In the long arm of the church-yard that extends to Lauriston, the prisoners from Bothwell Bridge--fed on bread and water and guarded, life for life, by vigilant marksmen--lay five months looking for the scaffold or the plantations.
And while the good work was going forward in the Grassmarket, idlers in Greyfriars might have heard the throb of the military drums that drowned the voices of the martyrs.

Nor is this all: for down in the corner farthest from Sir George, there stands a monument dedicated, in uncouth Covenanting verse, to all who lost their lives in that contention.

There is no moorsman shot in a snow shower beside Irongray or Co'monell; there is not one of the two hundred who were drowned off the Orkneys; nor so much as a poor, over-driven, Covenanting slave in the American plantations; but can lay claim to a share in that memorial, and, if such things interest just men among the shades, can boast he has a monument on earth as well as Julius Caesar or the Pharaohs.

Where they may all lie, I know not.

Far-scattered bones, indeed! But if the reader cares to learn how some of them--or some part of some of them--found their way at length to such honourable sepulture, let him listen to the words of one who was their comrade in life and their apologist when they were dead.
Some of the insane controversial matter I omit, as well as some digressions, but leave the rest in Patrick Walker's language and orthography:-- 'The never to be forgotten Mr._James Renwick_ told me, that he was Witness to their Public Murder at the _Gallowlee_, between _Leith_ and _Edinburgh_, when he saw the Hangman hash and hagg off all their Five Heads, with _Patrick Foreman's_ Right Hand: Their Bodies were all buried at the Gallows Foot; their Heads, with _Patrick's_ Hand, were brought and put upon five Pikes on the _Pleasaunce-Port_.