The Jacobite Murders

by G. M. Best

  Trying not to show his jubilation, Jones said as calmly and firmly as he could, ‘I will tell His Royal Highness, my lord, what I have told you, though it pains me to have to cause him such grief. I begin to wish now that I had not survived the attacks of our enemies. I would then not have to participate in such unhappy discussions.’

  ‘Do not say that, Mr Burnett. Your information may have prevented our slaughter. Come, follow me.’

  Jones did as he was bid and soon found himself approaching the building in which Bonnie Prince Charlie had slept the night. Just before they reached its main entrance the door opened and out came a number of military gentlemen and Highland chiefs. In their midst was a strikingly tall and handsome young man who bore himself with a natural grace. He wore no wig but permitted his hair to fall in long ringlets on his neck and this set off his oval face with its well-formed features. His light blue eyes flashed with good humour yet also conveyed a dignity that was attractively charismatic. Without anyone having to inform him Jones knew instinctively this was Bonnie Prince Charlie. Such an easy and graceful manner could only stem from someone born into the highest rank. Though his enemies denounced him as a pretender, this was indeed a prince in whom the blood of one of the most ancient of royal families flowed.

  After a brief exchange of courtesies Lord Murray gave vent to his anxiety, his face tight with apprehension. ‘Your Highness, I must ask that we review our situation in the light of information that I have received. It is now certain that the English Jacobites will not rally to our aid.’

  The prince was obviously unimpressed. ‘What do you mean, sir? They may not yet have chosen to join us, but I am confident that ultimately they will. We have gone too far with this enterprise to do anything but march on.’

  ‘I have reliable information newly arrived that the forces of our enemies are already awaiting to destroy us as soon as we cross the Trent.’

  ‘What does it matter how many armies block our path, when God is on our side?’

  ‘We need more than God’s blessing,’ replied Lord Murray. ‘We require men to face the armies gathered against us. Faith is not enough, sire. Where is the support with which we were supposed to be met? Where is the Earl of Barrymore, or the Duke of Beaufort? Where is Sir John Hynde Cotton, or Sir Watkins Williams Wynn? None has come to our side. You have sent messages to them and no reply has come back. We have been marching southwards since we left Edinburgh on 30 October and scarce a man has joined us. I received a letter last night from Henry Hyde that informs me none ever will.’

  ‘Then curse Hyde for his cowardice!’ snapped back the prince. ‘I am no ordinary man who will turn from his duty simply because there are weaker men around me. Why should I fear the forces of the German who has usurped what rightfully belongs to my father? Is it not obvious that God is on our side? Look at the progress we have made. We cannot turn back – that would be to ruin our cause. All we need is one victory here in England like that of Prestonpans and I am sure that the people will come flocking to our side. And if we remain true, God will grant us that victory.’

  ‘With respect, Your Highness, right does not in itself determine who wins. Military strength and firm discipline and experienced leadership matter more. And we lack all three! A victory is the very thing we cannot now deliver. Our men are tired in body and, what is worse, tired in heart. Why else did I ensure at Macclesfield that we avoided battle with the forces of Cumberland when our scouts brought news that our enemy was at Lichfield?’

  ‘And maybe that was a mistake. If our own men are beginning to lose confidence, it is because they need another victory to raise their spirits. Victories cannot be won if we are forever avoiding the enemy.’

  Murray replied with the patience of a man addressing a wilful child. ‘We avoid the enemy because he greatly outnumbers us. I am not prepared to lead my men into a situation in which they will be massacred.’

  ‘If we retreat, their morale will collapse and then where will we be?’ countered the prince.

  ‘I know that it is difficult to maintain morale while retreating, sire. For that reason we will not tell the men immediately. They do not know this country or understand maps. We can pretend that we are still going to London until the time comes when we can afford to tell them the truth because we are nearer home and can make a rapid final push, even if they are then dispirited.’

  ‘Dispirited! They will be furious with rage at having been so betrayed and deceived! I know my Highlanders would rather die in battle than live in ignominious shame. In the time we have been here in Derby I have heard them sharpening their dirks and swords. They may be very tired, but I have no doubt that their hearts still yearn for glory not humiliation. Why should they not remain confident of victory? We may not, as yet, have acquired English military support, but has not almost every town received us with the ringing of bells and with celebratory bonfires to mark the public rejoicing at my presence?’

  ‘Bells and bonfires do not win battles. I am sorry, Your Highness, but I must request that we hold a council meeting. We have scarce two thousand men who are truly fit to face a proper army. The rest may have courage but they lack skill and training. It is not sufficient to rely on their bravery.’

  ‘Their lack of military training did not prevent them winning at Prestonpans.’

  ‘On that occasion the enemy underestimated us and therefore made fatal mistakes. Cumberland and Wade are men of far greater skill and they have better disciplined troops under their command. They will not make foolish errors.’

  Although still unconvinced the prince sensed that he would have to bow to Lord Murray’s wish for a military council. ‘Very well, Lord George, we will hold a council but I am sure the others will agree with me on the matter, whatever your reservations. Make no mistake about it, any retreat will be judged by our enemies to amount to an acceptance of defeat.’

  ‘If that is the council’s judgement, then I will abide by it, sire,’ responded the commander, delighted to have won the case for a meeting. He knew that his best chance of success lay in a public debate. Left to private discussion, too many of the other leaders would permit their love of the prince to sway their better judgement.

  Within an hour the dark, handsome ancient oak wainscotting of the first-floor drawing room could scarcely be seen for the crush of people gathered there. Jones stood behind Lord Murray, who had demanded he attend. It was the prince who opened the proceedings and he left no one in any doubt about his wishes. ‘My friends, I am grateful for the loyalty that you have shown and now that loyalty faces its toughest test. The day has come when we should decide to begin our final march on London.’

  Before anyone could agree Lord Murray voiced his opposition. ‘My lord, as you know, I do not think that it is prudent to march further. The French have provided no troops and there has been no English rising in our favour. Only a tiny handful of Englishmen have joined us. I know there are many in this land who would prefer the House of Stuart to the House of Hanover but they recall what happened in the North of England thirty years ago when those loyal to your father were either butchered or ruthlessly punished by loss of land. Before raising a sword they are waiting to see the outcome of a battle between us and King George’s troops. Yet the truth is that we cannot face the Hanoverian forces without their aid.’

  He beckoned to Jones to come forward and then waved the forged letter that had so deceived him before their eyes. ‘Here is the letter that this brave man brought last night. It comes from Henry Hyde and so its contents can be trusted. It says that the English loyal to the House of Stuart have regretfully decided not to join us because they have seen the strength of the forces that are gathering against us. It says that Wade has an army of ten thousand and the Duke of Cumberland one of eight thousand, whilst a third army has been raised in London using regiments that have been brought across from Holland.’ Murray paused and then, turning to Jones, he said, ‘Tell them, Mr Burnett, what you told me last night.’

  The eyes of a
ll looked at the frail and battered figure that stood before them as Jones repeated the lies with which he had deceived Murray.

  ‘Each day advances the power of our enemy!’ resumed the general. ‘We must return to Scotland and resume the invasion only when we have French support. The odds against us are too high.’

  ‘I agree. A march on London at this juncture would simply mean walking into certain defeat against such large enemy forces,’ said a distinguished looking man, whom Jones later discovered was Lord Elco. ‘Do you not agree, Lord Ogilvy?’

  ‘Aye, I do. Even if, against all the odds, we won the battle against one army, we would be seriously weakened and unable to face a second, let alone a third. Not a man here would ever see Scotland again! I only supported our march on London because I thought the English Jacobites would flock to the prince’s standard. Instead this man brings evidence of the reverse. Any idea of crossing the Trent is now sheer madness.’

  These first two responses opened the floodgates. A storm of protest at marching further south poured forth. Only when the clamour had begun to die down did Murray resume, saying in his ponderous but powerful manner, ‘No man wishes more than I for the restoration of the true king and no man dares do more than I, but I have no doubt that marching to London will shatter all prospects of success. We are hopelessly outnumbered. Even if by our sheer determination and courage, we defeated one army, we would not have the men left to face the other two. I am confident that we can withdraw to Carlisle without loss and, once there, we will be able to hear whether the French are going to send us an army. If anyone has better advice, please provide it.’

  Only one man spoke out – Jones later heard this was Lord Perth. He argued in favour of moving off towards Wales in the hope of raising support there. This argument understandably won no support. It was the prince who once again took the floor. Fuming with anger, his voice resounded across the chamber as he launched into an attack on the cowardice of his followers. ‘Had I listened to the pessimistic voice of others, I would never have gone to Scotland,’ he roared. ‘I would never have raised my standard in Glenfinnan nor fought my enemies at Prestonpans. There were many who said to march on Edinburgh was foolishness yet, when I did, the city welcomed me with open arms. Why should I listen now? After Edinburgh was ours I wanted us to immediately march on London but you demanded I wait. And what has been the outcome? You merely gave our enemies time to raise the armies that you now fear! How dare any of you gainsay my judgement on the matter. Do you believe for one instant that my loyal Highlanders will share your opinion? Have I not daily walked with them all the way here and am I now to turn their sacrifice to naught? If necessary I will stand alone against the Duke of Cumberland and with my own sword settle this war once and for all!’

  For the first time Jones knew why the prince had been so successful. Here indeed was a man worth following! Had he been a Jacobite, he knew that he would have followed him to London whatever anyone else advised. However, the prince’s words had no impact on Murray. He replied coolly, ‘You know I am no courtier who flatters and fawns and for that reason Your Highness may judge me too blunt and overbearing, but may I remind you that I alone have the military experience to judge these matters. London is not Edinburgh and if, having heard my judgment, the majority declare in favour of return, then you will have to accept their decision.’

  ‘Then their decision must be taken only after they have had time to reflect on what I have said,’ responded the prince. ‘I dismiss this council. Let it reassemble this evening.’ It was a trump card that only he could play and he stalked out before anyone could protest.

  One by one the others present left till only Murray and Jones remained. Murray was clearly agitated. ‘The prince hopes to divide and rule. He will spend this afternoon looking for support for his wish to continue marching on London. Mr Burnett, you must accompany me and help me convince the chiefs that we have no option but to retreat.’ Jones once again did as he was bid, praying that Murray would win the day despite the prince’s charismatic leadership.

  After an afternoon of intensive discussion the council gathered again. Once more Murray urged a retreat, but the Duke of Perth, who had been won over by the prince’s arguments, openly disagreed. He argued instead for an immediate attack on whatever English army was nearest, saying that a Jacobite victory would cause the other two armies to melt away. The prince agreed with the duke’s assessment of the situation and added that, far from making their position safer, retreat would risk complete destruction for them all. The government forces would relentlessly pursue and harry them. Jones looked around the room. It seemed to him that the supporters of Lord Murray’s position were beginning to waver. Was all his work going to be undone by the sheer bravado of the prince?

  It was at this critical juncture news was brought that fresh information had arrived and into the room came John Littleton. As he swept past Jones he gave him the slightest of winks. He bowed low before the assembled gathering.

  ‘Who are you, sir?’ demanded Bonnie Prince Charlie.

  ‘My name is Dudley Bradstreet, Your Highness, and I fear that I bring very bad news. The enemy army that was raised in London has advanced more quickly than we thought possible. It is already poised to await your attempt to cross the Trent. It numbers some nine thousand men and our spies report that it is under the command of either Lieutenant General Hawley or Lieutenant General Ligonier. By tomorrow it will be joined by the forces of Cumberland, bringing the total number of the enemy facing you to at least seventeen thousand.’

  The news acted like a shockwave throughout the assembled men. Murray spoke first. ‘Gentlemen, we now know we have no choice. We cannot pick off one of the enemy’s armies in the hope of deterring the other two. That moment is lost. Against odds of over four to one, we must retreat!’ A swell of assent filled the room. A voice was even heard to say, ‘We have given the prince so much rope that he now threatens to hang us all by his wishes.’ In vain Bonnie Prince Charlie made one last plea, shouting out, ‘Gentlemen, you ruin, abandon and betray me if you do not march on.’ One by one the majority of those present expressed their support for Lord Murray’s solution.

  While this was happening, Littleton moved over to stand by Jones. At an opportune moment he whispered, ‘I thought your story might need some corroboration and so decided to follow you. Do not worry, my wife has taken the documents to Warwick and she knows to whom they should be delivered.’

  ‘But how did you persuade them that you were a genuine messenger?’

  Littleton smiled and opened the palm of his hand. In it was a fleur-de-lis button. ‘I found this at the bottom of the bag that contained the documents. ‘I’ve no idea why Burnett was carrying it but the French symbol was all I needed to carry me through the lines of the Highlanders and bring me to one of their chieftains.’

  Prince Charles accepted his defeat with as much dignity as he could muster while remaining defiant. ‘I accept your decision and I will do what you want, but I think you have forced me into making a ruinous step,’ he announced. ‘Rather than go back I would wish to be twenty feet underground. We are only a few days’ march from London. What do I offer my followers now? Ignominious retreat! I, who have always been the optimist, am now thrust into the deepest pessimism. I fear my brave Highlanders will pay the price of your cowardice! We have frightened the German usurper and he and his ministers will wreak a terrible vengeance on all of Scotland.’ He paused as emotion overwhelmed him and then concluded in a voice that echoed around the room. ‘Gentlemen, this is the last council I will ever hold and, in future, I will hold no obligation to any man except my father. You are dismissed.’

  The prince’s sombre words shook many present. One of the few who had supported him urged him to ignore the meeting’s decision. ‘My lord, I suggest you walk out of this room and set off for London on your own. Whatever Lord Murray says, the clan leaders will not desert you and, if they see you determined to proceed, they will follow.’ An Irishman called
O’Sullivan supported this. ‘It is not too late, sire. What men may say when together can be changed when they are presented with the case individually. Have each leader speak to you alone and I believe each will reverse his decision. It was a mistake to ever let Lord Murray speak to them all. I for one will draw my sword and die for you rather than run away.’

  The prince took no comfort from their words. ‘No, I have given my acceptance of the council’s decision and I will not go back on it. We will retreat. But mark me, though I willingly walked with my Highlanders every step of the way here, I will not walk back with them. Let Lord Murray maintain morale now. I will ride separately to show I am not party to this unbearable betrayal.’ He looked at O’Sullivan and there was immense sadness in his eyes. ‘We who were seen as invincible will now show to the world our vulnerability and there is not a member of the council who will not live to regret this day.’

  Jones was deeply moved. ‘I must hope that I have done the right thing,’ he said to himself, ‘because truly this man deserved to be a King.’

  AFTERWORD

  Their goal achieved, Tom Jones and John Littleton returned to their respective homes, but neither sought any reward for their actions. Both men had been too deeply moved by the courage of Bonnie Prince Charlie to seek any profit from their part in his destruction. Their use of pseudonyms meant that it was easy for their role in what had happened to be hidden. Littleton was content to resume his work in Kenilworth and his family continued to run the comb-making business there for over a century. Tom Jones returned to Bath and, once he had recovered from his injuries, he married Sophia Westbrook to the great rejoicing of Lady Overbury and Squire Woodforde. Even Mr Westbrook took pleasure in his daughter’s marriage and in the grandchildren that soon resulted from it.