Cerise: A Tale of the Last Century

by G. J. Whyte-Melville

With the earlier loyalists, to uphold the Stuart was to fight for principle, property, personal freedom, and liberty of conscience, but to support his grandson now was a different matter altogether. His cause had but one argument in its favour, and that was the magic of a name. To take up arms on his behalf was to lose lands, position, possibly life, if defeated, of which catastrophe there seemed every reasonable prospect; while, in the event of victory, there was too much ground to suppose that the reward of these efforts would be to see the Church of England, the very institution for which they had been taught by their fathers to shed their blood, oppressed, persecuted, and driven from her altars by the Church of Rome.

As in a long and variable struggle between two wrestlers, each of the great contending parties might now be said to stand upon the adversary’s ground, their tactics completely altered, their positions exactly reversed.

It was only in the free intercourse of conviviality, with feelings roused by song, or brains heated by claret, that the bulk of these Northern country gentlemen ever thought of alluding to the absent family in terms of affection and regret. They were for the most part easy in their circumstances and happy in their daily course of life; their heads were safe, their rents rising, and they were satisfied to leave well alone.

George had that day met some dozen of his new companions, neighbouring gentlemen with whom he was now on friendly and familiar terms, at a cock-fight; this little assemblage represented fairly enough the tone of feeling that prevailed through the whole district, these jovial squires might be taken as fair representatives of their order in half a dozen counties north of the Trent. As he passed them mentally in review, one by one, he could not think of a single individual likely to listen favourably to such proposals as Florian seemed empowered to make, at least at an earlier hour than three in the afternoon.

When dinner was pretty well advanced, many men, in those days, were wont to display an enthusiastic readiness for any wild scheme broached, irrespective of their inability to comprehend its bearings, and their impatience of its details; but when morning brought headache and reflection, such over-hasty partisans were, of all others, the least disposed to encounter the risk, the expense, and especially the trouble, entailed by another Jacobite rising in favour of the Stuarts. Sir George could think of none who, in sober earnest, would subscribe a shilling to the cause, or bring a single mounted soldier into the field.

There was also one more reason, touching his self-interest very closely, which rendered Sir George Hamilton essentially an upholder of the existing state of things. He had broad acres, indeed, but the men with broad acres have never in the history of our country been averse to meddling with public affairs—they have those acres to look to in every event. If worst comes to worst, sequestration only lasts while the enemy remains in power, and landed property, though it may elude its owner for a while, does not vanish entirely off the face of the earth. But Sir George had made considerable gains during his seafaring career, with the assistance of ‘The Bashful Maid,’ and these he had invested in a flourishing concern, which, under the respectable title of the Bank of England, has gone on increasing in prosperity to the present day. The Bank of England had lent large sums of money to the Government, and as a revolution would have forced it to stop payment, Sir George, even if he had chosen to accept his earl’s patent, must have literally bought it with all the hard cash he possessed in the world.

Such a consideration alone would have weighed but little, for he was neither a timid man nor a covetous; but when, with his habitual quickness of thought, he reviewed the whole position, scanning all its difficulties at a glance, he made up his mind that unless his old lieutenant had some more dazzling bait to offer than an earl’s coronet, he would not entertain his proposals seriously for a moment.

“And what have you to gain?” he asked, good-humouredly, after a short silence, during which each had been busy with his own meditations. “What do they offer the zealous Jesuit priest in consideration of his services, supposing those services are successful? What will they give you? The command of the Body-Guard in London, or the fleet at Sheerness? Will they make you a councillor, a colonel, or a commodore? Lord Mayor of London, or Archbishop of Canterbury? On my honour, Florian, I believe you are capable of filling any one of these posts with infinite credit. Something has been promised you, surely, were it only a pair of scarlet hose and a cardinal’s hat.”

“Nothing! as I am a gentleman and a priest!” answered Florian, eagerly. “My advocacy is but for your own sake! For the aggrandisement of yourself and those who love you! For the interests of loyalty and the true religion!”