The Yeoman Adventurer
them, as soon appeared, no choice between south and west that they had
come to discuss, but the much more important choice between south and
north. For a minute or two there was a muttering of Gaelic, which the
Prince did not understand, at any rate, so far as the words were
concerned. Then Lord George Murray rose, bowed profoundly to the Prince,
and began the case for the chiefs.
"The Duke of Cumberland," he said, "was that night at Stafford with an
army of ten thousand foot and two thousand horse. Mr. Wade was coming by
hard marches down the east road and could easily get between His Royal
Highness's army and Scotland. They had authentic news that an army was
being encamped on the north of London. If, then, they marched to London
they would have two armies in their rear and one in front of them, and,
high as he rated the valour and prowess of the army he had the honour,
under His Royal Highness, of commanding, it was vain to suppose that they
could defeat three armies each at least twice as numerous as they. None of
the advantages on which they had relied when they agreed to enter England
had been realized. They had received no accession of strength worth
considering from the English Jacobites; the population were not friendly
but at all times surly and neutral, and on all possible occasions openly
hostile; the promised French invasion had not even been attempted.
Scotland they had won for His Majesty and could and should keep it for
him. To do this required them to return with all speed and with
undiminished forces. On all these grounds he, and those for whom he spoke,
implored His Royal Highness to return thither and consolidate his forces
for a fresh attempt under more favourable conditions."
His lordship had spoken calmly and with no outward sign of feeling except
that, as he got toward the end of his speech and his drift became open and
manifest, his voice gained more and more emphasis as he saw the
undisguised impatience and growing anger of Charles. The Prince paid no
courteous attention to the arguments of his chief military adviser, but
shot eager glances round the ring of faces, and particularly at His Grace
of Perth, who was visibly flattered by this mute appeal. The Colonel, who
noted all this by-play, was nettled by the Prince's indifference to
military authority, and whispered, "Well done, Geordie Murray! Right as a
trivet!"
The speech done, the Prince struck his clenched fist on the table and
said, "I am for marching on London."
It was plain, however, that the chiefs were against him almost to a man.
Murray was clearly in the right, and his military skill and experience
gave him great authority. As yet there was no open murmuring against the
Prince; nothing but manifest determination not to be won over by his
cajoleries or threats.
"Why should we not go on?" demanded the Prince passionately. "Here we
are, masters of the heart of England. A quick, bold stroke, and London is
ours. The game is in our hands."
"Game?" cried a rugged, headstrong chief, Macdonald of Glencoe. "The
game's up, sir, thanks to these beer-swilling English friends of your
house, who are Jacobites only round a cosy fire with mugs in their hands."
"They are only awaiting an earnest of victory," said Charles.
"Waiting for us to do the work," said Glencoe bitterly, "and then blithe
they'll be to hansel the profits. We can gang back to Scotland as quick as
we like when we've ance got London for 'em!"
There was a growl of assent from the chiefs, but silence fell again when
the venerable Tullibardine, too racked with gout to stand, took up the
word.
He spoke as one who had grown old and weary and poor in the service of
the exiled House. The conditions of success, he said, had always been the
same: the Highland adherents of His Majesty could never hope to be more
than the centre around which the real sources of strength, English support
and French aid, might gather; and these had failed now as they had failed
in '15. "I dare not," he concluded, "lift my voice to urge men to take
risks which I am too feeble to share."
Charles put up a stout fight, but it was no use. Chief after chief had
his say, and then said it again and again. Maclachlan shifted from his
place near the door to the corner of the hearth and, after whispering a
while with the Duke of Perth, confusedly gave his opinion in favour of
going back.
He was no sort of a speaker, being ill at ease, and plainly occupied in
rummaging about in his mind. Having wits, however, he stumbled on a new
line of argument.
"Then, sir," he said, "there is the great port of Glasgow to be taken in.
There's more ready wealth there than in any other town in Scotland, and
its moneys, public and peculiar, will give you the means of raising a
great army for the spring."
"Any port in a storm," said the Prince, scowling at him.
Being a Stuart, Charles did not realize that every one of these chiefs
was a king-in-little, accustomed to unfettered independence of action.
There were curious contrasts in him, for he was as blundering and
incapable in dealing with an assembly as he was sure and brilliant in
dealing with a man by himself.
Feeling began to run high. One of the chiefs jerked himself on to his
feet and harangued the Prince like a master rating an apprentice. He was
almost as long and thin as one of Jane's line-props, and had high, jutting
cheek-bones and jaws that snapped on the ends of his sentences like a
rat-trap.
"I'm for gaein' back while the road's open behint us," he said. "If we
dinna, and I get back at a', which is dootfu', I shall gae back wi' barely
a dozen loons to my tail, an' the Cawmbells, be damned to every man o' the
name, will ride on my back for the rest of my days."
"Ye're in the right of it, Strowan," said my Lord Ogilvie. "There's too
few of us for this work, but a little peat will boil a little pot. Let us
gang back and raddle the Glasgow bodies. Ye hae my advice, sir!"
Here the Prince, to my mind, made a fatal mistake. He had begun by trying
to carry matters merely by the weight of his royal authority. This was
ever his plan in council, and as long as things went well it served, since
the chiefs, looking forward as they then did to ultimate triumph, were not
willing to risk his displeasure by standing out against him. Now that they
were in a tight corner this cock would fight no longer, and he made
matters worse by appealing to the Irishman, O'Sullivan, for his opinion.
He briefly gave it in favour of going on.
One tale will hold till another's told. O'Sullivan had a great reputation
as a master of the irregular mode of fighting, which must be adopted by an
army composed, like ours, of untrained men not equipped according to the
rules and requirements of soldiership. But my Lord George Murray was ready
for him.
"Great as Colonel O'Sullivan's reputation is, sir," he said sweetly, "we
have with us in Colonel Waynflete another soldier of great distinction.
His views would be welcome, sir."
"Yes, indeed," said the Prince eagerly.
"For myself, sir," said the Colonel, snuff-box open in hand, for he had
been surprised with the rappee between his fingers, "I am ready to go on.
I came to serve your Royal Highness, and I serve my commander as he
chooses, not as I would choose myself. But when you ask me as to the
military result of going on, I tell you frankly, as becomes a soldier of
experience asked in Council to deliver his opinion, that it is idle to
expect this present force to get to London. As you get nearer London, sir,
the country becomes of a kind which your army could not successfully
operate in. It would be confined to roads lined with hedges and passing
through many defendable towns and villages. Your short, powerful charges
would be out of the question. The English as a whole fight well, no men
better; we can't rationally expect all of them to run off at a Highland
yell, and with the country in their favour and London behind them, a
source of constant fresh supplies to them, we should be wiped out in
detail. Your Royal Highness wishes to go on, and therefore I am willing to
go on, but your Royal Highness cannot capture London with the force at
your disposal."
He finished and took his snuff with zest, seeing that it was still
rappee, and handed me the box with great composure.
In all they talked and wrangled for three hours, and I got very tired of
it all and spent my time looking through the window for Margaret. There
would be no profit in setting down more of what was said. Indeed, no fresh
point was raised until the Prince argued vehemently in favour of turning
off for Wales, where his adherents were supposed to be very strong.
This produced a fresh crop of speeches, all on one note--the necessity of
starting back for Scotland.
The Duke of Perth had been silent so far. He had stood on the hearth,
near the fire, the warmth of which he stood greatly in need of, being
slight and weakly. He had turned his eyes from one speaker to another as
the debate went on, and had gently rubbed the back of his head against the
panelling, as if to stimulate thought. The speech of Colonel Waynflete
plainly had a great effect on him, and I could see that he was making up
his mind, for he continued the gentle rubbing of his head but took no note
of the wrangling and jangling about the Welsh project. The storm lulled,
for it had blown itself out. Everything sayable had been said times out of
number.
"I am for marching back at once," he declared in a loud voice.
I was heartily sorry for the Prince. In his mind's eye he had seen
himself in the palace of his fathers with a nation repentant at his feet.
He did not know England,--no Stuart ever did,--or he would have known that
the wave of chivalry that had carried him so far was bound to spend itself
on the indifferent English as a wave spends itself on the indifferent
sands. Yet it was hard to go back, hard to know that he had done so much
more than his grandfather in '89 or his father in '15, and done it in
vain. His standard was proudly flaunting in the heart of England over the
grave of his cause.
But he died well. "Rather than go back," he cried, "I would wish to be
twenty feet under ground!"
With a wave of his hand he dismissed the Council.
"Slip out and look after Sultan," whispered the Colonel. "I am
aide-de-camp to the Prince and cannot come. Take him to the 'Bald-Faced
Stag' in the Irongate, to your right across the Square. You should find
Margaret there, and Mr. Freake."
I was edging out in the tail of the procession when Mr. Secretary, moved
thereto by the Prince, sidled up to me, his sly eyes overrunning the
outgoing chiefs as he came. He laid his hand on my arm, which gave me the
creeps, and said, "His Royal Highness would speak with you, sir."
He sidled back again with me behind him, wondering how far one fair kick
would lift him. I stood stiff and awkward before the Prince, who, however,
addressed the Colonel.
"Your speech was a shrewd blow to me, Colonel. Nay, don't protest! You
did a soldier's duty by me in Council as you will do it in battle. I ask
no more."
"And I shall do no less, sir," said the Colonel.
"Well, give me a pinch of snuff, and I'll ask your advice on another
military point."
This was the straight way to the Colonel's heart, taking snuff and
talking soldiership being to him the twin boons of life.
Charles took his rappee thoughtfully and then said, "What is the best way
of dealing with a solid body of the enemy with inferior forces?"
"Split 'em up and smash 'em in detail, sir."
"What d'ye say to that, Tom Sheridan?" asked Charles.
"The oracle of Delphi could not have spoken better, sir," replied Sir
Thomas.
"Damn your oracle of Delphi, you old rascal," cried the Prince, with