The Road to Culloden Moor

by Diana Preston

  The accounts also show Charles’s humanity. He insisted that there was proper medical treatment for the wounded of both sides. He and Lord George Murray were in complete agreement on this, and messengers were sent off to Edinburgh to fetch more surgeons. There was also the question of how to bury the dead. The Highlanders refused to bury the enemy dead, neither would the locals. Charles wrote to James: ‘Those who should bury the dead are run away, as if it were no business of theirs. My Highlanders think it beneath them to do it, and the country folk are fled away. However, I am determined to try if I can get people for money to undertake it, for I cannot bear the thought of suffering Englishmen to rot above the ground.’

  Charles’s first experience of real war seems to have left him in reflective mood. He was also aware of being closely observed by friend and foe alike, and that his behaviour would be widely reported. One of his officers described how although ‘nothing could be more complete, or more important, than this victory; nevertheless, the Prince did not seem to be much elated with it: he had a livelier sense of other people’s misfortunes than his own good fortune ….’ He even issued orders that there was to be no public celebration of the victory on the grounds that he was ‘far from rejoicing at the death of any of his father’s subjects, tho never so much his Enemies ….’

  As the news filtered south it was met with outrage. The London Magazine carried a speech by the Archbishop of York three days after the battle which bristles with indignation: ‘It was some Time before it was believ’d, (I would to God it had gain’d Credit sooner) but now every Child knows it, that the Pretender’s Son is in Scotland; has set up his Standard there; has gather’d and disciplin’d an Army of great Force; receives daily Increase of Numbers; is in the Possession of the capital City there; has defeated a small Part of the King’s Forces; and is advancing with hasty Steps towards England.’ On the very eve of the battle Horace Walpole had written to Horace Mann about the strange turn of events: ‘There never was so extraordinary a sort of rebellion … banditti can never conquer a kingdom. On the other hand what can’t any number of men do that meet no opposition …’

  The propaganda machine was furiously at work on both sides to present the battle in the best light. While Charles’s chivalry and humanity were being woven into Jacobite folklore, his enemies tried to diminish or traduce it. One virulent anti-Jacobite, Henderson, who was a master at the High School in Edinburgh and published his history of the rebellion in 1748, painted a callous picture of Charles lounging among the corpses on the battlefield and enjoying a hearty meal of cold beef accompanied by a glass of wine. Murray of Broughton angrily rebutted this calumny by a ‘little ignorant School master who has pretended to write the history of an affair of which he could be no judge, but when people will act above their Sphere they must be allowed to stuff their performance with whatever suits their confined fancy best, tho at the expense of truth’. Another account thundered away about make-believe cruelties ‘which the Rebels (as ’tis generally Said, under the command of Lord Elcho) inflicted on Some of the troops after they had ask’d quarter’ and which were ‘dreadfully legible on the countenances of many who Surviv’d it’. It was alleged that Colonel Gardiner, who had gloomily but correctly predicted his own demise, was hacked to pieces in sight of his own home, Bankton House, after asking for quarter. Conversely, a Jacobite broadsheet contrasted remarks made by Charles before the battle calling on the ‘Assistance of God’ with Cope bloodthirstily promising his men ‘eight full hours … pillage’ in Edinburgh after they had defeated the Highlanders.

  Poor old Cope became a general object of derision. To the Jacobites he was the general who had been caught napping by their brilliant young hero. As they marched into England’s heartland, tradition says they sang the famous ballad celebrating his defeat:

  ‘I’ faith,’ quo’ Johnnie, ‘I got a fleg,

  Wi’ their claymores and philabegs,

  If I face them again, deil break my legs!

  So I wish you a very gude morning.’

  Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet?

  Or are your drums a-beating yet?

  If ye were wauking I would wait,

  To gang to the coals i’ the morning.’

  Chevalier Johnstone says Cope escaped by placing a white cockade on his head and arrived at Coldstream to be greeted by Lord Mark Ker, one of a family ‘who had long had hereditary claims to wit as well as courage’, with the acid remark that ‘he believed he was the first general in Europe that had brought tidings of his own defeat’.

  Others were not much kinder. Henderson scolded Cope who ‘either from a natural Incapacity, or from his Apprehensions of the People he had to deal with, very poorly executed his Orders’. Later writers were equally acerbic, even those who were not pro-Jacobite. An article in the Quarterly Review, possibly by Sir Walter Scott, asserted that, ‘He was, in fact, by no means either a coward or a bad soldier, or even a contemptible general upon ordinary occasions. He was a pudding-headed, thick-brained sort of person, who could act well enough in circumstances with which he was conversant, especially as he was perfectly acquainted with the routine of his profession, and had been often engaged in action, without ever, until the fatal field of Preston, having shown sense enough to run away. On the present occasion, he was, as sportsmen say, at fault.’

  So were some of his men if the tales are to be believed. There was one sly story about how two of his volunteers were sent to watch the coast road to Musselburgh. However, they were seduced from their task by the discovery of ‘a snug, thatched tavern, kept by a cleanly old woman called Luckie, who was eminent for the excellence of her oysters and sherry’. The two bon vivants fell into the hands of the Jacobites and narrowly missed being hanged for spies.

  However, it was horror not humour which prevailed in England in the immediate aftermath of Preston Pans. The press carried lurid stories of women exposed naked at the Market Cross in Edinburgh and then butchered. Pamphlets poured onto the streets of English towns prophesying every sort of atrocity. Clergymen denounced Charles as a snake in the grass in the pay of the Pope and the King of France. In Scotland his enemies remained largely silent but his supporters churned out poems, pamphlets, ribbons and medallions celebrating their triumph. The Caledonian Mercury praised Charles to the heavens. He was toasted as the prince who slept rough with his men, sharing all their hardships and able to eat his dinner in four minutes and defeat the enemy in five. Until this point Charles had just been the romantic symbol of Scotland’s past struggles and hopes to come. Now he had stamped his own mark on the Jacobite legend which from this moment became peculiarly his own.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I AM RESOLVED TO GO TO ENGLAND’

  The Battle of Preston Pans changed many things. Charles had left Edinburgh an untried adventurer with a seemingly undisciplined rabble at his heels. He returned as the conquering hero. The victorious Jacobite army marched back into the capital to the sound of pipes and drums. The trophies of war — the captured cannon and the colours seized from Cope’s dragoons — were paraded before the cheering crowds that clustered around the lower gate and along the main streets. At the end of the long column stumbled the prisoners of war, still numbed by events. Chevalier Johnstone described this triumphal march through the city with cynical hindsight, especially the huzzas of the populace, ‘always equally inconstant in every country of the world’.

  Charles’s achievement was remarkable. As Murray of Broughton wrote, the success of that one day at Preston Pans — or ‘Gladesmuir’ as the Jacobites now called it in deference to an old prophesy of Thomas the Rhymer that ‘In Gladesmoor shall the battle be’ — had rendered the Chevalier entire master of Scotland. The only exception was the forts of Edinburgh and Stirling and four small garrisons in the north.

  However, Charles knew that these were not yet the days of wine and roses. His position was precarious and his success was only a first step towards the prize on which his heart was set — England. In the meantime
he had to consolidate his gains and show his fitness to rule. As part of that process he assured the Presbyterian clergy that they were perfectly free to preach and got a flea in his ear. A deputation arrived to ask whether they might mention King George in their prayers. Charles assured them he would take no notice of anything they said and probably meant it. One of his supporters, Lord Kilmarnock, when quizzed about Charles’s religious tendencies on the eve of his execution, said he was convinced Charles had no real concern for any outward profession of religion, perhaps as a reaction to his mother’s religious mania.

  Despite this, some clergymen still refused to conduct their services ‘pretending fear of insults and the like’. One who did go ahead prayed: ‘Bless the King — Thou knowest what King I mean; may the crown sit long and easy on his head. And for this man that is come amongst us to seek an earthly crown, we beseech Thee in mercy to take him to Thyself and give him a crown of glory.’

  However, such acts of defiance were limited and the Government was worried. Duncan Forbes took a wry look at the euphoria sweeping the Jacobite camp and those who now began to cling to its coat-tails, observing that ‘All Jacobites, how prudent soever, became mad; all doubtful people became Jacobites; and all bankrupts became heros and talked of nothing but hereditary rights and victories; and what was more grievous to men of gallantry, and if you will believe me, much more mischievous to the public, all the fine ladies, except one or two, became passionately fond of the young Adventurer and used all their arts and industry for him in the most intemperate manner.’

  Charles certainly exploited his physical magnetism but he was careful that his behaviour was seen to match it. One of his adherents described how even those ‘whom interest or prejudice made a runaway to his cause, could not help acknowledging that they wished him well in all other respects and could hardly blame him for his present undertaking’. In particular it was his ‘good nature and humanity’ which made such an impression on people’s minds. This is a highly partisan view of Charles but there is no doubt that many hardened Whigs found something to admire in the conduct of this romantic young Prince, ‘flushed with victory’, even if they could not support his ambitions.

  The Prince was as careful to court public opinion as any modern politician. He issued a proclamation that any soldier or person connected with his army found plundering from ‘the good people of Edinburgh’ would be executed. This edict was only partially successful. One night six Highlanders broke into a house near Edinburgh and apparently got more than they bargained for. The house belonged to ‘a very mortified Gentleman, remarkable for his great Charity, Piety and abstemious Life, who lay every Night in his Coffin and Winding Sheet. The Highlanders having secur’d what Arms were in the House, set a Guard on the Servants, and pack’d up all the Plate and Linen they thought they could carry off. The Chamber where Mr — lay, was without Furniture, and the last thing they visited as they were going off, having lock’d the Servants in a Room, seeing the Coffin, they concluded a Corpse was inclos’d in it, and that it might have a good Winding Sheet, thought it would be a Pity to leave it behind them; they therefore, with a Design of taking what the dead Man would never miss, remov’d the Lid off the Coffin; on which Mr — raising himself up, they were struck with such a Panick at his ghostly Appearance, and imagining that the Devil had taken Possession of the Corpse, and that he would have them next, they all took to their Heels, and Mr — running after them to the Door, at their rushing out fasten’d it upon them, though the Precaution was needless; for they fearing the Devil would take the Hindermost, never look’d back, or slacken’d their Pace until out of the Sight of the House; their Terror was so great that they left all their Plunder behind ….’

  There were many more credible, albeit less spectacular, complaints of looting and petty pilfering. Murray of Broughton was not entirely justified in claiming that ‘there is no instance in the history of any times in whatever Country where the Soldiery either regular or irregular behaved themselves with so much discretion, never any riots in the Streets, nor so much as a Drunk man to be seen.’ However, Charles and his commanders were remarkably successful in keeping order and some of the thieving was undoubtedly done by opportunists who stuck a white cockade in their hat and went freebooting.

  Finding billets for the army was another problem which needed careful handling to avoid alienating the townspeople. Charles and his chiefs did their best to ensure that the ‘Burgesses and people of fashion were not harassed with common fellows for their guests.’ The Highlanders were partly encamped at Duddingston and partly billeted on ‘publick houses and people of low rank’ in the suburbs and outlying areas of Edinburgh. What the people of ‘low rank’ thought about this arrangement is not recorded.

  If there was apprehension among some of the citizens of Edinburgh as they waited on events, it was mild in comparison with the reaction in England to Charles’s success. At last the country was waking up to the danger. Catholics, English and foreign, were ordered to leave the area ten miles around London on or before 19 September and subjected to harassment. To some like Lady Isabella Finch these measures were not stern enough. She reflected with pleasure on how ‘our epicures and coxcombs’ would be able to manage without their continental cooks and valets de chambre and decided that if she had a say in Parliament she would tax every family who had French servants as a punishment for harbouring ‘such wretches in the heart of our island at a time when they will have such opportunities of doing mischief’.

  All over the country clergymen thundered from their pulpits about the bloodthirsty intentions of the Roman Catholic church, warning their congregations that whatever Charles might say and however ‘honest and good-natur’d’ he might be, Rome and France would force him to be ‘perfidious and cruel’. He was but a tool of Rome. Virulent articles painted bloodcurdling pictures of what Rome might have in store: ‘She damns all who are not of her horrid communion, and murders, or would murder, all that she damns; witness her universal practice and constant massacres at Paris, in Ireland, her crusades against the best Christians, the daily fires of the Inquisition and the burning in Smithfield, especialy under Queen Mary. Be warned O Protestants; continue what ye are; Christians and freemen; your all is at stake, Liberty, Property, Conscience; abhor the Harlot and oppose the tool of the Harlot.’

  The newspapers brimmed over with reports of ‘loyal’ and ‘humble’ addresses to his Majesty King George. Loyal Associations were formed and subscriptions raised to keep out the Popish horror that threatened from the north. They were interlarded with references to Crécy and Agincourt and the glorious Protestant Princess Elizabeth who had routed the Catholic Armada. Those who had been criticising the Government thought again. They discovered it was not Hanoverian George they had been objecting to but his ministers. The wife of a former Tory MP wrote to another Tory in October 1745 that ‘I have been in deadful frights about the rebellion, but the zeal and unnanimity that has appeared in all ranks of people in supporting our happy constitution in Church and State has given me inexpressible satisfaction and dissipated all my fears; and hope when we have recovered this shocking sceane a more pleasing one will present it self to our view which will be lasting and hope make the king’s crown sit easier upon his head many, many years. For he must now see t’was not him we cavelled at, but his ministers and I hope a mutual confidence will for the future be t’wixt king and people ….’ The Quakers contributed flannel waistcoats for the troops, apparently inspiring one soldier to avow in verse that he would ‘fight for those whose creed forbids to fight’.

  This rising panic was whipped up by skilful Whig propaganda. In the London theatres the national anthem was sung with an additional verse:

  From France and Pretender

  Great Britain defend her

  Foes let them fall;

  From foreign slavery,

  Priests, and their knavery,

  And Popish reverie,

  God save us all.

  Captain Dudley Bradstreet descri
bed with relish how the city buzzed with rumours of fiendish plots, including one to seize the Tower of London. This, of course, the gallant Captain was able to put a stop to by his cunning and bravery.

  Jacobite supporters and Roman Catholics who were supposedly afraid of open insurrection were accused of trying to cause a run on the Bank by their wretched ‘little artifices’. A story went the rounds of how ‘a well-dressed rascal came into a Coffee-house about Seven in the Evening, and cry’d out, We are all undone, for the Bank is Shut up! Yes, reply’d an old Gentleman. It is always Shut up two hours before this time of day, for fear of such Rogues as you. Upon which the Rascal quitted the Coffee-house.’

  Charles and his Hanoverian cousins were soon engaging in their own war of words. King George had returned from Hanover at the end of August at the news of Charles’s landing. In the middle of October he addressed both Houses of Parliament and called on their assistance in suppressing the ‘unnatural rebellion’ which had broken out in Scotland. When Charles heard that Parliament had been summoned, he issued a proclamation warning that anyone who obeyed the summons would be guilty of treason and rebellion and would not be pardoned under his general amnesty. He also took the opportunity to declare that ‘the pretended union’ of England and Scotland was at an end and to accuse the Hanoverians of bringing misery on both countries.