A Popular History of England, From the Earliest Times to the Reign of Queen Victoria; Vol. IV

by François Guizot

On the 31st of January, on the approach of the Duke of Argyle, urged and constrained to action by General Cadogan, recently arrived from London, the insurgent army began its retreat. The soldiers were discouraged, and the leaders uncertain or irritated. "What has the king come here for?"' asked the soldiers: "is it to see his subjects killed by the executioner, without striking a blow in defence? Let us die like men, not as dogs."—"If his Majesty is disposed to die as a prince, he will find ten thousand Scotch gentlemen to die with him," said a rich country gentleman of Aberdeen. But the forces of the Duke of Argyle were overwhelming. The councillors of the Pretender, alarmed and trembling for his safety as well as their own, and hoping for better conditions in the absence of their prince, urged him to depart. On the evening of the 4th of February, secretly, and after having taken every precaution necessary to deceive the army, the Chevalier left the quarters of the Earl of Mar, whither he had gone on foot. Accompanied by that leader, he entered a small boat and was taken on board a French ship which awaited him. General Gordon was now at the head of an army which was disbanding, in the midst of a country devastated by fire. The prince had ordered the burning of all villages as far as Stirling. He and all his adherents were now exposed to the vengeance of that government which they had so recently menaced. On departing, and as a compensation for so many evils, the Pretender wrote to the Duke of Argyle, sending him all the money he possessed: "I pray you," said he, "have this sum distributed among the inhabitants of the villages which have been burned, in order that I may at least have the satisfaction of not having caused the ruin of any one; I, who would have died for them all."

The honor of saving a people costs more dearly and necessitates more sacrifices than the Chevalier St. George was inclined to believe, in his indolent nature; he had failed personally, as well as in his political and military enterprises. But the Jacobite party was not destroyed; it was still to nourish long its hopes and to shed much blood for his cause. The insurrection of 1715 was at an end. The Highlanders sought refuge in their mountains, and the great lords and gentlemen either concealed themselves, or escaped from Scotland and increased the little exiled court. James arrived at Gravelines, and from there he went to St. Germain. Bolingbroke joined him immediately. The prince desired to remain a few days in France, but the regent would not permit it, and also refused to see him. He desired to find a refuge with the Duke of Lorraine, before the English government could interfere. The chevalier separated from his minister with feigned protestations of friendship. Three days later the Duke of Ormond presented himself before Bolingbroke, bearer of a letter from James, which thanked him for his services, of which he had no longer need, and ordered him to deliver all the state papers into the hands of Ormond. "The papers were held without difficulty in an envelope of ordinary size," ironically remarked Bolingbroke. "I delivered them solemnly to my Lord Ormond, as well as the seals. There were some letters of the chevalier which would have been inconvenient to show to the duke, and which he had without doubt forgotten. I subsequently sent them to him, by a sure hand, disdaining to play him false by executing his orders to the letter. I did not wish to appear annoyed, being far from angry."

Bolingbroke deceived himself: his anger against the Jacobites constantly displayed itself during the remainder of his agitated and restless life. With a disdainful thoughtlessness, many times too familiar to princes, James measured the devotion of his secretary of state; but he had judged less justly the services which he had already rendered him, and which he might still render.

"It would seem that one must have lost his senses," wrote Marsna Berwick, "in order not to comprehend the arrant folly which induced King James to deprive himself of the only Englishman able to govern his affairs. Bolingbroke was endowed with brilliant talents, which had advanced him, at an early age, to the highest offices. He exercised a great influence upon the Tory party, of which he was the soul. Nothing could be more deplorable than to separate himself from such a man, at a time when he was most necessary, and when it was important not to make new enemies. I have been a witness of the conduct of Bolingbroke: he had done for King James all that he was able to do."

The entreaties of the queen mother were unable to appease Bolingbroke. "I am free," said he, "and may my hand wither if I ever take the sword or pen in the service of your son." From that time all the thoughts of the exile turned towards England, while the prince whom he had served, and who had not appreciated him, departed for Avignon, thus virtually abandoning his royal party by this retreat to a Papal country, the most odious and most suspected of all, by the English.

Scotland had suffered from the presence of armies, by the destruction of crops, by the flight or death of a great number of the gentry, and by the new animosities excited between the clans engaged on the different sides. The government had taken but few prisoners, and even those were unimportant. The English insurrection had delivered to justice, or to the vengeance of the Whigs, many important hostages. Lord Widdington, Lord Nairn, Lord Kenmure, the Earls of Nithisdale and of Derwentwater, were accused of high treason. All were condemned. The entreaties of their friends obtained the pardon of Lords Nairn, Carnwath and Widdington. Lord Wintoun, who alone had plead "not guilty," and in consequence had undergone a trial, succeeded in escaping from the Tower. Lady Nithisdale had the happiness of saving her husband, who escaped disguised in her clothing. Lord Derwentwater and Lord Kenmure alone remained. Many members of both houses were inclined towards clemency. "I am indignant," said Walpole, with a severity foreign to his character, "to see members of this great body so unfaithful to their duty that they are able to open their mouths without blushing in favor of rebels and parricides." Lord Nottingham boldly declared for the condemned; he was dismissed from the ministry. On the 24th of February, 1716, the two lords perished upon the scaffold at Tower Hill, proclaiming to the last moment their faithful allegiance to King James. Condemnations were less numerous among the rebels of an inferior order. Justice had been severe, but it had not become vengeance. "The rebel who declares himself boldly, justly compromises his life," affirms Gibbon, with positive equity. New measures, purely repressive, were voted against the Catholics, among whom were naturally reckoned many Jacobites. Among the constant partisans of the fallen house, the devotion, the fidelity, the honest and sincere attachment, merit the respect of men and the sympathetic indulgence of history. Indignation and contempt belong to those who had nourished hopes, encouraged intrigues, even furnished resources secretly and perfidiously, like the Duke of Marlborough, the General-in-chief of the armies of King George, without risking a day of their lives nor an atom of their grandeur. The splendor of genius and the most brilliant successes can never efface such a stain. Slowly and noiselessly, Marlborough had lost in public opinion, and he was soon to fall into an intellectual and physical decadence: worthy chastisement of a life, a singular mixture of great power of mind and moral baseness, of cold calculation and violent passions, of glory and of ignominy. Attacked by paralysis, in May, 1716, Marlborough expired on the 16th of June, 1722, and was interred, with royal honors in Westminster Abbey. "I was a man then," said the invalid Duke, when contemplating his portrait in a picture which represented the battle of Blenheim. He left an immense fortune, the results of the great offices which both he and the Duchess had held, as well as the exactions that his extreme avidity for money had led him into. "I have heard his widow say," said Voltaire, "that after the division made to four children, there still remained to her, without thanks to the court, a revenue of £70,000."

National gratitude had contributed its share to this enormous accumulation of wealth. It is to the honor of England that she has always recompensed her great servants magnificently.

Parliament, on its own authority, and by a legitimate exercise of its power, now took an important step. The experience of the last twenty years of triennial legislative elections had convinced many sound thinkers that an agitation so frequently renewed was dangerous to the electors, as well as to the liberty of action of those elected. It was remembered that William III. had once refused his assent to the bill, which was subsequently imposed upon him. A new law decided that the duration of the parliaments should henceforth be seven years. Usage has often abridged this term by a year, but it has remained, notwithstanding frequent infractions, the regular limit for legislatures. About the same time, and in spite of serious obstacles, that clause of the act of Establishment which formerly forbade the sovereigns to leave the soil of Great Britain, was repealed by the houses. The desire of George I. to visit his hereditary states became irresistible; he had long been detained by the jealousy which he felt regarding his son. It was with regret and upon the formal advice of his ministers, that he decided to confide the government to the Prince of Wales during his absence. "This family has always been quarrelsome," said Lord Carteret, one day, to the full Council, "and it will quarrel always, from generation to generation."