In black contrast to the name, the character, the happy life and peaceful, kindly end of the good Earl Marischal stand the infamy, the ruined soul, the wretched existence and miserable death of John Murray of Broughton. ‘No lip of me or mine comes after Broughton’s!’ said the Whig father of Sir Walter Scott, as he threw out of window the teacup from which the traitor had drunk. Murray was poisonous; was shunned like a sick, venomed beast. His name was blotted out of the books of the Masons’ lodge to which he belonged; even the records of baptisms in his Episcopal chapel attest the horror in which he was held for thirty years, for half his life. Yet this informer remained, through that moiety of his degraded existence, true in heart to the Cause which the Earl Marischal forsook and disdained, true to his affection for his Prince; and it is even extremely probable that, after he became titular King, Charles, on a secret expedition to England, visited Murray in his London house.

The vacant, contemned years, when his beautiful wife had ceased to share his infamy, were partly beguiled in the composition of the ‘Memorials,’ which Mr. Fitzroy Bell has edited, with reinforcements from the Stuart MSS., the papers in the Record Office, and the archives of the Quai d’Orsay. In these we find a spectacle which is rare: a traitor convicted, exposed, detested, yet still clinging to the Cause which he wrought for and sold, still striving to batter himself into his own self-respect, and to extenuate or bluster out his own dishonour. The Earl Marischal has left us no memoirs; a manuscript which he gave to Sir Robert Murray Keith has been lost. But Murray’s papers are still in the possession of his great-grandson by a second marriage, Mr. George Siddons Murray, who has generously sanctioned their publication.

John Murray, of Broughton, in Peeblesshire, was born in 1715, being descended from a cadet of the house of Murray of Philiphaugh. His father, Sir David Murray, was out in the Fifteen, but afterwards lived peacefully, developed the lead mines of Strontian, and died before the Forty-five. His son, educated at Edinburgh and Leyden Universities, visited Rome in 1737-8, carried thither his ancestral politics, and inflamed them at the light of Prince Charles’s eyes, ‘the finest I ever saw.’[34] He found Charles ‘the most surprizingly handsome person of the age,’ a description not borne out by the miniature in enamel which he gave to his admirer in a diamond snuff-box.[35] Here we see ‘the complection that has in it somewhat of an uncommon delicacy;’ we see large brown eyes, an oval face, and the bright hair hanging down below the perruque, that hair which is treasured in a hundred rings, sleeve-links, and lockets. But genuine portraits of the Prince do not account for his epithet of ‘bonnie,’ and for his almost involuntary successes with women. He had ‘an air,’ and was, indeed, a good-looking boy enough; but he was no Adonis, the lower part of his face tending early to overfulness. However, he won Murray’s heart, and he never lost it.

Returning, in 1738, to Broughton, on the Tweed, Murray found himself a near neighbour of Lord Traquair, then residing in his ancient château, which lent its bears to Tully Veolan. The house has a legend of an avenue gate never to be opened till the King comes again; but Lord Traquair, a Jacobite from vanity, did nothing to promote a Restoration. He feebly caballed, and at Traquair Murray may have drunk loyal healths enough to float a ship. Inclined for more active measures, he succeeded old Colonel Urquhart as Scottish correspondent of Edgar, the King’s secretary in Rome. The appointment was approved of by the Duke of Hamilton, who, dying in 1743, left the Garter, the gift of King George, and the Thistle, the gift of King James! The new Duke was Jacobite enough to subscribe 1,500l. to the Cause and to accept James’s commission just before the Prince landed, but he held aloof from the Rising.

Murray went into his business as Jacobite organiser with a cool and clear head. He knew the value of documentary evidence, and when he could he secured the signatures of adherents. In 1741 the ‘Association’ was formed, by Traquair, Lovat, Macgregor or Drummond of Balhaldie (described in the essay on the Earl Marischal), the bankrupt Campbell of Auchenbreck, father-in-law of Lochiel, and Lochiel himself, the only honest man of the cabal. In March 1741, Murray was introduced to Balhaldie. That chief promised mountains and marvels, including 20,000 stand of arms already stocked. Visionary weapons were these, as the swords which fell from heaven into Clydesdale in 1684. Murray was invited to trust Lovat, which he was disinclined to do, having heard from Lochiel and from general rumour of that rogue’s unfathomable and capricious treachery. Murray yielded, however, and the Association was launched. First came the question of supplies. The Scots were loyal, but, as a rule, would not part with a bawbee. Hay of Drumelzier kept a good grip of the gear; Lockhart of Carnwath had no money by him; the Duke of Hamilton evaded the question; and Lovat and Balhaldie opposed the recruiting of new associates, who, if brought in, would have rebelled against such incompetent or treacherous managers.

Nothing occurred till, in December 1742, Balhaldie sent some of his Ossianic prophecies of a French invasion to Traquair. Murray did not believe in the predictions, and only the feeblest attempts at organising the country into districts were made. Auchenbreck was to manage Argyllshire, Traquair was responsible for Scotland south of Forth. Neither brought in an adherent. Weapons were lacking, and Balhaldie gave no information about a plan of campaign. It was absolutely necessary to know what France really intended, and, at the end of 1712, Murray himself set out for Paris. In London he heard of the death of Cardinal Fleury—a great blow to the cause. He found in Paris that Balhaldie was beguiling France with exaggerated accounts of what the stingy and disorganised Scots were prepared to do. Murray was merely mocked by Cardinal Tencin, and from Amelot got only vague expressions of goodwill, and the warning that ‘such enterprizes were dangerous and precarious.’ Yet Balhaldie seemed much elated, and returned to England with Murray to put heart into the English adherents. In England Murray found Colonel Cecil as little satisfied with Balhaldie as himself, but the Celt hurried about with a great air of business, and sent for Traquair to come to town.

Traquair did go to town, carrying a letter of Murray’s, to be forwarded to the Earl Marischal. By the advice of Balhaldie (who was the last man that ought to have seen the letter) Traquair burned it. This was a new offence, and, in brief, the feud between Murray and Balhaldie became inveterate.

In London Traquair did nothing. He never wrote to the party in Scotland, and he brought back nothing but the names of the English leaders, the Duke of Beaufort, Lord Orrery, Lord Barrymore, Sir John Hinde Cotton, and Sir Watkin Williams Wynne. When Murray, in turning informer, divulged these names, except that of Beaufort, he told Government nothing which every man who cared did not know. But the English were thrown ‘into a mortal fright,’ as Balhaldie found so late as 1749. They were always in a mortal fright, always insisted that their Scottish allies should not even know who they were. Thus concerted movements were made impossible. Murray was dashed by the discovery that the English party was a mere set of five or six nominum umbræ. Doubtless there were plenty of Squire Westerns, who were ready to drink healths.

There may have been more serious intentions. In a Devonshire house I saw, once, a fine portrait of James III., and learned that the great-grandfather of the owner had burned compromising papers. Such papers of English Jacobites, if any existed, seem always to have been destroyed.

Traquair had done nothing; from Barrymore he got a promise of 10,000l., from the rich Welsh baronet he got only excuses. Lovat, according to Murray, said, in the Tower, that Beaufort had promised to raise 12,000 men, ‘whereby he exposed before the warders a nobleman to the resentment of Government whom I had been at great pains to represent ... as no ways privy to or concerned in our scheme.’

The year 1743 ended, and at its close (December 23) James announced to Ormonde and to the Earl Marischal the French King’s resolution to help him. Balhaldie brought the Prince to France, early in 1744. Nothing was done, nothing was concerted. An attempt to engage the Cameronians, through Kenmure and Sir Thomas Gordon of Earlstoun, was a predestined failure. After Midsummer, 1744, Murray determined to visit France, watch Balhaldie, and see the Prince. He casually discovered that a Mr. Cockburn left the Jacobite cypher lying loose on his window seat, or under a dictionary! These were pretty characters to manage a conspiracy; but we have seen equal stupidity in ‘Jameson’s Raid.’ In London Murray saw Dr. Barry, whom he later betrayed, as far as in him lay. He crossed to Flanders, and met Balhaldie gambling in the Sun tavern at Rotterdam. Balhaldie vapoured about buying arms, though ‘he had not credit for a louis d’or,’ and bragged about the travelling chaise (the Prince’s famous chese) which he had designed for his Royal Highness. Not to pursue these chicaneries, Murray exposed Balhaldie and Sempil to Charles, whom he met secretly behind the stables of the Tuileries. The Prince took it very coolly, without loss of temper or excitement, but announced his intention to visit Scotland next summer (1745) if he came with a single servant. Murray replied that his arrival would ever be welcome, ‘but I hoped it would not be without a body of troops.’ Murray then pointed out that, in such an adventure, ‘he could not positively depend on more than 4,000 Highlanders, if so many,’ and that even these would infinitely regret the measure.

Murray has been accused, by Maxwell of Kirkconnell, of putting Charles upon this enterprise. In fact, his error lay in not formally and explicitly warning the Prince from the first. Later he did send warning letters, but Traquair did not try to deliver them, and Young Glengarry failed in the attempt.

The result of Murray’s disclosures, and of a written Memorial which he sent in, was to undeceive Charles as to Sempil and Balhaldie. His letters to James are proofs of this, and now the split in the party was incurable. Murray went to and fro, undermining Balhaldie. Balhaldie, at the end of 1744, sent Young Glengarry from France, to work against Murray on the mind of Lochiel. That chief brought the two future traitors, Glengarry and Murray, together, and the Celt came into the Lowlander’s bad opinion of Balhaldie. This was early in 1745. Murray now made the mistake of trying to pin men to a declaration, in writing, that they would join Charles, even if he came alone. His duty was to discourage any such enterprise, which, unaided by France, could only mean ruin. On the other hand, he actually engaged Macleod, the chief of the Skye men. With Stewart of Appin, Macleod chanced to be in Edinburgh. Murray gave him a letter from Charles, and described the character of that Prince. ‘Macleod declared, in a kind of rapture, that he would make it his business to advance his interest as much as was in his power, and would join him, let him come when he would.’ This occurred at a meeting in a tavern attended by the persons already mentioned, with Traquair, Glengarry, and Lochiel. Of these men, Appin did not come out, Traquair skulked, Macleod turned his coat, Glengarry became a spy, Murray was Murray, and only Lochiel saved his honour. Next day, by Murray’s desire, Lochiel extracted from Macleod a written promise to raise his clan, even if Charles came unaided and alone.

How Macleod kept his promise we know. He sent his forces to join Loudon’s detachment in Hanoverian service; the whole array was frightened back in an attempt to surprise and capture Charles. They all ran like hares from the blacksmith of Moy, with one or two gardeners and other retainers of Lady Mackintosh, and the only man slain was Macrimmon, Macleod’s piper, the composer of the prophetic lament, ‘Macleod shall return, but Macrimmon shall never!’ Murray comments with great severity on Macleod’s treason, and, in his promise, and that of others, finds justification for Charles’s adventure, and an answer to the question, ‘Why he made an attempt of such consequence with so small a force?’ All this leaves Murray in a quandary.... To send such promises (as he did) was to encourage Charles in a desperate project. To be sure Murray, later, did attempt to stop Charles; but he should never have sent him these signed encouragements, both from Macleod and Stewart of Appin. But Murray, he says, now changed his mind; he made out a journal of all his proceedings, showing Charles (most inconsistently) that all the party, except the Duke of Perth, ‘were unanimous against his coming without a force.’ These papers Murray entrusted, for Charles, to Traquair, who was going to England, and meant to proceed to France, using this very singular expression, ‘that he would see the Prince, though in a bawdy house. The present Earl of Weymss and Laird of Glengarry [Pickle] can vouch this. The latter has since repeated it to me in my house in London.’

Traquair now went to London, but he never went to France, nor did he transmit the warning to Charles. Meanwhile Murray extracted 1,500l. from the new Duke of Hamilton (a new fact), and the Duke of Perth paid an equal sum, and even offered to mortgage his estate. Hamilton also gave a verbal promise to join Charles ‘with all the forces he could raise.’ Murray again wrote to Charles, saying that he must bring at least 6,000 men. Perth, Elcho, and Lochiel signed this letter. This letter was sent by one John Macnaughten. Did it ever arrive? In the Stuart Papers is a letter signed ‘J. Barclay,’ and undated. It is clearly from Murray to Charles, and announces the journal entrusted to Traquair, but contains no warning.[37]

In a letter of March 14, 1745, to James, Charles refers to this letter announcing the journal and other despatches, which had not arrived—as Traquair never sent them. On April 9, Charles appears to refer to Macnaughten’s budget of letters as not yet deciphered.[38]

From London Traquair sent only a note of doubtful and, at best, of insignificant meaning. Nothing whatever was settled or arranged. Then came Sir Hector, chief of the Macleans, to Scotland, where he was arrested. Now, Murray reflected that the epistle sent by Macnaughten ‘contained rather a wish than an advice, and might not be sufficient to prevent the Prince’s coming.’ Murray therefore sent, as a final warning, that set of papers which Traquair had not forwarded, entrusting it to Young Glengarry, at the end of May 1745. But Glengarry did not succeed in seeing Charles, who was thus left without warning not to come. Perhaps no warning would have stopped him; at all events he received none, and the die was cast. The Prince embarked on June 22.

Murray’s whole book is one of self-justification. He may clear himself of having suggested the unaided enterprise to Charles. But, partly through the frivolity of Traquair, partly through the zeal of Murray, Charles was left without decisive admonition. He saw his party distracted: for a year and a half France had treated him ‘scandalously’ (as even the patient James averred), and he determined to force the hands both of France and the Jacobites. He pawned the Sobieski rubies—‘the Prince would wear them with a very sore heart on this side of the water’—he put his life to the hazard. If ever an attempt was to be made at all, Charles did well. England was empty of troops. A success or two, the Prince reckoned, must unite the distracted party on the one hand, and tempt or compel France to action on the other. His motto was de l’audace! If all men had been Lochiels, if the Duke of Hamilton, Macleod, Traquair, Lovat, Beaufort, Barrymore, Orrery, and the rest, had honour and truth, if France had such a thing as a policy, and could seize an opportunity, Charles would have won the Crown. But many men are not Lochiels, and, if France had a policy, it was not to restore the Stuarts, but to use them as a mere diversion.

By the end of May Macnaughten returned, with news that Charles would be in Scotland by July. This caused Murray much chagrin, but he at once warned Perth, Lochiel, and Macleod. To the Duke of Hamilton he gave the Prince’s commission, ‘which he accepted with great cheerfulness.’ Murray then went to Lochiel, who remarked that every man of honour was bound to rise, and who quite trusted Lovat and Macleod. He leaned on broken reeds. Lovat temporised, Macleod turned his coat. Here Murray’s MS. breaks off, and he continues the history of the Rising ‘from Moidart to Derby.’

The military part of Murray’s ‘Memorials’ is full of reflections on Charles’s ‘unparalleled good nature and humanity,’ and his strategic skill. Murray had desired to be an aide-de-camp: he clearly thinks himself a good judge of warfare. He was obliged to be Secretary, but did not covet that office. He, alone, had any previous personal knowledge of Charles, with whom he was such a favourite as to excite the jealousy of Lord George Murray and of Maxwell of Kirkconnell. These jealousies were of perilous consequence. Maxwell, writing after Murray was the most detested man on earth, charges heavily against him: ‘He began by representing Lord George as a traitor to the Prince; he assured him that he had joined on purpose to have an opportunity of delivering him up to Government.’ Lord George heard of this, and was deeply affected. Prestonpans nearly opened Charles’s eyes, but Lord George’s ‘haughty and overbearing manner prevented a thorough reconciliation, and seconded the malicious insinuations of his rival.... He now and then broke into such violent sallies as the Prince could not digest....’

Now the loyalty of Lord George is beyond all shadow of suspicion. Till his death, in 1760, he was the faithful and devoted subject of King James. Even Murray, in his MSS., does not breathe a word against him. But, if Murray did, at first, conceive suspicions, and suggest precautions, it is impossible to blame him. What was Lord George’s position? He had been out, at Glenshiel, in 1719, with his brother, Tullibardine. He was pardoned, and was residing in Scotland. He never appears as a Jacobite in the negotiations of 1740-45. His brother William, who, but for his steady Jacobitism, would have been Duke of Atholl, came over with Charles. The actual Duke, de facto, Lord George’s brother James, deserted Blair Atholl on the approach of the Highlanders, and went to London. Tullibardine (William) assumed the title of Duke, and occupied Blair. Lord George also joined the Prince. But Murray had to ask himself, was Lord George in earnest? Murray knew the treachery of the times, and had employed James Mohr Macgregor, known to be a Hanoverian spy, to beguile Cope and the Lord Chief Justice. Was Lord George, Murray would think, playing James Mohr’s part on the other side?

Murray had reason for suspicion. As late as August 20, 1745, after the standard was raised at Glenfinnan, Lord George wrote to the Lord Advocate from Dunkeld. He announced that, on the following day, he and Old Glengarry would wait on Cope at Crieff. Cope was marching North to fight the Prince. Lord George talked of ‘the Pretender,’ and sent information. He did wait on Cope. As late as September 1, he was corresponding with his Hanoverian brother, Duke James, but, on September 3, he announced to his brother that he was about to join the Prince. ‘Duty to King and Country overweighs everything.’[39]

As a matter of fact, Lord George simply, if rather suddenly, changed his mind, engaging, like Lord Pitsligo, ‘without enthusiasm,’ and it seems without hope. He thought that honour called him. But to Murray Lord George’s conduct in first colloguing with Cope, and then rallying to Charles, must have seemed suspicious. It was suspicious: to Cope it must have appeared the blackest treason. ‘Lord George,’ Murray would say, ‘is betraying somebody; now, whom is he betraying?’

A curious piece of gossip has lately come to light. It was said that one of the Highland army, in England, had a squabble with a wayfaring man, and broke his staff, in which was found a letter from the Whig brother Duke James, to Lord George, suggesting that, in a battle, he should desert, carrying over the Atholl men. Probably the story is false, and based on the sending to Duke James of letters, by one of his servants, concealed in the shank of a whip. In any case, Lord George was never really reconciled to Murray, and Charles (after Lord George counselled retreat at Derby, retreat at Stirling, and the abandonment of the surprise at Nairn) never trusted, never forgave him, wished to imprison him in France, and shut his door against him. James in vain remonstrated, Charles was implacable.

At Carlisle, on the march southwards, there was a great quarrel. Lord George resigned his commission, offering to serve as a volunteer. Charles accepted the resignation. The Duke of Perth was acting as commander-in-chief. He was a Catholic, and Lord George deemed that this would have an ill effect, besides he himself was a much senior and infinitely more experienced officer. Lord George also urged that Murray ‘took everything upon him, both as to civil and military.’ The Duke of Perth then resigned his command, apparently on the advice of Maxwell of Kirkconnell, who praises his magnanimity. Murray also, he himself tells us, withdrew from the councils of war, ‘which seemed to quiet Lord George a good deal.’ Lord George became general in chief, and distinguished himself by skill and personal bravery. But the quarrel was never reconciled. Unluckily Murray gives no account of the decision to retreat from Derby. Then no more councils were held, and ‘little people’ (that is, Murray) were allowed to advise: till Lord George and the chiefs sent in a remonstrance.

Murray breaks off in his narrative at Derby, and does not resume it till after Culloden. He had fallen ill at Elgin, in March 1746, where Charles also had a severe attack of pneumonia.[40]

Murray was carried across country to Mrs. Grant’s house in Glenmoriston. Everything fell into worse confusion after his departure, his successor, John Hay of Restalrig, being incompetent. At Glenmoriston Murray heard from Archibald Cameron of the defeat at Culloden. In the shape of a letter from a friend of Mr. Murray of Broughton, he describes and justifies his own conduct after ‘the wicked day of destiny.’

It is, perhaps, less easy to justify the conduct of his master. The irredeemable point in Charles’s behaviour in Scotland was his withdrawal from the remnant of his army, which met at Ruthven. There is much obscurity as to the details, as to whether a place of rendezvous had been fixed upon or not. But Charles knew where the army and officers were; he received a scolding letter from Lord George, and he declined to return to the forces. His distrust of Lord George had revived; he knew that there were men who would not scruple to win their pardon by betraying him, and, with Sheridan, O’Sullivan, O’Niel, and others, he made for the islands.

Murray, after news came of the defeat, was carried to Fort Augustus, and thence to Lochgarry’s house. Hoping even yet to rally a force, he met the wounded and outworn Duke of Perth at Invergarry, to no result. He then was carried to Lochiel’s country, and Lochiel determined to wage a guerilla war in the hills, expecting French assistance. Murray sent Archy Cameron to Arisaig to get news of Charles, but Archy learned from Hay of Restalrig that the Prince had already taken boat for the Isles. Archy disbelieved Hay, but Charles had really gone, or was on the very point of going (April 26). Certain news reached Murray and Lochiel; the chief determined to remain with his clan, on a point of honour, and Murray stood by Lochiel, as also did Major Kennedy. They could have fled in the French vessels which landed the gold of the fatal treasure, but they were resolute to stand by each other.[41] Those who departed were the dying Duke of Perth, a sacrifice to his own chivalrous devotion: Lord Elcho, who presently tried to gain his pardon; old Sir Thomas Sheridan, who soon afterwards died, heart-broken, at Rome; Lord John Drummond, Lockhart of Carnwath, and Hay of Restalrig.

Murray now arranged for the burial of the French gold, and then Glenbucket, with the poet-soldier John Roy Stewart, Clanranald, Lochgarry, Barisdale, Young Scotus, and Lovat, held a council. Lovat proposed holding out in the hills, and promised the aid of his son, Simon, and 400 Frazers. Murray suspected the old fox, and proposed that all should sign a ‘band’ of mutual fidelity. Lovat would not sign!

The allies were to rendezvous in ten days at Loch Arkaig, and, later, the meeting was deferred for another week. But the Master of Lovat ‘was never so much as heard of’ at the tryst; Lochgarry brought but 100 men, and Murray accuses him of treacherous intentions, this on the suggestion of Barisdale. Now Lochgarry left, and did not return, nor did his sentinels bring in news of an approaching English force. Of all this Lochgarry says nothing in his report to Young Glengarry, published by Mr. Blaikie. But, as we know with absolute certainty that Barisdale was an infamous coward, liar, and traitor, while Lochgarry was loyal to his death, we need not accept Barisdale’s evidence against a cousin whom he detested. However it happened, no news came from Lochgarry, and, if Murray himself had not sent out scouts, the whole party, with Lochiel, would have been taken near Loch Arkaig.[42]

The game being now up, Murray made his way South, in exceedingly bad health, aggravated by exposure and fatigue. His idea was to get a ship on the East Coast, where Lochiel would join him, and to escape. But Murray was captured, through information given by a herd-boy, at the house of his sister, Mrs. Hunter of Polmood. He certainly did not intend to be captured, and he says that, even after he was taken, he tried to arrange about a ship for Lochiel. He also vindicates the conduct of his wife, who was about to bear a child, and he justifies his honesty in money matters. Now in money matters Murray’s hands were clean, and there is no real ground for the charges against poor Mrs. Murray. But what Murray does not say, is that, as soon as he was approached, after his capture, by the Lord Justice Clerk, he promised ‘to discover all he knew.’[43] He did not tell all he knew, but on August 13, being examined in the Tower, he told a great deal. About Traquair he spoke out: he named the English Jacobite leaders, he told his tale about Macleod in the tavern meeting, he sheltered Macdonald of Sleat, and even screened Lovat as far as he dared: in fact, he took revenge on half-hearted Jacobites, and, for some reason, did his best to hang Sir John Douglas. He sent in an account of the Clans, in substance much like that in the MS. of 1750.[44] He betrayed the secret of the Loch Arkaig treasure, and asked to be allowed to go to the spot, and point it out to the agents of Government. In reply to Murray, Traquair and Dr. Barry lied firmly, under examination, and Sir John Douglas refused to answer any questions. They suffered imprisonment, but escaped with life for lack of corroboration. Some legal jugglery was needed before Murray could be accepted as King’s Evidence, but the trick was played, and the Laird of Broughton publicly ‘peached’ at Lovat’s trial. He declares that he peached with economy. ‘The utmost care was taken to conceal everything that was not known by his own letters, of which he was so sensible that he sent me thanks by Mr. Fowler (Gentleman Gaoler of the Tower), for my forbearance, and said he was not the least hurt or offended by anything I had said.’

Such are Murray’s excuses. He could have told more, and Lovat might have died without his testimony, on the evidence of various Frazers. Murray was pardoned in June 1748. He tried to provoke Traquair to a duel and vapoured with cloak and sword behind Montague House. He associated with Young Glengarry, whom he very probably thought an honest man, and his visits a privilege. Glengarry doubtless got from Murray information about the Loch Arkaig treasure, and, perhaps, picked up a few crumbs of intelligence for his employers. His wife had not left Murray, in 1749, when he reconciled his lady to the loss of her repeater, pawned by a priest named Leslie for the relief of Young Glengarry, who was starving.[45] When Mrs. Murray left her intolerable lord is not exactly known, nor is anything certain about her later fortunes. In May 1749, Stonor tells Edgar that Murray’s ‘late actions have not only the appearance of a knave but a madman, and it is the opinion of most people he is really also the latter, several of his family having been disordered in their senses, and his present situation sufficient to cause it in him, as he can’t but feel the sting of such a conscience, finds himself the outcast of mankind, and is in circumstances extremely indigent.’ It follows that he did not keep the money buried in the garden of Menzies of Culdares, some 4,000l.[46] Traquair had Murray arrested by a warrant of the Lord Chief Justice, for provoking a breach of the peace.[47]

In 1764, Murray sold Broughton. His agent was Sir Walter Scott’s father, and, as we all know, Mr. Scott threw the cup from which Murray had drunk out of the window. The younger Dumas, probably by a chance coincidence, uses this in his play, ‘L’Étrangère.’ After selling Broughton, Murray is said to have lived in London, and family tradition avers that he was visited by Charles, whom he introduced to his little boy as ‘your King.’ This ought, then, to be dated 1766, or later. Murray is said to have justified Stonor’s letter, already cited, by dying in a madhouse, on December 6, 1777. He was sane enough, certainly, when he wrote his ‘Memorials.’ Such was Murray of Broughton, in spite of his treachery a devoted believer in the Cause; till his capture, a brave, loyal, and constant supporter of the Cause; a man by nature honourable, and a lover of honour in others, as in Lochiel and the Duke of Perth. He sinned, when he did sin, in violation of every tradition of education, and, in turning Informer, wrenched every fibre of his moral nature. His servant, a poet of the time remarks, set his master an example.

But Murray renounced honour and lingered on the scene.

‘Lead us not into temptation.’ The view of death brought Murray face to face with a self in his breast, which, it is probable, he had never known to exist: that awful contradictory self to which each of us has yielded, though few in such extremity of surrender.