Wha hae we gotten for a King,
But a wee wee German lairdie
And when we gaed to bring him hame,
He was delving
in his kailyairdie.
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,
And broken the harp o' Irish
But our Scots thistle will jag his thumbs.
The wee wee
Come up arnang the Highland hills,
Thou wee wee
And see how
Charlie's lang_kail thrive,
That he planted in his yairdie.
Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,
fitting for a yairdie;
our norlan' thistles wilma pu',
Thou wee wee German lairdie.'
IN 1716 A.D. James Stewart fled back to France, a
hopeless man. Nearly thirty years later, in 1745 A.D., his son Charles
returned, full of youth and hope, ready to fight once more for the crown. He
was just twenty-five; he was gay and handsome, and for many a year he had
made up his mind to win the kingdom for his father. Once when he was walking
by the shore, his hat blew off into the sea. Some of his friends began to
get a boat out to go after it, but Charles stopped them. ' It is not worth
while,' he said, with a laugh, 'I shall soon have to go to England to fetch
But when Charles landed in the north of Scotland one
July day in 1745 A.D., he had no money, and very few followers. At first the
Highland chiefs, remembering the misfortunes of thirty years before, were
unwilling to help Charles.
'Go home,' said one old chief, 'for here you can do no
'I have come home,' replied Charles. ' I will rather
skulk among the mountains of Scotland, if I have only six men with me, than
return to France.'
'Lochiel,' he said to another unwilling chief, 'may
stay at home and learn his Prince's fate from the newspapers.'
'But no,' cried Lochiel, 'if you are resolved to
fight, I will fight too. I will share the fate of my Prince, and so shall
every man over whom I have power.'
So with brave words and smiles, and winning ways, the
young Prince made his way to the hearts of the fierce Highland chiefs.
Little by little the Jacobite army grew, and once more the Stewart standard
was set up. To the sound of the pipes it fluttered out on the Highland
breeze. It was of red silk, and bore the words Tandem Triumphizns, which
mean, triumphant at last.
The dark hours of night and of slumber are past,
And morn on our mountains is dawning at last;
Glenaladale's peaks are
illumed with the rays,
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the
O high-minded Murray!—the exiled—the dear!—
In the blush of the dawning
the standard uprear!
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh.'
As the standard was raised, the Highlanders cheered,
and threw their bonnets in the air, till it seemed as if the sky was
darkened with them. The white-haired Jacobite Marquis—the 'high-minded
Murray'—who held the standard, was so old that he had to be supported by a
friend oileither side. But, although he was so feeble, he loved the
Stewarts. He had begged to have the honour of rearing the standard, and was
ready to lose his life and all that lie had for his Prince.
When King George heard that Prince Charlie had landed
in Scotland, he ordered one of his generals. called Sir John Cope, to march
against him. He also offered a great reward to any who would take the
'Pretender' prisoner. Charles replied to this by ofèring a reward to any one
who would seize the 'Elector of Hanover.'
After the setting up of the standard, Prince Charles
and his army marched southward. At five o'clock one morning, Lochiel and his
men marched into Edinburgh, and amid the sullen silence of some, and the
cheers of others, 'James viii.' was once more proclaimed.
A few hours later the Prince himself rode to Holyrood.
The air rang with cheers, and crowds of people crushed round him, eager to
touch his hand, or even to kiss his hoots. That night, the old state rooms
of the palace, silent so long, rang again with sounds of music and laughter.
For Charles gave a ball, and all the lovely ladies and gallant men of
Edinburgh gathered to do honour to their Prince.
Two days later, in the grey of early morning, Charles
placed himself at the head of his troops, for Sir John and his army were not
'Gentlemen,' he cried, drawing his sword, 'I have
thrown away the scabbard.'
By that he meant, that having now drawn his sword to
fight for the crown, he would never sheathe it again until lie conquered or
died, and cheer upon cheer rent the air as the men heard his brave words.
That night Prince Charles slept upon the field among
his followers. Very early next morning they were up, and before the royal
troops were ready they attacked them. In about five minutes, the King's army
was utterly defeated, and was flying from the field, their leader with them.
The Highlanders lost very few men, but the slaughter
of the royal troops was dreadful. 'See your enemies at your feet, sir,' said
one of his officers to Charles.
'Alas,' replied the Prince sadly, as he turned away,
they are my father's subjects.'
After the battle of Prestonpans, as this battle was
called, from the name of the place near which it was fought, Charles
returned to Edinburgh. There he spent a few days, gathering men and money,
giving balls and parties, and winning hearts with his smiles. Bonnie Prince
Charlie he was called. The women loved him for his bonnie face and winning
ways, and the men because he was daring and manly, 'he could eat a dry
crust, sleep on pease-straw, take his dinner in four minutes, and win a
battle in five,' they said.
Ladies danced with him and prayed for him, and sold
their jewels to get money for him, and every man who had a sword laid it at
At last Charles made up his mind to march into England
and fight for his crown there. But the Highland chieftains did not wish to
go. They wanted to stay in Scotland, and fight for Scotland only, and they
tried hard to persuade the Prince not to go either.
'I see, gentlemen,' said Charles at last, 'that you
are determined to stay in Scotland and defend your country; but I am not the
less resolved to try my fate in England though I go alone.' So the
chieftains gave way, and the march into England began.
But, although Charles met with little opposition, the
English Jacobites did not rise to join his standard as he had expected. No
one resisted him; he took several towns as he marched along, but there was
no excitement, no enthusiasm, as there had been in Scotland. After a long,
weary march, the Jacobite army reached Derby, and there the chieftains
insisted on turning back. In vain Charles urged and implored them to go on.
'Rather than go back,' he cried, 'I would wish to be twenty feet below
ground.' But they would not listen to him.
So the long weary march back began.
Meanwhile, had the Prince only known it, London was
awaiting his coming in fear. The King was ready to flee. And if the King had
fled there is no doubt that many who now quietly looked on, waiting to see
what would happen, would have taken sides with the Prince, and Britain might
once more have had a Stewart King. But for good or ill the Prince turned
On the march south he had been cheerful and merry,
gladly sharing every hardship with his men. Now he was gloomy, sullen, and
broken-hearted. And the men themselves, when they heard that they were to
march back, were full of grief and rage. After many hardships, after two
months' march through bitter winter weather, the wearied army reached
Glasgow. But the Stewart cause was lost, and the Prince a broken man.
At Glasgow the hopes of the Prince revived a little,
and he marched northward, intending to take Stirling Castle. King George had
sent another general to replace Sir John Cope, who had run away from
Prestonpans, and at Falkirk another battle was fought in which the King's
soldiers were again defeated.. But the Highland chieftains, instead of
following up this victory and besieging Stirling, advised the Prince to
march northward. And again, sorely against his will, the Prince was obliged
to listen to them.
When the King heard that Charles had beaten another
general, he was very angry and resolved to send his own son, the Duke of
Cumberland, to fight the rebels.
On Culloden Moor the two armies met. On Culloden Moor
the last hope of the Stewart cause was lost. The royal army was rested and
fresh, well drilled and well armed. The Jacobite army was weary, hungry,
ragged, and desperate.
In a few minutes Prestonpans had been won. In a few
minutes Culloden was lost. But after Prestonpans Charles had been pitiful to
the wounded—'they are my father's subjects,' he said. After Culloden,
Cumberland treated the fleeing and the wounded with such merciless cruelty
that ever after lie was called the ' Butcher.' Yet the men lie slaughtered
were his father's subjects too.
Charles would have been glad to die on Culloden with
his faithful followers, but two of his officers took his horse by the bridle
and led him from the field. His life was saved, but his cause was lost, and
he was a hunted man with the price of thirty thousand pounds upon his
This rebellion is called 'The '45,' because it took
place in 1745 A.D.