Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Biography (19 page)

But there were others who, while not at all fond of the English, were not prepared to cast their lot with the Pretender's son. These pragmatic loyalists, among them the merchants and bankers of the capital and the more prosperous farmers, refused to risk their security for the sake of what was still a rash adventure. Late in 1743 Parliament had passed a bill of attainder against the Pretender's two sons, and against the posterity of anyone who might support either of them. To join Charles now could mean forfeiture of every coin, every stick of furniture and every acre of land. It could also, despite Charles's assurances to the contrary, mean a return to Catholicism. The Stuart succession was not yet secured into the next generation; should Charles come to the throne as regent for his aging father, his heir apparent would be his devoutly Catholic brother Henry.

If it was an exaggeration to say, as one contemporary did, that two-thirds of the Scots were loyal to George II, it was certainly true that a high percentage of them were very reluctant to support the Highland rising and make it into a general Scots revolt. (It should be noted that, of course, the rising did not represent the whole of the Highlands. Some twenty-two clans supported Charles, but the most important clans, militarily and economically, were loyal to the Hanoverians and fought against the rebels. But this is to anticipate events.)
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When the alarm sounded, it was perhaps to be expected that for the first few hours there would be chaos. The city was not completely defenseless; apart from the castle with its invalid garrison there was the Town Guard, plus two regiments of dragoons, a newly formed and incomplete infantry regiment and a force of Volunteers. The dragoons were some distance to the west of the town, outside the walls, but the Volunteers formed up in the College Yards as soon as the alarm was sounded, some four hundred strong. While panic and confusion deepened all around them, they waited to be joined by the other defenders, though the regimental officers lowered morale by complaining that "most of the privates were unwilling to march."

The day wore on, and the Highlanders, who were expected hourly, failed to appear. Sunday meditations forgotten, people continued to crowd into the High Street, some cheering on the bravery of the Volunteers, others treating them, as one of their number wrote later, "with scorn and derision." "In one house on the south side of the street," this writer went on, "there was a row of windows, full of ladies, who appeared to enjoy our march to danger with much levity and mirth."
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Meanwhile the dragoons, having received alarming reports that Charles and his men were almost at hand, and being short of food and forage, galloped off toward Leith—in full view of the townspeople on their height above. It looked like a rout, and fresh panic ensued. The Volunteers were warned, quite erroneously, as it turned out, that the rebel army, with sixteen thousand men, was in view. They lost what stomach they had had for fighting, and began to think about honorable capitulation.

Charles and his men had camped near Slateford, two miles away, and from there he issued a confident declaration to the city officials.

"Being now in a condition to make our way into this capital of his Majesty's ancient kingdom of Scotland," the declaration read, "we hereby summon you to receive us, as you are in duty bound to do." The declaration commanded the provost and magistrates to summon the town council and discuss how best to turn the city over to the forces of King James. "But if you suffer any of the Usurper's troops to enter the town," it went on, "or any of the cannon, arms, or ammunition now in it, whether belonging to the public or to private persons, to be carried off, we shall take it as a breach of your duty and a heinous offence against the King and us." Every effort would be made to protect the citizens and their property, the document went on, but "if any opposition be made to us we cannot answer for the consequences, being firmly resolved at any rate to enter the city, and in that case, if any of the inhabitants are found in arms against us, they must not expect to be treated as prisoners of war." The message was signed "Charles, Prince Regent."

In response to this a delegation representing the town government came to the camp and asked for terms—and for time to consider them. What they hoped was that Cope's forces, which having come by sea from Aberdeen, were nearing the Firth of Forth, would arrive in time to forestall a concerted attempt by Charles's men to storm the town. Charles gave them until two o'clock in the morning of the seventeenth to capitulate, and when they tried to extend even this deadline he lost patience.

Lochiel's Camerons were ordered to be ready to march "upon a minute's warning," and were sent to demand entrance through one of the gates in the town wall. The guards denied them entrance, but just then, fortuitously for the Highlanders, the coach which had carried the negotiating deputies returned, and the gate was opened to let it out. The Highlanders took advantage of the situation and rushed in, their swords and shields at the ready. It was just after dawn, and the streets were still all but deserted. The Camerons marched up the High Street—preserving their ranks, according to one eyewitness—and forced their way into the guardhouse. There was no resistance; the castle garrison neither saw nor heard the attackers, and did not fire their cannon. Within minutes there were Highland guards at every city gate, and Edinburgh was in the hands of the Jacobites.

A month after landing in Scotland, and landing without soldiers or substantial weaponry, Charles was in possession of the capital. His efforts, his sanguine temperament, his princeliness had been responsible, in no small part, for the success the Highlanders had achieved, even when the poor military preparedness of the government forces is taken into account. His energy galvanized the rising. He was interested in everything: Scotland itself, its people, even the way they wore their plaids.

At one point he asked one of the Highlanders whether he was cold, dressed as he was. The man assured him that he was so used to his plaid that he would be cold wearing anything else. At this Charles laughed heartily and asked the man how he arranged the plaid when he went to sleep. Wasn't he afraid that if he wrapped himself too tightly in it, he would be vulnerable to a surprise attack at night? No, came the answer; in time of danger every Highlander knew how to wrap his plaid in such a way that "with one spring he could start to his feet with drawn sword and cocked pistol." This elicited several more questions from Charles, and he went on questioning his informant until he had completely exhausted the subject.

He was restless, and perpetually eager for physical activity. On the march his men could hardly keep pace with him. On the way to Perth he lost a heel from one of his shoes, which slowed him down and gave the others a welcome opportunity to catch up with him. No doubt his physical vigor endeared him to the hardy Scots, who approved of the fact that he sometimes slept in a tent—though more often in the houses of chieftains or gentlemen—and did not require any pampering, though he did carry with him a "great gilt French box" containing his splendid lace-trimmed suits of silk and velvet.

Some said he had the "languid and melancholy" look of a sophisticate and a man of fashion, but everyone, Jacobite or Hanoverian, agreed that his person was extremely handsome. "He was a slender young man," wrote one who saw him at that time, "about five feet, ten inches high; of a ruddy complexion, high-nosed, large rolling brown eyes, long visage; his chin was pointed, and mouth small in proportion to his features; his hair was red [actually light brown] but at that time he wore a pale peruke."
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With Lochiel's men in control of the city, Charles made his entrance. People lined his path, impatient to get a glimpse of him, and he paused to let them look their fill. He wore Highland dress, a tartan coat with a blue sash over his shoulder, red velvet breeches, and a blue velvet bonnet with a white cockade. (White cockades were springing up everywhere; some of the Jacobite women were handing them out in the streets.) Even his enemies were forced to conclude that his appearance was "not ill suited to his lofty pretensions."

At noon the heralds announced, to a fanfare of trumpets, that James VIII was now king, and the declaration of regency was read out. Once again the crowds cheered, and people remarked to one another how princely—nay, kingly—Charles was.

Meanwhile Cope was supervising the landing at Dunbar of his tired, seasick men who had spent three days crowded into transports coming south from Aberdeen. Before that they had marched over half Scotland, from Stirling to Inverness and then from Inverness to Aberdeen. They were hardly fit for battle, and not at all eager for it, believing themselves to be outnumbered by the Stuart forces. Their own strength was at about twenty-five hundred, roughly equal to the Highland army, but Cope estimated that Charles had at least four thousand men.
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Nor did it improve the morale of the government troops to be joined by the frightened dragoons, who had been avoiding a confrontation with the Highlanders for days, and who now returned to Dunbar.

Cope chose to make a stand near Prestonpans, on a wide, low stretch of ground from which the last of the harvest sheaves had been cleared only the day before. It was an ideal defensive position for him, for the two stone walls on his right, the deep moat-like ditch in front of him, and the marsh on his left and the sea behind him created a sort of natural fortification within which he was securely entrenched. However, his cavalrymen were thoroughly intimidated, his handful of gunners ludicrously incompetent—and none of his men had ever faced an opposing army before.

With Charles at their head, the Highlanders prepared to go forward to meet Cope. Sword in hand, his face 'Very determined," he exhorted his men. ''Gentlemen, I have flung away the scabbard. With God's assistance I don't doubt of making you a free and happy people. Mr. Cope shall not escape us as he did in the Highlands."
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His inspiring words helped, temporarily at least, to smooth over an ominous dispute that had broken out among the men. The two largest contingents in the army were the Glengarry, Clanranald and Keppoch Macdonalds and Lochiel's Camerons (with the Stewarts of Appin). Both sought to fight on the right side, the more honorable position and, for the Macdonalds, a point of particular pride since they had fought on Robert Bruce's right at Bannockburn. Charles proposed that the issue be settled by drawing lots. But when this was done, the outcome displeased the Macdonalds, who drew the left-hand position. Only Lochiel's offer to cede to them the right side prevented a crisis—for the Macdonalds refused to fight on any other terms.

Another conflict arose when the blunt and arrogant Lord George Murray, who with the Duke of Perth had been given command of the army, found out that his Atholl men had been ordered to detach themselves from the main body of the army and take up a position guarding the road to Edinburgh, in order to prevent the government troops from marching to the capital. Murray, who at fifty-one was old enough to be Charles's father, "threw his gun on the ground in a great passion, and swore God, he'd never draw his sword for the cause, if the brigade was not brought back." Charles prudently ordered the men recalled, though Murray afterward regretted his objection and agreed to the original posting.

The squabbles did not dampen Charles's "very high spirits"; he was eager to engage Cope. He knew that his men were a ragged-looking horde compared with the smartly uniformed infantry and dragoon regiments, and that their equipment was far inferior to that of the troops they would be facing. But things had gone his way to an extraordinary extent so far. He had achieved much more during his month in Scotland than his father had in six weeks. He hoped to have French assistance before very long. And he relied on "his Highlanders," as he called them, to win it for him.

John Home, who saw the men in their camp outside Edinburgh, thought that they were "strong, active, and hardy men." They were not exceptionally tall or broad, but their legs, visible below their kilts, were "strong and muscular" and their unsmiling faces and manes of bushy uncombed hair "gave them a fierce, barbarous and imposing aspect."
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That they were unevenly and somewhat eccentrically armed only added to their ferocious appearance. Some had muskets or French
fusils
, others pistols, some carried hunting weapons, and in among the Highland broadswords were French swords, dirks, and knives. A considerable number of the men in the Duke of Perth's regiment carried an improvised weapon made from a stick seven or eight feet long to which was attached a scythe—"a most murderous weapon," it was observed. A few had only "bludgeons."
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The Jacobites came within sight of Cope's men at about midafternoon on September 20, and paused to reconnoiter.
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The position appeared to be impregnable, until a local landowner came to Charles to tell him that there was a pathway through the marsh—a pathway Cope's scouts had neglected to take note of, leaving the marsh unguarded. Secretly, in single file, the Highlanders passed along the path after dark, without meeting any opposition. Before dawn they had formed their ranks and faced the unsuspecting Cope at a distance of two hundred paces.

The first line had about twelve hundred men, including those with the murderous scythes. A second line, commanded by Charles, was some six hundred strong. The second line was not quite through the marsh when daylight disclosed the Jacobites to their opponents, who fired an alarm gun to rouse the camp.

Caught off guard, Cope's men stumbled to arms and staggered toward some semblance of formation. Before they could prepare themselves either mentally or physically for an assault, the Highlanders were rushing at them, uttering bloodcurdling cries and firing their muskets. Cope's gunners managed to fire five of their six field pieces, but then they fled, while Charles's men, who had been told to strike at the noses of the horses, succeeded in throwing the dragoons into utter confusion. By this time many of the dragoons were already galloping as hard as they could for safety.