CAMEO
XLII.

Advance to Derby. 1745.

وو

"Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace!" Nor did she live many weeks longer. There was after this a strange indifference. After people had found out that they were not likely to receive any personal damage, and that the "petticoat men were very harmless wild beasts, they regarded them as a spectacle. Thus Charles safely reached Derby on the 4th of December, and took up his quarters in a house of the Earl of Exeter, where at supper he discussed the mode of his entrance into London, only a hundred and thirty miles off, whether it should be on foot or on horseback, in English or Highland dress.

But to Lord George Murray and the other Commanders it was known that the English troops who had fought so well at Dettingen and Fontenoy, very different men from Gardiner's runaway dragoons, and with the Duke of Cumberland at their head, were in England, forming a nucleus for the militia, and certain to fight a terrible battle before London could be entered. Their army numbered 30,000; the Prince had barely 5,000-chiefly Highlanders. Moreover, Cumberland was already marching towards Derby, and Wade's army at York was being daily augmented by militia and volunteers. It was madness to advance so as to be almost certainly defeated, and then find the retreat cut off, whereas in Scotland fresh troops were ready to join, and there was general enthusiasm in the cause.

In the morning, a Council laid all this before the Prince, to his extreme mortification and indignation. At first he would not listen. "Rather than go back," he cried, "I would wish to be twenty feet underground!"

He declared that the French would come, that the English would rise, that a dash would win the day; but he could make no impression. Then he proposed to turn towards Wales; but could obtain no voice for this plan, except from the Duke of Perth and a few Irish officers. The Council broke up without a decision, and the Prince spent the next day in private arguments with the officers, the Highlanders in sharpening their broadswords, confessing, and hearing mass.

London was in a panic at this news. The day it arrived was remembered as Black Friday. The King had his goods packed up, there was a run on the Bank, and the Duke of Newcastle stood trembling and uncertain, people shut shops, volunteers enrolled themselves, all the lawyers in the Temple formed themselves into a regiment, and there was a camp at Finchley Common. The humours of the march thither were shown up by Hogarth in one of his notable engravings, when all had become a laughing matter to the Londoners.

For Charles could not withstand the representations of Lord George Murray and Sir Thomas Sheridan that the Duke of Cumberland and Marshal Wade must soon close on him, and he had found every chief decided that an advance would be utter ruin, suicide for themselves, destruction to their brave followers. So late in the evening he gave mournful consent to a retreat, adding that he should call no more Councils, but would be answerable only to God and his father for his measures.

So on the next day, the 6th of December, the retreat began in the misty gray morning, the clansmen going off in high spirits, thinking they were on the way to meet the enemy; but as they went further, and recognised the places they had passed only two days previously, they became dejected and indignant, and went along like beaten men.

The poor Prince, whom, in Fergus MacIvor's words, they were leading back "like a dog in a string," had lost hope and spirit, and instead of marching gaily along, he shut himself up in his carriage, unwilling to speak to any one. Discipline gave way, when hope was over; the Highlanders helped themselves to provisions, the people attacked them, they retaliated, and more than one house was set on fire. Stragglers and sick were made prisoners, sometimes killed, and at Manchester, such was the change of feeling, that a mob opposed his entry, and in his anger he imposed and obtained a fine of £5,000. He had thought of halting there for a day; but Lord George Murray persuaded him that this would only give more time to his enemies to overtake him, and they went on, the mob hanging in their rear.

At Wigan, Mr. O'Sullivan was shot at by mistake for the Prince. Search was made for the miscreant, but in vain; and unless he had been slain by the men in their anger, Charles would probably have pardoned him. It had the effect of exasperating the Highlanders at Lancaster, they threw open the gaols, and acted in a disorderly manner; and afterwards the Highlanders began seizing horses and riding them bare-backed. The Duke of Perth was sent forward with a small party of horse, to cross the Border and bring up Lord John Drummond with the troops he had gathered; but the men of Penrith would not allow the Duke to enter their town, and he had to fall back to the Prince at Kendal, pursued by several gentlemen on horseback, while beacon fires blazed upon all the hills.

Lord George Murray, who was in charge of the rear through this miserable winter retreat, was in great difficulties, for his carts broke down on the mountainous roads, and he had to throw a good deal of his powder into the tarns. The country people watched them in no friendly spirit, but had not intelligence enough to see what would have been really fatal-namely, to impede their progress by throwing down the stone walls that lined the road. The Duke of Cumberland was hanging on their rear, and the General nearest at hand was James Oglethorpe, the same whom report made the younger brother of the supposed Pretender, and whom we have already met as the beneficent colonist of Georgia.

It was he, who, when Lord George Murray was trying to master Lowther Hall, attacked the Jacobites with his light horse; but they had already gained the ground behind the hedges, Lord George, who had often been a visitor at the hall, knowing the ground perfectly. Cluny Macpherson, with his clan shouting "Claymore," rushed upon the English, and though they fought bravely, dispersed them. Cumberland's troops were to be seen on the edge of Clifton Moor, and the Highlanders. wanted to attack them, but Lord George knew that this would be mere VOL. VIII.

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САМЕО
XLII.

Retreat

from Derby.

1745.

CAMEO

XLII.

Clifton Skirmish.

madness, and marched on to the Prince. A garrison was left at Carlisle, and on Charles Edward's twenty-sixth birthday the Esk was forded, and the invasion of England was over.

The river was swollen by December rains, and the troops had to wade, struggling against the current, arm-in-arm. Charles had ridden across, when from the bank he saw a poor man drifted down by the stream. Instantly he sprang in, grasped the drowning man's hair, and shouting in Gaelic, “Help! Help!" kept him up till other rescuers came to his aid. The men danced reels to dry themselves when they had crossed. The whole expedition (580 miles) altogether occupied only fifty-six days, and on only one night at Manchester in the advance had Charles undressed.

If Charles had advanced from Derby, would he have been successful?

It is quite possible that he might have safely reached London, where there were many Jacobite citizens, Alderman Heathcote at the head of the party. George II. had sent his valuables on board ship, and the royal family had never inspired much attachment. Success would have brought aid from France, and the other enemies of England, Charles might have proclaimed James III., and even installed him on the throne.

But he could hardly have kept it. Queen Mary Tudor's legacy to the nation had been an insane dread of Popery, and two hundred years had not effaced the recollection of the Smithfield fires or the Gunpowder plot, and even now there were persecutions of Huguenots in France, showing that Giant Pope could still use his claws. And whatever Charles Edward might be, his father was of the straitest sect of Romanists, and was too much led by Italian priests to have abated a jot of the assertion of the exclusive claims of his branch of the Church. He was, moreover, a dull, incapable man; nor was his son, though with the Stuart charm of manner, and a high enthusiastic spirit, able to inspire in the long run, real respect and

confidence.

A Henri Quatre might have won the hearts of both parties, and have satisfied the nation that their liberties were safe; but such statesmen-sovereigns are of rare occurrence, and the mass of the nation hated alike French influence, preponderance of the Crown, and Romanism. And even if George II., one of the most obstinate of men, had fled, or if his son Cumberland had disbanded his veteran army, it is probable that James's first Parliament would have been his last. And the country might well be thankful that this last invasion was well-nigh bloodless. The skirmish at Clifton was the only attempt at a battle, and the other deaths were either of stragglers slain in cruel timidity by the country folk, or of the peasants here and there shot in reprisals; but this was as far as possible prevented by Charles Edward, who truly deserved all honour for mercy and generosity, even when a defeated and disappointed man.

CHARLES was in Scotland again, not devoid of hope of maintaining his cause in that kingdom. It was not encouraging, however, to find the town of Dumfries actually illuminated for his own supposed defeat.

He imposed on it a fine of £2,000, and only obtaining £1,100, carried off the Provost as security for the remainder. Thence he went on to Glasgow, but that city had been always hostile to him, and a pistol was fired at him in the Salt Market. A requisition to refit the army was unwillingly obtained from the trading city, and Charles went on to Stirling, arriving on the first day of 1746. Edinburgh had made up its mind not to admit him as before, and the English army was fast advancing on him, while the old Castle of Stirling was garrisoned against him by General Blakeney, an experienced officer, and he resolved to besiege it. There were alarms of a French descent on the south of England, and the Duke of Cumberland had been summoned to take measures against it. Marshal Wade had broken down under the winter fatigues; and the General appointed to the command of the English army in Scotland was Henry Hawley, who thirty years previously had served in the battle of Sheriff Muir. The appointment was a great mistake, for he was an incapable person, and was much disliked for his harsh and cruel temper. The first thing he did on arriving at Edinburgh was to have two gibbets erected, in readiness for any unfortunate rebels who might fall into his hands. He carried executioners with him for the same purpose, and from his resemblance to Judge Jeffreys, his nick-name was the Chief Justice. When Lord John Drummond, who was actually an officer in the French army, wrote to propose an exchange of prisoners,

CAMEO

XLIII.

Charles in
Scotland.

1746.

САМЕО XLIII.

Stirling.

1746.

he burnt the letter, and told the messenger that he made no terms with rebels.

The Duke of Perth was conducting the siege of Stirling Castle, with a French engineer, who was so unintelligent as to place his battery on the strongest side of the castle, where there was nothing but rock to be fired at, and where his people were exposed to the cannon above. Charles was protecting the siege, and was at Bannockburn, when Hawley reached Falkirk, both places memorable in Scottish history, and only nine miles apart. Hawley was full of derision of poor Sir John Cope, and declared that it was impossible that Highlanders could stand against steady regiments, and he had 8,000 regular troops, about equal numbers with those of the Prince.

But "are ye waking yet?" might have been applied to him more suitably than to Cope, for on the 17th of January, when there was nothing but the rough heather moor of Torwood between the armies, he was enjoying a hospitable meal at Callender House, where Lady Kilmarnock, whose husband was in the Prince's army, did her utmost to entertain him too agreeably to let him remember his command.

Indeed, he actually said that the Highlanders would flee at the very sight of his army, whereas they were drawn up awaiting his attack, and had twice sent reconnoitering parties to see whether there were any movement in his camp. Seeing none, about mid-day, Charles decided on an attack. His army crossed the river Carron, and made a circuit to avoid the bog of Falkirk, and were seen advancing from the west by an officer, Captain Teesdale, who had climbed a tree and used a telescope.

"Where's the general? What's to be done? We have no orders!" was the cry; but at last Hawley galloped hastily up, cursing and swearing.

There was a mound in the midst of the rough heather of the moor, and the beginning of the battle was a sort of race, the Highlanders on one side and the English troops on the other, each striving to be the first to gain it; but there was a heavy shower of sleet and hail beating against the English, and the Highlanders were the swifter and won the hill. The two armies drew up, Charles standing in the rear of the second line on a rising ground, still called Charlie's Hill. Lord George Murray commanded the right, Lord John Drummond the left wing. Hawley's men were likewise in two lines, and behind was a reserve of Argyle's Campbells and the Glasgow volunteers. His guns were stuck in a bog in the rear, but the Jacobites had no artillery with them, so all was equal in that respect.

Colonel Ligonier was commanded to charge with the dragoons, two regiments being the very men who had fled at Preston Pans. The Macdonalds and Frasers waited till they were close upon them, then fired, with such deadly effect that the first line fell, and the others, wheeling about in terror and confusion, got entangled in the bogs, and there the Highlanders came up with them and cut them down