Seceders  204, 209 Second Book of Discipline (1578)  168 sermons 62 Sharp, James, archbishop of St Andrews  167, 170 site of death  175 Shields, Alexander  208 n.42, 211–12 Shotts 118 Sibbald, James  53, 55, 61, 62–6, 68

247

INDEX

Simson, Archibald  34 Sinclair, John  201 n.12 Slaines 136 Solemn League and Covenant  2, 6, 10, 71, 77–82, 84, 145, 164, 171, 198, 210 refusal of  77–8 resubscription  78, 203 Spalding, John  61, 63–4, 67 Spang, William  98 n.34 Spottiswood, John, archbishop of St Andrews  42, 44, 90, 97 Spurlock, R. Scott  72 St Andrews  45, 54, 134, 148, 158 university  126, 146–7, 149–52, 154 faculty of arts  150 St Salvator’s College  148, 151 St Leonard’s College  148, 149, 151 St Mary’s College (New College)  154, 158–9 Stevenson, David  2, 3, 71, 75, 105, 106, 127–8, 146 Stewart, Alexander, 5th earl of Moray 192 Stewart, Laura A.M.  22, 127, 146 Stewart, James, of Goodtrees  170–1, 176 Stewart, John, of Traquair  74, 93–4, 96, 132 Stirling 46 Castle 189 presbytery of  153

Stirlingshire  174, 190 Strang, John  50, 126–7, 145, 156 Strathaven 174 Struther, William  26–7, 35 Sutherland 190 Test Act (1681)  181 Todd, Margo  13, 32, 38 Torry 61 Torwood 174 Turner, Sir James  171 Union, Acts of  12, 210 United Societies  10–11, 197, 204–6 Udny 136 Ulster  7, 37, 80 Wemyss 84 Western Remonstrance (1650)  153 Westminster Assembly of Divines  6, 11, 171, 205, 210 Whiggamore Raid (1648)  147–8, 164 Wishart, George  134 Wodrow, Robert  1, 106, 206–7 Wood, James  154–5 Worcester, Battle of (1651)  153, 158 Wylie, Thomas  82 Yester 105 Young, John R.  12–13 Yule  64, 150

248

STUDIES IN EARLY MODERN CULTURAL, POLITICAL AND SOCIAL HISTORY I Women of Quality Accepting and Contesting Ideals of Femininity in England, 1690–1760 Ingrid H. Tague II Restoration Scotland, 1660–1690 Royalist Politics, Religion and Ideas Clare Jackson III Britain, Hanover and the Protestant Interest, 1688–1756 Andrew C. Thompson IV Hanover and the British Empire, 1700–1837 Nick Harding V The Personal Rule of Charles II, 1681–85 Jason McElligott VI Royalism, Print and Censorship in Revolutionary England Grant Tapsell VII The English Catholic Community, 1688–1745 Politics, Culture and Ideology Gabriel Glickman VIII England and the 1641 Irish Rebellion Joseph Cope IX Culture and Politics at the Court of Charles II, 1660–1685 Matthew Jenkinson

X Commune, Country and Commonwealth The People of Cirencester, 1117–1643 David Rollison XI An Enlightenment Statesman in Whig Britain Lord Shelburne in Context, 1737–1805 Edited by Nigel Aston and Clarissa Campbell Orr XII London’s News Press and the Thirty Years War Jayne E. E. Boys XIII God, Duty and Community in English Economic Life, 1660–1720 Brodie Waddell XIV Remaking English Society Social Relations and Social Change in Early Modern England Edited by Steve Hindle, Alexandra Shepard and John Walter XV Common Law and Enlightenment in England, 1689–1750 Julia Rudolph XVI The Final Crisis of the Stuart Monarchy The Revolutions of 1688–91 in their British, Atlantic and European Contexts Edited by Tim Harris and Stephen Taylor XVII The Civil Wars after 1660 Public Remembering in Late Stuart England Matthew Neufeld XVIII The Nature of the English Revolution Revisited Essays in Honour of John Morrill Edited by Stephen Taylor and Grant Tapsell

XIX The King’s Irishmen The Irish in the Exiled Court of Charles II, 1649–1660 Mark R. F. Williams XX Scotland in the Age of Two Revolutions Edited by Sharon Adams and Julian Goodare XXI Alehouses and Good Fellowship in Early Modern England Mark Hailwood XXII Social Relations and Urban Space: Norwich, 1600–1700 Fiona Williamson XXIII British Travellers and the Encounter with Britain, 1450–1700 John Cramsie XXIV Domestic Culture in Early Modern England Antony Buxton XXV Accidents and Violent Death in Early Modern London, 1650–1750 Craig Spence XXVI Popular Culture and Political Agency in Early Modern England and Ireland Essays in Honour of John Walter Edited by Michael J. Braddick and Phil Withington XXVII Commerce and Politics in Hume’s History of England Jia Wei XXVIII Bristol from Below: Law, Authority and Protest in a Georgian City Steve Poole and Nicholas Rogers

XXIX Disaffection and Everyday Life in Interregnum England Caroline Boswell XXX Cromwell’s House of Lords Politics, Parliaments and Constitutional Revolution, 1642–1660 Jonathan Fitzgibbons XXXI Stuart Marriage Diplomacy: Dynastic Politics in their European Context, 1604–1630 Edited by Valentina Caldari and Sara J. Wolfson XXXII National Identity and the Anglo-Scottish Borderlands, 1552–1652 Jenna M. Schultz XXXIII Roguery in Print: Crime and Culture in Early Modern London Lena Liapi XXXIV Politics, Religion and Ideas in Seventeenth- and Eighteenth-Century Britain Essays in Honour of Mark Goldie Edited by Justin Champion, John Coffey, Tim Harris and John Marshall XXXV The Hanoverian Succession in Great Britain and its Empire Edited by Brent S. Sirota and Allan I. Macinnes XXXVI Age Relations and Cultural Change in Eighteenth-Century England Barbara Crosbie