Chapter XV: Conclusion--Charles interrupts the Congress--Is (7)

So here they did remain next day,
Before they could venture away,
Having no bread, or ought to eat,
(For a King’s Court, a poor mean treat!)
Except water, sprung from the ground,
No meat or drink could there be found.
Two bottles of brandy was all their store,
On earth they had no substance more,
Nor in that place durst one look out
For en’mies planted round about.
When night came on, they parted all,
Captain MacLeod we shall him call,
Did undertake to be his guide,
One bottle of brandy by his side,
Over muir and mountain, wood and glen,
Between hope and despair they ran.
The Prince as servant did appear;
Because he did the baggage bear,
A hairy wallet on his back,
Just like a chapman and his pack,
Wanting the _breiks_, with legs all bare,
Into his hand his _brogues_ did bear,
A napkin ty’d around his head,
In this posture forward they _gade_,
Long thirty miles ere they took rest,
Water and brandy was all their feast:
Because they had no other cheer,
For house or hut they went not near,
Till at _Ellighill_, the place call’d Ord,
Whereof MacKinnon is the lord,
Their brandy-bottle now was done,
And here they hid it under groun’:
Yet were they in a strait again,
Meeting two of MacKinnon’s men,
Who had on the expedition been,
And oft before the Prince had seen,
Who knew him well, though in disguise,
Fell down and bursted out in cries.
Then Malcom, Hush, to them did call,
Or else they would discover all,
To which they swore, by all that’s Good,
They’d rather spend their dearest blood,
So faithfully they did conceal it,
And did not in the least reveal it.

Now were they come unto the place,
Where Malcom’s sister married was
To John MacKinnon, who’d captain been
Along with Charles in armour _keen_;
But had got clear by Proclamation,
And for to skulk had no occasion.
He orders the Prince, now Lewis Cawe,
For to ly down some space awa’,
While he into his sister’s went,
Their doleful case to represent.
She him embrac’d, and wept amain,
As in the war she thought him slain:
He said, dear sister, here I’m come
Myself to hide, if you have room,
With one, my servant, Lewis Cawe,
In the same case, hard is our fa’:
He’s a surgeon’s son, who came from Crief
Shelter to seek and some relief.
Then poor sick Lewis was called in,
With head bound up, he look’d right grim,
And by his master there he did stand,
With head uncover’d, bonnet in hand:
But the Captain urg’d him to sit down,
And put his bonnet on his crown,
Since there are no strangers here,
Come, eat with me, Lewis, my dear.
And when their dinner over was,
The Captain says, Our feet we’ll wash:
The servant-maid brought water then,
And wash’d his feet with tender han’.
Said he, my lad’s not well, I know,
You’ll wash his feet before you go;
But she reply’d, I _ken_ some better,
’Tis fair enough if I bring water,
He’s but your lad, as you me tell,
_Dat loon may wash her feet hersel_;
Being forc’d to do’t, through mere constraint,
To work in a rude way she went,
Rubbed his toes, made the water rise
At every plash, betwixt his thighs;
On this he to the Captain said,
She rubs too hard this saucy maid,
I had far better do’t mysell,
_In trout_, quo’ she, _an sae ye sall_,
Then both of them to sleep were put,
The goodwife went to a hill-top
For to keep watch, lest from the sea
Incursions should come suddenlie.
As King’s ships hover’d all about,
And parties through the land did scout.
Just as they wak’d the husband came,
When Malcom heard, he to him ran,
And did salute him in the field,
Which meeting did great pleasure yield;
Because that word was to them brought,
He kill’d was at Culloden fight.
And after they had talk’d a while,
Think you yon ships will touch this isle?
Says John, I know not but they might;
Because they’re never out of sight.
What if our Prince a pris’ner be,
In one of those ships which we see?
God forbid, then John reply’d;
But of his ’scape I’m much afraid:
For our nation’s guarded round about,
And through the land there’s many a scout.
But do you think, if he were here,
He would be safe, in such a stir?
Ay, safe be sure, whate’er they do,
I wish we had him here just now.
Then said he, John, he’s in your house;
But to salute him, be cautious:
Because your wife, nor none else knows,
By the name of Lewis Cawe he goes,
My servant, a surgeon’s son in Crief,
Like us, brought to trouble and grief:
Therefore behave when in you go,
That none within the house may know.
So home they came, and in he goes,
Then courteously poor Lewis rose,
Bare-headed stood, bonnet in hand,
But John could not himself command,
Burst out in tears, and on him flew,
Oh-hon, Oh-hon, What’s this on you!
From splendor into deep distress!
He cry’d, and could no more express.
Wife and servants stood in amaze,
And did upon poor Lewis gaze:
Then Malcom in a passion flew,
And swore that he had fools enow,
Hurry’d them to another place,
And told his sister all the case,
That he and poor Lewis was in,
Charged her forthwith for to run,
And bind her servants to secresie,
Or else they soon would ruin’d be.

When his sister knew what guest he was,
Her kindness she did the more express,
And said, Upon her very knees
She’d travel for to give him ease.
They then to consultation went,
To get him to the Continent:
Because the isles were dangerous,
Soldiers searching every bush.
John then unto the laird he went,
To try how his affection bent,
By long-wind stories laments his case,
In being hunted from place to place.
Oh, said the laird, were he now here,
I’d lay my life to get him clear,
And set him safe on the main land.
Then John he told him, clean off hand,
Where he was, and in what place,
And to his conscience left his case.
Go tell him, I’ll be with him soon,
To see what quickly shall be done.
John went home, the laird soon came,
With loyal affections, as chief o’s Clan,
And told, that for him he did provide
A good stout boat, pilot and guide,
That he himself design’d to go
To the main land with him also,
A thousand blessings on him prays,
And wish’d him long and happy days.

Then Malcom said, he would return,
Which caus’d the Prince in tears to mourn:
Captain, he said, will you leave me now?
On the main land, what shall I do?
Then said the laird, leave that to me,
On the main land I’ll you supplie.
Sir, said Malcom, by now I’m mist
By friends, by foes, and this I trust
For to be ta’en, when I return,
Then I’ll tell a tale of my sojourn,
Of all my travels how I was here,
Seeing my friends and sister dear;
But if they chance us to pursue,
They’ll hear of me along with you:
For answer then, what could I say?
What man ye was, or gone what way?
Which accordingly it came to pass:
For he twelve months confined was,
And saw great London for the same,
There try’d and came with Flora _hame_.

So to the boat they all did go,
Which lay upon the shore below:
And as to it they did draw near,
Two men of war there did appear,
Came cruising in before the wind,
Hard on the shore, as they design’d,
Which caused them to sit down a space,
And smoak a pipe in a hollow place.
A silver stock-buckle to Malcom he _geid_,
And ten guineas too in his _loof_ he laid,
Which he did often times refuse;
But begg’d some trifle that he did use;
Then, said he, Captain, Your pay’s too cheap,
Besides, you will have my cutty pipe,
And when you blow’t, you’ll think on me,
As I have got another you see:
And take these lines to Murdoch MacLeod,
To pay respect to him I’m proud.
The men of war having laid about,
Toward the boat they took the rout,
The writing in the letter this,
As writ _verbatim_, here it is,

SIR,

_I THANK God, I am in good health and have got off as designed.----Remember me to all friends, and thank them for the trouble they have been at----I am, Sir, Your humble Servant_,

JAMES THOMSON.

CHAP. XII.

_Sundry dangers and hardships on the main shore. Meets with six men who relieve him. Almost starved. Goes to Lochaber. Meets with Lochiel. Gets off from Moidart._

Now, the men of war being out of sight,
On the eighth of July, at eight at night,
The laird of MacKinnon, John by name,
With a pilot, guide, and four boat-men,
All on board with him they went,
To carry him to the Continent.
The night indeed was fair and clear;
But not above a mile they were,
Till wind and waves did rise in ire,
This providence we may admire,
Which seemed to be frowning on him,
The very waves striving to drown him,
And on their boat, came straight a-head,
A boat with men all well armed:
But the sea was high, the wind so blew,
And nought but present death in view,
They hail’d each other, and that was all,
It was no time to search or call:
Had not this storm proved their frien’,
He’d surely in their clutches been.
And when they reached the main land,
Under the _lee_ they’re forc’d to stand,
The pilot ran her into a creek,
Got past the breakers, ’mong sand and _sleik_,
There they landed him and his guide,
And chus’d no longer to abide:
But to the sea again did go;
Because the storm did fiercely blow.
And as they were returning back,
A boat from _Morar_ did them ’ttack;
And old MacKinnon was pris’ner made,
Being, by direction, to him led,
By a party who did the two pursue,
And the boat who of them had a view
The night before, when going over:
The facts of all they could discover,
At _Morar_, on his going back,
The laird MacKinnon they did take,
And prov’d the deed which he had done,
For which they sent him to London.
In Southwark goal long did he ly,
With heavy fetters did him ty,
Till in Forty Seven, the next year
By Act of Grace he got home clear.

Now Charlie went to Glen-Brasdale,
Where he heard tell of brave Lochiel,
Who about Loch-aber was lurking there;
But to get to him great dangers were:
As a line was form’d from Inverness,
Which reached to Fort-Augustus,
From thence unto Fort-William again,
Night and day stood armed men.
The word, in a few minutes, did wheel,
From end to end, _All is well_;
And from Fort-William to Locharkaig-head,
Another line was likewise made.
Thus he did in Glen-Brasdale ly,
Till circled almost every way.
Gen’ral Campbell with four hundred men,
Upon the south-west side did land:
Captain Scot, with five hundred more,
Advancing from the easter shore,
And came within two miles of way,
They knew not what to do or say:
He sent for Cam’ron of Glen-Pan,
Who chus’d to be his guide and van,
To Lovat’s country for to go,
The braes of Locharkaig as he did know,
With them went Glenaladale and his brother,
Boradale’s two boys, there was no other:
First went the guide on’s hands and knees,
After past the Prince and the two boys,
Glenaladale and his brother at last,
Favour’d by the night, they quietly past
So near their tents they heard their speech,
And ere day, got far out of reach,
Right safe into Glen-Morriston,
Left Glenaladale and him alone.

One day, as they a travelling were,
Over a desart mountain there,
Glenaladale chanc’d to lose his purse,
With forty guineas which in it was,
And money behind it they had none,
The Prince’s being spent and gone.
While Glen. return’d his purse to seek,
Charlie lay down at a bush _cheek_,
And there appear’d unto his view,
A band of soldiers not a few,
Just upon that very spot
Where they had met, were’t not the lot
Of turning for that very purse
Kept them from what had been much worse.
So, close he lay, slie as a tod,
Being at some distance from the road,
And saw them take another rout,
That they’d met Glen. he had no doubt,
Being gone quite the contrary way
For which he thankfully did pray.
Glen. found his purse and turn’d again,
They chang’d their rout through a wild glen,
Where nothing had they for to eat,
Full forty hours they wanted meat:
Weak and weary were they both,
Water indeed they had enough;
But found no sheep or venison,
The cattle being plund’red and gone.

At last, they chanced for to spy
A little smoking hut, near by:
Then said the Prince, Thither I’ll go,
Whether they should prove friend or foe:
Better for us be kill’d like men,
Than starved like fools: What say’st thou Glen?
Yet Glen refus’d, and said, I fear,
They may be King’s-men watching here:
But in the Prince goes to the hut,
Which them in some confusion put;
Six sturdy thieves resided there,
Who at their dinner sitting were,
At a weighty piece of boiled beef,
For hungry men a blest relief.
Peace be here, the Prince did cry,
You’re welcome, sir, they did reply;
One star’d at him, then up he flew,
Ah Dougal MacColony, is this you?
I’m glad to see thee, with all my heart,
Sit down with us and take a part.
By winks, he found that he was known,
Return’d him thanks, and then sat down,
Ate hearty, and seem’d very merry,
Talk’d of the times, found by enquiry,
That ev’ry one spake as his frien’,
And had all at Culloden been;
But only one of them him knew,
He then bethought him what to do,
And after dinner they took a walk,
With that same man to have some talk,
Who told him all the strengths about,
Where parties lay, and what to doubt.
And as, said he, “The other five,
“Are as faithful fellows as alive,
“You may your safety to them trust,
“Your case by them’s lamented most.
“Here do we all in private stay,
“And make incursions for our prey:
“For meat and drink we do not want,
“Of silver and gold we are not scant:
“And since ’tis such a roaring time,
“To steal and rob we think no crime.”
The other five were call’d and told,
Who did rejoice him to behold,
And swore that he should with them stay,
Till he found it safe to get away.
’Tween Strath-Ferrar and Glen-Morr’ston,
They kept up huts, yea more than one,
And kindly there did entertain him;
To the very last they did befrien’ him,
And ere that he should taken be,
They every man would for him die.
While here he liv’d on stollen beef,
Right suddenly there came relief:
Rod’rick MacKenzie, a merchant-man,
At Ed’nburgh town had join’d the Clan,
Had in the expedition been,
And at this time durst not be seen,
Being sculking in Glen-Morriston,
Him the soldiers lighted on,
Near about the Prince’s age and size,
Genteelly drest, in no disguise.
In every feature, for’s very face,
Might well be taken in any case,
And lest he’d like a dog be hang’d,
He chose to die with sword in hand,
And round him like a mad-man struck,
Vowing alive he’d ne’er be took:
Deep wounds he got, and wounds he gave,
At last a shot he did receive,
And as he fell, them to convince,
Cry’d, Ah! Alas! _You’ve kill’d your Prince;
Ye murderers and bloody crew
You had no orders this to do._
This did confirm them in the thought,
He was the very man they sought:
And ere that he was really dead,
They forthwith did cut off his head.
Scarce took they time the corpse to bury,
Being so o’erjoy’d, in such a hurry.
To Fort-Augustus they went with speed,
Triumphing o’er poor Charlie’s head.
All who had seen him, came it to view,
And vow’d the face was just and true;
The very barber who us’d to shave him,
The sim’lar treats seem’d to deceive him:
But, said he, wer’t on his body set,
And spake, his voice I’ll not forget.
Then to the Duke in haste they’re bound,
And claim’d the thirty thousand pound.

The Duke thought now the work was done,
When Charlie’s head was to him shown;
Call’d in all out upon command,
And caus’d the militia to disband;
The ships of war went to the south
And Charles’ death did pass for truth.
He then for London took his rout,
On July eighteenth did set out,
As brave Culcairn had sent him word
Of Lochiel’s death, ev’n as absurd----
When plund’ring of Locharkaig isle,
He found the grass cut through the pile,
Thinking it was some hidden store,
He digg’d it up, and found therefore
A man’s body, who dy’d of a sore wound,
As appeared when they view’d him round;
A fine Holland shirt he on him had,
Which soon they _whirled_ o’er his head,
Being so much used to plunder,
To rob the dead thought little wonder,
And him they judg’d to be Lochiel,
Yet a near friend of his, they tell,
One Cameron, son of Callavat,
After which Lochiel no hunting gat,
Supposing him and Charlie dead,
Though it was two others in their stead.
So all the parties far and near,
To Fort-Augustus did retire:
Yet some of them were soon sent back
To burn and plunder, and to take
Some great offenders, as Barrisdale,
In which attempts they oft did fail:
For although the Duke’s to London gone,
Burning and plunder still went on.

Now, the Prince into Loch-aber went,
The seat of Lochiel, where he was bent
To know if he in life might be,
As word of’s death o’er all did flee,
And the Prince’s death so struck Lochiel,
That neither did bemoan himsel;
But each lamented for the other,
And wept as one would for a mother:
But when they heard both were alive,
To meet in haste they did contrive,
Being only twenty miles between,
His brother, the doctor, did them conveen,
With the other brother, John the priest,
Who had sincerely been in quest,
Through many a mountain, wood and glen,
And found him out with eager pain,
Into a hut, built in a wood,
Near Achnasual where it stood.
Charles at a distance did them spy,
Made him and Achnasual fly,
Not knowing what kind of men they were,
Nor what might be their business there;
But being inform’d, soon turn’d again,
Embrac’d with tears in tender strain,
And hearing that Lochiel was well,
His heart-felt joy did not conceal.
The Prince was now in a poor dress,
Poverty’s picture in distress,
A black coat with many patches,
Barefooted, and wanting breeches,
No signs of roy’lty or pride,
A durk and pistol by his side,
All weather-beaten, his gun in’s hand,
Like a Gibeonite, once in Canaan.
They had kill’d a cow the day before,
Kept a pudding feast, you may be sure,
Part of it roast, part of it sodden:
But here no bread was to be gotten,
No meal nor salt could there be bought;
But what’s from Fort-Augustus brought.
One man they had was passing free,
Came home by chance, _right cannilie_,
With a horse-load of provision,
Meal and salt, bread and _snishen_,
And with him brought a printed News,
Which did their whole attentions rouze,
How the young Pretender and Lochiel,
O’er Corriarick, had pass’d that fell,
That they were both alive again,
And with them thirty armed men:
This caus’d him longer to abide,
As safely there he could reside,
If a new searching should ensue,
His watchmen here were good and true,
Dismis’t Glenaladale for home,
With the men came from Glen-Morriston,
Kept with him only Captain MacRow,
Cameron the priest, and other two,
With Cluny’s children, they kept the hut,
And tour about on watch were put.

About this time from Dunkirk came
Sixty gentlemen, who in a band
As volunteers had freely join’d,
To bring him from the British ground.
At Polliver, in Seaforth’s country,
Four of them landed privately,
The rest, on sea, kept hov’ring round;
And left a signal, how to be found,
And where they were for to bring to:
These were their orders how to do.
Soon after two of them were ta’en,
One Fitzgerald, called by name,
An officer belong’d to Spain,
Was hanged up at Fort-William,
Proven to be a Flander’s spy,
Judg’d for same end, he came that way.
The other was Monsuer de Berards,
An officer of the French guards,
Who from the gallows was befrien’d,
And by cartel again redeem’d.
The other two wandered about,
Till Lochgarie sent, and found them out;
Strangers they seem’d, but who could know
Whether that they were friend or foe?
Captain MacRow did them invite,
At Lochgarie’s with him to meet,
To him they plainly did unfold
From whence they came, and that they would
Fain see the Prince, or yet Lochiel,
Having letters to them and words to tell,
Or else to one call’d Captain Drummond,
And more they would reveal to no man.

Lochgarie judg’d they might be spies,
Strove to be cautious and wise,
First he sent them to Lochiel,
With what suspicion he had himsel:
Lochiel order’d the Prince to come in,
Under the name of Captain Drummond,
As they the Prince did never see,
He told them where the two should be,
Bade him a letter bring, as from him come,
To tell their secrets unto him,
And this the Prince actually did,
Met in a hut, built in a wood,
And kept converse with them a day,
Then to meet Lochiel went on his way,
For to consult what might be done,
Out of Scotland once for to win:
For the small ship the Frenchmen left,
Quite off the coast were, all abaft,
And never did at all appear:
But forc’d homeward with dread to steer,
And the officers, as I heard tell,
Were kept, by orders of Lochiel,
Most secretly into a hut,
Until a ship was ready got.

While the Prince yet at Clun’s hut lay,
One morning, early of the day,
A child of Clun’s came running in,
Crying, “O-hon! the red coats and the gun!”
Which caus’d them hurry out and see
A party coming, and that right nigh:
Cluny, John Cameron and his son
Into the wood did quickly run.
Clun stood their motions to behold,
The others ran to the Prince and told:
He sleeping was in another hut,
Farther in the wood and more remote;
They plainly said, they were surrounded;
Then up he rose, no wise confounded,
Says he, My lads, review your guns,
And let us die like Scotland’s sons,
For me, I’ve been a shooter bred,
To miss a mark I’m not afraid;
Yet we’ll escape them if we may,
And live to see a better day.
Captain MacRow and Clun’s old son
Were in another hut alone,
He sent for them, they came with speed,
And to the hill did all proceed,
Being eight in number, they were no more,
Soldiers they saw above five score.
But what gave them the most surprise,
Was that the soldiers had past their spies,
Which they had planted round about,
Them to inform of every rout:
This caus’d them be the more afraid,
And think they surely were betray’d.
Then a hill-top they march’d unto,
Where of the party they had a view,
And all around could no more spy,
Than what were of the first party.
Next to Mallantagart’s top they flee,
High above the braes of Glenkengie;
Then Cameron, the priest, and Clun’s son,
To make discov’ry did backward run.
Two hundred men had gone that way,
Headed by Knockardo of Strathspey,
A going to plunder Barrisdale,
And of Clun’s ten cow’s left not a tail,
Which he few days before had bought,
When burnt his house and left him nought,
And yet they thought it was no crime,
To plunder him a second time,
The very hut they rummaged,
Out of which they had lately fled.
Clun in the wood all the while lay,
And saw them drive his cows away,
Until perceiving they were gone,
Then he return’d crying, Oh-hon
What, Shall I e’er thus plunder’d be?
For shelter now, where shall I flee?
Went with his son for bread and cheese,
Four bottles of whisk they did not seize:
His stores all under ground were hid,
Cover’d with turff into the wood.
Being midnight ere they reach’d the spot,
Where Charles lay trembling and wet,
They drank the whisk and eat the cheese,
Then of the heather made a _bleeze_.
When day came in, _beek’d_ by the sun,
They lay and slept till afternoon:
Then took their travels that very night,
To Achnacarie came full right,
Through water to their _cleavings_ high,
Dark was the night, they could not see.
Upon the morrow they kill’d a cow,
Whereof they fill’d their bellies fu’,
Without bread, salt or sallad,
Sweet hunger relished their palate;
They told the flesh, bread was before,
And thankful were they had such store,
The country being burnt, and plunder’d,
And here to live no way they had.
On the next day Lochgarie came,
And with him doctor Cameron,
On their return back from Lochiel,
They bade the Prince for safety still,
To cross the hills near Badenoch;
For Athole _braes_ were safe enough,
Among good friends could _skulk_ a while,
Till time was found to leave this isle,
Whereat the Prince was well content,
And to their journey then they went,
Travell’d by night and slept by day,
Through many a _glen_ and _awkward_ way.
Lochiel and he again did meet,
And loud they cry’d like infants sweet,
Contrived now what should be done,
Once more all hazards for to run.
His brother the priest, of modest mouth,
To hire a vessel they sent south,
To take them off from the north shore;
Because that coast was watch’d no more.
But ere that he could get that done,
They found another of safer run,
On north and west they watches set,
Upon the French ships for to wait,
Still thinking that the Dunkirk sloop,
Might yet be hov’ring round about,
From which the Frenchmen did come,
And still attempt, to take them home:
Their signals to many ships they us’d,
But ne’er a one to answer chus’d.

Now col’nel Warren had got to France,
And brought a privateer from Nantz,
With three hundred and forty men,
Well arm’d, with thirty guns and ten
Of carr’ge and swivels which she bore,
The best sailer he could procure,
The Bellona, of St. Maloes by name,
To anchor in Loch Moidart came,
And here the col’nel came on shore,
To a house where he had been before,
About the Prince for to enquire,
By chance the watch was waiting there,
Who knew what rout the Prince was gone,
And made it to the col’nel known,
Besides these officers of note,
Who now were lurking in a hut.
Then to the Prince express he sent,
Now was the time for his intent,
Who did set out that very night,
And message sent to all he might,
With speed at Moidart to appear,
With Warren, on board of privateer,
The two officers likewise came,
And met the Prince, who dash’d their frame,
Because with him they’d been so free,
When they took him Drummond to be.
But nevertheless he smil’d it over,
Hoping from suff’rings they’d all recover.
All who came, did haste on board,
Last went himself, then sheath’d his sword,
Regretted sore, he was so kind,
So many suff’rers left behind.

CHAP. XIII.

_Arrives at France. Reception there._

Thus on September the twenti’th day,
He from Loch-Moidart sail’d away,
The wind was low, the waves were kind,
To clear the land they much inclin’d,
No tempests rag’d as in times before,
As now the blast of Fate was o’er,
No foes on sea did them perplex,
Till safe at Roscort, near Morlaix,
They on the twenty-ninth did land,
Poor Charlie and his broken band,
Who all had surely been bewitch’d
By Spaniards and the subtile French,
They then to Paris did proceed,
To be refitted, great was their need.
He went _incog._ into Versailles,
With no attendance at his heels,
Receiv’d by King and Queen of France,
To them he told his mournful chance,
His sufferings they’re surpris’d to hear,
And a thousand welcomes did appear.
So for his honour, I understand,
A _Feu de joy_ they did command,
That he should in procession come,
With sound of trumpet, beat of drum.
In the first coach there was conducted,
Lord Og’lvie, Elcho, and Glen-Bucket;
And with the Prince, there next came on
Lochiel, and lord Lewis Gordon,
Pages around, with ten footmen,
The Prince of Wales’ liv’ry on them,
Kept by the Prince on ev’ry side,
While thousands did admire their pride.----
Here Kelly who broke London tower,
And Stafford, late from Newgate bower,
Who both from prison stole away,
And in Britain could no longer stay,
Young Lochiel brought up the rear,
With three gentlemen of the bed chamber.
These did all on horseback prance,
In procession to the court of France.
That night the Prince supt with the King,
In Loch-aber the like he had not seen,
Nor yet in Uist, fainting for fault,
When glad of _brochan_ wanting salt.
He hir’d a fine house, _The Theatine_,
Which stands upon the banks of Seine,
A river does through Paris run,
Ev’n as the Thames does through London.
His nobles all commissions got,
And form’d new reg’ments, Did they not,
The Scots, English, and Irish too,
Fought well at Vall, and stood full true?
The British troops they did not spare,
Which was not altogether fair,
Commanded by Og’lvie and Lochiel;
But Charles took no command himsel.
_Incog._ he once to Madrid went;
But soon return’d, right ill content:
For about this time his brother _gat_,
From Rome’s Bishop a Card’nal’s hat,
Which does not any honour bring,
To Princes of Protestant spring,
In connexion with such a See
No Protestant can ever be.
At this great Charles was much chagrin’d,
Would hear no more of him as friend,
Omitted ev’n to drink his health,
Meaning he’d pledge his soul for wealth.

While he at Paris did reside,
Were silver and copper medals made,
With an inscription thus exprest,
“CAROLUS WALLIAE PRINCEPS.”
This in letters round the head,
On the reverse BRITANNIA, read,
Then ships with this motto you’d see,
“AMOR ET SPES BRITANNIAE.”
This did offend the French grandees,
And did the King himself displease:
It did inform them, that he thought,
His pay was poor for what he wrought.

So here we leave him now to rest,
And view his friends sorely distrest,
And brought to desolation,
Through this deluding cause alone:
Schemes of the Devil, Pope and Spain,
And French delusion, trust not again
You brave Scots-men, I pray beware
Of being trick’d into such war.

Now when this campaign ended was,
Troops did to winter quarters pass,
Hessians set out for Germany,
And at Burnt island put to sea,
Where some other reg’ments also went,
The Flanders war being still extant.

CHAP. XIV.

_Trial and Execution of severals at Kensington, Brampton, and Carlisle.----The Lords Kilmarnock, Cromartie, Balmerino, Lovat, and Charles Ratcliff._

Poor Scotland yet did sigh and moan,
Because her suff’rings were not gone,
A time of trial for her deeds,
Where many lost their hearts and heads.
The mildest was Kensington muir,
Not far from London to be sure,
Seventeen officers by the neck
Were hung like dogs, without respect:
No clergy benefit, or Psalms at a’,
Cheer’d by the mob with loud huzza:
Elev’n at York, shar’d the same fate:
Seven at Penrith, thus too were treat:
Six at Brampton likewise fell:
And nine were butcher’d at Carlisle:
Many were sent to the Plantations,
To live among the savage nations,
Which indeed was a milder act,
Than what is in the following tract,
Of these poor souls at Carlisle,
Whose execution was so vile,
A wooden stage they did erect,
And first, half strangl’d by the neck,
A fire upon the stage was born,
Their hearts out of their breasts were torn,
The privy part unspared was,
Cut off, and dash’d into their face,
Then expanded into the fire;
But such a sight I’ll ne’er desire,
Some beholders swooned away,
Others stood mute, had nought to say,
And some of a more brutish nature,
Did shout _Huzza_, to seal the matter,
Some a mourning turn’d about
A praying for their souls, no doubt,
Some curs’d the butcher, Haxam Willie,
Who without remorse used his _gullie_,
And for the same a pension got,
Thus butchering the _Rebel Scot_.
God keep all foes, and friends of mine,
From death of such a cruel kind:
It did fulfil an English law;
But such a sight I never saw.
O! may it ever a warning be,
From rebellious mobs, to keep us free!
My dear Scots-men, a warning take,
Superior pow’rs not to forsake,
Mind the Apostle’s words, of law and love,
Saying, _All power is giv’n from above_.
’Tis by will of heav’n kings do reign,
The chain of Fate’s not rul’d by men.
Every thing must serve its time,
And so have kings of Stewart’s line.
Methinks they’re fools, whate’er they be,
Who draw their sword to stick the sea,
Or call upon the wind to _bide_,
Think not that strength will turn the tide;
Though praying made the sun to stand,
When help’d by an Almighty hand:
All those who fight without offence,
Get but a dreadful recompence:
And those who trust in France or Spain,
Are fools if e’er they do’t again:
Witness poor Charlie and the Scots,
What have they got, but bloody throats?
Charlie’s from France banish’d, like a thief,
A poor reward for his toil and grief.
Poor simple Charles they have thee tricked,
Thy wage is almost like the wicked.

Now the trials were brought on,
Of the Chiefs who had with Charlie gone,
My lord Kilmarnock and Cromartie,
In Westminster-Hall judged to be,
Lord Lovat and Balmerino,
One Mr. Ratcliff indicted also
Before their peers, for high treason,
Were to the bar brought, one by one,
Lord Kilmarnock did first appear,
Who humbly own’d his guilt was clear,
Confess’d his folly, and heinousness,
How obnoxious to punishment he was.
For offences of so deep a dye,
Begg’d they’d interceed with’s Majesty,
That the unshaken fidelitie
Of’s ancestors should remembred be,
His father having been a steady one,
In promoting the Revolution,
Took active measures to secure
The protestant succession to endure,
Which keeps the kingdoms quiet and firm,
From arbitrary and Popish harm:
This was well known for certain truth.
His own ev’ry action from his youth,
Upon the strictest enquiry
Was a course of firmest loyalty,
Until that very unhappy time,
He was seduc’d with them to join,
Soon after the battle of Preston,
He by flatt’ry was prevail’d upon:
That he bought no arms, listed no men,
Persuaded none to join that train:
He endeavour’d their rage to moderate,
For sick and wounded med’cines _gat_,
And for prisoners begg’d lenity,
This many a soldier could testify.
That for his error he had feel’d smart,
With pining grief and aching heart;
Ev’n at Culloden, chus’d not to fly,
But rather among the slain to ly:
He wish’d Providence had aim’d a shot,
That there to fall might been his lot,
Ere he’d flee to foreign power for aid:
No, that he never wou’d, he said:
If he did so, conscience would tell,
’Twas continuing in Rebellion still:
He had seen a letter from the French court,
The British Sovereign to exhort,
In what a manner he should deal
With such subjects as did rebel.
But he abhorr’d the mediation
Of any foreign intercession;
’Pon his Majesty’s great clemency,
For sacred mercy I rely,
And if no favour’s to me shown,
With resignation, I’ll lay down,
My head upon the fatal block,
For to receive the dreadful stroke,
With my very last breath fervently pray,
That th’ illustr’ous house of Hanover may,
In peace and prosperity ever shine,
And Britain rule, to th’ end of time.

The earl of Cromartie came next,
While all their eyes were on him fixt,
He begg’d their lordships for to hear,
How ungrateful guilt brought him there,
Which justly merited indignation,
Of his Majesty, and all the nation.
The treasonable offence, said he,
He’d ne’er attempt to justifie,
His plea did on their compassion ly,
And his Majesty’s royal clemency:
Appeal’d to his conduct in time bygone,
Ere that unhappy Rebellion.
Witness the commander at Inverness,
And the lord President Forbes,
Who knew his acts and loyal ways,
Till seduc’d by designing phrase:
His awful remorse, made him to fret
Severely now, Alas! too late,
Life and fortune valu’d not at all,
But his loving wife, now drown’d in gall,
With a babe unborn, of children eight,
All brought to a most mournful plight,
His eldest son with these must drie
The penalties of his miserie,
“Let these Objects of mercy be
“Known to his most gracious Majestie,
“Let innocent children now produce
“Bowels of pity in this house,
“As men of honour be men of feeling,
“My griefs to you needs no revealing.”
He pled his blood might quench his crime,
That their inn’cence should be kept in mind,
That those to mis’ry should not be brought,
Who of his guilt had never thought:
Since public justice would not let pass
From him that cup of bitterness,
Desir’d their Lordships to go on,
And said, _The will of God be done_.

Then Balmerino next came on,
Who, as friend or foe, regarded none;
But star’d about, and look’d as bold,
As he had been judge, that court to hold,
And ’gainst them mov’d a point of law,
_His indictment was not worth a straw,
As being in the county of Surry founded,
For acts of treason in Scotland grounded:
Therefore should be in Scotland try’d_;
But this the House of Lords deny’d,
And said, _The British Parliament
Rul’d over all the king’s extent_:
Therefore he’s forc’d to wave his plea;
But not a fig regarded he,
As mercy he scorn’d for to crave.
Then all three sentence did receive,
“To be beheaded on Tower-hill,
(A humble bow they gave there-till,)
“On the eighteenth August, Forty-Six,
“Their heads be sever’d by an ax,
“Quite from their bodies, on open stage,
“To lose both life and heritage,
“Their estates forfeit to the crown.”
Which makes the babes unborn frown
And parents folly to lament.
So to the Tow’r they all were sent,
For to prepare for their exit,
And with a greater Judge to meet.
Kilmarnock was as a Christian mov’d,
The time though short he well improv’d.
Balmerino took little thought,
As by the Sacrament all was bought,
And the externals of the book,
His persuasion did no farther look.
When the Dead-warrant was to him sent,
To Cromartie they did present
A remit for life and libertie;
But the other two Lords were to die.
While Balmerino at dinner sat,
The tidings came, how, and what
Was to be done on the next day,
His lady rose and swoon’d away;
He rose from’s chair, says, You’re distracted,
It is no more than I expected,
Sit down, my lady, and did constrain her,
It shall not make me lose my dinner,
I know we all were born to die,
From death at last, where can we flee?
By his mild words she kept her seat;
But ne’er a bit at all could eat.
He took the Sacrament, they say,
After th’ Episcopalian way,
With a Roman courage and resolution,
Boldly waited his dissolution,
And of his fate oft made a jest,
Which to English eyes wou’d be a feast.
He often walked without his coat
With shirt open about his throat,
One of his friends unto him told,
He’d wrong his health by getting cold,
To which he answered again,
The lease of it was near an end,
’Twas the height of folly to repair,
For all the time it had to wear.

On the next day, the stage being erect,
All rail’d about and hung with black,
A thousand foot-guards march’d theretil,
And form’d betwixt the Tow’r and hill.
The stage within the line enclos’d,
A full free passage so compos’d,
The horse Grenadiers posted without,
As to _awe_ the crowd they were more stout,
Thus was it fixt right near until
The Transport-office at Tow’r-hill,
Which, that day, was hir’d for reception,
Until they went to execution.

About the hour of ten o’clock,
Upon the stage they fixt the block,
Which cover’d also was with black,
And of saw dust had several sack,
For to sprinkle upon the blood,
Being judged for that purpose good:
Their covered coffins within the rails,
Ornamented with gilded nails,
And plates, with their inscription,
Were fixed upon ev’ry one--
’Twas thus upon Kilmarnock’s plate,
In Capital Letters engraved,
GULIELMUS COMES DE KILMARNOCK,
DECOLLATUS 18_mo._ AUGUSTI,
ANNO DOM, M, DCC, XLVI.
AETAT. SUAE, XLII.
His Coronet was thereto added,
Upon the plates likewise engraved,
And Balmerino’s inscription,
Was deeply grav’d the plate upon.
ARTHURUS DOMINUS DE BALMERINO,
DECOLLATUS 18_mo._ AUGUSTI,
ANNO DOM, M, DCC, XLVI.
AETAT. SUAE LVIII.
Thus plac’d in a conspicuous light,
With a Baron’s coronet shining bright.

Then after ten, near half an hour,
The two Sheriffs went to the Tow’r,
Knock’d at the gate, the Porter cry’d,
_What do you want?_ They then reply’d,
_The bodies of these Lords two,
Kilmarnock and Balmerino._
The Lieutenants and his Wardens brought
These two Lords for whom they sought,
And got receipts for each of them,
As usual is to give the same.

And as they past out from the Tower,
(’Tis usually said as they leave the door,)
God bless King George, the Warder cry’d,
God bless K----g J----s, Balmerino reply’d,
But Kilmarnock made a humble bow,
For Balmerino, seem’d nought to rue,
His regimentals and all was on,
The same as he had at Culloden.

Now, this procession slowly steers,
Under a guard of musqueteers,
The Sheriffs and their officers,
Tow’r-hamlets and tip-staves in pairs,
Two hearses and a mourning coach,
All to the scaffold did approach,
Three clergymen were there also,
The one with Balmerino
Was of the Episcopalian strain,
Th’ others were Presbyterian men,
Who had of late from Scotland come,
Their names were Forester and Hume,
They did upon Kilmarnock wait,
Assisting in his last exit.

Unto the tavern first they went,
Where some time in devotion spent,
And taking of their friends farewel
Tears did anguish and grief reveal:
As to the tavern they did go,
Some ask’d, Which is Balmerino?
He turn’d about and _smiling says_,
I’m Balmerino, if you please.
In the inn they’re put in sep’rate rooms,
Where mourning was, and heavy moans.
Then Balmerino he did require
A conference with Kilmarnock there.
Then said, “My Lord, before we go,
“One thing of you I want to know,
“That of it the world we may convince;
“Heard you of orders from our Prince,
“If we had Culloden battle won,
“That quarters should be giv’n to none?”
To which Kilmarnock answer’d, NO;
NOR I, Sir; cry’d Balmerino,
“It seems this on invention borders,
“To justify this way of murders.”
“No, said the Earl, “by inference just,
“To tell the truth, for so we must,
“While prisoners at Inverness,
“I heard some officers express,
“That an order was sign’d by George Murray
“Of such a nature as what you say,
“That’s Grace the Duke had it to show:
“More of the matter I do not know.”
“If Murray (said he) did the same,
“Why did they give the Prince the blame?”
And then a final farewel took,
And parted with a mournful look,
“I’m sorry (he cry’d) as he was gone,
“That I cannot pay this score alone,”
Then turning round upon his heel,
For time, my friend, For ay farewel.

Kilmarnock some time in pray’r spent,
While tears did flow from all present,
Then took a glass to cool his heart,
Before he did the room depart.
The warrand him mention’d first to go,
And being inform’d it must be so,
Then to the stage he did approach,
Seeing the hearse, coffins, mourning coach,
The dreadful block, edg’d instrument,
With the executioner and crowd’s lament,
He paus’d a while, and thus said he,
_O Hume, ’tis terrible this to me!_
His pale countenance, contrite demure,
Did pity from all around procure,
Being tall and graceful, cloth’d in black,
In a praying posture, mildly spake,
Which did the multitude surprize,
While brinish tears showr’d from their eyes,
And many said, _He’s dying well,
Howe’er he liv’d we cannot tell_.
The head cutter first took a glass,
Then came to ask him forgiv’ness;
Yet drink did not quite drown his fears,
At the awful scene he burst in tears:
But the Earl bade him not be afraid,
As it must be done by some, he said,
Gave him five guineas in a purse,
And bade him strike without remorse,
When I let my handkerchief fall,
Do you proceed by that signal.
With eyes and hands lift up in pray’r,
Most earnestly he did require,
The pray’rs of’s greatest enemie,
And all the crowd around that be,
In the fatal moment of _exit_,
That JESUS might receive his sp’rit,
Pray’d for King George most fervently,
And bless’d his royal Family.
As he promis’d to do at his end,
Upon that day he was condemn’d.

Then for the block he did prepare,
His gentleman ty’d up his hair,
Took off the bag and the big coat,
His neck made bare all ’round the throat,
On a black cushion he kneel’d down,
While friends stood weeping all around:
The mournings off the rails they threw,
That all around might have a view,
His neck right on the block it lay,
With hands stretcht out to swim away,
And when he let the handkerchief go,
He did receive the fatal blow,
Which cut the head off to a tack
Of skin, cut by a second hack.

Thus did a brave Lord end his days,
Whose head was kept upon red baize,
And with his body in coffin laid,
By Forester with his servants aid,
Which quickly to the hearse they bore,
And clear’d the block and stage of gore,
By sprinkling fresh saw-dust thereon,
That sign of slaughter there was none.

Then Balmerino he came forth,
Like a bold hero from the North,
Who of death itself was not afraid,
At least, he show’d but small regard,
Cloth’d in his regimental _Blue_,
Trimmed with gold, a warlike hue.
He pray’d to God, and mercy sought;
But fear of men was past his thought:
Drank to’s friends ere he left the room,
And charg’d them all for to drink round,
_Ain degree to heaven for me_
And wish’d them better times to see:
Then said, _Gentlemen a long adieu,
I’m detaining both myself and you_.
Then to the scaffold he went full brief,
No signs of sorrow, fear or grief,
And round it walk’d a turn or two,
Where he saw acquaintance, gave a bow:
The inscription on his coffin read,
Said, _That is right_, and shook his head.
The block he call’d, His pillow of rest,
And said, That ax has been well drest,
The executioner’s shoulder did clap,
And said, My friend, give a free chap,
You ask my pardon, but that’s a fable,
Your business is commendable:
Here’s but three guineas, it is not much;
For in my life I ne’er was rich,
I’m sorry I can add no more to it,
But my coat and vest, I will allow it,
The buttons, indeed, they are but brass;
But do thy bus’ness ne’ertheless,
Stript off his coat and neck-cloth too,
And them upon his coffin threw:
A flannel waist-coat then put on,
With a tartan cap his head upon,
Then said, For honour of the Clan,
This day I die as a Scots-man.
Then adjusted his posture on the block,
Shewing his signal for the stroke,
Was by dropping of his arms down:
Then turning to his friends aroun’,
He once more of them took farewel,
And to the crowd around did wheel,
Perhaps you’ll think that I’m too bold,
This to a gentleman he told,
Whom he perceived standing near,
But, Sir, I solemnly declare,
’Tis all through confidence in God,
A sound conscience, and cause avow’d,
If I dissemble with signs of fear,
I were unworthy of dying here.
Then to the executioner said,
Strike resolute and have no dread:
For I’ll surely count you for a foe,
Unless you give a hearty blow,
To the stage side did then retire,
And call’d the Warder to come nigh’r,
Asking which was the hearse for him,
Bade the driver come nearer in,
Immediately kneel’d to the block,
Stretch’d out his arms, and thus he spoke,
“O Lord reward my friends, he cries,
“And now forgive mine enemies,
“Receive my soul, good Lord, I crave,”
So his arms fell, the signal gave.
At this unlook’d for suddenness,
Th’ executioner surpriz’d was,
Did unprepar’d direct the blow,
That deep enough it did not go,
Before the second he turn’d his head,
As if in anger his jaws they _gade_,
Gnashing his teeth so veh’mently,
The head went off by blows three.
Upon red baize, the chopt-off head,
Was in coffin with his body laid.
Then the two hearses drove away,
To the grave where Tullibardine lay,
In St. Peter’s Church, into the Tower,
Is these three Scots Lords’ sepulchre,
All for one cause, into one grave,
Whom French delusion did deceive.

Next Charles Ratcliff was execute
For an old heroic exploit,
In the rebellious year fifteen,
Had with his brother at Preston been,
James the Earl of Derwentwater,
Who likewise suffer’d for the matter.
About thirty years before,
He lost his life and land therefore,
This Charles too was condemned;
But he from Newgate safely fled,
By slipping through a private door,
Along with other thirteen more,
Who by good fortune had the chance,
For to get safe away to France:
And he with King James went to Rome,
And zealous Papist did become.
Twice return’d to England again,
Thinking his pardon to obtain;
But when he found it would not do,
A French commission he clapt into,
And there remain’d till Forty-Six,
When he thought, as heir, to refix
Upon the lands of Derwentwater;
But yet he did not mend the matter:
For as he did for Scotland steer,
On board of a French privateer,
The Sheerness catched him at sea,
With Scots and Irish more than he,
Bold officers for the Pretender,
Who yet were forced to surrender.
His Sire was Sir Francis of Derwentwater,
By extract from a Royal fornicator:
His mother’s name was Mary Tudor,
From Charles the second, a nat’ral brooder,
Her mother’s name was Mary Davis,
Whom the King lov’d as any _mavis_:
By this he came of Stewarts’ line,
And blood to blood doth much incline;
Yet, b’ equivocation to get free,
Deny’d himself Ratcliff to be,
After the identic body’s prov’d,
He for arrest of judgment mov’d,
Said, He was a French officer,
Claim’d usage as a prisoner,
Being taken in a lawful war,
To touch him did them boldly dare:
But all this prov’d of no effect,
For the old crime he lost his neck,
Committed in the year Fifteen,
Though three and thirty years between.
Upon December the eighth day,
He to Tow’r-hill was led away
Where stage and block they did up-fix,
And cut his head off at three licks,
Yet of his death he was right vain,
Gave his neck-cutter guineas ten.
His coffin was made super-fine,
Its handles all like gold did shine.

In Roman faith he liv’d and pray’d,
And in that sort of faith he dy’d:
All seeming repentance he declin’d
As in Purgatory to be refin’d:
And had salvation so a cooking,
As to think no more of death than ducking,
Being so stout a Pope’s believer,
Went to death as he would swim a river;
The priest’ clear’d all the passes for him,
Invok’d the saints full well to store him:
So in his death there were no bands,
Although his neck did feel some pains.
He smil’d his coffin to look upon,
Whereon was this inscription,
CAROLUS COMES DE DERWENTWATER,
DECOLLATUS DIE 8_vo_ DECEMBRIS,
MDCCXLVI. AETATIS LIII.
_Requiescat in pace._
After the cutting off the head,
His corpse were in the coffin laid,
And carry’d back into the Tow’r,
Where they lay till th’ eleventh hour,
That a procession of mourning coaches,
Unto St. Giles with him approaches,
To the Earl of Derwentwater’s grave;
And here poor Ratcliff we shall leave.