The summer passed, and he did not come. The winter passed, and he did not come. Nay, the whole spring, and summer, and autumn, and winter of another year passed, and the third summer, of 1714, was fading into autumn—still Edward did not come.
But when the dusk was gathering on the 5th of August in that year, a horseman galloped into Ashcliffe village with news which he was carrying post-haste to Tavistock and Launceston—news which blanched in my a cheek and set many a man looking to his aims—which called forth muffled peals from the church-towers, and draped pulpits and pews in mourning, and was received with sadness and alarm in well-nigh every English home. For the one thread was snapped on which England's peace had hung—the one barrier standing between England and anarchy was broken. The last Stuart whom the nation acknowledged lay dead in Kensington Palace.
So long as Queen Anne lived, the embers of discord had been only smouldering. The Jacobites felt a half-satisfaction in the thought that the old line still held the sceptre; the Whigs rejoiced in their Whig and Protestant Queen. Not that the private political views of the Queen were very Whiggish ones. On the contrary, granted one thing—her own personal rule—she was at heart a Tory. For all the years of her reign she had been growing more and more a Tory. She would never have abdicated the sceptre; but very little indeed was wanted to make her say, when the cold grasp of the Angel of Death was laid upon her, "Let my brother succeed me." Such a speech would have given the Jacobites immense vantage-ground. For in 1714 the State was still the Sovereign, and "La Royne le veut" was sterling yet in England. This the partisans of the exiled family knew well; and to their very utmost, through their trusted agents, of whom Abigail Lady Masham was the chief, they strove to induce the Queen to utter such words. Her decease now was the signal for the division of the country into two sharply-defined parties. The Tories strove for King James, triennial Parliaments, removal of Popish disabilities, peace with France, free trade, and repeal of the union with Scotland. The Whigs battled as fiercely for King George, septennial Parliaments, Test and Corporation Acts, war with France, protection, and centralization.
A dreadful struggle was expected between these two parties before George Louis, Elector of Hanover, could seat himself on Anne Stuart's vacant throne. His character and antecedents were much against him. All who knew him personally were aware that he was a man of little intellect, and less morality. Moreover, from both demoralized parties there was a cry for money, and hands were eagerly stretched out to the Elector, less for the purpose of welcoming him than for the hope of what he might put into them. George Louis gave not a stiver. He had not many stivers to give; but what he had he loved too well to part with them either to Whigs or Tories. He sat quietly at Hanover, waiting for Parliament to vote him supplies, and for his disinterested supporters to secure his unopposed landing. Parliament—from a Whig point of view—did their duty, and voted liberal aids within a week or two after the Queen's death. James was up and doing at St. Germains, while George slumbered in his arm-chair at Herrenhausen. At length, on the 18th of September, the gentleman of doubtful, or rather undoubtful, morals, who was facetiously styled the Hope of England, condescended to land upon our shores. He formed his Cabinet, allowed himself to be crowned, dissolved Parliament, and leaving the country to take care of itself, returned to silence and tumblers of Hock.
The English people in the main were irreparably disgusted with the man of their choice. They were ready to welcome the grandson of their "Queen of Hearts," Elizabeth of Bohemia, but they looked for a royal Prince, a true Stuart, graceful and gracious. And here was a little stupid-looking man, who cared nothing about them, and was a stranger alike to their language, their customs, their manners, and their politics. A new edition of Charles II.'s vices, deprived of all Charles II.'s graces—this was their chosen King. Neither Celtic Cornwall nor Saxon Lancashire could bear the disappointment. West and North rose in insurrection. There were riots throughout England, and many a Dissenting chapel was levelled by the mob. The Riot Act was made perpetual, the Habeas Corpus Act suspended; a price of £100,000 was set upon the head of King James's exiled son; and his Hanoverian Majesty, meeting his Parliament on the 21st of September 1715, civilly requested the arrest of six Tory members of the House of Commons.
While all this was doing in England, in a quiet corner of Scotland a little cloud was rising, which had increased to goodly proportions by the 6th of September, when Lord Mar unfurled in Braemar the standard of King James the Third. On the 13th of November were fought the battles of Sheriffmuir and Prestonpans; and on the 22nd of December, a little group of seven men landed at Peterhead, one of whom was the royal exile, now generally known as the Chevalier de St. George. On the 7th of January 1716, he reached the ancient Palace of his forefathers at Scone; but by the 30th his cause was lost, and he retreated on Montrose, whence, on the 4th of February, quitting his native land, he returned to France.
The vengeance taken was terrible. Head after head fell upon the scaffold, and the throne of the House of Hanover was established only in a sea of blood.
On the evening of the 8th of March, the family at Ashcliffe were gathered in the parlor. The Squire was playing draughts with Harry, the ladies working, and Charley and Lucy engaged in the mutual construction of an elaborate work of art.
"Sea-coal any cheaper yet, Mother?" asked the Squire.
"Not yet," said Madam Passmore.