It is hardly a matter for much surprise that the British Government did
what it could to curb the smuggling that was rife in Man in the days of
the Athols. The bad work had begun in the days of the Derbys, when an
Act was passed which authorised the Earl of Derby to dispose of his
royalty and revenue in the island, and empowered the Lords of the
Treasury to treat with him for the sale of it. The Earl would not sell,
and when the Duke of Athol was asked to do so, he tried to put matters
off. But the evil had by this time grown so grievously that the British
Government threatened to strip the Duke without remuneration. Then he
agreed to accept £70,000 as compensation for the absolute surrender of
the island. He was also to have £2000 out of the Irish revenue, which,
as well as the English revenue, was to benefit by the suppression of the
clandestine trade. This was in exchange for some £6000 a year which
was the Duke's Manx revenue, much of it from duties and customs paid
in goods which were afterwards smuggled into England, Ireland, and
Scotland. So much for his Grace of Athol. Of course the Manx people got
nothing. The thief was punished, the receiver was enriched; it is the
way of the world.
In our history of Man, we call this sweet transaction, which occurred in
1765, "The Revestment," meaning the revesting of the island in the
crown of England. Our Manx people did not like it at all. I have heard a
rugged old song on the subject sung at Manx inns:
For the babes unborn shall rue the day
When the Isle of Man was sold away;
And there's ne'er an old wife that loves a dram
But she will lament for the Isle of Man.
Clearly drams became scarce when "the trade" was put down. But, indeed,
the Manx had the most strange fears and ludicrous sorrows. The one came
of their anxiety about the fate of their ancient Constitution, the other
came of their foolish generosity. They dreaded that the government of
the island would be merged into that of England, and they imagined that
because the Duke of Athol had been compelled to surrender, he had been
badly treated. Their patriotism was satisfied when the Duke of Athol was
made Governor-in-Chief under the English crown, for then it was clear
that they were to be left alone; but their sympathy was moved to see him
come back as servant who had once been lord. They had disliked the Duke
of Athol down to that hour, but they forgot their hatred in sight of his
humiliation, and when he landed in his new character, they received
him with acclamations. I am touched by the thought of my countrymen's
unselfish conduct in that hour; but I thank God I was not alive to
witness it.
I should have shrieked with laughter. The absurdity of the situation
passes the limits even of a farce. A certain Duke, who had received
£6000 a year, whereof a large part came of an immoral trade, had been
to London and sold his interest in it for £70,000, because if he had
not taken that, he would probably have got nothing. With thirteen
years' purchase of his insecure revenue in his pocket, and £2000 a year
promised, and his salary as Governor-in-Chief besides, he returns to the
island where half the people are impoverished by his sale of the island,
and nobody else has received a copper coin, and everybody is doomed to
pay back interest on what the Duke has received! What is the picture?
The Duke lands at the old jetty, and there his carriage is waiting to
take him to the house, where he and his have kept swashbuckler courts,
with troops of fine gentlemen debtors from London. The Manxmen forget
everything except that his dignity is reduced. They unyoke his horses,
get into his shafts, drag him through the streets, toss up their caps
and cry hurrah! hurrah! One seems to see the Duke sitting there with
his arms folded, and his head on his breast. He can't help laughing. The
thing is too ridiculous. Oh, if Swift had been there to see it, what a
scorching satire we should have had!
But the Athols soon spirited away their popularity. First they clamoured
for a further sum on account of the lost revenues, and they got it. Then
they tried to appropriate part of the income of the clergy. Again, they
put members of their family into the bishopric, and one of them sold his
tithes to a factor who tried to extort them by strong measures, which
led to green crop riots. In the end, their gross selfishness, which
thought of their own losses but forgot the losses of the people, raised
such open marks of aversion in the island that they finally signified to
the king their desire to sell all their remaining rights, their land
and manorial rights. This they did in 1829, receiving altogether, for
custom, revenue, tithes, patronage of the bishopric, and quit rents,
the sum of £416,000. Such was the value to the last of the Athols of the
Manx dynasty, of that little hungry island of the Irish Sea, which Henry
IV. gave to the Stanleys, and Sir John de Stanley did not think worth
while to look at. So there was an end of the House of Athol. Exit the
House of Athol! The play goes on without them.