But of the latter he soon grew weary.
"Though I stay a few days here," he wrote to Queensberry on August 25th,
"I hope none will reproach me of eating the bread of idleness." That, at
least, is a reproach his worst enemies have never tried to fasten on
him. To be doing something was, indeed, a necessity of his existence;
and his duties as Constable soon furnished him with something to do. In
the Tolbooth of Dundee lay a number of poor wretches whom the hard laws
of the time had sentenced to death for various offences, the gravest of
which did not rise above theft. It was within the Constable's power to
order them at any moment for execution; and doubtless some of those who
have meddled with his life, had they been aware of this circumstance in
it, would have risked the conclusion that he did so. Yet, strange as it
may seem, he exerted himself to save the prisoners. And he exerted
himself so successfully that not only was the capital sentence reprieved
to such milder punishment as he might order, but the same license was
granted to him for dealing with all future criminals of the same
class.[48]
FOOTNOTES:
[35] "We have spoken to him about it," runs the royal Order, "and he
doth positively assert that while he was in Scotland he received not one
farthing upon that account" (Napier, ii.
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