particular facts, were disproved by particular facts, and had not time—at
least at Paris—to make any impression. But the principal crime with
which they charged me then, and the only one which since that time they
have insisted upon, is of another nature. This part of their accusation
is general, and it cannot be refuted without doing what I have done
above, deducing several facts, comparing these facts together, and
reasoning upon them; nay, that which is worse is, that it cannot be fully
refuted without the mention of some facts which, in my present
circumstances, it would not be very prudent, though I should think it
very lawful, for me to divulge. You see that I mean the starving the war
in Scotland, which it is pretended might have been supported, and might
have succeeded, too, if I had procured the succours which were asked—nay,
if I had sent a little powder. This the Jacobites who affect moderation
and candour shrug their shoulders at: they are sorry for it, but Lord
Bolingbroke can never wash himself clean of this guilt; for these
succours might have been obtained, and a proof that they might is that
they were so by others. These people leave the cause of this
mismanagement doubtful between my treachery and my want of capacity. The
Pretender, with all the false charity and real malice of one who sets up
for devotion, attributes all his misfortunes to my negligence.
The letters which were written by my secretary, above a year ago, into
England; the marginal notes which have been made since to the letter from
Avignon; and what is said above, have set this affair in so clear a
light, that whoever examines, with a fair intention, must feel the truth,
and be convinced by it. I cannot, however, forbear to make some
observations on the same subject here. It is even necessary that I
should do so, in the design of making this discourse the foundation of my
justification to the Tories at present, and to the whole world in time.
There is nothing which my enemies apprehend so much as my justification:
and they have reason. But they may comfort themselves with this
reflection—that it will be a misfortune which will accompany me to my
grave, that I suffered a chain of accidents to draw me into such measures
and such company; that I have been obliged to defend myself against such
accusations and such accusers; that by associating with so much folly and
so much knavery I am become the victim of both; that I was distressed by
the former, when the latter would have been less grievous to me, since it
is much better in business to be yoked to knaves than fools; and that I
put into their hands the means of loading me, like the scape-goat, with
all the evil consequences of their folly.
In the first letters which I received from the Earl of Mar he wrote for
arms, for ammunition, for money, for officers, and all things frankly, as
if these things had been ready, and I had engaged to supply him with
them, before he set up the standard at the Brae of Mar; whereas our
condition could not be unknown to his lordship; and you have seen that I
did all I could to prevent his reckoning on any assistance from hence.
As our hopes at this Court decreased, his lordship rose in his demands;
and at the time when it was visible that the Regent intended nothing less
than even privately and indirectly to support the Scotch, the Pretender
and the Earl of Mar wrote for regular forces and a train of artillery,
which was in effect to insist that France should enter into a war for
them. I might, in answer to the first instances, have asked Lord Mar
what he did in Scotland, and what he meant by drawing his countrymen into
a war at this time, or at least upon this foot? He who had dictated not
long before a memorial wherein it was asserted that to have a prospect of
succeeding in this enterprise there must be a universal insurrection, and
that such an insurrection was in no sort probable, unless a body of
troops was brought to support it? He who thought that the consequence of
failing, when the attempt was once made, must be the utter ruin of the
cause and the loss of the British liberty? He who concurred in demanding
as a _pis-aller_, and the least which could be insisted on, arms,
ammunition, artillery, money, and officers? I say, I might have asked
what he meant to begin the dance when he had not the least assurance of
any succour, but, on the contrary, the greatest reason imaginable to
believe this affair was become as desperate abroad by the death of the
most Christian King as it was at home by the discovery of the design and
by the measures taken to defeat it?
Instead of acting this part, which would have been wise, I took that
which was plausible. I resolved to contribute all I could to support the
business, since it was begun. I encouraged his lordship as long as I had
the least ground for doing so, and I confirmed the Pretender in his
resolution of going to Scotland when he had nothing better left him to
do. If I have anything to reproach myself with in the whole progress of
the war in Scotland, it is having encouraged Lord Mar too long. But, on
the other hand, if I had given up the cause, and had written despondingly
to him before this Court had explained itself as fully as the Marshal
d’Huxelles did in the conversation which is mentioned above, it is easy
to see what turn would have been given to such a conduct.
The true cause of all the misfortunes which happened to the Scotch and to
those who took arms in the North of England lies here—that they rose
without any previous certainty of foreign help, in direct contradiction
to the scheme which their leaders themselves had formed. The excuse
which I have heard made for this is that the Act of Parliament for
curbing the Highlanders was near to be put in execution; that they would
have been disarmed, and entirely disabled from rising at any other time,
if they had not rose at this. You can judge better than I of the
validity of this excuse. It seems to me that by management they might
have gained time, and that even when they had been reduced to the dilemma
supposed, they ought to have got together under pretence of resisting the
infractions of the Union without any mention of the Pretender, and have
treated with the Government on this foot. By these means they might
probably have preserved themselves in a condition of avowing their design
when they should be sure of being backed from abroad. At the worst, they
might have declared for the Chevalier when all other expedients failed
them. In a word, I take this excuse not to be very good, and the true
reason of this conduct to have been the rashness of the people and the
inconsistent measures of their head.
But admitting the excuse to be valid, it remains still an undeniable
truth that this is the original fountain from whence all those waters of
bitterness flowed which so many unhappy people have drunk of. I have
said already that the necessity of acting was precipitated before any
measures to act with success had been taken, and that the necessity of
doing so seemed to increase as the means of doing so were taken away. To
whom is this to be ascribed? Is it to be ascribed to me, who had no
share in these affairs till a few weeks before the Duke of Ormond was
forced to abandon England, and the discovery of the intended invasion was
published to Parliament and to the world? or is it to be ascribed to
those who had from the first been at the head of this undertaking?
Unable to defend this point, the next resort of the Jacobites is to this
impudent and absurd affirmation—that, notwithstanding the disadvantages
under which they took arms, they should have succeeded if the indirect
assistances which were asked from France had been obtained. Nay, that
they should have been able to defend the Highlands if I had sent them a
little powder. Is it possible that a man should be wounded with such
blunt weapons? Much more than powder was asked for from the first, and I
have already said that when the Chevalier came into Scotland, regular
troops, artillery, etc., were demanded. Both he and the Earl of Mar
judged it impossible to stand their ground without such assistance as
these. How scandalous, then, must it be deemed that they suffer their
dependents to spread in the world that for want of a little powder I
forced them to abandon Scotland! The Earl of Mar knows that all the
powder in France would not have enabled him to stay at Perth as long as
he did if he had not had another security. And when that failed him, he
must have quitted the party, if the Regent had given us all that he made
some of us expect.
But to finish all that I intend to say on a subject which has tired me,
and perhaps you; the Jacobites affirm that the indirect assistances which
they desired, might have been obtained; and I confess that I am
inexcusable if this fact be true. To prove it, they appeal to the little
politicians of whom I have spoken so often. I affirm, on the contrary,
that nothing could be obtained here to support the Scotch or to encourage
the English. To prove the assertion, I appeal to the Ministers with whom
I negotiated, and to the Regent himself, who, whatever language he may
hold in private with other people, cannot controvert with me the truth of
what I advance. He excluded me formerly, that he might the more easily
avoid doing anything; and perhaps he has blamed me since, that he might
excuse his doing nothing. All this may be true, and yet it will remain
true that he would never have been prevailed upon to act directly against
his interest in the only point of view which he has—I mean, the crown of
France—and against the unanimous sense of all his Ministers. Suppose
that in the time of the late Queen, when she had the peace in view, a
party in France had implored her assistance, and had applied to Margery
Fielding, to Israel, to my Lady Oglethorpe, to Dr. Battle, and
Lieutenant-General Stewart, what success do you imagine such applications
would have had? The Queen would have spoke them fair—she would speak
otherwise to nobody; but do you imagine she would have made one step in
their favour? Olive Trant, Magny, Mademoiselle Chaussery, a dirty Abbé
Brigault, and Mr. Dillon, are characters very apposite to these. And
what I suppose to have passed in England is not a whit more ridiculous
than what really passed here.
I say nothing of the ships which the Jacobites pretend that they sent
into Scotland three weeks or a month after the Pretender was returned. I
believe they might have had my Lord Stair’s connivance then, as well as
the Regent’s. I say nothing of the order which they pretend to have
obtained, and which I never saw, for the stores that were seized at Havre
to be delivered to Castel Blanco. I have already said enough on this
head, and you cannot have failed to observe that this signal favour was
never obtained by these people till the Marshal d’Huxelles had owned to
me that nothing was to be expected from France, and that the only thing
which I could do was to endeavour to bring the Pretender, the Earl of
Mar, and the principal persons who were most exposed, off, neither he nor
I imagining that any such would be left behind.
When I began to appear in the world, upon the advertisements which my
friends gave me of the clamour that was raised against me, you will
easily think I did not enter into so many particulars as I have done with
you. I said even less than you have seen in those letters which Brinsden
wrote into England in March and April was twelvemonth, and yet the
clamour sank immediately. The people of consideration at this Court beat
it down, and the Court of St. Germains grew so ashamed of it that the
Queen thought fit to purge herself of having had any share in encouraging
the discourses which were held against me, or having been so much as let
into the secret of the measure which preceded them. The provocation was
great, but I resolved to act without passion. I saw the advantage the
Pretender and his council, who disposed of things better for me than I
should have done for myself, had given me; but I saw likewise that I must
improve this advantage with the utmost caution.
As I never imagined that he would treat me in the manner he did, nor that
his Ministers could be weak enough to advise him to it, I had resolved,
on his return from Scotland, to follow him till his residence should be
fixed somewhere or other. After which, having served the Tories in this
which I looked upon as their last struggle for power, and having
continued to act in the Pretender’s affairs till the end of the term for
which I embarked with him, I should have esteemed myself to be at
liberty, and should in the civillest manner I was able have taken my
leave of him. Had we parted thus, I should have remained in a very
strange situation during the rest of my life; but I had examined myself
thoroughly, I was determined, I was prepared.
On one side he would have thought that he had a sort of right on any
future occasion to call me out of my retreat; the Tories would probably
have thought the same thing: my resolution was taken to refuse them both,
and I foresaw that both would condemn me. On the other side, the
consideration of his keeping measures with me, joined to that of having
once openly declared for him, would have created a point of honour by
which I should have been tied down, not only from ever engaging against
him, but also from making my peace at home. The Chevalier cut this
gordian knot asunder at one blow. He broke the links of that chain which
former engagements had fastened on me, and gave me a right to esteem
myself as free from all obligations of keeping measures with him as I
should have continued if I had never engaged in his interest. I took
therefore, from that moment, the resolution of making my peace at home,
and of employing all the unfortunate experience I had acquired abroad to
undeceive my friends and to promote the union and the quiet of my
country.
The Earl of Stair had received a full power to treat with me whilst I was
engaged with the Pretender, as I have been since informed. He had done
me the justice to believe me incapable to hearken, in such circumstances,
to any proposals of that kind; and as much friendship as he had for me,
as much as I had for him, we entertained not the least even indirect
correspondence together during that whole time. Soon afterwards he
employed a person to communicate to me the disposition of his Majesty to
grant me my pardon, and his own desire to give me, on this occasion, all
the proofs he could of his inclination in my favour. I embraced the
offer, as it became me to do, with all possible sense of the King’s
goodness, and of his lordship’s friendship. We met, we talked together,
and he wrote to the Court on the subject. The turn which the Ministers
gave to this matter was, to enter into a treaty to reverse my attainder,
and to stipulate the conditions on which this act of grace should be
granted me.
The notion of a treaty shocked me. I resolved never to be restored
rather than go that way to work; and I opened myself without any reserve
to Lord Stair. I told him that I looked on myself to be obliged in
honour and in conscience to undeceive my friends in England, both as to
the state of foreign affairs, as to the management of the Jacobite
interest abroad, and as to the characters of persons—in every one of
which points I knew them to be most grossly and most dangerously deluded;
that the treatment I had received from the Pretender and his adherents
would justify me to the world in doing this; that if I remained in exile
all my life, he might be assured that I would never more have to do with
the Jacobite cause; and that if I was restored, I should give it an
effectual blow, in making that apology which the Pretender has put me
under a necessity of making: that in doing this I flattered myself that I
should contribute something to the establishment of the King’s
Government, and to the union of his subjects; but that this was all the
merit which I could promise to have; that if the Court believed these
professions to be sincere, a treaty with me was unnecessary for them; and
that if they did not believe them so, a treaty with them was dangerous
for me; that I was determined in this whole transaction to make no one
step which I would not own in the face of the world; that in other
circumstances it might be sufficient to act honestly, but that in a case
as extraordinary as mine it was necessary to act clearly, and to leave no
room for the least doubtful construction.
The Earl of Stair, as well as Mr. Craggs, who arrived soon after in
France, came into my sense. I have reason to believe that the King has
approved it likewise upon their representations, since he has been
pleased to give me the most gracious assurances of his favour. What the
effect of all this may be in the next or in any other Session, I know
not; but this is the foot on which I have put myself, and on which I
stand at the moment I write to you. The Whigs may continue inveterate,
and by consequence frustrate his Majesty’s good intentions towards me;
the Tories may continue to rail at me, on the credit of such enemies as I
have described to you in the course of this relation: neither the one nor
the other shall make me swerve out of the path which I have traced to
myself.
I have now led you through the several stages which I proposed at first;
and I should do wrong to your good understanding, as well as to our
mutual friendship, if I suspected that you could hold any other language
to me than that which Dolabella uses to Cicero: “Satisfactum est jam a te
vel officio vel familiaritati; satisfactum etiam partibus.” The King,
who pardons me, might complain of me; the Whigs might declaim against me;
my family might reproach me for the little regard which I have shown to
my own and to their interests; but where is the crime I have been guilty
of towards my party and towards my friends? In what part of my conduct
will the Tories find an excuse for the treatment which they have given
me? As Tories such as they were when I left England, I defy them to find
any. But here lies the sore, and, tender as it is, I must lay it open.
Those amongst them who rail at me now are changed from what they were, or
from what they professed themselves to be, when we lived and acted
together. They were Tories then; they are Jacobites now. Their
objections to the course of my conduct whilst I was in the Pretender’s
interest are the pretence; the true reason of their anger is, that I
renounce the Pretender for my life. When you were first driven into this
interest, I may appeal to you for the notion which the party had. You
thought of restoring him by the strength of the Tories, and of opposing a
Tory king to a Whig king. You took him up as the instrument of your
revenge and of your ambition. You looked on him as your creature, and
never once doubted of making what terms you pleased with him. This is so
true that the same language is still held to the catechumens in
Jacobitism. Were the contrary to be avowed even now, the party in
England would soon diminish. I engaged on this principle when your
orders sent me to Commercy, and I never acted on any other. This ought
to have been part of my merit towards the Tories; and it would have been
so if they had continued in the same dispositions. But they are changed,
and this very thing is become my crime. Instead of making the Pretender
their tool, they are his. Instead of having in view to restore him on
their own terms, they are labouring to do it without any terms; that is,
to speak properly, they are ready to receive him on his. Be not
deceived: there is not a man on this side of the water who acts in any
other manner. The Church of England Jacobite and the Irish Papist seem
in every respect to have the same cause. Those on your side of the water
who correspond with these are to be comprehended in the same class; and
from hence it is that the clamour raised against me has been kept up with
so much industry, and is redoubled on the least appearance of my return
home, and of my being in a situation to justify myself.
You have seen already what reasons the Pretender, and the several sorts
of people who compose his party here, had to get rid of me, and to cover
me to the utmost of their power with infamy. Their views were as short
in this case as they are in all others. They did not see at first that
this conduct would not only give me a right, but put me under a necessity
of keeping no farther measures with them, and of laying the whole mystery
of their iniquity open. As soon as they discovered this, they took the
only course which was left them—that of poisoning the minds of the
Tories, and of creating such prejudices against me whilst I remained in a
condition of not speaking for myself, as will they hope prevent the
effect of whatever I may say when I am in a condition of pleading my own
cause. The bare apprehension that I shall show the world that I have
been guilty of no crime renders me criminal among these men; and they
hold themselves ready, being unable to reply either in point of fact or
in point of reason, to drown my voice in the confusion of their clamour.
The only crimes I am guilty of, I own. I own the crime of having been
for the Pretender in a very different manner from those with whom I
acted. I served him as faithfully, I served him as well as they; but I
served him on a different principle. I own the crime of having renounced
him, and of being resolved never to have to do with him as long as I
live. I own the crime of being determined sooner or later, as soon as I
can, to clear myself of all the unjust aspersions which have been cast
upon me; to undeceive by my experience as many as I can of those Tories
who may have been drawn into error; and to contribute, if ever I return
home, as far as I am able, to promote the national good of Britain
without any other regard. These crimes do not, I hope, by this time
appear to you to be of a very black dye. You may come, perhaps, to think
them virtues, when you have read and considered what remains to be said;
for before I conclude, it is necessary that I open one matter to you
which I could not weave in sooner without breaking too much the thread of
my narration. In this place, unmingled with anything else, it will have,
as it deserves to have, your whole attention.
Whoever composed that curious piece of false fact, false argument, false
English, and false eloquence, the letter from Avignon, says that I was
not thought the most proper person to speak about religion. I confess I
should be of his mind, and should include his patrons in my case, if the
practice of it was to be recommended; for surely it is unpardonable
impudence to impose by precept what we do not teach by example. I should
be of the same mind, if the nature of religion was to be explained, if
its mysteries were to be fathomed, and if this great truth was to be
established—that the Church of England has the advantage over all other
Churches in purity of doctrine, and in wisdom of discipline. But nothing
of this kind was necessary. This would have been the task of reverend
and learned divines. We of the laity had nothing more to do than to lay
in our claim that we could never submit to be governed by a Prince who
was not of the religion of our country. Such a declaration could hardly
have failed of some effect towards opening the eyes and disposing the
mind even of the Pretender. At least, in justice to ourselves, and in
justice to our party, we who were here ought to have made it; and the
influence of it on the Pretender ought to have become the rule of our
subsequent conduct.
In thinking in this manner I think no otherwise now than I have always
thought; and I cannot forget, nor you neither, what passed when, a little
before the death of the Queen, letters were conveyed from the Chevalier
to several persons—to myself among others. In the letter to me the
article of religion was so awkwardly handled that he made the principal
motive of the confidence we ought to have in him to consist in his firm
resolution to adhere to Popery. The effect which this epistle had on me
was the same which it had on those Tories to whom I communicated it at
that time; it made us resolve to have nothing to do with him.