Scott Visits Gill's Hill

Turning today to Scott’s journal, to revisit the Radlett murder, which was covered earlier, Scott, intrigued by the story, visited the environs on May 28^th, 1828.

May 28 [1828].—We took leave of our kind old host after breakfast, and set out for our own land. Our elegant researches carried us out of the high-road and through a labyrinth of intricate lanes,—which seem made on purpose to afford strangers the full benefit of a dark night and a drunk driver,—in order to visit Gill's Hill, famous for the murder of Mr. Weare.

The place has the strongest title to the description of Wordsworth:—

"A merry spot, 'tis said, in days of yore,But something ails it now—- the place is cursed."

The principal part of the house has been destroyed, and only the kitchen remains standing. The garden has been dismantled, though a few laurels and garden shrubs, run wild, continue to mark the spot. The fatal pond is now only a green swamp, but so near the house that one cannot conceive how it was ever chosen as a place of temporary concealment of the murdered body. Indeed the whole history of the murder, and the scenes which ensued, are strange pictures of desperate and short-sighted wickedness. The feasting—the singing—the murderer with his hands still bloody hanging round the neck of one of the females—the watch-chain of the murdered man, argue the utmost apathy. Even Probert, the most frightened of the party, fled no further for relief than to the brandy bottle, and is found in the very lane, and at the spot of the murder, seeking for the murderous weapon, and exposing himself to the view of the passengers. Another singular mark of stupid audacity was their venturing to wear the clothes of their victim. There was a want of foresight in the whole arrangement of the deed, and the attempts to conceal it, which argued strange inconsideration, which a professed robber would not have exhibited. There was just one single shade of redeeming character about a business so brutal, perpetrated by men above the very lowest rank of life—it was the mixture of revenge which afforded some relief to the circumstances of treachery and premeditation which accompanied it. But Weare was a cheat, and had no doubt pillaged Thurtell, who therefore deemed he might take greater liberties with him than with others.

The dirt of the present habitation equalled its wretched desolation, and a truculent-looking hag, who showed us the place, and received half-a-crown, looked not unlike the natural inmate of such a mansion. She indicated as much herself, saying the landlord had dismantled the place because no respectable person would live there. She seems to live entirely alone, and fears no ghosts, she says.

One thing about this mysterious tragedy was never explained. It is said that Weare, as is the habit of such men, always carried about his person, and between his flannel waistcoat and shirt, a sum of ready money, equal to £1500 or £2000. No such money was ever recovered, and as the sum divided by Thurtell among his accomplices was only about £20, he must, in slang phrase, have bucketed his pals.

Thomas Betterton

'...Home and there found Creed, who dined with us, and after dinner by water to the Royall Theatre; but that was so full they told us we could have no room. And so to the Duke's House; and there saw "Hamlett done, giving us fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton. Who should we see come upon the stage but Gosnell, my wife’s maid? but neither spoke, danced, nor sung; which I was sorry for. But she becomes the stage very well...'

Samuel Pepys had poor luck finding fit entertainment on May 28, 1663, as he records in his diary.  Pepys enjoyed Thomas Betterton's acting, mentioning the actor more than once in his diary.  As Robert Lowe points out in his biography "Thomas Betterton", 'We can scarcely wonder, then, that Pepys interjects notes of admiration again and again regarding this great impersonation. "Above all," he writes, on August 24, 1661, "Betterton did the Prince's part beyond imagination." Again, on May 28, 1663, he "saw Hamlett done, giving us fresh reason never to think enough of Betterton." And his last notice of the play (August 31, 1668) appropriately reaches a climax of approval—"To the Duke of York's Playhouse, and saw Hamlet, which we have not seen this year before, or more; and mightily pleased with it; but, above all, with Betterton, the best part, I believe, that ever man acted."...'

 Lowe reports an observation on Betterton's abilities that Pepys and others may have appreciated:

'In The Laureat, a venomous attack upon Colley Cibber, published in 1740, the author specially mentions Betterton's Hamlet. He says—

 "I have lately been told by a Gentleman who has frequently seen Mr. Betterton perform this Part of Hamlet, that he has observ'd his Countenance (which was naturally ruddy and sanguin) in this Scene of the fourth Act where his Father's Ghost appears, thro' the violent and sudden Emotions of Amazement and Horror, turn instantly on the Sight of his Father's Spirit, as pale as his Neckcloth, when every Article of his Body seem'd to be affected with a Tremor inexpressible; so that, had his Father's Ghost actually risen before him; he could not have been seized with more real Agonies; and this was felt so strongly by the Audience, that the Blood seemed to shudder in their Veins likewise, and they in some Measure partook of the Astonishment and Horror, with which they saw this excellent Actor affected."...'

 Walter Scott, being aware of Betterton's reputation, includes the actor's name in the speech of character Will Smith in "Peveril of the Peak":

 '...”Useless? I deny it," replied Smith. "Every one of my fellows does something or other so exquisitely, that it were sin to make him do any thing else—it is your jacks-of-all-trades who are masters of none.— But hark to Chaubert's signal! The coxcomb is twangling it on the lute, to the tune of Eveillez vous, belle endormie—Come, Master What d'ye call, [addressing Peveril,]—get ye some water, and wash this filthy witness from your hand, as Betterton says in the play; for Chaubert's cookery is like Friar Bacon's head—time is—time was—time will soon be no more."...'

Treaty of Everlasting Peace

The Treaty of Everlasting Peace refers to an agreement made between Henry VII and Scotland's James IV, with Pope Alexander VI binding the treaty with the threat of excommunication to whoever violated the pact.  Part of the deal involved James marrying Henry's daughter Margaret Tudor.  The treaty was signed on May 28, 1502.

Peace benefitted both kingdoms.  Henry, for his part, had recently taked the throne in battle over Richard III.  The Wars of the Roses were not out of mind.  In Scotland, James consolidated his power over the Lord of the Isles.  Peace eternal; until 1513.  In that year, King Henry VIII invaded France, forcing James into an invasion of England under Scotland's Auld Alliance with France.  James died in that invasion, at the Battle of Flodden.

Everlasting peace gave way to centuries of warfare, and there is some sentiment in opposition to the prospect of peace in the poem below, which was included in "A Legend of Montrose".  The poem was written by Sir Alexander Boswell; biographer James Boswell's son, and a friend of Walter Scott's.

"IV. APPENDIX.


No. I

The scarcity of my late friend's poem may be an excuse for adding the spirited conclusion of Clan Alpin's vow. The Clan Gregor has met in the ancient church of Balquidder. The head of Drummond-Ernoch is placed on the altar, covered for a time with the banner of the tribe. The Chief of the tribe advances to the altar:

And pausing, on the banner gazed;
Then cried in scorn, his finger raised,
"This was the boon of Scotland's king;"
And, with a quick and angry fling,
Tossing the pageant screen away,
The dead man's head before him lay.
Unmoved he scann'd the visage o'er,
The clotted locks were dark with gore,
The features with convulsion grim,
The eyes contorted, sunk, and dim.
But unappall'd, in angry mood,
With lowering brow, unmoved he stood.
Upon the head his bared right hand
He laid, the other grasp'd his brand:
Then kneeling, cried, "To Heaven I swear
This deed of death I own, and share;
As truly, fully mine, as though
This my right hand had dealt the blow:
Come then, our foeman, one, come all;
If to revenge this caitiffs fall
One blade is bared, one bow is drawn,
Mine everlasting peace I pawn,
To claim from them, or claim from him,
In retribution, limb for limb.
In sudden fray, or open strife,
This steel shall render life for life."
He ceased; and at his beckoning nod,
The clansmen to the altar trod;
And not a whisper breathed around,
And nought was heard of mortal sound,
Save from the clanking arms they bore,
That rattled on the marble floor;
And each, as he approach'd in haste,
Upon the scalp his right hand placed;
With livid lip, and gather'd brow,
Each uttered, in his turn, the vow.
Fierce Malcolm watch'd the passing scene,
And search'd them through with glances keen;
Then dash'd a tear-drop from his eye;
Unhid it came--he knew not why.
Exulting high, he towering stood:
"Kinsmen," he cried, "of Alpin's blood,
And worthy of Clan Alpin's name,
Unstain'd by cowardice and shame,
E'en do, spare nocht, in time of ill
Shall be Clan Alpin's legend still!"