IN less than a month Prince Charles had marched through a kingdom, and
gained a capital, but he felt his triumph insecure till he had met his
enemies in fair fight. Nor were his followers less eager for battle. In
a council of war held at Holyrood, Charles declared his intention of
leading the army against Cope, and of charging in person at its head.
_That_, however, the chiefs would not hear of; the Prince's life was
all-important to their cause, and must not be rashly exposed to danger.
The arms that the Edinburgh trained bands had used to so little
purpose--about a thousand muskets--had fallen into the hands of their
enemies; but even with this addition, the Highland soldiers were
insufficiently accoutred. The gentlemen, who marched in the front ranks,
were, it is true, completely armed with broadsword, musket, pistol, and
dirk, but in the rank and file many an unkempt, half-clothed, ill-fed
cateran carried merely a bill-hook or scytheblade fixed into a long
pole. It was the swiftness and splendid daring of their onset that made
these ill-armed, untrained clansmen the equals or more than the equals
of the regular army that opposed them.
In the meantime Cope, with his army of 2,000 foot, reinforced by the
fugitive dragoons, some 600 men under Gardiner, were marching from
Dunbar. Gardiner, as brave a soldier as he was a good and devout
Christian, was full of foreboding. The 'canter of Coltbridge' had broken
his heart; a 'most foul flight,' he called it, and added, to a friend
who tried to comfort him, that there were not ten men in his troop whom
he could trust not to run away at the first fire. No such misgiving
seems to have disturbed Sir John Cope. On Friday the 20th the Hanoverian
army reached Prestonpans, and formed its ranks on a plain between the
sea on the north and the ridge of Carberry Hill on the south. The road
from Edinburgh to Haddington passed through this plain, and the simple
old general argued that the advancing army would be sure to take the
easiest road. Fortunately Lord George Murray knew better where the
peculiar strength of the Highlanders lay.
Early on Friday morning the Prince's army broke up from their camp at
Duddingstone. Charles himself was the first man on the field. As the
troops began their march, he drew his sword and cried: 'Gentlemen, I
have thrown away the scabbard;' high-spirited words which found an echo
in the hearts of all the brave men present.
The army marched in column, three abreast, the various clans holding
together under their own chiefs. Two miles short of Prestonpans Lord
George learned the position of Cope's army, and at once led his
light-footed soldiers up the slopes that commanded the plain. The
English general was hourly expecting to see his enemies approach from
the west by the road, and he was fully prepared to meet them at that
point. At two in the afternoon, to his amazement, they suddenly appeared
from the south, marching over the ridge of the hill.
The Hanoverian soldiers had enough spirit to receive them with cheers,
to which the Highlanders responded by wild yells. They longed ardently
to sweep down the slope and give instant battle, but the nature of the
ground made this impossible even to a Highland army. Intersecting the
hillside were high stone walls, which would have to be scaled under a
hot fire from below, and at the bottom was a swamp, a wide ditch, and a
high hedge. A certain gentleman in the Prince's army--Mr. Ker of
Gordon--rode over the ground on his pony to examine its possibilities.
He went to work as coolly as if he were on the hunting-field, making
breaches in the wall and leading his pony through, in spite of a
dropping fire from the Hanoverians. He reported that to charge over such
ground was impossible. The Highlanders were bitterly disappointed; their
one fear was that Cope should again slip away under cover of darkness.
To prevent this Lord Nairne and 600 Perthshire men were sent to guard
the road to Edinburgh. Seeing that nothing more could be done that
night, both armies settled down to rest; General Cope lay in comfort at
Cockenzie, Prince Charles on the field; a bundle of peastraw served for
his pillow; a long white cloak thrown over his plaid for a covering.
Among the volunteers who had recently joined the Prince was an East
Lothian laird called Anderson. He had often shot over the fields about
Prestonpans. During the night he suddenly remembered a path which led
from the heights, down through the morass on to the plain, slightly to
the east of Cope's army. He sought out Lord George and told him of this
path, and he, struck with the possibility of making immediate use of the
information, took him without delay to the Prince. Charles was alert on
the instant, entered into the plan proposed, and the next moment the
word of command was passed along the sleeping lines. A few moments later
the whole army was moving along the ridge in the dim starlight. But here
a difficulty occurred. At Bannockburn, and in all great battles
afterwards, except Killiekrankie, the Macdonalds had held the place of
honour on the right wing of the army. They claimed that position now
with haughty tenacity. The other clans, equally brave and equally proud,
disputed the claim. It was decided to draw lots to settle the question.
Lots were drawn, and the place of honour fell to the Camerons and
Stewarts. An ominous cloud gathered on the brows of the Macdonald
chiefs, but Locheil, as sagacious as he was courteous, induced the other
chiefs to waive their right, and, well content, the clan Macdonald
marched on in the van.
Up on the hill the sky was clear, but a thick white mist covered the
plain. Under cover of this the Highlanders passed the morass in the one
fordable place. In the darkness the Prince missed a stepping-stone and
slipped into the bog, but recovered so quickly that no one had time to
draw a bad omen from the accident. A Hanoverian dragoon, standing
sentinel near this point, heard the march of the soldiers while they
were still invisible in the dusk, and galloped off to give the alarm,
but not before the Highland army was free from the swamp and had formed
in two lines on the plain. Macdonalds and Camerons and Stewarts were in
the first line; behind, at a distance of fifty yards, the Perthshiremen
and other regiments led by Charles himself.
Learning that the enemy was now approaching from the east side of the
plain, Cope drew up his men to face their approach. In the centre was
the infantry--the steadiest body in his army--on his left, near the sea
and opposite the Macdonalds, Hamilton's dragoons, on the right, the
other dragoons under Gardiner, and in front of these the battery of six
cannon. This should have been a formidable weapon against the
Highlanders, who, unfamiliar with artillery, had an almost superstitious
fear of the big guns, but they were merely manned by half-a-dozen feeble
old sailors. There was a brief pause as the two armies stood opposite
each other in the sea of mist. The Highlanders muttered a short prayer,
drew their bonnets down on their eyes, and moved forward at a smart
pace. At that moment a wind rose from the sea and rolled away the
curtain of mist from between the two armies. In front of them the
Highlanders saw their enemy drawn up like a hedge of steel. With wild
yells they came on, their march quickening to a run, each clan charging
in a close compact body headed by its own chief. Even while they rushed
on, as resistless as a torrent, each man fired his musket deliberately
and with deadly aim, then flung it away and swept on, brandishing his
broadsword. A body of Stewarts and Camerons actually stormed the
battery, rushing straight on the muzzles of the guns. The old men who
had them in charge had fled at the first sight of the Highlanders; even
the brave Colonel Whiteford, who alone and unassisted stood to his guns,
had to yield to their furious onset. Gardiner's dragoons standing
behind the battery were next seized by the panic; they made one
miserable attempt to advance, halted, and then wheeling round, dashed
wildly in every direction. Nor could Hamilton's dragoons on the other
wing stand the heavy rolling fire of the advancing Macdonalds. Mad with
terror, man and horse fled in blind confusion, some backwards,
confounding their own ranks, some along the shore, some actually through
the ranks of the enemy.
[Illustration: James More wounded at Prestonpans]
Only the infantry in the centre stood firm and received the onset of the
Highlanders with a steady fire. A small band of Macgregors, armed only
with scytheblades, charged against this hedge of musketry. This curious
weapon was invented by James More, a son of Rob Roy Macgregor. He was
the leader of this party, and fell, pierced by five bullets. With
undaunted courage he raised himself on his elbow, and shouted, 'Look ye,
my lads, I'm not dead; by Heaven I shall see if any of you does not do
his duty.' In that wild charge, none of the clansmen failed to 'do his
duty.' Heedless of the rain of bullets, they rushed to close quarters
with the Hanoverian infantry, who, deserted by the dragoons, were now
attacked on both sides as well as in front. A few stood firm, and the
gallant Colonel Gardiner put himself at their head. A blow from a
scytheblade in the hands of a gigantic Macgregor ended his life, and
spared him the shame and sorrow of another defeat. The Park walls at
their back prevented the infantry from seeking ignoble security in
flight, after the fashion of the dragoons, and they were forced to lay
down their weapons and beg for quarter. Some 400 of them fell, struck
down by the broadswords and dirks of their enemy, more than 700 were
taken prisoners, and only a few hundreds escaped.
[Illustration: 'HE GALLOPED UP THE STREETS OF EDINBURGH SHOUTING,
"VICTORY! VICTORY!"']
The battle was won in less than five minutes. Charles himself commanded
the second column, which was only fifty yards behind the first, but, by
the time he arrived on the scene of action, there was nothing left to be
done. Nothing, that is, in securing the victory, but Charles at once
occupied himself in stopping the carnage and protecting the wounded and
prisoners. 'Sir,' cried one of his staff, riding up to him, 'there are
your enemies at your feet.' 'They are my father's subjects,' answered
Charles sadly, turning away.
In vain did Sir John Cope and the Earl of Home try to rally the
dragoons. Holding pistols to the men's heads, they succeeded in
collecting a body in a field near Clement's Wells, and tried to form a
squadron; but the sound of a pistol-shot renewed the panic and off they
started again at the gallop. There was nothing for it but for the
officers to put themselves at the head of as many fugitives as they
could collect, and conduct the flight. Hardly did they draw rein till
they were safe at Berwick. There the unfortunate general was received by
Lord Mark Ker with the well-known sarcasm--'Sir, I believe you are the
first general in Europe who has brought the first news of his own
defeat.'[37]
In the meantime, the wounded they had left on the field were being
kindly cared for by the victorious army. Charles despatched a messenger
to bring medical aid--an errand not without danger to a single horseman
on roads covered with straggling bodies of dragoons. But the adventure
just suited the gallant spirit of young Lawrence Oliphant. At Tranent
the sight of him and his servant at their heels sent off a body of
dragoons at the gallop. Single fugitives he disarmed and dismounted,
sending the horses back to the Prince by the hands of country lads.
Once he had to discharge his pistol after a servant and pony, but for
the most part the terrified soldiers yielded at a word.
Entering the Netherbow, he galloped up the streets of Edinburgh
shouting, 'Victory! victory!' From every window in the High Street and
Luckenbows white caps looked out, while the streets were crowded with
eager citizens, and joyful hurrahs were heard on every side. At Lucky
Wilson's, in the Lawn Market, the young gentleman alighted, called for
breakfast, and sent for the magistrates to deliver his orders that the
gates were to be closed against any fugitive dragoons. Hat in hand, the
magistrates waited on the Prince's aide-de-camp, but at that moment the
cry arose that dragoons and soldiers were coming up the street. Up jumps
Mr. Oliphant and out into the street, faces eight or nine dragoons, and
commands them to dismount in the Prince's name. This the craven
Hanoverians were quite prepared to do. Only one presented his piece at
the young officer. Mr. Oliphant snapped his pistol at him, forgetting
that it was empty. Immediately half a dozen shots were fired at him, but
so wildly that none did him any harm beyond shattering his buckle, and
he retreated hastily up one of the dark steep lanes that led into a
close.
The commander of the Castle refused to admit the fugitives, threatened
even to fire on them as deserters, and they had to gallop out at the
West Port and on to Stirling. Another of the Prince's officers,
Colquhoun Grant, drove a party of dragoons before him all the way into
Edinburgh, and stuck his bloody dirk into the Castle gates as a
defiance.
Sadder was the fate of another Perthshire gentleman, as young and as
daring as Lawrence Oliphant. David Thriepland, with a couple of
servants, had followed the dragoons for two miles from the field; they
had fled before him, but, coming to a halt, they discovered that their
pursuers numbered no more than three. They turned on them and cut them
down with their swords. Many years afterwards, when the grass was rank
and green on Mr. Thriepland's grave, a child named Walter Scott, sitting
on it, heard the story from an old lady who had herself seen the death
of the young soldier.
The next day (Sunday) the Prince held his triumphant entry up the High
Street of Edinburgh. Clan after clan marched past, with waving plaids
and brandished weapons; the wild music of the pipes sounded as full of
menace as of triumph. From every window in the dark, high houses on
each side, fair faces looked down, each adorned with the white cockade.
In their excitement the Highlanders let off their pieces into the air.
By an unfortunate accident one musket thus fired happened to be loaded,
and the bullet grazed the temple of a Jacobite lady, Miss Nairne,
inflicting a slight wound. 'Thank God that this happened to _me_, whose
opinions are so well known,' cried the high-spirited girl. 'Had a Whig
lady been wounded, it might have been thought that the deed had been
intentional.'[38]