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different has been the metier of some who have disembarked at the 
Bass. 
Monks and martyrs, divines and jailers, have each in turn 
trod that way which led them into exile. The names of Jacobites 
and Lauders — a long roll — are written in its annals of blood. 
From here James I. took sail before his long captivity. Here was 
the state prison of Charles II., who purchased this island of the 
Lauder family. Here, after the revolution of 1G88, a desperate 
body of men settled, and having a large boat which they hoisted 
up on the rock or let down at pleasure, committed many acts of 
piracy. Here, to this day, may you see the cruel dungeon where 
Gillespie, Fraser, Scott, M’Gilligen, John Blackadder, and many 
others of the salt of the earth, wasted the best of their lives — a grey 
remnant of a cruel reign, which time, and weather, and salt spray, 
cannot efface. As I strolled into the unwholesome cell, I won- 
dered how these Scotch divines — how human beings at all— could 
have survived in such a place. Small wonder if after lying there 
four years the wretched Blackadder’s health became so much 
impaired as to excite apprehensions for his life.* The taint of the 
dungeon clings to its walls, and in listening to my guide’s category 
of old coins and curiosities — some of them most valuable — which 
have been found near there, it seemed as if it were a tale of blood- 
money ; money for which those old Scotch covenanters had been 
betrayed and seized, or the offerings of a treasured ransom which 
never bought the freedom it was hoarded for. Beyond the dun- 
geon is a deserted fortalice, not yet undermined by rabbits, and 
beyond that a garden and a well. The gardener who planted the 
garden has gone to his rest long ago ; but his yellow tulips t arc 
still there, blossoming in fragrant memory of him by whom they 
* He was set free by order of the Privy Council, December, 16S5 ; but 
the pardon came too late. Before it could be carried into effect death 
released him. In the churchyard at North Berwick, where he was buried, I 
saw a curious inscription to him, beginning : — 
“ Blest John, for Jesus’ sake, in Patmos bound, 
His prison Bethel, Patmos Pisgah found 
and reaching to the length of twenty-three lines, which I have no doubt is 
cotemporary with the date of his death. 
t Specimens of the large Tree Mallow ( Lamtera arborea, L.) which 
grows on the rock, may be seen at Mr. Kendall’s, at Canty Bay. 
