placards on top of the desk, yanked open the drawers, and rummaged through their contents. Sophie’s heart froze. For the first time in her young life, she thought she might faint.
“Holy St. Ninian! Blast me! Sweet Jesu!” the guardsman swore in a string of epithets that were far more blasphemous than anything poor Daniel had ever uttered.
“Let me see those,” the other guard demanded, setting his pile of books on the desk beside the placards. “God’s bones! Will you look at that!” he marveled, gazing over his comrade’s shoulders at Lord Lemore’s undelivered order of engravings from Fanny Hill.
“I’ll take those!” Constable Munro intervened, confiscating the pictures. “Bring the rest of the evidence to my chambers,” he added brusquely. Then, prodding Daniel McGann into the alleyway located behind the Luckenbooths, Edinburgh’s keeper of the peace escorted the haggard bookseller through the granite portals and into the bowels of the forbidding fortress known as Tolbooth Prison.
***
On the first of April, Sophie, Hunter, and William Creech sat in the Justiciary Court, watching as the prisoner was led to the dock. Despite her effort to steel herself, Sophie was aghast at his condition after two months’ incarceration. Her father had not shaved in weeks nor, it seemed, had he bathed. His clothes were in tatters and he was shoeless.
She was further dismayed to see James Boswell’s father, Lord Auckinleck, sitting as one of the jurists hearing the case. As she took stock of the courtroom, she noted that among the jury of thirteen men were several friends of Lord Lemore, whom she recognized from the crowd that had attended Thomas Sheridan’s lectures at the Royal Infirmary.
The Libel of Indictment for Blasphemy against Daniel McGann was read in full by the court clerk. Sophie felt her spirits sinking with each damning phrase.
“Said Daniel McGann has most unlawfully, seditiously, and maliciously contrived and intended by wicked, artful, and scandalous insinuations to molest and disturb the happy state of this kingdom,” intoned the court clerk. “Said Daniel McGann insolently did scandalize and vilify our sovereign lord and king, George III, to incite and stir up the subjects of the realm to insurrection against said king by wickedly and feloniously offering for sale bawdy and ungodly engravings from Fanny Hill and other ungodly and blasphemous texts, and did knowingly…”
Sophie clamped her eyes shut and tried to blot out the ghastly accusations, but she could not. When Daniel at last stood in the dock, he seemed to have shrunk to half his size, and his voice quavered when he spoke in his own defense.
“I believe, my lords and jurymen,” he said softly, “in the rights of men to allow their conscience and sensibilities to choose what they should read, see, or hear. I do not, myself, endorse what my accusers consider obscene, but when authorities deem it their right to dictate these matters, there will be no freedom of thought, word, or deed in this land.”
Sophie could hear a disgruntled muttering coming from the direction of the bench where the august Lords of Justiciary sat in their wigs and gowns.
“And do you, sir,” demanded Lord Auckinleck sternly, “deem it your duty to supply society’s wastrels and scoundrels with such disgusting fare?”
“No,” Daniel replied slowly. “But I believe ’tis their right to seek it if they choose.”
“And you make a pretty penny on the stuff, I’ll warrant,” the judge said sharply.
“If I had, I could have raised the necessary bail,” Daniel said mildly.
There were titters from the onlookers, which did not please the panel of judges.
The Lord Advocate rose and requested the judges’ permission to call a witness regarding the procurement of the lewd engravings, which had been entered as evidence, but which even the jury had not been allowed to see. Sophie sank deeper into her courtroom seat as the caddie who had delivered
“Holy St. Ninian! Blast me! Sweet Jesu!” the guardsman swore in a string of epithets that were far more blasphemous than anything poor Daniel had ever uttered.
“Let me see those,” the other guard demanded, setting his pile of books on the desk beside the placards. “God’s bones! Will you look at that!” he marveled, gazing over his comrade’s shoulders at Lord Lemore’s undelivered order of engravings from Fanny Hill.
“I’ll take those!” Constable Munro intervened, confiscating the pictures. “Bring the rest of the evidence to my chambers,” he added brusquely. Then, prodding Daniel McGann into the alleyway located behind the Luckenbooths, Edinburgh’s keeper of the peace escorted the haggard bookseller through the granite portals and into the bowels of the forbidding fortress known as Tolbooth Prison.
***
On the first of April, Sophie, Hunter, and William Creech sat in the Justiciary Court, watching as the prisoner was led to the dock. Despite her effort to steel herself, Sophie was aghast at his condition after two months’ incarceration. Her father had not shaved in weeks nor, it seemed, had he bathed. His clothes were in tatters and he was shoeless.
She was further dismayed to see James Boswell’s father, Lord Auckinleck, sitting as one of the jurists hearing the case. As she took stock of the courtroom, she noted that among the jury of thirteen men were several friends of Lord Lemore, whom she recognized from the crowd that had attended Thomas Sheridan’s lectures at the Royal Infirmary.
The Libel of Indictment for Blasphemy against Daniel McGann was read in full by the court clerk. Sophie felt her spirits sinking with each damning phrase.
“Said Daniel McGann has most unlawfully, seditiously, and maliciously contrived and intended by wicked, artful, and scandalous insinuations to molest and disturb the happy state of this kingdom,” intoned the court clerk. “Said Daniel McGann insolently did scandalize and vilify our sovereign lord and king, George III, to incite and stir up the subjects of the realm to insurrection against said king by wickedly and feloniously offering for sale bawdy and ungodly engravings from Fanny Hill and other ungodly and blasphemous texts, and did knowingly…”
Sophie clamped her eyes shut and tried to blot out the ghastly accusations, but she could not. When Daniel at last stood in the dock, he seemed to have shrunk to half his size, and his voice quavered when he spoke in his own defense.
“I believe, my lords and jurymen,” he said softly, “in the rights of men to allow their conscience and sensibilities to choose what they should read, see, or hear. I do not, myself, endorse what my accusers consider obscene, but when authorities deem it their right to dictate these matters, there will be no freedom of thought, word, or deed in this land.”
Sophie could hear a disgruntled muttering coming from the direction of the bench where the august Lords of Justiciary sat in their wigs and gowns.
“And do you, sir,” demanded Lord Auckinleck sternly, “deem it your duty to supply society’s wastrels and scoundrels with such disgusting fare?”
“No,” Daniel replied slowly. “But I believe ’tis their right to seek it if they choose.”
“And you make a pretty penny on the stuff, I’ll warrant,” the judge said sharply.
“If I had, I could have raised the necessary bail,” Daniel said mildly.
There were titters from the onlookers, which did not please the panel of judges.
The Lord Advocate rose and requested the judges’ permission to call a witness regarding the procurement of the lewd engravings, which had been entered as evidence, but which even the jury had not been allowed to see. Sophie sank deeper into her courtroom seat as the caddie who had delivered
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