IN 1734 the city of Gaeta, in the kingdom of Naples, was held by an
Austrian force, and was besieged by a mixed army of French, Walloons,
Spaniards, and Italians, commanded by the Duke of Liria. Don Carlos, a
Spanish prince, was doing his best, by their aid, to conquer the kingdom
of Naples for himself. There is now no kingdom of Naples: there are no
Austrian forces in Italy, and there is certainly, in all the armies of
Europe, no such officer as was fighting under the Duke of Liria. This
officer, in the uniform of a general of artillery, was a slim,
fair-haired, blue-eyed boy of thirteen. He seemed to take a pleasure in
the sound of the balls that rained about the trenches. When the Duke of
Liria's quarters had been destroyed by five cannon shots, this very
young officer was seen to enter the house, and the duke entreated, but
scarcely commanded, him to leave. The boy might be heard shouting to the
men of his very mixed force in all their various languages. He was the
darling of the camp, and the favourite of the men, for his courage and
pleasant manners.
This pretty boy with a taste for danger, Charles Edward Stuart, was
called by his friends 'the Prince of Wales.' He was, indeed, the eldest
son of James VIII. of Scotland and Third of England, known to his
enemies as 'the Pretender.' James, again, was the son of James II., and
was a mere baby when, in 1688, his father fled from England before the
Prince of Orange.
The child (the son of James II.) grew up in France: he charged the
English armies in Flanders, and fought not without distinction. He
invaded Scotland in 1715, where he failed, and now, for many years, he
had lived in Rome, a pensioner of the Pope. James was an unfortunate
prince, but is so far to be praised that he would not change his creed
to win a crown. He was a devout Catholic--his enemies said 'a bigoted
Papist'--he was the child of bad luck from his cradle; he had borne many
disappointments, and he was never the man to win back a kingdom by the
sword. He had married a Polish princess, of the gallant House of
Sobieski, and at Gaeta his eldest son, though only a boy, showed that he
had the courage of the Sobieskis and the charm of the Stuarts. The spies
of the English Government confessed that the boy was more dangerous than
the man, Prince Charles than King James.
[Illustration: 'IN THE BORGHESE GARDENS PRACTISED THAT ROYAL GAME OF
GOLF']
While Charles, at Gaeta, was learning the art of war, and causing his
cousin, the Duke of Liria, to pass some of the uneasiest moments of his
life, at home in Rome his younger brother Henry, Duke of York, aged
nine, was so indignant with his parents for not allowing him to go to
the war with his brother, that he flung away his little sword in a
temper. From their cradle these boys had thought and heard of little
else but the past glories of their race; it was the dream of their lives
to be restored to their own country. In all he did, the thought was
always uppermost with Charles. On the way from Gaeta to Naples, leaning
over the ship's side, the young Prince lost his hat; immediately a boat
was lowered in the hope of saving it, but Charles stopped the sailors,
saying with a peculiar smile, 'I shall be obliged before long to go and
fetch myself a hat in England.'
Every thought, every study, every sport that occupied the next few years
of Charles' life in Rome, had the same end, namely, preparing himself in
every way for the task of regaining his kingdom. Long days of rowing on
the lake of Albano, and boar-hunting at Cisterna, made him strong and
active. He would often make marches in shoes without stockings,
hardening his feet for the part he played afterwards on many a long
tramp in the Highlands. Instead of enjoying the ordinary effeminate
pleasures of the Roman nobility, he shot and hunted; and in the Borghese
Gardens practised that royal game of golf, which his ancestors had
played long before on the links at St. Andrews and the North Inch of
Perth. His more serious studies were, perhaps, less ardently pursued.
Though no prince ever used a sword more gallantly and to more purpose,
it cannot be denied that he habitually spelled it 'sord,' and though no
son ever wrote more dutiful and affectionate letters to a father, he
seldom got nearer the correct spelling of his parent's name than 'Gems.
In lonely parts of Rome the handsome lad and his melancholy father might
often have been seen talking eagerly and confidentially, planning,
and for ever planning, that long-talked-of descent upon their lost
kingdom.
If his thoughts turned constantly to Britain, many hearts in that
country were thinking of him with anxious prayers and hopes. In England,
in out-of-the-way manor-houses and parsonages, old-fashioned,
high-church squires and clergymen still secretly toasted the exiled
family. But in the fifty years that had passed since the Revolution, men
had got used to peace and the blessings of a settled government.
Jacobitism in England was a sentiment, hereditary in certain Tory
families; it was not a passion to stir the hearts of the people and
engage them in civil strife. It was very different with the Scots. The
Stuarts were, after all, their old race of kings; once they were removed
and unfortunate, their tyranny was forgotten, and the old national
feeling centred round them. The pride of the people had suffered at the
Union (1707); the old Scots nobility felt that they had lost in
importance; the people resented the enforcement of new taxes. The
Presbyterians of the trading classes were Whigs; but the persecuted
Episcopalians and Catholics, with the mob of Edinburgh, were for 'the
auld Stuarts back again.' This feeling against the present Government
and attachment to the exiled family were especially strong among the
fierce and faithful people of the Highlands. Among families of
distinction, like the Camerons of Lochiel, the Oliphants of Gask, and
many others, Jacobitism formed part of the religion of gallant,
simple-minded gentlemen and of high-spirited, devoted women. In many a
sheiling and farmhouse old broadswords and muskets, well-hidden from the
keen eye of the Government soldiers, were carefully cherished against
the brave day when 'the king should have his own again.'
In 1744 that day seemed to have dawned to which Charles had all his life
been looking forward. France, at war with England, was preparing an
invasion of that country, and was glad enough to use the claims of the
Stuarts for her own purposes. A fleet was actually on the point of
starting, and Charles, in the highest spirits, was already on shipboard,
but the English admiral was alert. A storm worked havoc among the French
ships, and it suited the French Government to give up the expedition.
Desperate with disappointment, Charles proposed to his father's friend,
the exiled Lord Marischall, to sail for Scotland by himself in a
herring-boat, and was hurt and indignant when the old soldier refused to
sanction such an audacious plan.
Charles had seen enough of hanging about foreign courts and depending
on their wavoring policy; he was determined to strike a blow for
himself. In Paris he was surrounded by restless spirits like his own;
Scots and Irish officers in the French service, and heart-broken exiles
like old Tullibardine, eager for any chance that would restore them to
their own country. Even prudent men of business lent themselves to
Charles's plans. His bankers in Paris advanced him 180,000 livres for
the purchase of arms, and of two Scottish merchants at Nantes, Walsh and
Routledge, one undertook to convey him to Scotland in a brig of eighteen
guns, the 'Doutelle,' while the other chartered a French man-of-war, the
'Elizabeth,' to be the convoy, and to carry arms and ammunition. To
provide these Charles had pawned his jewels, jewels which 'on _this_
side I could only wear with a very sad heart,' he wrote to his father;
for the same purpose he would gladly have pawned his shirt. On June 22
he started from the mouth of the Loire in all haste and secrecy, only
writing for his father's blessing and sanction when he knew it would be
too late for any attempt to be made to stop him. The companions of his
voyage were the old Marquis of Tullibardine, who had been deprived of
his dukedom of Athol in the '15; the Prince's tutor and cousin, Sir
Thomas Sheridan, a rather injudicious Irishman; two other Irishmen in
the French and Spanish services; Kelly, a young English divine; and
Aeneas Macdonald, a banker in Paris, and younger brother of the chieftain
Macdonald of Kinloch Moidart, a prudent young man, who saw himself
involved in the Prince's cause very much against his will and better
judgment.