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Title: The companions of Pickle
       Being a sequel to 'Pickle the spy'

Author: Andrew Lang

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Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COMPANIONS OF
PICKLE ***






THE COMPANIONS OF PICKLE




BY THE SAME AUTHOR.


PICKLE THE SPY; or, The Incognito of Prince Charles. With 6 Portraits.
8vo. 18_s._

ST. ANDREWS. With 8 Plates and 24 Illustrations in the Text by T. Hodge.
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            LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO., 39 Paternoster Row, London
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[Illustration: _Walker & Boutall, ph. sc._

_The Earl Marischal_

_1717._]




                                   THE
                           COMPANIONS OF PICKLE

                   _BEING A SEQUEL TO ‘PICKLE THE SPY’_

                                    BY
                               ANDREW LANG

                         WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

                         LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO.
                        39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON
                           NEW YORK AND BOMBAY
                                   1898

                           All rights reserved




PREFACE


The appearance of ‘Pickle the Spy’ was welcomed by a good deal of clamour
on the part of some Highland critics. It was said that I had brought a
disgraceful charge, without proof, against a Chief of unstained honour.
Scarcely any arguments were adduced in favour of Glengarry. What could
be said in suspense of judgment was said in the _Scottish Review_, by
Mr. A. H. Millar. That gentleman, however, was brought round to my view,
as I understand, when he compared the handwriting of Pickle with that of
Glengarry. Mr. Millar’s letter on the subject will be found in this book
(pp. 247, 248).

The doubts and opposition which my theory encountered made it desirable
to examine fresh documents in the Record Office, the British Museum, and
the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, while General Alastair Macdonald
(whose family recently owned Lochgarry) has kindly permitted me to read
Glengarry’s MS. Letter Book, in his possession. The results will be found
in the following pages.

Being engaged on the subject, I made a series of studies of persons
connected with Prince Charles, and with the Jacobite movement. Of these
the Earl Marischal was the most important, and, by reason of his long
life and charming character—a compound of ‘Aberdeen and Valencia’—the
most interesting. As a foil to the good Earl, who finally abandoned
the Jacobite party, I chose Murray of Broughton, who, though he turned
informer, remained true in sentiment, I believe, to his old love. His
character may, perhaps, be read otherwise, but such is the impression
left on me by his ‘Memorials,’ documents edited recently for the Scottish
History Society by Mr. Fitzroy Bell.

In Barisdale, whose treachery was perfectly well known at the time, and
was punished by both parties, we have a picture of the Highlander at
his worst. Culloden made such a career as that of Barisdale for ever
impossible.

In the chapters on ‘Cluny’s Treasure’ and ‘The Troubles of the Camerons’
I have, I hope, redeemed the characters of Cluny and Dr. Archibald
Cameron from the charges of flagrant dishonesty brought against them by
young Glengarry. Both gentlemen were reduced to destitution, which by
itself is incompatible with the allegations of their common enemy.

‘The Uprooting of Fassifern’ illustrates the unscrupulous nature of
judicial proceedings in Scotland after Culloden. A part of Fassifern’s
conduct is not easily explained in a favourable sense, but he was
persecuted in a strangely unjust and intolerable manner. Incidentally it
appears that public indignation against this sort of procedure, rather
than distrust of ‘what the soldier said’ in his ghostly apparitions,
procured the acquittal of the murderers of Sergeant Davies.

‘The Last Days of Glengarry’ is based on a study of his MS. Letter Book,
while ‘The Case against Glengarry’ sums up the old and re-states the new
evidence that identifies him with Pickle the Spy.

The last chapter is an attempt to estimate the social situation created
in the Highlands by the collapse of the Clan system.

I have inserted, in ‘A Gentleman of Knoydart,’ an account of a foil to
Barisdale, derived from the Memoirs of a young member of his clan, John
Macdonell, of the Scotus family. The editor of _Macmillan’s Magazine_ has
kindly permitted me to reprint this article from his serial for June 1898.

A note on ‘Mlle. Luci’ corrects an error about Montesquieu into which I
had fallen when writing ‘Pickle the Spy,’ and throws fresh light on Mlle.
Ferrand.

It is, or should be, superfluous to disclaim an enmity to the Celtic
race, and rebut the charge of ‘not leaving unraked a dunghill in search
for a cudgel wherewith to maltreat the Highlanders, particularly those
who rose in the Forty-five.’ This elegant extract is from a Gaelic
address by a minister to the Gaelic Society of Inverness.[1] I have not
raked dunghills in search of cudgels, nor are my sympathies hostile to
the brave men, Highland or Lowland, who died on the field or scaffold
in 1745-53. The perfidy of which so many proofs come to light was in
no sense peculiarly Celtic. The history of Scotland, till after the
Reformation, is full of examples in which Lowlanders unscrupulously
used the worst weapons of the weak. Historical conditions, not race,
gave birth to the Douglases and Brunstons whom Barisdale, Glengarry,
and others imitated on a smaller scale. These men were the exceptions,
the rare exceptions, in a race illustrious for loyalty. I have tried
to show the historical and social sources of their demoralisation, so
extraordinary when found among the countrymen of Keppoch, Clanranald,
Glenaladale, Scotus, and Lochiel.

I must apologise for occasional repetitions which I have been unable to
avoid in a set of separate studies of characters engaged in the same set
of circumstances.

My most respectful thanks are due to Her Majesty for her gracious
permission to study the collection of Cumberland Papers in her library
at Windsor Castle. Only a small portion of these valuable documents
has been examined for the present purpose. Mr. Richard Holmes, Her
Majesty’s Librarian, lent his kind advice, and Miss Violet Simpson aided
me in examining and copying these and other papers referred to in their
proper places. Indeed I cannot overestimate my debt to the research and
acuteness of this lady.

To General Macdonald I have to repeat my thanks for the use of his
papers, and the Duke of Atholl has kindly permitted me to cite his
privately printed collections, where they illustrate the matter in hand.

Sir Thomas Gibson Carmichael was good enough to lend me, for
reproduction, his miniature of the Duke of York and Prince Charles.

The earlier portrait of the Earl Marischal is from the Scottish National
Museum, the later (of 1752?) is from the National Portrait Gallery. It
gives a likeness of one of the good Earl’s menagerie of young heathens.
The miniature of Prince Charles (p. 140) is a copy or replica of one
given by him to a Macleod of the Raasay house in September, 1746. The
Royal Society of Edinburgh kindly permitted me to have copies made
of several of the Earl Marischal’s letters to David Hume, in their
possession. In some of these (unprinted) the Earl touches on a theme for
which _le bon David_ frankly expresses his affection in a letter to the
Lord Advocate.




_CORRIGENDA_


P. 12, note, _for_ twenty-two in 1716, _read_ twenty-three

P. 17, note, _for_ 33,900 _read_ 33,950

Transcriber’s Note: These corrections didn’t need making: presumably the
printers did it, but neglected to remove this list.




CONTENTS


                                              PAGE

       I. THE LAST EARL MARISCHAL                1

      II. THE EARL IN RUSSIAN SERVICE           42

     III. MURRAY OF BROUGHTON                   69

      IV. MADEMOISELLE LUCI                     92

       V. THE ROMANCE OF BARISDALE              97

      VI. CLUNY’S TREASURE                     129

     VII. THE TROUBLES OF THE CAMERONS         147

    VIII. JUSTICE AFTER CULLODEN               158

      IX. A GENTLEMAN OF KNOYDART              176

       X. THE LAST YEARS OF GLENGARRY          198

      XI. THE CASE AGAINST GLENGARRY           216

     XII. OLD TIMES AND NEW                    254

                      APPENDIX

       I. PICKLE’S LETTERS                     289

      II. MACLEOD                              294

          INDEX                                297




ILLUSTRATIONS


    THE EARL MARISCHAL (1717)                           _Frontispiece_

    THE EARL MARISCHAL (_circ._ 1750)                 _to face_ p. 60

    PRINCE CHARLES (_circ._ 1744)                          ”      140

    THE DUKE OF YORK AND PRINCE CHARLES (_circ._ 1735)     ”      184




THE COMPANIONS OF PICKLE




I

THE LAST EARL MARISCHAL


In a work where we must make the acquaintance of some very unfortunate
characters, it is well to begin with a _preux chevalier_. If there
was a conspicuously honest man in the eighteenth century, one ‘whose
conscience might gild the walls of a dungeon,’ as an observer of his
conduct declared, that man was the Earl Marischal, George Keith. The name
of the last Earl Marischal of Scotland haunts the reader of the history
of the eighteenth century. He appears in battles for the Stuart cause in
1715 and 1719, he figures dimly in the records of 1745, and of Charles
Edward, after the ruin of Culloden. We find him in the correspondence
of Voltaire, Rousseau, Hume, and Frederick the Great, and even in
Casanova. He is obscurely felt in the diplomacy which ended in Pitt’s
resignation of office. Many travellers describe his old age at Potzdam,
and d’Alembert wrote his _Éloge_. He was the last direct representative
of that historical house of Keith whose laurels were first won in the
decisive charge of Bruce’s handful of cavalry on the English archers at
Bannockburn. Though the Earl Marischal of the confused times after the
death of James V. was a pensioner of Henry VIII., like so many of the
Scottish _noblesse_, the House was Royalist, and national as a rule.
Yet, after a long life of exile as a Jacobite, the last Earl Marischal,
always at heart a Republican, reconciled himself to the House of Hanover.
The biography of the Earl has never been written, though few Scottish
worthies have better deserved this far from uncommon honour.

Materials for a complete life of the Earl do not exist. We are obliged
to follow him by aid of slight traces in historical manuscripts,
biographies, memoirs, and letters, published or unpublished. Even in
this unsatisfactory way, the Earl is worth pursuing: for if he left
slight traces on history, and was never successful in action, he was
a man, and a humourist, of singular merit and charm, a person almost
universally honoured and beloved through three generations. This last of
the Earls Marischal of Scotland was certainly one of the most original
and one of the most typical characters of the eighteenth century.
Losing home, lands, and rank for the cause of Legitimism, the Earl was
the reverse of a fanatical Royalist; indeed he seems to have become a
Jacobite from Republican principles. These were strengthened, no doubt,
by his great experience of kings; but even when he was a young man his
bookplate bore the motto _Manus hæc inimica tyrannis_. Then probably, as
certainly in later life, he loved to praise Sidney, and others who (in
his opinion) died for freedom. Yet the Earl was ‘out,’ for no Liberal
cause, in 1715, and in 1719: while he was plotting against King George
and for King James, till 1745. He was admitted to the secret of the
rather Fenian Elibank Plot in 1752, and only reconciled himself with the
English Government in 1759. On his death-bed he called himself ‘an old
Jacobite,’ while, for twenty years at least, his favourite companions had
been the advanced thinkers, prelusive to the Revolution, Rousseau, Hume,
d’Alembert, Voltaire, Helvetius.

All this appears the reverse of consistent. The Earl gave up everything,
and risked his life often, for the White Rose, while his opinions,
religious and political, tended in the direction of the Red Cap of
Liberty and the Rights of Man. The explanation is that the Earl, when
young, a patriotic Scot, and a persecuted Episcopalian, saw ‘freedom’
in the emancipation of Scotland from a foreign tyrant, the Elector of
Hanover; in the Repeal of the Union, and in the relief of his religious
body from the tyranny of the Kirk. Till his death he was all for liberty,
and could not bear to see even a caged bird. These were the unusual
motives (these, and the influence of his mother, a Jacobite by family and
sentiment) which converted a born Liberal into a partisan of the King
over the Water. Thus this representative of traditional and romantic
Scottish loyalty to the Stuarts was essentially a child of the advanced,
and emancipated, and enlightened century which succeeded that into which
he was born.

Original in his political conduct, the Earl was no less unusual in
personal character. He was one of those who, as Plato says, are
‘naturally good,’ naturally examples of righteousness in a naughty
world. Nature made him temperate, contented, kind, charitable, brave,
and humorous—one who, as Montaigne advises, never ‘made a marvel of his
own fortunes.’ His virtue, as far as can be learned, owed nothing to
religion. He was ‘born to be so,’ as another man is born to be a poet. He
had a native genius for excellence.

He was ruined without rancour, and all the buffets of unhappy fortune,
all the political and social vicissitudes of nearly a century, could not
cloud his content, or diminish his pleasure in life and the sun. He was
true to his exiled Princes, till they, or one of them at least, ceased
to be true to themselves. He was perhaps the only friend whom Rousseau
could not drag into a quarrel or estrange, and the only companion whom
Frederick the Great loved so well that he never made experiments on him
in the art of tyrannical tormenting. Familiar, rather than respectful,
with Voltaire, the Earl, who remembered Swift in his prime, was fond of
gossiping with Hume and of bantering d’Alembert. Kind and charitable
to all men, he was especially considerate and indulgent to the young,
from the little exiled Duke of York to the soured Elcho, and the still
unsuspected Glengarry. One exception alone did the Earl make (unless we
believe Rousseau): he could not endure, and would not be reconciled to,
Prince Charles. If in this he may seem severe, no other offence is laid
to his charge, though modern opinion may condemn his cool acquiescence
in desperate plots which he probably never expected to be carried into
action. Otherwise the Earl presents the ideal of a good and wise man of
the world, saved from all excess, and all disappointment, by the gifts
of humour and good-humour. When we add that ‘the violet of a legend,’ of
unfortunate but life-long love, blows on the grave of the good Earl, it
will be plain that, though not a hero, like his brother, Marshal Keith,
he was a character of no common distinction and charm. His life, too, is
almost an epitome of the Jacobite struggle from 1715 to 1757. The Earl
was ever behind the scenes.

Though tenth Earl (the first of the hereditary Marischals to be ‘belted
earl’ was William, in 1458), George Keith was apt to mock at hereditary
_noblesse_. _Stemmata quid faciunt?_ He had a story of a laird who
grumbled, during a pestilence, ‘In such times a gentleman is not sure of
his life.’ The date of his birth was never known. In old age he cast an
agreeable mystery about this point. He was once heard to say that he was
twenty-seven in 1712; if so, he died at ninety-three (1778). Others date
his birth in 1693, others in 1689; d’Alembert says (on the authority of
one who had the fact from Ormonde) that he was _premier brigadier_ of
that general’s army in 1712. An engraving from a portrait of the Earl
as a young man represents him as then twenty-three years of age. If the
engraving was done in Paris, as seems probable, in 1716, he would be born
in 1693. Oddly enough the pseudo-Memoirs of Madame de Créquy (who is made
to speak of him as her true love) throw a similar cloud over the year of
her birth. Concerning the Earl’s father, Lockhart of Carnwath writes that
he had great vivacity of wit, an undaunted courage, and a soul capable of
great things, ‘but no seriousness.’ His mother, of the house of Perth,
was necessarily by birth a Jacobite. The song makes her say:

    I’ll be Lady Keith again
          The day the King comes o’er the water.

The Earl’s tutor was probably Meston, the Jacobite wit and poet.

The Earl succeeded his father in 1712. His own first youth had been
passed in Marlborough’s wars; from 1712 to the death of Queen Anne, and
the overthrow of hopes of a Restoration by the Tories, he lived about
town, a brilliant colonel of Horse Guards, short in stature and slight in
build, but with a beautiful face, and dark, large eyes. So we see him in
the portrait of about 1716.

The following letter, the earliest known letter of the Earl, displays him
as a disciplinarian. Conceivably the mutinous Wingfeild was a Jacobite,
but, by September 12, 1714, the chance for a rising of the Guards for
King James had passed, Queen Anne was dead, and the Earl was still
colonel in the army of George I.

                     _To Lord Chief Justice Parker_

    Stowe MSS. 750, f. 58.

                                                ‘September 12, 1714.

    ‘My Lord,—As soon as I heard that your Lordship had granted
    a Habeas Corpus for Thomᵃˢ Wingfeild one of the private men
    of His Majesties Second Troop of Horse Grenadier Guards under
    my Command, I sent a Gentleman to wait upon your Lordship and
    to acquaint you with the reasons for my ordering Wingfeild to
    be confin’d to the Marshall of the Horse Guards according to
    the practice of the Army, but your Lordship was not then at
    your Chambers; I now take the liberty to inform you that the
    Prisoner has not only been guilty of uttering menacing words &
    insolently refusing to comply with the establisht Regulations
    of the Troop, (to which Regulations he has subscribd) but has
    also been endeavouring to raise a mutiny therein, which crimes
    among Soldiers being of dangerous Consequences I did intend to
    have him try’d by a General Court Martial, that he might have
    been exemplarily punisht as far as the Law allows to deter
    others from the like practices: but as there is no warrant for
    holding a Court Martial for the Horse Guards extant, & I being
    unwilling to trouble their Excellᶜⁱᵉˢ the Lords Justices on
    this occasion, I had ordered my officers to hold a Regimental
    Court Martial upon him yesterday in order to break him at
    the head of the Troop, which is the only punishment they can
    inflict, but they did not proceed then on accoᵗ of the Habeas
    Corpus; this I thought fit to acquaint your Lordship with and
    to assure you that I am &c.

                                                       ‘MARISCHALL.’

From Lockier, Spence got the familiar anecdote of the Earl’s conduct
at Queen’s Anne’s death, before the projects for a Restoration of the
Chevalier were completed. Ormonde, Atterbury, and the Earl met, when
Atterbury bade Marischal go out (with the Horse Guards) and proclaim King
James. Ormonde wished to consult the Council. ‘Damn it,’ says Atterbury
in a great heat (for he did not value swearing), ‘you very well know
that things have not been concerted enough for that yet, and that we
have not a moment to lose.’ That moment they lost, and a vague anecdote
represents the Earl as weeping, after the battle of Sheriffmuir, over the
many dead men who might have been alive had he taken Atterbury’s advice.
D’Alembert, who does not mention Atterbury, attributes the idea of an
instant stroke for the King to the Earl himself.[2]

When the rising of 1715 was in preparation, the Earl, according to
d’Alembert, wrote to James, telling him that ‘a sovereign deprived of
his own must share the dangers of those who risked their lives for his
sake,’ and so made him ‘leave his retreat’ at Bar-le-Duc. But James’s
natural brother, the Duke of Berwick, on July 16, 1715, had already
given the same advice. ‘Your honour is at stake, your friends will give
over the game if they think you backward.’ James replied that he hoped
to be at Dieppe by the 30th of the month. Within five days Berwick was
crying off from the task of accompanying his brother, who replied with a
repressed emotion, ‘You know what you owe to me, what you owe to your own
reputation and honour, what you have promised to the Scotch and to me....
I shall not, therefore, bid you adieu, for I expect that we shall soon
meet.’

It was now not the King who turned laggard, but Berwick who advised
delay. ‘_I find Rancourt_’ (the King), he says, ‘very much set on his
_journey_.’ In brief, it was Berwick and Bolingbroke who kept James
back, though with great difficulty. He needed no urging (as d’Alembert
suggests) by our Earl. ‘I fear I shall scarce be able to hinder him from
passing the sea,’ says Berwick (August 6).

Then Louis XIV. died, all was confusion, and the Regent Orléans detained
Berwick in France, exactly at the time when Mar went to raise the
Highlands. What with Bolingbroke, Berwick, the death of Louis XIV., and
the intrigues of Orléans in the Hanoverian interest, James, travelling
disguised through an Odyssey of perils, did not leave France for Scotland
till mid-December. A month before (November 13) Mar had been practically
defeated at Sheriffmuir, and Forster, Mackintosh, Derwentwater and
Kenmure had surrendered at Preston. The King thus came far too late, but
certainly by no lack of readiness on his part.

D’Alembert makes the Earl utter a fine constitutional speech on the
duties of a king when he proclaimed James at Edinburgh. Unluckily, on
this occasion James was never proclaimed at Edinburgh by anybody. The
_Éloge_ of d’Alembert is eloquent, but it is not history. It has been the
chief source for the Earl’s biography.

The Earl had doubtless been won over by Mar to resign his English
commission, and desert King George for King James. The story is told
that, as he rode North from London in 1715 to join Mar in the Highlands,
he met his young brother James riding South to take service with King
George. He easily induced his brother to share his own fortunes, and
Prussia ultimately gained the great soldier thus lost to England. The
Covenanting historian, Wodrow, avers that ‘Marischal was bankrupt,’
and therefore eager for _res novæ_. But he would have been a Jacobite
in any case. As to the Earl’s conduct when Mar’s ill-organised and
ill-supplied rising drew fatally to a head at Sheriffmuir, his brother,
the Field-Marshal of Prussia, in his fragmentary Memoir, tells all that
we know. The Earl, with ‘his own squadron of horse’ and some Macdonalds,
was sent to occupy a rising ground, the enemy being, as was thought,
in Dunblane. From the height, however, the whole hostile army was seen
advancing, and the Earl sent to bid Mar bring up his forces. There was
much confusion, and the Earl’s squadron of horse was left in the centre
of the line. Mar’s right with the Earl routed Argyll’s left, while
Argyll’s left routed Mar’s right. ‘In the affair neither side gained much
honour,’ says Keith, ‘but it was the entire ruin of our party.’ Half of
Mar’s force, having thrown down their plaids,[3] were now unclothed: many
had deserted; the evil news of the Preston surrender came, the leaders
were at odds among themselves, 6,000 Dutch troops were advancing from
England. Seaforth and Huntly took their followers back to the North, and
when King James arrived at Perth, late in December, he found a wintry
welcome, soldiers few and dispirited, and dissensions among the officers.
The army wasted away while Cadogan, Argyll, and the Dutch troops, greatly
outnumbering the Jacobites, advanced on Perth through the snow.

James’s army now beat a retreat, with no point to make for, as Inverness
was in the hands of the enemy. Mar, therefore, advised James, who had not
ammunition enough for one day’s fight (thanks to Bolingbroke, said the
Jacobites), to take ship at Montrose. If he stayed, the enemy would make
their utmost efforts to come up with and capture him. If he departed,
the retreating Highlanders would be less hotly pursued. James consulted
Marischal, who wished to offer no opinion, alleging ‘his age and want of
experience,’ says Keith.[4] Finally, he privately admitted to Mar that
‘he did not think it for the King’s honour, nor for that of the nation,
to give up the game without putting it to a tryall.’ Powder enough for
one day’s fight could be got at Aberdeen; he hoped to gain recruits as
they went North, and, at worst, James, if beaten, could escape from the
West coast. ‘Mar seemed to be convinced of the truth of this’ (very like
Bobbing John); ‘however, a ship was already provided,’ and James, with
Mar, Melfort, and others, eloped; the King characteristically leaving
all his money to recompense the peasants who had suffered by the war.
James was no coward, he had charged the English lines repeatedly, at
the head of the Royal Household, in the battle of Malplaquet, where he
was wounded. In his journey from Lorraine to the coast he had run the
gauntlet of Stair’s cut-throats. But a Scottish winter, a starveling
force, no powder, and Mar’s advice, had taken the heart out of the
adventurer.

According to Mar, the Earl had orders to sail with the King, ‘who waited
on the ship above an hour and a half, but, by what accident we yet
know not, they did not come, and there was no waiting longer.’[5] ‘The
King and we are in no small pain to know what is become of our friends
wee left behind.’ D’Alembert says that the Earl refused to sail. ‘Your
Majesty is to protect yourself for your friends. I shall share the
sorrows of those who remain true to you in Scotland, I shall gather them,
and shall not leave without them.’ If Mar tells truth, the Earl can
have made no such speech. A modest man, he remained at his duty without
rhetoric.

The dispirited and deserted Highland army moved North, and the Earl was
sent to ask Huntly whether he would join them—in which case they would
fight at Inverness—or not. ‘He easily perceived by Huntly’s answer
that nothing was to be expected from him.’ They, therefore, marched
to Ruthven, whence they scattered, Keith and the Earl fared westwards
with Clanranald’s men, and made for the Islands. Hence they sailed in a
French ship on May 1, and reached St. Pol de Léon on May 12. There were
a hundred officers of them together, and all this destroys d’Alembert’s
romance, modelled on the adventures of Prince Charles, about the Earl’s
dangers and the noble behaviour of the crofters among whom he was
wandering. An English force was, indeed, at one time within thirty miles
of the fugitives, but there was nobody to whom Clanranald’s men could
have been betrayed, not that any one was likely to betray them, and the
Earl Marischal and James Keith with them. In truth, d’Alembert confused
this occasion with another, after Glenshiel fight, in 1719.

Many of the fugitives went to James at Avignon, but Keith stayed in
Paris, where Mary of Modena received him well. ‘Had I conquered a kingdom
for her she could not have said more.’ She gave him 1,000 livres, while
James granted what he could, 200 crowns yearly. Keith does not say that
the Earl was in Paris, where his portrait was probably painted at this
date. There, however (as is known from an unpublished MS.), he certainly
was, and he might even, by Stair’s mediation, have obtained his pardon.
But he supposed that the cause would presently triumph, and declined to
make any advances to George I. He was now in correspondence with General
Dillon, James’s military representative in Paris. In August, 1717, Dillon
writes to him about one ‘Prescot,’ who is suspected of intending to
murder James in Italy; he refers to Lord Peterborough, who was arrested
on this impossible charge at Bologna in September 1717.[6] In 1719 the
Earl and his brother went to Spain. There was then war between Spain and
England, Ormonde was with Alberoni, and was to be employed. Keith would
have gone thither earlier, but ‘I was then too much in love to think of
quitting Paris.’

Here, in Paris, 1717-18, if ever, would have to be fixed the Earl’s
legendary romance with Mademoiselle de Froullay (Madame de Créquy). The
story, a very pretty one, is given in this lady’s Mémoires, an ingenious
but fraudulent compilation.

An author best known for his plagiarisms seized on Madame de Créquy as a
likely old person to have left memoirs behind her. By aid of gossip and
books he patched up the amusing but mythical records which he attributed
to the lady. Why he selected the Earl as the lover of her girlhood we can
only guess; but dates and facts make the pretty tale incredible, though
it has found its way into Chambers’s account of the Earl’s career. Thus,
for example, it is averred by Sainte-Beuve, on the authority of her man
of business, M. Percheron, that Madame de Créquy was born in 1714. The
love story of 1717, told in her Memoirs, beginning in the Earl’s attempt
to teach her Spanish and English, and interrupted by the fact that he was
a ‘Calvinist,’ is therefore improbable. The lady was but three years old
when her affections, according to her apocryphal Memoirs, were blighted.
The lovers met again, when the Earl was Prussian Ambassador at Versailles
in 1753. ‘We had not had the time to discover each other’s faults, we
had not suffered each by the other’s imperfections, both remained under
that illusion which experience destroyed not: we were happy in the sweet
thought of ineffable excellence, and when we met in the wane of life,
and either saw the other’s white hair, we felt an emotion so pure, so
tender, and so solemn, that no other sentiment, no other impression
known to mortals, can be compared to it.’ All this is charming, but it
cannot conceivably be true! The Earl composed his one madrigal under the
influence of this elderly emotion (say the pseudo-Memoirs), a tear stole
down his withered cheek, and he assured Madame de Créquy that they would
meet in Heaven. ‘I loved you too much not to embrace your religion.’ So
runs the romance of the pseudo-Madame Créquy.

In fact, the Earl remained a member of the persecuted Episcopal Church
in Scotland. In Rome a priest tried to convert him, beginning with the
Trinity. ‘Your Lordship believes in the Trinity?’ ‘I do,’ said the Earl;
‘but that just fills up my measure. A drop more and I spill all.’

Madame de Créquy’s Mémoires are obviously a daring forgery, but the
‘violet of a legend’ has a fragrance of its own. The Earl was in 1716,
as his portrait shows, a singularly handsome young man, with large hazel
eyes and an eager face, with a complexion like a girl’s beneath his brown
curls. Madame de Créquy is made to say, by way of giving local colour,
that he greatly resembled a portrait of _le beau Caylus_, a favourite of
Henri III. The portrait was in her family.

In 1719, to return to facts, the two Keiths were received in Spain by the
Duc de Liria, son of the Duke of Berwick, who had heard of an intended
expedition to England. In Barcelona the splendour of their welcome, they
travelling incognito, amazed them. They had been, in fact, mistaken for
their rightful King and one of his officers, who were expected. From
Barcelona they went to Madrid, whence Alberoni sent the Earl posting all
about the country after Ormonde, who was to command the invading forces.
Ormonde was a kind of figure-head of Jacobite respectability. He was
presumed to be the idol of the British army at the time of Queen Anne’s
death; he had added his mess to the general chaos of Tory imbecility in
1714, and, in place of playing Monk’s part in a new Restoration, had fled
abroad. A few of his letters of 1719 to the Earl survive: he hopes for
‘the justice which the Cause deserves,’ and when his fleet is scattered
in the usual way, reports the uneasiness of James about the Earl.[7]

The Earl in Spain arranged what he could with the Cardinal, while
Keith passed through France, then hostile to Spain, and met the exiled
Tullibardine in Paris. Here all was confusion, the Jacobites—Seaforth,
Glendarule, and Tullibardine—being deep in the accustomed jealousies.
They sailed, however, and reached the Lewes, where Keith met his
brother, the Earl; but here divided counsels and squabbles about rank
and commissions arose. The Earl succeeded in bringing the Spanish
auxiliary forces to the mainland, and was for marching at once against
Inverness. The other faction, that of Seaforth and Tullibardine, dallied:
the ammunition, stored in a ruinous old castle on an island, was mostly
seized by English vessels. News arrived that Ormonde’s fleet, sailing
from Spain, had been dispersed on the seas, and the Highlanders came in
very reluctantly. The Jacobites landed at the head of Loch Duich, and
were posted on a hillside in Glenshiel, commanding the road to Inverness.
Hence the English forces drove them to the summit of the mountain, and
night fell. They had neither food, powder, nor any confidence in their
men, so the Spaniards surrendered, the Highlanders dispersed, and Keith
thus began his glorious military career in a style somewhat discouraging.

Lord George Murray, later the general in the Rising of 1745, was also in
this rather squalid engagement. Keith was suffering from a fever, and
he with his brother ‘lurcked in the mountains.’ On this occasion, no
doubt, the Earl profited by the loyalty of his countrymen, among whom
(says an anonymous informant of d’Alembert’s) he moved without disguise.
He is even said to have been present when a proclamation was read aloud
offering a reward for his apprehension. His adventures increased his love
for his own people: indeed, he certainly espoused the Jacobite cause as a
national Scottish patriot, not for dynastic reasons.

Keith and his brother, after ‘lurcking’ for months in the Northern
wilds, escaped from Aberdeen to Holland, in September 1719. Thence they
made for Spain, intending to enter France by Sedan. But as they had no
passports they were stopped in France and imprisoned. Keith hit on an
ingenious way of getting rid of their Spanish commissions, which would
have been compromising, and a letter to the Earl from the Princesse de
Conti served as a voucher for their respectability, and procured their
release. They reached Paris when the fever of the Mississippi Scheme
was at its height. Jacobites as needy as they, the Oglethorpe girls
and George Kelly, probably got hints from Law, the great financial
adventurer, and founder of the Mississippi Scheme. The young Jacobite
ladies bought in at par and sold at a huge premium. They thus won their
own _dots_, and married great French nobles. Even poor George Kelly had
a success in speculation. He was, at this time, Atterbury’s secretary,
and being involved in his fall, passed fourteen years in the Tower. In
1745 he was one of the famed Seven Men of Moidart, but none the dearer
on that account to the Earl, who never trusted him, and, in 1750, caused
him to be banished from the service of the Prince. All these adventurers,
Law, the Oglethorpes, Olive Trant, Kelly, and the Keiths, may have met in
Paris, after Glenshiel. But the Earl and his brother did not make their
fortunes in the Mississippi Scheme. They had no money, and Keith frankly
expresses his contempt for the speculations after which all the world
was running mad. The brothers passed to Montpellier, Keith attempted to
enter Spain by Toulouse, the Earl by the Pyrenees. Months later Keith
tried the Pyrenees passes, and there, at an inn, met his brother, who had
been arrested and imprisoned for six weeks. The King of France had just
set him free, with orders to leave the kingdom, and the wandering pair
of exiles went to Genoa, then a focus of Jacobite intrigue, whence they
sailed to Rome, to see ‘the King, our Master.’

Jacobites lived in an eternal hurry-scurry. James had been driven
from France to Lorraine; then to Avignon, where Stair planned his
assassination;[8] then to Urbino, Bologna, and Rome. Sailing for Spain,
in 1719, he had been obliged to put in near Hyères, and there to dance
all night—the melancholy monarch—at a ball in a rural inn. Spain could do
nothing for him, and he returned to Rome, whither Charles Wogan brought
him a bride, fair, unhappy Clementina Sobieska, just rescued from an
Austrian prison. Keith says nothing of her, but tells how, at Cestri
de Levanti, his brother called on Cardinal Alberoni, now fallen from
power and in exile. The Earl, with some lack of humour, wanted to tell
the Cardinal all about the Glenshiel fiasco, but was informed that the
statesman had no longer the faintest concern with the affairs of Spain or
interest in the gloomy theme.

From Leghorn the brothers went by land through Pisa, Florence, and
Siena to Rome. The King, ‘who knew we were in want of money,’ sent Hay
to borrow 1,000 crowns from the Pope, ‘which was refused on pretence of
poverty; this I mention only to shew the genious of Clement XI., and
how little regard Churchmen has for those who has abandoned all for
religion.’ His Majesty, therefore, raised the money from a banker. The
exiled King’s chief occupation was providing for his destitute subjects:
most of his letters were begging letters.

The point for which the Keiths had been making ever since their escape
from Scotland was Spain. Baffled in attempting to cross the Pyrenees,
and penniless, they reached Spain by taking Rome on their way, James
providing the funds with the difficulty which has been described. From
Civita Vecchia they sailed back to Genoa. Now, Jacobite privateers, under
Morgan, Nick Wogan, and other wandering knights, were rendering Genoa
unluckily conspicuous by making the harbour their head-quarters. The tiny
squadron for years hung about all coasts to aid in a new rising.

The English Minister, D’Avenant, threatened to bombard the town if the
Keiths were not expelled, while, if they _were_, the Spanish Minister
said that he would insist on the banishment of all the Catalan refugees
in Genoa. To oblige the Senate of Genoa in their awkward position,
Keith and the Earl departed, and coasted from the town to Valentia in a
felucca, sleeping on shore every night.

It is probable that the brothers were suspected of a part in that form
of the Jacobite plot which chanced to exist at the moment. From 1688
to 1760, or later, there had been really but one plot, handed on from
scheming sire to son, and adapting itself to new conditions as they
happened to arise. The study of the plot is, indeed, a pretty exercise
in evolution. The object being a Restoration, the most obvious plan is
a landing of foreign troops in England, with a simultaneous rising of
the faithful. First France is to send the foreign troops; and she did
actually despatch them, or try to despatch them, at various times—witness
La Hogue, Dunkirk, and Quiberon Bay. When France will not stir, other
Powers are approached. Sweden would have played this part, in 1718, but
for the death of Charles XII. Then Spain made her effort, in 1719, with
the usual results. There were hopes, again, from Russia, as from Sweden,
and from Prussia in 1753.

After each failure in this kind, the Jacobites tried ‘to do the thing
themselves,’ as Prince Charles said, either by assassination schemes
(which Charles Edward invariably set his foot on), or by a simultaneous
rising in London and the Highlands, or by such a rising aided by Scots
or Irish troops in foreign service landed on the coast. From the failure
at Glenshiel to 1722 this was the aspect of the plot. Atterbury, Oxford,
Orrery, and North and Grey were managers in England, Mar and Dillon in
Paris, while Morgan and Nick Wogan commanded the poor little fleet.[9]
Ormonde, in Spain, was to carry over Irish regiments in Spanish service.
The Jacobites had the ship prepared years before for the expedition of
Charles XII., with two or three other vessels. The gallant Nick Wogan,
who, as a mere boy, had been pardoned, after Preston, for rescuing a
wounded Hanoverian officer under fire, was hovering on the seas from
Genoa to the Groin. George Kelly was going to and fro between Paris
and London, ‘a man of far more temper, discretion, and real art’ than
Atterbury, says Speaker Onslow.

When the scheme for Ormonde’s amateur invasion failed, a mob-plot of
Layer’s followed it; but all was revealed. Kelly and Atterbury were
seized; Atterbury was exiled, Kelly lay in the Tower, and Layer was
hanged.

Keith says nothing of any part borne by his brother or himself in these
feeble conspiracies. One Neynho, arrested in London, averred that the
Earl Marischal had been in town on this business, in disguise, and had
shared his room. Neynho merely guessed that his companion was the Earl,
who certainly was on friendly terms with Atterbury. Long afterwards he
wrote (1737): ‘I was told in Italy that Pope had thought of publishing
a collection of familliair letters, particularly of ye Bishop; as I was
honoured with Many, I sent copys of a part and parts (_sic_) to Pope.’
These, however, could not have been political epistles. The originals
must have perished when the Earl burned all his papers, as d’Alembert’s
authorities report, in 1745.[10]

On the whole, it seems certain that Keith, at least, was not in the plots
of 1720-22; Keith, indeed, lay ill in Paris in 1723-24, suffering from a
tumour. The Earl now held a commission from Spain, which secured for him
a pension, irregularly paid; but, being a Protestant, he never received
an active command, except once, in an affair with the Moors. There was
no harm, it seemed, in sending a heretic to fight against infidels. His
great friend in Spain was the Duchess of Medina Sidonia, who was anxious
to convert him.

‘She spoke to him of a certain miracle, of daily occurrence in her
country. There is a family, or caste, which, from father to son, have
the power of going into the flames without being burned, and who by dint
of charms permitted by the Inquisition can extinguish fires. The Earl
promised to surrender to a proof so evident, if he might be present and
light the fire himself. The lady agreed, but the _questadore_, as these
people are called, would never try the experiment, though he had done so
on a former occasion; he said that fire had been made by a heretic, who
mingled charms with it, and that he felt them from afar.’

This was unlucky, as these families whom fire does not take hold on
exist to-day in Fiji, as of old among the Hirpi of Mount Soracte.

The Earl had no trouble with the Inquisition, being allowed to have what
books he pleased, as long as he did not lend them to Spanish subjects.
‘His religious ideas were far from strict ... but he could not endure
to hear these questions touched on when women were present, or the
poor in spirit: it was a kind of talk which in general he carefully
avoided,’—except among _philosophes_.[11] Hume tells us that the Earl
Marischal and Helvetius thought they were ascribing an excellent
quality to Prince Charles when they said that he ‘had learned from the
philosophers at Paris to affect a contempt of all religion.’ It seems
improbable that the Earl was more ‘emancipated’ than Hume, but his
wandering life had made him acquainted with the extremes of Scottish
Presbyterianism, with the Inquisition in Spain, the devotions of his King
in Rome, the levities of Voltaire and Frederick, and all the contemptuous
certainties of the Encyclopédistes. The Earl rather loved a bold jest
or two, in philosophic company, and his _mots_ were not always in good
taste. As a Norseman’s religion was mainly that of his sword, the Earl’s
appears to have been that of his character, which was instinctively
affectionate, indulgent, and charitable. If he had neither Faith nor
Hope, which we cannot assume, he was rich in Charity.

It is, perhaps, no longer possible to trace all the wanderings of the
Earl after his brother entered the Russian service in 1728. In those
years the exiles were mainly concerned about the quarrels between
James and his wife, which had an ill effect on their Royal reputation
in Europe. The Courts chiefly solicited for aid at this period were
those of Moscow and Vienna. Spain did not pay her pension to James with
regularity, and the Earl Marischal, then as later, may have suffered from
the same inconvenience. This may account for his return to Rome, where he
resided in James’s palace, about 1730-34. ‘He has the esteem of all that
has the honour to be known to him, and may be justly styled the honour
of our Cause,’ writes William Hay to Admiral Gordon, who represented
Jacobite interests in Russia (Feb. 2, 1732). The little Court at Rome
was as full of jealousies as if it had been at St. James’s. Murray,
brother of Lord Mansfield, was Minister, under the title of Lord Dunbar,
while James’s other ‘favourite’ Hay (Lord Inverness) was at Avignon out
of favour, and had turned Catholic. The pair were generally detested by
the other mock-courtiers. These gentlemen had formed themselves into an
Order of Chivalry, ‘The Order of Toboso,’ alluding to their Quixotry.
Prince Charles (aged twelve) and the Duke of York (a hero of seven) were
the patrons. ‘They are the most lively and engaging two boys this day on
earth,’ writes William Hay. The Knights of the Order sent to Gordon in
Russia their cheerful salutations, signed by ‘Don Ezekiel del Toboso’
(Zeky Hamilton), ‘Don George Keith’ (the Earl), and so on. They declined
to elect Murray, because he had ‘the insolence to fail in his respect to
a right honourable lady who is the ever honoured protectress of the most
illustrious Order of Toboso,’ Lady Elizabeth Caryl. A number of insults
to Murray follow in the epistle.[12]

All this was rather dull, distasteful work for the Earl. He received
from James the Order of the Thistle (‘the green ribbon’); but, except
perhaps at Rome, he would not wear a decoration not more imposing than
that of the Toboso Order. Writing to his brother, he drew a pretty
picture of the little Duke of York, who was fond of the Earl, and used
to bring his weekly Report on Conduct to be criticised and sent on to
Keith, far away in Russia. Keith was asked to comment on it, or, if he
did not, the Earl was diplomatist enough to do so in his name. Prince
Charles the Earl seems to have disliked from the first. He had already,
at the age of thirteen, ‘got out of the hands of his governors,’ the Earl
writes, and indeed the Prince’s spelling alone proves the success with
which he evaded instruction. But, to please the little Duke, the Earl
sent for a sword from Russia. The Duke was a pretty child, and wept from
disappointment when his elder brother, in 1734, went off to the siege of
Gaeta, while he, a warrior of nine, remained in Rome.

The Earl disliked the tiny jealous Court; the impotent cabals, the
priests who tried to convert him. Writing to David Hume long afterwards,
in 1762, he said, ‘I wish I could see you, to answer honestly all your
[historical] questions: for, though I had my share of folly with others,
yet, as my intentions were at bottom honest, I should open to you my
whole budget.’ When he wrote thus he had made his peace with England. Why
he did so we shall try to point out later.

Always scrupulously honest (except when diplomatic duties forbade, and
even then he hated lying), the Earl told his brother that he found the
Jacobite Court at Rome no place for an honest man. He does not give
details, but he seems to hint at some enterprise which, in his opinion,
was not honourable. James, moreover, was sunk in devotion, weeping and
praying at the tomb of Clementina. From this uncongenial society the
Earl departed, and took up his abode at the Papal city of Avignon,
where Ormonde now resided. He liked the charming old place, and thought
it especially rich in original characters. By 1736, however, he had
returned to Spain, where, as he said, he was always sure to find ‘his
old friend, the Sun.’ News of the Earl comes through some very harmless
correspondence, intercepted at Leyden, in 1736, by an unidentified
spy.[13] Don Ezekiel del Toboso (Hamilton) was now out of favour with
James, which, judging by his very foolish letters, is no marvel. He
resided at Leyden, corresponding with Ormonde and George Kelly. George,
after fourteen years of the Tower, since Atterbury’s Plot, had escaped in
a manner at once ingenious, romantic, and strictly honourable. Carte, the
historian, was another correspondent; but gossip was the staple of their
budgets—gossip and abuse of James’s favourites, Dunbar and Inverness. In
Spain the Earl officially represented James, but his chief employments
were shooting and reading. His Spanish pension was unpaid (he had a
small allowance from the Duke of Hamilton), and he was minded ‘to live
contentedly upon a small matter,’ he says, rather than to ‘pay court in
anti-chambers to under Ministers whom I despise.’ ‘I wo na gie an inch
o’ my will for an ell o’ my wealth,’ he remarks, in the Scots proverbial
phrase. A Protestant canton in Switzerland would suit him best, where a
little money will furnish all that he requires. ‘I am naturally sober
enough, as to my eating, more as to my drinking, I do not game, and
am a Knight Errant _sin amor_, so that I need not great sums for my
maintenance.’ A Knight _sin amor_ the Earl seems usually to have been.
He must have been over forty at this time, and he had not yet acquired
his celebrated fair Turkish captive. The Earl, however, had not given up
all hope of active Jacobite service. ‘I propose to try if I can still do
anything, or have even the hopes of doing something.’ He had a ‘project,’
and, as far as the hints in his letters can now be deciphered, it was
to remove James, or, at all events, Prince Charles, from Rome (a place
distrusted by Protestant England), and to settle one or both of them—in
Corsica!

The Earl was interested, as a patriotic Scot, in the hanging of Porteous
by the Edinburgh mob. ‘It’s certain that Porteous was a most brutal
fellow; his last works at the head of his Guard was not the first time he
had ordered his men to fire on the people. I will not call them Mobb, who
made so orderly an Execution.’

To this extent may Radical principles carry a good Jacobite! The Earl
should have written the work contemplated by Swift, ‘A Modest Defence of
the Proceedings of the Rabble, in All Ages.’

A quarrel with the Spanish Treasurer, who was short of treasure, ended
in somebody assuring the official that the Earl was a man of honour,
‘who would go afoot eating bread and water from this to Tartary _con
un doblon_.’ To Tartary, or near it, the Earl was to go, though he had
been invited by Ormonde to Avignon. Till the end of the year 1737, Kelly
and others hoped to settle Prince Charles in Corsica, with the Earl for
his Minister. Marischal was expected by Ormonde at Avignon, in the last
week of December, and thither he went for a month or two, leaving for
St. Petersburg in March, to visit his brother. Keith had been severely
wounded at the assault on Oczakow, and the Earl found him insisting
that he would not have his leg amputated. The Earl took his part, and
brought Keith to Paris, where the surgeons saved his leg, but where he
had to suffer another serious operation. Thence the devoted brothers
went to Barège, where Keith recovered health. He returned to Russia,
leaving in the Earl’s care Mademoiselle Emetté, a pretty Turkish captive
child, rescued by him at the sack of Oczakow, and Ibrahim, another True
Believer. These slaves, says a friend who gave information to d’Alembert,
were treated by the Earl as his children. He educated them, he invested
money in their names (probably when he was in the service of Frederick
the Great), and he cherished a menagerie of young heathens, whom his
brother had rescued in sieges and storms of towns. One, Stepan, was a
Tartar: another is declared to have been a Thibetan, and related to the
Grand Lama. The Earl was no proselytiser, and did not convert his Pagans
and Turks. It is said that he was not insensible to the charms of pretty
Emetté.

‘Can I never inspire you with what I feel?’ he asked.

‘_Non!_’ replied the girl, and there it ended.

The Earl made a will in her favour, in 1741, and she later—much
later—married M. de Fromont. The love story is not very plausible, before
1741, as Emetté was still a girl when she accompanied the Earl to Paris,
during his Embassy, in 1751.

The movements of the Earl are obscure at this period, but in 1742-43
he was certainly engaged for the Jacobite interest in France, residing
now at Paris, now at Boulogne. The unhappy ‘Association’ of Scottish
Jacobites had been founded in 1741. Its promoters were the inveterate
traitor, Lovat, and William Macgregor, of Balhaldie, who, since 1715, had
lived chiefly in France, and was a trusted agent of James. Balhaldie’s
character has been much assailed by Murray of Broughton, who was himself
connected with the Association. As far as can be discovered Balhaldie was
sanguine, and even of a visionary enthusiasm, when enterprises concocted
by himself were in question. The adventures of other leaders, especially
adventures not supported by France, he distrusted and thwarted. The
loyal Lochiel and the timid Traquair were also of the Association, which
Balhaldie amused in 1742 with hopes of a French descent under the Earl
Marischal. Balhaldie had promised to the French Court ‘mountains and
marvels’ in the way of Scottish assistance, and the Earl ‘treated his
assertion with the contempt and ridicule it deserved,’ says Murray of
Broughton. The Earl’s own letters show impatience with Balhaldie and Lord
Sempil, James’s other agent in Paris. Thus, on February 12, 1743, the
Earl writes from Boulogne to Lord John Drummond, whose chief business
was to get Highland clothes wherein the Duke of York might dance at the
Carnival. The Earl protests, in answer to a remark of Sempil’s, that he
‘has more than bare curiosity in a subject where the interest of my King
and native country is so nearly concerned (not to speak of my own), where
I see a noble spirit, and where I am sensible a great deal of honour
is done me, and I add, that I still hope these gentlemen will do me the
honour and justice to believe that I shall never fail either in my duty
to my King and country, my gratitude to them for their good opinion,
or in my best endeavours to serve.’ All this was in reply to Sempil’s
insinuation that the Scottish Jacobites thought the Earl lukewarm. Murray
confirms the Earl by telling how Balhaldie tried to stir strife between
the Earl and the Scots, who revered him, though Balhaldie styled him ‘an
honourable fool.’[14]

Lord John Drummond suggested to James’s secretary, Edgar, that the Earl
should supersede Balhaldie, ‘who had been obliged to fly the country in
danger of being taken up for a Fifty pound note.’ Lord John’s advice
was excellent. The Earl, and he alone, was the right man to deal with
the party in Scotland, who could trust his sense, zeal, and honour. But
James, far away in Rome, could never settle these distant and embroiled
affairs. He went on trusting Balhaldie, who was also accepted by the
party in England. Had James cashiered Balhaldie and instated the Earl,
matters would have been managed with discretion and confidence. The
Earl was determined not to beguile France into an endeavour based on
the phantom hosts of Balhaldie’s imagination. Had he been minister, it
is highly probable that nothing would have been done at all, and that
Prince Charles would never have left Italy. For Balhaldie continued to
represent James in France, and Balhaldie it was, with Sempil, who induced
Louis XV. to adopt the Jacobite cause, and brought the Prince to France
in 1744. While his father lived, Charles never returned to Rome.

On December 23, 1743, James sent to the Duke of Ormonde, an elderly
amorist at Avignon,[15] his commissions as General of an expedition to
England and as Regent till the Prince should join. The Earl received
a similar commission as General of a diversion, ‘with some small
assistance,’ to be made in Scotland. The Earl was at Dunkirk, eager
to sail for Scotland, by March 7, 1744, and Charles was somewhere,
_incognito_, in the neighbourhood. But the Earl, as he wrote to
d’Argenson, had neither definite orders nor money enough; in short, as
usual, everything was rendered futile by French shilly-shallying and
by the accustomed tempest. D’Alembert and others assert that Charles
asked the Earl to set forth with him alone in a sailing-boat, to which
the Earl replied that, if he went, it would be to dissuade the Scottish
from joining a Prince so brave but so ill-supported. It is certain that
d’Argenson told Marshal Saxe that the Prince ought to retire to a villa
of the Bishop of Soissons, with the Earl for his _chaperon_. The Earl
was still anxious for an expedition in force, but d’Argenson distrusted
his information on all points. Charles declined to go and skulk at the
Bishop’s, and wrote that ‘if he knew his presence unaided would be useful
in England he would cross in an open boat.’[16]

On this authentic evidence the Earl was anxious to make an effort, and
Charles’s remark about going alone in an open boat was conditional—_s’il
savait que sa présence seule fut utile en Angleterre_. But no energy,
no hopes, no courage, could conquer the irresolution of France. By
April Prince Charles was living, _très caché_, in Paris. Thus his long
habit of hiding arose in the _incognito_ forced on him by the Ministers
of Louis XV. The Prince, as he writes to his father (April 3, 1744),
was ‘goin about with a single servant bying fish and other things, and
squabling for a peney more or less.’ He was anxious to make the campaign
in Flanders with the French army, ‘and it will certainly be so if Lord
Marschal dose not hinder it.... He tels them that serving in the Army
in flanders, it would disgust entirely the English,’ in which opinion
the Earl may have been wrong. Charles accuses the Earl of stopping the
Dunkirk expedition (and here d’Alembert confirms), ‘by saying things that
discouraged them to the last degree: I was plagued with his letters,
which were rather Books, and had the patience to answer them, article by
article, striving to make him act reasonably, but all to no purpose.’[17]

It was not easy to ‘act reasonably,’ where all was a chaos of futile
counsels and half-hearted French schemes. They would and they would not,
in the affair of the expedition of March 1744. We find the Earl now
urging despatch, now discouraging the French, and, on September 5, 1744,
he writes to James, from Avignon, ‘there was not only no design to employ
me, but there was none to any assistance in Scotland.’[18] The Earl
believed that the Prince’s incognito was really imposed on him by the
devices of Balhaldie and Sempil, ‘to keep him from seeing such as from
honour and duty would tell him truth.’

Through such tortuous misunderstandings and suspicions on every side,
matters dragged on till Charles forced the game by embarking for Scotland
secretly in June 1745. The Earl Marischal was the man whom he sent to
report this step to Louis XV. ‘I hope,’ Charles writes to d’Argenson,
‘you will receive the Earl as a person of the first quality, in whom I
have full confidence.’ The Earl undertook the commission.[19] On August
20, 1745, he sent in a _Mémoire_ to the French Court. Lord Clancarty had
arrived, authorised (says the Earl) to speak for the English Jacobite
leaders, the Duke of Beaufort, the Earl of Lichfield, Lord Orrery, Lord
Barrymore, Sir Watkin Williams Wynne, and Sir John Hinde Cotton. They
offered to raise the standard as soon as French troops landed in England.
When they made the offer, the English Jacobites (who asked for 10,000
infantry, arms for 30,000, guns, and pay) did not know that Charles
had landed in Scotland. D’Argenson naturally asked for the seals and
signatures of the English leaders, as warrants of their sincerity. He
could not send a _corps d’armée_ across the Channel on the word of one
individual, and such an individual as the profane, drunken, slovenly,
one-eyed Clancarty. The Earl, on October 23, 1745, tried to overcome the
scruples of d’Argenson, but in vain.[20] Clancarty, it is pretty clear,
came over as a result of the persuasions of Carte, the historian, in whom
the leading English Jacobites had no confidence. ‘The wise men among them
would neither trust Lord Clancarty’s nor Mr. Carte’s discretion in any
scheme of business,’ says Sempil to James (September 13, 1745).

Sempil was ever at odds with the Earl, who, says Sempil, ‘insists on
great matters.’ French policy was to keep sending small supplies of
money and men to support agitation in Scotland. The Earl did not want
mere agitation and a feeble futile rising; he wanted strong measures,
which might have a chance of success. ‘He can trust nobody,’ says Sempil,
‘and is persuaded that the French Court will sacrifice our country, if
his firmness does not prevent it.’ The Earl was right; what he foresaw
occurred. Sempil, however, was not far wrong, when he observed that the
Prince was already engaged, and a little help was better than none. ‘I
am sorry to see my old friend so very unfit for great affairs,’ writes
Sempil. The Earl had ever been adverse to a wild attempt by the Prince,
as a mere cause of misery and useless bloodshed. He probably thought that
no French support and a speedy collapse of the rising were better than
trivial aid, which kept up the hearts of the Highlanders, and urged them
to extremes.

By October 19 the Duke of York was flattered with hopes of sailing at
the head of a large French force. The force hung about Dunkirk for six
months, doing nothing, and then came Culloden. The Duke was prejudiced
against Sempil and his friend Balhaldie, and already there was a split in
the party, Sempil on one side, the Earl Marischal on the other. George
Kelly returned from Scotland, as an envoy to France, but Sempil would
not trust him even with the names of the leading English Jacobites. The
secrecy insisted on by Sir Watkin Williams Wynne, Lord Barrymore, the
Duke of Beaufort, and the others was kept up by Sempil even against
Prince Charles himself. This naturally irritated the Earl, and, what with
Jacobite divisions in France, and French irresolution, Marischal had
to play a tedious and ungrateful part. James expected him to join the
Prince, but he, for his part, gave James very little hope of the success
of the adventure.[21] James himself, with surprising mental detachment,
admitted that the best plan for the English Jacobites was ‘to lie still,’
and make no attempt without the assistance from France which never came.

The Earl disappears from the diplomatic scene, on which he had done no
good, in the end of 1745. He obviously attempted to settle quietly in
Russia with his brother. But the Empress ‘would not so much as allow
Lord Marischal to stay in her country,’ wrote James to Charles, in April
1747. Ejected from the North, he sought ‘his old friend, the sun,’ in
the South, at Treviso, and at Venice. The Prince, in August 1747, wrote
from Paris imploring the Earl to join him, for the need of a trustworthy
adviser was bitterly felt. The Earl replied with respect, but with
Republican brevity, pleading his ‘broken health,’ and adding, ‘I did not
retire from all affairs without a certainty how useless I was, and always
must be.’

At Venice the Earl entertained a moody young exile, who tells a story
illustrating at once his host’s knowledge of life, the strictness of
his morality, and his freedom from a tendency to censure the young and
enterprising.[22]

From Venice the much-wandering Earl retired to his most sure and
hospitable retreat. He joined his brother, who had now entered the
service of Frederick the Great. He reached Berlin in January 1748.
Frederick, asking first whether his estates had been confiscated, made
him a pension of 2,000 crowns. Frederick loved, esteemed, sheltered, and
employed the veteran, ‘unfit for affairs’ as he thought himself. No doubt
Frederick’s first aim was to attach to himself so valuable an officer
as Keith, by showing kindness to his brother. But the Earl presently
became personally dear to him, as a friend without subservience, and a
philosopher without vanity or pretence. In his new retreat the Earl was
not likely to listen to the prayers of Prince Charles, who, being now a
homeless exile, implored the old Jacobite to meet him at Venice. Henry
Goring carried the letters, in April 1749, and probably took counsel
with the veteran. Nothing came of it, except the expulsion from the
Prince’s household at Avignon of poor George Kelly, a staunch and astute
friend, who was obnoxious to the English Jacobites. Since 1717 Kelly
had served the Cause, first under Atterbury, then—after fourteen years’
imprisonment—in France, Scotland, and as the Prince’s secretary. He had
been Lord Marischal’s ally in 1745, but Rousseau says that the Earl’s
failing was to be easily prejudiced against a man, and never to return
from his prejudice. Kelly’s letter to Charles might have disarmed him.
‘Nobody ever had less reason or worse authority than Lord Marischal for
such an accusation; for your Royal Highness knows well I always acted
the contrary part, and never failed representing the advantage and even
necessity of having him at the head of your affairs.... His Lordship may
think of me what he pleases, but my opinion of him is still the same.’
There seems to be no doubt that the Earl had written to Floyd (whom he
commends to Hume as an honest witness) to say that ‘from a good hand’ he
learned that Kelly ‘opposed his coming near the Prince,’ and had spoken
of him as ‘a Republican, a man incapable of cultivating princes.’ The
Earl _was_ ‘incapable of cultivating princes,’ and Rousseau esteemed
him for the same. But it was under Kelly’s influence that Charles, in
1747, tried to secure the society and services of the Earl. He had been
prejudiced (as Rousseau says he was capable of being), probably by Carte
the historian. Years afterwards, when the Earl had disowned Charles,
Kelly returned to the Prince’s household. He never had a stauncher
adherent than this Irish clergyman of exactly the same age as his father.
History, like the Earl Marischal, has been unduly prejudiced against
honest George Kelly.[23]




II

THE EARL IN PRUSSIAN SERVICE


About the Earl’s first years in the company of the great Frederick little
is known or likely to be known. _Deus nobis hæc otia fecit_, he may have
murmured to himself while he refused the Prince’s insistent prayers for
his service, and put his Royal Highness off in a truly Royal way, with
his miniature in a snuff-box of mother-of-pearl. The old humourist may
have reflected that men had given lands and gear for the cause, and now,
like the representative of Lochgarry, have nothing material to show for
their loyalty, save an inexpensive snuff-box of agate and gold. No, the
Earl would not travel from Venice in 1749 to meet the Prince.

His name occurs in brief notes of Voltaire, then residing with Frederick,
and quarrelling with his Royal host. Voltaire kept borrowing books from
the Scottish exile, books chiefly on historical subjects. If we may
believe Sir Charles Hanbury Williams, then at Berlin, the celebrated
Livonian mistress of Keith caused quarrels between him and his brother,
and even obliged them to live separately.[24] The Earl gave much good
advice to Henry Goring, the Prince’s envoy at that time, and if he was
indeed on bad terms with his brother (these bad terms cannot have lasted
long), he may have been all the better pleased to go as Frederick’s
ambassador to Versailles in August 1751. Thither he took his pretty
Turkish captive, and all his household of Pagans, Mussulmans, Buddhists,
and so forth. I have elsewhere described the Earl’s relations with Prince
Charles, then lurking in or near Paris; his furtive meetings with Goring
at lace shops and in gardens, his familiarity with Young Glengarry, who
easily outwitted the Earl, and his unprejudiced tolerance of a perfectly
Fenian plot—the Elibank Plot—for kidnapping George II., Prince Fecky,
and the rest of the Royal Family. The Earl merely looked on. He gave no
advice. His ancient memories could not enlighten him as to how the Guards
were now posted. ‘What opinion, Mr. Pickle,’ he said to Glengarry, ‘can I
entertain of people that proposed I should abandon my Embassy and embark
headlong with them?’ The Earl had found a haven at last in Frederick’s
favour. He was willing to help the cause diplomatically, to send Jemmy
Dawkins to Berlin, to sound Frederick, and suggest that, in a quarrel
with England, the Jacobites might be useful. He was ready enough to dine
with the exiles on St. Andrew’s Day, but not to go further. When Charles
broke with the faithful Goring in the spring of 1754, the Earl broke with
_him_, rebuked him severely, and never forgave him. He had never loved
Charles; he now regarded him as impossible, even treacherous, and ceased
to be a Jacobite.

The nature of his charges against the Prince will appear later.
Meanwhile, as the Prince had behaved ill to Goring, who fell under his
new mania of suspicion, as he declined to cashier his mistress, Miss
Walkinshaw, in deference to English and Scottish requests, as he was a
battered, broken wanderer, _sans feu ni lieu_, the Earl abandoned him
to his fate, and even, it seems, officially ‘warned the party against
being concerned with him.’ After forty years of faithful though perfectly
fruitless service, the Earl apparently made up his mind to be reconciled,
if possible, to the English Government. Though his appointment as
ambassador had been a direct insult to Frederick’s uncle, George II.,
the great diplomatic revolution which brought Prussia and England into
alliance was favourable to the Earl’s prospects of pardon.

He probably accepted the Embassy not without hopes of being able to
do something for the Cause. James certainly took this view of the
appointment. But the end had come. The retreat of Charles in Flanders
had been detected at last by the English. The English dread of Miss
Walkinshaw, and the quarrel over that poor lady, made themselves heard of
in the end of 1753. By January 17, 1754, we find Frederick writing to the
Earl that he ‘will secretly be delighted to see him again.’ Frederick
bade Marshal Keith send an itinerary of the route which the Earl ‘will do
well to follow’ on his return to Prussia. On the same day Keith wrote to
his brother the following letter, which shows that their affection, if
really it had been impaired, was now revived:—[25]

                                                  ‘17 January, 1754.

    ‘I’m glad my dearest brother says nothing of his health in the
    letter ... 27th Dec., for Count Podewils had alarmed me a good
    deal by telling me that you had been obliged more than once to
    send Mr. Knyphausen in your place to Versailles, on occasion of
    incommoditys; and tho’ I hope you would not disguise to me the
    state of your health ... yet a conversation I had some days ago
    with the King gives me still reason to suspect that it is not
    so good as I ought to wish it. He told me that for some time
    past you had solicitated him to allow you to retire ... and at
    your earnest desire he had granted your request, but at the
    same time had acquainted you how absolutely necessary it was
    for his interest that you should continue in the same post till
    the end of harvest, by which time he must think of some other
    to replace you; he asked me at the same time if your intention
    was to return here; to which I answer’d ... it was, tho’ I said
    this without any authority from you ... he told me that in that
    case he thought you should keep the time of your journey and
    route as private as possible, and that after taking leave of
    the Court of France you should give it out that your health
    required your going for some time to the S. of France, that
    it was easy on the way to take a cross road to Strasbourg and
    Francfort, and after passing the Hessian dominions to turn into
    Saxony, by which you would evite all the Hanoverian Territories
    and arrive safely here. Everything he said was more like a
    friend than a sovereign, and showed a real tenderness for your
    preservation....’

Frederick did not wish his friend to run any risk of being kidnapped
in Hanoverian territory, by the minions of the Elector. The Earl could
not be allowed to return at once, for the clouds over Anglo-Prussian
relations were clearing, while England was at odds with France, both
about the secret fortifying of Dunkirk, contrary to treaty, about the
East Indies, and about North America. So Frederick philosophised, in
letters to the Earl, concerning the disagreeable yoke he had still to
bear, and about the inevitable hardships of mortal life in general. He
also asked the Earl to find him a truly excellent French cook. On March
31, Frederick offered the Earl the choice of any place of residence
he liked, and expressed a wish that he could retire from politics. He
foresaw the crucial struggle of his life, the Seven Years’ War. ‘But
every machine is made for its special end: the clock to mark time, the
spit to roast meat, the mill to grind. Let us grind then, since such is
my fate, but believe that while I turn and turn by no will of my own,
nobody is more interested in your philosophical repose than your friend
to all time and in all situations where you may find yourself.’

Frederick is never so amiable as in his correspondence with the old
Jacobite exile.

At this period, Frederick gave the Earl information of Austrian war
preparations, for the service of the French Ministry. Saxony and Vienna
excited his suspicions. He did not yet know that he was to be opposed
also to France. He was occupied with dramatists and actors, ‘more amusing
than all the clergy in Europe, with the Pope and the Cardinals at their
head.’ He has to diplomatise between Signor Crica and Signora Paganini,
but hopes to succeed before King George has had time to corrupt his new
Parliament. Happier letters were these to receive than the heart-broken
appeals which rained in from Prince Charles, letters which the Earl had
hoped to escape by retiring from his Embassy. Here his negotiations
‘had embroiled him with the cooks of Paris,’ but he had acquired the
friendship of d’Alembert, whom he introduced to Frederick. The King
thought d’Alembert ‘an honest man,’ and agreed with the Earl’s preference
for heart above wit. ‘They who play with monkeys will get bitten,’ which
refers to Frederick’s quarrel with Voltaire. The Earl warned the wit that
some big Prussian officer would probably box his ears if he persisted in
satirising his late host. ‘Rare it is,’ says Frederick, ‘to find, as in
you, the combination of wit, character, and knowledge, and it is natural
that I should value you all the more highly.’

In May 1754, the Earl, while still pressing to be relieved from duty, was
eager to undertake any negotiations as to an _entente_ between Prussia
and Spain, a country which he loved. There was an opportunity—General
Wall, of an Irish Jacobite house, being now minister in the Peninsula.

The Earl left Paris in the end of June (carrying with him to Berlin
poor Henry Goring, who was near death), and accepted the Government of
Neufchâtel. While (February 8, 1756) Frederick’s throne was ‘threatened
by Voltaire, an earthquake, a comet, and Madame Denis,’ the Earl was
trying to soothe Protestant fanaticism, then raging in his little realm.

‘They will tell you, my dear Lord,’ writes Frederick, ‘that I am rather
less Jacobite than of old. Don’t detest me on that account.’ It is
known, from a letter of Arthur Villettes, at Berne (May 28, 1756), to
the English Government, that the Earl was making no secret of his desire
to be pardoned.[26] The Earl spoke of the Prince, now, with ‘the utmost
horror and detestation,’ declaring that since 1744 ‘his life had been one
continued scene of falsehood, ingratitude and villainy, and his father’s
was little better.’

Such, alas! are the possibilities of prejudice. The Earl accused Charles
of telling the Scots, previous to his expedition in 1745, that the
Earl approved of it. There is no evidence in Murray of Broughton that
Charles ever hinted at anything of the kind. Charles’s life, from 1744
till he returned to France, is minutely known. He had not been false and
villainous. He had been deceived on many hands, by Balhaldie (as the
Earl strenuously asserted), by France, by Macleod, Traquair, Nithsdale,
Kenmure, by Murray of Broughton, and he inevitably acquired a habit of
suspicion. Lonely exile, bitter solitude, then corrupted and depraved
him; but the Earl’s remarks are much too sweeping to be accurate,
where we can test them. In the case of James we can test them by his
copious correspondence. His letters are not, indeed, those of a hero,
but of a kind and loving father, who continually impresses on Charles
the absolute necessity of the strictest justice and honour, especially
in matters of money, ‘for in these matters both justice and honour is
concerned’ (‘Memorials,’ p. 372, Aug. 14, 1744). As to politics, James
was absolutely opposed to any desperate adventure, any hazarding,
on a slender chance, of the lives and fortunes of his subjects. His
temper, schooled by long adversity, made him even applaud the reserve
of his English adherents, and excuse, wherever it could be excused,
the conduct of France, and attempt, by a mild tolerance, to soothe the
fatal jealousies of his agents. No Prince has been more ruthlessly and
ignorantly calumniated than he whose ‘ails’ and sorrows had converted him
into a philosopher no longer eager for a crown too weighty for him, into
a devout Christian devoid of intolerance, and disinclined to preach.

The Earl was justified in forsaking a Cause which Charles had made
morally impossible. But he believed, in spite of Charles’s contradiction,
that he had threatened to betray his adherents. This prejudice is the
single blot on a character which, once animated against a man, never
forgave.

The correspondence of Frederick with his Governor of Neufchâtel is
scanty: he had other business in hand—the struggle for existence. On
July 8, 1757, he writes from Leitmentz, thanking the Earl for a present
of peas and chocolate. On October 19, 1758, he sends the bitter news
of the glorious death of Marshal Keith, and on November 23 offers his
condolences, and speaks of his unfortunate campaign.

_Probus vixit, fortis obiit_, was the Earl’s brief epitaph on his
brother. His one close tie to life was broken. That younger brother, who
had fished and shot with him, had fought at his side at Sheriffmuir, had
shared the dangers of Glenshiel and the outlaw life, who had voyaged
with him in so many desperate wanderings, to save whom he had crossed
Europe—the brother who had secured for him his ‘philosophic repose’—was
gone, leaving how many dear memories of boyhood in Scotland, of common
perils, and common labours for a fallen Cause!

And there followed—oh philosophy!—a squabble with Keith’s mistress about
the frugal inheritance of one who scorned to enrich himself! ‘My brother
had just held Bohemia to ransom, and he leaves me sixty ducats,’ wrote
the Earl to Madame Geoffrin. In December 1758, Frederick determined to
send the Earl to Spain, where ‘nobody is so capable as you of making
himself beloved.’ He wanted peace, but peace with honour. The Earl was
merely to watch over Frederick’s interests, and to sound Spain as to her
mediation. The King feared a separate Anglo-French peace, with Prussia
left out.

By January 6, 1759, Frederick was trying to secure the Earl’s pardon in
England, and wrote to Knyphausen and Michell in London. The death of Lord
Kintore, the Earl’s cousin, devolved an estate upon him. This Marischal
wished to obtain, but he had not changed sides in hope of gaining these
lands. Andrew Mitchell wrote to Lord Holderness, on January 8, 1759, from
Breslau, saying that Frederick had remarked, ‘I know Lord Marischal to be
so thorough an honest man that I am willing to be surety for his future
conduct.’ He enclosed a letter to be discreetly submitted to George II.,
submitting Frederick’s desire for the Earl’s pardon. By February 5, news
reached Prussia that George had graciously consented.

There must have been a delay caused by formalities, for the Earl did not
send his letter of thanks from Madrid to Sir Andrew Mitchell ‘gratefully
acknowledging the goodness of the King’ till August 24, 1759.

So there was ‘the end of an auld sang.’ Charles was hanging about the
French coast, for the expedition under Conflans was preparing to carry
him, as he hoped, to England: James, in Rome, was receiving his sanguine
letters. It was 1744 over again; but the Earl was now of the other
party, and James must have felt the loss severely. The bell which was
regularly rung at home for the Earl’s birthday, cracked when the news
came to Aberdeenshire. ‘I’ll never say “cheep” for _you_ again, Earl
Marischal!’—so some local Jacobite translated the broken voice of the old
bell. But the Earl manifestly did not win his pardon by discovering and
betraying the secret of the family compact between France and Spain, as
historians have conjectured. Dates render this, happily, impossible.[27]

The Earl took a humorous view of Jacobite French adventures. ‘The
conquest of Ireland by M. Thurot has miscarried,’ he writes to Mitchell
(April 2, 1760).[28] Thurot had but two small ships.

The Earl now desired to visit England on his private affairs, and
Frederick granted permission. He went in peace, where he had gone in war,
but Scotland no longer pleased him. True, his Bill was carried through
Parliament, admitting him to the Kintore estates, and, from the Edinburgh
newspapers, he heard of a new honour—he was elected Provost of Kintore!

‘I had for me all the blew bonnets to a man, and a Lady whose good heart
I respect still more than her birth, tho it be the very highest, she made
press me (_sic_) to ask a pension, assuring me it would cost but one
word. I excused myself as having no pretention to merit it. She bid me
not name her, in leaving you to guess I do not injure her. She said the
same also to Baron Kniphausen.’

Years later, from Neufchâtel, he wrote to Andrew Mitchell, ‘The Provost
of Kintore presents his compliments,’ adding some congratulations on
Mitchell’s pension.

Not even the Provostship of Kintore reconciled the Earl, a changed man,
to a changed Scotland. Conceivably he was not welcomed by the Jacobite
remnant around the cracked bell. Bigotry, hypocrisy, and intolerable
sabbatarianism were what the Earl disliked in his own country. He was
also resolute against marrying, declined _faire l’étalon_, as Frederick
delicately put it. Early in 1761, he made up his mind to return to
Neufchâtel, and to compose the quarrels of Protestants and heretics.
At Neufchâtel the Earl made an acquaintance rather disagreeable to
most English tastes, the moral and sensible Jean-Jacques Rousseau. The
philosopher’s account of the Earl is in his ‘Confessions.’ According to
him, Marischal, beginning life as a Jacobite, ‘se dégoûta bientôt,’ which
is not historically accurate. ‘La grande âme de ce digne homme toute
républicaine’ could not endure ‘l’esprit injuste et tyrannique’ of King
James! The wicked people of Neufchâtel, whom the Earl ‘tried to make
happy,’ ‘kicked against his benevolent cares.’ A preacher ‘was expelled
for not wanting many persons to be eternally damned.’

Rousseau went to Neufchâtel to escape the persecution which never ceased
to attack this virtuous man. Frederick allowed him to hide his virtues in
this hermitage, and made some rather slender offers of provision (twelve
_louis_, says Rousseau), which exasperated the sage. On seeing the Earl
his first idea was to weep (Jean-Jacques perhaps followed Richardson in
his tearfulness), so extremely emaciated was the worthy peer. Conquering
his ‘great inclinations to cry,’ with an effort, Rousseau admired the
Earl’s ‘open, animated, and noble physiognomy.’ Without ceremony, and
acting as a Child of Nature, Jean-Jacques went and sat down beside the
Earl on his sofa. In his noble eye Rousseau detected ‘something fine,
piercing, yet in a way caressing.’ He became quite fond of the Earl.
Wordsworth has justly remarked that you seldom see a grown-up male
weeping freely on the public highway. But, had you been on the road
between Rousseau’s house and the Earl’s you might have seen the author
of the ‘Nouvelle Héloïse’ blubbering as he walked, shedding _larmes
d’attendrissement_, as he contemplated the ‘paternal kindnesses, amiable
virtues, and mild philosophy of the respectable old man.’

I know not whether I express a common British sentiment, but the tears
of Jean-Jacques over our Scottish stoic awaken in me a considerable
impatience. The Earl was incapable, for his part, of lamentations.
Jean-Jacques was too ‘independent’ to be the Earl’s guest. Later, he
conceived in that bosom tingling with sensibility that the Earl had
been ‘set against him’ by Hume—‘Ils vous ont trompé, ces barbares;
mais ils ne vous ont pas changé.’ It was true, the Earl could break
Prince Charles’s heart, but he always made allowances for Jean-Jacques.
Rousseau, not knowing that the Earl’s heart was true to him, writes: ‘Il
se laisse abuser, quelquefois, et n’en revient jamais.... Il a l’humeur
singulière, quelque chose de bizarre et étrange dans son tour d’esprit.
Ses cadeaux sont de fantaisie, et non de convenance. Il donne ou envoie
à l’instant ce qui lui passe par tête, de grand prix, ou de nulle valeur
indifféremment.’ Nevertheless the Earl was the cause of Rousseau’s ‘last
happy memories.’

The Earl left Neufchâtel; he arranged for Rousseau’s refuge in England.
David Hume, who was dear to the Earl, arranged the reception of Rousseau
in England, and every one has heard of Rousseau’s insane behaviour, and
of the quarrel with Hume. Rousseau wanted to write the History of the
Keiths, and asked the Earl for documents. Jean-Jacques was hardly the man
to write Scottish family history, and the documents were never entrusted
to him.

Here follows the letter on the topic of Rousseau, which the Earl wrote to
Hume:—

    ‘Jean Jaques Rousseau persecuted for having writ what he thinks
    good, or rather, as some folks think, for having displeased
    persons in great power who attributed to him what he never
    meant, came here to seek retreat, which I readily granted,
    and the King of Prussia not only approved of my so doing,
    but gave me orders to furnish him his small necessarys, if
    he would accept them; and tho that King’s philosophy be very
    different from that of Jean Jaques, yet he does not think that
    a man of an irreprochable life is to be persecuted because his
    sentiments are singular, he designs to build him a hermitage
    with a little garden, which I find he will not accept, nor
    perhaps the rest which I have not yet offered to him. He is
    gay in company, polite, and what the French call _aimable_,
    and gains ground dayly in the opinion of even the clergy here;
    his enemys else where continue to persecute him, he is pelted
    with anonimous letters, this is not a country for him, his
    attachment and love to his native Toune is a strong tye to its
    neigbourhood, the liberty of England, and the character of
    my good and honored friend D. Hume F⸺i D⸺r[29] (perhaps more
    singular than that of Jean Jaques, for I take him to be the
    only historian impartial) draws his inclinations to be near to
    the F⸺i D⸺r, for my part, tho it be to me a very great pleasure
    to converse with the honest savage, yet I advise him to go to
    England, where he will enjoy _Placidam sub libertate quietem_.
    He wishes to know, if he can print all his works, and make some
    profit, merely to live, from such an edition. I entreat you
    will let me know your thoughts on this, and if you can be of
    use to him in finding him a bookseller to undertake the work,
    you know he is not interested, and little will content him. If
    he goes to Brittain, he will be a treasure to you, and you to
    him, and perhaps both to me (if I were not so old).

    ‘I have offered him lodging in Keith Hall. I am ever with the
    greatest regard your most obedient servant

                                                              M.[30]

    ‘Oct. 2, 1762.’

Rousseau never went so far north, never took Keith Hall for a hermitage,
nor scandalised the Kirk Session. After his quarrel with Hume, the Earl
did not write freely to him, saying that he wrote little to anyone.
He thought, he tells another correspondent, of ‘turning bankrupt in
letters.’ ‘My heart is not the dupe of these pretences,’ sighs Rousseau.
He took money from the Earl, he took money at many hands. He sent a
long deplorable lamentation to Marischal: the Earl has been deceived, a
phantom has been exhibited to him as his fond J.-J. R. Probably there was
no answer, but the Earl bequeathed to him his watch as a _souvenir_.
‘Jean Jacques est trop honête home pour ce monde, qui tâche a tourner en
ridicule sa delicatesse,’ so the Earl had written from London to Hume in
Paris.

He appears, when in England, to have met Hume at Mitcham, and he was
devoted to the stout, smiling sceptic, whom he called ‘_Defensor Fidei_.’

In 1764 the Earl left Neufchâtel for Potsdam, where Frederick built him a
house. This he describes in a letter to Hume. The following note (1765)
clearly refers to Hume’s report of Helvetius’s absurd anecdote, that
Prince Charles showed the white feather on starting for Scotland, and had
to be carried on board, tied hands and feet, by Sheridan, George Kelly,
and others of the Seven Men of Moidart. Hume repeated this incredible
nonsense in a letter to Sir John Pringle, who clearly distrusted the
evidence.[31] This appears to be the ‘certain history’ which the Earl
asks Hume to get from Helvetius, who had been ‘assured of the fact.’ By
whom?

To disseminate this fourth-hand scandal of his former master—scandal
which, if true, he himself was in a better position to have heard than
Helvetius—was perhaps the least worthy act of the Earl.

The David Floyd of whom he writes occurs often in the Stuart
Correspondence. He was of the old St. Germains set, being the son of that
Captain Floyd, so much disliked by Lord Ailesbury, who came and went
from England to James II., after 1688.

In another letter the Earl advises Hume to consult Floyd on events ‘of
which you took a confused note from me at Mitcham.’ Among these facts
may be the story, given by Hume on the Earl’s authority, of Charles’s
presence at the coronation of George III. No other evidence of this
adventure exists.

Here follows the letter:—

                                                         ‘29 Aprile.

    ‘In answer to your question, the Don quixotisme you mention
    never entered into my head. I wish I could see you to answer
    honestly all your questions, for tho I had my share of follys
    with others, yet as my intentions were at bottom honest, I
    should open to you my whole budget, and lett you know many
    things which are perhaps not all represented, I mean not truly.
    I remember to have recommended to your acquaintance Mr. Floyd,
    son to old David Floyd, at St. Germains, as a man of good
    sense, honor, and honesty: I fear he is dead, he would have
    been of great service to you in a part of your history since
    1688. _A propos of history when you see Helvetius, tell I
    desired you to enquire of him concerning a certain history._ I
    fancy he will answer you with his usuall Frankness.’

This, then, must refer to Helvetius’s lie about the Prince’s cowardice.

[Illustration: _Walker & Boutall, ph. sc._

_The Earl Marischal_

_circ. 1750._]

The following letters to Hume illustrate the rather blasphemous
_bonhomie_ of the Earl, who, because of Hume’s genius and fatness, was
wont to speak of him as ‘_verbum caro factum_.’ He writes of his new
hermitage at Potsdam, of his garden, his favourite books (just what
we might expect them to be—Montaigne, Swift, Ariosto), of Voltaire,
d’Argens, and d’Alembert. He incidentally shows, _à propos_ of a fabled
discovery, that Mr. Darwin’s theory would not have astonished him much:—

                                          ‘Potsdam, ce 11 Sep. 1764.

    ‘Le plaisir de votre lettre, et l’assurance d’amitié de Madame
    Geauffrin et de Monsieur d’Alembert, a été bien rabattu par
    ce que vous me dites de l’etat de la santé de M. d’Alembert;
    sobre comme il est a table, comment peut il avoir des meaux
    d’estomac: il faut qu’il travaille trop de la tête à des
    calculs, ou qu’il allume sa chandelle par les deux bouts, c’est
    cela sans doute. Renvoyez-le ici a mon hermitage, je le rendray
    à sa, ou ses, belles frais, reposé, se portant a merveille.

    ‘A propos de mon hermitage dont Mʳ de Malsan vous a fait la
    description, il a voyagé avec Panurge, et a été chez _Oui-dire
    tenant école de temoignerie_, primo, ma petite maison ne
    subsiste pas, par consequence mon grand hôte ne pouvoit m’y
    honorer de sa presence.

    ‘2ᵒ. Elle ne sera pas si petite, ayant 89. pieds de façade,
    avec deux ailes de 45. pieds de long; le jardin est petit,
    assez grand cependant pour moy, et j’ay une clef pour entrer
    aux jardins de Sans-Soucy. Il y aura une belle salle avec une
    vestibule, et un cabinet assez grand pour y mettre un lit, tout
    a part des autres appartements, si d’Alembert venoit il pouvoit
    y loger et prendre les eaux, mais il est plus que probable que
    le Grand Hôte me disputeroit et emporteroit cet avantage. En
    attendant son arrivee, j’y logerais mon ancien ami Michel de
    Montagne, Arioste, Voltaire, Swift, et quelques autres.

    ‘Saul et David y seront aussi, quoyque j’aimerais mieux David
    F⸺i D⸺r—m, surtout en persone, car le Verbum j’ay, la Caro me
    manque. Je regrette bien de n’avoir pas sçu que Mᵉ de Boufflers
    étoit en hollande quand j’y ay passé, j’aurois été heureux de
    la connoitre, par tout le bien que tout le monde dit d’elle.
    Son ami et le mien Jean Jaques à été en chemin pour les eaux en
    Savoye.

    ‘Voltaire est un antichretien entousiaste, j’en ay connu plus
    d’un et qui plus est sans étre poête: je ne sais rien de son
    dictionaire que j’ay cherché ici inutilement, il viendra,
    toutes les choses nous vienent, un peu plus tard a la vérité
    par ou vous étes; mais la Société dont vous avez le bonheur de
    jouir ne nous viendra pas: comme je suis tres vieux, lourd,
    pesant, bon a rien, il ne faut que Placidam sub libertate
    Quietem; mon hôte, pour me la donner plus entierement, me
    batit ma maison; elle sera achevée en trois mois; meublée au
    printems: et j’y pourray loger Octobre 1765.

    ‘Faites moy envisager comme pas impossible que vous pourriez y
    venir, que je serois bien content, bon soir.

    ‘Mes respects a Madame Geauffrin.

    ‘Dites a d’Alembert que j’ay une vache pour lui donner de
    bon lait, cela le tentera plus que le cent mil roubles qu’on
    lui à offert. N’a pas bon lait qui veut, et vir sapiens non
    abhorrebit eam, come disoit Maitre Janotus de ses chausses....

    ‘d’Argens est parti hier chercher le soleil de Provence, avant
    que de se mettre en voyage, il se fit tâter le poux par son
    medecin a plusieures reprises, le priant toujours bien fort de
    le dire de bon foye s’il etoit en etat de faire le voyage, les
    chevaux étoient deja au carosse. Il dit qu’il reviendra, et
    n’en sait rien; le soleil ne le guerira pas de sa hipocondrie,
    il reviendra chercher le froid, s’il ne creve pas, ce qui
    est a craindre, son corps est trop delabré. Son frere, grand
    Jesuite, sa vieille mere, et les Jansenistes Provençeaux tout
    cela le genera, il soupirera aprés la liberté de philosopher
    a Sans-Soucy, quoiqu’il se plaint quand il y est; si on lui
    dit qu’il se porte bien surtout il se fache. Il seroit fort a
    souhaiter que votre plume fusse employée a nous instruire de la
    verité, au lieu des disputes sur l’I(l)e de la Tortuga, que je
    crois l’occupe un pen a présent, mais si vous ne vous mettez
    pas a écrire de votre proprement mouvement, et non pas par
    complesance pour un autre, ne faites rien; il faut y étre tout
    entier.

    ‘Le Chevalier Stuart m’a parlé des decouvertes par le
    Microscope, par un certain Needham, prêtre, j’ay cherché
    inutilement cette brochure. Voici le fait come le chevalier
    Stuart me l’a dit. Il prit un gigot de mouton, le fit rotir
    presqu’a brûler, pour detruire les animalcules ou leur œufs qui
    pouvoient y étre: il en pris le jus, le mit dans une bouteille
    bien bouchée, le fit cuire des heures dans l’eau bouillante,
    pour detruire toute animalcule ou œuf que pouvoit si étre
    introduite par l’air en mettant le jus dans la bouteille:
    au bout de quelque tems le jus fermenta, et produisit des
    animalcules.

    ‘Needham pretend que toute generation ne vient qu de
    fermentation. Je vous dis mon autheur, vous le connoissez; il
    ne parle legerment.

    ‘Cette decouverte me paroit valoir la peine a examiner; ce
    pourroit étre du gibier, come dit Montagne, de M. Diderot.
    Si la fermentation dans une petite bouteille produit un tres
    petit animal: celle de tous les élements de notre globe, ne
    pourroit elle produire, un chêne, un élephant. Je proteste que
    je parle avec toute soumission à David Hume F—i D⸺i, et à la
    sainte Inquisition, s’il trouve que quelque chose cloche dans
    ce sistême, que je ne fais que raporter. bon soir.’

Other letters to Hume occur in 1765, and are preserved in the Library
of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. ‘I am going down hill very fast, but
easily, as one that descends the Mont Cenis _ramassé_, without pain
or trouble.’ He mentions the frost and snow at Berlin as severe to _un
pobre viejo Cristiano Español_. He sends turnip seed, a bucolic gift, to
Helvetius, and to Madame de Vassé, the lady who concealed Prince Charles
in the Convent of St. Joseph.[32]

He mentions that he sups every night with the King, and wishes Hume to
share these festivals.

The Earl was infinitely happier with Frederick and the gay freethinkers
at Potsdam than in Scotland, where so many friendly heads had fallen,
where every sight recalled unhappy things; where the lairds drank too
much, and the ministers preached too long, and wits were scarce, and
people wanted him to marry and beget heirs (here he had Frederick’s
sympathy), and still the cracked old bell kept up its peevish lament,
_Disloyal, Loyal, Loyal, Disloyal!_

Such was the Earl’s correspondence with Hume; they are the letters of a
kind, good, humorous old pagan. To d’Alembert also he wrote freely. ‘I
have read with much pleasure four volumes of your works, and was really
pleased with myself when I found that I could understand them. I want
to use my rights as an old fellow, and tell anecdotes.’ Then he gives a
Scotch story, which would be more amusing in Scots than in his French. Of
Frederick, he says that (unlike Carlyle) he is ‘gey easy to live wi’,’
_l’homme du monde le plus aisé à vivre_. He announces ‘David Hume is
elevated to the sublime dignity of a Saint, by public acclamation: the
street where he dwells is entitled La rue de _St. David_. Vox populi,
vox Dei. Amen.’ Again,—the old sinner!—

‘I have received an inestimable treasure, plenary indulgences _in
articulo mortis_, with power to bestow some of them on twelve elect
souls. One I send to good David Hume; as I wish you all good things in
both worlds, I offer you a place among my chosen.’

The philosopher took a simple pleasure in drolleries which no longer
tempt us—we have now been so long emancipated.

The Earl said that in Spain he would have felt obliged to denounce
Frederick to the Inquisition. Frederick has given the old exile medicines
to make him love him, as Prince Hal did to Falstaff. ‘If he had not
bewitched me, would I stay here, where I only see a spectre of the sun,
when I might live and die in the happy climate of Valencia?’

So he slipped down the hill in a happy, kind old age. In summer he rose
at five, read for an hour, wrote his letters, and burned most of those
which he received. Then he had his head shaved, and washed in cold water,
dressed, took a drive, or pottered in his garden. Heaven made gardens,
surely, for the pottering peace of virtuous eld. At twelve he dined,
chiefly on vegetables, taking but one glass of sherry. He had always four
or five guests, and, after dinner, left them ‘to make the coffee’—that
is, to enjoy a _siesta_. He never remembered to have remained awake a
moment when once his head touched the pillow. Then he took coffee, played
piquet, pottered again in the garden, supped on chocolate, and so to bed
early. He read much, and thanked a slight loss of memory for the pleasure
of being able to read all his favourite authors over again. Rabelais,
Montaigne, and Molière were his favourites in French, in English,
Shakspeare and the old dramatists. Terence and Plautus he studied in
Latin, the Greek writers ‘in cribs.’ Tragedy he could not abide; mirth
he loved, and d’Alembert’s informant had come on him laughing aloud when
alone. He was full of anecdote, and, having known everybody of note for
some seventy years, his talk was delightful. For music, he preferred the
pibroch in a strange land, as did Charles, alone and old in Italy. One
touch of nature!

He was kindness itself, and loved giving; from Rousseau he met, we are
told, the usual amount of gratitude after the quarrel with Hume. But,
judging from what Rousseau himself says, on this occasion he was not
ungrateful. If he heard, in conversation, a tale of misery, he made no
remark, but sought out and succoured the person in distress. To every one
who visited him he insisted on making some little present. He maintained
a poor woman in comfort; nay, ‘down to spiders and frogs, he was the
friend of all created things.’ Being a piquet player of the first force,
he would only stake halfpence, and, when his winnings accumulated, laid
them out in a feast of fat things for Snell, his big dog. Like Lionardo
da Vinci, he could not bear to see a caged bird.

In his last years he was drawn about in a garden chair, his legs failing
him. His mortal agony was long and patiently borne: never before had he
been ill. ‘Can your physic take fifty years off my life?’ he asked the
doctor. He died merely of long life, on May 25, 1778. In 1770 he had
described himself to his kinsman, Sir Robert Murray Keith, as ‘nearly
eighty.’ In 1778, then, he cannot have been ninety-two, as Mr. Carlyle
supposed—probably he was about eighty-five. Years of trouble and sorrow
these years would have been to another, but ‘a merry heart goes all the
way.’ Physically, and mentally, and morally, the Earl had ever been an
example of soundness. In his latest illness he was never peevish. Once
‘he wished he were among the Eskimo, for they knock old men on the head.’

The Earl was not a great man. In conspiracy, in war, in government, in
diplomacy, he was a rather oddly ineffectual man. He had, in short,
a genius for goodness, and an independence of spirit, a perfect
disinterestedness, an inability to blind himself to disagreeable facts,
and to the merits of the opposite side—a balance, in fact, of temperament
and of humour—which are inconsistent with political success. We may wish
that his taste in jokes had been less that of the _philosophes_. We may
wish that, if the Cause was indeed hopeless, he had deserted it without
reproaching his old master. He might have abstained from disseminating
the tattle of Helvetius. There is very little else which mortal judgment
can find to reprehend in brave, honest, generous, humorous, kind George
Keith, who was, without Christian faith, the pattern of all the Christian
virtues. He was of two worlds—the old Royalist world, and the Age of
Revolution—yet undisturbed in heart he lived and died,

        Vetustæ vitæ imago,
    Et specimen venientis ævi.[33]




III

MURRAY OF BROUGHTON


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
1,500_l._ 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.

    Were our glasses turned into swords,
    Or our actions half as great as our words,
    Were our enemies turned to quarts,
    How nobly we should play our parts.
    The least that we would do, each man should kill his two,
    Without the help of France or Spain,
    The Whigs should run a tilt, and their dearest blood be spilt,
    And the King should enjoy his own again![36]

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 10,000_l._,
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 1,500_l._
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 4,000_l._[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.

    Behold, the menial hand that broke your bread,
    That wiped your shoes, and with your crumbs was fed,
    When life and riches, proffered to his view,
    Before his eyes the strong temptation threw,
    Rather than quit integrity of heart,
    Or act, like you, th’unmanly traytor’s part,
    Disdains the purchase of a worthless life,
    And bares his bosom to the butcher’s knife.

But Murray renounced honour and lingered on the scene.

    And whither, whither, can the guilty fly
    From the devouring worms that never die?

‘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.




IV

MADEMOISELLE LUCI


In ‘Pickle the Spy’ mention was frequently made of ‘Mademoiselle Luci,’
the mysterious young lady who, from 1749 to her death in 1752, was the
French Egeria of Prince Charles. An exile, without a roof to cover his
head in any land but the States of the Pope, to which he declined to go,
the Prince was sheltered in the Parisian convent of St. Joseph by Mlle.
Luci and the lady styled _La Grande Main_ in the cypher of the Prince’s
correspondence. By dint of some research, I discovered that Mlle. Luci
was Mlle. Ferrand, while La Grande Main was her devoted friend, Madame
de Vassé. Both were very intimate with a person always alluded to in
the Prince’s correspondence as _le philosophe_. As Montesquieu lived
in the same street (the Rue Dominique) as these ladies (who directed
the Prince’s philosophical studies), as he was on friendly terms with
Charles, Lord Elibank, Bulkeley, and other Jacobites, I concluded that
the _philosophe_ of the correspondence was probably the author of
‘L’Esprit des Lois.’ This was a blunder which criticism should have
detected. The _philosophe_ was not Montesquieu, but the Abbé Condillac.
The proof is in the preliminary chapter of his ‘Traité des Sensations;’
he there dedicates that important psychological work to Madame de Vassé,
and deplores the death of their beloved Mlle. Ferrand. Condillac,
clearly, was their friend, _le philosophe_. Mlle. Ferrand, it seems,
was the instructor of Condillac, as well as the protector and literary
adviser of Prince Charles.

‘You know, Madame,’ says Condillac to Madame de Vassé, ‘to whom I owe
the light which at length scattered my prejudices. You know what part
she had in this book, that lady so justly dear to you, so worthy of your
friendship and esteem. I consecrate my work to her memory, and I address
you that I may share the pleasure of speaking about her and the pain of
our common sorrow. May this book be the monument of your friendship, and
preserve it unforgotten.’

A volume on the relations of sense and thought, like Condillac’s, is not
the place to which one naturally turns in search of information about a
girl who loyally served a proscribed Prince and a forsaken Cause. Yet
it is Condillac who attests for us ‘the keenness, the just balance, of
Mlle. Ferrand’s intellect, and the vivacity of her imagination, qualities
apparently incompatible, when carried to the pitch at which she displayed
them.’

The scheme of Condillac’s psychology cannot be discussed in this place,
but he says that he owed everything to Prince Charles’s friend. ‘She
enlightened me as to the principles, the plan, and the most minute
details, and I ought to be the more grateful, as she had no idea of
instructing me, or of making a book. She did not remark that she was
becoming an author, having no design beyond that of conversing with me
on the topics in which I was interested.... Had she taken up the pen,
this work would be a better proof of her genius. But there was in her
a delicacy which forbade her even to contemplate authorship.... This
treatise is, unhappily, but the result of conversations with her, and I
fear that I may have sometimes failed to place her ideas in their true
light.’

Had Mlle. Ferrand survived, Condillac thinks that she would not have
allowed him to acknowledge her influence on his work. ‘But how can I,
to-day, deny myself the pleasure of this act of justice? Nothing but this
remains to me, in our loss of a wise adviser, an enlightened critic, and
a true friend. You, Madame, will share the pleasure with me, you who will
not cease to regret her while you live.’ The philosopher speaks of ‘the
intellect, the loyalty, the courage, which formed these ladies for each
other.’ Loyalty, courage, wit, these women laid them at the feet of a
Prince not their own, and solely recommended to their tenderness by his
misfortunes.

‘Your friend, in dying, had this one consolation, Madame, that she was
not to survive you. I have seen her happy in this reflection. “Speak
sometimes of me with Madame de Vassé,” she said to me, “and let it be
with a kind of pleasure.”’ Such was the girl, so brilliantly endowed,
so brave, so affectionate, who did Prince Charles’s marketing, bought
him novels and razors, directed his choice of books, was the channel
through which his secret correspondence passed, was jealously regarded
by his mistress, Madame de Talmond, and died before the end of all hope
had come, before the Prince was renounced even by his own. To the angry
Madame de Talmond she wrote, ‘I am strongly attached to your friend [the
Prince] and for him would do and suffer anything short of stooping to an
act of baseness.’

There must have been something in Charles, beyond his misfortunes, to win
so much devotion from a woman of the highest intellect.

Mlle. Ferrand died, after a long illness, in October 1752. Her memory
is preserved only by a note in Grimm’s correspondence, by the touching
tribute of Condillac, and by the discovery of her kindness to a
proscribed Prince. While she protected and advised him, she was inspiring
a renowned philosopher, and keeping a secret which every diplomatist in
Europe was eager to learn. We naturally desire to know whether Mlle.
Ferrand was beautiful as well as talented and kind. But researches in
France have not brought to light any portrait either of Mlle. Ferrand,
or of Madame de Vassé, who long survived her friend, and was in
correspondence, about 1760, with the Earl Marischal.[48]




V

THE ROMANCE OF BARISDALE


While the Lowlanders, for nearly fifteen hundred years, had cast on
Highland robbers the eyes of hatred and contempt, Sir Walter Scott
suddenly taught men to think a cateran a very fine fellow. The
unanimity of a non-Highland testimony had previously been wonderful.
‘The Highlanders are great thieves,’ says Dio Cassius, speaking for
civilisation as early as A.D. 200-230. Gildas, in the sixth century,
calls the Highlanders (Picti) ‘a set of bloody free booters, with more
hair on their thieves’ faces than clothes to cover their nakedness.’
Early mediæval writers talk of the _bestiales Picts_ (‘the beastly
Picts’), and later Lowland opinions to a similar effect are too familiar
for quotation. To Scott was left the discovery of the virtues of the
honest cateran, who looked on cattle-stealing as an ennobling occupation
in the intervals of war.

Sir Walter’s opinion ran through Europe like the Fiery Cross. His
grandson, Hugh Littlejohn, stirred up by the ‘Tales of a Grandfather,’
dirked his small brother slightly with a pair of scissors in a childish
enthusiasm! Even the moral Wordsworth, moved by Scott, had a good word
for Rob Roy. Yet about that hero Sir Walter cherished no illusions. He
knew Rob’s Letter of Submission to General Wade, after 1715. Rob, of
course, had been out for King James, but he coolly says to Wade: ‘I not
only avoided acting offensively against his Majesty’s’ (King George’s)
‘forces, but, on the contrary, sent His Grace the Duke of Argyle all the
intelligence I could from time to time of the strength and situation of
the Rebels; which I hope his Grace will do me the justice to acknowledge.’

‘All the _demerits_ ascribed to him by his enemies are less to his
discredit than this one _merit_ which he assumes to himself,’ says
Jamieson.[49] The double-faced traitor, Rob’s son, James Mohr, one of the
bravest of men, _chassa de race_. The truth is that a life of plunder,
however romantic and however little regarded as immoral or degrading
by Highland opinion, really did foster, in educated men, the most
astonishing perfidy. This is the last vice we look for in the generous
cateran; and, indeed, the outlaws of Glen Moriston were as loyal to their
Prince as Lochiel. But the prevalent opinion that robbery, sanctioned by
tradition, does not degrade the general character, can be proved to be
an error. We read about Cluny that, in 1742-5, he held the usual belief.
‘He was certain it’ (the habit of robbery) ‘proceeded only from the
remains of barbarism, for he had many convincing proofs that in other
respects the dispositions of the people in these parts were generally
as benevolent, humane, and even generous, as those of any country
whatever.’[50]

Cluny was right about the untutored mass of the people, but he was wrong
about a few educated chiefs, who encouraged and lived on an unfortunate
tradition. Thus Sir Walter Scott writes about the thief whose history we
are to narrate, Macdonnell of Barisdale: ‘He was a scholar and well-bred
gentleman. He engraved on his broadswords the well-known lines:

    Hae tibi erunt artes, pacisque imponere morem,
    Parcere subjectis, et debellare superbos.’[51]

Barisdale knew what was right; his following knew only his will. He was
the blackest of traitors; they were true as steel.

The specially robber tribes in 1715-45 were those of the dispossessed
Macgregors, whose hand was, necessarily, against every man’s hand; of
the Macdonnells in Knoydart; and of some of the Camerons in Lochaber and
Rannoch. Old Lovat, too, discouraging schools, kept up sedulously the
ancient clan ideas. No other sections of the Highlanders are accused,
even by Whigs, of robbery. Mackays, Mackenzies, Grants, Mackintoshes,
Macphersons, Macleans are not blamed, and such gentlemen of the Camerons
and Macdonnells as Lochiel, Scothouse, and Keppoch are specially
exculpated. Lochiel was a reformer within his clan. The gallant Keppoch
had forsworn the predatory habits which, in 1689, made his people
threaten Inverness. Of Scothouse we shall hear the most excellent report.
Now, it cannot be by a mere fortuitous coincidence that all the Highland
traitors, James Mohr, Old Lovat, Glengarry, Barisdale, and some others,
come precisely from the homes of cattle thieves, and from a factitious
hothouse of old clan ideas; from the Macgregor country, Knoydart, the
worst part of Lochaber, and Rannoch. Yet, so strange was the condition of
the North, that we find Barisdale, the meanest wretch of all, recognised
as an acquaintance by so high a Lowland dame as the ‘Great Lady of the
Cat,’ the Countess of Sutherland.

We now proceed to the story of the chief who loved a Virgilian quotation.

In the army of Charles Edward there was no man more detested and feared
than Col Macdonell of Barisdale. According to a curious tract, ‘The Life
of Archibald Macdonell of Barisdale, who is to Suffer for High Treason
on the Twenty Second of May, at Edinburgh, By an Impartial Hand,’[52]
Col of Barisdale was son (? grandson) of the second brother of Alastair
Dubh Macdonnell of Glengarry, the hero of Sheriffmuir, being thus a
cousin of Glengarry. He was a man of prodigious muscular force, six feet
four inches in height. He is said to have caught and held a roedeer;
and, on one occasion, to have heaved a recalcitrant cow, probably
stolen property, into a boat. There lay, in the present century, on
the gravel-drive before Invergarry House, a large boulder, and beside
it a short pin of iron was fixed into the ground. Only a very powerful
man could lift the boulder on to the pin, a few inches in height, but
Barisdale could heave it up to his knees. So write, from tradition, the
two ‘Stuarts d’Albanie,’ in ‘Tales of the Century’ (1847). They add that
Barisdale’s courage did not match his strength, and that he yielded in
single combat to Cluny.

Returning to our ‘Impartial Hand’ (by his minute local knowledge a
native of Ross or Moray), we find him nowise partial to Barisdale.
‘Colonel Ban,’ as he calls him, married a Miss Mackenzie of Fairburn,
and, having a small estate in Ross-shire, could raise two hundred of the
clan. He thus, says Murray of Broughton, declared himself independent of
Glengarry, his chief, an indolent drunkard. Being acquainted with the
Mackenzie estates, he used his knowledge in the surreptitious acquisition
of cattle. He would then throw the blame on the Camerons; and that, says
our author, is precisely the cause of the bad name for cattle-stealing
which the Camerons have unhappily acquired. One day Barisdale, with his
Tail, met Cameron of Taask, with _his_ Tail, and was charged by Cameron
with his misdeeds. Words grew high, claymores were drawn, and a finger of
Cameron’s left hand was nearly lopped off. The intrepid chieftain, acting
on the Scotch proverb, ‘Better a finger off than aye wagging,’ tore the
injured limb from his hand, bound the wound with a handkerchief, ‘and so
fell to work on Barisdale,’ whom he sliced on the pate. ‘The skin and a
lock of his hair hung down,’ and their devoted tenants, anxious observers
of the fray, separated the infuriated chieftains. Barisdale was presently
arrested on a charge of theft, but his Tail perjured themselves manfully,
and he got off on an alibi.

The neighbours, finding the hero so stubborn, paid him ‘black meal’
(_sic_), in return for which he promised to protect their herds. But his
genius pointed out to him a more excellent way, and Barisdale became
the Jonathan Wild (as Waverley says) of Lochaber and Knoydart. He was a
thief-catcher, and also an accomplice of thieves, as interest directed
or passion prompted.[53] He kept his tenantry, or gang, in rare order,
and ‘had machines for putting them to different sorts of punishment.’
One machine was merely the stocks, where, outside of the chieftain’s
drawing-room windows (which commanded a fine view of the sea), many a
poor thief sat for twenty-four hours, with food temptingly placed just
out of his reach. Thus Barisdale struck terror, inspired respect, and
accumulated wealth.

A more cruel engine than the stocks had Barisdale, a triumph of his own
invention. In ‘The Lyon in Mourning,’ Mackinnon, who helped Prince
Charles to escape from Skye, says that Captain Fergusson (noted for his
ferocity) threatened him with torture. ‘The cat or _Barisdale_ shall make
you speak,’ said the Captain. The engine is described as one in which no
man could live for an hour. The Impartial Hand’ gives this account of it:
‘The supposed criminal’ (that is, any man who would not give Barisdale a
share of his booty) ‘was tied to an iron machine, where a ring grasped
his feet, and another closed upon his neck, and his hands were received
into eyes of iron contrived for that purpose. He had a great weight upon
the back of his neck, to which, if he yielded in the least, by shrinking
downwards, a sharp spike would infallibly run into his chin, which was
kept bare for that very purpose.’ Barisdale was also apt to waylay
herring-fishers, and make them pay, as toll, a fifth of what they had
captured, alleging certain seignorial rights.

‘It is well known,’ says the author of 1754, ‘that, from the month of
March to the middle of August, some poor upon the coast have nothing but
shell-fish, such as mussels, cockles, and the like, to support them.
Poverty reigns so much among the lower class that scarce a smile is to be
seen upon their faces.’ Barisdale also reigned upon the coast.

Such was life in the Highlands in the golden days of the Clans, before
sheep, Lowlanders, evictions, emigration, and deer forests brought, as
we are told, discontent and destitution. The poor lived on mussels and
cockles, some tenants eked out a scanty livelihood by stealing their
neighbours’ cows, and the genial Barisdale kept all in good order. For
Barisdale’s prowess we are not obliged to rely on the ‘Impartial Hand’
and the Gartmore MS. alone. In ‘The Highlands of Scotland: a Letter
from a Gentleman at Edinburgh to a Friend in London,’ we meet our Col
again. This manuscript[54] is in the King’s Collection, 104, in the
British Museum. The author is an _enragé_ Whig and Protestant, but a
close observer. From him we learn how cattle-stealing paid; for at first
blush it looks like the practice of those fabled islanders ‘who eke out a
livelihood by taking in each other’s washing.’ The business was extended
over a wide area; the Macdonells did not merely harry the Mackenzies and
Rosses.

Speaking of Knoydart, our author says: ‘Coll. Macdonell of Barisdale,
cousin-german of Glengarry, took up his residence here, as a place
of undoubted security from all legal prosecution. He entered into a
confederacy with Lochgarry and the Camerons of Loch Arkaig, with some
others as great villains in Rannoch. This famous Company had the honour
to introduce theft into a regular trade; they kept a number of savages
dependent on them for the purpose, whom they out-hounded’ on predatory
expeditions.

They robbed from Sutherlandshire to Perthshire, Stirlingshire, and
Argyle. When the thieves were successful these gentlemen had a dividend
of the spoil. When unsuccessful, the thieves lived on the country which
they traversed. To denounce them was ill work. A gentleman, known to
our author, was nearly ruined by Barisdale & Co. He caught two of the
Macdonalds, who were hanged. Fifteen years later his son, going to Fort
William, vanished. The tribe, says our author, demanded ‘blood for blood.’

By these devices Barisdale compelled his neighbours to pay, in blackmail,
‘above double their proportion of the land-tax in Seaforth’s, Lovat’s,
and Chisholme’s country.’ He captained a kind of ‘Watch.’ But Barisdale’s
‘Watch’ was expensive and unsatisfactory to his subscribers. As early as
1742 we have found Cluny setting up an opposition in business. Cluny’s
Watch is described at great length by the author of a kind of memoir
of the chief, written in France in 1755-1760. The writer’s object is
to show how much Cluny lost by his loyalty to the Stuarts, and how
much he deserves the encouragement of Louis XV. He established, for
the discouragement of theft, ‘a watch or safeguard of his own trusted
followers.’ The nobility and gentry ‘were surpris’d at Cluny’s success,
and enveyed so much his happiness, that they applyed to him with one
accord, to take them under his protection, and cheerfully offered to join
in a voluntary subscription....’ Among the subscribers are the Duke of
Gordon, the Earl of Airlie, the Earl of Aberdeen, Forbes of Culloden,
the Mackintosh, Grant of Grant, and even the Duke of Argyll. These facts
attest the extent of Barisdale’s raids.

Cluny was highly successful, rescuing ‘even those who had never applyed
to him.’ The subscriptions amounted to 20,000 livres, and the Dukes of
Atholl and Perth, with Seaforth, were about to join. It was now that a
preacher, thundering against theft, was interrupted by a listener who
‘desired him to save his labour upon that point, for Mons. de Cluny alone
would gain more souls to heaven in one year, than all the priests in the
highlands could ever do in fifty.’

The English Ministry, hearing of Cluny’s fame, now sent him, unasked, a
captain’s commission in Loudon’s regiment, worth 6,000 livres yearly. But
he threw up his new commission when he joined Prince Charles. Cluny’s
spirited behaviour, says MS. 104, ‘took the bread out of their mouths,’
the mouths of Barisdale & Co. But ‘Barisdale, by the former trade (theft)
and the latter expedient (blackmail), lived at a very high rate, and
mortgaged a large sum of money on Glengarry’s estate,’ where he was a
wadsetter.

Cluny’s opposition may have led to his duel with Barisdale, as reported
by the Stuarts d’Albanie. Barisdale was, as we have seen, like Lochgarry,
a wadsetter of Glengarry’s; that is, he received from Glengarry certain
lands, redeemable after a specified interval of time, in exchange for
money paid, or bills, or perhaps for cattle, which he was skilled
in procuring. We do not find that the chief, Glengarry, could or did
exercise any authority in controlling the excesses and depredations of
his independent cousin Col. For this he is blamed by the author of the
Gartmore MS., but his Mackenzie following made Col too strong for his
chief.

Ignorant, perhaps, of the character of Barisdale, unwilling, at least, to
dispense with his aid, Prince Charles visited him in August 1745, made
him a colonel, and gave a major’s commission to his son, young Archibald
Macdonnell of Barisdale, a lad of twenty in 1745. Our ‘Impartial
Hand’[55] declares that Coll, though at Prestonpans, was not under fire,
which seems improbable. Barisdale may have been with the Prince in the
second line (fifty yards behind the first, says the Chevalier Johnstone),
or, in the oblique advance of the first line, Lochiel and James Mohr may
have routed the English before Barisdale could engage. But, in a letter
of Thomas Wedderburn to the Earl of Sutherland, we read (September 26,
1745), ‘Three troops that were making their way for Berwick were pursued
by Barisdale, and 150 men, who all stript to their shirts, on foot, who
overtook the dragoons, I suppose by turning a hill and gaining ground
that way, and made them prisoners, for which Barisdale was made a knight
bannarett’[56]—knighted, that is, like Dalgetty, on the field.

After Prestonpans, according to the Impartial one, confirmed by the
‘Culloden Papers,’ and by Broughton’s ‘Memorials,’ Barisdale, by
Sheridan’s advice, was sent north, to work on Old Lovat. Sheridan
reckoned that no man was likely to have so much influence with that
subtle schemer as the bluff Barisdale, with ‘his devouring looks, his
bulky strides, his awful voice, his long and tremendous sword, which he
generally wore in his hand, with a target and bonnet edged broad upon
the forehead.’ Barisdale, thus accredited, worked both on Lovat and Lord
Cromarty, who raised his peaceful tenants by threats of burning their
cottages and cattle.[57] Cromarty might have reported, like a Highland
recruiting officer in later days, ‘The volunteers are ready; they are
all lying bound hand and foot in the barn.’ Many of the Highlanders did
not want to fight, though they fought so well. Barisdale also sent ‘the
bloody cross,’ we are told, through the Frazers, who marched reluctantly
under the Master of Lovat, a St. Andrews student, himself as reluctant as
he was brave. At Falkirk, Barisdale is said to have been with the second
line, and later ‘he set out to collect the public money, the greater part
of which he kept to himself.’

Just before Culloden, Barisdale was engaged in the not uncongenial duty
of reducing the shires of Ross and Sutherland. In the latter county
Lord Reay, with the Mackays and the Earl of Sutherland, were for King
George; Lord Loudon also was quartered with his force in Ross-shire. Lord
Cromarty, with the Mackenzies, Mackintoshes, Mackinnons, Macgregors, and
Barisdale’s Macdonnells, did little, retiring to his own house. Barisdale
was anxious to burn the house of Ross of Balnagoun, but Lochiel, who had
arrived with Lord George Murray, intervened. At Dornoch, Barisdale went
to church, where the Rev. Mr. Kirk, a gentleman connected with the Duke
of Argyll, had the courage to pray for King George. Barisdale leaped up,
swaggered, fumed, and, it is rather absurdly said, threatened to put
Mr. Kirk in his famous engine of torture. The chivalrous Duke of Perth
protected Mr. Kirk, saying that all brave men were his friends, and
asked the clergyman to dinner.[58] Lord George Murray, finding Cromarty
incompetent, and Barisdale mainly occupied in burning granaries, now took
the command, and Loudon crossed the Firth into Sutherland. Perth then led
the Prince’s forces across the Firth, and Loudon hastened to withdraw
into central Sutherland.

Neither side was anxious to come to blows. Macdonnell of Scotus, a man
‘brave, polite, obliging, of fine spirit and sound judgment,’ says the
Chevalier Johnstone, had a son with Lord Loudon, and was reluctant to
engage. Later, to his intense joy, he took this son a not unwilling
prisoner. Meanwhile Barisdale, on March 20, captured the Castle of
Dunrobin. The Earl of Sutherland fled, under cover of a fog, and escaped
to an English ship. The Countess stayed at home; she was a daughter of
the Earl of Wemyss by his third wife, was a young lady, of twenty-eight,
and had a young nephew, Lord Elcho, with the Prince. According to the
‘Sutherland Book’ (i. 420), one of Barisdale’s officers threatened her
with a dirk, and, some one jogging his elbow, she was actually scratched.
To this the Countess, as we shall see, herself bears witness. But it is
by no means certain that the lady, coming of a Jacobite family, was an
unwilling prisoner of the Prince’s men. It was irksome to her, no doubt,
to see her rooms littered with hay on which the Highlanders slept, and
to observe the robbery of her plate. But the two following intercepted
letters, from the Cumberland Papers, display the Countess as an adorer of
Prince Charles, and Barisdale as a _preux chevalier_.

          _Letter from The Countess of Sutherland to the Young
            Pretender, written with MacDonell of Barisdale’s
                               own Hand._

                                                    ‘March 26, 1746.

    ‘The treatment I mett with Friday Last oblidges me to presume
    to oCoast your Royall Hyness For a protection to prevent the
    Lyke Usadge in the Future. However my Lord Sutherland Acted,
    It’s known over the most of this Kingdome my particular
    attachment to your Royall Hyness’ Family, and were itt
    ordinaire in one of my sex to go to the Field to Fight For
    my Prince and Country, I would make as aerly ane appearance
    as anie, and hade not my Coch horses and sadle horses being
    caryed away I woud presume the Honnaire to waith of your
    Royall Hyness. Least my letter be too tediouse I will only
    give one Instance of my usadge, a man holding a drawn durk to
    my brest gave a scrach of a wound which merk itt well beare:
    but this day Barisdale coming here, being my aquaintance, in
    his presence I sent a gentleman to all the men of my Lord
    Sutherland’s that were in arms desiring them to disperse and
    return to their homes in order a proper Draught be made of them
    For your royall Hyness service. My success I can not determine
    as I can not Depend upon much assistance, but if matters were
    further att my Disposall all the Fensable men in Sutherland
    woud be on your Royall Hyness armie as I am quite affrighted.
    From the Hylanders I beg to petition your Royall Hyness
    protection how Soone pasable and I always am and ever will,’ &c.

On March 27, 1746, from Tarbat House Lord Cromarty writes in answer to
the Countess of Sutherland, acknowledging her letter, and promising
protection to all her people who submit.

Then we have Barisdale’s _billet_ to the lady:

                   _Col McDonell to Lady Sutherlande_

                                           ‘Ardmore: March 27, 1746.

    ‘My Faire Prisoner,—I presume these with the offer of my most
    Respectfull humble Duty to my Lady Sutherland, my Regiment
    is ordered back againe to Sutherland For which I am verrie
    sorrie, if anie hardships must be used, itt shoud in the Least
    Fall to my Shaire. I will have one Certaine pleasure in Itt
    that it well give the oportunity of being For once more my
    Lady Sutherland’s Saife guard. I Forwarded your Ladyship’s
    letter by one Captt Lewlessnent, and sent itt Inclosed to
    his Grace, and held Forth my Lady Sutherland’s zeall For our
    Cause, and the Friendship she particullarlie expected From
    him, and represented the Horses taken away, and pleaded For
    her Interest to have them, att Least my Ladys Favourites,
    returned. I go this Day to Inverness myself and shall talk to
    His Royall Hyness in regard to what my Lady Sutherland woud
    Exspect off Favours From our side, and what is Actuallie Deue
    to her. After my return, shall have the pleasure of waitting
    off your Ladyship att Dunrobine, and allways will be Nott onlie
    your Lady’s prisoner in the strictest Confinement, but your
    Ladyships most obdtt. and most humble sertt. while

                                                ‘COL. MCDONELL.’[59]

An odious tale is told by the ‘Impartial Hand,’ about Barisdale’s conduct
to his wife’s young sister. We do not trust the Impartial one where
we have not corroboration, and, to his fair prisoner, Lady Sutherland,
Barisdale certainly displays a tender gallantry. But she may not have
regretted that her Barisdale was occasionally absent. Cumberland was
approaching, and, on the eve of Culloden, Lord Cromarty was captured
in ‘The Battle of Golspie,’ while dallying over his _adieux_ to ‘his
favourite Amazon,’ the Countess of Sutherland, as the Impartial one
invidiously declares.

The Countess must have managed her diplomacy adroitly, for the
Whig author previously cited says, ‘It is a pity the present Earl
of Sutherland should be such a weak man, but his lady behaved very
honourably, though her brother (nephew) the Lord Elcho, was engaged in
the Rebellion.’[60] The lady’s letter to Prince Charles was not known to
our author.

Barisdale, leaving his fair prisoner, marched south, and halted at
Beauly, on the night before Culloden. ‘He might easily have reached the
field, had he been any way resolute or brave.’ But like the Master of
Lovat and Cluny, Barisdale came up too late. The fugitives passed through
Inverness, under his eyes, and Barisdale also made off.

He was at the Meeting of the Chiefs at Murlagan, on May 8, when it was
determined to rally in a week, and a treaty was made, that all should
hold together, in spite of the Prince’s defection.[61] When the week
ended, nobody came to the tryst but Lochgarry, who retired at once,
Lochiel, and Barisdale, with three or four hundred of their clans.
But the Rev. John Cameron, in ‘The Lyon in Mourning’ (i. 88) accuses
Barisdale of promising to return next day, as a blind, and of sending
instead two companies of infantry in English service, to capture Lochiel.
They were recognised by their red crosses, and Lochiel escaped, ‘which
was owing to its not being in Barisdale’s power’—to catch him, ‘rather
than to want of inclination,’ says Mr. Cameron. Murray of Broughton
represents Barisdale as accusing his cousin and enemy, Lochgarry, of
treachery, and believes that both were equally guilty, but Lochiel
was as incapable of suspecting as of being guilty of treason. In his
Letter to the Chiefs, of May 26, he says that Clanranald’s men refuse
to leave their own country, that Glengarry’s men have yielded up their
arms (induced thereto, we shall see, by Old Glengarry), that Lochgarry
promised to return, but did not, and that, ‘trusting to Lochgarry’s
information, we had almost been surprized.’ But he never hints at a
suspicion of Barisdale.[62]

On June 10, says the ‘Impartial Hand,’ Barisdale and Young Barisdale
both surrendered to Ensign Small, in a cave. But Barisdale, it is known,
got a protection, on his promise to deliver up Prince Charles. He laid
several schemes to this end, and had two companies to seize the Prince at
Strathfillan. Sheridan, however, ‘who had a talent for reading men with
as great freedom and judgement as others do books,’ warned the Prince,
who kept out of Barisdale’s clutches.[63] So says the Impartial Hand.

His story of the protection for Barisdale was true, as witness the
following letters from the Cumberland Papers, at Windsor Castle.

          _From G. Howard to Col. Napier, A.D.C. to D. of C._

                                                       ‘July 5th....

    ‘A person passed me here yesterday morning whom I took to be
    lawful Prey, but, to my great concern, he produced a Pass-port
    for himself and 4 servants with their arms &c., syned by Sir
    E. Faulkner: it was dated only the day before yesterday. The
    person was McDonald of Barisdale, who is so particularly
    zealous for hanging our officers. I asked him if he had seen
    H.R.H. (Cumberland). He said no, but that a friend got him his
    Protection.’

                 _Lord Albemarle to Duke of Cumberland_

                                                         ‘July 26th.

    ‘The Complaint is universal against Barisdale, therefore I
    shall not renew his protection, but drive and burn his country
    to punish him for having made such a bad use of your goodness.
    Glengarry is much commended for his behaviour.’

Finally, Barisdale had already induced several Macdonnells to lay a
written information against Old Glengarry, their chief.

How did Barisdale, who had played a part so conspicuous, manage to obtain
a protection from Sir Everard Faulkner? That is the point which we shall
later find him explaining with singular candour. Protected he was, and,
in pursuit of information, he had the singular impudence to venture, with
his son, in September 1746, on board the ship which was to carry the
Prince, Lochiel, Lochgarry, and other gentlemen to France. They could
not but be aware that Barisdale had made his submission, and was come
on no good errand. Lochgarry was his bitter enemy. They therefore put
Barisdale and his son in irons, shut them down under hatches, carried
them to France, and there imprisoned these gentlemen of Knoydart on a
charge of treason. Mr. Fraser Mackintosh, a very innocent writer, thus
describes the high-handed outrage: ‘Barisdale was so unpopular with
the Camerons, that, without the slightest warrant, they took it on
themselves to deport Coll Macdonnell, and his son Alexander [Archibald?]
to France.’ Mr. Fraser Mackintosh attributes this unwarrantable action to
‘the Camerons,’ with whom Barisdale was generally ‘unpopular.’ But, of
course, the seizure was warranted by Charles, Prince Regent, who is said
to have knighted Barisdale on a stricken field. The seizure was more than
justified, and was not due to poor Col’s ‘unpopularity.’

Col languished in a French prison till 1749. In March he ventured back
to Scotland, finding himself, after his release, very ‘unpopular’ in
Flanders. He was promptly culled like a flower by his old captor,
Ensign Small, and was brought before Erskine for examination. Erskine
writes that he found the tall bully ‘under visible terror.’ France had
imprisoned him. England was likely to give him what ‘he wad be nane the
waur o’’—a hanging. His house was left unto him desolate; he would flirt
no more with fair captive Countesses: no one trembled at his frowning
brows: it was Barisdale’s turn to tremble, as he did. He was locked up in
Edinburgh Castle, where, at least, he was safe from avenging dirks. He
there penned the following explicit confession, in hopes of a pardon, and
pay as a spy. Perhaps Cumberland refers to Barisdale’s earlier services
in this capacity, in a letter of August 2, 1749. Cumberland speaks of
‘the goodness of the intelligence’ now offered to Government. ‘On my part
I bear it witness, for I never knew it fail me in the least trifle, and
have had very material and early notices from it.’[64]

Here, then, follows Barisdale’s confession to the Justice Clerk in
Edinburgh. It entirely disposes of Mr. Fraser Mackintosh’s suggestion
that the Camerons seized Barisdale because he was ‘unpopular.’

        _Narrative given in by Barrisdale to the Justice Clerk_

    (_H. O. Scotland. Bundle 41. No. 13. State Papers. Domestic_)

                                                   April 10th, 1749.

    ‘His Royal Highness, the Duke of Cumberland, sent a protection
    by Sir Alexr. Macdonald to Barisdale, upon delivering to him
    of which, he told him, in Consequence of the Favours the Duke
    intended for him, he should cause all such as he would have any
    Influence with, surrender their arms directly, which Barisdale
    did at the Barracks of Glenelg immediately thereafter; by
    which the Concert of those that imagined to make any further
    resistance was broke, and he gave all the Assurances Sir Alexr.
    desired of him, to be a good faithful subject, yt would give
    all obedience to the Government, which Since he has perform’d.
    _But from that time the Jacobite party design’d to ruine
    Barisdale_, and endeavoured, with all Calumny’s, to make him
    odious to all partys and all Persons. The Pretender’s Son
    having returned from the Isles to the Continent (mainland), Sir
    Alexr. Macdonald wrote to Barisdale, desiring to inform him
    of some particulars, which he did very distinctly, and soon
    after his R. Highness [Cumberland] left Fort Augustus, my Lord
    Albemarle, then Commander in Chief, desired Sir Aler. McDonald
    to send for Barisdale to Fort Augustus. Sir Alexr. Macdonald
    wrote to him, and accordingly Barisdale waited of my Lord
    Albemarle at Fort Augustus, at Sir Alex. McDonald’s Lodgings,
    where before Sir Alex. McDonald, his Lordship told Barisdale,
    as the Pretender’s Son was now returned from the Isles to
    the Continent (mainland), if he hop’d for the Continuance of
    his R. Highness’s Favours, he must lay himself out in giving
    Assistance to have the Person of ye Pretender’s Son sez’d.

    ‘Barisdale answered, in Sir Alexander’s Presence, that Sir
    Alexr. never made any such Proposal to him from his R. Highness
    (Cumberland); and if he was a Man supposed formerly in the
    Jacobite Interest, and _upon getting a better Light_, to
    forsake them it would be very inconsistent wth. Honour, for a
    Man so supposed, to go such Lengths. But for his share, were
    he to do his utmost to comply with his Lordship’s desire, he
    could expect little success in it, since all the Jacobite Party
    were upon their Guard, even the meanest Highlander, to give no
    Intelligence to any he had Influence with.

    ‘His Lordship and he parted that Day: my Lord Loudoun, Sir
    Alexr. McDonald, and Barisdale, being at a Bottle that night,
    resumed all that past at that Communing—Loudoun said, “I own
    what his Lordship desires of you, may not be easy for you to
    perform, but such Information as you can best receive, you can
    transmit to his Lordship and you can make an Observe upon each,
    according to the Credite you give yourself to the Information.”

    ‘My Lord Albemarle, the next day, at Sir Alexander’s Lodgings,
    insisted as the Day before; and Barisdale agreed, such
    Informations as he could learn, he would transmit them, wt.
    Remarks upon them of the Credite he thought they deserved—My
    Lord Albemarle gave a Continuance upon the Protection for ten
    Days more, which was a short time for Barisdale to go to his
    country, and find Informations and then transmit them to Fort
    Augustus.

    ‘However he sent two different Informations wt. Remarks upon
    them: is not certain which of the two, my Lord Albemarle or
    my Lord Loudoun’s Hands they came to, as the Bearer of them
    brought back no Answer in writing: But at the End of the Ten
    Days of my Lord Albemarle’s Protection, B. was rather more
    distrest than any who were not before protected.

    ‘Some few days thereafter, being at Sir Alexr. McDonald at
    Slaite, hearing two French ships coming to Ariseg, Sir Ar.
    McDonald desired Barisdale to go to these Ships, in order to
    learn some things he wanted to be inform’d of, and Barisdale
    coming to the shore before the Ships, under Pretension of
    great Friendship was invited aboard, there being at the Ships
    severals he was acquainted with; But soon after he was aboard,
    found his Mistake, would not be allow’d afterwards to come
    ashore, was carried to St. Malos, seated upon the River La
    Luare where he was prisoned about 2 years and four months. The
    7th. of February last, with a Sentence of Banishment to leave
    France in a few Days, was liberated: which Sentence is now in
    the hands of the Governor of Fort Augustus.

    ‘The Accusations laid against him by the Pretender’s son and
    likewise laid before the Court of France were sent to Barisdale
    enclosed in a Letter, wrote and signed by George Kelly, the
    Pretender’s Son’s Secretary, of which there is a Copy herewith.’

    He now offers services unconditionally[65]—‘but is sorry to
    be prevented in his Design of going to London as he entended
    to throw himself in his R. Highness the Duke of Cumberland’s
    Hands, hoping, as he still does, for his Highness’ Protection
    and Friendship, as promised to him by Sir Alexander MacDonald
    in his R.H’s. Name at their first Conference, when he delivered
    to him the protection, in the obtaining of which Barisdale
    will be capable, as he is most willing, of doing essential
    Services to his R. Highness and the Government in the North of
    Scotland:—and says ‘it may appear most reasonable, however,
    for the Family he is descended from, or the Clan he is of,
    have been attach’d to the Pretender’s Family, that his cruel,
    uncommon, and severe usage from that Family will not only
    make him most faithfull to the Government, but as stiff an
    Enemy as that Family have upon Earth. For it is well known the
    Pretender’s Son exprest at Paris to some of the Scots, who
    were sorry for Barisdale’s treatment, that while it was in his
    power, Barisdale woud never recover his Liberty, at least while
    he was in France, for that he was well assured, if ever he
    return’d to Scotland, being well assured B. being both resolute
    and Revengefull, he woud prove a very destructible Instrument
    to his Interest.’

Here are the Jacobite charges against Barisdale:—

        _Copy of George Kelly, the P.’son’s Secretary’s Letter_

                                              ‘Paris, May 3rd, 1747.

    ‘... Did you not own publickly, that upon his R.H’s. Approach
    to Inverness, you advertised the Lord President and the Lord
    Loudoun of the same, and advised them for their further Safety
    to retire from thence?... Did you not, without asking their
    Advice or Approbation, Surrender yourself to the Enemy, and
    enter into certain Articles with them?...

    ‘Whether, after receiving a Protection from the Enemy, you did
    not engage and promise to apprehend the Person of H.R.H. and
    deliver him up to them within a limited time?...

    ‘Whether or not you did not impose on several Gentlemen of
    Glengary’s Family, by asserting that he had promised to
    deliver them up to the Enemy, and that he was to receive
    30_l._ sterling Premium for Each Gentleman he should put into
    their Hands? Did these gentlemen sign an information against
    Glengary? And were his letters ordering them to take up arms
    delivered up to Lord Albemarle, upon which your Cousine,
    Glengary, was apprehended?’

And now the whole truth is out, as concerns Col, third of Barisdale.
His cruelties, his thefts, his swaggerings, have ended in deliberate
treachery, and this worthy chieftain is found endeavouring to do what
the humblest peasant disdained even to contemplate, to deliver up the
fugitive Prince.

Barisdale took no profit by his iniquity. The Ross people, whom he had
harried, burned his famous stocks, and his house, with its ‘eighteen
fire-rooms, and many others without fires, beautifully covered’ (roofed)
‘with blue slates.’

He himself died in 1750, in Edinburgh Castle; six soldiers, with no
mourners, carried his bulky and corpulent carcase to a grave ‘at the foot
of the _talus_ of the Castle.’

So says the Impartial Hand. Of Barisdale’s classical lore, and of his
courtesy to a fair captive, we have seen proof. For the rest, a more
worthless miscreant has seldom stained the page of history. It was time
that such a career as his should be made impossible.

Young Barisdale skulked for years in the Highlands, a kind of Hereward,
pursued by the English troops. He was usually accompanied by five or six
of his Clan, armed, and in the prohibited Highland dress. He supported
life in his father’s fashion, mainly by robbing the herring fishers of a
fifth of their takes, under some pretence of a legal claim. His tenants,
spoiled by the English troops, probably could contribute little to his
maintenance. He is often mentioned in the Cumberland Papers, and, after
he had been the guest of young Glengarry’s uncle, Dr. Macdonnell, that
physician talked indiscreetly as follows.

On Sept. 30, 1751, Captain Izard, of the Fusiliers, writes: ‘Dr.
Macdonald, brother of Glengarry, living at Cailles on Loch Nevis, told
that young Barisdale lay at his house the Monday before, and took boat
thence to carry his sister home, and he proposed going to the Isle of
Skey’ (Skye).[66]

He was taken at last on July 18, 1753, in a wood near Lochourn in Morar,
and was tried in Edinburgh on a charge of High Treason, on March 11,
1754. With him was Macdonald of Morar, five or six other Macdonalds, and
Mackinnons, a MacEachan, and others. He disputed the indictment, which
described him as ‘of Barisdale,’ on the score that his grandfather had
only been ‘a moveable tenant of Glengarry’s, without any right in writing
whatsoever.’ This plea was disregarded, and he was condemned to be hanged
on May 22, bearing his sentence ‘with great composure and decency.’ Being
respited, he lay in the Castle till 1762, when he took the oaths, and was
released.

By a curious freak of fortune, young Barisdale’s son Col, in 1788, ‘held
a Commission to regulate the Fisheries. This, in the height of the
fishing season, was no easy task, and required a firm hand. Not only
were there disputes among the fishermen themselves, but, apparently,
thieves made it a regular trade to attend, and pick up what they
could.... The poor fishermen now suffer from piracy in another form.
If there were officials like Barisdale armed with sufficient powers,
trawling within the limits would soon be extirpated,’ writes Mr. Fraser
Mackintosh.[67] The fishermen have never been fortunate. Before trawling
came in they had to do with the portentous Col of Barisdale. Perhaps, of
the two, they may prefer the trawlers.

Thus, in a generation, the son of Archibald and grandson of Col, the
former a brigand and thief alike of cattle and herrings, became a
peaceful subject, and protector of the very class of fishermen whom his
grandsire had plundered. We may drop a tear over old romance, but reality
has its alleviating features. There is absolutely no kind of villainy of
which Col of Barisdale was not eminently guilty. Oppression, cruelty,
cowardice, theft, and treachery were all among his qualities, were all
notorious, yet, till after Culloden, Col could laugh at the law, and was
not shunned by society.

We have seen that Col accuses Sir Alexander Macdonald of Sleat of
corrupting his honour, and advising him to sell himself. This may, or
may not, be true. The sympathies of Sir Alexander had been Jacobite,
before 1745, but Murray of Broughton states that in 1741 he was very
angry when Balhaldie put his name on a list of adherents presented to the
French Court. ‘He declared he had never given him any authority to do
so.’ A statement to the contrary effect will be found in Mr. Mackenzie’s
‘History of the Macdonalds,’ page 234. In 1744, Murray represents him as
ready to rise if French troops were landed. Murray repeats, in justice,
that Sir Alexander’s promises were purely contingent; they depended on
the existence of a ‘well-concerted scheme,’ and there was none. But
Sir Alexander not only did not come out, he was won over by Forbes of
Culloden to the Hanoverian Cause. ‘I should be sorry,’ says Murray,
‘to have so bad an opinion of mankind as to think any of them cappable
of attempting an apologie for him.’ Murray, in his examination, lied
in Sir Alexander’s interests, saying ‘he always absolutely refused to
have anything to do with the Pretender.’ But, after Preston Pans, Sir
Alexander, moved by that victory, said, in the hearing of Malcolm Macleod
of Raasay, that he would now raise 900 of his clan and march south
to fight for King James. Next morning, however, he received a letter
from Forbes of Culloden, and instantly ‘was quite upon the grave and
thoughtful, and dropt the declared resolution of his own mind.’[68] In
fact, he turned Hanoverian.

Later, in the crisis of the Prince’s wanderings, Sir Alexander was not
at home when his wife, Lady Margaret, connived with Flora Macdonald
to secure Charles’s escape from Skye. Lady Margaret wrote to Forbes
of Culloden that Flora was ‘a foolish girl,’ and thanked God that
_she_ knew nothing of the Prince’s being in hiding near her house. Sir
Alexander, on the other hand, confessed to Forbes that Flora put his
wife ‘in the utmost distress by telling her of the cargo she had brought
from Uist.’[69] It was fortunate for everybody, himself included, that
Sir Alexander was away from home. He wrote the following letter to
Cumberland, confessing nothing:—

             _From Sir Alexander McDonald to H.R.H. giving
                 intelligence of Pretender’s movements_

                                        ‘Sconsar, Isle of Sky, 1746.

    ‘Sir,—This morning Capt. Hodgson remitted to your R. Highness
    all the intelligence I had then got; in rideing a few miles I
    was informed of the Pretender’s whole progress since he landed
    in this island. By the letter remitted to your R.H. he was left
    at Portree, 14 miles from my house near which he landed; at
    Portree he met one Donald McDonald, who was in the Rebellion,
    and who put him into a boat belonging to the Isle of Rasay,
    which feryd him into that island; after staying there 2 nights
    he returned in the same small boat to the neighbourhood of
    Portree, attended by one Malcolm McLeod. That night he and his
    companion lay in a byre; next day (the Pretender in shabby
    man’s apparel since he left Portree) they found their way
    into a part of MacKinnon’s estate, and having found MacKinnon,
    though disguised and lurking himself, he found a boat which
    next day convey’d the Pretender, MacKinnon, and one John
    MacKinnon, into Moror. They sail’d from this island on Saturday
    last. MacKinnon was taken in Moror by a party from Sky, and
    John McK. was this day seized ... they are both on board the
    Furnace and confirm to a trifle the above relation.

                                              ‘ALEX. MACDONALD.’[70]

The Baronet tells as little as may be; he does not implicate Flora, and,
of course, shields his wife. His own position was awkward.

Sir Alexander died in November 1746, when about to visit Cumberland in
England. It is to his credit that he did his best to protect the loyal
Kingsburgh. But his vacillations were extreme, and if he really helped to
corrupt Barisdale, his behaviour is without excuse. ‘Were I to enumerate
the villains and villainies this country abounds in I should never have
done,’ wrote Cumberland to the Duke of Newcastle. ‘Some allowance must be
made for Sir Alexander’s behaviour in the Forty Five,’ says Mr. Fraser
Mackintosh. It was not precisely handsome. The epigram on his death,
which has variants, ran thus:

    If Heaven be glad when sinners cease to sin,
    If Hell be glad when traitors enter in,
    If Earth be glad when ridded of a knave,
    Then all rejoice! Macdonald’s in his grave.




VI

CLUNY’S TREASURE


The bayonets of Cumberland scarcely dealt a deadlier blow at Jacobitism
than the spades which, in gentle and unaccustomed hands, buried the
treasure of French gold at Loch Arkaig. About this fatal hoard, which set
clan against clan, and, literally, brother against brother, something
has been elsewhere said. But the unpublished reports given by spies and
informers in the Cumberland Papers and the Record Office throw a great
deal of unexpected light on the subject.

Our purpose is, first to offer what may be called official statements as
to the original amount and hiding places of the treasure. Next we shall
examine the stories as to the disposition and diffusion of the money.
These will indicate that the charges of ‘embezzlement’ and ‘villainy’
brought by Young Glengarry against men so noted for their loyalty as
Dr. Cameron and Cluny Macpherson are false. In our evidence will occur
the testimony of informers, whose names, as they were persons of no
historical importance, it seems needless to reveal. But their revelations
were employed by Government in securing the condemnation and banishment
of Lochiel’s brother, Cameron of Fassifern.

On the whole subject of the hoard we have several statements by Murray of
Broughton. The least copious is contained in a tract which professes to
be written by a friend of Murray; really it is from his own pen.[71]

Murray, who had been in very bad health since the Prince was in Elgin
before Culloden, found himself skulking with Lochiel in a wood near Loch
Arkaig. He heard at the same moment of Charles’s flight to the isles,
which he condemned, and of the arrival of French ships with money. Most
of the party resolved to scatter, but Lochiel declared ‘that to desert
his Clan was inconsistent with his honour and their interest,’ and, by
his desire, Murray remained with him, ‘unable to refuse the desire of
a person for whom he had such a regard, and with whom he had lived so
many years in the strictest intimacy.’ Major Kennedy, too, though, like
other officers in French service, he might have surrendered safely, most
generously clave to Lochiel. In later years Kennedy recovered for the
Prince a remnant of the French _louis d’or_.

Murray was next carried to the bay opposite Keppoch, where the French
ships were lying. They had been attacked by British vessels of war, but
had previously landed 35,000 _louis d’or_ in six (seven?) casks. One
cask, however, was already missing. The five casks were conveyed to
Murray, and of the stolen cask all but one bag of gold was recovered.
Next day the Duke of Perth, who was dying, with his brother, Lord John
Drummond, Elcho, old Sir Thomas Sheridan, the Prince’s tutor, the younger
Lockhart of Carnwath, and others sailed for France in the ships. Murray
paid Clanranald, Barisdale, and others their arrears, with allowances
for widows and wounded men, out of the French gold. He then sent off the
remainder of the hoard under Archy Cameron’s care, and returned to Loch
Arkaig. Fifteen thousand louis were buried ‘in three several parcels in
the wood,’ and the empty casks were filled with stones, and carried about
with Murray, ‘so as to give no Jelousy to the other Clans of his having
more confidence in the Camerons’ than in them. Near the foot of Loch
Arkaig, Murray caused Dr. Cameron to bury 12,000 louis, reserving about
5,000 for expenses.

Murray travelled south and was captured in Tweeddale. On August 27,
1746, when in the Tower, he wrote to an English official, ‘last time
I had the honour to see you, I offered to lay my hand upon the 15,000
_louis d’or_, and am still certain I can do so, but as the season is now
advancing, and the parties will probably soon be called in, it is not in
that event impossible but the money may be raised.’ (It was ‘raised’ by
Dr. Cameron.) In his Examination (August 13, 1746) Murray had already
betrayed the secret of the casks of gold. But the English could never
discover the treasure.

Elsewhere, in a paper of accounts, Murray tells, in defence of his
pecuniary honesty, all about the disposition of the _louis d’or_.

He accounts for various sums, including 40_l._ to Lochiel, who, like
the gallant gentleman he was, had given every penny in his possession
‘to his own people about.’ Mr. Murray ‘chided him for being too easy to
give money to whoever asked it.’ A sum of 3,868_l._ was buried in the
garden of Mrs. Menzies of Culdairs. This, we presume, was the bulk of the
5,000 louis reserved. Murray corroborates (as in his tract) an anonymous
informant’s story, presently to be given, about the stealing of a cask
of money, and restitution made after confession to Father Harrison. The
penitent however, an Irishman, kept 700_l._, as stated in the anonymous
information. Murray reckons at 15,000_l._ a sum buried near Loch Arkaig,
by Dr. Archibald Cameron, Young Macleod of Neuck, Sir Stewart Threipland,
and Major Kennedy. There were fifteen bags containing 1,000_l._ each;
one parcel was put under a rock, in a burn, and two in holes, near at
hand, dug by the four gentlemen. Another sum of 12,000_l._, in two
parcels, was carried by Dr. Cameron and Mr. Macleod, from Lochiel’s
house of Achnacarry, and buried near the _lower_ end of Loch Arkaig.
Lochiel received 1,520_l._ for the Prince’s immediate needs, and the rest
is scrupulously accounted for the unhappy Secretary. His stories are
consistent throughout.[72]

Another description of the arrival and burial of the gold has never been
published. It is from the Cumberland Papers, and must have been written
about 1749-1750. This is proved by the writer’s mention of Barisdale
as still alive, and in prison. Now young Barisdale (Archibald) is not
meant, for he was not taken till 1753.[73] His father, Coll Macdonnell
of Barisdale, on the other hand, was taken in March 1749, and died in
Edinburgh Castle on June 1, 1750.[74]

We now offer this anonymous intelligence of 1749-1750, as to the arrival,
burial, and later fortunes of the French gold.

      ‘_Intelligence sent to Col. Napier from Scotland about Seven
                     Casks of Money for the Rebels_

    Cumberland Papers. Memoir for Col. Napier.

    ‘Soon after the Battle of Culloden a french privateer anchored
    in Loch Nonha in Arisaig, where Doctor Cameron, Brother to
    Lochiel, Cameron of Dungallen, prisoner in Edr. Castle, and
    many other Rebels were then sculking. One of his Majesties’
    20 gun Ships and 2 Sloops were cruising on the West Coast,
    immediately got intelligence of the privateers, and came up
    and attacked them, but before the action began they had landed
    7 Casks of money and committed it to the Charge of Doctor
    Cameron, who was upon the shore wth. a great many others of the
    Camerons and Mc.Donalds, who flocked from all Corners to see
    the engadgement, and among others Mc.Donald of Barrisdale, now
    prisoner, was also present and Alexd. Mc.Lachlan in Lidderdale
    and Aide-de-Camp to The Pretender.

    ‘When the action was over, The Commander of the Privateers,
    having heard of the Battle of Culloden, insisted to have
    the money put on board again. _But the Rebells beg’d to be
    excused_, and Doctor Cameron conveyed away six of the Casks
    to Loch Morrer, 3 miles from Loch Nonha: (The 7th Cask
    being stole) and there he got a boat and went wth. it to
    the head of ye Loch and from thence got in to Loch arkick;
    And having dismissed all the Country people, He wth. Major
    Kennedy, a french Officer, and Alexd. McLeod son to Mr. John
    McLeod advocate, took the money out of the Casks, and put it
    underground in the head of Locharkick, in the midle of a Wood.

    ‘There was £6 or 7,000 st. in each Cask, All put up in separate
    Bags, £1,000 in Each bag. They afterwards carried away the
    empty Casks themselves (none being present but the 3 persons
    above named) and when at a considerable distance from the place
    where the Money was hid, They caused the Country people put
    them under ground in a different place in order to deceive.

    ‘After this was over, All persons were employed to enquire
    after the Cask that was stole during the engadgement. And by
    the Assistance and authority of a priest (Father Harrison)
    who is great in that country (all Roman Catholics) the money
    was recovered except £700, and That is still amissing, ... It
    is not well known what became of this broken Cask afterwards
    But Dr. Cameron had the Manadgement of it and all the rest,
    and it is imagined That The money divided at the meeting with
    Lovat, at the head of Loch arkick, was part of it, and £3,000
    was given to one Donald Cameron at Strontian to Conceal, wch
    he again delivered to The Doctor, but got not one shilling
    for himself. [Is this the money hidden at Culdares?] Severals
    of the Country people got each a Louis d’or and some of their
    gentlemen got each 2 or 3 and that was all the Distribution
    made among the Camerons.

    ‘His Majestie’s troops afterwards search’d the woods of
    Locharkick for this money, and were often round the place
    where it was, and missed very narrowly finding it, for being
    hid by Gentlemen, not used to work, it was very unskilfully
    done, and the stamps and impression of their feet visible
    about the place. But as soon as Dr. Cameron found a proper
    opportunity, He went and took up the money and hid it in two
    different places of the wood. In one of them he put 12,000_l._,
    wch he shewed to his own son, and another man, That in case
    he was taken, it might not be lost altogether, and the other
    part he put in a place which he shewed to nobody. And thus it
    remained till a Ship arriv’d in Loch Nonha to carry off the
    Pretender &c. When the above Ship arriv’d He (the Pretender)
    was sckulking in one of the Glens of Brad Badenoch where he
    had been for some time conceal’d in a place under ground, with
    Lochiel, Cluny Mcpherson, and some other person. Upon receiving
    Intelligence of the arrival of this Ship, It seems it was
    concerted That Cluny should remain in Scotland and have the
    Charge of the money. And having come all together from Badenoch
    to Locharkick, they got Dr. Cameron, who went and shew’d Cluny
    the 2 different places where the money was: Left him in that
    Country, and the rest went and embarked with the Pretender in
    Loch Nonha. Whether there was any of the bags then taken up (as
    is probable) carried with them, or how many, is what I am not
    informed of.

    ‘But Certain it is that Cluny immediately after Carried the
    £12,000 to Badenoch And there were in Company wth. him Angus
    Cameron (of Downan) a Rannoch Man, brother to Gleneavis,
    McPherson of Breachy (Breakachy), a brother in Law of his own,
    and his piper.

    ‘The other part of the money, was shew’d to no Living but
    himself, and he either did not find an opportunity, or did not
    think convenient to come for it, untill a month afterwards,
    when he came and carried it also away, but I am not justly
    Informed who were wth. him, nor how much was of it, tho’ It is
    generally believed That he got betwixt £20 and £30,000 in all.

    ‘It is said by Cluny’s Friends that the Pretender, after
    embarking, sent a note to Cluny with particular instructions
    how he was to manadge the money and to whom he was to give
    any part of it,[75] and _they say that he has conformed in
    the most exact manner to his Instructions_, but The other
    Rebells in the highlands grumble egregiously That he has not
    done them justice. I have only heard That he gave £100 to Lady
    Keppoch[76] and have reason to think That if he made any other
    distributions it was to some other of the principall Gentlemen
    of The Different Clans, to be given away among their people,
    and that those have thought fit to retain all to themselves.

    ‘I know it is strongly suspected that Cameron of Gleneavis,
    whose Brother (Angus) was wth Cluny at Carrying away the
    £12,000, has received a Large proportion by some means or
    other, and there is great reason to think so, as he was almost
    bankrupt before the rebellion and is now shewing away in a very
    different manner, particularly This year about a month ago,
    there were 120 Louis d’ors sent from him to a man in Locharkeek
    to buy Cattle for him; and some of the Camerons having lately
    threatened to be resented of him for his behaviour about yt
    money, he met with them, and parted good friends, which is
    supposed to have been done by giving them considerably.

    ‘Barrisdale tells that Cole or Major Kennedy was to embark much
    about the same time yt he came from France, was to land on the
    West Coast in order to meet with Cluny, and carry away the
    money, but I have not yet learned any thing wth regard to him,
    And am apt to believe That he has rather landed on the Eastern
    Coast and my reasons for this Conjecture are: That one Samuel
    Cameron (Brother to The above men’d Cameron of Gleneavis) Major
    in the Regt. which was Lochiel’s in the French Service, was at
    Edr. and came in a Chaise with the famous Mrs. Jean Cameron
    to Stirling, where they parted, and she came to her house in
    Morvern about the middle of March, and he took some different
    route: It is supposed That he came over on a message wth.
    regard to that money, and I the rather believe it as his two
    brothers seem to have been concerned in it, and I am apt to
    think that Kennedy and he have come together, but this is only
    my own conjecture. Another reason which induces me to believe
    That he would Chuse to land on the E. coast is That Cluny would
    not probably Like to march with that money or trust himself
    among the highlanders, who would probably not let it pass
    without partaking liberally.

    ‘It has been said That the French Officer Cameron came to Mrs.
    Jean Cameron’s, but I am certain he has not come, else I would
    have got Intelligence of him, for I have had a sharp look
    out for him and all others of that Kind. And I think he would
    not probably venture so near the Command and specially after
    hearing of Barrisdale’s fate’ (taken in March 1749).

    ‘It is said That his Two Brothers and Cluny have differed
    about the money, and therefore Cluny would not see this French
    Officer nor trust him wth anything and some say He is gone back
    again, but how far This is true I can’t positively determine.

    ‘The above is all that I have been able to learn wth regard to
    that money from first to last, and I am much convinced that the
    Substance of it is true.’

                                                         [Unsigned.]

Even before the probable date of this intelligence, Government knew that
Cluny’s fidelity to his trust had embittered his relations with the
Camerons of Glenevis and Glengarry’s people. There is a curious anonymous
note of January 26, 1748,[77] written by a man who could spell, and was
something of a scholar. ‘_Scyphax_,’ he says, ‘is still in the country
and there are disturbances between him and the _Dorians_ and _Ætolians_
over the goods left by the _Young Mogul_.’ Scyphax is Cluny, the Dorians
are the Camerons, the Ætolians are the Glengarrys; the Young Mogul is
Prince Charles: ‘Nothing but stealing and plundering prevails in all
quarters here.’ The writer may have been a Presbyterian minister.

The author of the long letter of intelligence is unknown, but he can
hardly have been an English officer, like Ensign Small, who did much
secret service in the Highlands. _His_ name is always signed to his
Reports, as when he tried to catch Lochgarry on shipboard, in 1753.
The information, however obtained, is accurate, and, so far, entirely
exculpates Cluny from the various unpleasant accusations brought by his
enemies.[78] Major Kennedy really went from France to Newcastle, and
received 6,000_l._ for Charles, a sum conveyed to him, at what peril we
may imagine, by Macpherson of Breakachy.[79]

We now consider the various accounts given of embezzlement by Dr. Cameron
and Cluny. It is certain that, in November or December, 1749, Young
Glengarry, Lochgarry, and Dr. Cameron were in Cluny’s country, that
they handled the treasure, that they quarrelled, and that they carried
their dispute before the exiled James in Rome. Dr. Cameron accused
Young Glengarry of obtaining the money by a forged order from James;
while Glengarry charged Cluny and the Doctor with ‘embezzlement’ and
‘villainy.’ Cameron, he said, declared that the Royal Family had given
up all hopes of a restoration, and told the Highlanders that they must
now shift for themselves. He also took 6,000 louis d’or of the Prince’s
money, ‘and I am credibly informed,’ says Glengarry, ‘that he designs to
lay this money in the hands of a merchant in Dunkirk, and enter partners
with him.’[80] Again, in an undated letter to Charles, of about March
1751, Glengarry denounces the embezzlement and ‘villainy’ of Cluny and
Dr. Cameron.[81] He acknowledges having taken ‘a trifle’ himself. Another
account, clearly from a Macdonnell source, occurs in old Gask’s hand,
among his papers.[82] Dr. Cameron is here, as by Glengarry, credited
with absorbing 6,000_l._, while Cameron of Glenevis is said to have
‘intercepted’ 3,000_l._, and Cluny, ‘for his estate’ gets 10,000_l._ This
reads like a variant of Young Glengarry’s tale told to Bishop Forbes in
April 1752. According to that version, Cluny and Lochiel took security
from Charles for the full value of their estates before they joined the
Royal Standard. This full value is the 10,000_l._ which Cluny is said to
have ‘embezzled.’

[Illustration: _Walker & Boutall, ph. sc._

_Prince Charles_

_circ. 1747._]

Now the only independent evidence against Dr. Cameron is contained in
a letter of his uncle, Cameron of Torcastle, to Prince Charles.[83]
In this Torcastle denies that he himself touched the money, and avers
that he knew nothing of it, till Dr. Cameron ‘told it himself at Rome,
where I happened to be at the time’ (1750). This letter is singularly
inconsistent with another unpublished letter from Douay, of August
28, 1751. The epistle was intended for Cameron of Glenevis, but was
intercepted by Colonel Crawfurd, Governor of Fort William. The Colonel
attributed its authorship to Cameron of Torcastle, and if the attribution
be correct, the letter contradicts Torcastle’s accusations of his
nephew, Dr. Cameron. Whoever the author of the Douay letter may be, he
speaks of ‘the industrious malicious designs and scandalous untruths,
publicly handed about against Lochiel’s family by Gl⸺ry.’ ‘Chalmers (Dr.
Cameron) knows very well that when truth comes out, these people will
fall with scandal into the trap they have contrived for others.... All
that Chalmers (Dr. Cameron) saw or had access to _was his expenses_.’ The
writer then speaks of the ‘unprecedented method Gl⸺ry &c. took to get att
their sinister ends,’ and about Gl⸺ry’s misrepresentations of Chalmers
to Mr. Young,’ the Prince. Singular irritation against Lochgarry is also
expressed.[84]

On this showing Dr. Cameron got no 6,000_l._, but only his expenses. Now,
that Dr. Cameron should receive his expenses was perfectly legitimate.
But, if he took 6,000_l._, as Young Glengarry declares, his character
is lost. In 1750, 6,000_l._ was a fortune. Dr. Carlyle, writing of
that time, speaks about a minister who married a lady with a tocher of
4,000_l._, which then was equivalent to an estate. When executed in
June 1753, Dr. Cameron left his family destitute. Consequently he cannot
have helped himself to 6,000_l._, and put it into commerce, as Glengarry
alleged. That he did nothing of the sort, we have the very curious
evidence of an Informer in 1753. This man, declaring that he is afraid of
being informed against by Young Glengarry, informs against him. He says,
in his information:

‘In Sep. 1749 Dr. Cameron told him (the Informer) he had come over to get
some money on behalf of Lochiel’s Family; That Fassfarn got from Clunie
£6,000, took it to Edinburgh the following winter, and put it in the
hands of John Mc.Farlane, W.S.[85] Dr. Cameron at the same time got £350:
and Fassfarn £400 more to be employed in making good certain claims on
the estate of Lochiel.

‘Says he saw Dr. Cameron a day or two after, who denied either he or
Fassfarn had got any money, alledging that Cluny would not give it
without orders from the Old Pretender: That the Doctor was off to Rome
(1750) to get these, with only £100 for expenses. That the following
winter he (the Informer) met Young Glengarry, who disproved this by
giving him a copy of the Accounts in Clunie’s writing of all the money.’

Here follows Young Glengarry’s _alleged_ copy of Cluny’s accounts:—

‘_A State of Clunie McPherson’s Intromissions_

                                                                 £   s. d.

    ‘By Cash given Dr. Cameron and Fassfern, _secured
               with Fassfern for use of young Lochiel_         6,000  0 0
        ”    sent to Lochiel by Angus Cameron and
               Donald Drummond, brother to Bohaldie            1,000  0 0
        ”    given the Dr. when last in Scotland to carry
               his Charges to and from Rome                      350  0 0
        ”    at 2 different times by Angus Cameron to
               the Clan Cameron and others needy                 800  0 0
        ”    charged by Clunie for his Estate                  5,000  0 0
        ”        ”       ”     for his Commission              1,000  0 0
        ”        ”       ”     for 30 Men from September
                                 1746-Sep. 1749.               1,627 10 0
        ”    charged by Clunie as his pay, at half a-guinea
               per diem during said time                         542 10 0
        ”    charged by Clunie as Maintenance of his Family    1,400  0 0
        ”    charged by Clunie for Brechachow (Breakachie)       800  0 0
        ”    given to young Glengarry Nov. 1749                  300  0 0
        ”    given by Clunie to his Clan                         500  0 0
        ”        ”    Fassfern to pay Publick Burdens
                        on Lochiel’s Estates, viz. Cess
                        and Teinds due by the Tenants            200  0 0
        ”    given Fassfern to defray the Expences in
               carrying on the Claims on Lochiel’s Estate        100  0 0
        ”    Alleged by Clunie to be in Angus Cameron’s hands    500  0 0
        ”    in Clunie’s hands                                 4,880  0 0
                                                             ------------
                                                             £25,000  0 0
                                                             ============

    ‘N.B.—Young Glengary got £1,900 at Edinburgh from Mr. Mc.Dougald
    at the sight of Mr. John Mc.Cleod of Nuck, Advocate, of which
    Glencarney got £80 and Glencoe £50. But this money had no
    connection with Clunie’s Intromissions, having been carried
    to the South by Mr. John Murray.’[86] [Part of the 5,000 louis
    kept by Murray?]

According to this statement, said to be produced as Cluny’s, Dr. Cameron
did _not_ receive 6,000_l._ for himself. The money went to the support of
the exiled family of Lochiel, who had died in 1748. The large claims made
by Cluny rest, as before, on the word of Young Glengarry.

In May 1753, Fassifern himself, then a prisoner in Edinburgh Castle,
was examined. He declined to give any evidence against anybody on any
charge. He admitted that in 1749 he received 4,000_l._ from Evan Cameron
of Drumsallie, now dead, for Lochiel’s family. He asked no questions, but
deposited it with Mr. Macfarlane, W.S., who lent it out to Wedderburn of
Gosford, in Fassifern’s name. Fassifern acted as a near relation for his
exiled nephew, Lochiel’s son.

Thus the money which Dr. Cameron is said to have seized, was used for
the support of Charles’s best friends, the family of his most renowned
adherent. So vanishes the charge that Dr. Cameron speculated with the
money.[87]

As to Cluny’s retention of money, the same difficulty occurs as in the
case of Dr. Cameron. He arrived in France a destitute exile, when, by
Charles’s command, he ceased to skulk in the caves of Ben Alder, and
crossed to join the Prince in 1754. There is no trace of the value of an
estate in his possession, though Charles, in ordinary gratitude, owed
him much more than he is said to have claimed. Thus it is certain that
Archibald Cameron did not help himself to the Prince’s money; while the
story about Cluny is inconsistent both with his honourable poverty and
with figures, for these accounts make no allowance for 6,000 louis,
certainly conveyed to Charles by Major Kennedy. The whole scandal rests
merely on the word of Young Glengarry.[88]




VII

THE TROUBLES OF THE CAMERONS


This affair of the treasure caused endless calamities, especially
involving Cameron of Glenevis, a place within two or three miles of
Fort William. The relationship of this family to the head of the clan,
Lochiel, stands thus: Archibald Cameron of Dungallon, who died in 1719,
was the husband of Isabel Cameron of Lochiel. By her he left two sons and
three daughters, of whom Jean married Dr. Archibald Cameron of Lochiel,
the last Jacobite martyr; while Mary married Alexander Cameron of Glen
Nevis.[89] Glenevis, or Glen Nevis, was not out in the Rising of 1745,
but he was imprisoned in 1746, and released in 1747.[90]

The house of the Camerons of Glenevis, according to Mr. Mackenzie’s
‘History of the Camerons,’ was of very ancient standing. It was
‘generally at feud with Lochiel, and this feeling of antagonism came down
even to modern times. Indeed, it has been maintained that the Glenevis
family were _originally not Camerons at all, but Macdonalds_, who
settled there under the Macdonalds of the Isles, before the Camerons had
any hold on the district.’ They are also spoken of as Macsorlies. However
this genealogical point may be settled, there was no love lost between
Glenevis and Young Glengarry.

The Glenevis family, though not overtly engaged for the Cause, suffered
from the brutalities of the victors. In spite of Glenevis’s abstinence
from the Rising, his family was persecuted. Mrs. Archibald Cameron
communicated to Bishop Forbes a lamentable story of how her sister,
Glenevis’s wife, was stripped by Cumberland’s men, under Caroline Scott,
and only permitted to keep a single petticoat. Her little son’s gold
buttons and gold lace were cut off his coat, and the child was wounded
by the knife.[91] This story, which has contemporary evidence from the
lips of Lady Glenevis’s sister, Mrs. Archibald Cameron, has received the
usual picturesque embroidery of Highland tradition. Dr. Stewart (‘Nether
Lochaber’) got the tale from some ladies named Macdonald, in this
fashion: the infuriated soldiery, finding none of the plate and jewels
which Lady Glenevis had buried, observed a bulky object under her plaid.
Slashing with swords at the plaid, to discover the supposed treasure,
they wounded the lady’s baby, a child of a few months old. Mrs. Cameron’s
less romantic version, if either, is correct.[92] The brothers of
Glenevis were Allan, who fell at Culloden—_felix opportunitate mortis_;
Angus of Dunan or Downan, in Rannoch; and that unhappy Samuel, called
Crookshanks, whom Dr. Cameron, before his execution, denounced as ‘the
basest of spies.’ He was in French service, but was drummed out, after
Dr. Cameron’s death.

In October 1751, Colonel Crawfurd, commanding at Fort William, received
from head-quarters information about Glenevis’s and Angus’s share in
the treasure. Fassifern, Lochiel’s brother and representative, was also
denounced. The Colonel took to the duties of policeman with a will, and
the following letter from him describes his arrest of the accused:—

                _From Lieut.-Col. Crawfurd to Churchill_

    Cumberland Papers.

                                        Fort William: Oct. 12, 1751.

    ... ‘When I received the Packet from the Express, I without
    hesitation affected a surprise and concern at receiving the
    news of our Cloaths being stranded, and pretended to consult
    him about the nearest way through the Hills to Aberdeen, near
    which Place I saw the misfortune had happened; this answerd
    extremely well in blinding our good Neighbours in the Town of
    Maryburgh,[93] who are for the greatest part ready enough to
    give Intelligence to the Country, of any Movements made by the
    Garrison. I then employed Captn. Jones to execute the warrant
    upon Fassifarn, and that he might be at no loss in not knowing
    the Man or the Country, I sent Mr. Gardiner along with him,
    whose zeal and readiness to assist you are no strangers to.
    They pretended to go in the German Boat on a fishing scheme,
    and turning up Lochiel, they soon got to his house, and secured
    him and every Thing of Paper Kind, bringing all to the Garrison.

    ‘As soon as they were set out for Fassifarn I pretended to take
    a walk out of the Garrison, to see if I coud make a purchase
    of Hay for my Horses, and taking Mr. Douglas, the Sheriff
    substitute, out with me,[94] by way of shewing me the Road and
    Country, I allowed only two more officers to accompany me, that
    we might give no suspicion of our Intentions, which would have
    been soon discovered had I allowed more or sent a Party.

    ‘However, notwithstanding these precautions, we were told
    at going to the House, that Glen Nevis was walk’d out with
    his Brother in Law, Dungallon, and still persisting that
    we shoud be glad to see Glen Nevis, to talk with him about
    his Hay, I prevailed on his wife to send a messenger for
    him into the Fields, which having done I took care, that
    no other Intelligence should go from the House, and then
    proceeded to search for his Papers: but I soon perceived that
    a Consciousness of Guilt, had made him secrete almost every
    Paper, and the hearing that Dungallon[95] had come to his
    House in the Middle of the preceeding Night, confirmed me
    in my suspicions that we should see no more of Glen Eves or
    Dungallon. I then ordered the Parties who were in readiness to
    go round the Hill, and come down upon the Head of the Glen,
    making a strict search, but it was to no purpose. You’ll please
    to observe that Dungallon, by way of blinding Douglas, had
    wrote him on the Wednesday, that it woud be some Days before he
    coud be in this part of the Country, and yet that very night,
    near the middle of it, did he come to Glen Eves’ house, and for
    what Intention may be easily guessed.

    ‘It is however some satisfaction that notwithstanding the pains
    they have been at, to conceal their treasonable practices,
    yet by their remissness I have found some Old Letters among
    Cloaths, which will greatly help to put their transactions
    in a proper light, and part of wch I have now enclosed for
    your perusal. [The letters enclosed are not in the Cumberland
    Papers.] The Letter I have marked No. 1. is a Letter from Glen
    Evis to his brother Angus Cameron, in the beginning of which
    you’ll see that Fassifarn and he are not in concert, and that
    Fassifarn complains of them both, as I imagine for having got
    too great a share of the money, and Glen Eves’ hint to Angus
    is, not to look upon Fassifarn as his friend.

    ‘In No. 2. You see Angus in his proper Colours appointing the
    Congress with Cluny (in December 1749); and it would not be
    amiss that the Name of the Place, Catlaick, should be well
    observed on that worthy Gentleman’s Account. You see that
    Loch Gary was in the Country, and on what accounts; likewise
    the errand of young Glengary. Whether the “Crookshanks” there
    aludes to Cluny as a Cant word for his having a wry Neck, or to
    a Brother of Glen Evis [Samuel, the spy] who is an officer in
    the French Service, and has crooked legs, I am not certain, but
    I believe it is to the Latter.

    ‘You will likewise observe by this letter that a correction is
    to be made in the key of your Intercepted Letter, that Angus is
    Brother to Glen Eves and not to Fassifarn. I daresay you are no
    stranger to the part that Angus has Acted from the beginning in
    relation to the great Money Affair, and that no one excepting
    Cluny knows more of it. I am fully persuaded that Mrs. Chalmers
    (Mrs. Archibald Cameron) is charged with orders upon his Bank
    stock, however unwilling he may be to part with it⸺’

On October 14, Glenevis tired of hiding, and surrendered himself to
Crawfurd. No harm was found in Fassifern’s papers, which had been seized,
and he, with Angus MacIan, a brother (or half-brother) of Lochgarry, was
admitted to bail.

On October 22, Colonel Crawfurd wrote an account of Glenevis’s
examination to Churchill, who forwarded it to the Duke of Newcastle. Now
we must ask how Government, which in 1749-50 knew only the anonymous
account of the treasure already quoted, was, in 1751, informed that
Lochgarry, Young Glengarry, Cameron of Glenevis, and his brother Angus,
had meddled with the spoil in December 1749? Readers of ‘Pickle the Spy’
will remember that Pickle (that is, _ex hypothesi_, Young Glengarry)
dates his services as a paid informer from 1750-51. Young Glengarry,
then, may have been himself the source of the intelligence about the
plunder, and that, as we shall see, was the strong opinion of Glenevis.

In any case this is the earliest hint of suspicion against the honour
of Young Glengarry which we have encountered. The eternal feud of
Macdonnells and Camerons may have suggested the notion of Glengarry’s
treachery to the mind of Glenevis; Cluny being out of the question, and
he not knowing any one out of prison, except Young Glengarry, who had the
necessary information. Glenevis’s brother, Angus, and Angus MacIan were
in prison with himself, and Lochgarry was with his regiment in France.

Crawfurd says of Glenevis, and his suspicions:

‘He seems to think that all the Intelligence procured against him has
been by means of Young Glengary: this you may believe I am at no great
pains to desuade him from, as the greater Enmity gives the better chance
of your coming at truth. He does not deny but that his brother, (Angus)
Lochgary, Young Glengary, Angus Mc.Ian and he went into Badenoch in the
winter 1749, after the Troops were gone from thence, with a view of
meeting Clunie, but that while Lochgary, and young Glengary had their
Interview at a sheiling opposite to Dalwhinnie, he was desired by Clunie
to keep at the House of Dalwhinnie till sent for; and that neither Angus
nor he coud be allowd to speak with him, tho he sent repeated messages
by Clunie’s Piper, and a young Brother of Clunie’s. That he lay in the
same Room with Young Glengary at Dalwhinnie, and early in the morning,
the young Brother of Clunie brought Glengary a Bag which might contain
two or three Hundred guineas, and counted them out to him, and that he
understood Glengary got, in the whole, by that expedition about Two
Thousand;[96] he farther says that the money remitted abroad by Cluny
was carried away by his Brother in Law Mc.Pherson of Brechachie to Major
Kennedy in the North of England....’ (So Gask also says.)

On October 31, Crawfurd again writes to Churchill. He had recommended on
October 21, that Angus Cameron ‘should be allowed the quiet enjoyment
of his treasure.’ He now remarks that Glenevis has been admitted to
bail. ‘He says, in the Scotch phrase, that _it is hard, to have both the
skaith and the scorn_’—that is, to be molested, though he has not got
much of the French gold. ‘He blames his brother Angus for having acted
a weak and foolish part in quitting (parting) with so great a share of
the money that had fallen into his hands, which, he says, did not exceed
£2,500, tho’ most people call it £3,000, and of which he knew his brother
had paid £1,000 for the use of Lochiel soon after his going to France’
(1746). Next we find a repetition of Glenevis’s charges against Young
Glengarry, as his betrayer. The accusation, too, that Young Glengarry
forged King James’s name (alluded to by James in a letter to the Prince,
March 17, 1750, as a story reported by Archy Cameron) is urged by
Glenevis.

‘He (Glenevis) still continues full of resentment against Young Glengary,
believing that he is the Author of all the information against him and
his Brother Angus, not being able to account for our knowledge of the
Badenoch meeting in any other way. He confirms what I wrote of the young
Gentleman in my last, only that the £2,000 was not of Clunie’s money, but
of what was left by the Secretary Murray in the hands of Mr. Mc.Douel
his brother in Law, and that his credentials for receiving the money was
from the old Pretender, _but that he was sure they were forged_.’ They
certainly _were_ forged.

One thing is to be observed about Glenevis’s doubts of Young Glengarry.
In this year, 1751, and onwards, that hero was allowed by Government to
live in London, in Beaufort Buildings, Strand, whence he communicated
with Charles and James, as a strenuous Jacobite agent. His letters are
printed by Browne from the Stuart MSS. Yet Government, if only from
Glenevis’s evidence just given, knew that Glengarry was at least as
guilty as Glenevis and his brother of the only crime charged against them
on this occasion—namely, dealing with French gold that had been landed
for the use of Prince Charles. Where the treason to King George came in,
unless they were using the money for Jacobite purposes, or depriving his
Majesty of spoils of war, or of treasure trove, does not appear. Yet
the Camerons, Glenevis, Dunan, Fassifern, were all kept in durance at
Port William, while Young Glengarry, implicated in their vague offence,
was permitted to live, and even to make love, in London. To this point
we return later (p. 207). Government had their own reasons for sparing
Glengarry, while punishing his accomplices. These accomplices, again,
averred that Glengarry had ‘peached’ upon them, as doubtless he had. The
Camerons were released, but before very long, they and Fassifern were
all imprisoned again in Edinburgh Castle, on a charge of treasonable
dealings with the attainted. This was part of a plan of Government’s for
‘uprooting’ Fassifern, who represented the exiled Young Lochiel in the
eyes of the Clan. The action of Government makes another chapter in the
history of the sufferings after Culloden. Meanwhile the casks of louis
d’or had done their task, and sown among the Clans the dragon’s teeth
of distrust and of calumny. We cannot tell where the remainder of the
gold went, though Cluny probably took what was left over to France, in
1754, as Charles commanded him to do, getting no more for his trouble,
perhaps, than did poor Duncan Cameron in Strontian—‘not a shilling.’ As
for Glenevis and his brother, they seem to have finally been fobbed off
with the skaith and the scorn, and with very little else but the company
of Colonel Crawfurd, so anxious to talk about their hay crop.

Such is an example of Highland life after Culloden. There are midnight
meetings at lonely sheilings, there is digging and delving by hands that
knew the claymore better than the spade. Letters are opened in the post
office, secret murmurs fly about carrying charges of indefinite guilt,
reported by unknown spies. No man can put confidence in another: each
neighbour _may_ have been bullied or bribed into babbling, and, when
the laird sees the English colonel saunter along the avenue, Highland
hospitality struggles in his heart with a natural inclination to drop
out of a back window, and steal up the glen into the hills. A gentleman
is apt to be less often on his estates than in Fort William prison or in
Edinburgh Castle. No wonder that many joined the new Highland regiments
when they were raised, and preferred King George’s pay to domiciliary
visits from King George’s colonels!




VIII

JUSTICE AFTER CULLODEN

_The Uprooting of Fassifern_


The years 1752-1754 were full of trouble for Highlanders. The Prince was
intriguing desperately with Scotland, and with Prussia. The Elibank Plot
was matured and betrayed. Dr. Cameron and Lochgarry were stirring up
the Clans. Cluny remained as untakable as Abd-el-Kader. The Government
were alarmed at once by Pickle, by their ambassadors abroad, and by
Count Kaunitz. The Forfeited Estates had been nationalised, ‘for the
improvement of the Highlands,’ factors had been appointed to raise and
collect rents: evictions were threatened; agrarian discontent had been
aroused; Campbell of Glenure had been shot in the wood of Lettermore.[97]
The reports of all these things flew from township to township, from
strath to strath, as fleetly as the fiery cross. The Highlands, in 1752,
were boiling like a caldron. Old tenants were being turned out that men
of a hostile Whiggish clan might occupy their hereditary holdings.
Ensign Small, an officer who knew Gaelic, and was engaged in secret
service, found murmurs of a rising even in the Islands. The Duke of
Newcastle was jotting down alarmed notes, ‘to be at any expense in order
to find out where the Young Pretender is. Lord Anson to have Fregates
upon the Scotch and Irish coast.’[98]

The consequence of this official flutter was a crowd of arrests and
trials. James Stewart, on a charge of being accessory to Glenure’s
slaying, was, to speak plain words, judicially murdered. He was confined
in Fort William, and denied access to his advisers; the charges and
evidence against him were kept from him till too late, he had a jury of
hostile Campbells at Inveraray, the Duke on the bench, and he was hanged
as accessory to a murder in which the alleged principal was not before
the Court. Political necessities and clan hatred killed James Stewart
(1752).

In 1753 Dr. Cameron was caught, and hanged in London, denouncing as
informer his kinsman, Samuel Cameron. The famed Sergeant Mohr Cameron
was taken (by treachery, General Stuart hints and tradition proclaims;
both are right), and he ‘died for the law.’ His alleged crime was cattle
theft, but, as a sergeant in French service, he was probably regarded as
a Jacobite agent. The Sergeant was captured in mid-April, 1753: a few
days later Angus Cameron, brother of Glenevis, was taken at the same
place, his house of Dunan or Downan, in Rannoch. On May 6 Fassifern,
Charles Stewart, writer in Banavie, Fassifern’s agent, and Glenevis,
were lodged, with Angus Cameron, in Edinburgh Castle. On July 7 Young
Barisdale, Young Morar, and others, were culled like flowers at Lochourn,
while Young John Macdonnell, ‘Spanish John,’ was also arrested.

Of all these, the most important prisoner was Fassifern. He had been
taken, as we saw, in October 1751, and released, as nothing could be
found against him in the affair of the Cluny Treasure. He was Lochiel’s
brother and representative, and consequently chief, for the time, of the
Camerons. He had not been out in Forty-five. A man of commerce, a burgess
of Glasgow, he had tried to dissuade Lochiel from exposing himself to the
dangerous charm of the Prince. But he was naturally anxious to save as
much as possible of Lochiel’s estate for the family. There were several
lawful claims on it, which Government was bound to respect and he to
press. Moreover he, with ‘Glenevegh’ (Glenevis), had been denounced
by Pickle as agents between the Southern and Northern Jacobites.[99]
In addition to all this, Fassifern was trying to keep the old Cameron
tenants, Jacobites, in their holdings, and evict tenants who had the bad
taste to be Whigs.

As early as May 1751 he had been denounced for these offences by Captains
Johnston and Mylne, of the Buffs, in garrison at Inversnaid. ‘He falls
on ways,’ writes an informer whose letter they forward, ‘of turning out
any from their possessions, who he knows to be well affected to His
Majesty.’ He encourages Jacobites to settle near the forts, for the
purpose of a sudden assault.[100] He has ‘plenty of the Pretender’s
money’ to use for these purposes. Clan sentiment, not Jacobitism, may
have influenced Fassifern, and Glenevis, at least, was hardly the man to
play the part of Jacobite agent.

The original charge against Fassifern in May 1753 was that of
‘correspondence with persons attainted.’ But the game of the Government
was to get rid of him on any pretext. Colonel Crawfurd had come from Fort
William to Edinburgh, and, on June 4, 1753, wrote a long letter to the
Lord Justice Clerk. ‘The uprooting of Fassifern,’ he says, with candour,
‘is what we ought chiefly to have in view.’[101] He has found witnesses,
or rather has heard of them (it seems kinder to omit the names of these
gentlemen), who avow that Fassifern tampered with them to threaten
the late Glenure’s wife, and to murder Glenure. That unlucky man was
factor for Lochiel’s as well as for Ardsheil’s forfeited estate, and was
expected to evict Cameron tenants. ‘The Lord Advocate said that, if this
did not hang Fassiefairn, it would at least send him to Nova Scotia.’
Perhaps, the Colonel thinks, Breakachie may be induced to inform against
Fassifern! That culprit has only sent 100_l._ to Lochiel’s family in
France, and has made Lochiel’s tenants work on his estate, instead of on
the county roads.

These last were not hanging matters. And, somehow, Breakachie, a
perfectly loyal gentleman, and kinsman of Cluny’s, did not give the
desired information. The witnesses as to the suborning of Glenure’s
murder by Fassifern would not kiss the book, or, perhaps, had never
promised their evidence at all. Angus Cameron and Glenevis were
discharged on bail, on July 3. No proof of treasonable correspondence,
or suborned murder, or anything else existed, or could be found
against Fassifern. Pickle, of course, could not be produced in Court.
The Colonel does not conceal the discomfort of his reflections, and
Government is perplexed as to the details of the process of ‘uprooting’
the representative of Lochiel. On June 10 Fassifern and Charles Stewart
petitioned that they might be put on their trial. But what were they to
be tried for? It was an awkward situation.

The resources of civilisation, however, were not exhausted. On August 6
the Duke of Argyll came to Edinburgh and, next day, took his seat in the
Court of Session.

That day the Lord Advocate sprang a fresh charge on the accused.
They might not have been holding treasonable correspondence, or even
suborning murder, but they had been mixed up in—forgery! The Lord
Advocate suspected that certain deeds had been forged, to substantiate
claims made by Fassifern on Lochiel’s estate. These claims rested on
old papers and bonds of various dates, from 1713 to 1748. There was
‘credible information’ (how obtained we shall learn) that five of these
deeds were forged. Fassifern’s lawyer, Mr. Macfarlane (husband of pretty
Mrs. Macfarlane who shot the Captain), had no longer the vouchers, the
original papers from which he drew up the claims. These vouchers had been
in a bag at Mr. Macfarlane’s house; but ‘some time in Summer’ (1752)
Fassifern (being in Edinburgh) had sent for the bag, and had returned it
in a few hours.

The papers were no longer in it. Fassifern, being examined, could
remember having abstracted no such deeds as interested the Court. Next
day Fassifern asked for a copy of his statement, ‘as he was apprehensive
he might have inadvertently fallen into some mistakes in the hurry of
the examination, which he was extremely desirous to rectify.’ The Lords
refused his petition: he might have a copy of his examination ‘when he
is brought upon trial.’ Next day he was charged with being guilty, or
‘art and part in forging the deeds, or of using them, knowing them to be
forged.’ He was to be detained in prison till his trial.

He protested that he had already lain in prison for three months, on
a charge (Pickle’s) of ‘being privy to unlawful designs carried on by
disaffected persons’—namely, a rising to follow on the kidnapping of
the Royal Family. He ‘has reason to believe that no such prosecution
is seriously intended,’ which is pretty obvious, Pickle not being
producible, but absent, at that very hour, in France, with Prince
Charles! Moreover Fassifern was not told on whose information he was
examined, though he was ‘heckled’ for several hours.

The charge of forgery was, in fact, based, as usual, on the evidence of
an Informer, whom we need not name. Here is a report of his accusations:—

‘... Says he has been certainly informed that Fassfarn caused Forge
several Grounds of Debt, in Order to be the Foundation of Claims upon the
Estate of Lochiel, some of which were written by Charles Stewart present
prisoner in the Castle, and Lochiel’s name was Forged by one Allan
Cameron of Landavrae, who could write like him, and there were Forced
Discharges by Lochiel to his Tenants for Crops in 1746 and Proceedings in
Order to prevent the Government from getting payment of the Rent of 1746
and arrears.’

Says on knowing this he ‘instantly told Crawfurd’!

Now even the Government’s plea against Fassifern says no word of ‘forged
discharges of Lochiel to his tenants!’[102]

The interest of this case is partly the mystery—had Fassifern really
been concerned in tampering with documents?—partly the procedure, which
we know had political motives, and was iniquitous in method. As to
Fassifern’s guilt, if any, we are not likely to learn the truth; as to
the kind of justice he got—there can only be one opinion.

On August 10 Fassifern was ‘ordained’ to receive a full copy of his
examination. He was anxious that the evidence of an aged solicitor,
Alexander Stewart, in Appin, a man over eighty, and unable to travel,
should be taken by commission. This Stewart had written, or witnessed,
several of the old disputed deeds, and was the only person alive able
to testify, of his own knowledge, to their authenticity. Fassifern also
remonstrated against being described, in the Lord Advocate’s charge,
as ‘the immediate younger brother of Donald Cameron, late of Lochiel,
attainted.’ He ‘ventures to hope that this is not meant to make a point
of dittay.’ It was obviously meant to suggest prejudice. He asked for
bail, after his already long imprisonment. Bail was refused by the Lords
of Session, nor would they examine Alexander Stewart by commission;
but they promised to remove Fassifern from the Castle to the Tolbooth.
The full charges, or ‘improbatory articles’ against him, he was not to
receive.

On August 24 the prisoner once more protested against ‘the practice of
dropping out charges one after the other,’ which unpleasantly resembles
the system of Titus Oates. If the Government, as appears certain, had
this accusation of forgery pigeon-holed before they locked up the
prisoner in May, why did they not bring it forward at first? Fassifern’s
imprisonment, he justly remarks, ‘approaches to a kind of torture.’ He is
denied the free use of pen and ink, so necessary in his preparation of a
defence. An armed sentinel is in his room day and night. This petition
was so far successful that pen and ink were given, but what he wrote was
inspected, and even his lawyer’s chief clerk, Mr. Flockhart, could only
visit him by special license. He was allowed to take the air, under a
guard, but he seems to have been detained in the Castle, at least the
Deputy-Governor is charged to remove the armed sentinel.

In January 1754 articles of accusation were placed before the Lords of
Session, and witnesses were examined, including old Alexander Stewart,
who was brought from Appin ‘in a chaise.’ He attested that, as early as
1713, he had written and witnessed some of the deeds, and again in 1728.
Appin (whom one of the deeds especially concerned) gave evidence as to
the authenticity of others, and quoted Lochiel’s remarks to him, in 1746,
about 1,000_l._ borrowed from Fassifern in 1741, and a bond given for the
money by himself. He averred that Charles Stewart, writer in Banavie,
accused now of forging that instrument, had really written and witnessed
it, with Torcastle (in exile) and others (Culchenna and Lundavra), now
dead. On these grounds Fassifern petitioned for bail. He had lain in
prison for ten months, and his eyes were so impaired that he could not
see to read. He must sink _sub squalore carceris_, and be ‘uprooted’ in
earnest.

To all this plea it was replied ‘that many persons, even of those who
would not do injustice in private affairs, are too easily induced to
countenance an injustice done to the public’—that is, by getting public
money out of the forfeited estates. Fassifern, with his ‘connections and
influence, might, if at liberty, use means to prevent discoveries.’ There
is thus one law (an unpleasant law) for the rich, and another for the
poor. Finally Fassifern’s ‘coolness and silence on the loss of papers
of such consequence, notwithstanding his being confessedly a sensible
careful man, were mentioned as very suspicious circumstances.’

No doubt they _are_ suspicious, but that a ‘sensible careful man,’ of
the best family, should, as charged, forge a bond of 90_l._ from his
own gardener, still in his service, is also a very improbable kind of
accusation. Fassifern and Charles Stewart were, therefore, left _sub
squalore carceris_ (March 6, 1754).

In August 1754 they again petitioned for bail. They had lain in gaol for
fifteen months on no capital charge. ‘There is not one of the deeds under
challenge that does not seem to be supported by unimpeachable evidence,’
as of Appin, a man of honour, and old Alexander Stewart. ‘They have
suffered punishment beyond bounds already, without example, and since The
Happy Revolution, neither heard of nor dreamed of in our neighbouring
country,’ England.

Bail was not granted, and the Lord Advocate told a very extraordinary
and, it may be said, inconsistent tale. His witnesses, he alleged, ‘have
thought fit to stand a second diligence for compelling them to appear,
and, though wrote to, have not given any answer.’ Of course there may
be two interpretations of this reluctance, or even three. The witnesses
may be coerced by local sentiment, or may not care to take oath to their
evidence, or may have reason to suppose that they are not really wanted,
as the Crown manifestly merely wishes to keep Fassifern out of his
own country. The evidence of one informer has been given as to forged
discharges of Lochiel’s. The Government, however, dropped that slander,
while keeping up other charges, not supported by evidence given in Court.

The Advocate then carries back the origin of the trouble to the Loch
Arkaig treasure. In some quarrel about this, a person was ‘heard to
declare, that, in self defence, he would make known to persons in the
King’s service what he knew, or had learned, concerning forged deeds
prepared by Fassfern and Charles Stewart.’ This information he actually
gave to Colonel Crawfurd. This was certainly one of the witnesses who
would not answer to his subpœna, or come to the trial in spite of
repeated ‘diligences.’ Lochaber was not likely to be a happy home for
him afterwards; _Lochaber no more!_ would probably be the burden of his
song. Even Glenevis had three shots fired at him, in November 1752,
between Fort William and his own house. So he alleges in a memorial, or
petition, in the State Papers. The Colonel then sent for Charles Stewart,
who had been introduced to him as a fit person for managing prosecutions
against wearers of the philabeg. Charles Stewart, before the arrest of
Fassifern, gave Colonel Crawfurd, at Fort William, a written set of
Remarks on Fassifern’s claims, impeaching the authenticity of those to
which Appin and Charles Stewart had sworn, including the gardener’s
90_l._ But Charles Stewart, when examined before the Lords, withdrew all
this, and vowed that he had already denied it to the Colonel. When shown
the written statement, he acknowledged that it was in his hand, but that
he had written it ‘to pacify the Colonel, who was then in a great rage.’
For, in early summer, 1752, ‘a very hot inquiry was going on touching
the murder of Glenure.’ Relations of Charles Stewart were imprisoned,
and Colonel Crawfurd, interrogating Charles on the claims of Fassifern,
told him that _he_, Charles, ‘was suspected of some accession to
Glenure’s murder, and was to be imprisoned if he did not speak out, and
make discoveries against the claims upon Lochiel’s forfeiture.’ Charles
‘cannot affirm’ that he did _not_ ‘soothe Col. Crawfurd, who appeared to
be in great passion,’ by telling tales against the claims, but rather
suspects that he did. But, if he did, he admits that he lied, ‘in the
confusion and terror he was then in.’ So far, the evidence before the
Court is that of a witness who declines to be sworn, and of a prisoner
who withdraws testimony extorted by threats.

The Lord Advocate next quoted a letter to Fassifern, from his Edinburgh
agent, Mr. Macfarlane, of December 1751—that is, shortly after
Fassifern’s release in the affair of the treasure. Mr. Macfarlane
obscurely warns him in this letter ‘not to be carried, for the sake of a
small paultry sum of money into difficulties.’ ‘Mines were to be sprung,’
‘odd appellations are given,’ phrases which may, or may not, refer to the
business of the French gold.

The Advocate then told how Fassifern, in summer, 1752, a year before his
arrest in 1753, got his bag of papers from Mr. Macfarlane and returned
it, since when no mortal has seen the incriminated deeds. This, of
course, is the crucial point; but Mr. Macfarlane had himself prepared
Fassifern’s claim from the very deeds which, having disappeared, are now
said to have been recently forged. Mr. Macfarlane can have seen nothing
suspicious in them, or he would not have made them the basis of a claim
drawn up by himself. His suspicions of 1751 would have revived, and he
would have abandoned the case. He still acts daily for Fassifern, but
Fassifern has not recovered the documents, nor tried seriously to recover
them.

On these grounds bail was again refused.

No decision was arrived at by the Lords of Session till January 1755. By
that time all danger from Jacobitism was over. Charles was deserted by
Prussia, by the Earl Marischal, and by his English adherents. The Lords
found Fassifern guilty of abstracting his own papers, from the bag in Mr.
Macfarlane’s custody. These papers it was inferred, were forged. He was
sentenced to ten years of banishment, which he passed at Alnwick. Charles
Stewart was deprived of his office of notary public. ‘Some of the Lords
were of opinion that there was not a proof of guilt sufficient to infer
any punishment. But others were of a different opinion.’ In Fassifern’s
plea he complained of Colonel Crawfurd’s frequent examinations of Charles
Stewart, and of a present of 10_l._ made by him to that notary.

Innocent or guilty, Fassifern was ‘uprooted, which is what we ought
chiefly to have in view,’ to quote Colonel Crawfurd. The gross
oppressiveness of the proceedings, the unexplained delays, the series
of charges ‘dropped out,’ the bullying and cajoling of prisoners under
examination, the unconcealed political motive, and the rewards of farms
which, we learn, were given to the informers, are all characteristic of
justice in Scotland after Culloden. The improbability of the charge,
against ‘a sensible careful man,’ must be set against the mystery of the
disappearance of the papers. In that disappearance the ‘uprooters’ had,
of course, no less interest than the accused. After nearly two years _sub
squalore carceris_, Fassifern was condemned for suborning the forgery of
papers not in evidence. In fact, after all the schemes for his uprooting,
he was (in cricketing phrase) ‘given out’—several of the Fifteen
dissenting—‘for obstructing the field.’ What is the legal name for this
offence?

This affair had lingered on from May 1753 to January 1755 before the
Fifteen, the Lords of Session. It is probable that a jury, disgusted by
the military methods of extorting evidence, would have made short work
of the case, and acquitted Fassifern. Of this temper in a jury we have a
curious contemporary instance. Sir Walter Scott printed for the Bannatyne
Club the trial, in June 1754, of Duncan Terig, or Clerk, and Alexander
Bain Macdonald, for the murder of Sergeant Davies, of Guise’s regiment,
in 1749, on Christie Hill, in Braemar. There was really no doubt of the
guilt of the accused. Scott, who knew one of their counsel, says that
they themselves were convinced of the fact. But two Highland witnesses
told a story of the murdered sergeant’s ghost, which appeared to them in
1750. By making fun of this apparition, the advocates for the defence,
Scott says, secured an acquittal in face of the evidence.

Probably the jury had another motive—namely, indignation at military
extortion of evidence. A certain Ensign Small has been mentioned. He
seems to have been an astute and energetic man. We find him everywhere
in the Cumberland Papers. He it was who, soon after Culloden, arrested
the Barisdales in a cave, and took their swords. In 1749 he arrested
Barisdale on his return from France. He pursued Lochgarry (after Dr.
Cameron’s arrest) into England, and searched the vessels leaving the
ports of the East Coast. We find him in the Islands, mixing with the
people in disguise, and reporting their murmurs and their curses on the
Chiefs and the Prince. In Knoydart he notes that the commons have lost
their taste for a rising. Small was rewarded by a factorship on the
forfeited estates of Cluny and Robertson of Strowan, and exerted himself
to procure the condemnation of the murderers of Sergeant Davies.

Now on June 14, 1754, Mr. Alexander Lockhart, one of the counsel for the
accused, laid a complaint against Small before the Court of Session. By
Small’s instigation, Lockhart said, Terig and Macdonald were charged
with the crime. Small had sought out and privately examined witnesses,
‘giving them an obligation to stand between them and any hazard they
might incur thereby’—such protection was very necessary. ‘He endeavoured
to intimidate such as would not say such strong things as he wished, or
expected.’ Lockhart asks ‘how far these practices’ (the very practices
employed to ‘uproot’ Fassifern) ‘should be tolerated?’ Moreover, Small
had been swaggering with a sword, had stopped Lockhart in the Parliament
Close, had insulted, challenged him, and shaken a stick over his head:
‘which, if he meant to resent, he would be at no loss to find out where
the said James Small lived.’

Small replied that, after doing his best to bring Clerk and Macdonald to
trial, his character had been blackened by Lockhart before the jury, as
having pursued the accused for private reasons of malice. As an officer
and a gentleman, believing in his heart that the accused were guilty
(which they undoubtedly were), he had resented the license of Lockhart.

Small was found guilty of contempt, bound over to keep the peace, and
obliged to apologise.

Meanwhile General Bland, Governor of Edinburgh Castle, justified
Ensign Small in a letter to the English Ministry. Lockhart, the
General denounces as a ‘famous foul-mouthed Jacobite advocate.’ He
had ‘concerted’ his abuse of the Ensign in court ‘with his Jacobite
fraternity.’ The Ensign had very properly ‘taken him by the nose, and
called him a scoundrell. He took it quietly.’ If Lockhart is not warned,
his bones will be broken. The General has used his influence with the
judges to secure easy terms for the loyal Ensign.[103]

The docile judges, ‘the Fifteen,’ had accepted evidence extorted
by military violence in what was really a political case, that of
Fassifern. But it is clear that the jury, in the case of the Sergeant’s
murder, had resented such intimidation, as denounced by Lockhart, and
this resentment, rather than the ghost story, probably procured the
acquittal of two undeniable robbers and murderers, Terig, or Clerk, and
Macdonald.[104]

Another curious instance of the methods of Government occurs in the case
of James Mohr. It was generally suspected that Government connived at
his escape from Edinburgh Castle in the disguise of a cobbler (November
16, 1752). The Government, however, broke the lieutenants of the guard,
deprived the sergeant of his stripes, and whipped the porter.

But we find a remarkable letter of General Churchill’s,[105] saying that
‘James Mohr had been taken up on the abduction charge,’ and was extremely
anxious to make disclosures. That his recent behaviour cannot allow him
to be believed unless he is allowed to suppose ‘his life is at stake.’
That ‘should your Grace think proper to employ him, the great difficulty
is to bring about his liberation without raising a suspicion of the
Cause, _nor can it be so effectually done as by giveing private orders to
a Party of the Troops employed in escorting him to favour his escape_.’

If this suggestion was acted on later, if James was allowed to escape
from Edinburgh Castle that he might become a spy, as he did, the
lieutenants, the sergeant, and the porter were very scurvily treated. The
game of justice was not played with much scrupulousness by the English
Government.




IX

A GENTLEMAN OF KNOYDART


The modern autobiographical romance of adventure has perhaps been
overdone. The hero is always very young and very brave; he is mixed up
with great affairs; he is a true lover; he marries the heroine, and he
leaves his Memoirs (at six shillings) to posterity. Stereotyped as is the
method, and mechanical as are most of the novels thus constructed, it is
interesting to compare with them a set of genuine Memoirs, which actually
are what the novels pretend to be.

Colonel John Macdonell, the author of the Memoirs, was of the Scottos
family, a branch of the House of Glengarry. Indeed, in the male line the
chiefs of Clan Donald are now represented by the head of the Scottos
branch, not to enter on the old controversy as to the chiefship of Clan
Ranald. Our Colonel was born in 1728, and was therefore a boy of eighteen
in 1746. He had already been conversant with great adventures; he had
seen Rome and his King, had been thrice wounded in one engagement of the
Italian wars, and had relinquished his excellent prospects in the Spanish
service to fight for the White Rose. An emissary between the Duke of
York (not yet Cardinal) and the Prince, the bearer of a treasure in gold,
our hero arrived in the Highlands just after Culloden. Robbed by the
wicked Mackenzies, associated with the last rally of the loyal clans,
betrayed by a cousin to a Hanoverian dungeon, young Macdonell must needs
fall in love, at this juncture, with his future wife. He insults his
enemies, cows the traitor who denounced him (or another traitor), marries
his lady, retires to Canada, and, dying in 1810, leaves his Memoirs to
his children.

What more can be asked from a hero? ‘Oh, Colonel Macdonell and Mr.
Robert Louis Stevenson, which of you imitated the other?’ the critic is
tempted to exclaim. But, if the real Colonel John ‘does it more natural,’
the fictitious David Balfour ‘does it with the better grace.’ The good
Colonel never, of course, discourses to us about his contending emotions,
or dilates, like Mr. Balfour, on the various trains of casuistry which
meet in his simple soul. He never describes a place, nor a person,
not even when he meets his King, the Duke of York, or the Duc de
Fitzjames; he only describes action, vividly enough. He leaves out the
love-interest, with the merest allusion; and thus, though the Colonel
played a heroic part in romantic occurrences, he did not write a romance.
He arranges his recollections ill, ignoring essential facts, and, later,
dragging them in very awkwardly. His Memoirs are such as an elderly
warrior of his period would naturally pen; they illustrate the chaotic
condition of Highland morals and manners in 1745-54, and introduce us to
figures familiar in the Prince’s campaign of Scotland.[106]

Scotus, Scottos, or Scothouse, the estate of the Colonel’s family, lies
in the south of Knoydart, and on the north side of the entrance to Loch
Nevis, just opposite to the Aird of Sleat in Skye. On the north of
Knoydart, and on the south shore of Loch Hourn, is Barisdale, the seat of
the Colonel’s cousin, Col of Barisdale, the tallest man and the greatest
robber, ruffian, and traitor of Clan Donald. Universal testimony, from
that of the Chevalier Johnstone to the Whig Manuscript of 1750, applauds
the family of Scottos as brave gentlemen, honest in the midst of ‘a den
of thieves’ (says our Whig author), loyal when loyalty had most to tempt
or discourage it. Our Colonel’s father was a younger son of old Scottos.
He resided at Crowlin; concerning his means of life we learn nothing,
but the Colonel was always well supplied with money in his boyhood. The
clan were Catholics, and John’s father, in 1740, sent the boy, then aged
twelve, to be educated at the Scots College in Rome. He was accompanied
by a lad of fourteen, Angus Macdonald, of the Clan Ranald family. From
Edinburgh they sailed to Boulogne, and in Paris were entertained by Mr.
George Innes, head of the Scots College and brother of Thomas Innes, the
first really critical writer on early Scottish history. From Paris the
pair of boys went, partly by water, partly in a _calèche_, to Avignon
and Marseilles, whence they embarked for Toulon. Here they met with the
following adventure, which may be given as an example of the Colonel’s
style in narrative, though it had no sequel. Most of his adventures led
to nothing, unlike the course of fiction:—

‘One night, as we walked through the streets and were cracking nuts,
my comrade, who was somewhat roguish, observed a Monsieur with a large
powdered wig, and his hat under his arm, going past us; he took a
handful of nuts from his pocket and threw them with all his force at the
Frenchman’s head, which unfortunately disordered his wig. Monsieur turned
upon and collared him; by good luck a Spaniard was of our party, who
instantly ran to the relief of my comrade and gave the Frenchman a severe
drubbing. We then adjourned to a tavern, when our Spaniard, calling for a
bottle of wine, brought me to a private room, and after bolting the door,
to my great terror and surprise, drew a stiletto with his right hand from
his left bosom, and made me to understand by signs that with that weapon
he would have killed the Frenchman, if he had proved too strong for him.
He then took a net purse out of his pocket wherein there appeared to be
about a hundred Spanish pistoles, and made me an offer of a part: I
made him a low bow, but, not standing in need of it, would not accept of
his liberality, for I thought I had enough, being always purse-bearer
for myself and companion. My friend made sometimes free with my pockets,
merely to try if I should miss anything, and was happy to find that I
made a discovery of his tricks by immediately missing what he took in
that way.... I bought out of our stock two large folding French knives,
by way of carvers, in case of any sinister accident.’

Such an accident of travel presently occurred. A Mr. O’Rourk of
Tipperary, on his way to study at Rome, introduced the boys to a certain
Mr. Creach, late of the Irish brigade in Spanish service. Mr. Creach,
finding Master Macdonell alone in his room, tried to rob him. Macdonell
flew at the man; Angus Macdonald entered; the pair threw Creach on the
ground, and John had his ‘carver’ out, with a view to cutting Creach’s
throat, when O’Rourk interfered with this wild Celtic justice. Arrived in
Rome, the boys found that the fame of their exploit had preceded them and
done them good service, as they were reckoned lads of spirit.

John, though the youngest pupil in the lowest class of the seminary, was
advancing rapidly in his studies when, in the winter of 1743, Prince
Charles rode out of Rome to a hunting-party, and, disguised as a Spanish
courier, continued his course as far as Antibes. France had invited him,
though, when he arrived, she neglected him. John now conceived that,
in the event of the Prince’s landing in England, ‘My clan would not be
the last to join the young Charles.... This set my brains agoing, which
were not very settled of themselves. I got disgusted with the life of a
student, and thought I would be much happier in the army.’

John, therefore, contrived to get ‘introduced to King James by noblemen
attending on that Prince, who inquired of me particularly about my
grandfather and granduncles [Glengarry and Barisdale, apparently], with
all of whom he had been acquainted personally in the year 1715,’ when
Glengarry distinguished himself so brilliantly, avenging the fallen Clan
Ranald, at Sheriffmuir. A recommendation for John was sent to General
Macdonnell (of the Antrim family), then commanding the Irish of the
Spanish forces in Italy, and, though the Cardinal Protector demurred
to John’s change of service, our hero was equipped with a sword by the
Rector of his College. ‘Presenting me with the sword, his eyes filled,
and he told me that I should lose that sword by the enemy, which was
verified in seven or eight months after.’ The Rector had the second sight!

Mr. Macdonell, a sage of sixteen, was now horrified by the ethical ideas
which he surprised in the conversation of the young Italian gentlemen
who rode with him to join the Spanish army. They assured him that his
military value depended on his emancipation from the prudish notions of
‘a parcel of bigots,’ but he was destined to refute this theory. General
Macdonnell admitted his young clansman to his own table, and put him in
the way of seeing fire. He thus describes his first view of that element;
probably his emotions are common to recruits:—

‘I’ll tell you the truth, I felt myself rather queer, my heart panting
very strong, not with bravery, I assure you. I thought that every bullet
would finish [me], and thought seriously to run away, a cursed thought!
I dare never see my friends or nearest relations after such dastardly
conduct. My thoughts were all at once cut short by the word of command,
“Advance quick!” We were at once within about one hundred paces of the
enemy, to whom we gave so well directed a fire, that their impetuosity
was bridled. The firing on both sides continued until dark came on, which
put a stop to the work of the evening. The enemy retreated some distance
back, and we rejoined our own army. I went to Genl. McDonnell, who asked
me if I had smelled powder to-day; I told him I had plentifully. “What,
Sir,” said he, “are you wounded?” “No, please your Excellency.” “Sir,
you will never smell powder until you are wounded.” I got great credit
from the officers commanding the party I belonged to for my undaunted
behaviour during the action, but they little knew what past within me
before it began.’

The smell of powder was soon in our hero’s experience. The Neapolitan
general who commanded on alternate days with the French leader, withdrew
his troops from a strong position on the heights above Velletri, which
was attacked by Prince Lobkwitz and the famous General Brown, with
forty-five thousand Austrians. There was daily fighting, and General
Macdonnell was stopped by his superior officer while in the very act of
driving the Austrians from the deserted heights, which they, of course,
had occupied. An Austrian surprise cut off Macdonell’s regiment from the
main force, and he thus describes what occurred:

‘For my own share I was among the last that gave way, but when I once
turned my back, I imagined that the enemy all aimed at me alone, and
therefore ran with all my might, and thought there was a weight tied to
each of my legs, till I had outrun everyone, and looking behind, saw the
whole coming up. I halted and faced about, every one as he came up did
the same, we soon formed a regular line, and resolved to revenge our dead
comrades and to fight to the last; but found our situation to be as bad
as before.... Reduced to extremity we offered to capitulate on honourable
terms, but could obtain no condition except surrendering at discretion,
rather than which we resolved to fight while powder and ball remained
among the living or the dead. Our officers and men fell very fast. I
among the rest got a ball through my thigh which prevented my standing; I
crossed my firelock under my thigh and shook it, to try if the bone was
whole, which finding to be the case, dropped on one knee and continued
firing. I received another shot, which threw me down; I made once more an
attempt to help my surviving comrades, but received a third wound, which
quite disabled me. Loss of blood and no way of stopping it soon reduced
my strength, I however, griped my sword to be ready to run through the
first enemy that should insult me.

‘All our ammunition being spent, not a single cartridge remained amongst
the living or the dead, quarters were called for by the few that were
yet alive. Many of the wounded were knocked on the head, and I did not
escape with impunity. One approached me; at first I made ready to run him
through, but observing five more close to him, I dropt the sword, and was
saluted with _Hunts-foot_,[107] accompanied with a cracking of muskets
about my head. I was only sensible of three blows and fainted; I suppose
they thought me dead. On coming to myself again, I found my clothes were
stripped off, weltering in my blood, and no one alive near me to speak
to, twisting and rolling in the dust with pain, and my skin scorched by
the sun. In this condition a Croat came up to me with a cocked pistol
in his hand, and asked for my purse in bad Italian. I told him that I
had no place to hide it in, and if he found it anywhere about me to take
it. “Is that an answer for me, you son of a b—ch?” at same time pointing
his pistol straight between my eyes. I saw no one near, but the word
_quarter_ was scarcely expressed by me, when I saw his pistol-arm seized
by a genteel young man dressed only in his waistcoat, who said to him,
“You rascal, let the man die as he pleases; you see he has enough, go and
kill some one able to resist.” The fellow went off. Previous to this a
Croat, taking my gold-laced hat and putting it upon his own head, coolly
asked me how he looked in it. He then with his sabre cut off my queue and
took it along with him.’

A civilised scalp!

[Illustration: _Walker & Boutall, ph. sc._

_The Duke of York and Prince Charles_

_circ. 1735_]

The Austrians, after all, lost the day, and a certain Miles Macdonnell
rescued our hero, and had him carried into hospital. Recovering, he
returned to Rome, and was welcomed in a flattering manner both by his
King, who presented him with a sum of money, and by the young Duke of
York. After seeing some service on the Po, young Macdonell obtained
leave to go to France and join a detachment which was to aid Prince
Charles in Scotland. At Lyons they heard of the Prince’s defeat of Hawley
at Falkirk, but at Paris the news was worse, and of all the Jacobite
volunteers (who were Irish) John Macdonell alone persevered. He urged
that, as the Prince’s affairs went ill, ‘It was ungenerous not to give
what aid we were capable of, but I could not prevail on any of them to
be of my opinion.’ In fact, it was now plain that France did not mean to
lend any solid assistance to the Cause. The Duke of York since Christmas
had been waiting at Dunkirk and Boulogne, expecting permission to sail
for England with a large force, but delay followed delay. Young Macdonell
now went to Boulogne, where he met the Duke, and was introduced by him
to the Duc de Fitzjames and to Lally Tollendal. Here the good Colonel’s
memory deceives him, for he avers that Lally wished to take him to
Pondicherry. Now Lally was deep in the Scottish rising, and did not leave
France for India till ten years after 1746.[108] Young Macdonell, in
these weeks of hope deferred, lived with the Duke of York at Boulogne,
Dunkirk, and St. Omer. Finally, he set sail from Dunkirk with several
Irish officers on the very day of Culloden, April 16.

Here the Colonel is guilty of an artistic blunder in his narrative. It
is plain, from his later statements, that the Duke of York made him
the bearer of a letter, and a sum of 1,500_l._ or 2,000_l._ in gold,
to Prince Charles. But we do not hear, till later, of the money or the
missive. The little company with Macdonell rounded the Orkneys, landed
in Loch Broom, and at once heard the fatal news of Culloden. Macdonell’s
uncle, Scottus, had fallen with twenty of his men, ‘and nobody knew what
was become of the Prince.’ Colonel Macdonell never gives dates, but he
must have arrived in Loch Broom between May 8 and May 12, 1746. On May 8,
a meeting of chiefs was held at Murlagan, and a tryst appointed at Loch
Arkaig, in Lochiel’s country, for May 15.[109] Our hero heard something
of this at Loch Broom, and determined to join the rallied clans. He first
went to Laggy, at the head of Little Loch Broom, where he found Colin
Dearg Mackenzie of Laggy, with several other Mackenzie gentlemen, and
sixty of the clan. ‘We thought ourselves as safe [he and his friend,
Lynch, an Irish officer,] as in the heart of France.’

Now began the purely personal romance of the Colonel. The Mackenzies
entertained him and Captain Lynch at dinner in a dark and crowded room;
he noticed that men gathered suspiciously behind him, and he remembered
that they had remarked on the weight of his portmanteau. He therefore
rose more than once from table to inspect that valise, but, while the
company were drinking the Prince’s health, Colin Dearg walked out.
Absent, too, was the portmanteau, when the guests left the table, but
Colin explained that he had packed it on the back of our Colonel’s horse.
There, indeed, it was, but when the Colonel stopped at Dundonell, and
opened his valise in search of a pair of shoes, a canvas bag containing
1,000_l._ was missing. A gentleman of the Mackenzie clan had slashed open
the portmanteau and stolen the money of the Prince whose health they were
drinking! It was the affair of the Loch Arkaig hoard on a smaller scale.
The situation of our injured hero was the more awkward, as Dundonell,
where he found, himself, was the estate of a Mr. Mackenzie, nephew to
the thief, Colin Dearg. Mr. Mackenzie was absent; Mrs. Mackenzie was
at home, but in bed. However, she saw Macdonell, who told her what had
occurred, and entrusted to her another bag of five hundred guineas: ‘If
killed, I bequeath it to your ladyship. God be with you! I wish you a
good morning.’ Accompanied by Lynch, Macdonell now returned to Laggy. He
dared not use force against Colin Dearg, for, if he fell, Colin would win
his own pardon by producing a letter from the Duke of York to Charles,
which our hero was carrying, though he now mentions it for the first
time. Accused by Macdonell of taking the money, Colin Dearg denied all
knowledge of it, and, as he was attended by a tail of armed clansmen,
Macdonell had no resource but in retreat.

He breakfasted at Dundonell with ‘the most amiable lady,’ took up the
500 guineas, and, after fatiguing marches, reached Loch Arkaig. On the
shores of the remote and lonely loch our Colonel met, and recognised,
his gigantic kinsman, the truculent Col of Barisdale. Col said that
Lochiel and Murray of Broughton were at Achnacarry; he himself and
Lochgarry were mustering men, ‘to try what terms could be got from the
Duke of Cumberland.’ This must have been on May 14. At Achnacarry the
wounded Lochiel received our hero kindly, and Mr. Murray of Broughton
took charge of the remaining 500 guineas and the letter from the Duke
of York to the Prince. Lest any one should think that the Colonel is
romancing, there exists documentary evidence to corroborate his tale. The
unhappy Murray of Broughton, in his accounts of the Prince’s money after
Culloden, writes: ‘From a French officer who had landed upon the East
Coast, £1,000. N.B.—This French officer was charged with 2,000 guineas,
but said he had 1,000 taken from him as he passed through the Mackenzies’
country, and gave in an account of deductions from the other thousand.’
Murray adds that he has charged himself with 1.000_l._, ‘tho’ he still
thinks he did not receive quite so much.’ He must have received the
500_l._ (perhaps in _louis d’or_, which he reckons as guineas), and some
loose cash. Murray was writing from memory, so was Colonel Macdonell.
Murray calls him a French officer, and really he was in French service.
There cannot have been two such officers who, at the same time, were
robbed of 1,000_l._ by the Mackenzies, and reported the loss just after
Culloden.[110]

Macdonell slept at Achnacarry and was wakened by the pipes playing _Cogga
na si_. News had just arrived of an attempted surprise by Cumberland,
whose forces were actually in sight; Barisdale was accused of having
concerted the surprise, but the story is improbable. Eight hundred
Camerons and Macdonalds now retreated by the west end of Loch Arkaig, and
our hero, with Captain Lynch, made for Knoydart. Lynch later returned
to French service, carrying Macdonell’s report to the Duke of York, and
soon fell at the battle of Lafeldt, where the Scots and Irish nearly
captured Cumberland. As for Macdonell, ‘I had put on a resolution,’ he
says, ‘never to leave Scotland while Prince Charles was in the country.’
The death of Macdonell’s father, and the infirmity of old Scottos, also
made his presence at home necessary to his family. So, he says, ‘I waved
the sure prospect I had of advancing myself both to riches and honour,’
in the service of Spain.

Knoydart, during the winter of 1746-47, must have been in a state of
anarchy. Old Glengarry, accused by Barisdale, was a prisoner in Edinburgh
Castle; Young Glengarry was in the Tower. Col Barisdale and his son were
captives in France, on a charge of treason to King James. Lochgarry had
fled to France with the Prince. Old Scottos was decrepit. No rents were
paid; the lands had been wasted by the English; clansmen were seizing
farms at will.[111] In these melancholy circumstances our Colonel marched
alone into the Mackenzie country, to hunt for the money stolen by Colin
Dearg. Then this odd adventure befell him:—

‘I went to take a solitary turn and met a well-dressed man in Highland
clothes also taking the morning air. After civil salutations to each
other, I entered into discourse with him about former transactions in
that country. He of himself began to tell me about French officers
that came to Lochbroom—how the 1,000 guineas had been cut out of one of
their portmanteaus by Colin Dearg, Major Wm. McKenzie of Kilcoy,[112]
and Lieutenant Murdoch McKenzie from Dingwall—all officers of Lord
Cromartie’s regiment, being all equally concerned; and how not only those
who acted the scene, but all the people in that part of the country, had
been despised and ridiculed for their mean and dastardly behaviour; but
that had his (McKenzie’s, who was speaking to me) advice been taken,
there should never have been a word about the matter. The following
dialogue then ensued:—_Question._ “And pray, Sir, what did you advise?”
_Answer._ “To cut off both their heads, a very sure way indeed!” _Q._
“What were they, or of what country?” _A._ “The oldest, and a stout-like
man, was Irish. The youngest was very strong-like, was a Macdonell of the
family of Glengarry.” _Q._ “How was the money divided?” _A._ “Colin Dearg
got 300 guineas, William Kilcoy got 300 guineas, and Lieutenant Murdoch
McKenzie got 300 guineas.” _Q._ “What became of the other hundred?” _A._
“Two men who stood behind the Irish Captain with drawn dirks ready to
kill him, had he observed Colin Dearg cutting open the portmanteau, got
25 guineas each; and I and another man, prepared in like manner for the
young Captain Macdonell, got 25 guineas each.” _Q._ “You tell the truth,
you are sure?” _A._ “As I shall answer, I do.” _Q._ “Do you know to
whom you are speaking?” _A._ “To a friend and one of my own name.” “No,
you d—d rascal,” seizing him suddenly by the breast with my left hand,
at the same instant twitching out my dirk with the right, and throwing
him upon his back, “_I am that very Macdonell_.” I own I was within an
ace of running him through the heart, but some sudden reflection struck
me—my being alone, and in a place where I was in a manner a stranger,
among people which I had reason to distrust, I left the fellow upon his
back, and re-entered the house (Torridon) in some hurry. My landlord,
Mr. McKenzie of Torridon, met me in the entry, asked where I had been.
I answered, “Taking a turn.” “Have you met anything to vex you?” “No,”
I returned smiling. “Sir,” says he, “I ask pardon, you went out with an
innocent and harmless countenance, and you came in with a fierceness in
your aspect past all description.” “Mr. McKenzie,” said I, “none of your
scrutinizing remarks; let us have our morning!” “With all my heart,” he
replied. Soon after, being a little composed, I related to him my morning
adventure. He remarked that the man was a stranger to him, and had been a
soldier in Lord Cromartie’s regiment. That very day I quitted that part
of the country and returned home, where I continued sometime.’

The _some time_ must cover the years from 1747 to the autumn of 1749. Old
Glengarry was released at that date from Edinburgh Castle. To him, at
Invergarry, Colonel John told the story of his wrongs, and from his chief
he obtained an escort of five men. With these at his heels, he marched
to Dundonell, and told Mr. Mackenzie that he desired a meeting with
Colin Dearg. Colin came, but his escort consisted of some thirty-five
men armed with dirks and clubs. The Colonel, however, was determined to
beard his enemy, and devised the following tactics. He himself would sit
between Colin Dearg and Dundonell: two of his five men would slip out
and guard the door with drawn swords; meanwhile the Colonel would insult
the Mackenzies. If they raised a hand he would pistol Colin and dirk
his host, Dundonell; his three retainers would fire the house, and the
Macdonells would escape in the confusion or perish with their foes. It
was a very pretty sketch for a _camisado_.

‘After a short pause Dundonell mentioned the cause of our present meeting
_in as becoming a manner as the subject would admit of_; to which an
evasive answer was returned by his uncle, Colin Dearg, pretending to deny
the fact. I then took him up, and proved that he himself was the very
man who with his own hands had taken the gold out of my portmanteau,
after cutting it open with some sharp instrument. This I said openly in
the hearing of all present. To which I got no other reply than that “the
money was gone and could not be accounted for.” I returned that “If the
cash was squandered the reward due to such actions was yet extant”—and
being asked what that was, I answered, “The gallows.” At this expression
the whole got up standing, and seeing them all looking towards me, I drew
my dirk and side pistol, and presenting one to my right and the other
to my left, swore that if any motion was made against my life, I would
despatch Dundonell and his uncle, who seeing me ready to put my threat
in execution, begged of their people for the love of God to be quiet,
which was directly obeyed. In the meantime my men had taken immediate
possession of the outside of the door and were prepared to act according
to my orders. I called to them to stay where they were, but none of the
people in the house knew what they had gone out for.’

The money was gone, no man dared to touch our hero, and he and Dundonell
went peacefully home together! Our hero had dominated and insulted the
Mackenzies and was obliged to be satisfied with that result.

In the following years (1751-54) Knoydart and Lochaber were perfectly
demoralised. The hidden treasure of Loch Arkaig had set Macdonalds
against Camerons; cousins were betraying cousins, and brothers were
blackmailing brothers. The details (much veiled in this work) are to be
found in the Duke of Cumberland’s MSS. at Windsor Castle. The murder of
Campbell of Glenure by Allan Breck, or by Sergeant Mohr Cameron, and the
reports of Pickle, James Mohr, and a set of other spies, had alarmed
the Government with fears of a rising aided by Prussia. Consequently
arrests were frequent and no man knew whom he could trust. Col of
Barisdale, a double-dyed traitor, was dead in gaol, but his eldest son
was being hunted on island, loch, and mountain. Now in a letter from an
English officer, Captain Izard, dated September 30, 1751, and preserved
at Windsor, he says: ‘Dr. Macdonald, living at Kylles, and brother of
Glengarry, told that young Barisdale lay at his house the Monday before
and proposed going to the Isle of Skye.’

The giver of this information was not a man in whom to confide. Our hero,
however, confided. Disguised as a rough serving-man he went fishing for
lythe with ‘my relation, Dr. Macdonell of Kylles, an eminent physician.’
An English vessel, the _Porcupine_, under the notorious Captain
Fergusson, came in sight. Dr. Macdonell insisted on taking our hero on
board her, and there, as he sat over his punch, informed the English
officers that the servant who accompanied him was a gentleman. Fergusson
arrested Macdonell at once on suspicion of being young Barisdale, and
he lay for some time a prisoner in Fort William. Now the Doctor may
only have blabbed in his cups, but, taken with Captain Izard’s report,
his behaviour looks very odd. Our hero, however, does not suspect his
relation, the Doctor, but denounces his cousin, Captain Allan Macdonald
of Knock, in Sleat, as his betrayer, and ‘the greatest spy and informer
in all Scotland.’ However it be, the betrayal of Colonel John was
apparently a family affair.

A long list of charges, doubtless of Jacobite dealings, was brought
against him, and a midshipman on the _Porcupine_ assured him that Allan
Macdonald of Knock was the informer. So the Colonel was locked up in Fort
William, then, or just before, crowded with prisoners, such as Lochiel’s
uncle Fassifern, his agent, Charles Stuart, Barisdale’s second son, and
Cameron of Glenevis, with his brother Angus. The date must have been June
or July, 1753, for young Barisdale was taken in July, and the Colonel
was then a prisoner. Young Barisdale just escaped hanging; Fassifern was
exiled; Stuart was accused of the Appin murder; Sergeant Mohr Cameron
was betrayed and executed; the traitors were clansmen of the victims,
and, though our Colonel says nothing of all this, the facts gave him
good cause for anxiety. It is fair to add that no mention of his enemy,
Macdonald of Knock, seems to occur in the Cumberland Papers, where so
many spies hide their infamy.

Our hero escaped by aid of Mr. Macleod of Ulnish, sheriff-depute of Skye,
‘being both my friend and relation as well as the friend of justice.’
This gentleman suppressed the only good evidence against the Colonel,
which indeed merely proved his wearing the proscribed kilt. After nine
months of gaol the Colonel was released and seized the first opportunity
to challenge Knock, who would not face him.

So ends the Colonel’s adventure. ‘I was then in love with your mother,’
he says simply, and on this head he says no more. He had ‘kept the bird
in his bosom,’ a treasure lost by many of his kin, and among them,
one fears, by Allan of Knock. A certain Ranald Macdonell of [_in_]
Scammadale and Crowlin, who, born about 1724, married in May 1815,
and died in November of the same year, aged ninety, is said to have
‘severely punished that obnoxious person known as Allan of Knock, over
whose remains there was placed an inscription not less fulsome than
false.’[113] Allan, whether he betrayed the Colonel or not, has obviously
a bad name in Knoydart.

The Colonel lived happily on his property till 1773, when he settled in
Schoharie County, New York. When the American rebellion broke out he
served in the King’s Royal Regiment of New York, and, after the final
collapse of the British, he retired to Cornwall in Ontario. As General
Macdonnell wrote of him in 1746, ‘He has always behaved as an honourable
gentleman and a brave officer, irreproachable in every respect.’




X

THE LAST YEARS OF GLENGARRY


Readers who have followed the adventures of Pickle the Spy may care to
know what were the later fortunes of his inseparable companion, Young
Glengarry. These fortunes were not answerable to the expectations of
the Chief. The death of Henry Pelham, in March 1754, blighted, as we
shall learn, the hopes which Glengarry, like Pickle, had founded on the
promises of the Prime Minister, and left him a debtor to Government
for claims on his lands. That Young Glengarry, on reaching his estates
in November 1754, behaved with oppressive dishonesty to his smaller
wadsetters, men holding portions of his land in pawn, we learn from the
report of Colonel Trapaud, who, for some sixty years, was Governor of
Fort Augustus. Early in 1755, we find Glengarry at Inverness, where he
signs a tack, or lease, on January 24. A copy of an undated letter from
Pickle represents Glengarry as ‘making a grand tour round several parts
of the Highlands, and having concourse of people from several clans
to wait of him.’ Glengarry himself speaks, in a letter to be quoted,
about such a gathering. In 1755, we find General Bland objecting to
Glengarry’s journeyings (when Pickle went to London), and on May 18,
1757, Captain John Macdonnell, of General Frazer’s regiment, departing
for America, makes Glengarry his ‘factor and attorney,’ also his executor
and general legatee.[114] This Captain Macdonnell was the younger
Lochgarry, who accompanied Pickle in Edinburgh, in September 1754. ‘I
hope, in case of accident, you’ll take care of Young Lochgary,’ writes
Pickle.[115] Captain Macdonnell was later Colonel of the 76th, says
General Stewart, and a previous owner of my copy of the General’s book
notes in the margin that ‘he was wounded on the Heights of Abraham.’
Critics who think that Glengarry was personated by Pickle will observe
that Young Lochgarry knew both gentlemen and could not be deceived. He
was Pickle’s companion in Edinburgh when Pickle had just lost his father,
a Highland chief. In 1757 he makes Glengarry (who had suffered a similar
bereavement at the same time as Pickle), his factor and legatee. There
is, of course, no reason to suppose that Young Lochgarry had ever heard
of such a mysterious personage as Pickle.

We know nothing else of Glengarry’s life from 1755 to 1757, when his
manuscript letter book throws a melancholy light on his closing years.
There is a draft of a letter of 1757 and several drafts of 1758-1759,
in a stitched folio wherein he entered the _brouillons_ of his
correspondence, not always in his own hand. On April 28, 1757, he wrote
from London, probably from his rooms in Beaufort Buildings, Strand. He
writes to his Edinburgh agent, Mr. Orme, W.S., on a variety of business.
His action in settling his estates was much impeded by the retention of
his charters and family papers by Sir Everard Falkner (or Faulkner), an
English officer. ‘I have prevailed,’ he says, ‘upon Mr. Brado, how (who)
is a principal man amongst the Jewes, to endeavour to recover my charters
from Sir Everard.’ He expects to redeem all the wadsets on his lands, and
to compound for a few of the most pressing of his father’s debts. But
he must have been disappointed, for on his death, in 1761, more of his
estate was in the hands of wadsetters than in his own. He must, however,
have secured proof of ‘my propinquity to those of my predecessors left
infeft,’ for he was formally inducted into his property before an
Inverness jury in 1758. He mentions that, when he left Scotland, ‘the
appearance of a famine threatened then the whole north,’ and ‘his friends
were buying meal in Buchan.’ A wet summer and autumn always meant dearth
in the Highlands. He alludes to some military oppression of one of his
retainers: ‘the attempt is so flagrant that it would not pass unpunished
amongst the hotentots.’ An unfinished draft appears to be addressed to
General Frazer, son of Old Lovat. With him (if it is Frazer) he wants ‘to
settle family differences _à l’aimable_.’ His correspondent is leaving
Scotland after recruiting.

In June 1758, Glengarry was in correspondence with persons concerned
in the affairs of his sister-in-law, widow of his brother Æneas,
accidentally shot at Falkirk, in 1746. Æneas must have married very
young: he was not twenty when he died, but he left a son and a daughter.
For some unknown reason Glengarry was on ill terms with his brother’s
widow, as will appear, and she would not permit her children to visit
their uncle. To this business the following letter refers:

    ‘_To Rory McLeod._

                               ‘(Dated Greenfield, 22nd June, 1758.)

    ‘Dear Sir,—I am favour’d with yours by the last post, and am
    not a little surprized to understand by it that Mr Robison
    should have wrott either to Mr Drummond or you that I intended
    to dispose of my nephew contrar to the present system of moral
    education, all I said to Mr Robison that if I sent him abroad
    I could have him educated for nothing, but that I did not
    myself aprove of this frugall method, but that I would advise
    with Mr Drummond how to Dispose of him when I would be at
    Edinburgh, that if he inclin’d a military life, I might have
    interest to get him a pair of Colours, but then I would insist
    the best _moitié_ of his patrimony should be assigned to his
    sister, but that what I inclined he should follow was the
    law, if he had genius for that profession, and that in that
    case if Mr Drummond aprovd of it, I would send him for the
    sake of the language to some country schooll in England. This
    was all that passed upon honour, and Desired to send over the
    boy that I might make him acquaint in the country, and should
    only Detain him two months, I had a Double view in this as I
    had the countrey about that time all convened, it would have
    been fifty pounds in his way, and this I told Mr Robison; and
    at the same time, as the lassie had no English, I would Keep
    her all winter with my sister so that in spring she might be
    presentable, when I would send her for a little time to my
    sister’s Dr Chisolme at Inverness. Mr. Robison approved of all
    this, particularly of the lassy’s coming, and, that he might
    not be blamed for retaining them, sent them to their Mother’s,
    where the Girle has ever been, and laid the whole blame to
    her charge. I have still Mr Robison’s letter, but he has his
    views which I am resolved to frustrate.... I will shew you my
    brother’s discharge to my father, and I have living witnesses
    that delivered him Cattle in payment of interest, and part
    principall, and as one of them is his father’s brother, how
    would go all lengths for him, that there can be no objection to
    his evidence as Discharges have been burned or Destroyed after
    the Castle was blown up....

               ‘Your affect. Cousine and humble servant,

                                                       ‘MACKDONELL.’

Burt says that ‘to have the English’ was the mark, among the Highlanders,
of a gentleman’s children. Glengarry’s niece had as yet no English; her
education had doubtless been neglected in the distresses consequent on
the Rising. Probably, too, her mother was poor, her husband’s portion
having been partly paid in cattle. These very cattle may have been among
the 20,000 plundered by Cumberland’s men after Culloden, as a volunteer
writes in his little book of ‘A Journey with the Army into Scotland’
(1747).

In a letter to Mr. Orme, of unknown date, Glengarry says that his
sister-in-law ‘is infamous.’ On the same affair of the nephew he writes
again:—

                                                          [No date.]

    ‘Sir,—I have been frequently since my father’s death abused
    in the good opinion conceived in former days of those that
    ought and were generally believed steadfast friends to this
    familly, but I must confess I least of all expected it from any
    of yours, and least of all from yourself personally. I had a
    letter lately from Robison of Ballnicaird acquainting me that
    Provost Drummond and you, despairing of the amicable agreement
    twixt my nephew and me, intended to push matters to the utmost,
    this was strange proceedings, without ever acquainting me, and
    in any event a strange procedure between me and my nephew when
    the opinion of any one or two eminent in the law might in a few
    moments decide the whole without further expences, and when
    they come to the age to judge for themselves I believe they
    will be little oblidged to their present directors, Mr Drummond
    only excepted. I sent for my nephew and niece, their not
    arriving is laid to your advice, tho up to that time I little
    believed it, and from that Instant foresaw Mr Robison and their
    infamous mother’s drift. As Mr Drummond is so very good as take
    the trouble to look after any so very near connections, least
    by others’ drift he should be Deceived, I must act the needful
    to have a near relation of the father’s side subjoined with
    him to take care of the whole, and their Education, and bring
    their Mother and Mr Robison to account for their intermissions
    with his effects and moveables, most of which he received as
    payment, and at his Death were very considerable, there are
    still living witnesses that can prove this, and I have which
    I believe may be in my Agent’s custody, his discharge or Bond
    for 6000 merks, pay’d by his father of his bond of patrimony.
    Should this stand in law, as it ought in equity, and Justice,
    I will refer any differences of this kind to any named by Mr
    Drummond, and another by me.

    ‘... Acquaintance, friendship, and blood connection might
    expect a friendly demand, not by a Sheriff Officier.

    ‘But as the world has taken a turn, and that men of business
    are not to mind such punctilios, I have nothing to say but
    that I hope it may not be long when a blood relation and
    connection with this family may be claimed both as an honour
    and protection, it was so formerly, and may be still the same.’

    (He adds that he wishes proceedings stayed still he comes to
    Edinburgh, and refers to his ‘late violent indisposition.’)

                          ‘Your sincere friend and affect. Cousine.’

This undated letter is probably of 1758, though early in 1759 Glengarry
had another very severe illness, from which it may be doubted if he ever
entirely recovered. He writes to Mr. Orme, ‘I am drinking goat-whey and
milk, that is my diet.... I shall be soon upon my leggs, and see you
soon.’

The following is an important letter, undated in the draft, to the Chief
of the Macleods:—

                                  [Undated. Really of June 21, 1758.

    ‘Dear Macleod,—I thought to have had the pleasure some months
    ago of drinking a glass with you at White House. But a Severe
    fitt of sickness of which I am now getting the better prevented
    me. I have settled my affairs in the country as well as my
    present situation and the circumstances of my tenants could
    admitt, but as their whole [property] was once destroyed, and
    that they have not recovered yet quite in their stock I was
    oblidged to give them a longer delay than I expected.’

He therefore asks Macleod to ‘go conjunct with me in security for
borrowing 400_l._’—an invitation which Macleod declined. If Macleod will
not help him, ‘I cannot be active in making aplication to be discharged
of the claims the Government has against my estate, _which I was once
made sure of, but that vanished with those then at the helme_.’

Such a promise, broken on the change of the hand at the helm, is several
times referred to—by Pickle. He writes to the Duke of Newcastle, ‘he
bitterly complains that nothing has been done for him, of what was
promis’d him in the strongest terms, and which he believes had been
strickly performed had your most worthy Brother (Henry Pelham) his great
friend and Patron, survived till now.’[116]

Among the many odd coincidences between Pickle and Glengarry, this is
not the least curious. Both the spy and the chief entertained great
expectations from Government, and both confess that these hopes ‘vanished
with those then at the helme,’ obviously, that is, with Henry Pelham’s
death.

Glengarry goes on, in his letter to Macleod, ‘_but to be explicit
on this_’ (namely, on his ‘being made sure’ of the abandonment of
Government’s claims on his estate) ‘and the confusion my father and the
late unluckie troubles left this estate would draw to tow great lenth, I
will therefore reffer it till meeting.’ He ends with compliments ‘to Lady
Macleod, and the two lovely little Misses.’

It would have been pleasant to hear Glengarry when, over a bottle, he
was ‘explicit’ on the reasons for which Henry Pelham promised to abate
the demands on his estate. Government knew that Glengarry was in the
affair of Loch Arkaig. They arrested his accomplices in 1751, but left
him free. Government knew, by their spies, that Glengarry frequented the
Earl Marischal in Paris in 1752, and that, in 1753, he was perpetually
running over, as a Jacobite agent, to Paris. But they then arrested
Glenevis and Fassifern, while they promised to abate their claims on
Glengarry’s estate! To explain all this to Macleod ‘over a magnum,’ as
Glengarry elsewhere convivially remarks, could not be an easy task. His
letter, in the draft, is undated, but on the same page is a letter to his
solicitor, Mr. Orme, W.S., dated ‘Greenfield, 21 June, 1758.’ In this
letter he speaks of that just cited as having been sent ‘by this very
post.’ Macleod was in Edinburgh, but left before Glengarry’s appeal could
reach him. Now, without the 400_l._ the Chief could not go to town. He
therefore wrote again to Macleod, repeating his supplication, and being
‘explicit’ indeed as to his former patron in the Government, though not
as to the reasons for his patronage.

‘An absolute discharge of the heavie claim the Government has against me
I was once promised, but those that was then at the helme _are no more_.’

The only person of those ‘then at the helme’ who was now, in 1758, ‘no
more’ was precisely Henry Pelham. He died in March 1754. Pickle was his
‘man.’ Pickle had received promises from him which were never fulfilled.
So, oddly enough, had Glengarry! We know what Pickle’s services to Henry
Pelham had been; we can guess at those of Glengarry. But after Henry
Pelham’s death—in fact, at the very time of his death—Prince Charles’s
party broke up for ever in England, and the Earl Marischal quarrelled
irreconcilably with the Prince. The services of Pickle were therefore
no longer needed. Pelham’s engagements with him were not kept, and the
promise to Glengarry, by a coincidence, was also broken by the faithless
English Government.

People who maintain that Glengarry was not Pickle may be asked to produce
a theory which will account for the singular series of coincidences in
the fortunes of the Chief and the spy. Even in this new coincidence
alone, it will be interesting to see how they explain the circumstance
that Glengarry, like Pickle, found his expectations blasted, and the
promises made to him unfulfilled, in consequence of the death of
Pickle’s employer, the brother of the Duke of Newcastle. What possible
claim could a professed Jacobite agent, known for such to Government,
as young Glengarry was, have on the good offices of the First Lord of
the Treasury? It has been fondly suggested that Pickle was an unknown
miscreant, personating Glengarry. That will be shown to be physically
impossible; but, granting the hypothesis, why was Glengarry, no less than
Pickle, favoured by Henry Pelham? No other person can be meant by the
phrase ‘those at the helme,’ now ‘no more.’ Newcastle, indeed, was out of
office in 1756, if ‘no more’ is explained as ‘out of office.’ But when
Glengarry wrote to Macleod in 1758 Newcastle was again at the Treasury.

Macleod would not back Glengarry’s bill for 400_l._ His agents advised
him against this measure. In February 1760 Pickle, who was anxious to
go to London, asked the Duke of Newcastle to send him a bill, payable
at sight, ‘for whatever little sum is judged proper for the present.’
The Duke’s answer, with the bill payable at sight for the little sum to
defray Pickle’s travelling expenses, is to be directed by his Grace

    ‘To Alexander Mackdonell of Glengary by Foraugustus.’

Apparently, then, Pickle had some means of getting at Glengarry’s
correspondence. The two gentlemen spell ‘Fort Augustus’ in the same
singular way. On September 11, 1758, Glengarry wrote to Mr. Orme’s
subordinate:—

‘Will you dow me the favour to order me the “Calledonian Mercury”
regullarly every post to the care of Mr. William Fraser, merchant at
forAugustus?’

The almost unvarying uniformity in bad spelling which marks Pickle and
Glengarry will be commented on later.

The last years of Glengarry were disturbed by the legal results of an
early piece of domestic slyness. His father, old Glengarry, commonly
described as a weak, indolent man, married, first, a lady named
Mackenzie, of the Hilton family. As his eldest son was not of age in
January 1745 the marriage may have been in 1723 or 1724. After bearing
a second son, Æneas, and apparently a daughter, Isobel, Lady Glengarry
died (1727). In a deed of 1728 we find Old Glengarry already remarried
to a daughter of Gordon of Glenbucket, who in 1724 was nearly murdered
by evicted Macphersons. The stepmother of Young Glengarry was a managing
woman, and ‘factrix’ of her husband’s estates. Now, in 1738 Old Glengarry
pawned or ‘wadsetted’ his lands of Cullachy to his kinsman Lochgarry. The
wadsetter paid 2,000 merks in money and gave bills for the rest. But in
January 1745, when Alastair was in Scotland on furlough from his French
regiment, Old Glengarry formally ‘disponed’ his estates to his eldest
son. Doubtless this was done with an eye to the chances of a rising; in
any case, the transaction was kept a secret from Glengarry’s wife and
factrix.

Hence arose trouble, for the pawned estate of Cullachy had been
redeemed. Lochgarry had been paid his 2,000 merks, or they were set
off against another debt, but his bills were not returned to him. They
lay in Lady Glengarry’s custody, and she could not be asked for them
without revealing the secret transference of the whole property to
Young Glengarry in 1745. He therefore gave Lochgarry a written promise
that the bills should never be used against him. But Lochgarry being
attainted, after 1745, and exiled, his possessions were forfeited to the
Crown. Government therefore demanded, in 1758, that Glengarry should
redeem from them Lochgarry’s wadset of Cullachy. He pleaded that it was
already redeemed before 1745, but of this he could bring no evidence. He
writes to his Agent on August 2, 1758, that he is not certain of the year
of the wadset (really 1738), as he was not then in the kingdom; he was in
France. ‘Lochgarry being more in debt to the familly than the [amount of
the] mortgage, he delivered up his contract of wadsett, which I thought
was all the seremony necessary; and the signature being tore from it was
laid, according to custom, among the family papers, which were carried
off, and are now in Sir Everard Falconer’s custody.’ He knows little of
estate affairs, ‘as I was always abroad.’ His rental of 1744 was burned
with the house of his factor, Donald McDonell, Younger of Scotus.

After the Rebellion, he did not meddle in matters of the property, till
his father’s death (1754). ‘The tenants could hardly pay what would
subsist him.’

‘Every tenant took possession of what farme he pleased.’ In 1746 ‘Mrs.
Mc.Donell of Lochgary being destitute of all suport, having a numerous
family of young children, came from Badenoch, took possession of
Cullachy, and there lived untill she followed her Husband abroad.’

‘The lands of Cullachie was only set till lately from year to year, the
tenants were frequently removed, I know of no written rentall, it is
not customary ... Discharges were not formerly required, nor were they
necssary.’

Glengarry explains all this to his Agent on January 6, 1759:—

‘When I got disposition to my Father’s estate I was then under age, at
this time Lady Glengarry, _how_ [who] then had so much to Say with her
husband, the Disposition Grant was concealed from her, and as the Bill
granted by Lochgarry was in her Custody, had they demanded it would have
Discovered the Scheme in my favours, I granted my Obligatory to Lochgery
that these Bills should never make against him.’

The sense can be puzzled out of the anacoloutha.

On February 3, 1759, he repeats his story:—

‘I will only observe that the reason of the bills not being cancelled
or retired by Lockgerry, was that they were then in Lady Glengarry’s
custody, and that the disposition of my Father’s estate in my favour was
keept secret from her, which would have been discovered had Lochgerry
demanded his bills, and this occasioned my giving him my obligation they
should never make against him.’

The whole affair is a specimen of the informal manner in which Highland
business was done. The frequency of ‘removals’ of tenants also throws
doubt on the theory that Evictions were a novelty introduced by the
Commissioners of Forfeited Estates. The anarchy after Culloden is shown
by the squatting of tenants on whatever farms they chose to select.
The Judges could not be induced to accept Glengarry’s account of the
redemption of Cullachy, as he had no documentary evidence, and Cullachy
appears, after the Chiefs death, among his mortgaged lands.[117]

The latest of the drafts in Glengarry’s Letter Book are of December 1758,
January 1759. He appears much aggrieved by Colonel Trapaud, Governor
of Fort Augustus, for the following cause: his ground-steward had been
claimed, unjustly it seems, as a deserter from the army. A party of
soldiers then acted in the manner described in the following draft, which
has no date or address:—

‘The party in the dead of night was posted round my hutt, of which I was
ignorant untill my servants were stopped from going from door to door.
Alarmed at this, I suspected some straglers were come to break open some
valts in the old Castle, which was formerly Done.’

The indignant chief drafts the following remonstrance to Colonel Trapaud:—

    ‘I never thought to have reason to write you in so cooll a
    strain. My own Behaviour, not to mention the pollitess showen
    to you by my friends in Generall since you lived in this
    countrey claimd a more Gentle return, and as our Actions are
    always above Board It depends upon yourself that the same
    Harmony Should allways subsist, and I will be very happie still
    to remain,

                                  Sir,

                            Your sincere friend and Humble servant.’

Trapaud’s behaviour, Glengarry writes, is ‘picking,’ and Pickle also
spells _pique_ ‘pick.’ The worst of it is that Glengarry ‘is lick to
lose the use of his eyes,’ for at the time of this assault in his ‘hutt’
he was exceedingly ill. ‘I am now writting,’ he says to Colonel Lambert
(January 6, 1759) ‘in this confus’d stile with only the fowrth part of
one eye open, beeing near losing my life with a plague of a distemper,
which, when recovered, seised my eyes.’ On January 15, 1759, he tells
Captain Forbes that he can hardly see. On February 24, 1759, he expresses
a civil surprise at Macleod’s refusal to back his bill for 400_l._ On
February 3, he was still ‘hardly able to crall,’ but intended to go
south; his sister Bell was going to Edinburgh. Macleod’s persistent
refusal probably made the journey to London impossible, where Glengarry
expected ‘to be off or on with the Government claim against my estate.’

There are no later drafts in the Letter Book, but Pickle, at all events,
had the use of _his_ eyes when he wrote to the Duke of Newcastle on
February 19, 1760,[118] offering to raise a regiment. Glengarry, six
weeks later, urged the same proposal through the Duke of Atholl.

On April 21, 1761, Glengarry made his will. He recommends his sister and
sole executrix to seal up his cabinet, which is not to be opened ‘till
the friends of the family meet.’ The Macdonnells of Greenfield, Leek, and
Cullachy are then ‘to see all the political and useless letters among my
papers burnt and destroyed, as the preservation of them can answer no
purpose.’

Mr. Fraser Mackintosh, who publishes these extracts, adds, ‘why Glengarry
who lived several months after the execution of his will, did not himself
destroy the papers above alluded to, can be conjectured by people for
themselves—all that need be said here is that their destruction was a
pity, and the reason given unsatisfactory.’[119] His affairs ‘were found
to be in a deplorable state.’ It may be conjectured that Glengarry clung
to his papers, which must have been compromising enough. If his malady
again affected his eyes, he might be unable to select the documents which
it was wiser to destroy. Nor could he well endure to entrust ‘my sister
Bell’ with the task of selection. She must not know her brother’s guilt.
That secret must have oozed out, for it has left traces in tradition.[120]

Thus closed miserably a singular career. Impoverished, dying in a ‘hutt,’
beside the ruins of his feudal castle, distrusted, not even permitted to
see his young nephew and heir, Glengarry reaped the harvest sown by his
mysterious attendant, Pickle.




XI

THE CASE AGAINST GLENGARRY


Of all the companions of Pickle, the most inseparable was Glengarry. Now,
since the appearance of ‘Pickle the Spy,’ the author has been denounced
before the Gaelic Society! Amidst ‘applause’ a Celtic gentleman, the
news-sheets say, accused me of bringing a charge of an odious nature,
_without any proofs_. Of course, if I have no proofs, nobody who thinks
so need argue against what I, myself, regard as a chain of irrefragable
circumstantial evidence. Nor am I aware that any arguments, beyond
clamour, have been advanced, in favour of Glengarry’s innocence, except
those which I shall presently examine. But first I must meet the charge
of wresting facts to suit my ‘prepossessions.’

I had no prepossessions: how should I? If I knew so much as that there
was any young Glengarry, before I read the Pickle letters, it was
the limit of my information. These documents were pointed out to me,
several years ago, by Sir E. Maunde Thompson, when I was in search of
a manuscript to print for the Roxburghe Club. I began to read them,
where they are to be found, scattered through five or six volumes of the
Pelham Papers, in the British Museum. They are not all in sequence in
one volume, nor in chronological order. On a first hasty examination,
nothing appeared to indicate their author. I therefore had transcripts
made of the Pickle Letters, and, after reading them, arranged them
chronologically, being helped, where dates failed, by their allusions to
public events: such as the death of Frederick, Prince of Wales, the death
of Henry Pelham, and so forth.

On a first glance at the originals, I had no hope of detecting the spy
called Pickle. He might be a servant, secretary, or retainer of any
Jacobite family. But indications as to his identity kept occurring,
when once the papers were sorted, and the hunting instinct awoke in
the reader, the fever of the chase. Pickle was apparently no ‘paltry
vidette,’ for he was in close relations with the Prime Minister, Henry
Pelham, and, later, with the Duke of Newcastle. Now a lacquey may, as
Sir Charles Hanbury Williams’s dispatches show, report to an Ambassador,
but a Prime Minister is less easy of access. Next, Pickle was, or had
succeeded in persuading Pelham that he was, a person of the first
importance in the Highlands. A critic has replied that, of course, a
spy would pretend to be important, and, naturally, would be accepted as
such. Ministers are scarcely so gullible. They do not accept a casual
stranger’s identity without inquiry.

Presently it appeared, from a letter of the Court Trusty, or Secret
Service man, Bruce,[121] who attended Pickle in Edinburgh, that he
now, by his father’s death, was head of a great clan. Pickle’s father’s
death occurred in September 1754. Now, on examination, it appeared
that Old Glengarry, and no other Chief, died on September 1, 1754, in
Edinburgh, where we find Pickle, with Young Lochgarry, in mid September.
Pickle, writes Bruce, the Court Trusty (signing ‘Cromwell’) is adulated
by military society in Edinburgh, where he stays for at least a month.
He is to be observed, when he goes North, by the Governor of Fort
Augustus, near which lie Glengarry’s lands. The Governor (Trapaud) writes
unfavourably of the new Glengarry (December 13, 1754), and Pickle writes
that he will, if not permitted the use of arms, prevent officers from
shooting over his lands.

Pickle then is, or affects to be, a young Chief, just come, by his
father’s death at Edinburgh, in September, into estates near Fort
Augustus. He is also, or pretends to be, the chief of the Macdonnells,
for he says (April 1754), ‘there could be no rising in Scotland without
the Macdonnells: he is sure that he shall have the _first_ notice of
anything of the kind; and he is sure that the Young Pretender would do
nothing without him.’ Finally (as stated on p. 209), writing to the Duke
of Newcastle (Feb. 19, 1760), he speaks of Pickle in the third person,
says that he is ready to raise a Highland regiment (which only a Chief
could do), and ends, ‘Direction’ (of reply) ‘To Alexander Mackdonnell,
of Glengary, by Foraugustus.’ Before I read that line, I had said to a
Highland friend, ‘The traitor is a Macdonald.’ ‘Not Clanranald, I hope,’
he answered, and then Pickle’s last letter gave me the clue to Glengarry.

Thus there was, and could be, no ‘prepossession’ on my part. The
circumstances all pointed direct to Glengarry, or to a personator of his,
and to no one else. Thus it became a ‘working hypothesis’ that Pickle
either was, or was personating, Glengarry: a Chief on terms of perfect
intimacy with Prince Charles. He was, or affected to be, a Macdonnell,
a Chief, with lands near Fort Augustus, to which he succeeded by his
father’s death in September 1754, the date of the death of Old Glengarry.

Taking Pickle’s identity, natural or feigned, with Young Glengarry, as
a working hypothesis, it became necessary to trace the career of that
chief. At every stage, in every detail and date, after 1750, whatever
was true of Young Glengarry was found to be true of Pickle. Every gleam
of light that revealed the long forgotten incidents of Young Glengarry’s
career, after 1750, fell also on the sinister features of Pickle. My
hypothesis thus ‘colligated’ all the facts. New facts from MSS. came
into view after my book was published; my hypothesis colligated these
also. Everything fell into its place: everything coincided in the
identification of Pickle with Young Glengarry.

To upset the evidence of a long series of coincidences, all pointing in
the same direction, some hypothesis other than the hypothesis that Pickle
is Glengarry must be advanced. Only one alternative suggestion has been
ventured, as far as I am aware—namely, that Glengarry was _personated_
throughout, for ten years, by some unknown ‘inward’ or close intimate,
calling himself ‘Pickle.’ That hypothesis I shall prove to be not only
morally but physically impossible, to demand a physical and moral
miracle. We are left, then, with the equation, Pickle = Glengarry.[122]

To the _a priori_ objection, that it is morally inconceivable that
a Highland Chief, of character hitherto unsuspected, should sink so
low, I need hardly reply. Too many Chiefs, from the death of Malcolm
MacHeth, had been in the same _galère_. Young Glengarry, moreover, _was_
suspected by several independent witnesses. We have also read the story
of Barisdale, Glengarry’s cousin. _A priori_ improbability there is none.
We therefore proceed to examine the career of Young Glengarry, and to
show how his comings and goings, his entrances and exits, the changes in
his fortunes, his unconsidered private letters, his spelling, and his
handwriting, all combine to identify him with the author of the Pickle
Correspondence.

About the early years of Alastair Ruadh Macdonnell of Glengarry it is
unnecessary to write at great length. Born apparently about 1725, for
he was not of age in the beginning of 1745, Young Glengarry had one
brother of the full blood, Æneas, accidentally shot at Falkirk in 1746.
He had also a sister, Isobel. Before 1728 his mother died. Wodrow says
that she was imprisoned by her husband on an islet, and died of hunger
(1727). Young Glengarry now received a stepmother, a daughter of Gordon
of Glenbucket. He does not seem to have been attached to this lady, who
bore two sons to Old Glengarry. According to Murray of Broughton, Young
Glengarry ‘was most barbarously used by his father and mother-in-law’ (p.
441). Alastair, at all events, was sent to France as early as 1738, where
he was not likely to learn English orthography. His own, though pretty
consistent in its blunders, is of the kind which Captain Burt found
prevailing in the Highlands.

Alastair’s boyhood was probably unluxurious. Burt tells the following
curious anecdote on this head. After 1715, the Castle of Invergarry,
which had been adorned by the father of the Glengarry of Shirramuir, was
gutted by the English soldiery. It was refurnished and made inhabitable
by the agent of a Liverpool Company, who smelted iron in the district.
Glengarry, meanwhile, ‘inhabited a miserable hut of turf, as he does to
this day’ (1735?). To this manager, a Quaker, a number of gentlemen
of the clan paid a visit. After receiving them hospitably, the Quaker
observed that they would always be welcome in ‘my house.’

‘God d—n you, Sir, your house! I thought it had been Glengarry’s house.’
They then assaulted the Quaker, who was rescued by his workmen.[123]
Alastair was better lodged in France, where, in 1743, he got a Company
in the Royal Scots. In 1744 he was with Pickle’s friend, the exiled Earl
Marischal, at Dunkirk, meaning to start with the futile French expedition
from Gravelines.

How that expedition was ‘muddled away’ we have told in the essay on the
Earl Marischal. At this time the Earl in France, and Murray of Broughton
in Scotland, gravely distrusted James’s agents in France, Sempil and
Balhaldie. Now Balhaldie was a connection of Lochiel, and was aware that
Murray held him in suspicion. He, therefore, after the collapse of the
expedition of 1744, sent over to Lochiel Young Glengarry, ‘freighted with
heavy complaints’ against Murray. Lochiel next, in the spring of 1745,
brought Murray and Young Glengarry together. The young Chief told Murray
that Balhaldie accused him of bidding the Prince come to Scotland, with
or without French assistance, and ‘seat himself on the throne, and leave
the King at Rome’ (which was precisely what James desired and Charles
repudiated).[124] Glengarry was therefore to warn the party against
Murray. Murray told Glengarry the real facts—namely, that Balhaldie
was too imaginative, and Glengarry seemed quite satisfied. Indeed, he
produced a letter to the same effect as regards Balhaldie from Æneas
Macdonald, the banker, and, later, the informer.

Glengarry and Murray presently met at that strange tavern gathering in
Edinburgh, where, out of the company, Traquair, Lovat, Glengarry, Murray,
Macleod, and Lochiel, Lochiel alone preserved his honour. Glengarry then
went to the Highlands with letters for Sir Alexander Macdonald of Sleat
and other gentlemen. In January 1745 Glengarry had induced his father
secretly to dispone to him his lands, an action which became a serious
trouble to him later. In May 1745 Murray sent him with despatches to the
Prince in France, and with reasons why Charles should not come unless
accompanied by a French force. Late in 1745 Young Glengarry was taken at
sea, and lodged in the Tower.

Charles, meanwhile, was loyal enough to his imprisoned adherent. On
November 4, 1746, Charles wrote to d’Argenson, ‘there are three prisoners
in London, sir, in whom I take a warm interest. These are Sir Hector
Maclean, Glengarry, and my secretary, Mr. Murray of Broughton. All three
hold French commissions, the first was born at Calais.... I implore you,
sir, to take every means to secure their exchange, and will regard it as
a personal obligation.’

These gentlemen, however, were not naturalised French subjects, like
Nicholas Wogan, who, after fighting when a boy at Preston in 1715, and
after losing an arm at Fontenoy, took part in the campaign of 1745, and
later saw Cumberland’s back at Laffeldt fight. Nicholas may have been
exchanged, in 1746, as a French prisoner; for Murray and Glengarry this
plea was unavailing. The Prince, however, did his best for both men, and
ill they rewarded him.[125]

Glengarry told Bishop Forbes the same story in 1752. He was the bearer of
a letter from the Chiefs, imploring the Prince not to come over without
arms, money, and auxiliary forces.[126] But he could not find Charles,
who was incognito, ‘lurking for a spring.’ Towards the end of 1745
Alastair was captured, as we saw, while conveying a piquet of the Royal
Scots to join the Prince. He pined in the Tower, he says, for twenty-two
months, and was then released. His fortunes were frowning. His father lay
in Edinburgh Castle, a written information having been laid against him
by a number of the gentlemen of his clan who had been out in the Rising.
His lands and cattle had been destroyed and driven away by the English
soldiery. Men squatted on what farm they chose, and could only pay rent
enough to ‘subsist’ his father. The French Government made demands on him
for money advanced to him while in the Tower, and stopped his pay. His
grant from the Scots Fund (1,800 livres) was inadequate. The Prince could
not procure for him a regiment. In these gloomy circumstances Alastair
took a step which nobody can blame in itself. He attempted to reconcile
himself to the English Government. The following letter is from a friend
sincerely anxious for his success:—[127]

      (State Papers, Domestic, Scotland, Bundle 38 (1747), No. 6.)

                                           ‘Roterdam, Oct. 17, 1747.

    ‘Sir,—I take this opportunity of my worthy friend an officer of
    the Royals of informing you how I have had severall letters on
    the following Subject from Mr. Macdonell Junior of Glengary who
    desires me to charge you with this letter. He has frequently
    and seriously reflected on the many good Advices given him
    by you and Maj. White when he was Prisoner at the Tower, to
    abandon that party and the service of France. I am thorrowly
    convinced that he is determined so to do if it is agreeable
    to the Ministry, and that he will give the Duke of Argyle and
    them all the assurances that a man of honour can give of his
    behaving as a peaceable Subject, if they will allow him to
    wait upon them in London. Let me beg of you for God’s sake to
    persuade these great men to accept of this young Gentleman’s
    offer, by which at once you’ll detach him from that party that
    has given birth to all the Calamitys that both his Clan and
    Country has suffered this age past: as I shall be some months
    here before my affair is Negociated you’ll have time to send me
    answer, which I pray God may be favourable. Please write me as
    soon as you can. I am with my Compliments to your family,

              ‘Sir, your most obedt. oblidged humble Sert.

                                                     ‘WILL: BAILLIE.

    ‘P.S.—The young man depends very much on the Duke of Argyle’s
    interest.

    ‘To Major Macdonald at London.’

On September 20, 1748, Glengarry wrote from Amiens, telling James that
he ‘waited an opportunity of going safely to Britain,’ on his private
affairs. In December he asked James to procure for him the colonelcy
vacant by the death of Lochiel. Young Lochiel, a boy, had been appointed.
James could do nothing, and was too poor to send money. But, on
Glengarry’s request, he dispatched ‘a duplicate of your grandfather’s
warrant to be a peer’—Lord Macdonnell and Aros. Glengarry often signs
‘Mackdonell,’ without Christian name.[128]

On June 8, 1749, Glengarry explained his circumstances to Cardinal York
and to Lismore, James’s agent at Versailles. ‘I shall be obliged to
leave this country, if not relieved.’ Presently he went to London, with
Leslie, a priest suspected of treachery by the Jacobites.[129] Leslie
says, ‘Glengarry did not intend to appear publicly’ in London, ‘but to
have advice of some counsellors about an act of the Privy Council against
his returning to Great Britain.’ He was so poor that Leslie pledged for
him, to Clanranald, a watch of Mrs. Murray’s of Broughton, wife of the
notorious traitor. He had already ‘sold his sword and shoe-buckles.’
This must have been the very nadir of his fortunes, and four years later
Campbell of Lochnell told Mrs. Archibald Cameron that now, in 1748 or
1749—the lady could not remember which—Glengarry offered his service,
‘in any shape they thought proper,’ to the English Government and Henry
Pelham.[130] Without pausing to discuss the value of Mrs. Cameron’s
evidence (given on January 25, 1754) we return to what is actually
known of Glengarry in 1749. He had left London, probably little the
better for his visit. On September 23, 1749, Glengarry wrote to Lismore
from Boulogne. He has been in London, by advice of his friends, ‘ces
Messieurs croyant que je ne ferai point de difficulté de me conformer aux
intentions du Gouvernement, mais étant toujours determine de ne me point
égare[r] des principes de mes Ancêtres, ne du devoir que je dois a mon
Roy je [de?] me lui tenir, je puis retire [retirais?].’ If not relieved,
he must return to England.[131] We know what his protestations of
loyalty were worth. We do not know what occurred to Glengarry, in London,
at this time.

Starving in July or August 1749, Glengarry appears (according to Æneas
Macdonald, the banker) to ‘have plenty of cash’ at the end of the year
(December). In October his father had been released from Edinburgh
Castle, a point of no evidential importance, as several other gentlemen
were also simultaneously set free. His estates were not forfeited, though
remonstrances on this head were addressed to the English Government. They
exist in the State Papers.

Before Æneas Macdonald met Glengarry in December, and earlier in the
winter of 1749, Young Glengarry and Archy Cameron went North, and helped
themselves to the Treasure of Cluny, the gold of Loch Arkaig.[132] On
January 16, 1750, Glengarry reported his journey to Edgar, and accused
Archibald Cameron of taking 6,000 louis d’or, and damping all hearts
in the Highlands.[133] Cameron, on his side, appears to have accused
Glengarry of obtaining the money by forging a letter from James. James,
writing to Charles about Cameron’s charge, leaves a blank for the
name (March 17, 1750). But Æneas Macdonald supplies the name of Young
Glengarry (October 12, 1751).

That Young Glengarry was concerned in the looting of the treasure in
winter, 1749, is certain from his own admission to Charles, corroborated
by the confession of Cameron of Glenevis to Colonel Crawfurd, in October
1751. In that confession appears the earliest charge of treachery against
Glengarry, who, Cameron vows, must have betrayed him (p. 153). At about
the same time (November 30, 1751, February 14, 1752) Holker (of Ogilvie’s
French Scots Regiment) and Blair anonymously warned young Edgar against
Glengarry. He is a friend of Leslie, ‘an arrant rogue,’ and is ‘known
to be in great intimacy with Murray’—of Broughton, the traitor, an
acquaintance which is proved by Murray’s own ‘Memorials,’ already cited.
Even if we discount Mrs. Cameron’s story, with those of Archy Cameron and
Glenevis, as Camerons were at feud with Macdonnells, we have no reason to
suspect hostile animus in Young Edgar, Blair and Holker.[134] They remark
(February 14, 1752) that ‘Mr. Macdonald of Glengarrie says that he is
charged with the affaires of his Majesty,’ in London.

Now, what was, in 1751 the real situation of Young Glengarry? He had left
Rome in September 1750. In January 1751 he was in Paris, and wrote to
Edgar, asking for money. He was confined to bed by a severe cold.[135]
At an uncertain date, probably April 1751, he was residing publicly in
London, for he thence announced to Charles his approaching marriage ‘with
a lady of a very Honourable and loyall familie in England,’ after which
he will repay his share of the Loch Arkaig gold. On this head he has
satisfied James. He discloses the embezzlements of Cluny![136] On July
15, 1751, he wrote from London to James, and to Edgar, with political
and loyal observations. Yet, in 1751, Glenevis believed, for very good
reasons, that Glengarry was already an informer. If the suspicions of
Glenevis were correct, Glengarry was an informer in 1751, the date
assigned by Pickle to the beginning of his own service is about 1750.

Thus, in 1751, Glengarry was tolerated in London by the English
Government, though still professing loyalty to James. As late as October
1754 he had not ‘qualified’ or taken the oaths. He must, therefore,
have made his peace with England—otherwise! He had resigned his French
commission. Moreover, while his accomplices in the Loch Arkaig affair,
the Camerons, were arrested, Glengarry, the ‘unqualified,’ was allowed to
go about London, and travel to France and Scotland, though the English
Ministry knew that he was at least as guilty as Glenevis and Downan.

The inferences are obvious. Government had a motive for sparing
Glengarry. Again, quite apart from the Pickle letters, Glengarry is
assuredly betraying one or the other party. To James he poses as an
active conspirator. To the English Government he poses as, at least, ‘one
peaceable subject,’ for they allow him to live, and love, in London, and
to go where he pleases. He was in Edinburgh in April, 1752, and dined
with Bishop Forbes. Later, he seems to have gone to Lochaber, which
Government knew, from an Informer.

We now come to the Elibank Plot, to kidnap the Royal Family. It flickered
from November 1752 to summer, 1753. Glengarry, writing from Arras on
April 5, 1753, gives Edgar, James’s secretary, a veiled account of the
affair. ‘The day was fixt,’ on, or for, November 10, 1752, but the
English shuffled, and did not act. ‘The concert in Novr. was,’ says
Glengarry, ‘that I was to remain in London, as I had above four hundred
Brave Highlanders ready at my call, and, after matters had broke out
there to sett off directly for Scotland, as no raising would be made
amongst the Clans without my presence.’[137] He then alludes to ‘my leate
illness at Paris,’ which has left him ‘still very weake’—a phrase used at
the same time by Pickle.

Now the Pickle letters begin on November 2, 1752, and Pickle speaks
of himself, to his English employers, in precisely the same terms as
Glengarry uses about himself when writing to Edgar. Pickle says that,
among his Jacobite friends, he explains his supplies of English money as
remittances from ‘Baron Kenady.’ Now, in Lord Advocate Craigie’s letters
of 1745,[138] we read ‘in most things Young Glengarry is advised and
directed by Baron Kennedy,’ a Baron of the Scottish Exchequer. Thus, if
Pickle is Glengarry, he would naturally represent his chief adviser,
Baron Kennedy, as the source of his supplies. He announces (Boulogne,
November 2, 1752) ‘you’l soon hear of a hurly burly,’ and he must make
a long journey, first to Paris, then South, as he writes on November 4
to Henry Pelham.[139] The hurly burly is the Elibank Plot. ‘I will see
my friend’ (Henry Pelham) ‘or that can happen.’ To Pelham he says, ‘I
will lay before you _in person_ all I can learn.’ Pelham knew Pickle
_personally_, and could not be deceived as to his identity, as to his
being a Chief, as he represented himself. In December 1752 Pickle, in
London, informed against Archibald Cameron and Lochgarry, whom Charles
had sent to Scotland, also against Fassifern and Glenevegh (Glenevis) as
agents for Charles with the Southern Jacobites. Pickle has seen Charles,
and, in town, Lord Elibank, who ‘surprised me to the greatest degree by
telling me that all was put off for some time.’ He has promised Charles
‘to write nothing to Rome,’ which Glengarry actually did, in April 1753.
In later letters to his English employers, Pickle speaks much of a severe
illness, at Paris, which ‘nearly tripped up his hiells,’ and left him,
like Glengarry at the same date, ‘very weake.’ He had caught a cold, with
a relapse at the masked ball of the Lundi Gras, where he met the Prince.
‘They now believe Pickle could have a number of Highlanders even in
London to follow him.’ Nothing can be transacted in the Highlands without
his knowledge, as his Clan must begin the play.’[140] The scheme is a
night attack on the Palace of St. James’s. Pickle has often discussed it
with his friend, the Earl Marischal, Frederick’s ambassador to the French
Court.[141]

Here, then, are the following points shared in common by Pickle and
Glengarry. (1.) Both in November 1752 are engaged in a deep Jacobite
Plot. (2.) Both are expected to lead a force of Highlanders, ‘even in
London.’ (3.) No rising can take place among the Clans without each of
them. (4.) Both are in correspondence with Rome. (5.) Both suffer from a
severe illness at the same time, and are left very ‘weake’. (6.) Both are
friends of Baron Kennedy. (7.) Both frequently visit the Earl Marischal
in Paris.

That Glengarry visited the Earl in 1753 I cannot prove by independent
evidence. But I can show, by independent evidence, that he, as well as
(by his own statement) Pickle, did so at an approximate date. Glengarry
had known the Earl since 1744. Here is another spy’s undated testimony
(1752-1754) to Glengarry’s familiarity with the Earl Marischal in Paris,
about this date, when Pickle haunts the old exile.[142]

‘Macdonald of Glengarry, goes by the first of these names, lives at a
_Baigneur’s_ in the _Rue Guenegaud_, and keeps one Servant out of Livery,
and two in Livery. When he first came to Paris he kept a _Carosse de
Remise_ by the month, but now only hires one occasionally to make his
visits, which are chiefly to

Lord Ogilvie

Mr. Ratcliffe

Mrs. Carryl of Sussex

Mrs. Hamilton (Lord Abercorn’s Cousin who has changed her Religion and
lives with Mrs. Carryl)

The 3 Messrs. Hayes (who are cousins and lodge at the _Hotel de
Transylvanie, Rue Conde_)

    Macloud    } at Roisins, a Coffee House in the Rue Vaugirard
    Fitzgerald }

Lord Pittenweemys, the Earl of Kelly’s Son, at the _Hotel d’Angleterre,
Rue Tarrane_

Sir James Cockburn, at the _Caffe de la Paix_, in the _Rue Tarane_.

    Lord Hallardy } at a _Baigneur’s_ on the Estrapade where
    Mr. Gordon    }   they keep themselves conceal’d,
    Mr. Mercer    }
    L. Cromarty   }

Frequently to the Jesuits’ College.

‘_And never fails going to Lord Marshal_, whose Coach is often lent him
when he has none of his own.

‘N.B.—Tuesday 9th. Janry. Macdonald waited in his own Coach from ten
o’clock at night till past eleven, in the _Rue Dauphine_, when a Person
took him up in a Chariot, who, by the description, is believed to be
Lord Marshal. It is about that time that the Pretender’s Son is suppos’d
to have been in Paris.’

Thus Glengarry undeniably frequented the old Earl Marischal, no less than
Pickle did, and the English Government knew it. Yet they did not arrest
him, as they arrested Glenevis, Downan, Fassifern, Archy Cameron, and
tried to arrest Lochgarry, on all of whom Pickle had informed. Moreover
Glengarry, in Paris, is not starving, but has a servant out of livery,
and two in livery, keeps or hires a carriage, or uses that of the Earl
Marischal.

I respectfully submit that these seven common notes of Pickle and of
Glengarry cannot possibly be explained, except on one of two hypotheses.
Either Pickle is Glengarry, or he is audaciously personating Glengarry,
not only by letter, but bodily. For he promises to visit Henry Pelham ‘in
person,’ and Henry Pelham, with the English officials and police, cannot
but have known the aspect of Glengarry, a man who, for twenty-two months,
was an important state prisoner in the Tower, and had, later, lived
openly in London, though, as we shall see, under surveillance.

That point I prove thus: on August 12, 1753, Charles, in hiding at Liège,
and elsewhere in the Netherlands, desired, as he notes in a draft, an
interview ‘with G.’[143] In August, or September, 1753, Pickle sent
in accounts of his interview with Charles, in whose company he had
travelled from Ternan to Paris. The Prince asked Pickle to allow arms to
be landed on his estate, which Pickle refused, ‘nobody knowing as yet in
what manner the forfeited estates would be settled.’[144] Pickle himself
is now in England.

Now we know, from a report in the State Papers, that, in 1753, the
English Government received intelligence from a spy on Glengarry. ‘Mr.
McDonald of Glengarry has been several times in France within these three
weeks, and is suspected to be an agent for the Young Pretender, who, it
is believed, has been lately in Paris, incog. N.B.—The above-mentioned
Mr. McDonald lodges at the second House on the right hand side of the way
in Beaufort Buildings, in the Strand, and is a young, fair, full-made
man.’[145]

Thus, just when Charles wishes to meet ‘G,’ Glengarry is coming and
going from France to England, suspected by a spy to be a Jacobite
agent, while Pickle is reporting to the English Government on his own
simultaneous journeys and interviews with the Prince. Yet the English
Government, though independently informed of Glengarry’s movements, and
his familiarity with the Earl Marischal (whom they know to be intriguing
for the Jacobites with Prussia), arrest Clanranald, arrest Fassifern, but
never touch Glengarry!

This is not the limit of their favours. Far from incommoding Glengarry,
Henry Pelham promises that Government will remit all their large claims
on his estate. For this, as least, we have Glengarry’s written word, as
has been shown already in ‘The Last Days of Glengarry.’[146]

The Celtic believers in Glengarry’s innocence may explain why, when
Pelham was arresting Jacobites all over Scotland, in 1753, he not only
allowed Glengarry, who had not ‘qualified,’ and against whom he had
copious information, to go free, but also ‘promised an absolute discharge
of the heavie claims the Government has against me.’ He made similar
promises to Pickle, who complains of their non-fulfilment. And, on the
hypothesis of Glengarry’s guilt, his motive is now transparent. In
addition to payments of ready money, sorely needed, his estates escaped
forfeiture, _and he was promised remission of the fines_. These facts, of
course, were unknown before I had access to Glengarry’s MS. Letter Book.
My hypothesis colligates the new facts as well as the old, which is the
note of a good working hypothesis.

To the seven common points between Pickle and Glengarry, in 1752-53,
we now add an eighth: both have been disappointed by Henry Pelham’s
promises, broken after his death. Such coincidences cannot be fortuitous,
and Glengarry’s friends must explain why he, a known Jacobite agent, was
so endeared to Henry Pelham.

At this time, the autumn of 1753, James Mohr Macgregor made his absurd
‘revelations,’ about an Irish plot to invade Scotland. He, his chief,
Balhaldie, and a Mr. Trant, were particularly concerned. Government had
also news, from Pickle, Count Kaunitz, and other sources, of Frederick’s
tampering with the Jacobites, through the Earl Marischal, the friend both
of Pickle and of Glengarry. It would have been natural to arrest and
examine Glengarry, who, as Government knew, was a familiar friend of the
Earl Marischal. In place of doing that—they consulted Pickle! The Duke of
Newcastle wrote a paper of Memoranda, proving his agitation, and making
a note that Henry Pelham should collogue with ‘the person from whom he
sometimes receives information.’[147] That person was Pickle.

Here are Pickle’s answers!

    (_Private intelligences concerning some particular persons._)

    ‘He says Mr. Trent told him there was a Collection already made
    for the Pretender of about £40,000, and that his friends here
    said he should [not] want for money, tho’ it were £200,000.

    ‘Mr. Trent and he were very familiar formerly, but as he is
    here grown a great man, he does not see so much of him. Trent
    is not gone, but is expected to go every day. This Mr. Trent is
    son of Olive Trent [once mistress of the Regent d’Orléans, and
    complained of by Bolingbroke].

    ‘He does not know, nor believe, any one has come from Lord
    Marshal hither lately with authority. He is sure no Arms have
    come to Scotland this year, if there had, he must have known
    it. [James Mohr said arms had come.] He says Sullivan’s Brother
    has been twice at Rome lately, but does not know his errand.

    ‘Bohaldie [James Mohr’s Chief] was an Agent of the Pretender
    with the late Lord Temple (Sempil?), but the Irish got him
    turnd off, and he is sure Lord Marshal would never trust him,
    because he will never believe him. [James Mohr had alleged that
    the Earl was engaged with Balhaldie.]

    ‘_MacGregor was a Spy of both sides, and will never be trusted._

    ‘When he [Macgregor] escaped to Bulloigne he was very poor, but
    Lord Strathallan etc took compassion upon him, and he knows the
    Old Pretender sent him £20.’

This report damaged poor James Mohr; he was dismissed, and, in
a few months, died a destitute exile. General Stewart of Garth
claims our sympathy for James, who ‘rejected an employment which he
considered dishonourable in itself, and detrimental to the good of his
country.’[148] Alas! his employers rejected James!

We now reach the crucial point of the hypothesis that Pickle _personated_
Glengarry. ‘Whoever Pickle was, it was clearly his intention to personate
Glengarry,’ says Mr. A. H. Millar.[149] Now on this point, I need
scarcely recapitulate what is said at the beginning of this chapter. On
September 14, 1754, we find the bereaved Pickle, an orphan now, but also
a Chief, by his father’s death, in Edinburgh with Young Lochgarry, who
cannot but have known Young Glengarry, his Chief. For this presence of
the orphan in Edinburgh, we have not only his written word, but that of
Bruce (‘Cromwell’), the ‘Court Trusty’ who accompanied him. We have his
testimony to Pickle’s enhanced pride. He it is who tells us how ‘the Army
people make up to Pickle, thinking to make something of him,’ how General
Bland (unconscious of guile) suspects _him_, as a friend of Pickle’s;
how Pickle is going North, to his estates, and how the Governor of Fort
Augustus, hard by, is ‘to try his hand upon Pickle.’[150]

All this Pickle himself confirms, in two letters of one of which only
the briefest analysis has hitherto been given.[151] But these dull
confirmatory letters may be relegated to an appendix. Briefly, we
learn from his letters how Pickle has hurried to Edinburgh, for some
reason of his own, on the news of a death which coincides with that
of Old Glengarry. Coincidently, too, Pickle’s family affairs are in
great disorder. He writes again from Edinburgh (October 10, 1754), and
this letter is in his feigned hand.[152] In his second epistle from
Edinburgh Pickle confirms all that Bruce, the Court Trusty, has said
about his approaching journey North, whence Colonel Trapaud, Governor
of Fort Augustus, gives a bad account of Glengarry as swindling his
wadsetters.[153] Pickle also confirms Bruce’s account of the jealousy of
General Bland.

That Young Glengarry, as well as Pickle, was a week’s distance from
town after his father’s death (September 1, 1754) I now confirm by the
following letter to himself, where he is supposed to be interested in Old
Lochgarry. It is probably from the Major Macdonald who, while he was a
prisoner in 1747, persuaded him to conform to the English Government.

                                            ‘London: Sept. 12, 1754.

    ‘My dear Cuss,—I have duely received the Honour of yours of 3d
    current. I must own that the melancholly news [Old Glengarry’s
    death] gave me an inexpressible shock, the only thing that
    abates my greife is that my dear late friend is so well
    represented in your dear person. I pray that all the powers
    above may combine to make you shine even above your noble
    Ancestors. I hope that Hevon will long preserve and prosper
    you for the protection of a poor name that seems at present in
    a very tottering and abject condition; No doubt this accident
    will naturally retard your coming to this place [London] yet I
    can’t think otherwise than that your interest calls you hither
    has soon you may have settled your domestique concerns.

    ‘I have a line from Samer [probably St. Omer] by which I
    understand that the whole Coy [Corps?] seem’d determined to
    get ride of Loch[garry] at all events surely he’s a most
    incorrigible man, and if a certain person [the Prince] does not
    interpose he must fall a sacrafice to his enemies’ resentment
    and to his own folly. Mrs. Macdonald and the young folks join
    in compliments, our friendes of Crevan street salute you, and I
    ever am, My dear Cous,

                                                 ‘Yours whilst J. M.

                                            ‘London: Sept. 12, 1754.

    ‘I did not receive your note dated wednesday till Thursday 12
    o’clock.’[154]

Thus, all Pickle’s movements at this solemn hour of Old Glengarry’s
decease tally with those of Young Glengarry. Pickle is adulated by the
army people, and goes North to his estates near Fort Augustus, whence the
Governor reports on—Glengarry.

Can Pickle, then, while Glengarry is in Scotland, after his father’s
death, be posing in Edinburgh as himself a young, newly orphaned chief,
going to his lands near Fort Augustus; personating Glengarry, in fact—for
no other Chief had just lost his father?

Mr. Millar says: ‘Whoever Pickle was, it was clearly his intention
to personate Glengarry.... It is hardly possible to imagine that an
impostor could have deceived the Edinburgh folks, to whom Glengarry must
have been well known,’ and whom, hurrying to his father’s funeral, and
to arrange his affairs, he must just have visited, for Old Glengarry
died in Edinburgh. I venture to call such an impersonation a physical
impossibility, prolonged, as it was, for some six weeks. It is
_physically impossible_ that, both in London and Edinburgh, many men who
knew Young Glengarry should have supposed another person—Pickle—to be
that hero. Yet, if the personation was played off, it was not discovered,
then or later; for Pickle continued to be the informer, and to be the
shadow of Glengarry. As soon as it is admitted that Pickle is feigning
to be Glengarry, the case for that Chief’s innocence is given up.
The personation, among people who knew Glengarry intimately well, is
_impossible_.

Pickle’s day of usefulness had gone by. On April 24, 1755, an official
gave in a report of a conversation with the Chief, ‘the head of a great
Clan of his name,’ who wanted money.[155] In April 1756 Pickle again came
to London, and dunned the Duke of Newcastle: ‘not the smalest article
has been perform’d, of what was expected and at first promised. I am
certain my first friend’ (Pelham) ‘mentioned me to the King....’[156] In
an undated letter he speaks of being on an ‘utstation’ in the Highlands,
and talks of Glengarry in the third person.[157] He tells of Glengarry’s
greatness, of Jacobite overtures to him, and repeats his usual fond
demands.

In 1758, 1759, we know, from his own letters, that Glengarry was eager to
go to London, to make terms about the fines on his estate. But Macleod
would not back his bill for 400_l._ On February 19, 1760, Pickle wrote
the last letter to Newcastle extant in the Pelham Papers. He speaks
of Pickle in the third person, but he writes in Pickle’s hand. Pickle
wants to give information; Pickle wishes to raise a regiment (and so did
Glengarry), if he gets ‘the Rank of full Colonel, the nomenation of his
Officers, and suitable levie money:’ also ‘a bill payable at sight’ for
travelling expenses. He ends, ‘Mack mention of _Pickle_. His Majesty
will remember Mr. Pelham did, upon former affairs of great consequence.
Direction—_To Alexander Mackdonell of Glengary, by Foraugustus_.’[158]

A reply from Newcastle directed to Glengarry would be opened by
Glengarry, and then, if Glengarry did not write Pickle’s epistle of
February 19, 1760, where is Pickle? Mr. Millar suggests that, ‘if Pickle
were a traitor in Glengarry’s family, he must have been in a position
to intercept the reply to this letter, or the whole plot would have
been exposed.’ This is a romantic hypothesis. There is no trace of any
gentleman (such as Pickle was) eternally in attendance on Glengarry. And
why did the hypothetical traitor offer to raise a regiment, which only
Glengarry could do? There is no conceivable motive for writing such a
letter on the part of any one but Glengarry, who was terribly pressed for
money, and could raise a regiment. Besides, the physical impossibility of
Pickle’s supposed personation has already been demonstrated. Glengarry,
who had long been in very bad health, died on December 23, 1761. The
nature of his will has been explained.

The internal evidence of identity in the authorship of Pickle’s and
Glengarry’s letters remains to be considered. Both write the same
shambling style. In an age of bad spelling both have a long list of
blunders in common. I give a few:—

     1. aquent          acquaint.

     2. estime          esteem.

     3. tow             two.

     4. dow             do.

     5. sow             so.

     6. triffle         trifle.

     7. { jant  }       jaunt.
        { chant }

     8. { utquarters    out quarters.
        { utstation     out station.

     9. pick            pique.

    10. { Foraugustus } Fort Augustus.
        { forAugustus }

    11. how             who.

    12. lick            like.

    13. supplay         supply.

    14. relay           rely.

    15. puish           push.

Of these, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 12, 13, 14 occur, sporadically, in other
Scotch writers of the age, as in the Gask Correspondence. Pickle combines
them all. But I have not elsewhere met 7, 8, 9, 10, 15. ‘How’ for ‘who’
(11) I have met in Macleod of Raasay’s letters in the ‘Lyon in Mourning,’
and in one letter of 1725, while ‘howse’ for ‘whose’ occurs in a Scotch
epistle in the Cumberland MSS. The _accumulation_ of these fifteen
mis-spellings is the common note of the orthography of Pickle and of
Glengarry. It constitutes a note of identity of authorship.

But, believers in personation may say, ‘Pickle had carefully studied and
adroitly copied Glengarry’s orthography, as, _ex hypothesi_, he wished to
pass for that Chief.’

Then why did he not also imitate Glengarry’s handwriting?

Glengarry wrote two hands; one is a sprawling scrawl, sloped much to the
right, in his rough drafts of letters, preserved in his Letter Book; the
other is merely the same hand written smaller, closer, not so sloped, in
his letters, for example, to James and Edgar. The Windsor Letters, the
neater and more careful, I could not compare with those of Pickle at the
British Museum. But I took Glengarry’s Letter Book, or folio of scrawled
drafts, thither, and Mr. Millar (author of the criticism in the _Scottish
Review_) kindly compared the two sets of documents, he having much
experience in such studies. I append what is essential in his report,
contributed to the _Dundee Advertiser_ of April 28, 1897.

    ‘Mr. Lang has come into possession of much new evidence upon
    the subject. Amongst other documents he has the Letter-book
    in which Glengarry frequently copied his letters with his own
    hand and signed them. This book comes from an unchallengeable
    source. By Mr. Lang’s invitation I had to-day the pleasure of
    comparing the handwriting of Glengarry in this book with the
    Pickle letters in the British Museum. At the first glance one
    would say that the manuscripts are so unlike superficially
    that they were not both written by the same person. Glengarry
    wrote a wide, sprawling hand, with a very distinct slope
    towards the right. The Pickle letters are all written in
    the vertical style, and the lines are small and neat. When
    examined more closely, however, there is a striking similarity
    in the details. Having selected Pickle letters that contained
    similar words to those in the Letter-book, I have made a
    careful comparison of them minutely. It is beyond question
    that whoever Pickle was he wrote in a feigned handwriting to
    prevent identification should any letter miscarry. If Glengarry
    wished to feign another hand than his own, the most obvious
    way of effecting his purpose would be to change the sloping
    style into the upright style. When Pickle wished to disguise
    his hand he used the upright style. There are several letters
    which Glengarry wrote in a very peculiar manner. The capital
    letter “T,” for instance, was distinctly Glengarrian. But
    the capital “T” written repeatedly by Pickle is absolutely
    identical with that used in the Glengarry book. Such words as
    “most,” “humble,” “Sir,” “I,” and “Tho’” are precisely the same
    in form in both cases, the only difference being the change of
    the slope. There is only one curious fact which comes out after
    careful examination. When Glengarry is writing adjectives that
    begin with the letter “d” he generally uses a capital. Tickle
    never does this, but uses the small “d” instead, yet that small
    “d” is exactly similar in form to the same letter written by
    Glengarry. This is certainly minute criticism, and might not
    be sufficient alone to establish the case against Glengarry;
    but when the other fact is borne in mind, that Pickle and
    Glengarry make the same errors in the spelling of uncommon
    words, the confirmatory proof is very strong. It is not likely
    that any letter exists in which Glengarry fully acknowledges
    his treachery, and the main evidence must therefore be
    circumstantial. If Mr. Lang had now to begin writing his book
    with all the additional evidence before him which he has
    obtained since its publication, he would probably find few
    who would dissent from his conclusion that Pickle the Spy
    was no other than Alastair Macdonnell of Glengarry. There may
    be coincidences in events in the lives of two men; but it is
    incredible that Pickle, when disguising his handwriting, should
    fall into the same formation of many of the letters which was
    peculiar to Macdonnell of Glengarry. Though begun upon a mere
    surmise by Mr. Lang, extended research seems to confirm his
    notion as to the identity of these two personages. It is not
    a pleasant conclusion for any one who believes that all the
    Highlanders engaged in the Rising of 1745 were indomitable and
    patriotic heroes. There were blacklegs in the army of Prince
    Charles Edward, as there are in every movement of the kind; but
    there were also noble characters prepared to shed their blood
    and sacrifice their prospects in support of what they believed
    to be the rightful cause. Glengarry, apparently, must now take
    his place among the execrated traitors.—I am, &c.

                                                      ‘A. H. MILLAR.

    ‘London: April 26, 1897.’

I am no expert in handwriting, and I offer no opinion, except that
Pickle’s confessedly feigned hand is more like Glengarry’s careful hand,
in the Stuart Papers, than like his sloping scrawl, meant only for his
own eyes (and these nearly blind) in his Letter Book. The Duke of Atholl
has compared letters from Glengarry, in his possession, with those of
Pickle, and has arrived at the same conclusion as Mr. Millar. Pickle’s
hand is Glengarry’s, disguised.

Such is my chain of evidence towards proving the personal identity of
Pickle and Glengarry. Both men, it is hardly worth while to add, had been
officers in French service. I am aware of not one discrepant feature
to discredit the identity which Pickle practically asserts, when he
declares himself (corroborated by Bruce) to have become, by his father’s
death, Chief of the Macdonnells, just when Old Glengarry died, and Young
Glengarry succeeded to the headship of the clan. To sum up the whole case:

Young Glengarry’s conduct, as far as we know, is stainless, till, after
endeavouring to ‘conform’ in October 1747, he presently poses as a
religiously faithful subject, or devotee, of James in January 1748. He is
starving in London, which he visits in July 1749, his father being soon
after released from Edinburgh Castle. Young Glengarry, in the winter of
1749, visits Cluny at Dalwhinnie, in company with Glenevis, Lochgarry,
and Angus MacIan. Glengarry obtains, by his own admission, a share of
the treasure, and then formally charges Archy Cameron with looting 6,000
_louis d’or_. Archy accuses him of forgery; they carry their quarrel
before James in Rome. Early in 1751 Glengarry, though he is not known
to have taken the oaths, is allowed to reside in London, and announces
his approaching marriage with an English lady. But Glengarry is already
suspected, and he knows it; for when Leslie, the priest, is charged
with treason by the Jacobites, Glengarry says that the blow is aimed
at _him_. Nothing is proved against Leslie, but stories of Glengarry’s
intimacy with Murray the traitor, and the spy Samuel Cameron, called
Crookshanks, are anonymously brought by Blair and Holker. In October 1751
Samuel’s brother, Glenevis and Downan, arrested for their share with
Glengarry in the matter of the French gold, accuse Glengarry of informing
against them. They lie in gaol in Fort William; Glengarry (though the
Government know him to be their accomplice) lives freely in London, and
travels where he pleases.

In November 1752, April 1753, we have the affair of the Elibank Plot. On
one side is Pickle, who is to lead Highlanders in London; Pickle, without
whom his clan, and the North, can do nothing; Pickle, a friend of Prince
Charles, and a correspondent of the exiled King in Rome; Pickle, who is
‘very weake’ after a serious illness in Paris (February-March, 1753);
Pickle, the constant associate of the Earl Marischal; and on the other
side is Glengarry, who claims every one of these notes for himself. Both
Pickle and Glengarry are friends of Baron Kennedy’s. Glengarry is known
to Government to be a trafficker with France, and with the dreaded envoy
of Prussia, the Earl Marischal, but Government consults Pickle in place
of arresting Glengarry. Pickle has had great promises made to him by his
employer, Henry Pelham, so has Glengarry. Both complain of the breach of
these promises after Pelham’s death. Pickle comes and goes to Prince
Charles in France in August 1753. Glengarry is accused, to Government, of
visiting France at the same time as a Jacobite agent. Jacobites are being
arrested all over the country, but not a finger is laid on Glengarry.

Pickle and Glengarry both leave London for Edinburgh on the news of Old
Glengarry’s death, both are then bereaved young chiefs going to their
northern estates near Fort Augustus. In this capacity Pickle, for some
six weeks, is the centre of military attention in Edinburgh. Pickle
wishes Bruce to assist him in drawing up a judicial rent-roll. Bruce
surveys the lands of Glengarry. Pickle now, like Glengarry, remains in
the North, where both are magnates, but both are poor. Pickle offers to
raise a Highland regiment, and asks the Duke of Newcastle to direct his
answer to Glengarry. The spelling of Pickle and Glengarry is identical in
a score of peculiarities, and Pickle’s handwriting is that of Glengarry
in a simple disguise.

What makes Pickle’s design to raise a regiment especially interesting is
the fact, now to be proved, that _Glengarry entertained the same wish at
the same moment_. He wrote to the Duke of Atholl to that effect, on April
5, 1760, and his letters are printed in the Duke of Atholl’s ‘Chronicles
of the Atholl and Tullibardine Families’ (iii. 476-477). Thus Pickle and
Glengarry were inseparable to the last.

Whoever is unconvinced by this array of circumstantial evidence
against Glengarry must, at least, suggest an alternative hypothesis
which will colligate the facts. The hypothesis of a personation of
Glengarry by Pickle has been proved absurd and impossible. Recent
research, after the publication of ‘Pickle the Spy,’ has added to the
original evidence proof of Glengarry’s insincerity as a Jacobite; the
Glenevis affair; the promises made to Glengarry, as to Pickle, by Henry
Pelham; the identification of ‘Cromwell’ (Bruce); the relations of
Glengarry with Pickle’s friend, Baron Kennedy; a few new similarities
of Pickle-Glengarry spelling; the identity of their handwriting; and
their simultaneous desire to raise a regiment. All these facts confirm
the previous conclusion. A false hypothesis is not apt to be strongly
confirmed by facts unknown when it was framed, nor would a jury regard
the charge against Glengarry as ‘without any proof in the world.’ To
say so, as has been audaciously done, is to illustrate prejudice, not
to enlighten criticism. In truth, the game was up as soon as the person
calling himself Pickle offered to raise a clan regiment, and asked the
Duke of Newcastle to reply to Glengarry. More than one interpretation
of that fact there could not logically be. But what is logic? A Lowland
pedantry!




XII

OLD TIMES AND NEW


Some years ago, when fishing in Loch Awe, I found a boatman, out of
Badenoch, who was a charming companion. It may be the experience of
others also that an English keeper usually confines his conversation,
at least with strangers, to the business in hand, whereas a Scottish
or Highland attendant will talk about Darwinism, Mr. Herbert Spencer,
history, legend, psychical research, religion, everything. The boatman
had a store of legends, and one day we fell to conversing on the old
times, in the Highlands, and the new. He voted for the old. Among the
advantages, he mentioned the game; and then, with sparkling eyes, the
plunder! Property, of old, had been _les vaches d’autrui_, the cattle of
Lowlanders and of other clans.

Often, since that day, one has reflected on the old times and the new.
The old were not wholly what is supposed. Thus Mr. Mackenzie, in his
‘History of the Camerons,’ contrasts the manly sport of the past with
the modern driving up of deer to be shot down by ‘drawing-room’ gunners.
Stalking is more common now, but the drawing-room way was the old way!
‘The tenants drive everything before them, while the laird and his
friends are waiting with their guns to shoot the deer.’ So writes Burt,
between 1726 and 1740. ‘When the chief would have a deer only for his
household,’ he does not stalk it himself; ‘the gamekeeper and one or two
others are sent into the hills, ... where they often lie night after
night to wait an opportunity of providing venison for the family.’[159]

I have seen in the Highlands heart-breaking destitution. I have seen an
old shivering woman gathering nettles for food near Tobermory. On one
side of a river I have seen scantily clad girls hanging about listless,
in the rain, beside hovels more like the nests of birds than human
habitations. On the other side of the water were comfortable cottages and
thriving crops. The former was the Protestant, the latter the Catholic
side of the stream, which the Reformation did not cross. In the bleak
cold of June, on Haladale, I have said, ‘Who would stay here that could
go away?’ The gillie observed that he had been in America, running the
blockade, but he vastly preferred Haladale. He numbered his horses and
kine; he was a man of substance. But, poverty for poverty, give me
nettles and shell-fish in the North, before fried fish (and too little of
that) in the New Cut.

Moved by the extreme wretchedness in which some Highland cotters seem
to live, by the cry of ‘congested districts,’ by the laments of the
evicted, and by the belief in ‘good old times’ behind the Forty-five,
a Lowland observer naturally asks himself if the old times were really
so good? In one respect, and that essential, they bear the palm: the
people, as a rule, loved and revered their Chiefs, and the Chiefs adopted
at least the airs of popularity among the people. Even Young Glengarry,
not a model Chief, resented the oppression of tenants falsely accused,
as he maintained, of being deserters.[160] Moreover, the poor did not
live, generally speaking, in view of the luxurious rich. Clanranald and
Glengarry had castles which must have been built at the expense of the
undefined ‘services’ of their people long ago; but the warrior Glengarry
of Killiecrankie discouraged refinement and delicacy of living. The
smaller lairds lived plainly, even poorly. Occasional feasts were given
to the Clan. Every man ‘was treated as a blood relation.’ Consequently,
if destitution existed, it did not provoke social hatred and discontent.
This, at least, is quite certain.

On the other hand, the presence of extreme poverty, of famines, by no
means rare, of exactions which Lowlanders considered tyrannical, and the
occurrence of evictions, before 1745, seem equally well established.
Ignorance was one safeguard against discontent, and in the absence of
schools, in the rarity of the Presbyterian clergy, with their innate
democratic ideas, ignorance flourished. Over-population was encouraged,
by minute subdivision of lands, for the purpose of increasing the Chief’s
military following. Thus poverty was artificially fostered, and, with it,
idleness and habits of plunder and of tippling.

This little picture of a Highland home is given in a book of 1747:[161]
‘I have seen in their Huts, when I have been walking, and forced to
retreat thither for Shelter from the Rain, their Children, sometimes many
in a Hut, full of the Small Pox and [at?] their Heighth, they having been
lying and walking about in the Wet and Dirt, the Rain at the same time
beating through the Thatch with Violence; so that I used to get from one
End of the House to the other to keep dry; but it was all in vain, the
Rain soon following me. These children at the same time seemed hearty,
drinking Whey and Butter-milk, Wet and Cold with the Inclemency of the
weather, and yet so well!’

This sketch was drawn somewhere in the country between Inverness and Fort
William, after Culloden.

The raising of the early Highland regiments (1756-62) relieved the
population, but also diffused knowledge, while the Chiefs’ power, as
sanctioned by law, was destroyed. The soldiers, who had seen the New
World, whether gentry and officers or privates, did not incline to
stay at home when rents were raised. They emigrated to America, almost
by clans, in years of famine, as in 1782. The Chiefs were alarmed and
indignant; they were also needy. They screwed up rents, introduced sheep,
moved populations to the coast, or evicted them. Voluntary emigration
(the wisest policy) was succeeded by the removal of clansmen who were
reluctant to go, or who could not afford to go, their poor goods not
being marketable. Many even sold themselves into voluntary slavery for
their passage fare.

Some chiefs became opulent for a generation; their families were ruined
by their following of George, Prince Regent; their estates fell into
English hands, and forests were made at the expense of new evictions.

This is a brief and gloomy account of what followed Culloden. An example
may be given in the case of the great Glengarry family.

On the death of Glengarry, in 1761, his affairs were found, as was
natural, in a lamentable condition. To study them and the later changes
on his estate is to gain a view into the heart of Highland grievances.
Fortunately materials for this examination exist, and have been published
by Mr. Fraser Mackintosh in his ‘Antiquarian Notes’ (1897).

Perhaps it may be best to begin by giving a brief account of the way in
which such estates as Glengarry’s were usually occupied by the clansmen.
The Chief let to tacksmen, or leaseholders, gentlemen of his clan, part
of the lands which he did not hold in his own hand. Part of his ‘tack,’
again, the tacksman cultivated; part he let out to cotters, ‘under which
general term may be included various local denominations of _crofters_,
mailers, &c.... Frequently they have the command only of a small share of
their own time to cultivate the land allowed them for maintaining their
families. Sometimes the Tacksman allows a portion of his own tillage
field for his cotter; sometimes a small separate croft is laid off for
him, and he is likewise allowed, in general, to pasture a cow, or perhaps
two.’[162]

‘The Tacks,’ says Dr. Johnson, ‘were long considered as hereditary,’
but, in his time, strangers would make larger offers, and the hereditary
tacksman was apt to be dispossessed, with cotters, crofters, and all. As
to the tyrannical and oppressive conduct of the tacksmen, much will be
reported later. According to Young Barisdale’s plea (1754), Old Barisdale
held possession, from Glengarry, without a line of written paper. The
tacksmen, in war, were officers of the Clan regiment, and led, or drove,
the tenants to the field.

Apart from tacksmen and their cotters, were ‘small tenants’ holding
direct from the Chief. They usually occupied, in townships, a farm in
common: the shares may once have been equal, but, by 1738, one man might
hold a fourth, another but a fifteenth. They dwelt in a hamlet near the
arable crofts, of which the division might vary from year to year. They
had also grazing, and, money being very scarce, their chief wealth was
their cattle. Interest and part principal of his patrimony were paid, in
cattle, to Glengarry’s younger brother Æneas.[163] Cotters, who acted as
labourers, were scattered among the little communities of small tenants.
Rents were mostly paid in kind, and in ‘services,’ little money passed.

Another system was that of ‘wadsets.’ A chief simply _pawned_ a farm to
a clansman, say Glengarry to Lochgarry, for a certain period, and for a
certain sum of money. When he repaid the money, he recovered the farm.
The wadsetter might build and improve, but no money was returned on
redemption. The wadsetter sublet to tenants of either class, and either
he or the Chief might make the better thing of the bargain. There were
many poor wadsetters on a small scale. Colonel Trapaud accuses Glengarry
of bullying his small wadsetters in Knoydart out of their wadsetts, and
making them ‘accept of common interest.’[164] ‘The principal wadsetters
refused, on which he ordered them out of his presence.’

Such was the system of a Highland estate; of its working more will be
said later. On Glengarry’s death, his heir was his nephew, Duncan, a
minor: Glengarry and the boy’s mother had been on the worst terms. In
actual money, Glengarry’s rents, at the day of his death, were but
330_l._ yearly. The rent ‘uplifted’ by his wadsetters was larger. There
were heavy debts, both on the estate and personal: the amount of the
claims of Government I have nowhere found stated. Trustees ruled for
the heir, who, however, must have been of age when Morar was sold to
the Master of Lovat (Simon of the Forty-five) in 1768. This cleared the
personal debts. In 1772, the new Glengarry wedded Miss Marjory Grant,
eldest daughter of Sir Ludovick Grant of Dalvey. Mr. Fraser Mackintosh
says that ‘regardless of sufferings, she strove with success to clear off
the debts, to raise the rents, and generally to aggrandise the position
of the Glengarry family.’

The wadsetts were paid off: the wadsetters must now be tenants, on
increased rents, or go. Most of them emigrated to the New England States.
Bad years came: the small tenants fell into arrears. In 1782, a year
of famine, arrived the first sheep farmer from the Border. In 1785,
fifty-five tenants were warned and removed, ‘say 300 souls.’ In 1786, 500
people emigrated under their priest, a Macdonnell of the Scothouse or
Scotos family. They settled in Canada. They had fled from famine, as much
as from increased rents.

Duncan Macdonnell died in 1788; his son was Sir Walter Scott’s Glengarry,
‘the last of the Chiefs,’ in costume and demeanour, but, it seems, a
great evictor. The French war made Highland recruits desirable, and
emigration slackened, but there was an exodus in 1802, the settlers
peopling Glengarry County in Ontario; sentiment apart, a very happy
change.

We have seen Alastair’s free rent in 1761; it was 330_l._ in money.
In 1802 the rental was 5,090_l._! The eccentric history of Scott’s
friend, Glengarry (for whom he wrote a Death Song) is well known. He was
accidentally killed in 1828, and Glengarry was sold some years later.
It has changed hands twice, since the first sale, and, says Mr. Fraser
Mackintosh, ‘It is a fact not less painful than preposterous that at
the present day (1894), some dozen crofters (all remaining) cannot get
sufficient land out of the tens of thousands of acres at Knoydart, to
maintain them, without the intervention of the Crofters Commission.’[165]
Yet in 1753, Lochgarry, perhaps in a sanguine way, reckoned the Macdonald
claymores, ‘by Young Glengarry’s concurrence only,’ at 2,600.[166]

This is a typical specimen of the fortunes of a large Highland estate,
compromised in the Rising of 1745. There are, of course, happier
examples; but, in this instance, we see every stage of the revolutionary
changes in the condition of the Highland people.

Now an Englishman, or a Lowlander, asks himself, did the good old times
contain the germs of these social maladies, exhibiting themselves in
other forms, under other conditions? To this conclusion we appear to
be forced by the evidence. If Chiefs were callous and selfish after
the Forty-five, if the land could not, or did not, support the people
properly after Culloden, these misfortunes, moral and material, existed
before the starving and ill-arrayed clansmen died on the English
bayonets. There had been no reason to expect better treatment than the
Clans have actually received, from several of the powerful families.
Extreme destitution had prevailed; evictions had occurred, and had
sometimes been bitterly avenged. There had been ‘Agrarian outrages’
before Culloden, attacks on men, and mutilation of cattle.

Our evidence, as to the state of the Highlands, comes from various
sources. We have Lowland, English, and Anglified witnesses. The Duke of
Argyll cites a Highlander, Forbes of Culloden, but he was a Whig, and
President of the Court of Session. Yet there was no juster, more fair,
or more wise and tolerant man in the North. We have Captain Burt, author
of ‘Letters from Scotland,’ written between the Rebellions of 1715 and
1745. Some modern Highlanders call him their foe: he certainly looks with
English eyes, but he tries to be fair, and is far from unsympathetic. His
tenderness for the poor is remarkable. We have the Gartmore MSS. (_circ._
1748), which is Whiggish, and ‘MS. 104,’ in the King’s Library. It is,
apparently, of 1749-50. All these witnesses agree as to the oppression
of the people, their involuntary idleness, their dependence on tacksmen,
chamberlains and factors, their destitution, while their liability to
raised rents and evictions are, by some of these witnesses, insisted
upon. But all are writing from the Whig point of view; their desire to
improve the popular condition is part of their desire to reduce the power
of the Jacobite Chiefs.

On the other side is General Stewart of Garth, enthusiastically Highland,
anxious to keep up population for military purposes, as well as from
honourable sympathy, and decidedly inclined to overlook the poverty,
plundering, enforced idleness, tippling, and blackmail of the good old
times. We have also Mr. Fraser Mackintosh, who, while he delights to
tell a story against Cluny, for example, maintains that there were no
evictions before 1745. Unluckily, we have no authoritative treatise from
the Jacobite and ‘old times’ side, written between 1747 and 1790. The
best evidence might be found in Gaelic poetry, which, in general, proves
one important point.

Whatever the material condition of the Highland people, whatever their
lack, in many parishes, of elementary education, they possessed, in
legends, _Märchen_, traditional poems, and the living art of popular
song, a native culture—rich, dignified, and imaginative—which newspapers
merely destroy. This great element of happiness, where it survives, is
the bequest of the good old times.

Such is our evidence; and now, having described its nature, we may turn
to the details.

A considerable portion of the people were terribly destitute. We have
heard what the biographer of Young Barisdale says, about a diet of
shell-fish from March to August, about the faces that never wear a
smile. Franck, writing in 1654-1660, tells us how, when Monk held
Scotland, the Strathnaver crofters bled their cows in winter, and fed
on blood mixed with oatmeal.[167] Burt and Knox testify to the same
practice, a century later and more. ‘This immoderate bleeding reduces
the cattle to so low a plight that in the morning they cannot rise from
the ground, and several of the inhabitants join together to help up each
other’s cows.’[168] ‘The gentry may be said to be a handsome people, but
the commonalty much otherwise; one would hardly think, by their faces,
they were of the same species, or, at least, of the same country, which
plainly proceeds from their bad food....’[169]

The old times were not so good; the peasants, who protected and
concealed him, could not give Lord Pitsligo salt to his porridge:
‘Salt is dear.’ But people who have seen nothing better are not
discontented. The gentry—not chiefs, but tacksmen—as we have said, did
not live luxuriously. Examples may be given. ‘Although they have been
attended at dinner by five or six servants, they have often dined upon
oat-meal varied several ways, pickled herrings, or other such cheap
and indifferent diet.... Their houses are _sometimes_ built with stone
and lime’ (like Barisdale’s palace), but other houses of the gentry
‘are built in the manner of the huts.’ Burt mentions one such house,
with beasts dwelling under the roof of the owner, or tacksman. For many
years Old Glengarry dwelt in a hut, his castle being occupied by an
English commercial gentleman. The laird’s children were ‘dirty and half
naked’—this is on hearsay—and it was a common proverb that ‘a gentleman’s
bairns are known by their speaking English.’ Glengarry’s niece, daughter
of Æneas, shot at Falkirk, ‘had no English,’ when she could not have been
under thirteen years of age.[170]

Thus there was no very great gulf, in some cases, between gentry and
peasantry, where comfort was concerned. The difference of appearance
between them, as between beings ‘of a different species,’ is the less
intelligible. But herrings and game are more nutritious than nettles,
cows’ blood, and shell-fish, especially where all are scarce.

As to rents, payments to chief or tacksman, how did things fare?
Conservatives, like Dr. Johnson and Sir Walter Scott, have written about
the chiefs ‘degenerating from patriarchal rulers to rapacious landlords.’
The Duke of Argyll, on the contrary, speaks of the sub-tenants, in the
good old times, as ‘holding at the will of the lease-holders or tacksmen,
and complaining bitterly of the oppressions under which they laboured.’
This is on the evidence of Sheriff Campbell of Stonefield, speaking of
Mull, Morven, and Tyree, in 1732.[171] ‘It was only beginning to be felt
these poor people that even a bare subsistence could not be secured when
plunder had been stopped, and before industry had begun.’ What were the
‘oppressions,’ not including, of course, such exceptional outrages as
those of Barisdale? Well, Burt tells us that a tenant’s improvements, in
1730-1740, meant an instant rise of rent. ‘What would the tenant be the
gainer of it’ (enclosures and improvements on his farm), ‘but to have
his rent raised, or his farm divided with some other?’[172] The division
would serve to recruit another swordsman for the Chief. The writer of a
MS. of 1747, in the possession of Graham of Gartmore,[173] says, ‘The
practice of letting many farms to one man’ (the tacksman, say Lochgarry
or Barisdale), ‘who, again subsetts them to a much greater number than
these can maintain, and at a much higher rent than they can afford to
pay, obliges these poor people to purchase their rents and expences by
theifts and robberys.’[174]

In the good old days, something like the iniquitous Truck System existed,
we learn from the same authority, on some Highland estates. ‘Some of the
substantial Tacksmen play the merchant, and supply the common people....
As the poor ignorant people have neither knowledge of the value of their
purchase, nor money to pay for it, they deliver to these dealers (the
tacksmen) ‘cattle in the beginning of May for what they have received; by
which traffick the poor wretched people are cheated out of their effects
for one half of their value.’ This is a mournful aspect of the good old
times. The MS. 104 confirms the statements, and describes the thriftless
agricultural methods.

Each of these (the tacksmen) ‘possesses some very poor people under him,
perhaps five or six on a farm, to whom he lets out the skirts of his
possession, these people are generally the soberest and honestest of the
whole. Their food all summer is milk and whey mixed together without any
bread, the little butter or cheese they are able to make is reserved for
winter provision, they sleep away the greatest part of the summer, and
when the little Barley they sow becomes ripe, the women pull it as they
do flax, and dry it on a large wicker machine over the fire. Then burn
the straw, and grind the corn upon Quearns or hand mills. In the end of
Harvest, and During the winter they have some Flesh, Butter, and cheese,
with great scarcity of Bread. All their business is to take care of the
few Cattle they have. In spring, which is their only season in which they
work, their whole food is bread and gruel without so much as salt to
season it.

‘About twenty years ago Lochiel erected two or three Water Mills, but by
reason of the great distance of many of the people from them, and their
natural Laziness, with the prejudice in favour of the old Custom of
burning the straw, they were made very little use of. The custom has been
given up some time except by the Camerons and Macdonalds, some McLeans,
and some of the people of Skye.’

It is not safe, of course, to argue from a report about the state of the
people in one part of the Highlands to a conclusion about their condition
everywhere. A river may divide comfort from destitution. And it is
certain that reports by Lowlanders, Englishmen, or Highlanders, like the
famous Forbes of Culloden, who practically defeated the Rising of 1745,
will not please some Highland reasoners.[175]

Forbes reported in 1737 on the Duke of Argyll’s lands in Morven, Mull,
and Tyree. He speaks of the ‘tyranny’ and ‘unmerciful exactions’ of
the tacksmen, large leaseholders who sub-let to smaller tenants. Hence
the lands lie waste, and ‘above one hundred families have been reduced
to beggary and driven out of the island.’ This is precisely the modern
complaint against the bad new times, a complaint with which we all
sympathise. Tacksmen, according to Culloden, were as bad as factors.

Culloden, therefore, suggested the granting to the sub-tenants of
nineteen years’ leases if they would ‘offer frankly for their farms such
rent as fairly and honestly they could bear.’ Such leases he had power
to offer, and did offer. ‘No takers!’ Culloden was surprised, but he
need not have been. The weight of the tacksmen would be against him;
also the conservatism of the people. A fixed rent was a new crude hard
thing: a system of shuffling along, above all as the general policy was
to find room for swordsmen—was an old endurable thing. Culloden, however,
persuaded some sub-tenants to offer. On the tacksmen he put pressure.
He had with him some tacksmen from the mainland, better acquainted with
farming methods. _They_ offered for the insular tacksmen’s farms, whereon
the insular tacksmen also offered. Fixed now were rents, and fixed the
duration of tenancy.

One Culloden lease to a kind of village community of six people in
portions of land of different sizes is dated April 18, 1739, from Stoney
Hill.[176] The lease of 1739 is for nineteen years, ‘and that in full
satisfaction of all casualitys, and other prestations and services
whatsomever,’ except for services in repairing harbours, mending
highways, or repairing miln-leads, for the general benefite of the
Island (Mull). The tenants were to pay cesses, ministers’ stipends,
schoolmasters’ salaries, &c., ‘freeing and relieving the Duke’ from these
burdens. Failure of rent meant removal, and made the lease null and void;
the tenants having leave, however, to take over the share of a defaulter
or choose a substitute for him.

What the sub-tenants gain is freedom from a tacksman, secure possession
while they pay, and freedom from all but the stated customary services
and ‘casualties.’ One of these was military service in a Jacobite rising.
A tenant in Mull could not now lose his holding if his tacksman ordered
him to join the Prince and he refused. As to the other ‘services,’ the
Duke of Argyll regards them as indefinite and oppressive. He selects
examples from Sinclair’s paper for the Board of Agriculture in 1795.
Rent was mainly paid in kind, chickens, cattle, grain, _plus_ ‘tilling,
dunging, sowing, and harrowing a part of an extensive farm in the
proprietor’s’ (or tacksman’s) ‘possession.’ Peats, thatching, weeding,
cartage, harvesting, and so forth, were exacted, with implements, eggs,
butter, cheese, a tithe of fish and oil, woollen yarn, and so forth.
These services might easily be made oppressive, and did not conduce to
improvement in agriculture.

The exact weight and money value of these services must have varied
widely. The author of MS. 104 proposes that, in future, all services
shall be definitely stated in writing when a tenant takes a farm.
‘Extravagant services are still required’ (_circ._ 1750) ‘and performed,
which the landlord would be ashamed to commit to writing.’ He also,
like Culloden, advocates the compulsory granting of leases for not less
than twenty years. But he has already said that the people, accustomed
to hereditary entry on farms from father to son, refuse to take written
leases.

As to ‘services,’ Mr. Fraser Mackintosh, on the other side, tells us how
the Lochiels, in exile, ‘regularly received part of the rent.’ That he
only sent 100_l._ to Lochiel’s children in France, and made the tenants
work on his lands instead of on the county roads, is a charge made by
Colonel Crawfurd against Lochiel’s brother, Fassifern.[177] Mr. Fraser
Mackintosh comments on the loyalty of Lochiel’s tenants, but adds ‘in
former times rent in the form of money was a minor easy consideration,
the real burden or tax being services’—especially ‘the almost intolerable
burden’ of war. Thus the exile of the Chief became ‘really no hardship
to the people,’ enabling them ‘to pay a double (money) rent now and then
with comparative ease.’[178]

Thus, in this author’s opinion, ‘the real burden or tax’ was ‘services,’
not money rent. Happily he gives a case of commutation of services for
money on Glengarry’s estate. The commutation was ‘apparently quite
disproportionate and oppressive. For instance, in the case of Dugald
Cameron, late cowherd to Glengarry, afterwards tenant of Boline, while
his rent was 11_l._ 4_s._ 3_d._, the converted services amounted to 3_l._
2_s._ 8_d._’ Well, if services were ‘the real burden,’ where is the
‘oppressive disproportion’?[179] This seems absurd.

If it be agreed that ‘services’ were the main part of rent, how
oppressive a hostile tacksman, say Barisdale, might make them is easily
conceived.[180] Whatever we may think of the advantages of a definite
Culloden rent, it is pretty plain that the people did not like it. But
the old kind of rent and services was of scarce any value to a probably
non-resident proprietor, who could get high returns on the new system
from large farmers or graziers. He did not want hens and cheese, and had
now no use for claymores. The consequences were raised rents, emigration,
evictions, the Highland grievances.

But were there no evictions, and removals, and forced migrations in the
good old times?

Mr. Fraser Mackintosh says, ‘The Commissioners on the Forfeited Estates,
or, more properly, their Factors, were the first evictors in the
Highlands, and they were guilty of favouritism to such a degree in
favour of strangers, that many of the tenants emigrated voluntarily.’

Indeed, Glenure was shot, by Allan Breck or another, because, as factor
for the forfeited estates of Lochiel and Ardsheil, he had evicted Cameron
or Stewart tenants, and preferred Campbells. But Mr. Fraser Mackintosh
ought to know that the Commissioners were _not_ the first evictors. Who
drove a hundred families from Mull and Tyree about 1738, as Culloden
tells us? Who ‘removed’ James Stewart of the Glens before Campbell of
Glenure did? Why Ardsheil, whose bastard brother he was. Who evicted some
and threatened to evict all Macphersons from the Duke of Gordon’s lands
in Badenoch in 1724? Why the Duke and his factor, Gordon of Glenbucket.

The story is told in a letter of Cluny to the Earl Marischal.[181]
The Macphersons held lands in Badenoch ‘as feuars, woodsellers, or
kindly tenents to the Duke of Gordon.’ He however ‘vexes and reduces
us by perpetuall lawsuits,’ and ‘_has taken it into his head to root
us intearly out of our own country_.’ He therefore feued most of his
Badenoch lands to Glenbucket ‘for the half of its value, or, I may
say, a third, meerly out of design to take it out of the hands of the
Macphersons.’ Glenbucket, ‘in order to begin the work of extirpating us,
has turned out the tenants of six farms.’ Their high offers of rent
were refused, so they dirked Glenbucket, ‘in a most barbarous manner.’
The operation can scarcely be performed in a gentle fashion. ‘They very
luckily missed their aim by the favour of a buff belt he had about him,’
also by the favour of a claymore that, was lying convenient. The Duke now
threatened to ‘extirpate’ or evict ‘the whole name of Macpherson,’ which
he proceeded to do ‘with a body of a thousand men, foot and horse.’ All
parties were Jacobites, and King James settled _hæc certamina tanta_.
_He_ had no objections to eviction. He writes to the Duke of Gordon,
‘I am far from blaming you for any steps you may have taken which are
authorised by the law of the land, but there are only a few offenders,
and, politically, the _eviction_ disunites loyal clans.’[182]

Indeed the more one thinks of Mr. Fraser Mackintosh’s assertion that
the Commissioners were the first evictors in the Highlands, the more
grotesque does it appear. We turn to the manuscript ‘Letter of a
Gentleman’ whose sympathies are with ‘the wretched commons,’ not with the
Chiefs.[183] ‘The gentlemen of the name of Mackenzie,’ says our author,
‘are frugal and industrious.... They have screwed up their rents to an
extravagant height, which they vitiously term improving their estates,
without putting the tenants upon a proper way of improving the ground,
to enable them to pay that rent, which makes the common people little
better than slaves and beggars.’

No ‘screw’ but eviction could be used by these Mackenzie landlords,
frugal and industrious.

Here is a case among the Camerons from the same MS.:—

‘To shew the present disposition of that Clan,’ described as ‘lazy,
silent, sly, and enterprizing people,’ ‘I will relate an instance of
their barbarity which happened since the year 1725. The possessor of a
farm belonging to the Duke of Gordon, of the tribe of the Macmartins,
about three miles to the North of Fort William, demanded an abatement of
the usual rent, which the Duke refusing, he left the farm, boasting that
no man would dare to succeed in it. For some years it was untenanted,
till at last the Duke prevailed on Mr. Skeldoich, who was then minister
of the parish, who could not find a place to reside in, to take this
farm. The former possessor lay still till the minister had plentifully
stocked the farm with cattle and built a house on it, then, with some
other rogues, finding that the cattle were carefully watched, went to
the place where the calves were kept, and with their durks cut off their
heads, and cut the skins so that they would not be of any use.’

They also destroyed the Duke’s salmon nets on the Lochy. Later, watching
till the minister chanced to be away from home, ‘they pulled down part
of his house, and fired several shots towards the place where his
wife lay.’ The worthy clergyman then thought it time to move into Fort
William. Our author adds that cadets of Highland houses have possessed
farms ‘for ages’ without leases, and when they are not able to pay their
rents, _and are turned out_, they look upon the person who takes the farm
after them as usurping their right. These people have often refused to
take a written lease, thinking that, by so doing, they gave up the right
of possession.

All this, written about 1749, is hardly congruous with Mr. Fraser
Mackintosh’s bold statement that the Commissioners of Forfeited Estates
were the first evictors in the Highlands. We learn that, ‘by reason
of the great poverty and slavery of the commons,’ on the Mackenzie
estates, out of the clan levy of 3,000 men, ‘a third are but dross.’
Let us add that the Campbells evicted the Macdonalds from Kintyre, by
cutting their throats; that every defeated clan was likely to be, more
or less, evicted; and that all the Macgregors were evicted. These were
operations of clan warfare, though not much more enjoyable for that. But
when a sub-tenant held from a tacksman, on a ‘precarious tenure,’ does
Mr. Fraser Mackintosh maintain that he was never evicted? Why did Robin
Oig shoot Macfarlane at the plough tail? He did so simply for the old
agrarian reason.

In Prestongrange’s speech for the Crown, at the disgraceful trial which
ended in the judicial murder of James Stewart of the Glens, he says that
‘a delusion in a peculiar manner prevailing in the Highlands,’ is that
‘a cause of mortal enmity arises if a man should be removed by another
from his farm or possession which he hath no manner of title to hold or
retain.’[184] ‘The delusion,’ he says, ‘prevails elsewhere,’ but is ‘in a
particular manner prevalent in the Highlands.’

How could a popular delusion of this kind come into existence if the
Commissioners of Forfeited Estates were ‘the first evictors in the
Highlands’? Demonstrably they were nothing of the kind. There were
evictions in the good old times.

On the other hand, evictions had probably not been much practised with
a view to obtaining higher rents or making improvements, but for other
reasons. Claymores, not money, had been in request from tenants before
1745.

Once more, according to Burt, a Lowland authority, the Chief ‘must free
the necessitous from their arrears of rent, and maintain such who, by
accidents, are fallen to a total decay.’ Far from throwing a lot of
small farms into a large one, or a sheep-walk, ‘if, by increase of the
tribe, small farms are wanting for the support of such addition, he
splits others into lesser portions, because all must somehow be provided
for.’[185]

This policy is the precise reverse of the Culloden lease, which
terminates, _ipso facto_, when rent falls into arrears. A Chief, bound
by consanguinity to treat all his tenants as gentlemen, might practise
shooting at them, like Clanranald with his famous piece, ‘the Cuckoo,’
but certainly was not apt to evict often for arrears of rent. He lived
at home, he built a great castle like Glengarry’s (probably by aid of
‘services’), he fed on the sheep, kine, butter, milk, of his tenants, but
he shook them by the hand, perhaps forgave arrears, held clan feasts, and
was a god on earth. When he raised rents, united farms in one hand, did
not shake that of every clansman, but rather evicted them, discontent was
natural, inevitable. Holders of land, proud free men, must emigrate, or
become labourers or artisans in towns. Who does not sympathise with their
emotions?

On the other side, the Chief must subdivide and subdivide, in the good
old times, ‘because all must somehow be provided for.’ But all could
not be and were not ‘provided for.’ We have seen the pictures of cruel
exquisite poverty from Franck in 1654, to the Gartmore MS. in 1747, and
the Culloden Report in 1738, and the ‘Life of Barisdale’ in 1754, and
Burt’s Letters of about 1735. It seems reasonable to suppose that all
arable lands were eagerly cultivated as far as the implements and skill
of the people availed to cultivate them. It was the interest of the
chiefs to increase their bands of warriors and the sentiment, if not the
interest, of the clansmen urged them to stay on the land.

But the land could not maintain them! The younger gentry pushed their
fortunes abroad as men of the sword or in commerce. But the commons were
often at the starving point; we hear of famines. Glengarry writes of a
great scarcity, when meal had to be bought in the Lowlands. Burt tells
of no meal in Inverness. ‘A house, grass for a cow or two,’ and ‘as much
land as will sow a boll of oats,’ rocky land, needing spade culture,
was a cottar’s ‘only wages of his whole labour and service,’ says the
Gartmore MS. The author reckons that there is not in the Highlands
employment for more than half the population, even when land has been
remorselessly sub-divided. Many earned a harvest wage in the Lowlands.
Others ‘sorned’ on their kindred. Armies of tramps were supported by
the generosity of the poor; nay, Lowland beggars came North, allured
by the open hands of the Highlanders. Whisky shops were everywhere;
here men sauntered and drank. Plunder was habitual; a captain of a
‘Watch’ like Barisdale was at once thief and thief-taker. ‘They live
like lairds, and die like loons,’ says Franck, speaking not of all the
Highlands (as Macaulay quotes him), but chiefly of Lochaber. ‘Upon this
fund’—blackmail—the Captain ‘employed one half the thieves to recover
lost cattle, and the other half of them to steal.’ Lochiel laboured to
reform his clan in this respect. The exactions of tacksmen, ‘sub-letting
farms to a much greater number than they can maintain, and at a much
higher rent than they can pay, obliges these poor people to purchase
their rents and expences by theifts and robberys,’ of cattle; for the
Highland honesty about portable property is extolled by Burt.

As to the moral iniquity of cattle robbing, all morality is local, and a
man who does not sin against the local standard is no extreme criminal.
The Macdonalds held a simple creed of communism. ‘They say that the
Cattle are God’s creatures, made for the use of man, for which the
earth yields grass and herbs in plenty, without the labour of man, and
that therefore they Ought to be common’—that is, ought to belong to the
Macdonalds.[186] The same ideas had prevailed on the Border:

    If every man had his ain cow,
        A richt poor clan Buccleugh’s wad be.

Dr. Carlyle shows that Border cattle thieves, though not encouraged by
the gentry, were a powerful class about 1740.

This is not a picture of a golden age, and Bailie Nicol Jarvie, in
‘Rob Roy,’ sums up this theory of what the age was really like. But,
if we turn to Stewart of Garth,[187] we find the real condition of the
Highlands in times past revealed in a rosy haze. Blackmail is only
extorted from _Lowlanders_, as if Barisdale had Lowland neighbours![188]
The game and fish were ‘free to all’—a palpable error as regards salmon,
at all events, while one doubts if every clansman was made free of
Cluny’s forest. We do not read of grouse and venison in cotters’ huts.
‘Cottagers and tradesmen were discouraged from marrying.’[189] Yet
the surplus population was very large. A young amorous Highlander set
himself up for marriage by ‘thigging’—that is, by begging among friends
for cows, sheep, and seed-corn.[190] They did not discourage him. ‘The
extinction of the respectable race of tacksmen ... is a serious loss
to the people.’[191] Mr. Fraser Mackintosh, however, speaking of Skye,
says, ‘large tacksmen ... could be relied on to assist (each other)
or keep aloof, if the oppressed were below their class or set.’[192]
The author of MS. 104 would reduce the power of tacksmen by making all
tenants leaseholders for terms not under twenty years, and would pay off
all wadsetts on forfeited estates, ‘because the gentlemen who had them
were great oppressors of the Poor, and most of them, though they did not
themselves take arms, were very active in forcing the people into the
late Rebellion.’

An association had been made by Sutherland farmers in General Stewart’s
time to suppress sheep-stealing. He objects to the new social state which
made this association necessary. Previously ‘crimes had been so few that,
from 1747 to 1810, there was only one capital conviction for theft.’ This
may have been so in Sutherland, and the MS. Letter already cited makes
it probable. ‘The Mackays of Lord Reay’s country,’ though previously
reckoned ‘the wickedest clan,’ now ‘abhor thieving.’ But ‘the common
people who dwell along the East Coast are next to the Caithness people
for poverty, slavery, and dwarfish stature, while the people further up
the country towards Strathnaver’ (where Franck found them bleeding their
cattle for food) ‘live better.’ A third of the Earl of Sutherland’s levy
‘are mean, despicable creatures.’ Thus one county showed very different
conditions: however, like the Mackenzies, the Sutherland men ‘abhor
thieving.’ Elsewhere in the Highlands, hangings for theft occupy a good
deal of the old _Scots Magazine_. Many pretty men ‘died for the law,’ as
every one knows.

General Stewart, objecting to the new farmers’ association, seems not to
have observed that blackmail and ‘Highland Watches’ were old-fashioned
associations for protecting property.’ Complaints are made by him of
‘cutting down farms into lots,’ as if the old Chiefs had not infinitely
subdivided the soil.[193] The old extreme poverty is left out of notice
by General Stewart, with the old tippling, loafing, ‘sorning,’ thieving,
‘thigging’ habits. Much land could be and was cultivated, he says, which
is now pasture, the harvest only failing ‘in cold and wet autumns.’[194]
These not being unknown in the Highlands, but, on the other hand, very
common, famines followed often, notably in 1782.

If the Lowlanders, the English, and the Anglified Highlanders, like
Culloden, paint too gloomy a picture of the good old times, General
Stewart may be regarded as erring in the opposite direction. His charge
against the new Chiefs and landlords is the callous hurry with which
they seized their pecuniary advantage, ‘which proved ruinous to their
ancient tenants.’[195] This is also Scott’s opinion, in his _Quarterly
Review_ article of 1816. He, too, a Tory of the Tories, condemns the
heartless greed of evicting landlords.[196] General Stewart records
cases of delicate consideration and honourable sagacity on the side of
the landlords. But often we find either a well-meaning hurry to make
sweeping ‘improvements,’ and benefit people in a way they detest and do
not understand (as by giving them leases), or a mere hasty desire to save
such a ruined estate as war had left to Glengarry, by raising rents,
causing, with the aid of frequent famine years, wholesale emigration.
This policy was, indeed, far unlike what Burt reports: ‘the poverty of
the tenants has rendered it customary for the Chief, or Laird, to free
some of them every year from all arrears of rent; this is supposed, upon
an average, to be about one year in five of the whole estate.’

These habits vanished with the change in the Highlands; the old ‘arts
of popularity’ were no longer practised by the Chiefs: clan affection
became clan hatred. If we may believe a tithe of our Whig or Lowland
information, it should have done so long before 1745. Cattle, sheep,
red-deer, grouse, now occupy the place of the swords of the North: the
banker, brewer, or upholsterer shoots the Chiefs game, or misses it.

Truly money is the root of all evil. When specie was scarce in the
North, a guinea a thing seldom seen, the fatal treasure of Loch Arkaig
produced, or evoked, the moral consequences of hatred, malice, treachery
and slander. Twenty years later the lack of money hardened the hearts
of Chiefs (which had not been so very soft before). Clansmen had to
emigrate, and they were wisest who sailed first from a land of famine.
Their descendants, or some of them, dwell happily in a realm of forests,
hills, and streams, deer and salmon, still retaining Highland courtesy,
Highland speech, Highland courage, and Highland hospitality. They seem to
have chosen the better part, and to be more fortunate than their cousins
in the new times, or their fathers in the old days that were not really
golden.

On the whole, a distressed Highlander need not, it seems, conceive that
the old times were free from distress, or that Chiefs were really always
humane. They acted in accordance with their immediate interests. They
kept rents low when it paid to have a following, and they screwed rents
up when money was more desirable than men. The two policies might be
contemporary; this among Mackenzies, that among Macdonalds. Ensign Small
reported[197] that, among the Macdonalds, ‘the gentry are fond of a
rising, the commoners hate it.’ The author of MS. 104 represents the
Macdonalds as ‘cursing their Prince and their Chiefs.’

The world, to its disadvantage, allows interest to override sentiment,
which we only find here and there, as in the noble words of Lochiel.
When he arrived with Prince Charles in France, in the autumn of 1746,
he was, of course, very poor. The Prince, according to Young Glengarry,
in a conversation with Bishop Forbes, was obliged to give Lochiel a
full security for his estates before the Chief would raise his clan.
Consequently Charles felt bound, said Glengarry, to secure a French
regiment first of all for Lochiel. This, in Lochiel, would have been a
singular piece of caution! But let us hear his own words, in a letter
to King James.[198] ‘I told H.R.H. that Lord Ogilby or others might
incline to make a figure in France, but my ambition was to serve the
Crown, and serve my Country, or perish with itt. H.R.H. say’d he was
doing all he could’ (to return with forces to Scotland), ‘but persisted
in his resolution to procure me a Regiment. If it is obtained, I shall
accept it out of respect to the Prince, but I hope Yr. M. will approve
of the resolution I have taken _to share in the fate of the people I
have undone_, and, if they must be sacrificed, to fall along with them.
It is the only way I can free myself from the reproach of their blood,
and shew the disinterested zeal with which I have lived, and shall dye,
Your Majesty’s most humble, most Obedient, and most faithfull subject and
servant,

                                                    ‘DONALD CAMERON.[199]’

There speaks a man who makes real the ideal of the Clan system. But
the ideal, though a hundred times illustrated in the conduct of the
commons, has left less conspicuous examples in the behaviour of some
Chiefs. ‘My brother-in-law, Major Grant, pretended that the man,’ (a
recruit) ‘I sent from this country, _I sold_, which is false,’ says Old
Lovat to Cluny.[200] Major Grant, his brother-in-law, knew Old Lovat.
He, like Barisdale, was an example of the kind of chief who, till after
1745, was not impossible. He throve wickedly on the survival of a kind
of society, the tribal society with its usages, which was in no sense
exclusively Celtic, but originally prevalent all over Europe. In parts
of the Highlands tribal society outlived its day, and gave to Lovat the
opportunities which he abused.




APPENDIX




I.—_PICKLE’S LETTERS_


These two letters of Pickle’s, not published in full in _Pickle the Spy_,
illustrate ‘The Case against Glengarry’ in this volume. In the letter
dated Edinburgh, 14th September, 1754, we find that, immediately on
hearing of his father’s death, the writer sent a note to Gwynne Vaughan,
an English official, and went to Edinburgh, writing from Newcastle on his
way North. His ‘family affairs are in confusion.’ Now Old Glengarry died
in Edinburgh, on September 1, 1754, and, as has been elsewhere shown,
Young Glengarry at once repaired to the North. No reader of these letters
can doubt that their writer is, or is feigning to be, Young Glengarry.
Now no such pretence could possibly succeed in Edinburgh, where Young
Glengarry, a man eminently well known, happened to be at the moment. For
the rest, the letters are mainly concerned with the Informer’s proposed
terms of payment, now that his ‘situation is greatly altered,’ by the
death of his father, obviously Old Glengarry. Further comment seems
needless, the evidence being beyond suspicion, and capable of but one
interpretation.

    Dr. Sir,—I have receivd the pleasur of yours of 20 Septr, but
    have been of late so hurried that I had no time to return a
    proper answer. I thought I was pritty pointed in my last in
    regard to a certain stipulation, but as by yours I imagen I was
    not so well understood, I beg leave to be now more explicite.
    I waited patiently four years (since 1750) without making
    the least demand, but for Journy expences, which fell so fare
    short that I spent all my owne ready Mony, and ran in debt
    eight hundred £st. Now, Sir, I expect that your friend will pay
    this sume by way of gratification, which will make me free of
    all debt contracted during my several trips, for I expect to
    be considered for what is past, as well as for times coming:
    I _had had his worthy Brother’s[201] paroll for this as well
    as a promise of his countenance, and protection, in all my
    other claimes, as I will not varrie the least in my demand,
    notwithstanding my situation is greatly altered_, I will only
    mention £ five hundred St. yearly, twice regularly payd by
    Grandpapa, for I won’t absolutely have to dow with any other.
    If Mr. _Kenady_ (Duke of Newcastle) whose friendship I have a
    right to Claim, in vertue of his Brother’s promise, will obtain
    this for me, there is nothing honourable he can think of, but
    I am able to perform. Only I beg he be not prejudic’d by that
    swarm of Videts that dally infest him. The Services I can be of
    are pritty well known, and as I am embark’d I am determin’d to
    percevere, but then I expect that Mr. Kenady (D. of N.) will
    fulfill his worthy Brother’s promise to me, which was to clear
    me of the Debts contracted in my new way of lief, when that
    is done, and a certain thing yearly fixt, Mr. _Kenady_ shall
    dispose of me in what shape he pleases. Young Swift (Lochgarry)
    is arrived, and upon his waiting of _20_ (Genl. Bland) was
    not recevd as was promis’d he should. When I waited of him,
    he did not receve me as I expected, haughtly refusd the use
    of a fulsie without I should qualifie. I smiling answr’d, if
    that was the case, I had then a right without his permission,
    but that he could not take it amiss that I debar’d all under
    his comand the pleasure of hunting upon my grounds, or of any
    firing, which they can’t have without my permission, so that I
    thought favours were reciprocall. _20_ (Genl. Bland) and his
    Club pretends to be well inform’d of the minutest transaction
    in the Grand Monark’s Cabinet, _O rare polliticians, Poor 21
    (Bruce) is greatly to be pityed, for my old friends are mad at
    my consulting him in all my affairs, and 20 (Bland) and some
    about him spoke very injurious of him to me_. I think this
    ought to be put to rights. _I go North in a few days_, I hope
    to prevail on _21_ (Bruce) to follow in order to assist me
    in making a Judicial rent roll.[202] My stay will not exceed
    a month, and his not a fortnight, so that if you expect me
    up, write under _21_ (Bruce’s) cover, and I shall obey your
    comands. But Mr. _Kenady_ (D. of N.), your friend, must enable
    me to go about it in a proper manner, and I am sure I will
    performe the business to his entire satisfaction. Young Swift,
    (Lochgarry) has verbally communicated to me most of _Miss
    Philips_ (Young Pretender’s) amours. She has turn’d adrift all,
    or most of her former companions and galants. (This refers to
    the rupture between Prince Charles and his English adherents.)
    My presence is much wanted, and ardently wished for by hir, and
    hir present conductors. But I cant hear any thing materiall
    till old _Swift_ (Lochgarry) return from hir. What I mentiond
    concerning _Black Cattel_ is fact, but I hate repetitions, and
    at any rate must deffer further particulars till my return
    from the North. I will expect the pleasure of hearing to
    satisfaction and pointedly from you—I will beg the continuance
    of your good Offices, and will conclude by making offer of my
    Compts. to Mr. _Kenady_ and assures him that all now depends
    upon himself, as Every thing is in his option.

                     I ever remain, Dear Grandpapa

           Your most obedient and most oblidged humble Servt.

                                                        ALEX GUTHRY.

    Edinbr. 10. Octr. 1754.

                   (Pickle to G. V.) (Gwynne Vaughan)

    Add. 32,736. f. 525.

                                             Edinbr. 14 Septr. 1754.

    Dr. Sir,—I am vastly uneasy not to receive the least answer
    to either of my letters from Newcastle, or that which I wrote
    immediately upon my Father’s death;[203] but, as I have the
    greatest confidence in your friendship, I perswade myself that
    nothing prevents my receiving apointed answer to every article
    in both my last, but the multiplicity of weighty Affairs daily
    crouding upon the Duke of Newcastle; therefore without any
    suspicion or diffidence I am determined to continue firm to our
    Concert, untill you acquaint me if he agrees to my Proposals,
    which if he does, he may safely rely upon everything in my
    power, and I think I can’t give stronger proof of my sincerity
    than by this offer, _in the confusion of my Family affairs,
    which in its present situation, demands all my attention_.
    I have heard fully from Lochgary, who acquaints me that the
    Young Pretender’s affairs take a very good turn, and that he
    has lately sent two expresses to Lochgary earnestly intreating
    a meeting with Pickle, and upon Lochgary’s acquainting him of
    the great distance Pickle was off, he commanded Lochgary to a
    rendezvous, and he set out to meet me the 4th. Instant, and is
    actually now with me.

    I shall very soon have a particular account of the present
    plan of operation. I have now the ball at my foot, and may
    give it what tune I please, as I am to be allowed largely, if
    I fairly enter in co-partnership. The French King is in a very
    peaceable humour, but very ready to take fire if the Jacobites
    renew their address, which the Young Pretender assures him
    of, and he will the readier bestirr himself, as the English
    Jacobites hourly torment him. Troops, Scotch and Irish, are
    daily offered to be smuggled over: _but I have positively yet
    refused to admit any_. The King of Spain has lately promised
    to add greatly to the Young Pretender’s patrimony, and English
    Contributors are not wanting on their parts.

    I suspect that my letters of late to my friends abroad are
    stopt, pray enquire, for I think it very unfair dealings. I am
    in a few weeks to go north to put some order to my affairs.
    I should have been put to the greatest inconveniency if _21_
    (Bruce) had not lent his friendly assistance; but as I have
    been greatly out of pocket by the Jants I took for Mr. Pelham,
    I shan’t be in condition to continue trade, if I am not soon
    enabled to pay off the Debts then contracted. I have said on
    former occasions so much upon this head to no effect that I
    must now be more explicit, and I beg your friendly assistance
    in properly representing it to the Duke of Newcastle. If he
    thinks that my services, of which I have given convincing
    proofs, will answer to his advancing directly eight hundred
    Pounds, which is the least that can clear the Debts of my
    former Jants, and fix me to the Certain payment yearly of
    Five hundred at two several terms, he may command anything in
    my power upon all occasions. I am sorry to be forced to this
    explanation, in which I always expected to be prevented. I am
    so far from thinking this extravagant, that I am perswaded it
    will save them as many thousands, by discarding that swarm of
    Videts, which never was in the least trusted. If the Duke of
    Newcastle’s Constituent (the King) was acquainted with this,
    I dare say he would esteem the demand reasonable, considering
    what he throws away upon others of no interest or power on
    either side. I beg you’ll acquaint me with the soonest of
    the Duke of Newcastle’s answer, and assure him of my ready
    obedience to his commands. I have referred to _21_ to enlarge
    further upon this, and other subjects I have been conversing
    with him some days ago, _as he can inform you of my great
    hurry and confusion for this fortnight past_,[204] which will
    be all the apology I will make for this hurried scrawl, and I
    beg you’ll be fully convinced of the great esteem etc. etc. etc.

    P.S. Pray let me not be denied the Arms I wanted, and I hope
    in case of accidents, you’ll take care of young Lochgary. I
    am just this instant informed that _Mr. Nordly_ has left the
    King of France for the summer season, and is residing now in
    England, but can’t learn in what particular place—_21_ is
    supposed to be the Watchman: whose letter will explain what he
    hints of Lochgary.

_Mr. Nordly_ is not deciphered yet.

(Copy of Pickle’s letter to G. V. (Gwynne Vaughan) deciphered. R. Oct.
16th, 1754.)




II.—_MACLEOD_


‘The Rebels had an implacable Illwill and Malice against Him (Macleod) as
they alledged, and many of them believed, that he not only deserted, but
betrayed their Cause: what truth there is in this I will not take upon
me to determine.’ So says the writer of the MS. 104, ‘The Highlands of
Scotland in 1750.’

‘Surely never did man so basely betray as did Macleod, whom I shall leave
for the present to the racks and tortures of a guilty conscience, and
the just and severe judgement of every good man.’ Thus writes Murray of
Broughton, after narrating how Macleod gave a written promise to aid
Prince Charles whenever he landed. What he _did_ was to send information
to Forbes of Culloden, ‘it is certain that the pretended Prince of Wales
is come into the coast of South Uist and Barra.’ He begs that his name
as informant may be kept secret.[205]

Macleod can thus avoid the charge of betraying the Cause, only by
disproof of Murray’s allegation that he gave a written promise to rise.
But this allegation is confirmed by family tradition. ‘Miss Macleod
of Macleod, Dunvegan Castle, remembers having seen in the family
charter-chest an interesting correspondence between His Royal Highness
and Macleod, in which Norman “invited the Prince to come over, several
months before he arrived,” but the letters have since disappeared, and
the family knows nothing as to where they have gone to.’[206]

On the showing of Miss Macleod, as reported by Mr. Mackenzie, in the
passage just cited, Murray might well cry ‘never did man betray so basely
as did Macleod.’ Despite his written promise to Prince Charles, Macleod
was the first to send information against ‘the pretended Prince of
Wales.’ After Prestonpans, ‘it would appear,’ writes Mr. Mackenzie, ‘that
Macleod was taking lessons in duplicity from Simon,’ Lord Lovat. Macleod
scarcely needed instruction in treachery; but, if Mr. Mackenzie is right,
he now meant to send Young Macleod with the clan to join the Prince,
while he stayed at home, and said that he could not help it.[207] This
domestic arrangement was not carried into effect.

Macleod was born in 1706, and inherited the family lands with 60,000_l._
He died in 1772, leaving 50,000_l._ of debt. He is still spoken of
in the traditional history of his family as _An Droch Dhuine_, or
‘the Wicked Man,’ partly because of his extravagance, partly ‘for his
cruel treatment of his first wife and Lady Grange.’[208] When we add
his treachery to the Prince, we see in Macleod a character far from
exemplary. His grandson speaks of him as ‘always a most beneficent and
beloved chieftain, whose necessities had lately induced him to raise his
rents.’... ‘The Jacobites treated him as an apostate, and the successful
party did not reward his loyalty.’[209] He reaped as he had sown.




FOOTNOTES


[1] _Literature_, July 30, 1898, p. 93.

[2] There is a brief sketch of the Earl in his brother’s Memoirs
(Spalding Club), which cites d’Alembert, and puts the Earl’s birth in
1687.

[3] Plaids worn by the Earl and his brother are preserved in a house in
Fifeshire.

[4] This remark makes it probable that the Earl was really a young man.
If born in 1693, as some thought, he would be twenty-three in 1716. (As,
indeed, one of d’Alembert’s authorities says that he was.) If a year or
two older, he could scarcely have pleaded youth as a reason for silence.

[5] Mar to ‘H. S.’ From France, February 10, 1716.

[6] Mr. Eliot Hodgkin’s MSS., _Hist. MSS. Com._ xv. ii. Appendix, p. 230.

[7] Add. MSS. 33,950. 1718-1719. British Museum.

[8] There are copies of his correspondence with the would-be murderer in
the Gualterio MSS., British Museum.

[9] The author hopes to tell the story of Mr. Wogan, a charming
character, on another occasion.

[10] Hist. MSS. Commission, x. i. Appendix, p. 475.

[11] Letter from Musell Stosch to d’Alembert, _Œuvres_, v. 457.

[12] Hist. MSS. Commission, x. i. Appendix, p. 184.

[13] Hist. MSS. Commission, x. i. Appendix, p. 452.

[14] The Earl’s letter is in Browne, ii. 448, from the Stuart Papers.

[15] The Rev. George Kelly was a constraint on the old Duke’s amours with
Madame de Vaucluse!

[16] Papers from French Foreign Office. In Murray of Broughton’s
_Memorials_, pp. 499-501.

[17] Charles to James, May 11, 1744. Stuart Papers in Murray of
Broughton’s _Memorials_, p. 368.

[18] Stuart Papers. Browne, ii. 476.

[19] Compare Villettes’ letter, _postea_, p. 48.

[20] Stuart Papers, in Murray of Broughton’s _Memorials_, pp. 513-514.

[21] James to the Duke of York. November 8, 1745. Browne, iii. 452, where
all the correspondence is printed.

[22] The Memoirs of the exile in question, unhappily, have never been
printed, and I do not feel at liberty to anticipate any points of
interest in these curious papers.

[23] Letters in Browne, iv. 64-66. Conceivably it was Goring who
prejudiced the Earl against Kelly; he may have conveyed the ideas of
Carte and the English party.

[24] See Sir Charles’s letter of February 6, 1751, in _Pickle the Spy_,
p. 117.

[25] These letters are from the printed Correspondence of Frederick.

[26] Ewald, _Charles Edward_, ii. 223.

[27] The story was believed, however, by a contemporary who knew the Earl
well.

[28] Mr. Bisset has printed these letters from the originals in the Add.
MSS. British Museum.

[29] Fidei Defensor.

[30] From the correspondence of Hume. MSS. in the collection of the Royal
Society of Edinburgh.

[31] Hill Burton’s _Hume_, ii. 464-6.

[32] _See_ ‘Mlle. Luci,’ later.

[33] In the papers of Ramsay of Ochtertyre occurs perhaps the only
unkind reference to the Earl. Ramsay reports that, being told about the
destitution of the child of his nurse (who had sold her cow and sent him
the money in 1719), he made no remark. A reference to p. 66, _supra_,
will show that silence followed by kind deeds was the Earl’s way when he
heard a story of distress. Ramsay mentions that he sold his lands cheap
when he finally left Scotland.

[34] Murray to a lady. Quoted in _Genuine Memoirs of John Murray, Esq._
(London: 1747), p. 9.

[35] The diamond box has gone; the miniature, published by Mr. Fitzroy
Bell, is in my possession.

[36] _A Collection of Loyal Songs._ Printed in the year 1750.

[37] Browne, ii. p. 476.

[38] Stuart Papers, in Murray of Broughton’s _Memorials_, pp. 392-395.

[39] _Chronicles of the Atholl and Tullibardine Families_, iii. pp 8, 17.
(Privately printed: edited by the Duke of Atholl.)

[40] Charles was nursed at Thunderton House, by Mrs. Anderson (_née_
Dunbar) of Arradoul. In some mysterious way Charles was able to
secure for Mrs. Anderson’s son an appointment under the English
Government. So says a tradition preserved by Miss Janet Lang, a
great-great-granddaughter of Mrs. Anderson.

[41] See ‘Cluny’s Treasure,’ _postea_. A writer in the _Athenæum_ (July
9, 1898) appears to think (as was thought at the time) that Murray now
intended to turn informer, and keep what he could of the French gold.
This is not my impression.

[42] See ‘A Gentleman of Knoydart,’ _postea_.

[43] Lord Justice Clerk to Newcastle, July 10, 1746. Murray’s
_Memorials_, p. 418.

[44] _The Highlands in 1750._ Blackwood, 1898.

[45] Leslie. Paris, May 27, 1752. Browne, iv. 101.

[46] See ‘Account of Charge’ in Chambers’s _Rebellion_, p. 522; and,
later, ‘Cluny’s Treasure.’

[47] Stuart Papers. Browne, iv. 59. Mr. Fitzroy Bell does not remark on
all this evidence.

[48] Unable, at first, to learn even the real name of Mlle. Luci, I
appealed, in despair, to a lady who occasionally sees ‘visions’ in
crystals. ‘What can you see of Mlle. Luci?’ I asked, by letter, giving
no hint of any kind as to the lady’s date or connections. The seeress
replied that, in an ink-bottle on her writing-desk, she saw a girl of
about twenty-eight, dark, handsome, rather like Madame Patti in youth.
Her dress was that of the middle of the eighteenth century. On her
shoulder was laid another lady’s hand, a long, delicate, white hand, with
a ‘marquise’ diamond ring. ‘_La Grande Main_,’ I exclaimed, ‘the hand of
La Grande Main!’—whom we later discovered to be Madame de Vassé.

The coincidence was certainly pretty, but, unless a portrait of Mlle.
Ferrand can be discovered, we must remain ignorant as to whether she was
correctly represented in the ink-picture; whether a true refraction shone
up from the dead past, the afterglow of a romance.

[49] _Burt’s Letters_, ii. p. 334.

[50] MSS. in the Cluny Charter Chest. Privately printed, 1879, p. 16.

[51] _Waverley_, i. p. 161 (1829).

[52] London: 1754.

[53] This is confirmed by the Gartmore MS. in Burt; by MS. 104, in the
King’s Collection; and by Murray of Broughton, in his paper on the Clans.

[54] Published (1898) as _The Highlands in 1750_ (Blackwood).

[55] He is a Lowlander, and avers that Scotland rarely lost a battle
except when the Highlanders were engaged, as at Flodden.

[56] _Sutherland Book_, ii. 256.

[57] MS. 104 says that they went out most reluctantly.

[58] The Impartial Hand.

[59] These letters are in the Cumberland MSS. at Windsor Castle.

[60] MS. 104. King’s Library.

[61] See Mr. Mackenzie’s _History of the Camerons_, pp. 233-244, where
the documents are given.

[62] _History of the Camerons_, p. 236.

[63] Sheridan can scarcely have been Charles’s adviser at this time. It
may have been O’Sullivan.

[64] _Pickle_, p. 160. I at first conjectured that this letter might
refer to Pickle himself, but Barisdale, who was in touch with Cumberland
in 1746, just after Culloden, is more probably the person hinted at.

[65] This does not look as if the Duke alluded to him in the letter of
August 9, where he talks of the price of information.

[66] Cumberland MSS. See ‘A Gentleman of Knoydart,’ _postea_.

[67] _Antiquarian Notes_, pp. 152, 153.

[68] _Lyon in Mourning_, i. 147.

[69] _Culloden Papers_, pp. 290-292.

[70] Cumberland MSS.

[71] _Memorials of Murray of Broughton_, p. 270, _et seq._

[72] Chambers’s _Rebellion_ of 1745. Appendix. But compare _Memorials_,
p. 286, where Murray represents himself as poor, though he had the 5,000
_louis_, unless he had sent them on in front.

[73] _Scots Magazine_, July 1753, p. 362.

[74] _Ibid._, 1750, p. 254.

[75] This is accurate. The note exists to this day.

[76] This was by the Prince’s desire.

[77] Scots Papers. Record Office.

[78] See p. 141, note 2.

[79] Letters between the Major and the Prince are published in _Pickle
the Spy_.

[80] Glengarry to Edgar, Jan. 16, 1750. Browne, iv. p. 66.

[81] Browne, iv. p. 79.

[82] _Jacobite Lairds of Gask_, p. 276.

[83] Nov. 21, 1753. Browne, iv. 117.

[84] Scots Affairs. Record Office.

[85] The husband of the lady who pistoled the English Captain after 1715.

[86] State Papers, Scotland, 1753.

[87] S.P.S. Bundle 44, No. 28-29.

[88] It is plain that the account given on p. 144, and said by the
Informer to be ‘in Clunie’s writing,’ is absolutely wrong, cannot be
by Cluny, and is meant to incriminate that chief. Not only are the
6,000 louis carried to Charles by Kennedy omitted, but the ‘treasure’
intercepted by Downan and Glenevis does not appear, while 2,000 of
the 27,000 louis are left out of the reckoning. ‘The State of Clunie
McPherson’s Intromissions,’ in short, is a fraudulent document. It bears
traces of confused manipulation in various interests.

[89] _Lyon in Mourning_, i. 310. _Antiquarian Notes_, by C. Fraser
Mackintosh, p. 225.

[90] _Lyon in Mourning_, i. 147.

[91] _Lyon_, i. 309-10.

[92] _Nether Lochaber_, pp. 188, 189.

[93] Now Fort William.

[94] This Mr. Douglas gets a very bad character from John Macdonnell, of
the Scotus family, in his Memoirs.

[95] Dungallon had only been released from Edinburgh Castle in October
1749.

[96] This includes the money got by Glengarry in Edinburgh, out of
Murray’s original 5,000 _louis_, entrusted to his brother-in-law, Mr.
Macdougal. Compare Murray’s _Memorials_, p. 304, where he denies that
Mrs. Murray brought any large sum from the Highlands. The reverse is
stated by Ramsay of Ochtertyre, and it is plain that, by Mrs. Murray’s
means, or otherwise, a large sum was conveyed by Murray to Edinburgh.

[97] See Mr. Stevenson’s _Kidnapped_ and _Catriona_ and the printed Trial
for the Appin Murder.

[98] Add. MSS. 32,995, 6, 33.

[99] December 1752. _Pickle_, p. 176.

[100] State Papers, MS., April 15, 1751.

[101] Cumberland Papers.

[102] _Scots Magazine_, July 1753, p. 362.

[103] June 18, 1754, State Papers.

[104] _Scots Magazine_, June 1754. The details of Fassifern’s
imprisonment and condemnation are taken from the _Scots Magazine_ of
1753-1754.

[105] No. 48 S. P. S. From Churchill to Newcastle, Nov. 19, 1751. The
story of the ghostly evidence in Sergeant Davies’s case will be found in
the author’s _Book of Dreams and Ghosts_.

[106] Written before 1810, the Memoirs are published in the _Canadian
Magazine_ of 1828. Mr. McLennan has founded on these papers his excellent
romance, _Spanish John_.

[107] _Hunts-foot_ (_sic_), _i.e._ leg of a dog, a term of reproach with
the Germans.

[108] Lally’s adventures were romantic, and are only touched on by M.
Humont in his _Lally Tollendal_, pp. 32-5.

[109] Mackenzie’s _History of the Camerons_; see documents on pp. 233-44.

[110] Murray of Broughton in Chambers’s _Rebellion of 1745_; edition of
1869, p. 515.

[111] Letter-Book of Alastair Ruadh, MS.

[112] William, fourth son of Donald the fifth of Kilcoy. He married Jean,
daughter of Mackenzie of Davochmaluag, and died without issue. _History
of the Mackenzies_, p. 585.

[113] _Antiquarian Notes_, by C. Fraser Mackintosh, p. 156.

[114] Laing MSS., Edinburgh University Library.

[115] _Pickle_, p. 282.

[116] February 19, 1760, _Pickle_, p. 312: also p. 266, April 8, 1754:
‘Since the loss of my worthy great friend [Henry Pelham] on whose word I
wholly relay’d, everything comes far short of my expectations.’

[117] _Antiquarian Notes_, p. 123.

[118] _Pickle_, pp. 312-314.

[119] _Antiquarian Notes_, pp. 120, 121.

[120] The tradition of Glengarry’s treachery has reached me both from
Scotland and America, under dread secrecy!

[121] In 1749 a Mr. Bruce was appointed to survey the forfeited and
unforfeited estates of the Highlands, including Glengarry’s. Pickle
speaks of employing ‘Cromwell’ (Bruce) to draw up for him a judicial rent
roll. The two Bruces, the surveyor and the Court Trusty, are obviously
the same man, and he is probably the writer of the tract, _The Highlands
in 1750_. (MS. 104. King’s Library.)

[122] It is needless to consider the theory that Pickle was James Mohr
Macgregor, who died in 1754.

[123] Burt, i. 265-267.

[124] Murray of Broughton’s _Memorials_, p. 107. James’s letter to Louis
XV., p. 508.

[125] Charles knew of Murray’s ‘rascality’ by April 10, 1747. Letter of
the Prince to James. Stuart Papers, _Memorials_, p. 398.

[126] _Lyon in Mourning_, iii. 119. The anecdote is also given by Robert
Chambers in _Jacobite Memorials_.

[127] This letter was published, from my transcript, by Mr. A. H. Millar,
in the _Scottish Review_ for April 1897.

[128] Stuart Papers. Browne, iv. 100, iv. 22, 23, 51.

[129] Browne, iv. 98-102.

[130] _Ibid._ iv. 118.

[131] _Ibid._ iv. 64.

[132] Newton to Waters, March 18, 1750, _Pickle_, p. 93; Lord Elcho’s
Diary; Glengarry to Prince Charles, admitting the fact, 1751; Browne, iv.
79; ‘Cluny’s Treasure,’ _supra_.

[133] Browne, iv. 66.

[134] _Pickle_, p. 161.

[135] Stuart Papers, Windsor Castle.

[136] _Pickle_, p. 162.

[137] _Pickle_, p. 180.

[138] Jesse’s _Pretenders_, Appendix.

[139] _Pickle_, pp. 170-175.

[140] _Pickle_, pp. 191-194.

[141] _Ibid._ p. 190.

[142] MSS. 33,050; f. A25.

[143] _Pickle_, p. 210.

[144] _Pickle_, p. 219.

[145] State Papers, Scotland, Bundle 44, No. 67.

[146] Glengarry’s Letter Book, MS., p. 207, _supra_.

[147] Add MSS. 32,955, f. 38.

[148] _Highlanders_, ii. xvi. Appendix.

[149] _Scottish Review_, April, 1897, p. 223.

[150] _Pickle_, p. 283.

[151] _Ibid._ p. 284.

[152] See Appendix.

[153] December 13, 1754. _Pickle_, p. 285.

[154] This letter, with a draft of Glengarry’s reply, written on the
back, is in the possession of General Macdonald, the owner of Glengarry’s
Letter Book.

[155] _Pickle_, pp. 288-289.

[156] Add. MSS. 32,804, f. 137.

[157] _Pickle_, pp. 290-291.

[158] _Ibid._ pp. 312-314.

[159] _Letters from the Highlands_, ii. 70 (1818).

[160] Glengarry’s Letter Book, MS. (1758-9).

[161] _A Journey through part of England and Scotland, Along with the
Army, &c._ By a Volunteer. Osborne, London: 1747, p. 176.

[162] Lord Selkirk, _State of the Highlands_, p. 42 (1805).

[163] Glengarry’s Letter Book, MS.

[164] November-December, 1754. _Pickle_, p. 285.

[165] _Antiquarian Notes_, pp. 120-134.

[166] _Pickle_, p. 217.

[167] _Northern Memoirs._ This author does not speak of drinking the
blood of the _living_ cow. See _op. cit._ p. 209, and note, p. 372. This
correction applies to p. 283.

[168] Burt, ii. p. 31.

[169] _Ibid._ p. 26.

[170] Glengarry’s Letter Book, MS.

[171] _Scotland as it was and as it is_, p. 245.

[172] Burt, ii. 51.

[173] The Gartmore MS. is denounced as full of ignorant Lowland
prejudice, by General Stewart of Garth.

[174] Burt, Appendix, ii. 357.

[175] We have another statement by Culloden: ‘From Perth to Inverness,
and thence to the Western Sea, including the Western Islands, ... no part
is in any degree cultivated, except some spots here and there in straths
or glens, by the sides of rivers, brooks, or lakes, and on the sea-coast.
The grounds that are cultivated yield small quantities of mean corns not
sufficient to feed the inhabitants, who depend for their nourishment
on milk, butter, cheese, &c., the product of their cattle.... Their
habitations are the most miserable huts that ever were seen.’ _Culloden
Papers_, p. 298.

[176] This is the house near Musselburgh, which the wicked Colonel
Charteris lent to Culloden, who had defended him from a charge of rape.
In one room (when I was a boy) you saw in the centre a great black
blotch, and black marks as of footsteps tiptoeing out to the door. A
gruesome room!

[177] Cumberland Papers, 1753.

[178] _Antiquarian Notes_, p. 207.

[179] _Antiquarian Notes_; compare pp. 126 and 207.

[180] Here is a formal rent from Burt (ii. 56):—

  _Donald Mac Oil vic ille Challum._
    Money £8. 10. 4. Scots £0. 5. 10⅛.
    Butter 3 lb. 2 oz.
    Oatmeal 2 bushels 1 Peck 3 Lip.
    Sheep ⅛ and ⅟₁₆.

Other tenants paid in shares the rest of the sheep. Then there would be
‘services,’ engaging Donald’s time and labour.

[181] ‘Cluny, May 10, 1724.’ _Stuart Papers_, p. 113, Appendix, pp.
100-105.

[182] James to the Duke of Gordon, August 27, 1724.

[183] British Museum. The King’s Library, 104.

[184] _Scots Magazine_, 1753, p. 498.

[185] Burt, ii. 5, 6.

[186] MS. 104.

[187] _Sketches_, 1822.

[188] _Ibid._ i. 40.

[189] _Op. cit._ i. 84, 85.

[190] Burt, ii. 107.

[191] _Sketches_, i. 185, _note_.

[192] _Antiquarian Notes_, p. 284.

[193] _Sketches_, i. 150.

[194] _Ibid._ ii. Appendix, xliv.

[195] _Sketches_, i. 139.

[196] See also the Introduction to _The Legend of Montrose_.

[197] Cumberland Papers, 1753.

[198] January 16, 1747.

[199] Browne, iii. p. 477.

[200] March 26, 1740. _Gleanings from Cluny Charter Chest_, p. 4.

[201] Henry Pelham’s.

[202] One Bruce did survey the Forfeited Estates and others.

[203] At Edinburgh, Sept. 1, died Old Glengarry.

[204] On account of Old Glengarry’s death.

[205] Dunvegan, August 3, 1745. _Culloden Papers_, p. 204.

[206] _History of the Macleods._ By Alexander Mackenzie, F.S.A., p. 129.
Inverness, 1889.

[207] _Ibid._ p. 133.

[208] _Ibid._ p. 149.

[209] Mackenzie, pp. 150, 151.




INDEX


  Aberdeen, Earl of, 105

  Ailesbury, Lord, 58

  Airlie, Earl of, 105

  Albemarle, Lord, 115, 118, 119, 120

  Alberoni, Cardinal, 14, 17

  Amelot, his warning to Murray of Broughton, 73

  Anderson, Mrs., of Arradoul, nurses Prince Charles, 85 _note_

  Ardsheil, his estates, 274

  Argyll, Duke of, at Sheriffmuir, 11;
    cited, 106, 162, 226, 263, 271

  Arkaig, Loch, French gold buried at. _See_ French treasure

  Association of Scottish Jacobites, the, foundation of, 32

  Atholl, Duke of, his comparison of Pickle’s and Glengarry’s letters,
        249

  Atholl, James, Duke of, 82, 83, 106, 214

  Atterbury, Bishop, urges proclamation of King James, on Anne’s death,
        8;
    conspiring, 22


  Baillie, William, letter on Glengarry’s reconcilement to the
        Government, 226

  Balhaldie (chief of the Macgregors), 72;
    his Ossianic prophecies of a French invasion, 73;
    in Paris, 73;
    in Flanders, 75;
    working against Murray of Broughton, 76;
    cited, 32, 33, 34, 36, 222, 238, 239

  Barisdale, Colonel (grandson of Macdonell of Barisdale), 124

  Barisdale, Macdonell of, physical powers, 100;
    marriage, 101;
    fight with Cameron of Taask, 101;
    arrested for theft, 102;
    thief-catcher, 102;
    cruelty, 103;
    joins a confederacy for theft, 104;
    devices for levying blackmail, 105;
    captain of a ‘Watch,’ 105;
    wadsetter of Glengarry’s, 106;
    duel with Cluny, 106;
    made a colonel by Charles, 107;
    at Prestonpans, 107;
    made a knight banneret, 108;
    raising the clans, 108;
    reducing the shires of Ross and Sutherland, 109;
    letter to Lady Sutherland, 112;
    too late for Culloden, 113;
    and Lochiel, 114;
    endeavours to seize Charles, 115;
    gets a ‘protection,’ 115;
    his protection rescinded, 115;
    with his son put in irons by Charles, 116;
    in a French prison, 117;
    imprisoned in Edinburgh Castle, 117;
    his narrative to the Justice Clerk, 118-121;
    Jacobite charges against him, 122;
    dies in Edinburgh Castle, 123;
    family seat, 178;
    cited, 86, 87, 131, 133, 134, 138, 139, 188, 190, 195, 259

  Barisdale, Young (son of Macdonell of Barisdale), in a French prison,
        117;
    a fugitive in the Highlands, 123;
    takes the oaths, 124;
    cited, 160, 190, 195, 196, 259

  Barry, Dr., betrayed by Murray of Broughton, 75, 88

  Barrymore, Lord, 36, 38, 74, 75

  Beaufort, Duke of, 36, 38, 74, 75

  Berwick, Duke of, urges James to join his adherents, 9;
    then advises delay, 9;
    detained by the Regent Orléans in France, 9

  Blair (an agent of James), 229

  Bland, General, Governor of Edinburgh Castle, 174, 198, 240, 241,
        290, 291

  Bolingbroke, 9

  Brado, Mr. (Jew), 200

  Breck, Allan, 194, 274

  Bruce (Court Trusty), 217, 218, 240, 241, 291

  Burt, Captain, 221, 263, 265


  Cameron, Allan (brother of Glenevis), dies at Culloden, 149

  Cameron, Allan, of Landavrae, 164

  Cameron, Alexander, of Glenevis, 147;
    genealogy, 148;
    brutality of Cumberland’s men to his wife, 148;
    Colonel Crawfurd’s attempt to arrest, 150;
    surrenders to Crawfurd, 152;
    believes that Young Glengarry gave information against him, 153;
    in Edinburgh Castle, 156;
    cited, 141, 142, 146, 168, 196, 229, 230, 232

  Cameron, Angus, of Downan, 136, 146, 149, 151, 153, 154, 156, 159,
        160, 196

  Cameron, Archibald, of Dungallon, 133, 147, 150, 151

  Cameron, Dr. Archibald (brother of Lochiel), entrusted with French
        treasure, 131;
    buries a portion at Loch Arkaig, 131;
    accuses, and is accused by, Young Glengarry of embezzlement, 140,
        141;
    vindicated in a letter from Douay, 142;
    also by an informer, 143;
    Cluny Macpherson’s alleged accounts, 144;
    innocent of malversation of the Prince’s money, 146;
    relationship to Lochiel, 147;
    accusations from and of Young Glengarry about the French treasure,
        228;
    cited, 85, 86, 132, 133, 134, 135, 136, 159, 232

  Cameron, Donald, 135

  Cameron, Dugald (cowherd), 272

  Cameron, Duncan, 156

  Cameron, Evan, of Drumsallie, 145

  Cameron, Mrs. Archibald, 148, 227

  Cameron, Mrs. Jean, 138

  Cameron of Lochiel. _See_ Lochiel

  Cameron of Taask, 101

  Cameron of Torcastle, 141, 142

  Cameron, Rev. John, 114

  Cameron, Samuel (brother of Cameron of Glenevis; Major in Lochiel’s
        regiment in French service), 138;
    cited, 149, 159

  Cameron, Sergeant Mohr, hanged, 159;
    cited, 194, 196

  Campbell of Auchenbreck (father-in-law of Lochiel), 72, 73

  Campbell of Glenure, murdered, 158, 161, 194, 274

  Campbell of Lochnell, 227

  Campbell, Sheriff, of Stonefield, 266

  Carlyle, Dr., 142

  Carte, the historian, 29, 37, 41

  Caryl, Lady Elizabeth, 27

  Cecil, Colonel, 73

  Charles Edward, Prince, disliked by the Earl Marischal, 5;
    repudiates assassination schemes, 22;
    affected contempt for all religion, 25;
    proposal to settle him in Corsica, 30;
    offers to go alone with the Marischal to Scotland, 34;
    living concealed in Paris, 35, 43;
    anxious to join the French army in Flanders, 35;
    implores the Earl Marischal to meet him at Venice, 40, 42;
    breaks with Goring, 43;
    declines to cashier his mistress, Miss Walkinshaw, 44;
    his retreat in Flanders detected by the English, 44;
    appeals to the Earl Marischal, 47;
    his life of exile, 49;
    absurd anecdote of his want of courage, 58;
    story of his presence at the coronation of George III., 59;
    his personal appearance, 70, 71;
    Murray of Broughton’s attachment to him, 71;
    Murray exposes Balhaldie and Sempil to him, 76;
    avows his intention of visiting Scotland, 76;
    warned against this intention, 76, 78, 79;
    embarks for Scotland, 36, 80;
    believes in Murray of Broughton, 81;
    anger with Lord George Murray on the march southwards, 83, 84;
    attacked with pneumonia, 85;
    behaviour after Culloden, 85, 86;
    kindness shown him by Mlle. Ferrand and Mme. de Vassé, 92-96;
    makes Barisdale a colonel, 107;
    warned by Sheridan against Barisdale, 115;
    puts Barisdale and his son in a French prison, 116;
    account of his escape from Skye, 127;
    instructions about French treasure at Arkaig, 137;
    directs the remainder of the French gold to be brought to France,
        156;
    deserted by his adherents, 171;
    invitation from France, 180;
    break up of his party in England, 208;
    loyalty to his adherents, 223, 224;
    interview with Young Glengarry in France, 235, 236;
    collection made for him, 238;
    cited, 286, 291, 292, 294, 295

  Charteris, Colonel, 270 _note_

  Churchill, General, 175

  Clancarty, Lord, 36, 37

  Clanranald, after Sheriffmuir, 13, 14;
    cited, 86, 131, 227, 236, 256

  Clement XI., 21

  Cluny’s treasure. _See_ French treasure

  Cockburn, his carelessness with the Jacobite cypher, 75

  Cole, 138

  Condillac, Abbé, his tribute to Mlle. Ferrand and Madame de Vassé,
        93, 94, 95

  Conti, Princesse de, 19

  Cope, General, 82, 83

  Cotton, Sir John Hinde, 36, 74

  Craigie, Lord-Advocate, 231

  Crawfurd, Colonel (Governor of Fort William), 142;
    arrests Fassifern, 149;
    Glenevis surrenders to him, 152;
    examines Glenevis concerning the French gold, 154, 155;
    urges the ‘uprooting’ of Fassifern, 161;
    induces Charles Stewart to lie about Fassifern’s claims, 169, 171;
    cited, 229, 272

  Creach (in the Irish Brigade), 180

  Créquy, Madame de, pseudo-Memoirs of, 6;
    her love affair with the Earl Marischal, 15;
    fraudulent compilation of her Memoirs, 15

  Cromarty, Lord, 108, 109, 111, 113

  Crystal-gazing, 96 _note_

  Culloden, 85

  Cumberland, Duke of, 117, 118, 119, 121, 128, 189, 190


  D’Alembert, quoted, 4, 6, 8, 9, 10, 12, 13, 14, 18, 24, 34, 35, 47,
        60, 61, 62, 64

  D’Argens, 60, 62

  D’Argenson, 34, 36, 37, 223

  D’Avenant, threatens to bombard Genoa if the Keiths are not expelled,
        21

  Davies, Sergeant, murder of, 172, 173

  Dawkins, Jemmy, 43

  Dillon, General, 14, 22

  Douglas (Sheriff-substitute), 150

  Douglas, Sir John, 88

  Drummond, Lord John (brother of Duke of Perth), 32, 33, 86, 131

  Drummond, of Balhaldie. _See_ Balhaldie

  Drummond, Provost, 201, 202, 203, 204

  Dumas the Younger, his dramatic use of an incident in Murray of
        Broughton’s career, 90

  Dunbar, Lord, 26


  Edgar (James’s secretary), 83, 71, 89, 228, 229, 230, 231

  Elcho, Lord, 79, 86, 110, 131

  Elibank, Lord, 232

  Elibank Plot, the, 43, 231, 232

  Emetté, Mlle. (Turkish captive), 31

  Erskine, 117


  Fassifern (Lochiel’s brother), 143;
    examined as to the French treasure, 145;
    arrested by Colonel Crawfurd, 149;
    in Edinburgh Castle, 156;
    denounced by Young Glengarry, 160;
    Colonel Crawfurd’s accusations, 161;
    charged with suborning Glenure’s murder, 162;
    accused of forging deeds of Lochiel’s estate, 163;
    evidence of an informer against him, 164;
    protests against points in his indictment, 165;
    petitions for bail, 166, 167;
    bail refused, 168;
    Charles Stewart on his claims, 169;
    Macfarlane’s preparation of claims from missing deeds, 170;
    found guilty of abstracting his own papers, 171;
    ‘uprooted,’ 171;
    cited, 151, 196, 232, 235, 236

  Faulkner, Sir Everard, 115, 116, 200, 211

  Fergusson, Captain, 103, 195

  Ferrand, Mademoiselle (Mlle. Luci), kindness to Charles, 92;
    influence on Condillac, 93;
    character, 94;
    death, 95;
    crystal-gazing in research of her identity, 96 _note_

  Fire-charming, 24

  Fitzjames, Duc de, 186

  Fleury, Cardinal, death of, 73

  Floyd, Captain, 41, 58

  Floyd, David (son of Captain Floyd), 58, 59

  Forbes, Bishop, 141, 148, 224, 231, 286

  Forbes, Captain, 214

  Forbes of Culloden, 106, 126, 127, 263, 269, 294

  Fowler, Mr. (gentleman gaoler of the Tower), 89

  Frazer, General (son of Old Lovat), 200

  Frederick the Great, his esteem for the Earl Marischal, 4;
    employs him, 40;
    concerned at his health, 45;
    asks the Marischal to find him a good French cook, 46;
    foresees the oncoming of the Seven Years’ War, 46;
    loses Marshal Keith, 50;
    sends the Marischal to Spain, 51;
    surety with George II. for the Marischal’s conduct, 51;
    patronises Rousseau, 56;
    tampers with the Jacobites, 238

  French treasure, in aid of Charles’s expedition, 129;
    Murray of Broughton’s and Archibald Cameron’s disposition of it,
        181;
    burial of a portion in the garden of Mrs. Menzies of Culdairs, 132;
    burial of major part at Loch Arkaig, 132;
    intelligence sent to Colonel Napier about, 133-139;
    Cameron’s accusation of Young Glengarry, 140;
    Glengarry charges Cluny and the Doctor with embezzlement, 140, 141;
    Cameron of Torcastle’s statement, 141;
    a letter from Douay, 142;
    evidence of an Informer, 143;
    Cluny Macpherson’s intromissions, 144;
    Fassifern’s admissions, 145;
    Glenevis under examination concerning, 154, 155;
    Young Glengarry’s dealings with it, 155, 156;
    causes dissensions among the clans, 156;
    Knoydart and Lochaber demoralised by it, 194

  Froullay, Mlle. de. _See_ Créquy, Mme. de


  Gardiner, Mr. (an agent of Crawfurd’s), 150

  Gartmore MSS., 263

  Gask, the Laird of, 141

  Geoffrin, Madame, 51

  George II., pardons the Earl Marischal, 51

  George III., story of Charles’s presence at his coronation, 59

  Glendarule, 17

  Glenevis. _See_ Cameron of Glenevis

  Glengarry, Æneas (brother of Young Glengarry), 201, 221, 260

  Glengarry, Duncan, 260

  Glengarry of Killiecrankie, 256

  Glengarry, Old (father of Pickle), 82, 114, 116, 181, 190, 210, 224,
        228, 266

  Glengarry, Young. _See_ Pickle

  Glenshiel, the conflict at, 18, 19

  Gordon, Admiral, 26

  Gordon, Duke of, 105, 274, 275, 276

  Gordon of Glenbucket, 86, 210, 274, 275

  Gordon, Sir Thomas, of Earlstoun, 75

  Goring, Henry, 40, 43, 48

  Grant, Major, 287

  Grant, Miss Marjory (daughter of Sir Ludovick Grant of Dalvey), 261

  Grant, Mrs., 85

  Grant of Grant, 106

  Grey (English Jacobite), 22


  Hamilton, Duke of, 71, 72;
    contributes monetary aid to Charles’s cause, 79;
    accepts Charles’s commission, 81

  Harrison, Father, 132, 135

  Hay, John, of Restalrig, 21, 85, 86

  Hay of Drumelzier, 72

  Hay, William, cited, 26

  Helvetius, 25, 58, 59

  Highlanders, character of, 97

  Highlands, the, the old times and the new in, 254;
    deer driving, 254;
    poverty, 255;
    ignorance, 256;
    a Highland home in 1747, 257;
    emigration of the clans, 257;
    the Glengarry estate a typical instance of clan holding, 258-262;
    evidence concerning, 263, 264;
    poetry, 264;
    Strathnaver crofters, 265;
    living cows’ blood mixed with oatmeal for food, 265, 283;
    hardness of living, 265;
    rents, 266;
    the truck system, 267;
    thriftless agricultural methods, 268;
    tyranny of the tacksmen, 269;
    Forbes of Culloden’s leases, 270;
    customary services and ‘casualties,’ 271, 272;
    rent paid in kind, 271;
    commutation of services for money, 272;
    copy of a formal rent, 273 _note_;
    evictions, 273;
    the eviction of the Macphersons from Badenoch, 274;
    the Mackenzies as landlords, 275;
    the Camerons as tenants, 276;
    evictions a part of clan warfare, 277, 278;
    obligations of the chiefs to the necessitous, 278, 279;
    times of scarcity, 280;
    blackmail, 280, 281;
    the creed of communism, 281;
    association of Sutherland farmers to suppress sheep-stealing, 282;
    attitude of landlords, 284;
    clan affection becomes clan hatred, 284;
    old times contrasted with new, 285

  Hodgson, Captain, 127

  Holderness, Lord, 51

  Holker (of Ogilvie’s regiment), 229

  Howard, G., letter on Barisdale’s protection, 115

  Hume, David, 55;
    letter from Marischal concerning Rousseau, 56;
    disseminates an anecdote reflecting on the courage of Charles, 58;
    letters from Marischal, 59-64

  Hunter, Mrs., of Polmood, 87

  Huntly, 11, 13


  Ibrahim (the Marischal’s Turk), 31

  Innes, George (head of the Scots College), 179

  Innes, Thomas (historian), 179

  Inverness, Lord, 26

  Izard, Captain, 124, 195


  James (the Third, Chevalier de St. George), urged to quit France and
        join his adherents, 9;
    his wintry welcome at Perth, 11;
    after Sheriffmuir, 12;
    escapes from Scotland, 12;
    at Avignon, 14;
    his assassination planned by Stair, 20;
    his bride, 20;
    endeavours to relieve his destitute followers, 21;
    pension from Spain, 26;
    at the tomb of Clementina, 28;
    his trust in Balhaldie, 33;
    believes in ‘lying still,’ 39;
    opposed to desperate ventures, 49;
    deserted by the Earl Marischal, 52;
    announces the French King’s resolution to help him, 75;
    appealed to about the French treasure, 140;
    his name forged by Young Glengarry, 155;
    cited, 27, 181, 182, 222, 226, 228, 230, 275

  Johnson, Dr., quoted, 259, 266

  Johnston, Captain, 160

  Johnstone, Chevalier, 107, 109, 178

  Jones, Captain, 149


  Kaunitz, Count, 238

  Keith, George, Earl Marischal of Scotland, his place in contemporary
        history, 1;
    ancestry, 2;
    political views, 2, 3;
    personal character, 4;
    date of birth, 5;
    parentage, 6;
    Colonel and disciplinarian, 6;
    neglects the chance on Anne’s death of proclaiming King James, 8;
    urges James to join his adherents, 9;
    induces his brother James to join the Jacobite cause, 10;
    at Sheriffmuir, 11;
    remains with the defeated army, 13;
    ships to France, 13;
    in Spain, 14;
    legendary romance about Mlle. de Froullay (Créquy), 15;
    portrait in 1716, 16;
    at the Lewes with a Spanish force, 17;
    in Holland, 19;
    in Rome, 20;
    communicates the Glenshiel fiasco to Alberoni, 20;
    vicissitudes, 21;
    friendship with the Duchess of Medina Sidonia, 24;
    investigates fire-charming, 24;
    religious ideas, 25;
    receives from James the Order of the Thistle, 27;
    dislike of Prince Charles, 5, 27;
    finds the Jacobite Court at Rome no place for an honest man, 28;
    at Avignon, 28;
    modesty of his requirements, 29;
    on the hanging of Porteous, 30;
    at St. Petersburg, 30;
    Turkish captives in his custody, 31;
    impatient with Sempil and Balhaldie, 32;
    accused of being lukewarm, 33;
    appointed General of a diversion in Scotland, 34;
    asked by Charles to set forth with him in a sailing boat, 34;
    accused of stopping the Dunkirk expedition, 35;
    tries to influence Louis XV. for French aid, 36, 37;
    at odds with Sempil, 37;
    averse from Charles’s unsupported expedition, 38;
    disappears from the diplomatic scene, 39;
    at Venice, 39;
    at Berlin, 40;
    in the service of Frederick the Great, 40;
    distrust of George Kelly, 40, 41;
    Frederick’s ambassador to Versailles, 43;
    tolerance of the Elibank Plot, 43;
    breaks with Charles, 43, 44;
    letter from his brother, Marshal Keith, 45;
    Frederick’s generous offers, 46, 47;
    Prince Charles appeals to him, 47;
    seeks pardon from the English Government, 48;
    his judgment of Charles too severe, 49;
    death of his brother, 50;
    squabble with Keith’s mistress, 50;
    sent by Frederick to Spain, 51;
    succeeds to Lord Kintore’s estate, 51;
    pardoned by George II., 51;
    visits England,52;
    Provost of Kintore, 52;
    dislikes Scotland and returns to Neufchâtel, 53;
    acquaintance with J. J. Rousseau, 53;
    leaves Neufchâtel and secures Rousseau an asylum in England, 55, 56;
    at Potsdam, 58;
    disseminates a scandalous anecdote about Charles, 58, 59;
    letters to Hume, 59-64;
    his life at Berlin, 64;
    attachment to Frederick, 65;
    character, tastes, and habits, 66;
    death, 67;
    cited, 208, 223, 234, 236, 238

  Keith, Marshal James, joins the Jacobite cause, 10;
    account of Sheriffmuir, 11;
    escapes to France, 13, 14;
    reception by Mary of Modena, 14;
    in Spain, 14, 17;
    meets Tullibardine in Paris, 17;
    brings a Spanish force to Scotland, 17;
    defeated by the English forces, 18;
    in Holland, 19;
    in Rome, 20;
    vicissitudes, 21;
    ill in Paris, 24;
    enters the Russian service, 26;
    wounded, 30;
    his Turkish captives, 31;
    in the service of Frederick, 40;
    his Livonian mistress, 42;
    letter to the Earl Marischal, 45;
    his death, 50

  Keith, Sir Robert Murray, 67

  Kelly, Rev. George (one of the Seven Men of Moidart), imprisoned in
        the Tower, 19;
    escapes therefrom, 29;
    cited, 23, 30, 34 _note_, 38, 40, 41, 58, 121

  Kennedy, Major, concerned with the French treasure, 86, 130, 132,
        134, 138, 140, 154

  Keppoch, 100

  Keppoch, Lady, 137

  Kingsburgh, 128

  Kintore, Lord, 51

  Kirk, Rev. Mr., 109

  Knyphausen, 45, 51


  Lambert, Colonel, 214

  Law, founder of the Mississippi scheme, 19

  Layer, his mob-plot, 23;
    hanged, 23

  Leslie (priest), 227

  Lichfield, Earl of, 36

  Liria, Duke de (son of the Duke of Berwick), 17

  Lismore (James’s agent), 226, 227

  Loch Arkaig, French treasure buried at. _See_ French treasure

  Lochgarry, in a thievish confederacy, 104;
    accused of treachery, 114;
    handling French treasure, 140;
    wadsetter of Old Glengarry’s lands of Cullachy, 210-212;
    possessions forfeited to the Crown, 211;
    in Edinburgh with Pickle, 240,
    cited, 86, 153, 172, 188, 190, 232, 235, 290, 291, 292, 294

  Lochiel (head of the Cameron clan), extracts from Macleod of Skye a
        promise to raise his clan, 77;
    believes every man of honour should rise, 81;
    determines to wage guerilla war after Culloden, 86;
    clan relationships, 147;
    cited, 32, 72, 100, 107, 109, 132, 130, 136, 141, 145, 147, 188,
        222, 223, 268, 272, 286

  Lockhart, Alexander (counsel), 173, 174

  Lockhart of Carnwath, 6, 72, 86

  Lockhart of Carnwath (the younger), 131

  Loudon, Lord, 109, 110, 119, 120

  Louis XIV., death of, 9

  Louis XV., induced to adopt the Jacobite cause, 34, 36

  Lovat, Lord, one of the ‘Association,’ 72;
    his betrayal of the Duke of Beaufort, 75;
    after Culloden, 86, 87;
    cited, 32, 99, 100, 108, 135, 257

  Lovat, Master of, 108, 113, 261

  Luci, Mademoiselle. _See_ Ferrand, Mademoiselle

  Lynch, Captain (Irish Jacobite), 187, 188, 189, 190


  Macdonald, Æneas (banker), 223, 228

  Macdonald, Alexander Bain, trial of, for murder of Sergeant Davies,
        172, 173, 174

  Macdonald, Angus (of the Clanranald family), 178, 179

  Macdonald, Captain Allan, of Knock, in Sleat, 195, 196, 197

  Macdonald, Flora, assists Charles to escape, 127

  Macdonald, Lady Margaret, of Sleat, connives at Charles escape from
        Skye, 127, 128

  Macdonald, Major, 241

  Macdonald of Morar, 124

  Macdonald, Sir Alexander, of Sleat, 18;
    Jacobite and Hanoverian, 126;
    letter to Cumberland on Pretender’s movements, 127;
    epigram on his death, 128;
    cited, 118, 119, 120, 121, 223

  Macdonell, Archibald (son of Barisdale), 107

  Macdonell, Colonel John, of Knoydart, 176;
    early life, 176;
    his Memoirs, 177;
    family and estate, 178;
    educated in Rome, 178;
    an adventure at Toulon, 179;
    Creach’s attempt at robbery and his repulse, 180;
    introduced to King James, 181;
    presented with a sword and a prediction, 181;
    horrified by the ideas of his comrades, 181;
    his baptism of fire, 182;
    wounded in battle with the Austrians, 183, 184;
    goes in aid of Charles to Scotland, 185, 186;
    arrives after Culloden, 186;
    robbed of part of money destined for Charles, 187;
    reaches Loch Arkaig, 188;
    meets Barisdale, 188;
    hands remainder of money to Murray of Broughton, 189;
    makes for Knoydart, 189;
    adventure while in search of money stolen by Colin Dearg, 190-192;
    confronts Colin Dearg on the subject, 193, 194;
    arrested by Captain Fergusson, 195;
    denounces his cousin Captain Allan Macdonald, 195;
    imprisoned in Fort William, 196;
    released, 196;
    challenges Macdonald of Knock, 196;
    in America, 197

  Macdonell, Dr., of Kylles, 195

  Macdonell of Barisdale. _See_ Barisdale

  Macdonell, Ranald, 197

  Macdonnell, Æneas (brother of Young Glengarry), 201, 221, 260

  Macdonnell, Alastair Ruadh (Young Glengarry). _See_ Pickle

  Macdonnell, Dr. (Young Glengarry’s uncle), 124

  Macdonnell, General (of the Antrim family), 181, 182, 183, 197

  Macdonnell, Isobel (Young Glengarry’s sister), 221

  Macdonnell, John (Spanish John), 160

  Macdonnell, Miles, 185

  Macdonnell of Scotus, 109

  Macfarlane (Fassifern’s lawyer), 163, 170

  Macgregor, James Mohr, 82, 98, 100, 107, 175, 238, 239

  MacIan, Angus, 152, 153

  Mackenzie, Colin Dearg, of Laggy, 187, 188, 191;
    accused by Colonel John Macdonell of robbery of the Prince’s money,
        193

  Mackenzie, Mrs. (niece of Colin Dearg), 188

  Mackenzie of Dundonell, 193, 194

  MacKinnon, 103, 128

  Mackintosh, Fraser, quoted on Highland history, 116, 118, 215, 261,
        264, 272, 273, 275, 277, 282

  Mackintosh, The, 106

  Maclean, Sir Hector, arrested in Scotland, 79;
    cited, 223

  Macleod, Malcolm, of Raasay, 126, 127

  Macleod, Norman, 294, 295

  Macleod of Raasay, letters of, 246

  Macleod of Skye, 77;
    sends his forces to join Loudon’s in Hanoverian service, 77;
    turns his coat, 81;
    Young Glengarry asks him to join in a loan, 205;
    cited, 88, 206, 207, 214, 223

  Macleod (Young) of Neuck, 132

  Macnaughten, John, 79, 80

  Macpherson, Cluny, his watch or safeguard of followers, 105;
    joins Prince Charles, 106;
    duel with Barisdale, 106;
    alleged copy of his intromissions, 144;
    cited, 98, 99, 136, 137, 138, 139, 140, 141, 143, 154, 156, 158, 230

  Macpherson of Brechachie, 136, 140, 154, 161, 162

  Macrimmon (Macleod of Skye’s piper), 77

  Mar, Earl of, defeat of, at Sheriffmuir, 10, 11, 12;
    cited, 22

  Mary of Modena, 14

  Maxwell of Kirkconnell, 76, 81, 84

  McDonald, Donald, 127

  McDonell, Donald (Younger), of Scotus, 211

  McFarlane, John, W.S., 143, 145

  McKenzie, Lieut. Murdoch, 191

  McKenzie, Major William, of Kilcoy, 191

  McKenzie of Torridon, 192

  McLachlan, Alexander, 134

  McLeod, Alexander, 134

  McLeod, Rory, letter from Young Glengarry, 201

  Medina Sidonia, Duchess of, 24

  Menzies, Mrs., of Culdairs, 132

  Menzies of Culdairs, treasure buried in his garden, 90

  Meston (Jacobite wit and poet), 6

  Millar, Mr., on the handwriting of Pickle and Young Glengarry, 247-249

  Mitchell, Sir Andrew, 51, 52, 53

  Montesquieu, 92, 93

  Morar, Young, 160

  Morgan, 21, 22

  Murray, George Siddons (great-grandson of Murray of Broughton), 70

  Murray, John, of Broughton (traitor), connected with the Association
        of Scottish Jacobites, 32;
    faithful to Prince Charles Edward, 69;
    his ‘Memorials,’ 70;
    birth, family, and education, 70;
    opinion of the Prince’s personal appearance, 70;
    at Traquair, 71;
    Scottish correspondent of Edgar, 71;
    Jacobite organiser, 72;
    his associates, 72;
    reception in Paris, 73;
    feud with Balhaldie, 32, 73;
    betrays names of English leaders, 74;
    denounces Balhaldie and Sempil to Charles, 76;
    impolicy of his methods of securing adherents to Charles, 77;
    on Macleod’s treason, 78;
    dissuades Charles’s visits to Scotland without an armed force, 78,
        79;
    his self-justification, 80;
    believes in his own military skill, 81;
    suspicious of Lord George Murray, 81, 82, 83;
    on the march southwards with Charles, 84;
    illness, 85;
    after Culloden, 85;
    stands by Lochiel, 86;
    in charge of money for Charles, 188, 189;
    arranges for the burial of the French gold, 86;
    captured, 87;
    justifies personal honesty in money matters, 88;
    character of his confessions, 88;
    betrays the secret of the Arkaig treasure, 88, 130;
    accepted as King’s evidence, 89;
    pardoned, 89;
    tries to provoke Traquair to a duel, 89;
    sells Broughton, 90;
    dies in a madhouse, 90;
    summary of his character, 91;
    cited, 27, 101, 102 _note_, 114, 126, 221, 222, 229, 294

  Murray, Lord George, defeated at Glenshiel, 18;
    represented by Murray of Broughton as a traitor to Charles, 81;
    his loyalty, 82;
    equivocal action, 83;
    general-in-chief of Charles’s expeditionary forces, 84;
    anger with Charles after Culloden, 85;
    cited, 109

  Murray, Mrs. (wife of Murray of Broughton), 88, 89

  Murray of Philiphaugh, the descendants of, 70

  Murray, Sir David (father of Murray of Broughton), 70

  Murray, William (brother of Lord George), 82

  Mylne, Captain, 160


  Napier, Colonel, A.D.C. to the Duke of Cumberland, 115, 133

  Needham, 63

  Newcastle, Duke of, 159, 206, 209, 214, 218, 238, 290, 291, 292, 293

  Neynho, 23

  North (English Jacobite), 22


  Ogilby, Lord, 286

  O’Niel, a follower of Charles, 85

  Orléans, Regent, intrigues in Hanoverian interest, 9

  Orme, Mr., W.S., 200, 203, 205

  Ormonde, Duke of, action on Anne’s death, 8;
    cited, 14, 17, 18, 23, 28, 34, 75

  O’Rourk, Mr., of Tipperary, 180

  Orrery, Lord, 22, 36, 74

  O’Sullivan, a follower of Charles, 85

  Oxford, English Jacobite, 22


  Parker, Lord Chief Justice, the Earl Marischal’s letter to, 7

  Pelham, Henry, 198, 206, 207, 208, 232, 235, 237

  Percheron, M., 15

  Perth, Duke of, resigns the command of Charles’s expeditionary
        forces, 84;
    wounded, 86;
    cited, 78, 79, 106, 109, 131

  Peterborough, Lord, 14

  Pickle (the spy; Young Glengarry), obtains from Murray of Broughton
        information of the Loch Arkaig treasure, 89;
    Leslie’s aid, 89;
    his alleged copy of Cluny Macpherson’s Intromissions, 144;
    treachery to Glenevis, 153;
    forges King James’s name, 155;
    permitted by the Government to reside in London, 155, 156;
    denounces Fassifern, 160;
    treatment of his wadsetters, 198;
    Young Lochgarry’s intimacy with, 199;
    letters to Mr. Orme, W. S., on business, 200, 203, 205;
    letter to Rory McLeod on family matters, 201;
    his niece, 203;
    letter to the Chief of the Macleods asking him to go conjunct with
        him in a loan, 205;
    writes to the Duke of Newcastle complaining, 206;
    Pelham’s promise to abate demands on his estate, 207;
    those promises never fulfilled, 208;
    series of coincidences in Pickle’s fortunes and those of Glengarry,
        208;
    their uniformity of bad spelling, 209, 214;
    Young Glengarry’s estate troubles, 210-213;
    remonstrance to Colonel Trapaud, 213;
    illness and bad sight, 214;
    his offer to raise a regiment coincident with Young Glengarry’s,
        214;
    Young Glengarry’s will, 214;
    the Pickle letters, 217;
    his close relations with Henry Pelham, 217;
    coincidence of his father’s death with that of Old Glengarry, 218;
    claims to be chief of the Macdonnells, 218;
    the clue to his identity with Glengarry, 219;
    his career identical with that of Glengarry, 219;
    suggestion that Glengarry was personated by an unknown intimate
        calling himself Pickle, 220;
    his early life, 221;
    usage by his stepmother, 221;
    in France, 222;
    meets Murray of Broughton, 222, 223;
    in the Tower, 223;
    released, 224;
    attempts reconciliation with the Government, 225;
    asks James for a colonelcy vacant by the death of Lochiel, 226;
    at the nadir of his fortunes, 227;
    offers his services ‘in any shape’ to the English Government, 227;
    helps himself to the treasure of Cluny, 228;
    earliest charge of treachery against Glengarry, 229;
    Edgar warned against him, 229;
    his real situation in 1751, 229, 230;
    account of the Elibank Plot, 231;
    he and Young Glengarry both receive remittances from Baron
        Kennedy, 231;
    Pelham’s personal knowledge of him, 232;
    date of his illness and that of Young Glengarry, 232;
    points shared in common by Pickle and Glengarry, 233;
    a spy’s evidence, 233-235;
    interview with Charles in France, 235;
    Young Glengarry in France same date, 236;
    mutual promises from Pelham, broken after Pelham’s death, 237;
    consulted by Government on Frederick’s tampering with Jacobites,
        238;
    the hypothesis that Pickle personated Glengarry, 239;
    hurries to Edinburgh on the death of Old Glengarry, 240;
    Young Glengarry near at hand on his father’s death, 241;
    impersonation physically impossible, 243;
    duns the Duke of Newcastle, 243, 244;
    internal evidence of identity of authorship of Pickle’s and
        Glengarry’s letters, 245, 246;
    Mr. Millar’s criticism, 247-249;
    the Duke of Atholl’s conclusion, 249;
    summary of the case proving identity, 250-253;
    two letters incriminatory and confirmatory, 289-294;
    cited, 43, 76, 77, 78, 79, 140, 142, 143, 190, 199, 256, 286

  Pitsligo, Lord, 83, 265

  Podewils, Count, 45

  Porteous, hanged by the mob, 30

  ‘Prescot,’ suspected of intending to murder James, 14

  Pringle, Sir John, 58


  Reay, Lord, 109

  Rob Roy, letter to General Wade, 98

  Robison of Ballnicaird, 201, 202, 203, 204

  Ross of Balnagoun, 109

  Rousseau, Jean Jacques, meeting with and impressions of Marischal,
        53-55;
    wants to write the history of the Keiths, 55;
    cited, 4, 5, 40, 41, 66


  Saxe, Marshal, 34

  Scott, Sir Walter, 97, 172

  Scott (Sir Walter’s father), his sentiment regarding John Murray of
        Broughton, 69, 90

  Scotus (Old), 190

  Scotus (Young), 86

  Seaforth, 11, 17, 18, 106

  Sempil, Lord, 32, 36, 37, 38, 76, 222

  Sheridan, Sir Thomas (Prince Charles’s tutor), 58, 85, 86, 108, 131

  Skeldoich, Mr. (minister), 276

  Small, Ensign, 117, 140, 159, 172, 173, 174, 285

  Sobieska, Clementina, 20

  Spence, cited, 8

  Stewart, Alexander (solicitor), 165, 166, 167

  Stewart, Charles (writer in Banavie), 160, 166, 167, 168, 169, 171

  Stewart, General, 199, 239, 264, 281, 282, 283, 284

  Stewart, James, hanged for the murder of Campbell of Glenure, 159;
    cited, 274, 275

  Stewart, John Roy, 86

  Stewart of Appin, 77, 78, 166, 167, 169

  Stonor, cited, 89, 90

  Strathnaver crofters, bleeding their cows for sustenance, 265

  Sutherland, Earl of, 107, 109, 110, 113

  Sutherland, Countess of, letter to the Young Pretender, 110;
    Barisdale’s letter to her, 112;
    her clever diplomacy, 113

  Stuart, Charles (Fassifern’s agent), 196


  Tacksmen, 259, 268, 269, 282

  Talmond, Madame de, Charles’s mistress, 95

  Tencin, Cardinal, 73

  Terig (or Clerk), Duncan, 172, 173, 174

  Thompson, Sir E. Maunde, 216

  Threipland, Sir Stewart, 132

  Thurot, M., 52

  ‘Toboso,’ the Order of, 26

  Tollendal, Lally, 186

  Trant, Mr., 238

  Trapaud, Colonel (Governor of Fort Augustus), 198, 213, 218, 241, 260

  Traquair, Lord, feebleness of his Jacobite sentiment, 71;
    one of the ‘Association,’ 72;
    responsible for Scotland south of Forth, 73;
    in London, 73, 74;
    skulks from the rising, 77;
    fails to transmit the warning to Charles against his visit to
        Scotland, 78, 79;
    causes Murray of Broughton to be arrested for breach of peace, 90;
    cited, 32, 88, 223

  Tullibardine, William (brother of Lord George Murray), 17, 18, 82


  Urquhart, Colonel, Scottish correspondent of Edgar, 71


  Vassé, Madame de (La Grande Main), 64, 92, 93

  Vaughan, Gwynne, 289, 292

  Villettes, Arthur, 48

  Voltaire, 42, 47, 61


  Wade, General, 98

  Wadsets, 260

  Walkinshaw, Miss, Charles Edward’s mistress, 44

  Wall, General, 48

  Wedderburn, of Gosford, 145

  Wedderburn, Thomas, 107

  Wemyss, Earl of, 78, 110

  White, Major, 225

  Williams, Sir Charles Hanbury, 42

  Wingfeild, Thomas (trooper), 7

  Wodrow, cited, 10

  Wogan, Charles, 20

  Wogan, Nicholas, 21, 22, 23, 224

  Wynne, Sir Watkin Williams, 36, 38, 74, 75


  York, Duke of, 38, 185, 186, 188


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