When soldiers were set to guard the doors of the kirk at Mauchline, George Wishart forbade his companions from forcing an entrance. He reminded them that the word he preached was one of peace, and that no man ought to shed blood on his behalf. Withdrawing instead to the open moor, where a great multitude awaited him, he preached for more than three hours. On that day, the clergy had shuttered a sanctuary; they had not silenced the minister. This scene, related in the chronicle adapted by Borrow in the nineteenth century, foretold all that lay ahead: he would be brought to trial for heresy, yet he would obstinately answer only with Holy Writ.
Upon his return from England, Wishart went about teaching in the burghs of Dundee and Montrose. Cardinal David Beaton, Archbishop of St Andrews, grew incensed as the preacher’s following swelled, and caused an inhibition to be served upon the magistrates of Dundee, forbidding them to harbour him. A burgher of note, Robert Mill, delivered this injunction to Wishart at the close of a sermon. The preacher paused, then replied that he had laboured solely for the comfort of the townsfolk, and that their rejection of the Word would not shield them from coming tribulations. He then took his leave, nor did Mill or the congregation attempt to detain him.
He remained in those quarters for a month, until tidings reached him that the pestilence was ravaging Dundee. He returned without delay. Stationing himself at the East Port, he preached to the townsfolk as they stood divided by the gates: the stricken were kept without, the uninfected remained within. He abode in the town throughout the contagion and, according to the chronicle, ensured that the poor did not perish for want of sustenance, whilst the wealthier families tended to their own kin.
One day, a priest named John Weighton was apprehended with a naked weapon in his hand, suspected of seeking to take Wishart’s life. The alarm spread swiftly amongst the sick penned outside the walls; they surged into the town, clamouring for the priest’s blood. Wishart took the man into his arms and besought the crowd to be pacified, declaring that this servant had merely shown them the peril which hung over their heads. Thus, the very man marked out for murder shielded his would-be assassin from the fury of the populace, and the priest was spared.
Later, as he was preparing to visit a sick man in the county of Fife, a letter reached him urging his speedy attendance upon a certain Lord Kenneir. Scarcely had Wishart departed Montrose when he drew rein, suspecting an ambush. He dispatched horsemen ahead to scour the road; they came upon some sixty armed men lying in wait to intercept him. The missive had been a forgery. Wishart retraced his steps to the town, yet set out a few days later for Edinburgh, turning a deaf ear to those who trembled for his life.
On the road to Edinburgh, he rested for a night at Inner Gowrie. The chronicle relates that William Spalding and John Watson, who shared his bedchamber, observed him steal forth after midnight. Descending into the garden, he fell upon his knees and remained long prostrate in prayer. On the morrow, his companions pressed him for an explanation. He revealed to them that his pilgrimage drew near its close, entreating them to pray that his heart might not fail him in the hour of trial. Thus does the narrative ascribe to the future martyr a prescience of his approaching end, though it affords no means of discerning what dark presentiments he truly harboured.
Other sermons followed, first at Leith, then at Haddington. It was upon leaving the latter place that he set out on foot for Ormiston, on account of the bitter frost. John Knox was eager to accompany him, but Wishart turned him back, uttering the words preserved by the chronicle: that a single victim was enough. He proceeded to the house of the Laird of Ormiston without Knox.
At the dead of night, horsemen surrounded the mansion. The Earl of Bothwell, Sheriff of the county, had come to apprehend him in the name of the Regent. The Laird of Ormiston at first refused to surrender his guest, but Bothwell gave his solemn pledge that he would protect his person, keeping him in his own ward until he might either set him at liberty or restore him unharmed. Thereupon Wishart consented to yield, demanding only that his trial be conducted in open court, for he feared a legal death far less than a clandestine murder. The assurance proved hollow. Having conveyed him first to Edinburgh and thence to his own stronghold, Bothwell ultimately delivered him into the hands of the Cardinal, who had him transported under escort to St Andrews.
Beaton had convened his prelates and pressed for an immediate trial. The Regent hesitated to sanction the execution before examining the cause, one of his counsellors having admonished him that the civil sword ought not to become an instrument of private vengeance against a prisoner. When Arran demanded that the proceedings be stayed, the Cardinal made answer that the Church was fully competent to act without his warrant. Accordingly, he caused a summons to be served upon Wishart, already close prisoner, citing him to appear on the morrow to answer for doctrines pronounced seditious and heretical. The prisoner remarked upon the absurdity of being summoned to court by formal process when he was already fast bound in the hands of his judges.
Within the abbey kirk, before the bishops and the assembled clergy, Wishart was placed opposite John Lauder, his accuser, who held a voluminous roll of articles. The sub-prior, John Winram, opened the assize with a sermon upon heresy, defining it as an erroneous opinion obstinately maintained, and reminding the clergy of their duty to know the Word of God in order to reclaim straying souls. The prisoner listened without offering any interruption. When his turn came to speak, he knelt in prayer, then begged leave to expound the doctrine he had delivered since his return to Scotland. The prelates sternly demanded brief answers, a plain yea or nay, refusing him the liberty of a discourse which, they apprehended, might sway the auditory.
The charges confounded doctrinal disputes with matters of state. He stood accused of preaching despite an inhibition; of assailing the sacraments, the invocation of saints, purgatory, holy images, auricular confession, and religious vows; and of defying the Regent’s authority. To each article, he expounded the distinction between what he had truly uttered and the distorted version framed by the prosecutors. Touching the sacraments, he answered that he would affirm nothing beyond what was taught him by the Scriptures. Accused of having disparaged the Eucharist, he replied that he had merely rehearsed the objections raised by a Jewish traveller, without adopting them as his own. The bishops rebuked him, alleging that his prolonged replies were merely intended to seduce the bystanders.
Wishart petitioned for an impartial judge. Lauder retorted that Beaton, clothed with the dignities of Archbishop, Chancellor, and Legate, was more than competent. Wishart refrained from any personal railing against the Cardinal; he prayed only that the Word of God might sit as his judge, and that the Regent, into whose custody he had originally fallen, might be heard. Cries arose from the assembly that the judge and the prisoner were of one cloth. The court at length permitted the articles to be read one by one; yet, whenever Wishart called for the scriptural authority that might establish an accusation, his prosecutor passed abruptly to the next count.
After several hours, the tribunal pronounced him an heretic and condemned him to the flames. He spent the night in prayer within the captain’s quarters. On the following morning, the sacrament was denied him, on the ground that a condemned heretic was unworthy of such spiritual succour. He desired speech with the sub-prior, the same who had preached the day before, who came and heard his solemn protestation of innocence. The captain of the castle then invited him to break his fast. Wishart begged him to tarry whilst he blessed the bread and the cup; he spoke of the death of Christ, exhorting those present to dwell together in mutual charity.
Outside, the gibbet was being reared, and the castle artillery was mounted to thwart any attempt at rescue. The prelates had caused rich carpets to be hung and cushions laid, that they might view the spectacle from the castle windows. With his hands pinioned, Wishart passed among the poor who besought his alms; he answered that his hands were no longer his own, but prayed God to bestow upon them all that they stood in need of. Upon the scaffold, he exhorted the people not to stumble at his doctrine because they beheld him suffer. Bags of gunpowder had been fastened to his garments by the executioners. When the fire was kindled, the powder exploded, scorching his flesh; he remained alive long enough to utter a few last words, until the executioner tightened the cord about his neck, and his voice was heard no more.
Wishart was put to death at St Andrews in March 1546. On the following twenty-ninth of May, armed men surprised Beaton within his castle and slew him. Wishart was no longer there to stay their vengeance, as he had once stayed the murder of the priest at Dundee. His memory was subsequently claimed by the Reformers, and the prediction which Borrow places upon his lips at the foot of the stake lent to the Cardinal’s assassination the guise of a prophecy fulfilled. Yet in the earlier episode at Dundee, the chronicle had shown him shielding with his own body the armed priest whom an infuriated crowd sought to tear to pieces. Before his name was invoked to avenge a murder, he is seen labouring only to prevent the taking of another’s life.