Mr. William Kneebone was a woollen-draper of “credit and renown,”
whose place of business was held at the sign of the Angel (for, in
those days, every shop had its sign), opposite Saint Clement's church
in the Strand. A native of Manchester, he was the son of Kenelm
Kneebone, a staunch Catholic, and a sergeant of dragoons, who lost
his legs and his life while fighting for James the Second at the
battle of the Boyne, and who had little to bequeath his son except
his laurels and his loyalty to the house of Stuart.
The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. He had
a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his
stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the
shoulders--athletic proportions derived from his father the
dragoon. And, if it had not been for a taste for plotting, which was
continually getting him into scrapes, he might have been accounted a
respectable member of society.
Of late, however, his plotting had assumed a more dark and
dangerous complexion. The times were such that, with the opinions he
entertained, he could not remain idle. The spirit of disaffection
was busy throughout the kingdom. It was on the eve of that memorable
rebellion which broke forth, two months later, in Scotland. Since the
accession of George the First to the throne in the preceding year,
every effort had been made by the partisans of the Stuarts to shake
the credit of the existing government, and to gain supporters to
their cause. Disappointed in their hopes of the restoration of
the fallen dynasty after the death of Anne, the adherents of the
Chevalier de Saint George endeavoured, by sowing the seeds of
dissension far and wide, to produce a general insurrection in his
favour. No means were neglected to accomplish this end. Agents were
dispersed in all directions--offers the most tempting held out to
induce the wavering to join the Chevalier's standard. Plots were
hatched in the provinces, where many of the old and wealthy Catholic
families resided, whose zeal for the martyr of their religion (as
the Chevalier was esteemed), sharpened by the persecutions they
themselves endured, rendered them hearty and efficient allies. Arms,
horses, and accoutrements were secretly purchased and distributed;
and it is not improbable that, if the unfortunate prince, in whose
behalf these exertions were made, and who was not deficient in
courage, as he proved at the battle of Malplaquet, had boldly placed
himself at the head of his party at an earlier period, he might have
regained the crown of his ancestors. But the indecision, which had
been fatal to his race, was fatal to him. He delayed the blow till
the fortunate conjuncture was past. And when, at length, it _was_
struck, he wanted energy to pursue his advantages.
But we must not anticipate the course of events. At the precise
period of this history, the Jacobite party was full of hope and
confidence. Louis the Fourteenth yet lived, and expectations were,
therefore, indulged of assistance from France. The disgrace of the
leaders of the late Tory administration had strengthened, rather than
injured, their cause. Mobs were gathered together on the slightest
possible pretext; and these tumultuous assemblages, while committing
the most outrageous excesses, loudly proclaimed their hatred to the
house of Hanover, and their determination to cut off the Protestant
succession. The proceedings of this faction were narrowly watched
by a vigilant and sagacious administration. The government was not
deceived (indeed, every opportunity was sought by the Jacobites
of parading their numbers,) as to the force of its enemies; and
precautionary measures were taken to defeat their designs. On
the very day of which we write, namely, the 10th of June 1715,
Bolingbroke and Oxford were impeached of high treason. The Committee
of Secrecy--that English Council of Ten--were sitting, with Walpole
at their head; and the most extraordinary discoveries were
reported to be made. On the same day, moreover, which, by a curious
coincidence, was the birthday of the Chevalier de Saint George, mobs
were collected together in the streets, and the health of that prince
was publicly drunk under the title of James the Third; while, in many
country towns, the bells were rung, and rejoicings held, as if for a
reigning monarch:--the cry of the populace almost universally being,
“No King George, but a Stuart!”
The adherents of the Chevalier de Saint George, we have said, were
lavish in promises to their proselytes. Posts were offered to all who
chose to accept them. Blank commissions, signed by the prince, to be
filled up by the name of the person, who could raise a troop for his
service, were liberally bestowed. Amongst others, Mr. Kneebone, whose
interest was not inconsiderable with the leaders of his faction,
obtained an appointment as captain in a regiment of infantry, on the
conditions above specified. With a view to raise recruits for his
corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under
the colour of a journey on business. He was pretty successful in
Manchester,--a town which may be said to have been the head-quarters
of the disaffected. On his return to London, he found that
applications had been made from a somewhat doubtful quarter by two
individuals, for the posts of subordinate officers in his troop.
Mr. Kneebone, or, as he would have preferred being styled, Captain
Kneebone, was not perfectly satisfied with the recommendations
forwarded by the applicants. But this was not a season in which to be
needlessly scrupulous. He resolved to judge for himself. Accordingly,
he was introduced to the two military aspirants at the Cross Shovels
in the Mint, by our old acquaintance, Baptist Kettleby. The Master of
the Mint, with whom the Jacobite captain had often had transactions
before, vouched for their being men of honour and loyalty; and
Kneebone was so well satisfied with his representations, that he at
once closed the matter by administering to the applicants the oath
of allegiance and fidelity to King James the Third, and several
other oaths besides, all of which those gentlemen took with as little
hesitation as the sum of money, afterwards tendered, to make the
compact binding. The party, then, sat down to a bowl of punch; and,
at its conclusion, Captain Kneebone regretted that an engagement to
spend the evening with Mrs. Wood, would preclude the possibility
of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations
prompted. At this piece of information, the two subordinate officers
were observed to exchange glances; and, after a little agreeable
raillery on their captain's gallantry, they begged permission to
accompany him in his visit. Kneebone, who had drained his glass to
the restoration of the house of Stuart, and the downfall of the
house of Hanover, more frequently than was consistent with prudence,
consented; and the trio set out for Wych Street, where they arrived
in the jolliest humour possible.