George II (1727-1760).
It is the honor and the good fortune of free countries to be
often served, and at times gloriously governed, without display
and without the personal grandeur of the sovereign called to the
throne by the law of heredity. Already slowly undermined by the
misdeeds and misfortunes of King Louis XIV.'s last years,
absolute power was enfeebled and dishonored in France, in the
indolent and corrupt hands of Louis XV. In Europe, in Asia, in
America, war was about to deal it a mortal blow, by despoiling
our country of that military glory which had for long been our
appanage, despite the crimes and errors of our home government.
Honest and well disposed toward his counsellors and his people,
without cunning and without breadth of view, constantly
pre-occupied with the German interests of his Electorate, George
II. was about to assure to England a long period of security and
prosperity, sometimes brilliant, always fatal to his enemies at
home and to his rivals abroad, to the house of Stuart as to
France.
It was to the natural development and to the regular play of
parliamentary government that England owed this repose, often
laborious and difficult, solidly founded on the firmest bases
during the long reign of the second Hanoverian monarch. Four
notable ministries were to succeed each other round the throne of
George II., the first and the last in the hands of men eminent in
various ways, Robert Walpole and Lord Chatham:
1727-1741-1756-1760; directed from 1742 till 1744 by Lord
Carteret, soon afterwards Lord Granville, and from 1744 till 1756
by the Duke of Newcastle and his brother Henry Pelham.
[Image]
George II.
{179}
All called to face serious difficulties, great internal and
external shocks, the ministers of George II., eloquent or
commonplace, remained faithful to the king whom they served, and
never afforded that example of treason and deplorable weaknesses
which had shamefully marked the life of so many Statesmen during
the last three reigns. There was conspiracy yet, but the
conspirators no longer hid themselves in the royal palaces, at
the head of armies or of public affairs. It was on the field of
battle that the Stuarts were to play and lose their last game. At
the death of George I. the fate of the new dynasty and of the
protestant succession might, to superficial observation, have
appeared uncertain and precarious. At the death of George II. the
work had been accomplished; thenceforth revolutions were to be
for England only a remembrance at once glorious and sad, without
possible recurrence and without bitter traces. National victories
would efface the last remnant of intestine strifes.
By the side of George II., on the throne still occupied by a
half-foreign monarch, who spoke the language of his people with a
pronounced accent, who was of slender appearance, and more brave
in person than royal in tastes and habits, was seated a clever,
moderate, wise and learned princess, with a semblance of
pedantry, who was skilful, and very soon dominant in the
government, without ever giving evidence of any presumption.
Princess Caroline d'Anspach had often had to lament the
infidelities of her husband; he remained attached to her,
nevertheless, and her influence was constantly first with him.
Robert Walpole had known how to anticipate this influence. He
never omitted, for the benefit of the prince's favorite, the
deference that he had displayed to the Princess of Wales. The
queen did not forget it.
{180}
The first moment of the new reign had not been propitious to the
powerful minister of George I. When he presented himself at the
palace, in order to announce to the new monarch the death of the
king his father, George II., scarcely awakened from his customary
siesta, had brusquely replied to the minister's question, "Whom
does your Majesty charge with the communications to the Privy
Council?"--"Compton," said the king. In retiring to convey the
royal command to his rival, thus designated as his successor,
Walpole lost neither his coolness nor his firm resolution to
govern his country for the longest possible period. "I am about
to fall," he had just said to Sir William Young, "but I advise
you not to throw yourself into a violent opposition, for I shall
not be slow to rise again."
As a matter of fact, Walpole was not to fall. It was only the
breath of royal disfavor that was to pass over him. Sir Spencer
Compton, soon afterwards Lord Wilmington, an honest and capable
man, but of dull wit and without facility of speech, as without
ministerial experience, modestly requested Walpole to compose for
him the communication with which the king had charged him.
Walpole did so. The secret leaked out. At the same time the
minister, momentarily superseded, proposed to the queen an
increase of revenue for the king and a dowry for herself, which
he believed himself sure of having voted by Parliament. Already
well-disposed toward Walpole, Caroline knew how to cleverly prove
to her husband the danger that he would find, at the commencement
of his reign, in losing a powerful and popular minister by
throwing him into opposition. Already the courtiers had abandoned
Walpole, and crowded around Sir Spencer Compton.
{181}
At the ceremony of hand-kissing, Lady Walpole "could scarcely
force a passage between the disdainful backs and elbows of those
who had flattered her the day before," writes her son Horace, in
his Souvenirs. When the queen, perceiving her in the last ranks,
exclaimed, "Ah! I see a friend down there," the crowd opened
right and left. "In coming back," said Lady Walpole, "I might
have walked over their heads, if I had desired." During thirteen
years more Walpole was to exercise that authority of which he was
secretly so jealous. "Sir Robert was moderate in the exercise of
power," said Hume; "he was not just in seizing the whole of it."
Walpole had already alienated Pulteney and Carteret; he was about
to embroil himself with Townshend. The divisions of the Whig
party were the work of his jealous contrivings. It had for long
been draining its strength; its debility and downfall were one
day to follow.
The attack especially directed against the foreign policy, soon
began, and was hotly sustained in the House of Commons by
Pulteney, for the time being at one with the Tories and with Sir
William Wyndham; in the press and in the depths of parliamentary
intrigues by Lord Bolingbroke, ever the implacable enemy of
Walpole, who was obstinate in refusing him re-entrance into the
House of Lords. The Treaty of Seville had just put an end to the
dissensions with Spain (November, 1729). It was then, on the
accomplishment of the Treaty of Utrecht, that the attacks of the
_patriots_,--a name adopted by the Whigs who had gone into
opposition--were brought to bear. The ministry was reproached
with not having guarded against the demolition of Dunkerque, "I
went the day before yesterday to Parliament," wrote Montesquieu
in his "_Notes on England_," to the lower House.
{182}
"The Dunkerque affair was under discussion there. I have never
seen such a blaze. The sitting lasting from one o'clock in the
afternoon till three o'clock after midnight. There, the French
were well abused. I noticed how far the frightful jealousy goes
which exists between the two nations. M. Walpole attacked
Bolingbroke in the most savage manner, and said that he had
conducted the whole intrigue. Chevalier Wyndham defended him.
M. Walpole related in reference to Bolingbroke, the story of a
farmer, who, passing under a tree with his wife, found that a
man who had been hanged there, still breathed. He cut him down
and took him to his house and he revived. They discovered that
this man had on the day before stolen their forks. So they
said, 'The course of justice must not be opposed; he must be
carried back whence we have taken him.'"
It was only in 1734, and under the threat which perhaps qualms of
conscience made him fear, that Bolingbroke once again voluntarily
exiled himself. Walpole had conceived a great financial scheme
for the increase of indirect taxation or excise. The opposition
violently pounced upon this unpopular project. The rumor spread
that the excise would be general. "I declare," said Walpole,
"that I never had the thought, and that no man to my knowledge
has ever had the thought of proposing a general application of
the excise. I have never dreamed of any duties except those on
wines and tobacco, and that in consequence of the frequent
complaints I have received from merchants themselves about the
frauds which are daily committed in these two branches of
commerce."
Public discontent and irritation were too vehement to be calmed
by the moderation of Walpole: the minister prudently let the
discussion drop. The queen had constantly supported Walpole. She
had summoned one of the king's personal friends, Lord
Scarborough, in order to consult him. "I answer for my regiment
against the Pretender," said he, "but not against those who
insist upon the excise." Tears came into the eyes of the
princess. "Then," said she, "it must be renounced."
{183}
Emboldened by this negative victory, the chiefs of the opposition
took up the question of septennial Parliaments. The duration of
the legislature was approaching its termination. The attack was
directed by Wyndham, who was covertly backed and instructed by
Bolingbroke. It was against this cloaked and absent foe that
Walpole rose with all the eloquence, temperate in form,
impressive and haughty in effect, with which, on occasion, he so
well knew how to overwhelm his adversaries. "Much has been said
here of ministers arrogantly hurling defiances, of ministers
destitute of all sense of virtue and honor: it appears to me,
gentlemen, that with equal right, and more justly, I think, we
may speak of anti-ministers and mock patriots, who never had
either virtue or honor, and who are actuated only by envy or
resentment. Let me suppose an anti-minister who regards himself
as a man of such consequence, and endowed with such extensive
parts, that he alone in the State is equal to the conduct of
public affairs; and who stigmatizes as blunderers all those who
have the honor to be engaged therein. Suppose that this personage
has been lucky enough to enrol among his party men truly
distinguished, wealthy, and of ancient family, as well as others
of extreme views, arising from disappointed and envenomed hearts.
Suppose all these men to be moved by him solely in respect to
their political behavior, without real attachment for this chief
whom they so blindly follow, and who is detested by the rest of
humanity. We see this anti-minister in a country where he ought
not to be, where he could not be without the exercise of an
excessive clemency, yet employing all his efforts to destroy the
source whence this mercy flowed.
{184}
Let us suppose him in that country, continually occupied in
contracting intimacies with the ambassadors of princes who are
most hostile to his own; and if there should be a secret, the
divulgence of which would be prejudicial to his country,
disclosing it without hesitation to the foreign ministers who
have applied to him to discover it. Finally, let us suppose that
this anti-minister has travelled, and that at every court where
he has been placed as minister, he has betrayed every confidence,
as well as all the secrets of the countries through which he has
passed; destitute as he is of faith and honor, and betraying
every master whom he has served."
I have desired to give an idea of the violence of parliamentary
discussion under George II., as well as of the deep-rooted
animosity which existed between Walpole and Bolingbroke. The
latter did not dare to face any revelations or more definite
accusations. He soon quitted England, not to return as long as
Walpole was in power. When he came back, in 1742, at the moment
of his father's death, it was to establish himself in the
country, in the house at Battersea, where he was born, and where
he finally died, on the 17th of December, 1751, after the most
stormy life, sadly devoted to unfortunate or disastrous
enterprises, which were unscrupulously pursued with the resources
of a rare and fruitful genius. "God, who has placed me here
below," said he to Lord Chesterfield, in bidding him farewell,
"will make of me what he will, after this; and he knows what is
the best thing to do." All the irregularities of his life and all
the inveterate doubts of his mind had never availed to snatch
from the depths of the dying Bolingbroke's soul the hereditary
faith in God which he had learned as a child at the knees of his
mother, who had been piously attached to the principles of the
old Dissenters.
{185}
The prolonged power of Walpole was menaced, and his authority
seriously shaken. Troubles had broken out in Scotland. The escape
of one smuggler and the punishment of another had aroused the
populace of the capital, and caused that riot against Captain
Porteous which forms one of the principal episodes of the Prison
of Edinburgh.
Discord reigned in the royal family between King George II. and
his eldest son, Frederick, Prince of Wales, as it had previously
reigned between King George I. and his son. The queen shared the
annoyance of her consort, and refused to see the prince, when, in
the month of November, 1737, she was on her death-bed. "I hope
that you will never desert the king," said she to Walpole. "It is
to you that I commend him. Continue to serve with your accustomed
fidelity." Walpole's regrets were bitter and sincere. He was
losing an ally as certain as she was efficacious, at the moment
when the violence of the attacks against him was increasing.
The Convention of Madrid, which ended with the close of the year
1738, had excited great discontent among the English merchants.
The wise endeavors of the minister for the maintenance of peace
with Spain were regarded as cowardice. Sixty members of the
opposition, with Wyndham at their head, had declared their
resolve of no longer taking part in the deliberations of a
corrupt Parliament. The government majority grew smaller daily.
Walpole, always obstinately attached to power, determined to bend
before the storm and to lend his aid to a war which he deplored,
and the result of which he doubted. On the 19th of October, 1739,
as the city bells were sounding with all their peals in honor of
the declaration of war, "Ring the cords of all your bells
to-day," muttered Walpole; "it will not be long before you are
wringing your hands."
{186}
The prudent sagacity and experience of Walpole had not deceived
him. England entered upon a restless and stormy period, the
beginnings of which were not happy. The first expeditions had
been directed against the Spanish colonies of South America. By
dint of courage and address, Commodore Anson, who was charged
with the attack on Peru, opposed by wind and tide, succeeded in
saving only one of his ships, with which he accomplished the tour
of the world, whilst Admiral Vernon, at first victorious before
Porto-Bello, and lauded to the skies by the opposition, to which
party he belonged, failed sadly before Cartagena and Santiago.
The patriots attributed the checks suffered by English armies to
Walpole. "For nearly twenty years he has demonstrated that he
possesses neither wisdom nor prudence," exclaimed Lord Carteret;
"there is still left him a little of the cunning common to
Smithfield cattle-dealers or to French valets under indulgent
masters; but his whole conduct proves that he has no true
sagacity. Our allies know and deplore it; our foes know it and
are glad of it." Yet once again, Walpole triumphed in the Houses;
his strength was being spent in repeated struggles.
Parliament had just been dissolved; the electoral prospects were
threatening. Europe was agitated by the gravest anxieties. The
Emperor Charles VI. had just died, on the 20th of October, 1740.
All the powers had agreed to the Pragmatic Sanction, which
assured the rights of the Archduchess Maria-Theresa. Scarcely had
her father been laid in the grave, than the majority of the great
sovereigns were already dividing the spoils. The competitors were
numerous and their titles were various. The young Queen of
Hungary found opposed to her a rival and an enemy.
{187}
The elector of Bavaria reclaimed the domains of the House of
Austria by virtue of a will of Ferdinand I., father of Charles V.
He was supported by France, despite the peaceful inclinations of
Cardinal Fleury, grown old, and instigated by the Marshal
Belle-Isle. Spain laid claim to the sovereignty of Hungary and of
Bohemia, which had long been dependants of her crown. She united
her forces with those of France and Bavaria against
Maria-Theresa. The new King of Prussia, Frederick II., on
obsolete or imaginary rights, marched boldly to the conquests of
which he was ambitious. From the time when he came to the throne,
in the month of August, 1740, preceded by the reputation for a
cultivated and liberal mind, and amenable to generous sentiments,
Frederick, who had long been kept away from state affairs by the
brutal jealousy of his father, had been silently preparing his
means of attack. On leaving a masqued ball, he had set out post
haste for the Silesian frontier, where he had collected thirty
thousand troops. Without preliminary notice, without a
declaration of war, he entered the Austrian territory, which was
inadequately or badly defended. Before the end of January, 1741,
he was master of Silesia. At his departure, Frederick had said to
the French ambassador: "I believe I am going to play your game;
if the aces come to me we will divide."
England was excited by the war. King George II. was more excited
than England. Hanover was menaced; he crossed to Germany to raise
troops. A subsidy was voted in favor of the Queen of Hungary;
certain English envoys arrived at the camp of the belligerents.
Lord Hyndford sought to excite some generous scruples in the mind
of Frederick. "Do not speak to me of magnanimity, my lord,"
exclaimed the king; "a prince should consult only his interest. I
have no objection to peace, but I require four duchies, and I
will have them."
{188}
The proposals transmitted by Mr. Robinson in the name of the
Queen of Hungary seemed hard to that princess. "I hope, with all
my heart, that he will reject them," she had said, with tears in
her eyes. "Always subterfuges," exclaimed Frederick; "if you have
nothing to say to me in regard to Silesia, negotiations are
useless. My ancestors would rise out of their tombs to reproach
me with the abandonment of their just rights."
France had concluded an alliance with the King of Prussia,
assuring him the possession of lower Silesia. Marshal Maillebois
was closely pressing Hanover; King George II. was alarmed, and
signed a treaty of neutrality for one year, engaging not to
furnish any assistance to the Queen of Hungary and to refrain
from voting as elector for her husband, Francis of Lorraine, who
aspired to the imperial dignity. On the 26th of November, 1741,
the Elector of Bavaria was proclaimed King of Bohemia. On the
14th of February, 1742, he was crowned emperor, under the name of
Charles VII. The allied armies had menaced Vienna, and Queen
Maria-Theresa, flying from town to town before her triumphant
enemies, had only found refuge and support in Hungary, amid the
palatines and magnates assembled at Presbourg. _Moriamur pro
rege nostro, Maria-Theresa!_ they had shouted, with a
unanimous voice, drawing their swords. All the horrors of war
were desolating Germany. Everywhere irregular troops scoured the
country, pillaging, massacring, burning. The hereditary domains
of the new emperor were in turn menaced. "He remains at
Frankfort," wrote the lawyer Barbier, in his journal, "and it
would be difficult for him to go elsewhere safely."
{189}
The neutrality of Hanover had been received in England with
anger; public feeling had been against the minister since the
opening of the session, and a contested election brought the fact
to light. The most devoted friends of Walpole pressed him to
resign. He still hesitated, being passionately attached, after
twenty years of its exercise, to that power which he had
obstinately defended against so many enemies. He decided, at
last, renouncing together with authority, the thorough dominance
which he had so long maintained in the House of Commons. He
received from the king every pledge of affection and of the most
sincere regret, and the title of Earl of Orford. Some months
later, Pulteney, in his turn, was elevated to the House of Lords,
under the name of Lord Bath. Walpole, still influential with
George II., had contributed with all his power to this
annihilatory elevation. He approached his ancient antagonist with
a smile. "Well, my lord," said he, "behold us become the two most
insignificant personages in England."
Walpole did not long survive his downfall. In spite of his
withdrawal to Houghton, he never became, because he could not be,
insignificant. He had governed for twenty years with consummate
skill, employing indifferently good and evil means, oratorical
eloquence as well as parliamentary corruption; anxious to serve
his friends rather than to conciliate his enemies, without ever
giving to his country the pleasure of glory or the spectacle of
political and moral greatness; contributing nevertheless to the
happiness and prosperity of England by assuring to her, in the
midst of serious external and internal troubles, long years of
peace. His great rival in the art of governance was already
rising to view; and amid the ranks of the patriot Whigs observing
foresight had distinguished young William Pitt, destined to rule,
as a master, the country and the Parliament that Walpole, like a
skilful pilot, had long guided. "Between Sir Robert Walpole and
Lord Chatham," as Lord Macaulay has wittily remarked, "there was
all the distance between success and glory."
{190}
The new cabinet had just been formed, under the direction of Lord
Carteret, soon afterwards, in right of his mother, Lord
Granville. Pulteney had declined all office. "I have too often
protested my disinterestedness to occupy any place," he had said.
When he perceived that influence as well as power had escaped
him, it was too late to retrace his steps. The ministry as formed
was already discussed in Parliament, as well as throughout the
country, and was experiencing an opposition which would ere long
become formidable. Carteret was intelligent, brilliant and
amiable, unequal and uncertain. He allowed himself to be led, at
times, even as far as debauchery: he always remained eloquent and
adroit in diplomatic maneuvres. He had concentrated all his
efforts on the maintenance of the king's favor, often neglecting
his partisans, and relying on corruption to rally his friends.
"What do the judges and bishops matter to me?" said he,
contemptuously; "my concern is to make kings and emperors, and to
preserve the European balance." "Very well," replied the
office-seeker, so cavalierly denied; "those who do care for
judges and bishops will be appealed to."
Thus began already the power of the Pelhams, who were more
careful than Carteret to use such means of influence as the
exercise of high offices placed in the hands of ministers or
their friends.
The war was still being waged in Germany. With the fall of
Walpole, England's neutrality had ended. Already a body of troops
had taken the road for Flanders. Women of distinction, with the
Duchess of Marlborough at their head, had collected by
subscription the sum of one hundred thousand pounds sterling,
which they successfully offered to the haughty Maria-Theresa. The
king had taken into his pay six thousand Hessian soldiers. The
cabinet proposed to raise in Hanover a body of sixteen thousand
at England's expense.
{191}
The opposition violently inveighed against this measure. "It is
too evident," said Pitt, "that this great kingdom, which is
powerful and formidable, is regarded as a province of a pitiful
Electorate, and that troops are only raised in pursuance of a
design long matured, in order to swallow up all the resources of
our unhappy country." The proposal passed, however, and the king
put himself at the head of the forces he had collected in
Germany. The States-General of Holland had united their troops
with his. The fortune of war had changed. Charles VII., a
fugitive in his turn, driven from his hereditary States, which
Marshal Broglie had evacuated, had no longer any hope, save in
the aid of France. She alone sustained all the burden of the war,
which she had not yet officially declared. In England they
laughed at the state of matters in Europe. "Our situation is
absurd," said Horace Walpole, the intelligent son of the great
minister, who was constantly dabbling in politics, as in
literature. "We have declared war on Spain without making it, and
we make war on France without having declared it."
King George II., as well as his second son, the Duke of
Cumberland, gave proof of striking bravery on the 17th of July,
1743, at the battle Dettingen, which was disastrous to France,
despite the able preparations of Marshal Noailles. An imprudence
of his nephew, the Duke de Grammont, decided the fate of the day.
But the jealousy which existed between the English and German
generals hindered the course of operations. A treaty concluded at
Worms, on the 13th of September, between England, Austria and
Sardinia, was badly received by Parliament, which, with good
reason, deemed it more favorable to the interests of Hanover than
to those of England.
{192}
The name Hanoverian began to be used as an insult, and was
applied at times to the king himself. All the influence that
Walpole had preserved in Parliament, and his speech in the House
of Lords, were necessary to obtain the maintenance of the foreign
troops. Lord Wilmington had just died, and at this time it was by
the advice of Walpole that Henry Pelham was called to fill his
place at the head of the Treasury. One year later, in the month
of November, 1744, a division occurred in the cabinet. In spite
of the personal favor of the king, Carteret, then Lord Granville,
yielded to the influence of Henry Pelham and his brother-in-law,
the Duke of Newcastle. War was at length officially declared
between France and England. The new ministers lately raised to
power in the name of English interests, as against the German
proclivities of the king, continued to hire Hanoverian troops. At
the opening of the campaign of 1745, the Duke of Cumberland found
himself at the head of the allies.
The Emperor Charles VII. had just died, and his son had treated
with the Queen of Hungary. Already for two years Frederick II.,
being master of Silesia, had quitted the field of battle, and
observed with curious and cool interest the struggles which were
drenching Europe in blood, and serving to weaken his rivals.
Uneasy at the progress which Maria Theresa was making, he
re-entered the lists, however. King Louis XV. had taken the lead
of his army. He had just arrived before Tournay, with the
dauphin, who had recently been married to the daughter of the
King of Spain. On the 9th of May, 1745, at the break of day, the
hostile forces met near the little village of Fontenoy. The
relation of this victory belongs to the history of France.
Marshal Saxe, a foreigner, and a Protestant, was henceforth to
maintain alone the glory and the high tradition of Louis
Fourteenth's marshals.
{193}
He was sick, and believed to be dying, but he caused himself to
be borne on a litter at the head of the army. "The question is
not to live, but to proceed," he had replied to Voltaire, who was
astonished at sight of his preparations. The Austrians were few
in number. The veteran general Königseck commanded a corps of
eight thousand men. An attack directed by the English on the
forest of Lane, which the French troops occupied, had been
repulsed. General Ingoldsby had fallen back on the main body of
the army, commanded by the Duke of Cumberland. "March straight
before you, your highness," said Königseck to the prince. "The
ravine in front of Fontenoy must be gained." The movements of the
Dutch were slow and undecisive; the English gave way. They formed
a deep and serried column, preceded and flanked by cannons. The
French batteries thundered right and left; entire ranks fell in
their tracks; they were soon replaced; cannons, dragged by hand
opposite Fontenoy, and redoubts answered the French artillery. It
was in vain that the French guards sought to capture the enemy's
cannon. The two armies were at last face to face.
Frequent mention has been made of the interchange of courtesies,
which took place between French and English officers, on both
sides of the ravine. The English officers had saluted; Count
Chabannes and the Duke de Biron, who were in advance, uncovered
in their turn. "Gentlemen of the French guard, withdraw," cried
Lord Charles Hay. "Withdraw yourselves, gentlemen of England,"
retorted Count d'Auteroche; "we are never the first to retreat."
The English fusillade was mortal to the French guard. Their
colonel, the Duke de Grammont, had been slain at the beginning of
the battle. The soldiers yielded. The English crossed the ravine
which protected Fontenoy.
{194}
They advanced as though on parade; the majors each having a small
cane in his hand, rested it lightly on the muskets of the
soldiers, in order to regulate their fire. One after another the
French regiments broke against this immovable column. The Duke of
Cumberland had ceased to advance, but, impassive and victorious,
through the calm bravery of his soldiers, he occupied the field
of battle. Königseck sent him his felicitations.
Marshal Saxe had begged Louis XV. to retreat. "I know that he
will do what he ought," replied the monarch, "but I stay where I
am." The marshal had just concentrated his troops, in order to
make a final effort. The Irish brigade in the French service,
which was almost entirely composed of Jacobite exiles, headed the
regiments which charged at once on the English. The Dutch had
effected their retreat. The English column found itself
overwhelmed. It finally gave way without disorder, and preserved
to the end its bold front. The Duke of Cumberland, the last to
retreat, as he had been the first to attack, recalled to his
soldiers the glorious memories of Blenheim and Ramillies; he blew
out the brains of an officer who took to flight. The military
skill of the English generals had not equalled their heroism. The
battle of Fontenoy gave the result of the campaign to France, but
Queen Maria Theresa had just accomplished her great aim. Her
husband had been raised to empire on the 13th of September, 1745.
She had made a treaty with the King of Prussia. Louis XV. stood
alone against Germany, which had become neutral, or which rallied
round the reinstated empire. Great internal struggles henceforth
absorbed the thoughts and efforts of England.
{195}
An attractive young man, bold and frivolous, Prince Charles
Edward Stuart, the eldest son of the Chevalier St. George, had
for a long time cherished the hope of recovering the throne of
his fathers. Since the beginning of 1744, he had left Rome, where
he was living with his father, attracted to Paris by the rumor of
an invasion of England, which the ministers of Louis XV. desired
to attempt. He was provided with letters patent, declaring him
regent of the three kingdoms of England, Scotland and Ireland,
the _alter ego_ of the king, his father, charged, [in] his
absence, with the exercise of royal authority. The projected
attempt did not eventuate: the ships collected at Dunkirk were
dispersed, as Prince Charles Edward had not been able to obtain
an audience with Louis XV. For some time he maintained the
strictest incognito. "I have taken a house a league from Paris,
and I live there like a hermit," he wrote to his father. "This
becomes however, the secret of the comedy." The repulse of the
English at Fontenoy seemed a favorable opportunity to the young
prince. "I have always had at heart," said he, "the
re-establishment of my father's throne, but only with the aid of
his own subjects." He was encouraged in his project by Cardinal
de Tencin, who had lately obtained his hat by the influence of
the dethroned monarch. "Why do you not try to cross in a ship to
the north of Scotland?" he had said to the prince; "your presence
can form a party and an army for you. France will be compelled to
give you aid."
Charles Edward had kept his secret from the ministers of Louis
XV. as he had kept it from King James. It was only on the 12th of
June, 1745, that he wrote to his father, from the Chateau de
Navarre, near Ivry: "Your Majesty would not desire me to have
followed his example. You acted in 1715 as I do to-day, under
very different circumstances; those which now present themselves
are more encouraging. This will only transpire after the
embarkation. The lot is cast. I have determined either to conquer
or die, resolved that I am not to yield a foot so long as I shall
have a man with me."
{196}
The young prince's jewels had been pledged; he had purchased arms
and supplies. On the 13th of July he set sail, accompanied by a
freight vessel, the Elizabeth, which was soon followed by a
French vessel. The little brig that carried him touched on the
Scotch coast. A large eagle hovered over the Isle of Erisca, when
the ship touched land. "Behold the king of the air come to salute
your royal highness," exclaimed Lord Tullibardine. Gladdened by
this happy augury, the bold exiles disembarked fearlessly. The
prince was disguised, and the crew did not even yet know his
name.
In Scotland they were better informed. The Jacobites had for some
time been cognizant of the prince's intentions. They were uneasy,
and secretly disturbed. The most eminent had even declared to
Murray, the prince's agent, that it would be impossible for them
to effect a rising without the landing of a body of regular
troops. Charles Edward came alone. When he summoned the
Macdonalds--the chiefs of the small cluster of islands where he
landed--the old Macdonald of Boisdale presented himself in the
name of his absent nephew, and refused to pledge his support to
the undertaking. "A word will be sufficient to bring Sir
Alexander Macdonald and McLeod of McLeod here," exclaimed the
prince. "Your highness is mistaken," replied Boisdale; "I have
seen them both a few days ago, and they have told me of their
determination to risk nothing without external aid." The prince
was silent, being more annoyed than dejected. When he cast his
eyes on a young highlander who had come on board his ship with
Boisdale, and who fixed his gleaming glance on him; "You, at
least, you will come to my assistance," said he, quickly turning
to the young man. "Even to death, if I should be alone to draw
the sword," cried Ranald.
{197}
"I did not know him yet, and I felt my heart in my mouth when I
looked at him in his abbe's habit," said another witness of the
first interview. Enthusiasm is a contagious power; the chiefs of
the Macdonalds were conquered. They promised to sacrifice
everything, life and property, in the cause of their legitimate
sovereign.
Eight days had not elapsed before the greater part of the
highland gentlemen had followed their example. Vainly had the
chief of the Camerons, young Lochiel, for a time resisted the
contagion. "Do not go to see the prince," his brother had said to
him; "when you are in his presence he will make you do what he
wishes." Lochiel had followed this course. Charles Edward pressed
him in vain. "I am resolved to run the chance of it," at last
exclaimed the adventurous young man. "In a few days I shall
raise the royal standard and proclaim to the people of Great
Britain that Charles Stuart is come to reclaim the crown of his
ancestors, prepared to perish if he should fail. Lochiel can
remain at home. My father had often instanced him as the
staunchest of our friends. He will learn from the papers the fate
of his prince." It was too much. "No," replied the chief, "I
shall share the fate of your highness, whatever it may be, and I
shall involve in my fortune all those whom birth or chance has
placed under my authority."
The Cameron clan was the first and most numerous at the
rendezvous fixed by Charles Edward at Glennin. About fifteen
hundred men assisted there at the unfurling of the royal banner
of the Stuarts, so often and so cruelly disastrous to Scotland
and the Scotch. Some weeks later, profiting by the uneasiness
which the wild mountain defiles had inspired in Sir John Cope,
who was commanding the troops of King George in Scotland, the
young prince pressed quickly forward.
{198}
Received everywhere with acclamations, he entered Perth on the
4th of September, where he organized his army, which was
constantly enlarged by new recruits. He chose Lord George Murray,
brother of the Duke of Athol, who had served with distinction on
the continent, for lieutenant-general. Sterling, Falkirk,
Linlithgow, either opened their gates to him or were obliged to
surrender. On the 17th, Charles Edward, from the heights of
Certesphine, viewed the noble city of Edinburgh seated like a
queen between the mountains and the sea. Already the young prince
had put a price on the capture of "George, elector of Hanover."
"If any harm happen to him," said the proclamation, "the blame
will recoil on those who have first set this infamous example."
After having effected a movement in advance, which had eventuated
in a retreat without fighting, General Cope was drawing near the
rebels by sea. The weather was contrary. The guardianship of the
capital was intrusted to a regiment of militia and a volunteer
corps supported by two regiments. The latter had been charged
with the defence of the heights. The terror was extreme, and the
feeling vainly concealed itself beneath a noisy display of
courage. When they learned of the highlanders' approach, and that
the troops were summoned to arms, a handful of volunteers,
speedily diminished still farther by the entreaties of wives and
mothers, appeared on parade. The militia corps was not any
braver. The dragoons took flight, crossed the town at a gallop,
and only paused at the borders of Berwick. The prince sent
summons after summons to the provost. "My proclamation and the
declarations of the king my father are a sufficient protection
for the security of all the towns of the kingdom," said Charles
Edward. "If I enter peaceably within your walls you will suffer
no harm; if you resist, you will be placed under martial law."
[Image]
Charles Edward.
{199}
The municipal magistrates still hesitated; the prince refused to
receive their deputies, for the second time. As the carriages
were re-entering the town, and as the gate opened to give them
passage, eight hundred Camerons, commanded by Lochiel, flung
themselves on the guards and easily effected an entrance into the
city. In an instant they had command of every gate. At the break
of day, Charles Edward, who had immediately been informed, set
out with his little army. Avoiding the fusillade from the castle,
which was occupied by Lord Guest, he entered the capital at
midday, without striking a blow. The Scotch heralds,
incontinently brought to the Square were forced to proclaim King
James VIII., and to read in a loud voice the proclamations of the
king and his son. The Jacobite ladies crowded to the windows,
saluting the prince with their applause. James Hepburn, of Keith,
carrying his drawn sword before the young regent, introduced him
into the palace of his ancestors. Holyrood resounded with shouts
of joy. A crowd of noble lords pressed round the young prince.
"To-morrow, gentlemen, we will march to meet General Cope," said
he, as he parted from his guests. Acclamations from all sides
answered him. On leaving the town, at daybreak, Charles Edward
drew his sword and brandished it above his head, exclaiming,
"Gentlemen, I have thrown away the scabbard."
General Cope, having landed at Dunbar, had rallied his fugitive
dragoons, and was advancing with all speed on Edinburgh. On the
20th of September, the two armies found themselves face to face
on the plain of Prestonpans. It was late: the prince was urged to
make the attack, but marsh separated him from the foe. A council
was held. Charles Edward lay down on a bundle of straw in the
midst of his soldiers.
{200}
In the night he was awakened by one of his aides-de-camp. The
proprietor of the piece of ground occupied by the troops, Mr.
Wilson, of Whitbough, had remembered an indirect passage which
enabled them to avoid the dangerous parts of the marsh. He
communicated his plan to the prince. At sunrise the highlanders
had surmounted the obstacle, and already threatened the royal
troops. A moment of meditation, with uncovered head, on the part
of all the soldiers, preceded the shrill summons of the bagpipes
and the shouts of the mountaineers. Before the English soldiers
could draw, the highlanders had turned aside, with blows of their
daggers, the barrels of the muskets, striking with their
claymores the foremost ranks, who fell back dying. The cannon had
been discarded from the first.
Like the Vendean peasants, the Scotch mountaineers dreaded
artillery, and their impetuous bravery was constantly bent on
hindering its ravages. Like the former, also, they dragged after
them an old field-piece, which they called 'the mother of
muskets,'--a worthy predecessor of the illustrious _Marie
Jeanne_ of the army of Lescure and under Laroche-jacquelin.
The dragoons had, as on the day before, taken flight, in spite of
the efforts of the brave and pious Colonel Gardener, slain soon
afterward himself, as he was encouraging the resistance of a
little platoon of troops. The infantry held its ground well, but
every effort of the highlanders was now concentrated against it.
The axes of Lochabar felled heads and lopped limbs. Before this
savage valor the English soldiers at length gave way. James
MacGregor, son of the celebrated Rob Roy, himself pierced with
five wounds, shouted to his companions, "I am not dead, my men; I
look to you to do your duty." Everywhere the chiefs were in the
fray, at the head of their men.
{201}
"Do you think that our men are fit to resist the regular troops?"
the prince had asked of MacDonald of Keppoch, who had served long
in France "I know nothing about it," replied the highlander; "it
is long since our clans have been defeated; but what I know well
is that the chieftains will be in front, and that the soldiers
will not leave them long alone." The attack and the victory only
lasted for some moments. General Cope followed his dragoons and
brought the news of his defeat to Berwick. "You are the first
general who has ever himself announced his own defeat," said Lord
Mark Kerr, ironically to him. The fugitives had not been pursued:
the highlanders were absorbed in the division of spoils. The
prince had carefully protected the wounded. "If I had gained the
victory over foreigners, my joy would be complete," he wrote on
the morrow to the king his father, "but the idea that it is over
the English has mingled in it more bitterness than I thought
possible. I learn that six thousand Dutch troops have arrived,
and that ten battalions of English have been sent. I wish that
they were all Dutch, so that I should not have the sorrow of
shedding English blood. I hope I shall soon oblige the elector to
send the rest, which at all events will be a service done to
England, by making her renounce a foreign war, which is ruinous
to her. Unhappily the victory brings embarrassments. I am charged
with taking care of my friends and of my enemies; those who ought
to bury the dead, as if that did not concern them. My highlanders
consider themselves above doing it, and the peasants have
withdrawn. I am equally much embarrassed on account of my wounded
prisoners. If I make a hospital of a church, people will cry out
against this great profanation, and will repeat what I said in my
proclamation, by which I was pledged not to violate any
propriety. Let come what may, I am resolved not to leave the poor
wounded fellows in the street. If I cannot do better, I shall
convert the palace into a hospital, and give it to them."
{202}
King George II. had just returned to England, recalled by the
anxieties of his cabinet. The Marquis of Tweedale, charged with
Scotch affairs, being himself undecided and perplexed, complained
of being neither seconded nor obeyed. The inhabitants of the
Lowlands possessed no arms, the Whig clans of the Highlands
delivered up their muskets after the rebellion of 1715 and 1719.
Public spirit was not yet excited in England. Either the fears
there were shameful, or the indifference excessive. "England will
belong to the one who arrives first," wrote Henry Fox, afterwards
Lord Holland, and himself a member of the government, to one of
his friends. "If you can tell me which will be here most quickly,
the six thousand Dutch and the ten English battalions that we are
receiving from Flanders, or the five thousand French and Spanish
that are announced, you would be made certain of our lot."
Patriotic sentiment, even when it is tardy of awakening, is more
powerful than politicians are sometimes led to believe. The
prudent indifference of Louis the XV.th's ministers was not
deceived. In spite of the ardor of his warlike zeal, Charles
Edward felt how precarious was success, and how necessary was
external aid. He had several times renewed his representations to
the Court of Versailles. Some convoys of arms and money had been
sent him; it was even proposed to place the young Duke of York at
the head of the Irish brigade; but the ordinary slowness of a
weak government interfered with its operations. The assistance so
often promised by Spain, as by France, was, up till then,
confined to the personal expeditions of some brave adventurers.
{203}
The Duke of Rochelieu ought to place himself at the head, it was
said. "As for the landing at Dunkirk which was spoken of," wrote
the eminent Barbier, at the end of the year 1745, "there is much
anxiety about it, for we are at the end of December and it is not
yet accomplished, which permits every one to invent news
according to his fancy. This uncertainty discourages the French,
who publish that our expedition will not take place, or at least
that it will not assemble."
The expedition did not sail. The prince was ardently desirous of
marching upon London, being, like his predecessors in the
Scottish insurrection, fatally drawn on to seek, in the very
centre of Great Britain, that support and success which always
failed them. The Scottish chiefs protested, being violently
opposed to the abandonment of Scotland. The prince was
ill-inclined to bear contradiction, and promptly flew into a
passion in the council. "I perceive, gentlemen," he cried, "that
you are determined to remain in Scotland and defend your country.
I am not less determined to try my fortune in England. I will go,
though I should be alone."
The highlanders yielded with reluctance, and without confidence.
"We have undertaken to re-establish the kingdom as well as the
King of Scotland," they had often said, and Charles Edward had
solemnly announced that his father would never ratify the union.
He had even thought of convoking a parliament at Edinburgh. The
practical difficulties of the project had deterred him from it.
Before turning his steps into England, the prince published an
appeal to his subjects of the three kingdoms, as clever as it was
impassioned. "It has been sought to frighten you concerning the
dangers that your religion and liberty might run. You have been
spoken to of arbitrary power; of the tyranny of France and Spain.
Give ear to the simple truth. I have at my own expense hired a
vessel.
{204}
Provided but ill with money, arms, or friends, I have come to
Scotland with seven persons. I have published the declaration of
the king my father, and I have proclaimed his rights, with pardon
in one hand and liberty of conscience in the other. As for the
reproaches lately addressed to the royal family, the wrongs which
might have called them forth have been sufficiently expiated.
During the fifty-seven years that our house has lived in exile,
has the nation been more happy and more prosperous for it? Are
you right, as fathers of Great Britain and Ireland, to love those
who have governed you? Have you found more humanity among those
whom their birth did not call to the throne than among my royal
ancestors? Do you owe them other benefits than the crushing
burden of an enormous debt? If it be not so, whence come so many
complaints and such continual reproaches in your meetings? I have
come here without the aid of France or Spain. But when I see my
enemies rallying against me--Dutch, Danes, Hessians, Swiss--and
that the Elector of Hanover summons his allies to protect him
against the subjects of the king, it seems to me that the king my
father is also, in his turn, warranted in accepting some
assistance. I am ready, however. If my enemies desire to put it
to the proof, let them send back their foreign mercenaries; let
them trust to the lot of battles. I shall run my chance with the
subjects of my father alone."
The prince's army amounted at most to six thousand men. Many of
the great lords and Scotch gentlemen had remained neutral. Some,
like Lord Lovat, the chief of the Fraser clan, being scandalously
perfidious and corrupt, had secretly authorized their sons to
join the prince, reserving to themselves the right of
repudiating, if necessary.
{205}
"There is a singular mixture of gray-beards and beardless boys,"
wrote a spy who had been sent from England about the middle of
October. "There are old men ready to descend into their graves,
and youngsters who are not much higher than their swords, and who
have not strength to wield them. There are perhaps a good four or
five thousand courageous and determined men. The remnant are
ill-looking bands, more intent on pillage than on their prince,
on a few shillings than on the crown."
It was with these forces, uncertain and irregular, in despite of
their devotion, that Charles Edward crossed the frontier on the
8th of November, 1745. The soldiers, as well as the highland
chiefs, left their country with regret. A certain number of
desertions had already occurred. At the moment when they put
their foot on English soil, the highlanders, uttering loud cries,
drew their swords. Lochiel wounded himself in the hand with his
weapon, and the sight of blood troubled his followers. It was
under the influence of this vexatious omen that the Scots laid
siege to Carlisle. The direction of operations had been intrusted
to the Duke of Perth. The prince, with Lord George Murray, had
conceived a movement on Kelso which should deceive, and which in
fact did deceive. General Wade, who found himself at Newcastle
with the royal troops. When the English general perceived his
error, Carlisle was in the hands of the Jacobites. Charles Edward
made his entry there solemnly on the 17th of November, being
anxious to appease the germs of discord which the success of the
Duke of Perth had just planted among the chiefs of his little
army. Lord George Murray was maintained in his important
functions.
{206}
From Carlisle to Preston, from Preston to Wigan and Manchester,
the Scotch advanced without striking a blow, but uneasy, and
suspicious of enemies who did not show themselves or give them
occasion to display their valor on the field of battle, and
discontented with the English Jacobites, who remained inert and
did not in any way second their efforts. A little body of
volunteers was formed at Manchester under the orders of Colonel
Townley, who belonged to an old Catholic Lancashire family. On
the banks of the Mersey, among the gentlemen assembled to receive
him, the prince perceived a very old woman who had formerly
assisted at Dover, in 1660, at the landing of King Charles II.
Since the revolution of 1688, Mrs. Skyring had constantly divided
her income into two parts, sending half of it to the royal
exiles. At the news of Charles Edward's arrival, she had
collected her plate and her jewels, in order to lay everything at
the feet of the young prince. Her prayers were heard, she said,
like Simeon of old: "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in
peace, according to thy word, for mine eyes have seen thy
salvation." Tradition relates that the old Jacobite did actually
die some days after the departure of the adventurous young man
whose success she so ardently desired.
The prince was advancing towards Derby, that fatal limit of
Scotch expeditions into England. Three armies were formed around
and against him. General Wade was at last moving across the
county of York; the Duke of Cumberland, recalled from Germany,
had gathered at Litchfield a body of from seven to eight thousand
men. Considerable forces were assembled at Finchley for the
defence of London. Charles Edward alone was still joyous. The
road to the capital of Great Britain was open to him; a quick
march had left behind him the Duke of Cumberland as well as
General Wade. When he established himself at Derby, on the 4th of
December, his whole preoccupation was to know whether he should
enter London on foot or on horseback; dressed simply as an
English gentlemen, or in the highland costume which he had worn
since his arrival in Scotland.
{207}
The views of his adherents were different and their
preoccupations more serious. Scarcely had they arrived at Derby,
when the chiefs repaired in a body to the prince, representing to
him the extreme danger they ran, surrounded as they were by
hostile armies, in a hostile or indifferent country, without
assistance from the Jacobites, and far distant from the forces
which had remained in Scotland under the command of Lord
Strathallan. A victory at the gates of London, the only chance of
glory and success, would leave them still isolated and exposed to
the vengeance and anger of the Elector. The latter had thirty
thousand men at his disposal; their army did not number more than
five thousand fighting men. All counselled retreat, whilst there
was yet time, while the roads were not cut off, and
reinforcements awaited them in Scotland.
The prince bore himself violently. "I would rather be twenty feet
under the ground than retreat," he exclaimed. He multiplied
reasons, arguments, and hopes, both groundless and chimerical;
promising a landing of French troops in the county of Kent,
expatiating justly on the terror into which their approach had
thrown London, where the day of entrance into Derby long bore the
name of Black Friday. The Scots remained immovable. Their
soldiers were preparing to march into the capital, sharpening
their swords or piously prostrating themselves in the churches;
but the chiefs were resolved not to run any new risk. On the
evening of the 5th of December the prince finally yielded.
{208}
"You desire it," he said to the members of his council; "I
consent to the retreat; but henceforth I will consult no one. I
am responsible for my actions only to God and to my father. I
shall no longer ask nor accept your advice."
In spite of the liberal protestations of Charles Edward, he had
sucked in with his milk the maxims and haughtiness of absolute
power; but bad fortune had more than once compelled the Stuarts
to bend before the firm resolution of their faithful friends. The
anger of the soldiers equalled that of the prince. "If we had
been beaten, we would not have been more sad," said one of them.
The discontent of the troops displayed itself by a new growth of
irregularity. A long line of stragglers pillaged the cottages;
some set fire to the villages which resisted them. The prince did
not exercise any oversight. He no longer looked on himself as
chief of the army, and he had abandoned his position in the
advance guard. The Duke of Cumberland had raised his camp and was
following the retreating army. Already at Clifton Moor, an
advance detachment had thought to surprise Lord George Murray's
corps. The lieutenant-general was on his guard. In the shade he
perceived the dragoons who had descended from horseback, and who
were gliding under the shelter of the walls. "Claymore!" cried
the Scottish chief, and his soldiers instantly started in pursuit
of the enemy, and soon put them to rout. Lord George had lost his
cap and fought bareheaded.
The rebel army entered Scotland without another battle. Scarcely
had it left Carlisle when the place was invested by the royal
troops. The Manchester regiment which occupied it for the young
Pretender was forced to capitulate "under the good pleasure of
his Majesty." The good pleasure of George II. was to be, for the
larger part of the officers, condemnation to death.
{209}
The royal authority had been re-established at Edinburgh since
the prince had taken the road to England. General Hawley, who
occupied it for George II., advanced towards Stirling. Charles
Edward had just arrived there. He had blockaded the citadel, but
on learning the movement of the English general he immediately
marched to meet him. The prince had rallied all his forces; his
army amounted to about eight or nine thousand men, a figure
nearly equal to that of the royal troops. The English were
encamped on the plain of Falkirk. On the 17th of January, 1746,
when the rumor spread that the highlanders were approaching, the
general was absent, being detained at Cullender House by the
hospitality of the Countess of Kilmarnock, whose husband had
taken part with the rebel army. The soldiers were preparing their
dinner; confusion reigned among all the regiments. Hawley, who
had come hatless in hot haste at a hard gallop, immediately
hurried his dragoons along with him, ordering the infantry to
follow him, so as to cut off the road to the mountaineers. Rain
was driving in the face of the soldiers. The highlanders already
occupied the acclivity when the royal troops arrived to meet
them. Hardly had they formed their lines when the mountaineers
dashed on them, having dispersed the cavalry, who suffered the
disadvantage of the position. Only three regiments of the right
wing stood the impetuous attack of the highlanders. On this
juncture the Scotch brigade that Sir John Drummond had brought
from France belied the reputation that it had achieved at
Fontenoy. According to custom, the mountaineers, certain of
victory, no longer thought of anything but plunder, and did not
pursue the fugitives.
{210}
Hawley and his dragoons, drenched almost to the skin by torrents
of rain, beaten by a furious wind, ashamed and humiliated,
reentered Linlithgow at a gallop, in order to take refuge
immediately after in Edinburgh. The fugitive foot-soldiers joined
them there, and bore all the rage of their terrible chief. The
gibbets that he had prepared for the punishment of the rebels
were loaded with his coward soldiers. The Duke of Cumberland
alone, who was coming by forced marches to measure himself with
the Pretender, put an end to these punishments. On the 30th of
January he slept at Holyrood, in the same room and in the same
bed that his rival had lately occupied. Yet once more the future
of Great Britain seemed destined to be played for on the field of
battle between two princely adversaries, both representing the
most opposite principles, both young and brave, having at command
forces the same to outward view, but in reality very different.
To clear-sighted observers, even though prejudiced, Charles
Edward's cause was lost.
It was the opinion of his most faithful adherents, absolutely
devoted, as before Derby, to a cause the weakness of which they
appreciated, and which they were resolved to defend to the very
end. After his victory at Falkirk, the prince wished to again
undertake the siege of Stirling Castle, without other counsel
than that of a French engineer, M. de Mirabelle, and some
subordinates. The chiefs were gloomy; they presented a
remonstrance to the prince; desertions were becoming every day
more numerous in the face of foes who were each day more
threatening. "We are humbly of opinion," said the highland
chiefs, "that the only means of snatching the army from an
imminent peril is to withdraw to the highlands, and we can easily
occupy the winter in getting possession of the northern
fortresses.
{211}
We are thus certain of retaining sufficient men to deter the
enemy from following us into the mountains at this season of the
year. In the spring a new army of ten thousand men will be ready
to accompany your Royal Highness where it may seem good to you."
On this occasion again the determined will of the men who had
risked everything in his cause overcame the young prince's
obstinacy. In his rage he dashed his head against the wall. "Good
God! have I lived long enough to see this?" he cried. But the
siege of Stirling Castle was abandoned, and the retreat toward
the mountains began without any order or method. In his bad humor
Charles Edward had neglected to give his orders. The rebels
without difficulty invested Inverness, the castle of which
yielded at the end of some days. The convoys of arms and supplies
coming from France had almost all been intercepted by English
cruisers. The coffers of the army needed money; the troops were
receiving their pay in flour; dissatisfaction was on the
increase; the French and Spanish adventurers were tired of the
war; they ran no danger, and they reaped neither glory nor
profit. The Duke of Cumberland pursued the retreating army. On
the 2nd of February he had entered Stirling; on the 25th he took
up quarters at Aberdeen, being himself irritated and gloomy. "All
the inhabitants of the country are Jacobites," he wrote;
"gentleness would be quite out of place; there would be no end if
I should enumerate the villains and the villainies which abound
here." The hour of vengeance was approaching, rendered more cruel
by the natural harshness of the conqueror, as well as by the
passionate obstinacy of those of the rebels who should become his
victims.
{212}
Already the march of the royal army was marked by gibbets. The
duke's advance was for a time hindered by the departure of the
Dutch troops. Scarcely had Lord John Drummond set foot in
Scotland than he had communicated to the troops of the
States-General his commission from Louis XV. As prisoners of war
who had capitulated at Tournay and at Dendermonde, the Dutch
regiments were pledged not to bear arms against France. They had
just been replaced by Hessians, when the Duke of Cumberland,
crossing the Spey in spite of the highlanders' efforts, advanced
as far as Nairn, where he established his camp. About seven
leagues separated the two armies; plenty reigned among the
English. On the 15th of April, the Duke of Cumberland's birthday,
an extraordinary distribution of provisions was made among the
troops. When the highlanders were called to arms in the night
they had scarcely had a biscuit to appease their hunger. The
prince and Lord George Murray had conceived the hope of effecting
a surprise. The body of troops was inconsiderable, but the night
was dark, the road bad, and the English made drowsy by copious
drinking. The mountaineers set out on the march; they were
enfeebled, and they advanced slowly. Day was beginning to break
when they found themselves in sight of the English camp. Charles
Edward was disposed to push forward. "A little light will be
advantageous to us in wielding the two-edged sword," said
Hepburn; but Lord George, ever prudent, and stationed at the head
of the advance guard, had already ordered the retreat. The men,
fatigued and discouraged, resumed their position in the plain of
Culloden, at the foot of the castle which the prince occupied,
and which belonged to the great Judge Duncan Forbes, one of his
most decided as well as most intelligent and reasonable
adversaries.
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It was there that the Duke of Cumberland came in his turn to
offer battle to the Pretender. The army of the latter was small
in number; several clans, disaffected on different points, did
not respond to the call. Charles Edward refused to hear the wary
counsels which his friends threw away on him, among others the
Marquis d'Equilles, who had lately come from France with a letter
from King Louis XV., and who pompously assumed the title of
ambassador. The die was cast; the two armies drew up for battle
in the plain. It was about eleven o'clock in the morning. On the
18th of April, 1746, before close of day, the Jacobite army had
ceased to exist.
The courage of Charles Edward and his conduct at the battle of
Culloden have often been questioned. Standing motionless on the
hill at the head of a squadron of cavalry, he took no part in the
action, and when he perceived the disorder of the troops he made
no effort to rally them and to die in their midst. He was
displeased and gloomy, affected perhaps by the fatalistic
superstition that seemed to have impressed several of the clans.
The Macdonalds had been placed at the left wing, whereas they had
occupied the right at Prestonpans and at Falkirk. This change had
seemed to them a bad augury. Lochiel had been severely wounded;
two of his followers had carried him bleeding far from the field
of battle. The courtiers who surrounded the prince took fright
when they saw the fortune of battle declare itself against them,
and withdrew, ignoring the fate reserved for them and what
intellectual and moral degradation should attach to that man who
had started in life by an undertaking so adventurous and
brilliant that it had for a time placed him in the estimation of
Europe among heroes.
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The Duke of Cumberland was constantly borne to the front rank. "I
have just given the orders of the day, that fugitives will be
shot," he had said to his troops at the beginning of the battle.
"I tell you this, that those who do not feel their courage very
certain, should retire. I prefer to fight with one thousand
resolute men behind me than to have ten thousand among whom are
cowards." The regiments had responded by the cry of "Flanders!
Flanders!" a just and noble souvenir of their attitude at
Fontenoy. The battle was finished and the victory complete when
the duke wrote to London, "I thank God for having been the
instrument of this success, the glory of which belongs solely to
the English troops, who have cleansed themselves of the little
check at Falkirk without the help of the Hessians. They would
have been well able to spare us the trouble, and have not been
useless in spite of their inaction."
The highlanders had for the most part fought valiantly; their
losses were great, and few of the prisoners were to see their
families again. The rigors of triumphant vengeance already were
commencing to spend themselves on them. The Duke of Cumberland
and General Hawley did not feel the sentiments which had formerly
affected Charles Edward after the battle of Prestonpans. The
prisoners and the wounded suffered hunger and thirst. A certain
number of the fugitives were burned in the cottages where they
had concealed themselves. "It is necessary to draw a little of
this country's blood," said the Duke of Cumberland. "We weaken
this folly, but we do not cure it. Even if we have destroyed
them, the soil is so impregnated by this rebellion that it will
crop out again." Already the prince's agents were scouring the
country seeking fugitives of note, searching houses, and leaving
traces of their passage by fire and sword. "I think it will not
be long before I lay my hand on old Lovat," wrote the duke. "I
have several detachments on the way to search for him, and papers
which suffice to convict him of high treason."
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It was at the house of Lord Lovat, the most perfidious of all his
secret adherents, that Charles Edward had sought refuge after
leaving the battle-field of Culloden. The cruel old man, grown
hoary in intrigues, had refused to join him personally, whilst
sending him his son. He was henceforward determined to sacrifice
all his possessions in order to save his life. He coldly received
the unfortunate prince, who would not sleep under his roof, and
who pursued his way as far as the abandoned castle of Invergary.
A fisherman of the neighborhood brought two salmon that he had
just caught in the little river. The prince and his companions
were worn out with fatigue, discouraged, and convinced with
reason that the check was definite and the cause lost. Lord
George Murray had rallied twelve hundred men at Ruthven. Prudent
in the moment of success, dauntless in the hour of reverse, he
advised the prince to maintain the struggle at every risk. "We
can hold out in the mountains so long as there is a cow and a
measure of meal in Scotland," said he. A message from the prince
thanked his faithful adherents for their zeal, asking of them, as
a last favor, to think of their personal safety. All were gravely
compromised; danger was imminent; they scattered, and the
rebellion of 1745-1746 was over.
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