A SUCCESSFUL army, especially an insurgent army, should never pause in
its onward march. If Prince Charles could have followed the flying
dragoons over the Border into England he would have found no
preparations made to resist him in the Northern counties. Even after the
King and Government were alarmed by the news of the battle of Preston, a
full month was allowed to pass before an army under General Wade arrived
at Newcastle on the 29th of October. Dutch, Hessian, and English troops
were ordered home from Flanders and regiments were raised in the
country, though at first no one seems to have seriously believed in
anything so daring as an invasion of England by Prince Charles and his
Highlanders.
So far there had come no word of encouragement from the English
Jacobites. Still, Charles never doubted but that they would hasten to
join him as soon as he crossed the Border. On the very morrow of
Prestonpans he sent messengers to those whom he considered his friends
in England, telling of his success and bidding them be ready to join
him. In the meantime he waited in Edinburgh till his army should be
large and formidable enough to undertake the march South. After the
battle numbers of his soldiers had deserted. According to their custom,
as soon as any clansman had secured as much booty as he could
conveniently carry, he started off home to his mountains to deposit his
spoil. A stalwart Highlander was seen staggering along the streets of
Edinburgh with a pier glass on his back, and ragged boys belonging to
the army adorned themselves with gold-laced hats, or any odd finery they
could pick up.
Many new adherents flocked to join the Prince. Among these was the
simple-minded old Lord Pitsligo. He commanded a body of horse, though at
his age he could hardly bear the fatigues of a campaign. In
Aberdeenshire--always Jacobite and Episcopalian--Lord Lewis Gordon
collected a large force; in Perthshire Lord Ogilvy raised his clan,
though neither of these arrived in time to join the march South. Even a
Highland army could not start in mid-winter to march through a hostile
country without any preparations. Tents and shoes were provided by the
city of Edinburgh, and all the horses in the neighbourhood were pressed
for the Prince's service.
On the first day of November the army, numbering 6,000 men, started for
the Border. Lord George led one division, carrying the supplies by
Moffat and Annandale to the West Border. Charles himself commanded the
other division. They pretended to be moving on Newcastle, marched down
Tweedside and then turned suddenly westward and reached England through
Liddesdale.
On the 8th they crossed the Border. The men unsheathed their swords and
raised a great shout. Unfortunately, as he drew his claymore, Locheil
wounded his hand, and his men, seeing the blood flow, declared it to be
a bad omen.
But fortune still seemed to follow the arms of the Adventurer. Carlisle
was the first strong town on the English Border, and though
insufficiently garrisoned, was both walled and defended by a Castle. The
mayor, a vain-glorious fellow, was ambitious of being the first man to
stay the victorious army, and published a proclamation saying that he
was not 'Patterson, a Scotchman, but Pattieson, a true-hearted
Englishman, who would defend his town against all comers.'
A false report that Wade was advancing from the West made Charles turn
aside and advance to Brampton in the hope of meeting him, but the roads
were rough, the weather was wild and cold, the Hanoverian general was
old, and again, as at Corryarack, Charles prepared to meet an enemy that
never appeared.
In the meantime a division of the army had returned to Carlisle and was
laying siege to it with great vigour. Lord George Murray and the Duke of
Perth worked in the trenches in their shirt sleeves. The sound of
bullets in their ears, the sight of formidable preparations for an
assault, were too much for the mayor and his citizens; on the 13th, the
'true-hearted Englishmen' hung out a white flag, and the Prince's army
marched in and took possession. It was another success, as sudden and
complete as any of the former ones. But there were ominous signs even
at this happy moment. The command of the siege of Carlisle had been
given to the Duke of Perth, and Lord George Murray, the older and abler
general, resented the slight. He sent in his resignation of the command
of the forces, but with proud magnanimity offered to serve as a
volunteer. Charles accepted the resignation, but the idea of losing the
one general of any experience they had, created consternation among the
chiefs. The crisis would have become serious but for the generous good
sense and modesty of the Duke of Perth, who sent in his resignation also
to the Prince. A more ominous fact was that they had been almost a week
in England and no one had declared for them. Charles refused to let
anything damp his hopefulness. Lancashire was the stronghold of
Jacobitism. Once in Lancashire, gentlemen and their following would
flock to join him.
The road between Carlisle and Preston lies over bare, stony heights, an
inhospitable country in the short, bleak days and long nights of
November. Charles shared every hardship with his soldiers. He had a
carriage but he never used it, and it was chiefly occupied by Lord
Pitsligo. With his target on his shoulder he marched alongside of the
soldiers, keeping up with their rapid pace, and talking to them in his
scanty Gaelic. He seldom dined, had one good meal at night, lay down
with his clothes on, and was up again at four next morning. No wonder
that the Highlanders were proud of 'a Prince who could eat a dry crust,
sleep on pease-straw, dine in four minutes, and win a battle in five.'
Once going over Shap Fell he was so overcome by drowsiness and cold that
he had to keep hold of one of the Ogilvies by the shoulderbelt and
walked some miles half asleep. Another time the sole of his boot was
quite worn out, and at the next village he got the blacksmith to nail a
thin iron plate to the boot. 'I think you are the first that ever shod
the son of a king,' he said, laughing as he paid the man.
Still entire silence on the part of the English Jacobites. The people in
the villages and towns through which they passed looked on the uncouth
strangers with ill-concealed aversion and fear. Once going to his
quarters in some small town the 'gentle Locheil' found that the good
woman of the house had hidden her children in a cupboard, having heard
that the Highlanders were cannibals and ate children!
The town of Preston was a place of ill omen to the superstitious
Highlanders. There, thirty years before, their countrymen had been
disastrously defeated. They had a presentiment that they too would
never get beyond that point. To destroy this fear, Lord George Murray
marched half his army across the river and encamped on the further side.
[Illustration: Crossing Shap Fell]
Manchester was the next halting-place, and there the prospects were
rather brighter. An enterprising Sergeant Dickson hurried on in front of
the army with a girl and a drummer boy at his side. He marched about the
streets recruiting, and managed to raise some score of recruits. In
Manchester society there was a certain Jacobite element; on Sunday the
church showed a crowd of ladies in tartan cloaks and white cockades, and
a nonjuring clergyman preached in favour of the Prince's cause. Among
the officers who commanded the handful of men calling itself the
Manchester Regiment, were three brothers of the name of Deacon, whose
father, a nonjuring clergyman, devoted them all gladly to the cause.
Another, Syddel, a wig-maker, had as a lad of eleven seen his father
executed as a Jacobite in the '15, and had vowed undying vengeance
against the house of Hanover. Manchester was the only place in England
that had shown any zeal in the Prince's cause, and it only contributed
some few hundred men and 3,000_l._ of money.
The situation seemed grave to the leaders of the Prince's army. He
himself refused to recognise any other fact than that every day brought
him nearer to London. On October 31 the army left Manchester. At
Stockport they crossed the Mersey, the Prince wading up to the middle.
Here occurred a very touching incident. A few Cheshire gentlemen met
Charles at this point, and with them came an aged lady, Mrs. Skyring. As
a child she remembered her mother lifting her up to see Charles II. land
at Dover. Her parents were devoted Cavaliers, and despite the
ingratitude of the royal family, loyalty was an hereditary passion with
their daughter. For years she had laid aside half her income and had
sent it to the exiled family, only concealing the name of the donor, as
being of no interest to them. Now, she had sold all her jewels and
plate, and brought the money in a purse as an offering to Charles. With
dim eyes, feeble hands, and feelings too strong for her frail body, she
clasped Charles's hand, and gazing at his face said, 'Lord, now lettest
Thou Thy servant depart in peace.'
The Highland forces were in the very centre of England and had not yet
encountered an enemy, but now they were menaced on two sides. General
Wade--'Grandmother Wade' the Jacobite soldiers called him--by slow
marches through Yorkshire had arrived within three days' march of them
on one side, while, far more formidable, in front of them at Stafford
lay the Duke of Cumberland with 10,000 men. He was a brave leader, and
the troops under him were seasoned and experienced. At last the English
Government had wakened up to the seriousness of the danger which they
had made light of as long as it only affected Scotland. When news came
that the Scots had got beyond Manchester, a most unmanly panic prevailed
in London. Shops were shut, there was a run on the Bank, it has even
been asserted that George II. himself had many of his valuables removed
on to yachts in the Thames, and held himself in readiness to fly at any
moment.
The Duke of Cumberland and his forces were the only obstacle between the
Prince's army and London. Lord George Murray, with his usual sagacity,
determined to slip past this enemy also, as he had already slipped past
Wade. While the Prince, with one division of the army, marched straight
for Derby, he himself led the remaining troops apparently to meet the
Duke of Cumberland. That able general fell into the snare and marched up
his men to meet the Highlanders at Congleton. Then Lord George broke up
his camp at midnight (of December 2), and, marching across country in
the darkness, joined the Prince at Leek, a day's journey short of Derby.
By this clever stratagem the Highland army got a start of at least a
day's march on their way to London.
On the 4th, the Highland army entered Derby, marching in all day in
detachments. Here Charles learned the good news from Scotland that Lord
John Drummond had landed at Montrose with 1,000 French soldiers and
supplies of money and arms. Never had fortune seemed to shine more
brightly on the young Prince. He was sure now of French assistance, he
shut his eyes to the fact that the English people were either hostile or
indifferent; if it came to a battle he was confident that hundreds of
the enemy would desert to his standard. The road to London and to a
throne lay open before him! That night at mess he seriously discussed
how he should enter London in triumph. Should it be in Highland or
English dress? On horseback or on foot? Did he notice, one wonders, that
his gay anticipations were received in ominous silence by the chiefs? At
least the private soldiers of his army shared his hopes. On the
afternoon of the 5th many had their broadswords and dirks sharpened, and
some partook of the Sacrament in the churches. They all felt that a
battle was imminent.
Next morning a council of war was held. Charles was eager to arrange for
an immediate advance on London. Success seemed to lie within his grasp.
Lord George Murray rose as spokesman for the rest. He urged immediate
retreat to Scotland! Two armies lay one on either hand, a third was
being collected to defend London. Against 30,000 men what could 5,000
avail? He had no faith in a French invasion, he was convinced that
nothing was to be looked for from the English Jacobites. 'Rather than go
back, I would I were twenty feet underground,' Charles cried in
passionate disappointment. He argued, he commanded, he implored; the
chiefs were inexorable, and it was decided that the retreat should begin
next morning before daybreak. This decision broke the Prince's heart and
quenched his spirit; never again did his buoyant courage put life into
his whole army. Next morning he rose sullen and enraged, and marched in
gloomy silence in the rear.
All the private soldiers and many of the officers believed that they
were being led against the Duke of Cumberland. When returning daylight
showed that they were retreating by the same road on which they had
marched so hopefully two days before, they were filled with grief and
rage. 'Would God,' writes a certain brave Macdonald, 'we had pushed on
though we had all been cut to pieces, when we were in a condition for
fighting and doing honour to our noble Prince and the glorious cause we
had taken in hand.' The distrust caused in the Prince's mind by Lord
George's action had, later, the most fatal effect.
[Illustration: 'Many had their broadswords and dirks sharpened']