On the 8th of August, 1710, after many significant changes in the cabinet. Lord Godolphin received by a messenger from the royal stables, a note from the queen, praying him to break the white rod—his insignia of office. The queen appeared before Parliament to dissolve it; the Chancellor, Lord Cowper, endeavored to speak, but Anne silenced him. The power passed from the powerful junta of the Whigs, and Harley was named Chancellor of the Exchequer; Lord Rochester became President of the Council, and St. John Secretary of State.
The Duchess of Marlborough, disgraced without being dismissed, no longer saw the queen. Anne, overwhelmed by reproaches and insults, left the chamber where the duchess insisted upon remaining. Some months later the humility and prayers of the great general were unavailing to maintain the duchess in her position at court; he was obliged to pick up from the floor the golden key—the sign of office of the mistress of the robes—that his wife had flung away in her anger.
"She has conducted herself strangely," avowed the duke, "but there is nothing to be done, and it is necessary to endure many things to obtain peace in the household."
The day of grandeur of the Duke of Marlborough had passed; his administration of the funds of the army was condemned by Parliament. He defended himself ably, with that bold moderation which habitually characterized him. He was accused of having taken moneys from the contractors of supplies: he replied, declaring it was the custom in the Low Countries, and that although it was true, that no English general had ever before exercised this right, yet it had been for the simple reason, that no English general had ever before been commander-in-chief in the Low Countries. Walpole, unjustly included in the same condemnation, would not defend himself, and in consequence was confined in the Tower, as a prisoner, until the end of the session.
The elections of 1713 were not favorable to the ministry; the country was uneasy and suspicious; the cabinet was divided. The perfidious ability and moderation of the Earl of Oxford were opposed to the bold ambition of Bolingbroke, and that marvellous eloquence, the memory of which remained so powerful among his contemporaries and successors, that Pitt, when asked what he would prefer to recover from the shades of the past, replied: "One of the lost decades of Titus Livius, and a speech of Bolingbroke."
The secret rivalries suspected by public opinion, and the violence of party struggles, manifested themselves upon all sides, through the press, now almost absolutely free from restraint, and directed during the reign of Anne by men of great talents, nearly all of whom were engaged in the political contests. Addison and Steele were members of the House of Commons, and also at the same time, publishers of The Spectator. Addison had even occupied a place in the Whig ministry. Swift, the intimate friend of Harley and Bolingbroke, employed in the defence of their policy all his bitter and sarcastic wit, without, however, being able to obtain—owing to the legitimate repugnance of the queen—the ecclesiastical preferments which he desired.
Defoe arduously defended the principles of the revolution of 1688, in brilliant pamphlets whose renown, for a time, exceeded the popularity of his Robinson Crusoe. The poet Prior was actively employed in diplomatic negotiations by Bolingbroke. Isaac Newton alone withdrew from politics, after having taken an unimportant part, and thenceforth consecrated his life to the study of the laws of nature. Pope, however, took no part in the struggles of the day, but devoted himself purely to literature.
The intrigues increased and multiplied in all directions. The Earl of Oxford hesitated between the Stuarts and the Protestant succession, but was disposed to rely upon the Duke of Marlborough, who courted his favor. Bolingbroke was resolved to supplant the prime minister, and was at the same time imprudently engaged in the Jacobite plots. The Queen was ill, and low-spirited; she may even have felt remorse and doubts. The ecclesiastical advancements had been of a character favorable to the fallen house. The Dean of Christ Church, Francis Atterbury, able, restless, and an enthusiastic Jacobite, was appointed Bishop of Rochester. It was in accord with him that Bolingbroke, the notorious sceptic and libertine, presented to Parliament an act of schism, forbidding the right to teach to all persons who had not accepted the test and furnished proof that they had partaken of the communion within a year. "I am agreeably surprised that some men of pleasure are, on a sudden, become so religious as to set up for patrons of the Church," said Lord Wharton. The bill was passed, but was never enforced.
The Church of England had for some time been urging the Pretender to return to her bosom, and had even flattered herself that she would succeed in the illustrious conquest. The illusions and imprudence of the Jacobites were increasing: they began to speak openly of a restoration. The majority in Parliament, as well as in the country, remained firmly attached, nevertheless, to the Protestant succession. The nation was anxious and disturbed. On the 12th of April, 1714, the Hanoverian minister, Baron Schutz, who had come to an understanding with the chief of the Whigs, called upon the Chancellor, Sir Simon, afterwards Lord Harcourt, and demanded of him, in the name of the Elcctress Sophia, the summons for her son, the elector, to the House of Lords, in his quality as Duke of Cambridge. The queen, being at once consulted, peremptorily and angrily refused. Schutz was obliged to leave London. Anne wrote personally to the electress absolutely forbidding the prince, her son, to set foot on English soil. Some days later, on the 28th of May, 1714, the prince became the heir presumptive to the crown of England by the death of his mother. "I would die happy if there could be written upon my coffin: Here lies Sophia, Queen of England," said the electress.
Upon the advice of the House of Lords, alarmed at the ardor of the Jacobites, the queen consented to issue a proclamation offering a reward of £5,000 to any one who would arrest the Pretender if he should set foot upon the soil of England. The peers were preparing to vote an address of thanks, when Bolingbroke entered the house; he was taken unawares. "The best measure of defence for the Protestant succession," said he, "would be to arraign for high treason all who are enrolled in the service of the Pretender." They took him at his word, and the house placed him at the head of the committee appointed to draw up the bill. "Neither the proclamation nor the bill will do us any harm," said Bolingbroke to the French envoy, D'Iberville. He had undertaken, with the Duke of Ormond, to reorganize the army in the interests of Marlborough, with the ultimate view of delivering it into the hands of the Jacobites. By one of those deliberate calculations, which often resemble a ruse, the Lord Treasurer did not furnish the necessary funds in time. Oxford had lost the confidence of the queen; he had quarrelled with Lady Masham. "You have never rendered her Majesty a service, and you are not now in a position to render her one," angrily said the favorite. Oxford did not reply; he clung tenaciously to the remnants of his power. "The least indisposition of the queen causes us great alarm," wrote Swift; "when she recovers, we act as if she was immortal."
On the 27th of July, after a stormy interview with the queen, and surrounded by his most desperate enemies, Lord Oxford delivered the white rod into the hands of her Majesty. It was publicly rumored, and the Duke of Berwick affirms it in his Memoirs, that the Court of St. Germain had insisted upon the dismissal of the minister. "Come and see me," wrote Oxford to Swift, on the day following; "if I have not, at other times, wearied you, hasten to one who loves you. I believe that in the mass of souls ours were made for each other. I send you an imitation of Dryden, which occurred to me on my way to Kensington: To wear out with love, and to shed one's blood is approved of on high; but here below examples prove that to be an honest man, brings misfortune."
From the doubtful political honesty of Harley, Queen Anne passed, it was believed, to the imprudent and bold intrigues of Bolingbroke. From France there was suggested a bold and daring stroke: "The queen," said the Duke of Berwick, "should go to Westminster with her brother, and present him to the two houses as her successor." When dying, James II. had pardoned his daughter, charging Mary of Modena to say to her that he prayed God to convert her and to confirm her in the resolution to repair to his son the wrong which had been done to himself. It was upon this favor of the queen that the Jacobites counted, notwithstanding a letter of the Pretender declaring himself irrevocably attached to the Catholic faith. Bolingbroke had foreseen the value of the death of the queen. Scarcely had the power fallen into his hands when he assured the Abbé Gautier that he should hold the same sentiments regarding the prince, provided he took measures which were agreeable to the honest people of the country.
The day following the sudden death of Queen Anne, the French envoy D'Iberville, wrote to Louis XIV.: "My Lord Bolingbroke is overwhelmed with grief; he has assured me that all his precautions were so well taken, that in six weeks' time things would have been in such a state that we would have had nothing to fear from that which has just happened."
The Whigs, as well as Bolingbroke, had also taken their measures; they awaited the Duke of Marlborough, still in the Low Countries. On the 14th of July, Bolingbroke wrote to Lord Strafford: "The friends of Marlborough announce his arrival; I hold it for certain, without knowing whether it is owing to the bad figure which he makes abroad, or in the hope of making a good one among us. I have reason to believe that certain persons who would move heaven and earth sooner than renounce their power or make a good use of it, have recently made overtures to him, and are in some measure in accord with his creatures." Contrary winds detained the Duke at Ostend, but General Stanhope disembarked at the Tower of London.
The queen had been seriously disturbed by the altercation which had taken place in her presence at the time of the dismissal of the Earl of Oxford. "I shall never survive it," said she to her physicians. On the morning of the 30th of July, 1714, she had an attack of apoplexy. As a strong indication of public opinion, stocks rose at the news of her illness, and declined when the physicians announced a gleam of hope. The privy council assembled at Kensington; the Dukes of Argyle and Somerset had not been called, but being secretly informed by their friends, they presented themselves. The Duke of Shrewsbury thanked them for their readiness and invited them to seats. Prudent, often hesitating, always reserved, the Duke of Shrewsbury had at last chosen his side, and had not forgotten the part he took in the revolution of 1688. The great Whig lord proposed to fill the office of lord treasurer, which remained vacant. In the pressing danger of her Majesty, they suggested the name of Shrewsbury. Bolingbroke, concealing his spite and anger, found himself constrained to enter the royal chamber with the two other secretaries of state, Bromley and Lord Mar, in order to propose to the dying queen the choice which was to destroy all his ambitious hopes. "Nothing could be more agreeable to me," murmured the queen; and extending to him the white rod, she said, "use this for the good of my people." Lord Shrewsbury wished to resign the important offices that he already held. "No, no," replied Anne; then she sank into a lethargy which prevented her from articulating a word.
On the 1st of August, 1714, an embargo was put upon all the ports; the order of embarkation was given to a fleet, and considerable forces were called to London. The Elector of Hanover had been requested to pass into Holland, and the entire privy council was convoked, when Queen Anne expired, without having regained her consciousness, and without having been able to receive the sacraments or to sign her will.
The regency was instantly established, and the fleet put to sea,
to receive the new sovereign. Atterbury alone dared to propose to
Bolingbroke the proclamation of James III. at Charing Cross. He
desired to walk at the head of the heralds in his episcopal
robes. Bolingbroke, as well as all the other ministers, had
signed the measures taken in favor of the Protestant sovereign.
"Behold the best cause in Europe lost for want of boldness,"
cried the Bishop. "The Earl of Oxford was dismissed on Tuesday,"
wrote Bolingbroke to Swift; "the queen died on Sunday. What a
world this is, and how fortune mocks us!"
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Shrewsbury Invested With The White Rod.
Other blows were in reserve for this adroit and artful intriguer; imprudent and chimerical, always ready to attempt new adventures, and counting upon the resources of his fertile genius. "The Tories seem resolved not to be crushed," wrote he, on the 3rd of August, "and this suffices to prevent its being done. I have lost all by the death of the queen, except my energy of spirit; and I protest to you that I feel it expanding within me. If you wish, in a month, all the world shall say that the Whigs are a lot of Jacobites."
It pleases God to confound the fears as well as the hopes of mankind. All moderate Englishmen were passionately attached to the Protestant succession. The great mass of the nation for some years looked forward to the death of Queen Anne with great anxiety, while the Jacobites awaited that event with ill-disguised confidence, believing it the hour of their triumph. The forebodings of the one, as well as the hopes of the other, were equally disappointed. King George I., although away from England, a foreigner, and unknown to all, was proclaimed without opposition, and his name was received with public acclamations as enthusiastic as though he was a well beloved son, ascending peaceably the throne of his father; a powerful and striking indication of that grave and firm resolution which caused the English nation to remain attached to its religious faith, as well as its political liberties; an indication, however, which was long unrecognized by the partisans of the fallen house of Stuart; faithful and blind, not only to the temper of the English people, but also to the disposition and intentions of the princes for whom they were to sacrifice from generation to generation, their estates and their lives.
King George I., although proclaimed, was still absent, remaining in his electorate, which he was loth to leave. He was naturally slow and deliberate, just and moderate, without any charm of mind or manner, and surrounded by favorites more foreign and more dissatisfactory even than himself to the English nation. A Council of Regency governed during his absence. It contained all the illustrious names of the Whig party, with the exception of the Duke of Marlborough, who was soon placed at the head of the army, and Lord Somers, who was old and an invalid. Louis XIV. recognized the new sovereign. One of the first measures voted by Parliament, was the increase of the reward, from five thousand to one hundred thousand pounds sterling, to any one who should arrest the Pretender, if he dared to land upon English soil.
The prince protested immediately; he wrote from Plombières, where he had gone to take the waters, proclaiming his rights to the crown of England, as well as his grief at the death of the queen, his sister: "whose good intentions we could not doubt," added he. "And we have therefore remained inactive, awaiting the happy issue which has been, unfortunately, prevented by her death." Exiled princes, banished by revolutions, are sometimes ignorant even of the language of the people they hope to govern: in the face of popular indignation, the friends of the Pretender, and those of the last ministry of Queen Anne, were compelled to affirm that the proclamation of Plombières was an odious fabrication.
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George I.
The king finally arrived, landing at Greenwich, on the 18th of September, 1714, accompanied by his son the Prince of Wales. A ministry was formed immediately, conferring all power upon the Whig party; Lord Nottingham alone belonged, in principle, to the Tories, but parliamentary intrigues had for some time past reconciled him to the triumphant party. William III. had endeavored to unite, in the same government, the chiefs of the two great political factions; but however powerful might be his intelligence and personal action, he was not calculated for internal struggles and jealousies. George I. delivered himself without reserve into the hands of the party that he believed the most faithful to his cause. Even before his arrival in England he ordered the dismissal of Bolingbroke. The seals were immediately taken from him. "I have been neither surprised nor grieved at my fall," wrote he to Atterbury. "The mode that they have used shocked me only for a moment. I am not in any way alarmed by the malice or the power of the Whigs, but that which distresses me is this: I see clearly that the Tory party is destroyed."
The new Parliament was more intensely Whig than the Commons of 1713. Lord Townshend, at the head of the cabinet, was honest and sincere, but as rude in his temper as in his actions. General Stanhope, second Secretary of State, shared his sentiments; both had received from their adversaries an example of violence. Walpole, although holding no prominent official position, but having more influence than any other member of the house, had answered for the Commons, provided the Whigs were allowed full liberty of action.
The peace of Utrecht was severely censured in the two houses. Seals had been placed upon the papers of Lord Strafford, the intimate friend of Bolingbroke, and Prior was recalled from Paris. The report spread that the poet had promised to reveal the secrets of the negotiations. The displaced ministers were in danger of arrest. Bolingbroke appeared at a play at Drury Lane, on the 25th of March, 1715. He applauded loudly, and, according to the custom of the time, chose another play for the following evening. The same night, carefully disguised, he fled to Dover, and on the evening of the 27th embarked for Calais. Justly troubled, although his conscience was but rarely scrupulous, he did not dare to confront either the revelations of his agents, or the hatred of his enemies. Lord Anglesea, who was not a Whig, but a Hanoverian Tory, had said to him, the preceding year: "If I discover that there is perfidy, I will pursue the ministers from the foot of the throne to the Tower, and from the Tower to the scaffold."
On the 9th of June, 1715, Walpole's report upon the conduct of the deposed ministers was laid before the House of Commons. Bolingbroke was immediately indicted. Lord Coningsby rose: "The honorable president of your committee attacks the hand," said he, "but I accuse the head. He has denounced the clerk. I address myself to the judge; he has accused the servant; I demand that justice be done the master. I accuse Robert, Duke of Oxford, as guilty of high treason."
The adroit prudence of the duke served him better than the alarmed remorse of Bolingbroke; he remained at his house, quietly attending to his affairs, without seeming to avoid the threatened prosecution. He was taken to the Tower, where he remained two years before the passions of his accusers were sufficiently appeased to allow him an acquittal. The Dutchess of Marlborough vigorously opposed his release. While in prison, he received a visit from the Duke of Ormond, who was less compromised by the peace of Utrecht, as he had obeyed the orders of his superiors, but was more deeply engaged in the Jacobite intrigues. Ormond was preparing to fly, although at first he exhibited much disdain. He urged Oxford to follow his example, but the latter refused: "Farewell, Oxford without a head," said Ormond.—"Farewell duke without a duchy," responded Harley. Both recalled the adieus of the Prince of Orange and Count Egmont. The Duke of Ormond never saw England again. Like Bolingbroke, he entered the service of the Stuarts; less fortunate than Bolingbroke, he was not disgraced by his new master, but followed him from one attempt to another, and from retreat to retreat, even to that last gloomy residence at Avignon, where he died in 1745. The storm was preparing; less dangerous than was feared, but nevertheless severe, and destined to leave deep traces. In their vengeance, the ministers employed a certain moderation, as the spirit of their party was more violent than their acts. Young Lord Stanhope, of Shelford, subsequently Lord Chesterfield, said in his first speech in the House of Commons: "I have no desire to shed the blood of my countrymen, still less that of a noble peer; but I am persuaded that the safety of the country requires that an example be made of those who have so unworthily betrayed it."
As soon as Bolingbroke reached Paris, he called upon Lord Stair, the English ambassador. "I promised him not to engage in any Jacobite undertaking," wrote he, after the interview, to Sir William Wyndham; "and I have kept my word. I have written a letter to Lord Stanhope, the Secretary of State, disclaiming all intention of offending the government, and I will retire into Dauphiné, in order to remove any objection that might be made against my residence near the court of France."
Bolingbroke nevertheless saw the Marshal of Berwick before departing for his retreat. When he learned that a bill of attainder had been brought in against him, he received at the same time an invitation from the Pretender to join him at Commercy. He departed immediately, wearied already of his inaction, and urged on by his anger and love of intrigue. He had scarcely reached Lorraine when he accepted the seals of secretary of state from King James III., although he fully comprehended the vanity of all the Pretender's expectations. "My first conversation with the chevalier," wrote he to Wyndham, "does not respond to my expectations, and I assure you, in all truth, that I have already begun to repent of my imprudence; at least, I am convinced of yours and mine. He spoke like a man who only awaited the moment of departure for some place in England or Scotland, without well knowing where."
The hesitation of the leaders of the Jacobite party was great. While the Duke of Ormond remained in England, he strenuously insisted upon the necessity of co-operation from France, affirming that they could not trust exclusively to a national uprising. Having arrived in France, leaving the conspirators at home without a leader, the duke, when urging the Chevalier St. George to embark with him for England, repeated his assertions and demands. "I have seen here," wrote Bolingbroke, "a crowd of people, each one doing whatever seemed best to him, without subordination, without order, without concert; they no longer doubt the success of the enterprise; hope and anticipation are read in the animated eyes of all the Irish. Those who know how to read and write, are continually interchanging letters, and those who have not attained that degree of knowledge, whisper their secrets in the ear. The ministry is in the hands of both sexes."
Louis XIV. died on the 1st of September, 1715. "He was the best friend of the Chevalier," said Bolingbroke, "and my hopes sunk as he declined, and died when he expired." The most blind as well as the most ardent among the Jacobites could not be seriously deluded regarding the disposition of the regent; he was indifferent and careless, and naturally inclined to oppose any policy that the late king had followed, and was also reasonably sensible of the dangers of a new war with England. The vessels which, with the connivance of Louis XIV., had been armed at Havre, under false names, for the service of the projected expedition, were demanded by Lord Stair; their cargoes of arms were at once disembarked. Admiral Sir George Byng appeared in the channel with a squadron. Orders were sent to Lord Mar, who had charge of the Pretender's affairs in Scotland, not to give the signal for the rising, but to wait for new instructions. He had already left London.
On the 27th of August, a grand re-union of the chief Jacobites took place at Mar's castle, in the county of Aberdeen. On the 6th of September, the royal standard of the Stuarts was raised in the little village of Braemar. Sixty men only then surrounded it, but soon the contagion spread from village to village, from fortress to fortress. Some days later the country north of the Tay was almost entirely in the hands of the insurgents.
The time for hesitation and prudence on the part of the chevalier had passed; in fact he had already hesitated too long, in the opinion of those who generously risked, for him, all that they possessed. The inclemency of the weather, contradictory advice, snares and enticements held out to him by Lord Stair, the return of the Duke of Ormond, who had attempted, without success, to land upon the coast of Devonshire, all these had retarded his movements. It was not until the middle of December that the Pretender, accompanied by six gentlemen, finally landed at Dunkirk.
The unfortunate fate of his partisans in England had already been decided. In Scotland it trembled in the balance; and the gloomy forebodings of the most faithful servants of the house of Stuart began to be realized. The Earl of Mar, restless and cunning, clever in court intrigues, but destitute of all military talent, as of all military knowledge, had lingered in the Highlands, remaining for some time at Perth, where his forces increased daily. The Duke of Argyle, placed by the government at the head of the royal troops, found himself at Stirling menaced on all sides by the Jacobites, who, however, did not advance. "When at last Lord Mar drew the sword, he did not know what to do with it," says the Duke of Berwick; "and thus was lost the most favorable opportunity which has presented itself since 1688."
The Scotch had their eyes fixed upon England; the general uprising in the south, anticipated by the Duke of Ormond, had failed, as the plot was discovered, and the chief Jacobites—the Duke of Powis, Lord Lansdowne, and Lord Duplin, were arrested. The ministry demanded of the House of Commons authority to impeach six of its members, compromised in the conspiracy. Sir William Wyndham was defended in vain by his father-in-law, the Duke of Somerset. After being concealed for several days he delivered himself up to justice. Sir Thomas Foster succeeded in escaping, and some days later headed an insurrection in Northumberland. Lord Derwentwater and Lord Widdington joined him, and "King James III." was proclaimed, at Warkworth, to the sound of trumpets. Being a Protestant, Sir Thomas was chosen General of the English insurgents. He counted upon combining his movements with those of Brigadier Macintosh, of Bordlase, who had just landed at Aberlady. The alarm extended to Edinburgh. A movement of the Duke of Argyle decided the Jacobites to throw themselves into the citadel of Leith. The Duke arrived under the walls of the fortress. "We do not know the meaning of the word surrender," replied the Highlanders to the demands of the detested chief of the Campbells; "and we have no desire to learn it. We are resolved neither to give nor to receive any quarter. If his grace is disposed to attempt the assault, we are determined to repulse him."
Noble boastings are sometimes the consolation of proud souls when their cause appears doubtful. The Duke of Argyle did not attempt the assault, but returned to Edinburgh, from where he soon advanced to Stirling, now threatened by the Earl of Mar. His presence destroyed the hope of surprising the capital. Macintosh marched to the south, and joined the English insurgents at Kelso. The Northumbrians wished to re-enter England, and endeavored to compel the Highlanders to follow them; they refused. "If we are to be sacrificed," said they, "we intend it shall be in our country." Foster led his troops as far as Preston. A great number of Catholic gentlemen there joined them, bringing in their train crowds of peasants without arms and without discipline. Generals Carpenter and Wills, both experienced officers, who had served with distinction in Spain, advanced against the rebels from the north and from the south. When the news of their approach reached the insurgents, their commander was in bed sleeping off the effects of a drunken debauch. Lord Kenmure had great difficulty in arousing him sufficiently to give intelligible orders.
On the 12th of November, 1715, the Jacobites were attacked at Preston by General Wills. The defence was feeble, although the insurgents, concealed in the houses, killed many of the soldiers. The leaders were divided. Foster lost courage and proposed a capitulation. "If the rebels wish to lay down their arms, and surrender at discretion," replied the English general, "I will prevent my soldiers from cutting them in pieces, until I have received orders from my government."
The Highlanders were furious; they brandished their weapons, and threatened to cut their way through the royal troops to gain their own country. But already Lord Derwentwater and Brigadier Macintosh had surrendered themselves as hostages, and the soldiers had no other resource than obedience. Prisoners of note abounded in the camp of General Wills; many were to pay with their lives for the part they had taken in an insurrection, inconsiderately undertaken and shamefully and sadly terminated. Only seventeen men had been killed when the little army of Jacobites surrendered at Preston. On the same day, the 12th of November, the Earl of Mar, who had at last shaken off his lethargy and left Perth, arrived at Ardoch, four leagues from Stirling: his forces amounted to about ten thousand men. The Highland chiefs led their clans. A body of gentlemen, well mounted and well equipped, formed a striking contrast to a crowd of peasants badly armed and half naked; but nevertheless resolved to fight.
When Lord Mar learned that Argyle was advancing towards him, and that he occupied Dumblane, he assembled his principal officers, and offered them the alternative of battle or retreat. "Fight! Fight!" cried the Highland chiefs. Soon the same cry spread throughout the army; hats were waved and swords were brandished. When the troops of Argyle began the contest in the valley of Sheriffmuir, the line of battle of the insurgents was imposing. "I have never seen regular troops form a finer line of battle," subsequently said General Wightman, "and their officers conducted themselves with all the bravery imaginable."
Personal heroism and undisciplined fury were ineffectual when directed by a chief incapable and devoid of energy. The Highlanders forced the left wing of Argyle's army, while that general was pursuing their right, which he had quickly routed. The divisions of the army thus became separated, and had no communication with each other: but Argyle, returning from the pursuit, reformed his regiments upon the field of battle, while Mar, triumphant, at the head of his Highlanders, but anxious, uncertain, and fearing an ambuscade, was slowly uniting his forces. When the enemy appeared, at the foot of the hill, the Scotch chiefs were impatiently awaiting his orders to charge. "Oh, for an hour of Dundee," already cried Gorden of Glenbucket. The bagpipes sounded the retreat, and Mar withdrew, without attempting a final effort "The battle is won," said he to his lieutenants, in the hope of calming their irritation. The Duke of Argyle retired to Dumblane. On the following day he re-appeared on the field of battle, but the Earl of Mar had not returned. "Your Grace has not gained a complete victory," said one of his officers. Argyle responded by singing two lines of an old Scotch song:
"If 'tis not weel wound, weel wound, weel wound,
If 'tis not weel wound, we'll wind it again."
The same ardor also animated some of the Scotch in the rebel army. "If we have not yet gained the victory," said General Hamilton, "we must fight every week until we do gain it." But uneasiness and lassitude already pervaded the army and extended even to some of the leaders. Lord Sutherland advanced at the head of the Whig forces. The Highlanders were urged to conceal their booty. Many detachments had already left the army and returned to Perth, when the Chevalier St. George finally landed at Peterhead, on the 22nd of December, 1715. The forces of the Duke of Argyle were increased by the arrival of auxiliary Dutch troops, that had been demanded from the States-General by the English Government, and henceforth his army was larger than that of the rebels.
On the 8th of January, 1716, the Pretender established himself, without opposition, in the royal palace at Scone. The ceremony of the coronation was announced for the 23rd of the same month.
The joy of the insurgents upon learning of the arrival of "the King," was great. "We are now going to live like soldiers, and to measure ourselves with our enemies," they said, "in place of remaining here inactive, waiting the vain resolutions of a frightened council." On his part, James, upon landing, had written to Bolingbroke: "Behold me, thanks to God, in my ancient kingdom. I find things in good shape, and I think that all will go well if the friends of your side do their duty, as I will do mine. Show this note to the regent."
The illusions did not last long on either side. The Pretender found the army of his partisans diminished, disordered, and divided. He was not personally qualified to act upon such men, and his virtues were better suited to a monarch peacefully seated upon his throne than to an exiled prince, obliged to conquer his crown. "He was tall and thin," wrote one of the adherents, "pale and grave. He spoke but little; his conversation was vague, and his manners and character seemed measured. I do not know how he would have been in his pleasures; it was not the time for such thoughts. We had no opportunity of gayety, and I never saw him smile. I will not conceal that at the time when we saw him whom we called our king, we were not in any way reanimated by his presence, and that if he was disappointed in us, we were ten times more so in him. We saw nothing in him that looked like spirit. He never showed either animation or courage, in order to cheer us. Our men began to despise him and to ask if he could talk. His physiognomy was dull and heavy. He took no pleasure in mingling with the soldiers, either to see them drill or exercise. It was said that our condition discouraged him: I say that the figure he made among us discouraged us also. If he had sent us five thousand good troops, instead of coming himself, the result would have been different."
James III. had nevertheless done an act of power. He issued proclamations to the army, and these were spread throughout the country. Two Presbyterian ministers only substituted his name for that of King George in their public prayers; the Episcopalians, en masse, rallied around the new monarch, who nevertheless refused a promise of tolerance to the Anglican Church of Ireland, and whose assurances were doubtful even in regard to the church of England. He affected great devotion to his friends and to his country. "Whatever happens," said he, in his address to his council, "I will not leave my faithful subjects any reason to reproach me for not having done all that they might have expected of me. Those who neglect their duty and their proper interest, will be responsible for the evil which may happen. Misfortune will be nothing new to me. From my cradle, all my life has been a series of misfortunes, and I am ready, if it pleases God, to endure the threats of your enemies and mine."
On the 31st of January, on the approach of the Duke of Argyle, urged and constrained to action by General Cadogan, recently arrived from London, the insurgent army began its retreat. The soldiers were discouraged, and the leaders uncertain or irritated. "What has the king come here for?"' asked the soldiers: "is it to see his subjects killed by the executioner, without striking a blow in defence? Let us die like men, not as dogs."—"If his Majesty is disposed to die as a prince, he will find ten thousand Scotch gentlemen to die with him," said a rich country gentleman of Aberdeen. But the forces of the Duke of Argyle were overwhelming. The councillors of the Pretender, alarmed and trembling for his safety as well as their own, and hoping for better conditions in the absence of their prince, urged him to depart. On the evening of the 4th of February, secretly, and after having taken every precaution necessary to deceive the army, the Chevalier left the quarters of the Earl of Mar, whither he had gone on foot. Accompanied by that leader, he entered a small boat and was taken on board a French ship which awaited him. General Gordon was now at the head of an army which was disbanding, in the midst of a country devastated by fire. The prince had ordered the burning of all villages as far as Stirling. He and all his adherents were now exposed to the vengeance of that government which they had so recently menaced. On departing, and as a compensation for so many evils, the Pretender wrote to the Duke of Argyle, sending him all the money he possessed: "I pray you," said he, "have this sum distributed among the inhabitants of the villages which have been burned, in order that I may at least have the satisfaction of not having caused the ruin of any one; I, who would have died for them all."
The honor of saving a people costs more dearly and necessitates more sacrifices than the Chevalier St. George was inclined to believe, in his indolent nature; he had failed personally, as well as in his political and military enterprises. But the Jacobite party was not destroyed; it was still to nourish long its hopes and to shed much blood for his cause. The insurrection of 1715 was at an end. The Highlanders sought refuge in their mountains, and the great lords and gentlemen either concealed themselves, or escaped from Scotland and increased the little exiled court. James arrived at Gravelines, and from there he went to St. Germain. Bolingbroke joined him immediately. The prince desired to remain a few days in France, but the regent would not permit it, and also refused to see him. He desired to find a refuge with the Duke of Lorraine, before the English government could interfere. The chevalier separated from his minister with feigned protestations of friendship. Three days later the Duke of Ormond presented himself before Bolingbroke, bearer of a letter from James, which thanked him for his services, of which he had no longer need, and ordered him to deliver all the state papers into the hands of Ormond. "The papers were held without difficulty in an envelope of ordinary size," ironically remarked Bolingbroke. "I delivered them solemnly to my Lord Ormond, as well as the seals. There were some letters of the chevalier which would have been inconvenient to show to the duke, and which he had without doubt forgotten. I subsequently sent them to him, by a sure hand, disdaining to play him false by executing his orders to the letter. I did not wish to appear annoyed, being far from angry."
Bolingbroke deceived himself: his anger against the Jacobites constantly displayed itself during the remainder of his agitated and restless life. With a disdainful thoughtlessness, many times too familiar to princes, James measured the devotion of his secretary of state; but he had judged less justly the services which he had already rendered him, and which he might still render.
"It would seem that one must have lost his senses," wrote Marsna Berwick, "in order not to comprehend the arrant folly which induced King James to deprive himself of the only Englishman able to govern his affairs. Bolingbroke was endowed with brilliant talents, which had advanced him, at an early age, to the highest offices. He exercised a great influence upon the Tory party, of which he was the soul. Nothing could be more deplorable than to separate himself from such a man, at a time when he was most necessary, and when it was important not to make new enemies. I have been a witness of the conduct of Bolingbroke: he had done for King James all that he was able to do."
The entreaties of the queen mother were unable to appease Bolingbroke. "I am free," said he, "and may my hand wither if I ever take the sword or pen in the service of your son." From that time all the thoughts of the exile turned towards England, while the prince whom he had served, and who had not appreciated him, departed for Avignon, thus virtually abandoning his royal party by this retreat to a Papal country, the most odious and most suspected of all, by the English.
Scotland had suffered from the presence of armies, by the destruction of crops, by the flight or death of a great number of the gentry, and by the new animosities excited between the clans engaged on the different sides. The government had taken but few prisoners, and even those were unimportant. The English insurrection had delivered to justice, or to the vengeance of the Whigs, many important hostages. Lord Widdington, Lord Nairn, Lord Kenmure, the Earls of Nithisdale and of Derwentwater, were accused of high treason. All were condemned. The entreaties of their friends obtained the pardon of Lords Nairn, Carnwath and Widdington. Lord Wintoun, who alone had plead "not guilty," and in consequence had undergone a trial, succeeded in escaping from the Tower. Lady Nithisdale had the happiness of saving her husband, who escaped disguised in her clothing. Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure alone remained. Many members of both houses were inclined towards clemency. "I am indignant," said Walpole, with a severity foreign to his character, "to see members of this great body so unfaithful to their duty that they are able to open their mouths without blushing in favor of rebels and parricides." Lord Nottingham boldly declared for the condemned; he was dismissed from the ministry. On the 24th of February, 1716, the two lords perished upon the scaffold at Tower Hill, proclaiming to the last moment their faithful allegiance to King James. Condemnations were less numerous among the rebels of an inferior order. Justice had been severe, but it had not become vengeance. "The rebel who declares himself boldly, justly compromises his life," affirms Gibbon, with positive equity. New measures, purely repressive, were voted against the Catholics, among whom were naturally reckoned many Jacobites. Among the constant partisans of the fallen house, the devotion, the fidelity, the honest and sincere attachment, merit the respect of men and the sympathetic indulgence of history. Indignation and contempt belong to those who had nourished hopes, encouraged intrigues, even furnished resources secretly and perfidiously, like the Duke of Marlborough, the General-in-chief of the armies of King George, without risking a day of their lives nor an atom of their grandeur. The splendor of genius and the most brilliant successes can never efface such a stain. Slowly and noiselessly, Marlborough had lost in public opinion, and he was soon to fall into an intellectual and physical decadence: worthy chastisement of a life, a singular mixture of great power of mind and moral baseness, of cold calculation and violent passions, of glory and of ignominy. Attacked by paralysis, in May, 1716, Marlborough expired on the 16th of June, 1722, and was interred, with royal honors in Westminster Abbey. "I was a man then," said the invalid Duke, when contemplating his portrait in a picture which represented the battle of Blenheim. He left an immense fortune, the results of the great offices which both he and the Duchess had held, as well as the exactions that his extreme avidity for money had led him into. "I have heard his widow say," said Voltaire, "that after the division made to four children, there still remained to her, without thanks to the court, a revenue of £70,000."
National gratitude had contributed its share to this enormous accumulation of wealth. It is to the honor of England that she has always recompensed her great servants magnificently.
Parliament, on its own authority, and by a legitimate exercise of its power, now took an important step. The experience of the last twenty years of triennial legislative elections had convinced many sound thinkers that an agitation so frequently renewed was dangerous to the electors, as well as to the liberty of action of those elected. It was remembered that William III. had once refused his assent to the bill, which was subsequently imposed upon him. A new law decided that the duration of the parliaments should henceforth be seven years. Usage has often abridged this term by a year, but it has remained, notwithstanding frequent infractions, the regular limit for legislatures. About the same time, and in spite of serious obstacles, that clause of the act of Establishment which formerly forbade the sovereigns to leave the soil of Great Britain, was repealed by the houses. The desire of George I. to visit his hereditary states became irresistible; he had long been detained by the jealousy which he felt regarding his son. It was with regret and upon the formal advice of his ministers, that he decided to confide the government to the Prince of Wales during his absence. "This family has always been quarrelsome," said Lord Carteret, one day, to the full Council, "and it will quarrel always, from generation to generation."
The king left England on the 17th of July, 1716, accompanied by the Secretary of State, Stanhope. The latter profited by his presence upon the continent, and formed, with the States-General and the Emperor, a treaty of defensive alliance: the only guarantee which he was able to obtain from the jealous susceptibility of the court of Vienna, and the restless feebleness of the Dutch negotiators. Heinsius was no longer in power, and soon afterwards died. "Forced to rely upon many heads, the government no longer has a head," said Horace Walpole, brother of the leader of the House of Commons and minister to the Hague; "there are here as many masters as wills."
An understanding with France, regarding new enterprises of the Pretender, became necessary to England. The regent was not personally opposed to it; he was weary of the indolence and cowardly incapacity of the Chevalier St. George; he was besides urged by the Abbé Dubois, formerly his tutor, corrupt himself and a corruptor of others, and already secretly at the head of foreign affairs, but waiting until he should be officially appointed, and aspiring to become prime minister.
Without respect for law, destitute of all religious convictions, and consequently inaccessible to the motive which led many good Catholics, in Europe, to desire the re-establishment of the Stuarts, Dubois was able, often far-seeing, and sometimes even bold; he had a mind active, clear, and moderately practical. The alliance of England seemed to him useful to his master and to France. He adroitly availed himself of his former relations with General Stanhope, when commander of the English troops in Spain, in order to begin secret negotiations, which soon extended to Holland. "The character of our regent," wrote Dubois, on the 10th of March, 1716, "leaves no room to fear that he prides himself upon perpetuating the prejudices and the policy of our ancient court; and as you can remark for yourself, he has too much spirit not to recognize his true interests."
Dubois carried to the Hague the propositions of the regent. King George was expected there; the clever diplomat concealed the object of his journey under the pretext of buying rare books. He went, he said, to redeem from the hands of the Jews the famous picture of the Seven Sacraments, by Poussin, recently stolen from Paris. The order of the succession to the crowns of France and England, conformably to the peace of Utrecht, was guaranteed in the treaty. It was the only decided advantage to the regent, who hoped thereby to confirm the renunciation of Philip V. Dubois had demanded that all the conditions of the treaty of 1713 should be recognized. Stanhope formally refused. "It has taken me three days to get out of this with the Abbé Dubois," wrote he to England: as to the remainder, all the concessions came from France; her territory was forbidden to the Jacobites, and the Pretender, who was established at Avignon, was to be invited to cross the Alps. The English demanded the abandonment of the works on the canal at Mardyke, destined to replace the port of Dunkirk. The Dutch claimed commercial advantages. Dubois yielded upon all these points, but defended to the last, with a vain tenacity, the title of King of France, that the English still disputed to our monarchs. Stanhope was urged to terminate the negotiations. Diplomatic complications that threatened to lead to war in the north gravely pre-occupied George I., always absorbed in the interests of his patrimonial States. "The scope of his mind does not extend beyond the Electorate." said Lord Chesterfield; "England is too large a morsel for him."