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Title: The Collected Writings of Dougal Graham, "Skellat" Bellman of Glasgow, Vol. 1 of 2

Author: Dougal Graham
        George MacGregor

Editor: George MacGregor

Release Date: September 26, 2019 [EBook #60365]

Language: English

Character set encoding: UTF-8


Produced by hekula03, John Campbell and the Online
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This book was limited to a printing of 250 copies; this etext is derived from copy #187 (the number in the book is handwritten).

Footnote anchors are denoted by [number], and the footnotes have been placed at the end of the book.

The four battle-plan illustrations have each been moved to the end of the Chapter in which they appear.

The cover image was created by the transcriber and is placed in the public domain.

Some other minor changes to the text are noted at the end of the book.




Impression strictly limited to 250 copies, of

which this copy is No. 187

Types taken down.

Portrait of Dougal Graham
From Woodcut in 1774 (3rd) Edition of ‘History of the Rebellion.’

Frontispiece to Vol. I.




Dougal Graham

‘Skellat’ Bellman of Glasgow


Together with a Biographical and Bibliographical Introduction, and a Sketch
of the Chap Literature of Scotland



Author of ‘The History of Glasgow’ and Member of the Glasgow
Archæological Society



For Subscribers and Private Circulation



[Pg 5]


Sir Walter Scott and William Motherwell, it has been recorded, both intended to do something towards the preservation of the works and fame of the literary pedlar and bellman of Glasgow: the former by reprinting the first edition of The History of the Rebellion, and the latter by a history of the Chap Literature of Scotland, in which, of course, Dougal Graham should have been a prominent figure. Neither of these eminent Scotsmen, however, found fitting opportunity to carry their intentions into effect. This is all the more to be regretted when it is considered that few men were better able to undertake the task they had proposed for themselves. In the fifty years that have elapsed since Scott and Motherwell made the world acquainted with their abandoned projects, no serious attempt has been made to preserve the writings of Dougal Graham. These works have been floating about the country in unconsidered fragments, and, notwithstanding the efforts of a few gentlemen of the past and present generations, have ever been in danger of utter destruction.

The Editor of these volumes has endeavoured to combine the intentions of Scott and Motherwell. After long and careful search, he has been able to bring together extremely rare and unique editions of Graham’s chap-books. Many of these works are rich in illustration of the manners and customs of the people during the period of their first publication; and the Editor, by foot-notes, and otherwise, has tried to explain obscurities, or trace the origin and development of peculiar customs. He has also noted many passages containing valuable contributions to the folk-lore literature of Scotland. The various editions that have come under his notice have been[6] carefully collated; and while the oldest editions are here given, any important differences between them and subsequent issues have been marked. The Editor considered it no part of his duty to ‘improve’ his author, for he believed that to the extent he sought to effect such so-called ‘improvements,’ the work would cease to be that of Graham. Every production has been given, as far as could be found, in the condition in which it proceeded from his pen; and by doing this the Editor thought he would best perform his duty to his author and to the public. A glossary of obsolete, or imperfectly understood, words, has been given at the end of the second volume.

In the prosecution of his labours, the Editor laid himself under obligation to George Gray, Esq., Clerk of the Peace, Glasgow, whose unequalled collection of the popular literature of Scotland (many of the most valuable specimens having once been in the possession of the late Dr. David Laing) has been laid under heavy contribution; to Alex. Macdonald, Esq., Lynedoch Street; Matthew Shields, Esq., Secretary of the Stock Exchange, Glasgow; John Wordie, Esq., Buckingham Terrace; Prof. George Stephens, LL.D., F.S.A., Copenhagen; Thomas Gray, Esq., Ashton Terrace; and John Alexander, Esq., West Regent Street. His thanks are also due to J. Whiteford Mackenzie, Esq., W. S., Edinburgh; J. T. Clark, Esq., Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh; Bailie William Wilson, Glasgow; George W. Clark, Esq., Dumbreck; and James Richardson, Esq., Queen Street, Glasgow.

Glasgow, June, 1883.



Editorial Introduction:
I.Biography of Dougal Graham9
II.The Writings of Dougal Graham28
III.The Chap-Literature of Scotland68
History of the Rebellion:
Chapter I.—Introduction and Origin of the War, Charles’ landing in Scotland and march to Tranent85
Chapter II.—Battle of Preston pans—Rebels’ return to Edinburgh, and behaviour there97
Plan of the Battle of Preston100
Chapter III.—Their March into England—Taking of Carlisle—Rout through England and retreat back106
Plan of the Battle of Clifton-Muir112
Chapter IV.—Retaking of Carlisle by Cumberland—His return to London—Battle of Inverurie—The Rebels March from Dumfries by Glasgow to Stirling118
Chapter V.—Siege of Stirling Castle—Battle of Falkirk126
Plan of the Battle of Falkirk130
Chapter VI.—The Duke’s return—His Speech to the Army—March to Stirling—Explosion of St. Ninian’s Church140
Chapter VII.—The Duke’s arrival at Stirling—The Rebels’ Retreat, and the Rout both Armies took to the North145
Chapter VIII.—Blowing up the Castle of Cargarf by Earl of Ancram—Skirmishes at Keith and Inverness &c.148
[8] Chapter IX.—Kings Army pass the Spey—Battle of Culloden—Defeat of Rebels &c.157
Plan of the Battle of Culloden Muir162
Chapter X.—Charles’ flight—Arrival in the Isles—Hardships, hidings, and narrow escape167
Chapter XI.—Procedure of the King’s men against the suspected—Confusion in the Army and severity against the Clans182
Chapter XII.—Sundry dangers and hardships on the main shore—Meets with six men who relieve him—Almost starved—Goes to Lochaber—Meets with Lochiel—Gets off from Moidart205
Chapter XIII.—Arrives at France—Reception there218
Chapter XIV.—Trial and Execution of severals at Kensington, Brampton, and Carlisle—The Lords Kilmarnock, Cromartie, Balmerino, Lovat, and Charles Ratcliff221
Chapter XV.—Conclusion—Charles interrupts the Congress—Is seized at the Opera—Carried to the Castle of Vincennes—And forced to leave France240
A Quaker’s Address to Prince Charles245
Copy of the Rebels’ Orders before the Battle of Culloden249
Miss Flora’s Lament: A Song250
The Author’s Address to all in general251
John Highlandman’s Remarks on Glasgow255
Tugal M‘Tagger265
Had awa frae me, Donald269




The negligence of contemporaries by failing to appreciate the real worth of the great men of their time has often been a subject of remark. No special case need be cited to give point to the recurrence of the proposition here, for many such instances will readily suggest themselves to the mind. The reasons for this fact are many, and of divergent natures. Though it is beyond the scope of the present inquiry to discuss the general question, it may be observed, however, that some of the more potent causes which in the past have led to this unfortunate result are being rapidly removed through the spread of knowledge among the great mass of the people, and through the remarkable activity of the press in its various branches. Personal gossip regarding the hereditarily and individually great is now and then served up to the public, and it is always received with unmistakable relish. Autobiography, also, has become fashionable, and this, within recent years, has often shed light upon opinions and actions about which some doubts had formerly existed. These and other circumstances, in themselves perhaps not unmixed good, will tend to keep the biographers of the great men of this and the last generation from being placed in the awkward position in which almost all who attempt to record the lives of men who have achieved local or universal fame prior to the present century must at times find themselves placed. Insufficient data is the great obstacle in the way of the latter class. Traditions difficult to credit and as difficult to refute; suggestions more or less[10] probable; and many obscurities, all incline to make their work perplexing, and, to a certain extent, unsatisfactory. Yet the task must be undertaken, and the earlier the better, in order that such scraps of information as have come down from the past to the present may be preserved.

Dougal Graham, the literary pedlar and bellman of Glasgow, like many a greater man, has suffered unmerited neglect, and the value of his work was not discovered, or appreciated, until it was almost too late to retrieve the loss involved by the remissness of his contemporaries and immediate successors. Motherwell, lamenting this fact, says very truly, ‘That a man who, in his day and generation, was so famous, should have left no dear recollections behind him; some Boswell to record his life, actions, and conversation, need be subject of admiration to no one who has reflected on the contemptuous neglect with which Time often treats the most illustrious dead.’[1] Graham was first noticed as having done something for the literature of his country by Mr. E. J. Spence, of London, who in 1811 published Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and Scenery of Scotland. Motherwell, in the short-lived Paisley Magazine, next set forth fully Graham’s title to the regard of his compatriots, and rescued a few recollections concerning him which, in the course of a year or two more, would have been lost. M‘Vean, in the appendix to his edition of M‘Ure’s History of Glasgow, issued in 1830, added a few additional particulars. Then Dr. Strang, through the medium of his work on Glasgow and its Clubs, contributed his mite to the small collection of knowledge concerning our author. Graham has provided only one or two details about himself; an advertisement in a Glasgow newspaper fixes the date of one of the most important events of his life; and Dr. Strang has preserved some stanzas of an elegy on his death, written by some unknown poetaster. There, practically, our knowledge ceases. All beyond what is to be gained from these sources is tradition or inference, and not a little of what has[11] thus been put on record has been questioned. A ‘metrical account of the author,’ according to an existing tradition, was prefixed to an early issue of Graham’s History of the Rebellion of 1745–46, but owing to the disappearance of the first and second, and some of the subsequent editions, this account, if it ever existed, can now afford no assistance, nor can the tradition itself be traced to its source. Sir Walter Scott felt interested in Dougal’s work, but unfortunately he has contributed nothing to his biography, though it is believed to have been his intention to have done so. Such being the state of matters, it is only fair at this stage to assume that comparatively few of the events in the life of Dougal Graham have been ascertained beyond doubt, and that much that is related about him might be overturned even by some minute discovery. The probabilities, however, are against such a happy occurrence at so remote a period. His career, in so far as it is known, is not without a touch of romance, and it furnishes the key to a proper acquaintance with his works.

Graham, according to all accounts, was born in the village of Raploch, near Stirling, in or about the year 1724. If, as has been supposed, his History of John Cheap the Chapman is autobiographical, this is his own story of that important event—‘I, John Cheap by chance, at some certain time, doubtless against my will, was born at the Hottom, near Habertehoy Mill. My father was a Scots Highlandman, and my mother a Yorkshire wench, but honest, which causes me to be of a mongrel kind.’ Should this account be accurate, the names of the places seem to be veiled; but the uncertainty as to its application to Graham himself makes it of comparatively little value. Unfortunately, Nature endowed him with a deformed body, and his physical defects developed with his growth. His parents, from their humble position in life, were unable to give him anything beyond the common education of the time, which was of a very scant description, but he seems to have learned more by his native wit than by the instructions of the schoolmaster. Taught no trade, his youth[12] would probably be spent at farm work, or at such odd employment as he could find, it may have been in the weaver’s shop, or in the saw-pit, much the same, in all likelihood, as his father had done before him, and as we may still find men doing in remote country hamlets. Leaving the old home under the shadow of Stirling Castle, Graham went in his early youth as a servant to a small farmer in the neighbourhood of the quaint little village of Campsie. A tradition regarding his residence there lingered about the place for nearly a century, for Spence saw traces of a turf cottage said to be the birth-place and early residence of Dougal Graham.[2] As there are no good grounds for questioning the statement that Graham’s birth-place was Raploch, may it not be considered a feasible idea, in view of Spence’s remark, that our author’s parents removed to Campsie, and that he went with them? How long Dougal remained with the farmer is unknown. Of an unsettled disposition, he, like his creation John Cheap, made himself a chapman when very young, in great hopes of being rich when he became old; and for some years he wandered over the country in the exercise of his craft. The political events of the time, however, effected another and more important change in his career, and rapidly developed in him the mental capabilities with which nature had, by way of compensation, endowed him.

The outbreak of the Jacobite Rebellion in 1745 found Graham ready to follow the Young Chevalier. When the Highland army was on its southward march, he joined it on the 13th of September of that year, at the Ford of Frew, on the Forth. At that time he was probably about twenty-one years of age. The capacity in which he became attached to the Prince’s forces has been matter for conjecture. His physical deformities are assumed to have unfitted him for active service, and everything points to the conclusion that he was not a soldier, but rather a sutler, or camp-follower, blending, probably, his political aspirations with commercial pursuits. In the preface to his History of the Rebellion, he avoids saying[13] he participated actively in the events he records, but plainly states that he had ‘been an eye-witness to most of the movements of the armies, from the rebels first crossing the Ford of Frew to their final defeat at Culloden.’ Throughout the whole course of the seven months’ campaign, Graham accompanied the rebel army, and while he has carefully recorded its movements, he has given no indication of how he himself was occupied, or of any adventures that may have fallen to his share. There can be little doubt that, to a man of his temperament, the march to Derby and the retreat upon Inverness, would be highly educative in its effects, by showing him life in various parts of the country he had in all likelihood never visited before, and by bringing him into contact with men of all ranks. In this short period his knowledge of men and manners would be largely increased, and the experience thus gained would greatly facilitate the production of those graphic and truthful descriptions which sometimes adorn—sometimes, it must also be admitted, tarnish—the literary efforts of his later years.

Until this time, Graham is not known to have made any effort in the direction of literature, though, in view of the magnitude of the task he set before himself on the conclusion of the rebellion, it is not improbable he may have courted the Muses from afar, and indulged in poetical, or rhythmical, fancies for the amusement of his customers and entertainers in his youthful chapman days. However that may be, Dougal, immediately after the disaster at Culloden, rapidly made his way homewards, and set about committing to verse a narrative of the expedition of Prince Charles. The self-imposed duty was great, but he was equal to it. The battle of Culloden was fought on the 16th of April, 1746, and five months later Graham’s work was announced. In the Glasgow Courant, of the 29th September, the following advertisement appeared:—

‘That there is to be sold by James Duncan, Printer in Glasgow, in the Saltmercat, the 2nd Shop below Gibson’s Wynd, a Book intituled A full, particular, and true Account of the late Rebellion in the Year 1745 and 1746, beginning with[14] the Pretender’s Embarking for Scotland, and then an Account of every Battle, Siege, and Skirmish that has happened in either Scotland or England.

‘To which is added, several Addresses and Epistles to the Pope, Pagans, Poets, and the Pretender: all in Metre. Price Four Pence. But any Booksellers or Packmen may have them easier from the said James Duncan, or the Author, D. Grahame.

‘The like has not been done in Scotland since the Days of Sir David Lindsay.’

There is every reason to believe that this work became popular immediately on its publication. Scattered broadcast over Scotland by chapmen and others, while the events of which it treated were still agitating the minds of the people, Graham’s name by it would be brought boldly to the front, and there would be opened up for him the possibilities of a career wider than any he could have contemplated under ordinary circumstances. In every way the work appears to have been a success, and the judgment pronounced upon it by Dr. Robert Chambers has been concurred in by all who have read the production—‘The poetry is, of course, in some cases a little grotesque, but the matter of the work is in many instances valuable. It contains, and in this consists the chief value of all such productions, many minute facts which a work of more pretension would not admit.’[3] Sir Walter Scott’s estimate of it was not less favourable, for, writing to Dr. Strang in 1830, he said—‘It really contained some traits and circumstances of manners worth preserving.’[4]

Although the issue of the History of the Rebellion was probably large, it is remarkable that now, and for many years past, no copy of the first edition has been known to exist. It would be difficult to explain the cause of such a total disappearance. The fact must be regretted both from literary and bibliographical points of view, for a copy of it, besides being of interest in itself, would clear up several obscurities and differences of opinion that have arisen in relation to it and subsequent editions.

Prior to the publication of the History of the Rebellion,[15] Graham was not a resident in Glasgow, though it is probable he would be known to many there, for he must have had frequent occasion to visit the city for the purpose of purchasing his stock-in-trade. These visits would bring him into contact with booksellers, and the numerous tradesmen whose wares would be represented in his miscellaneous pack. The title-page of his work is said to have contained these lines:—

‘Composed by the poet, D. Graham,

In Stirlingshire he lives at hame.’

It would be useless to say whether the wide term ‘Stirlingshire’ bore reference to Raploch, or to Campsie, as has been suggested; but the verse may fairly be considered, by the prefix ‘poet’ to the author’s name, to give countenance to the inference that Graham was not quite a tyro in the art of verse-making, and that previous to the publication of his History he was regarded by his intimate friends, at least, as having qualified for the title. However that may be, Dougal seems now to have made Glasgow his home. Possibly he still continued to ply his calling as a pedlar; but he added to this a profession for which his natural capabilities specially adapted him. In Glasgow, he became the poet of passing events. Little of local importance seemed to have escaped him, and the few metrical pieces now extant, and attributed to him by various authorities, can only be regarded as the representatives of an extensive issue of facetious broadsides and chap-book ballads. Among those believed to be referable to this period of his life, are John Hielandman’s Remarks on Glasgow, and Turnimspike. Although these have never been acknowledged by Graham himself, in the formal way that he has acknowledged the authorship of the History of the Rebellion, there is a consensus of opinion that these two poems are undoubtedly his production. In them the acquaintance he made with Highland modes of thought and expression during the progress of the Jacobite campaign, served him in good stead. M‘Vean attributes a humorous piece, entitled Tugal M‘Tagger, to Graham, but this has been questioned on several grounds, perhaps the most forcible suggestion being, that its style and rhythm are liker[16] the work of Alexander Rodger than of Graham. Personally, we feel inclined to support M‘Vean, and that for a variety of reasons, which may be better explained when dealing with the bibliography of our author’s works; while other metrical compositions of a similar character will also fall to be considered under the same head.

Dougal was now a man of some note, and, in addition, he is believed to have gradually worked himself into a position of comparative freedom from pecuniary troubles. In the time of his poverty he vented his ill nature on his Roman Catholic fellow-subjects in verse far from elegant, charging them with having brought about, for reasons best known to himself, the unsatisfactory state of his exchequer:—

‘You Papists are a cursed race,

And this I tell you to your face;

And your images of gold so fine,

Their curses come on me and mine.

Likewise themselves at any rate,

For money now is ill to get.

I have run my money to an en’,

And have nouther paper nor pen

To write thir lines the way you see me,

And there’s none for to supplie me.’

Like many another man, Graham becomes incoherent when indulging in strong language. But matters did not always remain in this sad state, and when he published the second edition of his History of the Rebellion he was able to call himself ‘Dougal Graham, merchant,’ showing he had advanced a step in his commercial position. There is no reason to suppose he had a place of business, such as a shop or warehouse, but the probability is that he had become one of the better class of chapmen, whose packs contained a large variety of finer goods than were usually hawked through the country.

The second edition of the History of the Rebellion was published in 1752, probably with additions to include the adventures of Prince Charles after the defeat at Culloden. This edition, like the first, has disappeared, and at present no copy is known to exist. The re-issue of his work would assist[17] Graham in his pecuniary affairs, and it is said that he was able to begin a business which, even in these early days, would require some little capital. According to M‘Vean, Graham, after 1752, became a printer, and, like Buchan, the chronicler of Peterhead, he composed his works and set them up at the case without committing them to writing; or, as Strang puts it, he was in the habit of at once spinning thought into typography. Beyond that there is no information as to Dougal’s experience at the printing trade, though it must suggest itself as strange that so many of his chap-books should be issued by other parties, by Mr. Caldwell of Paisley, for instance, who is reported by Motherwell to have said:—‘We were aye fain to get a haud of some new piece frae him.’

Like Sir Walter Scott, who took a great interest in him and his works, Graham after a time appears to have turned his attention more particularly to prose composition, indulging rarely in verse. The period during which most of his prose chap-books were written and issued was probably between 1752 and 1774, the latter being the date of the publication of the third edition of his History of the Rebellion; though one or two are known to have appeared subsequent to that date. These works would greatly add to his credit with the people, and there can be no doubt that they had a most extensive circulation. ‘A’ his works took weel,’ says Mr. Caldwell, Motherwell’s informant, ‘they were level to the meanest capacity, and had plenty o’ coarse jokes to season them. I never kent a history of Dougal’s that stuck in the sale yet.’ Better testimony as to their popularity could scarcely be desired; and that the author was awarded a share of the favour his works received cannot be doubted. It has sometimes been thought that several of his chap-books were to a certain extent autobiographical—such, for instance, as John Cheap the Chapman—but the absolute impossibility of separating fact from fiction makes them of no value in this direction. Whether printed by himself or others the number of his works still known to exist prove him to have been a most prolific writer, and it can be fairly assumed that, in a pecuniary sense,[18] they were successful. None of them appear to have been published under Graham’s own name, but were either issued anonymously or under a cognomen which would probably be well understood in his own time as referring to him, such as ‘The Scots’ Piper,’ ‘John Falkirk,’ and ‘Merry Andrew at Tamtallon.’

An advertisement which appeared in the Glasgow Journal of 14th June, 1764, has raised the question of Graham’s domestic relations. Everything known points to the conclusion that he never entered into the conjugal yoke. The announcement spoken of ran thus:—

Notice.—Whereas, Jean Stark, spouse to Dougal Graham, ale-seller, above the Cross, Glasgow, has parted from her husband, he thinks it proper to inform the public that she be inhibit by him from contracting debt in his name, or yet receiving any debt due to him, after this present date.’

It has been usual to assume that this advertisement had no reference to our author, and, even though the names are the same, we see no reason to dissent from the general verdict. There is neither direct information nor obscure indication of Graham having at any time been an ‘ale-seller.’ The incident, however, has given Professor Fraser an opportunity of pointing out a failing of Dougal’s—‘In one sense, he was always a large dealer in spirits, but it is not so certain that he was actually a publican.’[5] Judging from his works, and if the few traditions concerning him are to be accepted as evidence on this point, he was not a teetotaller, but that in itself was no remarkable circumstance in the times in which he lived.

An event of the first importance in Graham’s life was his appointment to the post of skellat bellman of the city of Glasgow. One would naturally have thought that in this matter at least there would have been no room for any dubiety concerning the various circumstances of the appointment, especially as it was to a post of some credit under one of the most ancient municipal corporations in Scotland, but that is[19] not so. The ‘skellat’ bell, it may be explained, was the one used for ordinary announcements by the town-crier, as the ‘mort’ bell was in use on the intimation of death. In former times the crier, on obtaining possession of the two bells, had, according to the Burgh Records, ‘to cum bund for the soume of thrie scoir pundis’ Scots, or £5 sterling; and in addition to the importance of the office, it was always regarded as being of some pecuniary value. As the appointment was in the gift of the magistrates, it is surprising that no notice is taken in the Town Council Records of Graham’s incumbency. Motherwell put himself to some trouble in this matter, and wrote to Dr. Cleland, author of the Annals of Glasgow, then Superintendent of Public Works in the city, requesting information. In October, 1828, he received this reply—‘With regard to Dougal Graham, I may safely say there is nothing in the Records concerning him. This, from my own knowledge, corroborated by Mr. Thomson, one of our Town-clerks, who lately made an index of everything in the books for 150 years back.’ In order to satisfy himself on this point, the editor of these volumes took advantage of the opportunity kindly afforded him of going over the Burgh Records in the Town Clerk’s Office, and a careful search over the Council Minutes for a period of fully forty years was unproductive of any result other than that recorded by Dr. Cleland. As to the date of the appointment, therefore, some doubt exists. Turner, a town officer of fully eighty years, told Cleland that when he was a boy of about ten years of age, he remembered Graham as bellman, and Motherwell infers from this statement that our author was enjoying the whole emoluments of office about 1750. M‘Vean, however, is of a different opinion, and says Graham could not have been bellman earlier than 1770, ‘as an old gentleman remembers other four bellmen, who held office before Dougal, and after the year 1764.’ Possibly Turner’s memory may have been failing him in his old age, and he may not have been accurate by ten or fifteen years. M‘Vean was certainly in as good a position as any one to ascertain the true version, and there seems no reason why his[20] statement should not be accepted in preference to the haphazard guess by Motherwell.

Tradition has it that Graham did not obtain the office of bellman without some little difficulty, because of his connection with the Jacobite movement. Here is the story as given by Mr. Caldwell, the Paisley publisher:—‘In his youth he was in the Pretender’s service, and on that account had a sair faught to get the place o’ bellman, for the Glasgow bailies had an illbrew o’ the Hielanders, and were just doun-richt wicked against onybody that had melled wi’ the rebels; but Dougie was a pawkey chield, and managed to wyse them ower to his ain interests, pretending that he was a staunch King’s man, and pressed into the Prince’s service sair against his will, and when he was naithing mair than a hafflins callant, that scarcely kent his left hand frae his richt, or a B frae a bull’s fit.’ In addition to this subtle reasoning with the magistrates, Dougal is said by some writers to have effected very material alterations on the third edition of his History of the Rebellion, published in 1774, in order to please the Whig patrons of the office to which he aspired. Here is a difficulty not easily overcome. Caldwell’s information was likely to be correct, and it is further supported by the knowledge that during the Jacobite risings the Glasgow bailies, and the citizens generally, were staunch supporters of the House of Hanover. The first thought that must suggest itself to the mind is, that it was not at all likely that Graham would seek to publish in Glasgow a Jacobite history of the Rebellion, at a time when the city authorities were applying to Parliament for an indemnification for the money and supplies levied on them by the Prince and his army. But assuming that Graham did publish a history of this complexion, we have M‘Vean’s statement, to all appearance founded upon a personal knowledge of the second edition—though he seems to regard it as the first—in these words:—‘In 1752 Dougal talks of the rebels with a great deal of virulence; in 1774 he softens his tone, and occasionally introduces apologies for their conduct.’ Possibly no one of the present generation, or of the one[21] immediately preceding it, has ever seen a copy of this second edition; and in the absence of other and more conclusive evidence, the ipse dixit of M‘Vean must be accepted, and it goes directly against the assumption that Graham changed the political colouring of the third edition of his history to please the Glasgow bailies. If his appointment as bellman took place in 1750, as Motherwell, on what have been considered too slender grounds, has suggested, there might be some reason for entertaining the idea; but taking the date given by M‘Vean as approximately accurate it seems altogether out of the question. Caldwell, with his admitted knowledge of the incident, does not even hint at such an action on Graham’s part, but only supplies a very feasible account of the explanation afforded to the magistrates. Then, again, it could not be the case surely, if the bailies were ‘wicked against onybody that had melled wi’ the rebels,’ that the best way to appease them would be to introduce into the History of the Rebellion apologies for the conduct of those whom they regarded with such detestation. Dr. David Laing, writing, apparently, with a personal acquaintance of the second edition, says:—‘The second edition, 1752, bears, “Printed for and sold by Dougal Graham, merchant in Glasgow.” In the third edition, 1774, the work was entirely re-written, and not improved.... The first edition is so extremely rare, that only one copy is known to be preserved, and, as a literary curiosity, it might be worth reprinting; although it demolishes the fine story of the author’s difficulty in obtaining the bellman’s place from the Glasgow bailies, on account of his being a Jacobite, and having joined the Pretender’s army.’[6] But more than that, there are in the third edition itself some lines which go against the notion of alterations in respect of the colouring of the events recorded. In ‘The Author’s Address to all in General’ there is this verse:—


‘Now, gentle readers, I have let ye ken,

My very thoughts, from heart and pen,

’Tis needless now for to conten’,

Or yet controule,

For there’s not a word o’t I can men’,

So ye must thole.’

He then proceeds to describe barbarities on both sides, of which he had been witness. In the preface also he says:—‘I have no dread of any Body’s finding Fault with me for telling the Truth, because Charles has no Sway here; Duke William, once the Idol of the loyal British, is gone to the House of Silence, and, I believe, if I should take the Liberty to tell the Truth of him, no Body could blame me.’ The contention here is not that Graham was not sufficiently worldly to stoop to trimming, but rather that the undoubted alterations made on the third edition were not of the character many have imagined them to be. M‘Vean says that many ‘curious passages’ in the 1752 edition were suppressed in the one of 1774, but he makes that statement with reference to the toning down of the virulence against the rebels. Of course the disappearance of the first and second editions precludes the final and decided settlement of this not unimportant question, but the arguments and citations now brought forward can only lead to the impression that Graham made no alterations on the political tone of the third edition of his history in order to win the Glasgow bailies over to his cause. There were alterations and amendments, but these, it may be surmised, would be more of a literary than political character. The suggestion that they were of a different nature appears to have arisen from a mistaken notion of M‘Vean’s statement, which notion, by some means or other, became connected with the difficulty Graham had in obtaining the office of bellman. The two together make a most probable story, but it is a story which seems to be founded upon insufficient premises. It is curious that a somewhat similar misunderstanding arose with regard to Chambers’s History of the Rebellion of 1745–6, and that in order to put the public right, the author had to pen such words as these, as a preface to his seventh[23] edition:—‘It has been customary to call it [this history] a Jacobite history. To this let me demur. Of the whole attempt of 1745 I disapprove as most men do.... But, on the other hand, those who followed Charles Edward in his hazardous enterprise, acted according to their lights, with heroic self-devotion.... Knowing how these men did all in honour, I deem it but just that their adventures should be detailed with impartiality, and their unavoidable misfortunes be spoken of with humane feeling. There is no other Jacobitism in the book that I am aware of.’

But leaving the region of debate, it will be refreshing to turn to a humorous story on record, as to the competition Graham had to face before he became bellman. There were many applicants for the situation, and the magistrates decided that the merits of each should be put to a practical test. Accordingly all the candidates were instructed to be present on a certain day in the back-yard of the old Town’s Hospital, then situated in what is now known as Great Clyde Street. The magistrates were present as judges, and there were with them, no doubt, many of the leading citizens to witness the interesting spectacle. All the other competitors having shown their skill with the bell, and demonstrated the quality of their vocal powers, Dougal’s turn came. He entered into the spirit of the contest, and his physical peculiarities would greatly assist him. He rang the bell in a surprising manner, and called out in stentorian tones—

‘Caller herring at the Broomielaw,

Three a penny, three a penny!’

adding, pawkily—

‘Indeed, my friends,

But it’s a’ a blewflum,

For the herring’s no catch’d,

And the boat’s no come.’

The victory was his, and the other competitors were out of the reckoning. He had shown himself every way suited for the office—to be endowed with that ready wit which has always been a characteristic of the true Scottish bellman—and he was[24] accordingly invested with the official garments, and with the magisterial authority to exercise his new calling. In the year 1774, probably two or three years after the events just related, the third edition of Graham’s History of the Rebellion, with amendments, was published. This edition, like its predecessors, was successful, and it is understood to be the last edition issued during the author’s lifetime. Dougal, as an official of the Corporation of Glasgow, had now become a personage of no little importance in the community. These were not the days of cheap advertisements, reaching half-a-million readers in a few hours, or of posters and handbills apprising the lieges of meetings and sales, or of the lost, stolen, and strayed. All this Graham, with the aid of his bell, had to intimate to the public. The ‘trial scene’ affords a specimen of the kind of work he had to perform. He had also, to a certain extent, to act as attendant on the magistracy. The story goes that Dougal was on one occasion passing along the Gallowgate, making some intimation or another. Several officers of the 42nd Highlanders, then returned from the American War of Independence, where their regiment had been severely handled by the colonists, were dining in the Saracen’s Head Inn, situated at the foot of the Dovehill. They knew Dougal of old, and they thought to have a joke at his expense. One of them put his head out of the window, and called to the bellman—‘What’s that you’ve got on your back, Dougal?’ This was rather a personal reference, for Dougal had the misfortune to be ‘humphie backit.’ But he was not put out by the question, for he at once silenced his interrogator by answering—‘It’s Bunker’s Hill; do you choose to mount?’ The good stories about Graham are said to have been legion, but they have, unfortunately, been allowed to die out; otherwise, a collection of his jokes and bons mots might have been a formidable rival to the now classical Joe Miller.

But death put an end to Dougal’s happy-go-lucky existence while he was still in the prime of life. He died on the 20th of July, 1779, at the age of fifty-five or fifty-six, in what circumstances, or of what trouble, cannot now be discovered.[25] These were not the days of newspaper obituaries, or he would certainly have been awarded a half-column notice. This, of itself, is unfortunate, for then many biographical details could have been obtained, and subsequent writers of Graham’s life would have been able to produce a record of his career more satisfactory to themselves and their readers. That Dougal did not die unregretted, is witnessed by an elegy of twelve stanzas, written at the time of his death by some unknown poetaster. This lament has, unfortunately, only come down to the present generation in a fragmentary form, Dr. Strang[7] having preserved seven of the verses:—

‘Ye mothers fond! O be not blate

To mourn poor Dougal’s hapless fate,

Ofttimes you know he did you get

Your wander’d weans;

To find them out, both soon and late,

He spared no pains.

‘Our footmen now sad tune may sing,

For none like him the streets made ring,

Nor quick intelligence could bring

Of caller fish,

Of salmon, herring, cod, or ling,

Just to their wish.

‘The Bull Inn and the Saracen,

Were both well served with him at e’en,

As ofttimes we have heard and seen

Him call retour,

For Edinburgh, Greenock, and Irvine,

At any hour.

‘The honest wives he pleased right well,

When he did cry braw new cheap meal,

Cheap butter, barley, cheese, and veal

Was selling fast.

They often call’d him “lucky chiel,”

As he went past.

‘Had any rambler in the night,

Broken a lamp and then ta’en flight,


Dougal would bring the same to light

’Gainst the next day,

Which made the drunk, mischievous wight

Right dearly pay.

‘It is well known unto his praise,

He well deserved the poet’s bays,

So sweet was his harmonious lays;

Loud-sounding fame

Alone can tell, how all his days

He bore that name.

‘Of witty jokes he had such store,

Johnson could not have pleased you more;

Or with loud laughter made you roar

As he could do:

He had still something ne’er before

Exposed to view.’

In concluding this biographical notice of Dougal Graham, it will be appropriate to make one or two quotations which will give a full and just idea of his personality. Our author seems to have taken a portrait of himself—and through his modesty it is not too flattering—when he thus delineates John Cheap, the Chapman:—‘John Cheap the chapman, was a very comical short thick fellow, with a broad face and a long nose; both lame and lazy, and something leacherous among the lasses; he chused rather to sit idle than work at any time, as he was a hater of hard labour. No man needed to offer him cheese and bread after he cursed he would not have it; for he would blush at bread and milk, when hungry, as a beggar doth at a bawbee. He got the name of John Cheap the chapman, by his selling twenty needles for a penny, and twa leather laces for a farthing.’ Mr. Caldwell, of Paisley, told Motherwell that ‘Dougald was an unco glib body at the pen, and could screed aff a bit penny history in less than nae time. A’ his warks took weel—they were level to the meanest capacity, and had plenty o’ coarse jokes to season them. I never kent a history of Dougald’s that stack in the sale yet, and we were aye fain to get a haud of some new piece frae him.’ Dr. Cleland, on the information of[27] Turner, an old Glasgow town-officer, was able to supply Motherwell with this notice:—‘When Turner was a boy of about ten years of age, Dougald was bellman, and being very poetical, he collected a crowd of boys round him at every corner where he rang the bell. Turner says that Dougald was “a bit wee gash bodie under five feet.”’ ‘John Falkirk’ is believed to have been a nickname assumed by, or applied to, Graham upon various occasions, and this description of him is prefixed to one of the editions of John Falkirk’s Cariches, published soon after his death:—‘John Falkirk, commonly called the Scots Piper, was a curious little witty fellow, with a round face and a broad nose. None of his companions could answer the many witty questions he proposed to them, therefore he became the wonder of the age in which he lived.... In a word, he was

‘“The wittiest fellow in his time,

Either for Prose or making Rhyme.”’

M‘Vean says:—‘Dougal was lame of one leg, and had a large hunch on his back, and another protuberance on his breast.’ Strang, referring to the portrait prefixed to the third edition of the History of the Rebellion, and reproduced in this volume, thus pictures Graham: ‘Only fancy a little man scarcely five feet in height, with a Punch-like nose, with a hump on his back, a protuberance on his breast, and a halt in his gait, donned in a long scarlet coat nearly reaching the ground, blue breeches, white stockings, shoes with large buckles, and a cocked hat perched on his head, and you have before you the comic author, the witty bellman, the Rabelais of Scottish ploughmen, herds, and handicraftsmen!’ But here is an even more graphic pen and ink portrait, some of the details, no doubt, filled in from imagination, but with the tout ensemble admirably preserved, and true to life:—‘It must have been a goodly sight to see Dougal in his official robes, the cynosure of every eye in the busy Trongate, or the life and soul of the company in Mrs. M‘Larty’s “wee bit public,” where he and his cronies were wont to quench their native thirst. He must, indeed, have been a grotesque figure. “A wee bit gash body[28] under five feet high;” with a round, broad, red and much-seamed face; a prominent nose, truncated à la Punch; an Æsopian hump on one shoulder, and a large protuberance on one breast; legs of unequal length and peculiar shape; a long scarlet coat hanging down from the shoulders to the ground; blue breeches set off by white stockings, and large brilliantly buckled shoes: with an imposing cocked hat perched fiercely on one side of the massive head.’[8]

These word paintings, together with the two portraits given in this work, will afford the reader a most vivid conception of the appearance of the king of Scottish chapmen.


It must be manifest, from all that has been stated in the preceding pages, that anything like a complete bibliography of the works of Dougal Graham is now impossible. This is the case for many reasons, kindred in their nature to those that have rendered an absolutely satisfactory biography unattainable; but more especially because, with the exception of the History of the Rebellion, Graham did not formally, on title-pages or elsewhere, acknowledge the authorship of the ballads and prose chap-books attributed to him on more or less trustworthy authority. Another important point is that he did not seem to have interfered in any way with their re-issue after their first publication, for there is evidence that in his life-time editions were published in various places, other than Glasgow and Paisley, to all appearance independent of the author.

Motherwell, in this as in other matters relating to Graham, acting under the inspiration of information given him by Mr. George Caldwell, the Paisley publisher, ascribes the following works to Dougal, adding the dates of the earliest editions he had in his possession when he wrote his article for the Paisley Magazine:—


The Whole Proceedings of Jockey and Maggy. In five parts. Carefully corrected and revised by the Author. Glasgow: printed for, and sold by, the Booksellers in Town and Country. 1783.

The Comical Sayings of Pady from Cork, with his Coat button’d behind. In all its parts. Carefully corrected by the Author. Glasgow: printed for George Caldwell, Bookseller in Paisley. 1784.

The History and Comical Transactions of Lothian Tom. In six parts. Glasgow: printed by J. & M. Robertson. 1793.

The History of John Cheap the Chapman. In three parts. Glasgow: printed and sold by J. & M. Robertson. 1786.

The Comical and Witty Jokes of John Falkirk the Merry Piper. Glasgow: printed in the year 1779.

The Scots Piper’s Queries, or John Falkirk’s Cariches for the trial of Dull Wits. (n.d.)

Janet Clinker’s Orations on the Virtues of Old Women and the Pride of the Young. (n.d.)

Leper the Tailor. Two parts. Glasgow, 1779.

The Comical History of Simple John and his Twelve Misfortunes.

Motherwell adds that ‘John Falkirk’s Jokes and Cariches’ and ‘Janet Clinker’s Orations’ were frequently found printed together, and that the last named was sometimes issued as a separate publication, with the title—‘Grannie M‘Nab’s Lecture in the Society of Clashing Wives, Glasgow, on Witless Mithers and Dandy Daughters, who bring them up to hoodwink the men, and deceive them with their braw dresses, when they can neither wash a sark, mak’ parritch, or gang to the well.’ In addition to the works already enumerated, Motherwell mentions the following, regarding which he says that though he had no authority for ascribing them to Graham he would not be surprised to find that he was the author of them:—

Merry Exploits of George Buchanan.
The Creelman’s [Coalman’s] Courtship.
The History of Buckhaven.

This concludes Motherwell’s testimony; and here is that given by Mr. M‘Vean, the antiquarian bookseller, whose authority can be scarcely less valid than that of the Paisley Poet. Dr. Strang says:—‘In a manuscript of the late Mr. M‘Vean, the antiquarian bibliopole of the High Street, we find the following list of the Opera Dugaldi, so far as he had met with them, keeping out of view his lyrical productions,[30] which were very numerous. Perhaps no man ever devoted more time to ferret out bibliographical curiosities connected with Scotland than Mr. M‘Vean....’:—

1. George Buchanan, six parts.

2. Paddy from Cork, three parts.

3. Leper the Tailor, two parts.

4. John Falkirk the Merry Piper.

5. Janet Clinker’s Oration on the Virtues of the Old, and the Pride of Young, Women.

6. John Falkirk’s Curiosities [Cariches], five parts.

7. John Cheap the Chapman, three parts.

8. Lothian Tom, six parts.

9. The History of Buckhaven, with cuts.

10. Jocky and Maggy’s Courtship, five parts.

11. The Follower [Follies] of Witless Women; or, the History of Haveral Wives.

12. The Young Creelman’s [Coalman’s] Courtship to a Creelwife’s Daughter, two parts.

13. Simple John and his Twelve Misfortunes.

14. The Grand Solemnity of the Tailor’s Funeral, who lay nine days in state on his own Shop-board; together with his last Will.

15. The Remarkable Life and Transactions of Alexander Hamwinkle, Heckler, Dancing-master, and Ale-seller in Glasgow, now banished for Coining.

16. The Dying Groans of Sir John Barleycorn, being his grievous Complaint against the Brewers of bad Ale; to which is added, Donald Drouth’s Reply, with a large Description of his Drunken Wife.

17. A Warning to the Methodist Preachers.

18. A Second Warning to the Methodist Preachers.

Strang himself, who, in some respects, must be regarded as an authority upon matters relating to Graham, does not condescend upon bibliographical details; and the lists now given consequently include the testimony of the only two writers whose opinions or suggestions bear with anything like direct authority on the subject.

Two poems entitled John Hielandman’s Remarks on Glasgow and Turnimspike have been unhesitatingly attributed to Graham by all authorities; Tugal M‘Tagger, another metrical production, was believed by M‘Vean to be his composition, though there has been some subsequent questioning in the matter; while the following have been claimed or suggested as his work by M‘Vean, in a note to his edition of M‘Ure’s History of Glasgow:—Verses on the Pride of Women, a[31] poem on the Popular Superstitions of Scotland, a Dialogue between the Pope and the Prince of Darkness, and an epitaph on the Third Command. Professor Fraser, in his list, inserts Proverbs on the Pride of Women, in addition to the verses on the same subject; but he gives no authority for the addition.

Having thus traced the results of the labours of those who have already written concerning Graham’s miscellaneous works, something must now be said about his History of the Rebellion. The total disappearance of the first and second editions of that curious publication renders, as has already been hinted, any statements or opinions regarding them of doubtful value, with the exception, of course, of the date of their issue to the public. The advertisement announcing the intended issue of the first edition in 1746, has been quoted, and is undeniably authentic; but whether the work was published immediately after, or some time later, is a moot point. That it was published in that year is indicated by what follows, which is believed to be the contents of the title-page of the editio princeps:—

‘A full, particular, and true Account of the Rebellion, in the years 1745–6.

Composed by the Poet D. Graham,

In Stirlingshire he lives at hame.

To the Tune of The Gallant Grahams. To which is added, Several other Poems by the same Author. Glasgow, Printed and Sold by James Duncan, &c., 1746. Price fourpence halfpenny.’

This edition was a duodecimo consisting of 84 pp. Probably the matter it contained, assuming no alterations of this portion, would end with the ninth chapter of later issues, the last lines of which form an appropriate conclusion to the fatal adventure of Prince Charles:—

‘This was a day of lamentation,

Made many brave men leave their nation.

Their eyes were open’d, all was vain,

Now grief and sorrow was their gain.’

It may be interesting to note that the published price of this edition, was, if the title-page quoted is authentic, a halfpenny more than that at which it was announced; but that is a[32] trivial affair compared with what is suggested by the words—‘To the Tune of The Gallant Grahams.’ This may be taken as indicating that the matter of the first edition was not altogether got up in the purely historical method, but that it was to a certain extent what might be called either an historic drama, or a dramatic history. This idea may not be accurate, but the apparent impossibility of referring to the first edition itself precludes any definite knowledge on the subject. Fraser, speaking of the disappearance of this edition, remarks:—‘Yet, at least a few copies of the original history must be hidden somewhere. So late as 1830, the author of “Waverley” had one in his possession, a fac-simile of which he intended to publish, with the view of presenting it to the Maitland Club, but sickness intervened to derange his plans, and two years later, death stepped in and snatched the pen from the great magician.’[9] Again, Dr. David Laing says:—‘The first edition is so extremely rare that only one copy is known to be preserved, and, as a literary curiosity, it might be worth reprinting.’[10] It is to be regretted that Dr. Laing’s statement was not more explicit. As for the assumption made by Professor Fraser, it is only natural to imagine that the whole edition cannot have altogether disappeared, and that a copy or two should still be in existence. But he takes for granted regarding Sir Walter Scott’s intentions, and his preparedness to carry them into effect, rather more than the words of Dr. Strang, on which he seems to have founded, will legitimately bear. This is what Strang says:—‘So late as the year 1830, Sir Walter Scott even “entertained the idea of printing a correct copy of the original edition,” with the view of presenting it to the Maitland Club as his contribution, stating, as he did in a letter addressed to the writer, that he thought “it really contained some traits and circumstances of manners worth preserving.”’[11] Scott’s intention is here evident, but it in no way bears that he was in possession of a first edition. In point of fact,[33] he had no copy of it at the time of his death, two years after this letter was written, as a reference to the catalogue of the Abbotsford Library will show. That catalogue contains this reference to Graham’s History:—‘Graham’s (Dougal, Bellman of Glasgow) Impartial History of the Rise, Progress, and Extinction of the late Rebellion, &c. (in doggrel verse). 3rd edit. 18mo. Glasgow: 1774.’ So far for the first edition.

As for the second edition of the History of the Rebellion, published in 1752, it has also disappeared. There is no reason to believe that, beyond a slight enlargement and some few alterations, there was any material change in the work. Its tone is indicated by the remark made by M‘Vean:—‘The History of the Rebellion, published by Dougal in 1752, differs very much from the third edition, published in 1774. This last appears to have been greatly altered and enlarged, and many curious passages in the early edition are suppressed in this. In 1752 Dougal talks of the rebels with a great deal of virulence, in 1774 he softens his tone, and occasionally introduces apologies for their conduct. In 1752 Dougal styles himself “merchant in Glasgow;” a rhyming merchant could not be expected to be rich, and he says—

“You Papists are a cursed race,”’ &c.

The lines, of which the one quoted is the first, have already been given in the biography, and there is no need for their repetition here. But it is worthy of note that M‘Vean states, to a certain extent indirectly, that they formed part of the matter in the second edition, and if that is the case they, it must be admitted, fully confirm his statement as to that edition containing passages in which Graham talked of the rebels with a great deal of virulence; and, possibly, they may be taken as specimens of many others of a like nature. Some writers have suggested that Graham may have learned the printing trade while this edition was passing through the press, and it has been suspected that he may have had something to do with the printing of it himself. That is not likely, or M‘Vean, who appears to have had a somewhat intimate acquaintance with the work, would have mentioned it.


No such doubts, however, exist as to the third edition of the History of the Rebellion, which, though rare, may be seen occasionally. It was published in 1774, and bears on the title-page this lengthy statement of its contents:—‘An Impartial History of the Rise, Progress and Extinction of the late Rebellion in Britain, in the years 1745 and 1746, giving an account of every Battle, Skirmish, and Siege, from the time of the Pretender’s coming out of France, until he landed in France again: with Plans of the Battles of Prestonpans, Clifton, Falkirk, and Culloden, with a real Description of his Dangers and Travels through the Highland Isles, after the Break at Culloden. By D. Graham. The Third Edition, with Amendments. Glasgow: Printed by John Robertson. MDCCLXXIV.’ The narrative in this edition occupies 174 pp. It consists of fifteen chapters, containing in all 5562 lines, and is preceded by a preface of two pages, the title-page, and a full-page woodcut of the author, bearing underneath it this couplet:—

‘From brain and pen, O virtue drope,

Vice fly as Charlie, and John Cope.’

At the conclusion of the narrative are—‘A Quaker’s Address to Prince Charles, shewing what was the Cause and Ground of his Misfortunes,’ of 146 lines; a copy of ‘The Rebels’ Orders before the Battle of Culloden’; ‘Miss Flora’s Lament—A Song,’ of ten four-line stanzas; ‘The Author’s Address to all in general,’ of fourteen six-line stanzas; and two pages of contents—making a total of 192 pages. The text of the third edition has been used in the reprinting of the History of the Rebellion for this volume.

The subsequent editions, so far as they have been discovered, need only be mentioned. No trace has been found of the fourth edition, though it must have been published soon after Graham’s death. The fifth edition received this notice from a writer of last century:—‘In 1787, “An impartial history of the rebellion in Britain, in the years 1745 and 1746, by Douglas Graham” (the fifth edition), was printed at Glasgow by J. & M. Robertson. This history is in Hudibrastic[35] metre. This is a sorry performance.’[12] The seventh edition was published in Glasgow by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, in 1803; the eighth by the same firm in 1808; the ninth in Falkirk, by T. Johnston, 1812; while the last, what its number it would be difficult to say, was published in Aberdeen, in 1850, conjointly by Alexander Watson and Alexander Murdoch. The Aberdeen edition does not bear Graham’s name on the title-page, and instead of the author’s preface, it contains a ‘Genealogical and Historical Introduction,’ taken from the introduction to Chambers’s History of the Rebellion. It is remarkable that the Advocates’ Library, Edinburgh, should only possess an eighth edition.

Something must now be said about the miscellaneous poetical works of Dougal Graham. The best known of these may be said to be John Hielandman’s Remarks on Glasgow, a humorous sketch of considerable power, valuable also, because of the information it affords regarding the leading features of the City of St. Mungo in the middle of last century. M‘Vean has put it on record that this poem had long been popular, although it was not generally known that it was by Graham that Glasgow had been ‘married to immortal verse.’[13] The date of its first publication is unknown, but it has been generally supposed to have been written in the decade subsequent to Dougal’s settlement in Glasgow in 1746. The earliest copy that has been seen by any writer was in one of the early penny broadsides issued by J. & M. Robertson, of the Saltmarket, Glasgow, who long occupied a prominent position as publishers of popular literature. As a literary production John Hielandman has not attracted so much notice as might have been expected from writers on Scottish literature, but even a casual glance will show that it is a composition of great merit, abounding in graphic touches and humorous situations. It must be admitted, however, that the interest attaching to it has been almost entirely local, and to that circumstance may be attributed the fact that its merits have been frequently overlooked.


Turnimspike has received more attention than any other of Graham’s poems, with the exception, perhaps, of his History of the Rebellion; and it has obtained the unqualified approval of all the literary antiquaries who have had occasion to speak of it. Sir Walter Scott said the Turnimspike alone was sufficient to entitle Graham to immortality.[14] Dr. Charles Mackay has taken advantage of a note upon it, to tell a story which has considerable bearing upon the state of feeling exhibited in the poem itself. ‘Turnimspike, or Turnpike,’ he says, ‘is ludicrously descriptive of the agonies of a real Highlander at the introduction of toll gates, and other paraphernalia of modern civilisation, into the remote mountain fastnesses of his native land. Long after the suppression of the Rebellion, great consternation was excited in Ross-shire, by the fact that a sheriff’s officer had actually served a writ in Tain. “Lord, preserve us!” said an Highlandman to his neighbour, “What’ll come next? The law has reached Tain.”’[15] Burns, in his Strictures on Scottish Song, expressed admiration for Turnimspike, on account of its local humour, but he did not seem to have known the author; though Motherwell, in his edition of the works of the Ayrshire bard, supplies a few notes concerning Graham, to whom he attributes the poem. Stenhouse, in his illustrative notes to Johnson’s Museum, says—‘This truly comic ballad, beginning Hersell be Highland Shentleman, by an anonymous author, does not appear either in the Tea-Table Miscellany, or the Orpheus Caledonius. It is preserved, however, in Herd’s Collection of 1769.... From its excellent broad humour, and the ludicrous specimen of a Highlander’s broken English, it has long been a popular favourite in the lower districts of Scotland. It is adapted to the ancient air of “Clout the Caldron”.’ No writer has yet ventured to fix the date of the publication of this poem. It may, however, be pointed out that the first General Turnpike Act for Scotland was 7 Geo. III., c. 42 (1766–7), and it is not improbable the passing of this Act may have been the occasion[37] of the verses which, it has been seen, obtained a place in Herd’s Collection in 1769. They were, in all likelihood, issued in broadside or chap-book form previous to that date.

The two songs already discussed, are now without quibble regarded as the work of Dougal Graham; but there are two others probably from his pen, which bear the mark of his genius, were published in his time, but which have not yet been generally regarded as his by literary antiquaries. The first of these is Tugal M‘Tagger, unhesitatingly ascribed to Dougal by the venerable M‘Vean. It has been suggested that this work has traces of Alexander Rodger, on the ground that the rhythm has a flow similar to that characteristic of Rodger’s poems; but this reason of itself cannot be taken as evidence in favour of the suggestion, in view of the fact that Graham’s style was itself very uneven, and, probably on account of carelessness, some of his pieces are as bad as others are good. M‘Vean’s statement, also, must be allowed to go a considerable length in a matter of this kind. The song is in Dougal’s best vein, and may be regarded as a worthy counterpart to Turnimspike. The following extract, by pointing to the occasion and probable date of the composition, helps towards the conclusion that it was the work of Graham:—‘The Court of Session, in 1754, made an Act of Sederunt, establishing an equality of ranking among all arrestors and poinders within a certain period of bankruptcy. But this was a mere experiment; and upon the expiration of the Act, which was in force for only four years, it was not renewed. The law fell back into its old state of imperfection; priority gave preference, and, on the slightest alarm, creditors poured in with diligence against the unhappy debtor, and the most unjust preferences took place among the creditors. In this position it continued until 1772, when the first Sequestration Act, 12 Geo. III., c. 72, was passed. It enacted that, on a debtor’s bankruptcy, and upon a petition to the Court of Session by any creditor, a sequestration of his personal estate should be awarded, which should have the effect of equalising all arrestments and poindings used within thirty days of the[38] date of petition; that the estate should be vested in a factor proposed by the creditors, and be distributed by him according to the directions of Court; or, if it should seem more eligible to the creditors, extrajudicially by a trustee elected by them, as under a private trust deed. When, in 1783, this statute came to be renewed, the alarm occasioned by the novelty of the arrangements had given way to a conviction that bankruptcies were much more beneficially administered under the new system, imperfect as it was, than under the Common Law.’[16] Such a radical alteration on the law would afford excellent opportunity for a popular ballad, and as there is no good reason for doubting M‘Vean’s statement that Graham was the author of Tugal M‘Tagger, it must in the meantime be accepted as his production. The Act being passed in 1772, the ballad would probably be published in the same year. That it retained its popularity for a long time, is attested by a note written upon it in 1869:—‘Tugal M‘Tagger was a very popular song in Glasgow about forty years ago. It used to be sung by Mr. Livingstone at the Theatre Royal there.’[17] Even yet, it is not unknown to the people, and may be found in some penny collections.

Another song, believed to be by Graham, but which has not yet met with general approval, is an old version of Had awa frae me, Donald. Stenhouse has indirectly suggested it as Dougal’s work, by saying that it was probably by the same hand that produced Turnimspike, and he mentions it as appearing in Herd’s Collection in 1769. This song appears also in The Blackbird, a collection of songs, ‘few of which,’ according to the title-page, ‘are to be found in any collection,’ published in Edinburgh in 1764. The likeness which struck Stenhouse must also force upon every reader of the piece the same suspicion; and without being dogmatic upon the point, the editor of these sheets sees no reason why the version of Had[39] awa frae me, Donald, given in this volume, should not be admitted into the list of works ‘probably’ written by Graham.

This includes, so far as can be discovered, the metrical works, still existing, which have been attributed to Graham. There are others, M‘Vean mentions, but none of them appear to have been seen since his time; and in the hope that they may be ultimately discovered, their names, or, perhaps it may be more proper to say, the subjects of which they treat, are here given:—Verses on the Popular Superstitions of Scotland, Rhythmical Dialogue between the Pope and the Prince of Darkness, An Epitaph on the Third Command, and Verses on the Pride of Women. As for the second of these pieces, it may be interesting to note that a twelve-page pamphlet was issued in 1792, bearing a similar title—Dialogue between the Pope and Devil, on the present political state of Europe. This, however, refers to the events immediately preceding the French Revolution, and cannot, therefore, be looked upon as the work of Graham. A passing reference is made by the Devil to the beginnings of the Reform movement in Glasgow, in these words:—

‘In Glasgow freedom sounds in every mouth;

And if I could but deign to tell the truth,

Not since the day I first saw Paradise,

Did earth maintain such a respectful race.’

But the works upon which the fame of Dougal Graham chiefly rests, are his chap-books. On this matter Motherwell said that if Graham had only written the History of the Rebellion, ‘we believe he never would have occupied our thoughts for a moment; but as one who subsequently contributed largely to the amusement of the lower classes of his countrymen, we love to think of the facetious bellman.’[18] It has already been stated that the period during which the most of these chap-books were written and published, was probably between 1752 and 1774, although the first editions of several are known to have appeared subsequent to the latter date. On a subject in[40] which he took so much fruitful interest, no apology is needed for again quoting Motherwell, who says:—‘Of some of Graham’s penny histories we had a fair assortment at one time, principally printed by J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, Glasgow, which we believe might well be esteemed first editions, but some unprincipled scoundrel has bereaved us of that treasure. There are a number of infamous creatures, who acquire large libraries of curious things, by borrowing books they never mean to return, and some not unfrequently slide a volume into their pocket, at the very moment you are fool enough to busy yourself in showing them some nice typographic gem, or bibliographic rarity. These dishonest and heartless villains, ought to be cut above the breath whenever they cross the threshold. They deserve no more courtesy than was of old vouchsafed to witches, under bond and indenture to the Devil.’[19] Out of the ‘scanty wreck’ left him, Motherwell was able to furnish the list given in a previous page.[20] This was probably the nearest that any collector ever attained to having a collection of first or very early editions of Graham’s chap-books; but even in 1828 it was hardly possible to state when the first editions were issued. It would be worse than useless to endeavour to trace the chronological order of their publication, or to fix definitely dates for one or all of them. The fact seems to be that the first editions have either all disappeared, or else bear in their title-page the vague, but not uncommon intimation—‘Printed in this present year.’ The danger of attempting such an arrangement may be best shown by a statement made by the late Sheriff Strathern, a learned local antiquary, in a paper on ‘Chapman Literature,’ delivered before the Glasgow Archæological Society, on the 6th April, 1863. Mr. Strathern, in the course of a somewhat exhaustive sketch, says:—‘It is difficult to give them in the order of publication; but I have, at some little trouble, collected a few of the editions, and, as near as I can reach it, this is the order in which the works appeared. His earliest was “The Whole Proceedings[41] of Jockey and Maggy,” in five parts. It was published in 1783.... “The Comical Sayings of Paddy from Cork” followed, and was printed for George Caldwell, Paisley, in 1784,’ etc. Then follows a long list of chaps by Graham, which, according to Sheriff Strathern, were published subsequent to 1784. The learned Sheriff may possibly have been correct in his surmise that the works he had enumerated were published in the order he had given them, but surely not on the understanding that Graham’s ‘earliest’ was issued in 1783? It is not at all likely that Graham left his works for publication after his death. Indeed, there is positive evidence that they were in the market long before 1783, and any edition of that date must be a reprint. This incident of itself shows the danger of attempting to fix dates for Dougal’s ‘penny histories,’ or even the order of their publication, without the absolute evidence of the books themselves, if they bear any, or the testimony of any one who, like Mr. Caldwell, actively took part in their issue to the public. Even Caldwell offers no information on the matter. The only statement in this direction, upon which any reliance can be placed, is one by Motherwell, when he states that the editio princeps of the second part of Leper the Taylor was published in 1779. Sheriff Strathern may have fallen into error by trusting the date, 1787, at which Motherwell fixed Graham’s death. That date, however, was only a surmise; and the true date was supplied by Strang.

It is a matter of some interest to notice that while many of Graham’s most popular chap-books have been issued to the public subsequent to the period to which literature of this class is assumed to belong, these modern editions, if they may be so called, have for the most part been greatly mutilated. Nearly all of them have been cut down, not apparently because of a desire to keep out the indelicate allusions which most of them contain—for comparatively few of these have been taken out—but on account of the exigencies of printing. In some cases a chap-book, originally of twenty-four or thirty-six closely printed pages, has been compressed into twenty-five, sixteen, or even eight pages of much larger print. The consequence[42] is, that most of the modern editions are utterly useless for all practical purposes, and, like most other abridgments, the souls of their originals have been driven from them. The truth of this remark will be indicated in the following pages; but it will be borne out to its fullest extent by a comparison between the early editions the editor has been able to reprint in these volumes, and those now in circulation.

The Whole Proceedings of Jockey and Maggy, admitted by all authorities to have been written by Graham, may be noticed first, as being one of his ablest and most characteristic works. It is written with great dramatic power, and affords many curious insights into manners and customs about the middle of last century. In respect of language, also, it possesses considerable value. Professor Fraser suggests that the first edition was in all likelihood published as early as 1755, but, as has already been seen, it would be inadvisable to fix any date, in the absence of either evidence or reasonable suspicion. In the work itself there is nothing but what might have been written at any time during the whole period of Dougal’s life. The edition, reprinted in this collection, bears the imprint:—‘Glasgow: Printed and Sold by J. & J. Robertson. MDCCLXXIX’—and is the earliest of which any mention has yet been made. It was thus published in the year of Graham’s death, and as the title-page states that it was ‘Carefully Corrected and Revised by the Author,’ it was probably one of the latest works upon which he was engaged. While most certainly not a first edition, it has the advantage of being, to a certain extent, fresh from the author, and on that account possesses a special value and interest. Motherwell’s copy was dated 1783, and also bore to have undergone the author’s revision. These editions both occupy thirty-six pages, and are in five parts; but in 1793 an edition, consisting only of three parts, was published. Since then, the three-part edition has been the one most commonly issued to the public, and it may still be found for sale. In 1823, however, the complete edition was reprinted, and a few copies of it may be seen occasionally. The abridgment, it must be noted, has seriously marred Graham’s production. In it the first two parts are[43] so far almost literal transcripts of the earlier editions, but parts three, four, and five, are omitted, a short and very imperfect summary of part five being inserted for part three. In addition, an epitaph and elegy on Jockey’s mother, whose death and burial are graphically described in the last part, are consistently left out.

Of a somewhat similar character to the chap-book just noticed is The Coalman’s Courtship of the Creelwife’s Daughter, though it is by no means so valuable as an exhibition of manners and superstitions. It contains, nevertheless, many interesting references, and it gives a vigorous description of real life among the lower classes in and around Edinburgh. Motherwell, it has been seen, only hesitatingly ascribed this work to Graham; but M‘Vean inserts it in his bibliography without any reservation, though it is curious that both these writers should make a mistake in naming it The Creelman’s Courtship. There is no good reason to doubt that Graham was the author of it, for the broad treatment of the subject, the animated dialogue, and the graphic descriptions, are all in Dougal’s best style. The edition reproduced in these volumes is the earliest to which any reference has yet been made, having been issued by Messrs. J. & J. Robertson, from their Saltmarket press, in 1782, though it bears on the title-page to be the tenth edition of the work. M‘Vean stated that the chap contained only two parts, but he had fallen into a mistake, for it really consists of three parts. The modern editions, with the exception of a few typographical alterations, are exact reprints of the one of 1782. Among those we have seen are two undated editions, bearing the following imprints—‘Glasgow: Printed for M‘Kenzie & Hutchison, Booksellers, 16, Saltmarket’; ‘Edinburgh: Printed by J. Morren, Cowgate.’

Very different in its design from the two works already mentioned is Lothian Tom, a narrative of the ‘comical transactions’ of a roguish fellow while sowing his wild oats. Many of the stories told of the hero of the work are far from being new, but they have been given a local colouring which imparts an appearance of consistency to the book; and, incidentally, little circumstances of life and character are brought[44] in, giving additional value to it as illustrating the home life of the Scottish peasantry of last century. In the chap-literature of England and Scotland, there are many other productions of a similar kind, in which the heroes rejoice in the name of Tom; a circumstance that has given point to a suggestion that the word ‘tomfoolery’ may owe its origin to the mad pranks of the Toms of popular story. South of the Tweed the great favourites were—Wanton Tom, or the Merry History of Tom Stitch the Taylor; The Merry Conceits of Long Tom the Carrier; The Mad Pranks of Tom Tram; and another one with the euphonious title of Swalpo. All these, like Lothian Tom, are but collections of jokes of which their respective Toms are made the central figures. There is no reason to believe that any of them were in the slightest degree really biographical. The modern reprints of Lothian Tom consist only of five parts, and in this and several minor details they differ from the earlier editions, in which there are six parts. Messrs. J. & M. Robertson, of the Saltmarket, Glasgow, in 1793 and 1807, published editions of the work; and in 1816 another was issued in Edinburgh, while there are several editions still to be found without any date. A six-part edition, without the song to be referred to further on, was issued by C. Randall, Stirling, in 1801. The edition which has been used by the editor of these volumes, was published in Edinburgh, in three numbers—including all the six parts—the title-page of each being embellished with a rough woodcut of a chapman full stride on the road-way. The first number bears the imprint—‘Printed and Sold in Niddery’s Wynd, 1775’; the second is dated 1777; while the third has no date, though it appears to be quite as old as the others. This, the earliest edition of which mention has yet been made, is a most unique copy. Each number occupies eight pages. No attention is paid to the breaking off in the middle of a part, or even of a sentence, and the folios run right through. A large portion of the third number is taken up by ‘Pady’s New Catechism,’ properly belonging to another of Graham’s chap-books, entitled, Pady from Cork, and on that account it has been left out here.


At the close of the third number of this edition of Lothian Tom, and reproduced in the second volume, is ‘The Plowman’s Glory; or, Tom’s Song,’ a doggrel description of the pleasures of country life; but it is a piece which requires more than passing reference. The first eight lines are as follow:—

‘As I was a walking one morning in the spring,

I heard a young plowman so sweetly to sing,

And as he was singing, these words he did say,

No life is like the plowman’s in the month of May.

The lark in the morning rises from her nest,

And mounts in the air with the dew on her breast,

And with the jolly plowman she’ll whistle and she’ll sing,

And at night she’ll return to her nest back again.’

It is interesting to notice that Cromek has attributed lines almost identical with these to Robert Burns,[21] and the most eminent editors of the works of the Ayrshire Bard have followed him. The lines as given by Cromek read thus:—

‘As I was a wand’ring ae morning in spring,

I heard a young ploughman sae sweetly to sing,

And as he was singin’ thir words he did say,

There’s nae life like the Ploughman in the month o’ sweet May—

The lav’rock in the morning she’ll rise frae her nest,

And mount to the air wi’ the dew on her breast,

And wi’ the merry Ploughman she’ll whistle and sing,

And at night she’ll return to her nest back again.’

In a foot-note Cromek remarks—‘It is pleasing to mark those touches of sympathy which shew the sons of genius to be of one kindred.—In the following passage from the poem of his countryman, the same figure is illustrated with characteristic simplicity; and never were the tender and the sublime in poetry more happily united, nor a more affectionate tribute paid to the memory of Burns.

—— “Thou simple bird,

Of all the vocal quire, dwell’st in a home

The humblest; yet thy morning song ascends

Nearest to Heaven;—sweet emblem of his[22] song,

Who sung thee wakening by the daisy’s side!”’


It can only be inferred from the nature of this foot-note that Cromek believed the verses to have been written by Burns, notwithstanding the fact that he had Gilbert Burns’s statement that his brother was not their author. The subsequent editorial history of the lines is still more interesting. In the Kilmarnock edition of the poet’s works, they are given with this note:—‘Although this double stanza exists in Burns’s own writing, his brother, Gilbert, assured Cromek that the little song was sung by every ploughman and ploughman’s mistress in Ayrshire, before the poet was born.’[23] The Rev. Dr. P. Hately Waddel, and the Rev. George Gilfillan, in their editions of the works of Burns, both insert the verses without any comment. Mr. William Scott Douglas, one of the latest and most competent editors of Burns, has this note upon the ‘Ploughman’s Song’:—‘Gilbert Burns expressed to Cromek a strong doubt regarding his brother’s authorship of these lines, as also of some other pieces found in his handwriting, and included in the Reliques of the poet; but as the authorship of the “Bonie Muirhen”—one of the pieces referred to—has been clearly traced to Burns, we do not feel at liberty to reject the lines in the text.’[24] Mr. Douglas inserts the verses under the date 1780, when Burns was twenty-two years of age; and in this connection it is worthy of notice that another editor has put it under the year 1794, when the poet was thirty-six years of age.

The obvious suggestion from what has been said is, that Burns was not the author of the ‘Lines on a Merry Ploughman,’ which his editors, after the dogmatic statement of Gilbert Burns, have more or less insisted upon attributing to him; and, as a corollary, that the verses having been found among others at the end of one of Dougal Graham’s chap-books, as a consistent finish to the exploits of his hero, Lothian Tom, in an edition published when Burns was a youth, their authorship may be more clearly traced to Graham. With a due admiration for the talents of Graham, we must[47] submit that the character of the verse, even as given in a slightly polished state by Cromek, was not worthy of Burns, who said himself that his work was all the result of careful revisal. Graham’s verses often display false quantity; his rhyme is often far from true; and his grammar is frequently lame: but these are faults which the greatest detractor of the genius of Robert Burns would find it difficult to lay to his charge. It might be urged, of course, that this may have been a youthful production of Burns’s pen; but it is more probable, from his known habit of noting down any remnant of song he found among the people, that he wrote out what he had heard sung from his infancy. In support of this idea, there is Gilbert Burns’s assurance ‘that the little song was sung by every ploughman and ploughman’s mistress in Ayrshire before the poet was born.’ To us it seems conclusive that Burns was not its author, and that, from its position in an early—not by any means the first—edition of one of Graham’s most popular chap-books, to Graham must be attributed its composition, with all the praise or blame that may attach to it.

The History of John Cheap the Chapman belongs to the same class of chap-books as Lothian Tom, though it has been usual to believe that, unlike the latter, it was to a certain extent autobiographical, and that in it Graham related some of his own experiences. It has been already seen that its value in this respect, if it has any, cannot be estimated on account of the doubt as to whether it is autobiography or fiction. There can be no question, however, that it contains a most valuable account of the real life of the Scottish Chapman, with many vivid glimpses of home life in Scotland in the middle of last century. Like all the others, its indelicacy is sometimes notorious, but like them its truthfulness must be its apology. The earliest dated edition we have seen is one published in 1798 by Johnston of Falkirk; but another, in some slight details more complete, was issued by J. Morren, of the Cowgate, Edinburgh, about the beginning of this, or the closing year of the eighteenth, century. The modern editions are almost identical with the ones mentioned.


The plan of another of Graham’s chap-books, Fun upon Fun, or the Comical Tricks of Leper the Taylor, is very similar to that which has been pointed out as characteristic of Lothian Tom and John Cheap. Leper is a madcap whose impudent doings bear a strong resemblance to stories told of similar beings in this and other countries; and the design of the author seems to have been to lay before his readers a collection of tales grouped round one central figure, rather than to give a record of the life of any real person. This, however, has been done so skilfully—by local colouring, and the introduction of little incidents which must have had their counterparts in the every-day life of the people—that the work has always been most deservedly popular. In point of time, this seems to have been one of the latest, if not the latest, of Graham’s publications, for Motherwell was able to give the title and date of what he believed to be the first edition of the second part as follows:—‘Fun upon Fun; or the Comical Tricks of Leper the Taylor. Part II. Glasgow: Printed for the Company of Flying Stationers in Town and Country. 1779.’ As the work is in two parts, it is probable that the first would be published a short time before the date mentioned. Motherwell also records that there was this nota bene to the second part—‘The Third Part will contain a variety of his Witty Tricks in the different periods of his Life.’ It is a question whether Graham was ever able to fulfil his promise; for his death occurred, as has been seen, in the July of the year in which the second part was issued. The fact that, in later editions of Leper the Taylor, there is added to the two original parts one giving an account of The Grand Solemnity of the Taylor’s Funeral, quite in the same style, and a consistent conclusion to the life of the Sartorian worthy, affords reasonable presumption that he did so, and without any hesitation the third part has, like the others, been accepted as the work of Graham. This chap-book is in many respects akin to several booklets which found a place in the popular literature of England; but possibly its counterpart may be found in Joaks upon Joaks, or No Joak like a True Joak, being the Diverting[49] Humours of Mr. John Ogle, a Life Guard Man. As for the modern editions, they differ in many respects from the early ones, though not materially, except that they leave out the third part. The earliest dated edition that we have seen was printed by C. Randall, Stirling, in 1799. It is without the third part, and is of sixteen pages. The next was ‘Printed in the year 1816’; but the title-page does not state the town of publication. It contains all the three parts, and occupies twenty-four pages duodecimo. Another edition, almost identical with the one mentioned, was ‘Printed in the year 1820,’ and in this case also the town of issue is not stated. In what appears to be a chap-book of English manufacture, without date or place of publication, there is appended the Grand Solemnity of the Taylor’s Funeral, on which some slight alterations have been made, notably in the way of Anglicising the names of the characters. On the title-page of the work mentioned is a rough woodcut, representing the lowering of a body into the grave, while in the back-ground stands a primitive-looking hearse, drawn by two horses.

The two chap-books that now fall to be spoken of are very different in their nature from any to which reference has yet been made, and, indeed, they may be said to form a class by themselves, for they are unique in the popular literature of either Scotland or England. The History of Haverel Wives, ‘written,’ as the title-page states, ‘by Humphrey Clinker, the Clashing Wives’ Clerk,’ one of the many cognomens adopted by Graham, is a ‘comical’ and exceedingly interesting conference between two old women, on their experiences of the past. The object of the author seems to have been to bring together in small compass as much folk-lore as possible, and this he prefaces by the remark, that he had ‘furnished the public with a small collection of old wives’ noted sayings and wonders, which, they relate, happened in their own time; also, what has been told them by their forefathers.’ The intention is thus shown to have been to hold the old wives up to a little gentle satire, though this generation must regard the result as being a most valuable contribution to the antiquities of Scotland.[50] The language used is frequently very old, and ancient superstitions and beliefs are given expression to in the words of those who more or less put faith in them. This chap-book, also, must be esteemed because of the descriptions given in it of the doings of an age long before the period usually dealt with by works of a similar nature—an age, the great events of which have been duly recorded by historians who have paid but little attention to the lives of the peasantry, or to the motives of their actions. It would not be too much to say that not within the whole range of Scottish literature could a more graphic account be obtained of the manner of observing the first day of the week in Scotland in pre-reformation and prelatic times, than is to be found in this unconsidered booklet The second chap-book of this class is Janet Clinker’s Oration on the Virtues of the Old Women, and the Pride of the Young. It is put forward as having been dictated by Janet Clinker, one of the Haverel Wives, to ‘Humphrey Clinker,’ and it consists of a comparison between the women of her young days and those of the days in which she then lived. The whole tone of the work is satirical, and the young women are made to undergo a severe reprimand for their proud and upsetting behaviour. These chap-books were frequently printed together, though a 1781 edition of the Haverel Wives concludes with the simple intimation—‘Humphrey’s Aunt Janet is yet alive, and has made an oration in praise of the old women, and on the pride of the young.’ Another edition, undated, published by Morren of Edinburgh, is also without Janet’s Oration, but it concludes by stating that the two old women went and ‘birl’d their bawbees,’ and made an agreement

‘Never to drink ae drop of tea,

But stout brown ale and whisky bare’—

a conclusion quite different from what is given in the edition of 1781, for in it Maggy, Janet’s gossip, dies ‘keeping her purse in her hand.’ An edition was published in Glasgow, in 1807, by J. & J. Robertson. This is the first in which we have seen the two chap-books printed together, and it is also the earliest copy of Janet Clinker’s Oration that has come[51] under our notice. The Haverel Wives, in this case, is reprinted from the 1781 edition, and only in one or two slight matters, apparently typographical, differs from it. The Oration was printed alone in 1824, with the title—‘Grannie M‘Nab’s Lecture in the Society of Clashing Wives, Glasgow, on Witless Mothers and their Dandy Daughters, who bring them up to hood-wink the men, and deceive them with their braw dresses, when they can neither wash a sark, mak’ parritch, or gang to the well. Printed for the Booksellers.’ A chap-book bearing the title of The Art of Courtship,[25] an Undated edition of which was published by M. Randall, of Stirling, contains matter somewhat similar to much that is contained in Janet Clinker’s Oration, and the part that relates to the choosing of a wife is quoted almost verbatim et literatim. It is somewhat remarkable that no editions of these works were, so far as we have been able to discover, issued subsequent to 1824.

The Comical and Witty Jokes of John Falkirk, the Merry Piper, one of the least known of Graham’s chap-books, is, as its name indicates, merely a collection of facetiæ. Many of the tales in it are cleverly told, while a few have nothing to recommend them to the reader. Motherwell, on the authority of Caldwell, attributes the work to Graham, and all other writers on the subject have concurred with him. We have only seen one edition of John Falkirk, and it was published in Edinburgh in 1777; but Motherwell notes one issued in Glasgow two years later. No modern edition of it has been published. The Scots Piper’s Queries, or John Falkirk’s Cariches, is regarded as a sequel to the Jokes of the same worthy. The Cariches are well known, and have long been popular, though it cannot be said there is anything particularly original about them. Many of the jokes in them were venerable in Graham’s time, but he has touched them up to suit the tastes of the age in which he wrote. Not a few of[52] the questions and answers have a distinct flavour of the proverbs of Solomon; and while the expressions used are sometimes far from delicate, a good deal of worldly wisdom is to be found in them. The intention of the author, however, seems to have been amusement purely and simply, for in the title-page of an undated edition, published by C. Randall, of Stirling, there are these lines, which, it may be assumed belong to the original work:—

‘’Twill please the bairns and keep them laughing,

And mind the goodwife o’ her daffing.’

‘John Falkirk,’ it has already been mentioned, was a cognomen used by Graham; and Motherwell has noted that, in an edition of the Cariches published after Graham’s death, there was prefixed an ‘Account of John Falkirk, the Scots Piper.’ The only early edition we have seen is one printed by C. Randall, Stirling. It is undated, but was probably printed about 1807, and consists of eight pages. So far as it goes it does not materially differ from the modern editions, but it is without forty questions and answers which appear in them. It is probable that, out of the general rule, the modern editions are more complete than the one published by Randall. On the title-page of the Stirling chap-book is a rough wood-cut of a blind beggar led by a dog, presumably designed as a frontispiece for an English chap, entitled, ‘The Blind Beggar of Bethnal Green,’ very popular south of the Tweed, and occasionally printed in Scotland. Motherwell’s edition of John Falkirk was published in Glasgow in 1779, but his copy of the Cariches was undated.

The Comical Sayings of Pady from Cork is the title of a chap-book attributed to Graham by Motherwell and all his successors. Unlike the bellman’s other works it does not deal with any phase of Scottish life, but rather with the vagaries popularly believed for many generations to be characteristic of the Irish mind. It is, in fact, a collection of the proverbial Irish ‘bulls,’ some of them ‘comical’ and spontaneous, but others studied and consequently stupid. In many respects the dialogue between Pady and his English[53] interlocutor, Tom, is clever, but frequently it is evident that the author was out of his element. It must be confessed that there is a good deal of force in Professor Fraser’s argument, so far as Pady from Cork is concerned, that there was not a single sentence in it which might not have been written by any one other than Graham, and that most of the incidents narrated in it were to be found in the facetiæ of almost every country in Europe long before Graham carried a pack or rang the skellat bell of Glasgow.[26] Mr. Fraser refers in these remarks in the first instance to George Buchanan and The History of Buckhaven, but he applies them to Pady from Cork, with the modification that it was less of a compilation and had more local colouring than the chap-books he had been discussing. But while all that may be true enough, Motherwell’s authority in attributing the authorship of Pady from Cork to Dougal Graham cannot well be impugned, for on this point he apparently writes under the inspiration of his friend Mr. Caldwell; and it is notable that the copy in the possession of Motherwell was published by Caldwell in 1784. The edition reprinted from in this collection was published in Glasgow by J. & M. Robertson in 1807, and on the title-page there is a wood-cut showing a military looking gentleman standing beside a small cannon. The modern editions are considerably mutilated, and, among other things, want the ‘Creed for Romish Believers,’ to be found in earlier copies. ‘Pady’s New Catechism’ and his ‘Creed’ have been mentioned in a preceding page as being in the third number of a very rare edition of Lothian Tom, to all appearance only as padding.

Motherwell and M‘Vean both attributed the authorship of Simple John and his Twelve Misfortunes to Dougal Graham; but Professor Fraser, on the other hand, has brought a distinct charge of plagiarism against the poetical bellman. ‘The original hero of the “Misfortunes,”’ he says, ‘is Simple Simon; a history of whose life and misadventures was common in[54] England in the seventeenth century. This, or a similar version—most likely one of the many editions issued from Newcastle—Graham most certainly stole, and, having changed the hero’s name to John, and written a racy introduction to the work in broad Scotch, gave it to the world as an original production. The prefatory matter is quite in Graham’s style, and could not have been written by an Englishman. It is frequently to be found published separately under the title of Silly Tam.’[27] But before going into the question here raised, it may be as well to state that the edition from which Simple John has been reprinted in this collection, is one published in Glasgow in 1780, and ‘Printed for the Company of Flying Stationers in Town and Country.’ The original is a duodecimo, and consists of eight closely printed pages, with a wood-cut on the title-page, representing the unfortunate husband running from his wife, who pursues him with outstretched arms, while his haste is emphasised by his hat and wig being shown as falling from his head to the ground. The other editions now lying before the editor are—1st, one printed in Edinburgh, in 1821, ‘for the booksellers,’ of twenty-four pages duodecimo; and another almost identical in every way, the print being nearly line for line the same, bearing the imprint—‘Edinburgh: Printed for the Booksellers, 1823.’ Both these editions have, as a frontispiece, the picture of a hook-nosed termagant, giving a simple looking fellow, with a beer-mug in his hand, a severe shaking. The matter in the modern undated edition, ‘printed for the booksellers’ in Glasgow, is the same, with one or two slight differences, as what is to be found in the older ones already enumerated. But, in addition to these, there also lies before us a copy of The Miseries of Poor Simple Innocent Tam, which, like one mentioned by Professor Fraser, is of eight pages duodecimo, without covers, and gives no indication of date or place of issue. With the exception of the alteration of the name of the hero from ‘John’ to ‘Tam,’ the text is exactly the same as that contained in the[55] introduction to Simple John. An undated edition, of eight pages, of Simple John was printed by William Cameron, in Edinburgh. It only contains the introductory matter, and concludes with the addition of John’s lament on the death of his mother, without making further reference to his misfortunes. Having thus detailed the several editions of what has generally been regarded as Graham’s chap-book, in its two-fold form of Simple John and Simple Tam, some attention may now be paid to Professor Fraser’s allegations against the literary morality of the reputed author. After a careful comparison of the English chap-book, Simple Simon, with Simple John, we cannot but admit the statement that ‘the prefatory matter is quite in Graham’s style, and could not have been written by an Englishman;’ but we are not prepared to admit that Graham ‘most certainly stole’ the main body of the work. What Professor Fraser assumes to have been stolen must have been, though he does not explicitly say so, the ‘Twelve Misfortunes,’ for he admits that the preface is original and Scotch. This conclusion seems to have been come to without careful collation. Any one who has the opportunity, and will take the trouble to collate the two works, will find that only in two instances do the misfortunes in the Scotch chap-book bear any resemblance to those described in its English counterpart. These two instances are the fourth and seventh misfortunes in Simple John; but though the general features are the same, there is a great difference in the mode of treatment. As for the other misfortunes that befell Simple John, they have not even counterparts in Simple Simon, and, indeed, they could not well have, for they are almost entirely Scotch in their nature. Again, the conclusions arrived at in the two books are different. Simple Simon endeavours to poison himself, but by mistake he takes a draught from his wife’s bottle of sack, becomes drunk, and is cudgelled in consequence, but he and his wife afterwards lead a happy life. No such good fortune attends Simple John, for he laments his unhappy fate, and ‘appeals to a Jedburgh jury, if it be not easier to deal wi’ fools than headstrong, fashious fouks; owns he has but an[56] empty scull, but his wicked wife wants wit to pour judgment into it, never tells him o’ danger till it comes upon him, for his mither said he was a bidable bairn, if onybody had been to learn him wit.’ We cannot, therefore, concur in Mr. Fraser’s statement that Graham ‘stole’ this chap-book, ‘and gave it to the world as an original production.’ For the reasons shown, we believe Graham only took the idea—and it may be gravely questioned if he did so much, for it has yet to be proved that Simple Simon was ‘common in England in the seventeenth century,’[28]—from the English chap-book, and worked it out in a manner peculiarly his own, and, it must also be added, distinctively Scotch.

In the case of another chap-book usually believed to owe its existence to Dougal Graham, Professor Fraser has seen fit to go against the general verdict, without, as it seems to us, giving a sufficient reason for the position he has taken up. He considers it extremely improbable, judging from internal evidence, that Graham ever composed the History of Buckhaven; and, further on, referring to it and The Witty Exploits of George Buchanan, he says, ‘There is not a single sentence in either of them that might not have been written by any one else.’ The latter remark may be all very true, but the former one must involve a serious difference of opinion. It would indeed be difficult to say what internal evidence is to be found in the History of Buckhaven that gave good reason for the assumption that Graham was not its author. Motherwell, judging apparently on this ‘internal evidence,’ says that, although he had not authority for ascribing any popular chap-books to Graham other than those he had mentioned, he would not be surprised to find that Graham was also the author of this history. M‘Vean, without comment, gives the work a[57] place in his bibliography of Graham’s works, and it is to be presumed that a man of his undoubted attainments as a literary antiquary would not have done so without some reason satisfactory at least to himself. For our own part, we see nothing in the work itself at all inconsistent with the idea that Graham may have been the author of it. On the contrary, there seem to be some points in the course of the narrative which strongly support the commonly accepted tradition. That Graham possessed an undoubted acquaintance with the western district of Fifeshire, in which the respectable town of Buckhaven is situated, is evident from Jockey and Maggy’s Courtship, the scene of which is laid in the vicinity of Torryburn; and his intimate knowledge of Fifeshire modes of speech is further shown by an amusing character he introduced into The Coalman’s Courtship—‘auld Mattie, the Fife wife ... the wife it says, Be-go laddie.’ The language used in the History of Buckhaven, the style of treatment, and the burlesque humour, all bespeak Dougal as its author, for they are similar in all important points to what are to be found in works which even Mr. Fraser has without hesitation assented to being ascribed to Graham. The history, of course, is a burlesque, after the style of a well-known English chap-book, The Wise Men of Gotham, which it far outstrips for cleverness and racy humour. It has, however, the taint common to so many of Dougal’s works. The whole motive may be summed up in a short quotation from one of the many defunct Glasgow magazines:—‘The Buckhaven people, originally foreign colonists, were a people on the Fife side of the Forth, who lived much by themselves, had singular manners, and were of uncouth speech. All kinds of absurdities could thus be safely palmed upon them.’[29] Messrs. J. & M. Robertson, Saltmarket, issued a 24 pp. edition of the History of Buckhaven in 1806, illustrated by some very rude woodcuts, most of them having done duty in other chap-books. This edition is in three parts; and the title-page bears[58] that the work was written by ‘Merry Andrew at Tamtallon.’ The more modern issues only contain the first two parts, and even these are considerably abridged.

The last work attributed to Dougal Graham, and calling for any detailed notice in this place, is the one entitled The History and Entertaining Exploits of George Buchanan, who was commonly called the King’s Fool. It is a chap-book which has been long popular, and one which has given rise to a variety of speculations, not only as to its authorship but also as to who was really the person whose ‘exploits’ are professedly recorded in its pages. As to the first of these points, Motherwell said he would not be surprised if Graham were its author; and M‘Vean heads his list of Dougal’s works with it. Fraser, on the other hand, argues against it being the composition of Graham, the ground he takes up being the same as that already quoted in relation to The History of Buckhaven and Simple John. In this instance, however, we think he has a stronger case than he had against Graham’s authorship of the two other publications. The internal evidence of the work itself—the time at which George Buchanan is shown to have lived—is sufficient proof that in it Graham could not in any sense lay claim to originality. But at the same time it is more than probable that he brought together the stories told about the country regarding his hero, and for the first time gave them forth to the world in a collected form. Until some additional light can be shed upon this matter, dogmatism either on the one side or the other would be imprudent; but, while sympathising to some extent with the position taken up by Professor Fraser, we do not see our way clear to dissent from the tradition of Graham’s connection with the chap-book. The idea that he may have been its editor, or compiler, appears to be quite reasonable.

The next question, as to the identity of the hero of The Merry Exploits of George Buchanan, is one upon which a more definite opinion can be expressed, though it has given rise to several curious notions. The idea most common at[59] the present day among the mass of the Scottish people is that there were two Scotsmen who bore the name of George Buchanan, one of them being the King’s fool, and the other the eminent Latinist, historian, and poet. This theory, it must be confessed, is the one which does the most credit to the scholar, but we are afraid it does not do justice to the fact. There can be no doubt, from many of the stories given in the chap-book, that George Buchanan, the scholar, is the person pointed at; and a careful consideration of his life and opinions, viewed in the light in which these were regarded by many of his contemporaries and immediate successors, will readily furnish the origin of the extraordinary actions attributed to him. We must not, however, be understood to give countenance to another impression, by no means uncommon among a certain class, that George Buchanan acted as the King’s buffoon or fool. The life of the historian of Scotland was cast in a troublous age. Born in the year 1506, he was an active participant in the turmoil of the Reformation period, and had a large share in the proceedings against the unfortunate Queen Mary. Like most of the reformers his nature was stiff and unbending, but he possessed a dry and caustic wit which made him valuable to his friends and more and more hated by his enemies. His opponents took every opportunity to vilify his character, and spread abroad by means of books and conversations, after his death, even by Acts of the Scottish Estates, aspersions on his life and opinions. To show how this was done, one or two instances may be given. A French priest named Garasse, in a work entitled Doctrine Curieuse,—an edition of which was published in 1590, a few years after Buchanan’s death—speaks of that illustrious man as a ‘hard drinker.’ After endeavouring to show how his whole life had been one of continual debauchery, Garasse proceeds with his shameless libel, and makes Buchanan say on his death-bed, in answer to the remonstrances of his doctors:—‘“Go along with you, you and your prescriptions and dietaries! I would far rather live only three jolly weeks, getting comfortably drunk every day,[60] than live six dreary wineless years.” ... He died in brief space, however; his chamber being then rarely littered with glasses and wine-measures.’ In his native country, also, his memory was abused. His death in 1582 was little noticed, but it was soon followed by an outburst against his writings. His works have long been regarded as valuable in spite of the many defects they admittedly have; but the Scottish Estates, in 1584, issued an order for their purgation because they contained ‘sundrie offensive matters, worthie to be detecte,’ because of their ‘steiring up his hienes subjectes theirby to misliking sedition unquietness, and to cast off their due obedience to his Majestie.’ Heylin, in his Cosmographie, said Buchanan’s History of Scotland and De Jure Regni had ‘wrought more mischief in the world than all Machiavel’s works’; and the authorities of the University of Oxford, in 1683, publicly burned the political works of George Buchanan, along with others equally obnoxious to them. These few incidents, among many, are sufficient to indicate how the extraordinary stories told in the chap-book came to be attached to George Buchanan, one of the most learned and cultured men of his time. There is good ground for the remark that the Merry Exploits of George Buchanan ‘is a terrible libel on an eminent man; never was mental greatness so “let down” in the popular estimation as by this vulgar performance; by and through which Buchanan’s humble countrymen were taught, not to look up to him, but down upon him as a coarse buffoon.’[30] It must be admitted, however, that there is strong reason to suspect that many of the stories were current before the issue of the chap-book, but it, of course, would help to perpetuate the libels. The conclusion from what has been said may be thus briefly summarised. Dougal Graham seems to have been the collector of ridiculous stories about George Buchanan, the scholar and historian, these stories being, for the most part, manifestly untrue, but the natural offspring of the more elaborate libels written and spoken against him immediately after his death.


Many editions of this chap-book have been published, and it promises to have the longest life of any of its race, for it is still being issued. The copy reprinted in this work was published in Falkirk in 1799. Among the other editions we have seen are the following:—One issued in Edinburgh bears ‘to be printed in this present year,’ a somewhat indefinite intimation, consisting of 47 duodecimo pages; and one in two numbers of 24 pp. each, printed in Newcastle by G. Angus, without date, and apparently complete. The earliest edition mentioned is one published by A. Robertson, Coalhill, Leith, in 1765. It was an octavo, in six parts of eight pages each, with a title-page to each part. Another was printed by W. R. Walker, Royal Arcade, Newcastle-on-Tyne, but it bears no date. The Robertsons, of the Saltmarket, Glasgow, also issued several editions of this chap-book, among the rest of their ‘Standards.’

Having thus gone over, with as much detail as possible, the various works attributed to Dougal Graham, it will be proper to give the list of them, with the dates of the editions reprinted in these volumes:—

1.—The History of the Rebellion, 3rd Edition. Glasgow, 1774.
2.—John Hielandman’s Remarks on Glasgow, n.d.
3.—Turnimspike, n.d.
4.—Tugal M‘Tagger, n.d.
5.—Had awa’ frae me, Donald, n.d.
6.—Jockey and Maggy’s Courtship. Glasgow, 1779.
7.—The Coalman’s Courtship. Glasgow, 1782.
8.—Lothian Tom. Edinburgh, 1775.
9.—John Cheap the Chapman. Falkirk, 1798.
10.—Leper the Taylor. Stirling, 1799.
11.—The Taylor’s Funeral. 1816.
12.—Haverel Wives. Glasgow, 1781.
13.—Janet Clinker’s Oration. Glasgow, 1807.
14.—The Witty Jokes of John Falkirk. Edinburgh, 1777.
15.—John Falkirk’s Cariches. Stirling, n.d.
16.—Pady from Cork. Glasgow, 1807.
17.—Simple John, alias Simple Tam. Glasgow, 1780.
18.—History of Buckhaven. Glasgow, 1806.
19.—George Buchanan. Stirling, 1795.

Such is the catalogue of Graham’s works—works with which[62] it is believed he had something more or less to do—and which we have been able to find. Of the others attributed to him, but unfound, are:—

20.—Verses on Popular Superstitions.
21.—Dialogue between the Pope and the Prince of Darkness.
22.—Epitaph on the Third Command.
23.—Life and Transactions of Alexander Hamwinkle.
24.—Warning to Methodist Preachers.
25.—Second Warning to Methodist Preachers.
26.—Proverbs on the Pride of Women.
27.—Verses on the Pride of Women.
28.—Dying Groans of John Barleycorn.[31]

There are probably others of which even the names have been lost; but it seems likely that very few, if any, of those classified as not found, will ever be traced. It is a pity that this should be so; and every lover of the literary antiquities of Scotland must fondly hope that in the course of time, by some happy accident, the lost chap-books of Dougal Graham may again see the light of day.

By way of conclusion, it will be appropriate to discuss the general character of these works. Such an inquiry involves the weighing of opinions of several writers who, it must be admitted on all hands, were in every way qualified to give a judgment in the matter.

The leading opinion must, of course, be that of Sir Walter Scott. This is the record Strang[32] gives of it:—‘A history of the vulgar literature of Scotland has been long and is unquestionably still a desideratum, for certainly nothing could tend to throw so much light on the manners and tastes of the great body of the people as such a work. In 1830 it was hoped that Sir Walter Scott—than whom no man could have so well and so heartily performed the task—would have undertaken[63] it as a preface to Dougal Graham’s History of the Rebellion, which, as we have hinted, he proposed giving to the Maitland Club, but unfortunately he abandoned the idea; yet, in doing so, Sir Walter, in a letter dated 10th May, 1830, to the writer of this volume, among other things of Dougal, said—“Neither had I the least idea of his being the author of so much of our Bibliotheque Bleue as you ascribe to him, embracing unquestionably several coarse but excessively meritorious pieces of popular humour. The Turnamspike alone was sufficient to entitle him to immortality. I had, in my early life, a great collection of these chap-books, and had six volumes of them bought before I was ten years old, comprehending most of the more rare and curious of our popular tracts.”’

Motherwell, again, says that he himself projected—but was unable, through want of leisure, and the difficulty of obtaining materials, to carry his intention into effect—a history of vulgar literature, in which, as a matter of course, Graham must have occupied a prominent place. Referring to the History of the Rebellion, he says:—‘However slightingly we esteem his metrical powers, we really believe he has conscientiously and honestly detailed the events which came under his observation. It is not, however, on the merits of this work, that Graham’s fame rests. Had he only written it, we believe he never would have occupied our thoughts for a moment; but as one who subsequently contributed largely to the amusement of the lower classes of his countrymen, we love to think of the facetious bellman. To his rich vein of gross comic humour, laughable and vulgar description, great shrewdness of observation, and strong, though immeasurably coarse sense, every one of us, after getting out of toy books and fairy tales, has owed much. In truth, it is no exaggeration when we state, that he who desires to acquire a thorough knowledge of low Scottish life, vulgar manners, national characteristics, and popular jokes, must devote his days and nights to the study of John Cheap the Chapman—Leper the Taylor—Paddy from Cork—The whole proceedings of Jockie and Maggie’s Courtship—Janet[64] Clinker’s Orations—Simple John, &c., all productions of Dougald’s fertile brain, and his unwearied application to the cultivation of vulgar literature. To refined taste Dougald had no pretensions. His indelicacy is notorious—his coarseness an abomination—but they are characteristic of the class for whom he wrote. He is thoroughly imbued with the national humours and peculiarities of his countrymen of the humblest classes, and his pictures of their manners, modes of thinking and conversation, are always sketched with a strong and faithful pencil. Indeed, the uncommon popularity the chap-books above noted have acquired, entitles them, in many a point of view, to the regard of the moralist, and the literary historian. We meet with them on every stall, and in every cottage. They are essentially the Library of Entertaining Knowledge to our peasantry, and have maintained their ground in the affections of the people, notwithstanding the attempt of religious, political, or learned associations, to displace them, by substituting more elegant and wholesome literature in their stead.’[33]

Dr. Strang’s judgment is similar:—‘Of the vulgar literature to which we have referred, and of so much of which Dougal Graham was the author, it is enough to say that it really contributed the chief literary pabulum enjoyed by the bulk of our countrymen in the humbler walks of life; and though the jokes therein promulgated certainly were broad, and sometimes even grossly indecent, they were not untrue portraitures of Scottish life and Scottish manners.’[34]

Professor Fraser thus discusses the same matter:—‘He [Graham] possessed this advantage over the ordinary historian; that the latter from his superior height and position seldom condescended to enter the huts of the poor, and when he did enter, the inmates were frightened into their “Sunday clothes and manners” by his stately and majestic presence. But Dougal, being himself one of the poorest, introduces us into the most secret, domestic, and every-day life and thoughts of[65] the lower classes of last century. Nothing is hidden from him. He is treated with a familiarity which shows that his hosts have no wish to hide anything. Then, too, he made his reader familiar not only with their mode of life, but with the peculiarities of their dialect, and in this way shed a not unfrequent light on philology. Add to these virtues that Dougal is never out of humour, always laughing and gossiping, drinking and telling old tales. His laughter, also, is contagious; we cannot contain ourselves. All his stories are full of people who laugh “like to burst,” and one cannot help but join them in their cacchinations. Nor are his sketches wanting in dramatic power. The characters are full of individuality and life, rendered more significant by a local flavour of demeanor and dialect. More than one of them might have afforded models for some of the raciest of Scott’s creations, and all of them are instinct with genuine humour and vitality.’[35]

Such were the opinions regarding the writings of Dougal Graham, given expression to by four men who had studied them, and saw their value. It is difficult, and almost unnecessary, to add anything further to what they have said; but in bringing this account of Graham’s works to a close, we may be permitted to supplement the judgments quoted, by a few additional speculations.

Much has been said about the value these writings possess, because they are, for the most part, truthful descriptions of the life of the Scottish people of last century. In what other works, or series of works—even those professedly dealing with the subject—can there be obtained such a knowledge of how the common people lived a century or two ago? We venture to affirm that such cannot be found. The life of the people is the life of the nation; and if it be a virtue to write personal biography like Boswell, it is surely more so to record the inner life of a nation, like Graham. Both, differing widely in many and important respects, have attained success by the same means—by placing before their readers sketches of private[66] life, of the life which is most natural and least artificial, and which gives the best notion of the feelings and motives that guided either individuals or nations to success or failure. To understand thoroughly the history of Scotland in the eighteenth century, the ordinary historical works, dealing principally with great movements and events, must be read in the light, and by the aid, of the popular literature of that period; in the same way as the resident of the twentieth century, desiring to know the true history of the present age must, while looking to its great religious, philanthropic, scientific, commercial, political, and military achievements, also take into account the criminal records, the proceedings of the courts, the annals of the poor, and the ephemeral literature of all kinds.

Another line of thought is suggested by the indelicacy of expression so frequently to be found in Graham’s works. That such indelicacy exists in his works must be admitted; but in this respect they are no worse than, and will compare favourably with, the writings of many of the most prominent Scottish authors, such as Sir David Lindsay, and others. Indeed, it is worthy of notice, that men such as Fielding, Sterne, Swift, and Smollet, highly educated, and moving in a better circle of society in the same age with Dougal Graham, have tainted their writings with the grossness which has been noticed, and which, in their case, is less easily excused. The fault was in the time when plain speaking took the place now occupied by inuendo. Notwithstanding this, it cannot but be noticed that in his writings there is a native manliness not often discovered in works having greater pretensions; that there is no mawkish sentiment or sickly prudishness; and that in the presentation of pictures of life, they have no artificial draperies more suggestive than nature itself. There is a tendency on the part of those who have written upon this subject, to deplore the indelicacy of many passages of Graham’s works. We do not feel ourselves under any obligation to do so, for had the author toned down the colouring of some of his chap-books, they would have been untrue to nature to the[67] extent of the suppression. What should be regretted was the immorality and coarseness so prevalent among the lower classes in Scotland during last century; and he who wishes to further the improvement and condition of the people will welcome Graham’s chap-books as showing distinctly what required reformation a century ago. It would hardly be too much to say, that in some parts of Scotland a state of matters very little different from what Graham frequently describes, may still be found. Any one who is at all acquainted with life among the lower classes, must admit that these descriptions are true to nature, and that a study of them is necessary before we can know thoroughly upon what the present superstructure of Scottish civilisation has been built. Graham, perhaps unintentionally, has held ‘the mirror up to nature,’ has shown ‘virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time his form and pressure.’

It would be difficult, again, to over-estimate the value of Dougal Graham’s works as affording illustrations of the folk-lore of Scotland. Almost all the superstitions that obtained among the common people of his time he has touched upon either directly or indirectly; and in many instances he has given information upon this and kindred subjects which it would be difficult to find anywhere else. While all his chap-books may be found useful in this direction, a few of them stand out as perfect storehouses of folk-lore. Among the most notable of these are The History of Buckhaven, The History of the Haveral Wives, Jockey and Maggy’s Courtship, the three parts of Leper the Taylor, and even Pady from Cork. In the first-mentioned chap-book there are some particularly valuable notes about the opinions current regarding the Arch-enemy and all his supposed representatives on earth, such as witches, kelpies, fairies, and ‘bogles’ of all kinds. The folk-lore of the hare, or ‘mauken,’ in this work is also very full, and has given Mr. William George Black, F.S.A., Scot., a valuable illustration for his able article on ‘The Hare in Folk-Lore,’ in a recent issue of The Folk-Lore Journal. Similar remarks could be made about the other chap-books specially[68] named, but enough has been said in a general way to indicate their value in this direction. In the notes to the chap-books themselves some attempt may be made to show, in a manner more detailed than is possible here, their worth as throwing light upon the superstitions prevalent during the eighteenth century.

How far the genius of Dougal Graham would have been affected by an education superior to that which he obtained, it would be difficult to say. Possibly greater culture might have raised him to the rank of a Scott; perhaps it might only have left him in the ranks of mediocrity. In the one case he would have produced works of greater literary value; in the other, possibly, none at all. One thing is evident, however, that a series of writings which discover the under-currents of Scottish life in a busy century, would have been lost to literature, and that whatever gain there may have in one direction, it could hardly counter-balance the loss another way. Taking Dougal Graham all in all, his uncultured energy, his ‘hameliness,’ and his ready wit, have won for him a place in Scottish literature it would be difficult to supply, and which no one but himself was qualified to occupy. What that place was we shall endeavour to show in the following pages, when dealing with the chap-literature of Scotland.


Fully half a century ago, William Motherwell, whose name has been frequently mentioned in these pages, penned this sentence:—‘A History of Vulgar Literature, from the earliest of the present times, we believe, would form a valuable acquisition to the libraries of the curious.’ About thirty years later Dr. Strang expressed the same idea in terms somewhat similar:—‘A history of the vulgar literature of Scotland has been long and is unquestionably still, a desideratum, for certainly nothing could tend to throw so much light on the[69] manners and tastes of the great body of the people as such a work.’ Notwithstanding the lapse of time the work so much desired has yet to be done; though Professor Fraser within recent years has brought together, in a concise form, material regarding chap-literature, which, before his work on the Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, was only to be found in fragments in various books and magazines. By his own confession, however, his work is merely an instalment, and, as we have indicated, a history of the chap-literature of Scotland has yet to be written. It is a matter to be regretted that the popular works of last century—the works which found most favour with the great mass of the people, and which, with the addition of the Bible, was the bulk of their reading—should have been over-looked. No complaint can be made of any neglect of the higher walks in the profession of letters in the eighteenth century. The philosophers, poets, novelists, and historians of Scotland in the last century, have had at least justice done them. But their works, for the most part, were addressed to the educated, then a small proportion of the population. Those who wrote for the people—for the uneducated peasantry—have been ignored, a notable exception being Burns, whose works were popular with all classes. Their works were long considered to be unworthy of notice; and out of a very large issue, there can now only be found a few stray leaflets. With such material as can be had, a short sketch of that literature is given in the following pages, for the purpose of showing the place occupied in it by Dougal Graham.

‘Our fathers have told us,’ could the mediæval Scot say as well as the ancient Israelite, for the traditions of former days in ballad, song, and story, were handed down from generation to generation. In the good old times, the gaberlunzie man would rehearse, by the peat fire of some remote farm-house, tales of the present and the past; or the discredited minstrel of the ‘iron time’ would tune—

—— ‘To please a peasant’s ear,

The harp a king had loved to hear.’

From these, celebrated by royal and knightly poets, and[70] encircled by the halo of romance, we must descend to the more prosaic, because better known, chapman, who, in a latter age, filled their places. Travelling over the country with a pack composed of haberdashery goods of the most varied kind, and with coarsely printed specimens of the literature to which his profession has given a name, he retailed at each farm-house the news he had heard on his journeys; and on a winter’s evening, by the kitchen fire, he could make the time seem to pass swiftly, as he drew upon his experience for stories of the most wonderful description, or recalled the days of chivalry by his old-world tales. He was thus admitted to the inner circle: he mixed with the people as one of themselves.

Having thus shown the chapman’s descent, it will be interesting to notice the origin of the name given to his profession, if it may be so called. Professor Fraser says ‘the prefix “chap” originally meant “to cheap or cheapen,” as in the word “cheapening-place,” meaning a market-place,—hence the English Cheapside and Eastcheap.’ In addition, it may be stated that the word ‘chapman’ is derived from the Anglo-Saxon “ceap-man,” ceap meaning ‘a sale, or bargain’; and it is related to the Suio-Gothic or Swedish keop-a, whence is derived the Scottish ‘coup’ or ‘cowp,’ now confined to horse-selling, colloquially spoken of as ‘horse-cowping.’ Another illustration may be found in the name ‘Chepstow,’ a place in Monmouthshire, meaning a market, or place for chapmen. The general title of ‘chap-books’ was given to small tracts hawked through the country by these worthies, who, however, were willing to sell anything upon which they could make a profit. Their business was a necessity of the times, when roads were bad, when stage-coaches were hardly known, and when railways would have been thought an impossibility and absurdity. The people in the rural districts bought all their smallwares from them; and the visit of the chapman to a remote Lowland village, or Highland clachan, was an event to be remembered by the women-folks far and near.

When and how the chap-literature of Scotland took its origin it would be difficult to say with anything like precision.[71] There is, however, good ground for the assumption that it may have originated about the period of the Covenanting troubles, and that it probably received its first material impetus from the Revolution of 1688. As early as 1644, Zachary Boyd, for some time minister of the Barony Parish of Glasgow, and Vice-Chancellor of the University, complained to the General Assembly about the ‘idle books, ... fables, love-songs, baudry ballads, heathen husks, youth’s poison,’ in circulation. Printing was then in its infancy in Scotland, and it is interesting to note how, thus early in its existence, it sought to extend to the people a cheap literature which, though perhaps not of the most wholesome kind, might hardly be deserving of the strictures of the stern presbyterian of the seventeenth century. After the Restoration, a change appears to have come over the popular literature; a new element was introduced; and the internal evidence of the chap-books relating to Peden, Cargill, and other worthies of the ‘killing time,’ indicate that their first editions were published within a few years at least of the events recorded in them. The press, apparently, was made great use of by the preachers who had been ousted from their pulpits; and many sermons were sent out in the form of chap-books. In the second portion of the library of the late Dr. David Laing, which was recently sold off in London, there was an interesting volume of chap-books relating chiefly to Scottish religious and ecclesiastical affairs. Among others, it included the following:—‘Renwick (J.), Man’s Great Concernment, 1687’; ‘Love (C.), Christ’s Glorious Appearance, Glasgow, 1692’; and ‘Row (J.), Sermon commonly known by the Pockmanty Preaching, Edin., 1723.’ From what has been said, there seems to be little doubt that the chap-literature of Scotland was of somewhat earlier origin than that of England. A recent writer, referring to English chap-books, says:—‘The Chap-book proper did not exist before the former date [1700], unless the Civil War and political tracts can be so termed. Doubtless these were hawked by the pedlars, but they were not those penny worths, suitable to everybody’s taste, and within the reach of anybody’s purse,[72] owing to their extremely low price, which must, or ought to have, extracted every available copper in the village, when the Chapman opened his budget of brand-new books.’[36]

But happier times produced a further change on Scottish chap-literature, which again included within its borders productions of a less sober character than sermons and the lives and opinions of martyrs, though these still held their ground in public estimation. Among the chaps, the originals or early reprints of which were published at the beginning of the eighteenth century, were many of a religious or semi-religious character, such as the following:—‘Last Words of Christian Kerr, Edin., 1708’; ‘Description of Jerusalem, Edin., 1727’; and ‘Last Words of Margaret Abercromby, Edin., 1729.’ As for the ‘Pockmanty Preaching,’ already mentioned as having been issued in 1723, it was one of a considerable class which has been well represented in Scottish Presbyterian Eloquence Displayed. About this time, also, Allan Ramsay published many of his earlier poems in chap-book or broadside form, and to this must be attributed the speedy hold he took on the favour of the people. Chalmers, in his life of the poet, says that after the year 1715, Ramsay ‘wrote many petty poems, which from time to time he published at a proportionate price. In this form, his poetry was at the time attractive; and the women of Edinburgh were wont to send out their children, with a penny, to buy “Ramsay’s last piece.” ... On those principles he published, about the year 1716, the “Christ’s Kirk on the Green.”’[37] Though he did not long continue this practice, he had afterwards to suffer some annoyance by others doing it for him. In his ‘Address to the Town Council of Edinburgh,’ written in 1721, he complains that he had ‘suffer’d muckle wrang’ by ‘Lucky Reid and ballad-singers,’ publishing a trashy edition of his pastoral on Addison. He bewails the many mistakes in it, and says that publication kept him from his natural rest.


The ‘Lucky Reid,’ mentioned in Ramsay’s complaint, was the widow of John Reid, printer, in Bell’s Wynd, Edinburgh. Reid did a large business in issuing scraps of popular literature. He was the original publisher of many of the strange productions of William Mitchell, alias ‘The Tinclarian Doctor;’ an odd being who sought by his works to spread ‘light’ throughout Scotland. Mitchell was a lamplighter in Edinburgh for twelve years, but, losing this situation, he got, as he says himself, ‘an inward call from the Spirit, to give light to the ministers.’ His works may be classed among the chap-books of Scotland, for, though he sold them himself, and did not allow them to be retailed by the chapmen, they are of the same description.

Great activity in the publication of chap-books is known to have been displayed by printers in the various cities and towns in Scotland for the next decade or two; though, as far as can be judged from the few remnants of their productions still to be found, there was no author who, in any way, marked the literature with his individuality. Small collections of songs seem to have been in great request; old ballads were reprinted, and extracts were made from the writings of many of the poets; and the chap literature of England, which by this time had attained to some maturity, was beginning to make an impression on the Scottish people. Dream-books, and small works relating to astrology, palmistry, physiognomy, foreign travel, and such like, had become common, and were hailed by the people with manifest delight. These publications, issued at a price which put them within the reach of all classes, served to keep alive the superstitious beliefs which to this day are by no means eradicated from the popular mind, and which occasionally show themselves in most unlooked for quarters, and under the most extraordinary circumstances. Even the semi-religious chap-books had a tendency in this direction; and the so-called prophecies of the leaders in the Covenanting movement were regarded as certain of fulfilment, each change being eagerly watched and noticed as having a bearing upon the utterance of some martyr to the[74] unholy zeal of the persecutors. As the general prophecies of Thomas the Rhymer, the seer of Ercildoune, were regarded as finding their fulfilment in the political events of the time; as the prophecies of Mother Shipton have recently been scanned, and even caused agitation among a nervous few, on account of the prediction—

‘The world to an end shall come,

In eighteen hundred and eighty-one’;

so were the sayings of Peden, Cargill, and others, believed to be finding their realisation in the many actual and supposed calamities that every now and then occurred within the land for which they had suffered so much. An interesting notice of the power of these books is furnished by the Rev. Dr. Alexander Carlyle, minister of Inveresk, in the middle of last century:—‘In the month of March or April this year [1744], having gone down [from Glasgow] with a merchant to visit New Port-Glasgow, as our dinner was preparing at the inn, we were alarmed with the howling and weeping of half-a-dozen of women in the kitchen, which was so loud and lasting that I went to see what was the matter, when, after some time, I learnt from the calmest among them that a pedlar had left a copy of Peden’s Prophecies that morning, which having read part of, they found that he had predicted woes of every kind to the people of Scotland; and in particular that Clyde would run with blood in the year 1744, which now being some months advanced, they believed that their destruction was at hand. I was puzzled how to pacify them, but calling for the book, I found that the passage which had terrified them was contained in the forty-fourth paragraph, without any allusion whatever to the year; and by this means I quieted their lamentations. Had the intended expedition of Mareschal Saxe been carried into execution that year, as was intended, their fears might have been realised.’[38] An instance of the supposed fulfilment of a prophecy of Thomas the Rhymer, about this date, may be cited from Dougal Graham’s History of the Rebellion.[75] Referring to Prestonpans, and after describing the battle fought there on the 21st of September, 1745, between the clans under Prince Charlie and the troops under Sir John Cope, he says:—

‘The place old Rhymer told long before,

“That between Seaton and the sea,

“A dreadful morning there should be,

“Meet in the morning lighted by the moon,

“The lion his wound here, heal shall not soon.”

In Thomas’ book of this you’ll read,

Mention’d by both Merlin and Bead.’

The publication, in 1746, of Dougal Graham’s History of the Rebellion, marks the beginning of an important era in the progress of the chap literature of Scotland. Larger than most of the works hitherto issued to the public at a cheap rate and through the medium of pedlars, the living interest it possessed, by dealing with events and aspirations which at that time still had a firm hold on the minds of the people, gave it a popularity hardly less than that attained by the smaller and cheaper productions preceding it. Even yet, it possesses a unique position among its class. But the History is also interesting in its relation to Scottish popular literature in that it was the first known publication of an author whose numerous works afterwards gave to it a distinctive character, and elevated it to a rank certainly not equalled by the kindred literature of England. It is probable that the publication of Graham’s works extended from 1746 until his death in 1779, the poetical pieces being first in order; and, while there is no definite information on the point, it can be fairly assumed that they from the first made a distinct impression. Their predecessors, though they had a strong hold upon the popular favour, treated for the most part either with the theological and superstitious sides of the Scottish nature, or with peculiarities common to every section of the island. Dougal struck out a new line, described Scottish life as he found it and knew it by personal observation and contact. By this means he was able to present to his readers vigorous pictures of the life they themselves lived, the[76] opinions they themselves expressed, the language in which they spoke, and, above all, he could appeal to their likes and dislikes in a way which none of his craft had done before, or was able to do after him. These features in the works of Dougal Graham gave him an unwonted popularity, and the couplet in the preface to a late edition of John Falkirk’s Cariches shows the estimation in which he was held:—

‘The wittiest fellow in his time,

Either for Prose or making Rhyme.’

The varied character of his works gave to the literature of which they were a part a native strength that otherwise would not have belonged to it; and while they may have, to some extent, deepened the taint of coarseness which before found a place within its ranks, they added to its value as illustrating the tastes and manners of the common people. To convince himself of the truth of this statement, all that the reader requires to do is to note carefully the chap-books written by Graham, either in contrast with others, or by themselves. There is enough in them, without considering their relation to others, to prove that statement, for their truthfulness to human nature, and especially Scottish human nature, appeals to the heart and convinces the judgment.

While Dougal Graham was thus actively employed, and with so much effect, other writers were contributing their quota to chapman literature. None of these authors can now be traced, possibly because they kept their identity concealed, but a few of their works still remain. One or two of them may be noticed. In 1764, there were issued in Edinburgh two chap-books which may be regarded as the forerunners of the modern ‘letter-writers.’ One of them, The Art of Courtship, contained ‘Amorous dialogues, love letters, complimental expressions, with a particular description of Courtship, etc.’; while the other bore the title of The Accomplished Courtier, or A New School of Love. In the same city, in 1767, there was published The Comical Notes and Sayings of the Reverend Mr. John Pettegrew, minister in Govan. It contained stories, humorous and sometimes very broad, about the reverend[77] gentleman, but they had probably as little foundation in fact as the extraordinary tales recorded of George Buchanan. There are other chap-books with a popularity almost equal to those named, and to the productions of Dougal Graham, such as—The Wife of Beath, a metrical travesty of Chaucer’s tale; the still highly esteemed Watty and Meg; Thrummy Cap; The Dominie Deposed; Margaret and the Minister; and a host of others.

Nothing that can be said to have given any new feature to chap literature was published after Graham’s death, though it still continued to be very popular. Many printers throughout the country set themselves almost exclusively to its circulation, which, it has been stated, had reached, before the close of the century, a quarter of a million copies annually. The old chap-books were reprinted in almost every town of any note in Scotland, sometimes in full, sometimes abridged; songs and ballads were collected and got up in chap-book and broadside form; and extracts from larger works were made and published in a guise under which their authors would have had difficulty in recognising them. Dougal Graham, of course, had great attention paid to him; and edition after edition of his numerous works was scattered over the country; while Robert Burns, then rising into fame as a poet, had his writings reproduced in many of the collections of songs. For the first twenty years of the present century the chap-books enjoyed an unimpaired popularity, but they gradually began to decline in favour. An impression of their vulgarity got abroad, they were regarded by public moralists as pestilential and therefore deserving extinction; some publishers turned out from their presses ‘New and Improved Series,’ and at last they came to be regarded as belonging to a bygone age, worthy only of the consideration of antiquaries, some utilitarians being doubtful if they even merited that attention. The time had changed, and the popular taste had improved; and, after 1832, Chambers’ Journal took the place among the people formerly occupied by chap-books. As the taste for reading increased, the Journal shared honours with other[78] publications, until now the issue of ephemeral literature has reached an extraordinary development. There are, however, many still living who remember the days of chap-literature, and who can recall the zest with which they first read the adventures of ‘Louden Tam,’ ‘Leper the Tailor,’ ‘John Cheap,’ and all that race.

It would be impossible in this place to give a note of the printers who assisted in the issue of the chap literature of Scotland, though to do so would be highly interesting. Their name is legion. Of the work of the earlier printers very few specimens remain; but towards the end of last century some of the printers in Glasgow, Edinburgh, Falkirk, and other large towns, attained to quite a celebrity for their efforts in this direction. James and Matthew Robertson, whose shop was in the Saltmarket, between the Cross and what is now known as St. Andrew’s Street, and who were in business at the end of the eighteenth, and beginning of the nineteenth, century, made about £30,000 off them. They published all Dougal Graham’s booklets in their most complete forms, besides everything of the chap-book kind then in circulation. At their death their money went to the only daughter of Matthew, and her reputation for benevolence to the poor long survived her. Two other Saltmarket printers were Thomas Duncan, at No. 159, and R. Hutchison, at No. 10, both of whom flourished in the early years of this century. The headquarters of the chap-book printers in Edinburgh were in Niddery’s Wynd and the Cowgate. Some most valuable pieces were issued from the Wynd about the middle of last century; and, in the Cowgate in the early years of this century, Morren printed all and sundry, scattering chap-books broadcast over the east coast. About 1760, A. Robertson, Coalhill, Leith, did an extensive business in this way. Falkirk, again, occupies a high position in this respect, for during the last few years of the eighteenth, and the early years of the present, century, T. Johnston issued a large number of chap-books, most of them valuable because they do not seem to have been much, if any, abridged. C. and M. Randall, of Stirling,[79] about the same time were engaged in a similar work. Without further detail, this list of these eminent printers may be closed by the mention of the name of George Caldwell, Paisley, who flourished in both centuries, and who is believed to have been the original printer of many of Dougal Graham’s chap-books. Few, if any, of his early productions can now be found.

In concluding this necessarily brief outline of the history of the chap-literature of Scotland, we may be allowed to quote from The Thistle, a Glasgow magazine published in 1847. It was edited by Alexander B. Grosart, the now eminent editor of the Fuller Worthies’ Library, etc., who was at that time in the employment of Dr. John Buchanan, the Glasgow banker and antiquary. Mr. Grosart had in that magazine a quaintly written article on ‘Chap-Beuks and Ballats,’ beginning in this strain:—

‘Chap-Beuks and Ballats

—— “To rede are delectabill.

Suppois that thai be nocht bot fabill;

Then suld ‘auld storyss’ that suthfast were,

Have ‘doubill pleasance.’”

‘So said or sung “Makkar” Barbour in his “Quhair” of the Bruce. Chap-beuks and Ballats occupied a “far-ben corner o’ the heart” of our Fathers and Grandfathers; indeed we have a “doubill pleasaunce” in these “auld storyss” when “tauld in gude manner.”’ Such is a true estimate of their position in the hearts and minds of the Scots of the eighteenth century. The opinions Sir Walter Scott and William Motherwell had of Dougal Graham’s writings have already been shown, and their estimate of the value of the literature for which he wrote has been clearly brought out.

No one need regret that the days of chap-books are gone, but the human mind has a tendency to turn with a loving look to the past, as if life in it had been easier than in the present. It is, however, another illustration of the familiar adage that ‘distance lends enchantment to the view.’ These works, impossible now, must be regarded in the light in which Dean Ramsay prepared his Reminiscences. His[80] object was to ‘depict a phase of national manners which was fast passing away, and thus, in however humble a department, contribute something to the materials of history, by exhibiting social customs and habits of thought which at a particular era were characteristic of a race.’[39] Such is the value of the remnants of the once extensive chap literature of Scotland. With a finer public taste, and a purer, though not more vigorous, popular literature, these old books are now discredited except for antiquarian purposes. Perhaps the change cannot be better shown than in the illustration given by Dean Ramsay, who says in his ‘Conclusion’:—‘In 1821, Mrs. Keith of Ravelstone, grand-aunt of Sir Walter Scott, thus writes, in returning to him the work of a female novelist which she had borrowed from him out of curiosity, and to remind her of “auld lang syne:”—“Is it not a very odd thing that I, an old woman of eighty and upwards, sitting alone, feel myself ashamed to read a book which, sixty years ago, I have heard read aloud for the amusement of large circles, consisting of the first and most creditable society in London!”’[40] It is well that such should be the case; but it is in the interests of the purity of public morals, of the progress of national life, that these old land-marks should be preserved; for by them only can we tell of the manners and customs of our forefathers, or estimate what advancement has been made since their time.




of the


of the late


In Britain, in the Years 1745 and 1746.

Giving an ACCOUNT of every Battle, Skirmish, and Siege, from the Time of the PRETENDER’S coming out of France, until he landed in France again; with Plans of the Battles of Preston-pans, Clifton, Falkirk, and Culloden.

With a real DESCRIPTION of his Dangers and Travels through the HIGHLAND Isles, after the Break at CULLODEN.


[The History of the Rebellion, as given in the following pages, is a reprint, verbatim et literatim, of the third edition—the earliest now existent—published in 1774 by John Robertson, Glasgow. It is from a beautiful copy in the possession of Mr. George Gray, Clerk of the Peace, Glasgow, who kindly placed it at the disposal of the editor.]



It is grown customary to introduce New Publications (however trifling) to the Public, with some kind of Oration in their Favour——Some must have their Literary Productions shelter’d under the Protection of the Great, that they may have an Opportunity of showing their Talents in paying flattering Compliments, to gratify their Patron’s Vanity, often at the expence of Truth, and always with the sinister View of Advantage to themselves——Others, take their own Word for it, are prevail’d upon, to publish their Writings at the request of judicious Friends, thereby, laying the Public under a kind of Tribute to their friends, by obliging them to subscribe to their Judgment, or condemn their Taste, and excuse the poor Author, whose Modesty would otherwise have kept his Productions a Secret.——Some have wrote with the momentuous View of instructing and amending the World——A laudable, but arduous Task! and every One alledges some Reason or other for commencing Author.

I too have my Reasons, which I will candidly own: I shall not say they are as weighty as others are; but I will venture to affirm, they are as common, and such as have introduced into the World ten thousand Brats of the Brain, besides mine.

First then, I have an Itch for Scribling, and having wrote the following for my Pleasure, I had an Ambition to have this Child of mine out in the world, expecting, if it should[84] thrive and do well, it might bring Credit or Comfort to the Parent——For it is my firm Opinion, that Parental Affection is as strong towards Children of the Brain, as those produced by natural Generation.

Having thus far shown my Reason for Publishing, allow me in the next Place, to show my Method——I have no dread of any Body’s finding Fault with me for telling the Truth, because Charles has no Sway here; Duke William, once the Idol of the loyal British, is gone to the house of Silence, and I believe, if I should take the Liberty to tell the Truth of him, no Body could blame me—therefore, I have impartially related all that to me seemed worth while, of the Actions of either Party in that confused Fray, from the Writings of the Celebrated Voltaire, from the Author of Ascanius, or from my own Observation, having been an Eye-witness to most of the Movements of the Armies, from the Rebels first crossing the Ford of Frew to their final defeat at Culloden.——The Highlanders Stealt, Raivt, and Sipped the Kirn, I really think, pinching Hunger caused most of their Disorders.——The Red-coats unmercifully houghed the Cows, and burnt the Houses of many poor Folks who were innocent of the Rebellion: By both, the Sakeless suffered.——I have wrote it in Vulgar Rhyme, being what not only pleased my own Fancy, but what I have found acceptable to the most part of my Countrymen, especially to those of common Education like myself. If I have done well, ’tis what I should like: and if I have fail’d, ’tis what Mankind are liable to——Therefore, let Cavillers rather write a better one, than pester themselves and the Public with their Criticisms of my Faults.——To the candid Public, I beg leave to present it, such as it is, and if they applaud, let Zoilus carp his fill——I have gained my End, and am

The Public’s most obedient Servant,







In Britain in the years 1745 and 1746.


Introduction and Origin of the War. Charles’ landing in Scotland and march to Tranent.

In the year se’enteen hundred and forty one,

An imperious and bloody war began,

Amongst kings and queens in Germanie,

Who should the Roman Emperor be.

French and Prussians did jointly go,

The Hungarian queen to overthro’;

But British, Hanoverians, and Dutch,

Espous’d her cause, and that too much.

From year to year, the flame it grew,

Till armies to the field they drew,

At Dittingen and Fontenoy,

Did many thousand lives destroy.

And then the French, they form’d a plan,

To animate our Highland clan,

By sending the Pretender’s son

To claim Great Britain as his own;

Which drew the British forces back,

And made the German war to slack.


In the month of July, forty-five,

This project into act, they drive.

Prince Charles, the Pretender’s son,

On board a French frigate is gone,

With Sullivan, of Irish birth,

And Tilly-bairn of noble worth;

With other five Scots natives more,

Left Lazare, on Brittany shore.

First to Belleisle they steer’d their way

July the fifteenth, that very day,

Where they the Elis’beth did join,

A man-of-war, with arms and coin,

To be his guardian ship, and store,

But could not reach the British shore;

Altho’ well mann’d with sixty guns,

The English Lion, made blood and wounds,

Her captain slew, and seventy more;

Made all her crew with wounds and gore,

Fly with the wind in haste to France,

And into Brest they got by chance.

Right narrowly, escaping sinking,

Show’rs of balls around them clinking.

Thus by the Lion, and captain Brett,

He and his convoy, were separate.

His frigate eleven guns did carry,

But on the battle, she did not tarry,

And thought it best to get away,

Because he’d been the richest prey:

The Scottish coast, he reach’d at last,

Amongst the Isles, into the west;

Near Lochaber, there did he land,

At Kinloch-moidart, I understand;

With one Macdonald he did stay,

And on his standard, did display

This motto, Tandem Triumphans,

At length triumphant, the English is.

His Manifestoes, also spread,


Which for the Scots, great favour had;

How that the Union, he’d dissolve,

And the tax from Malt, Salt and Coal;

And as for the High Church of England,

As now establish’d, ’twas to stand:

But for Scots Kirk, call’d Presbytry,

He would consider at more delay.

This set the clergy on his tap,

And kept some thousands from the trap,

Wherein with him they had been snar’d

If under arms, they had appear’d.

The Highland Chiefs drew clans together,

But of the end, did not consider,

If their designs, miscarry should,

How that they were, of all befool’d.

The Camrons rose, headed by Lochiel,

And Stewarts did under Appin dwell,

With the Macdonalds of Glengary.

These clans did first his arms carry,

Numbred one thousand, eight hundred men,

But badly arm’d, as you may ken;

With lockless guns, and rusty swords,

Durks and pistols of ancient sorts,

Old scythes, with their rumples even,

Into a tree, they had them driv’n;

And some, with battons of good oak,

Vow’d to kill at every stroke:

Some had hatchets upon a pole,

Mischievous weapons, antick and droll,

Was both for cleaving and for clieking,

And durking too, their way of speaking.

Their uniform, was belted plaids,

Bonnets of blew upon their heads,

With white cockade and naked thie

Of foot, as nimble as may be.

The rumour spread thro’ all the land,

Of the Pretender and his band,


Then two companies padrolling went

Of Sinclair’s soldiers, with intent,

For to disperse this rebel crew,

But found it was too hard to do;

Being surrounded by the way,

And forc’d their arms down to lay,

They prisoners of war were made,

Or with them list, they freedom had;

And, Swethenham of Guise’s foot,

But he on parole, release got,

Who gave the real authentic count

What strength, the Highland pow’rs did mount,

Who did command, what clans they were,

How they encamped, when and where.

Then Sir John Cope gen’ralissimo,

Troops in Scotland prepar’d to go,

Break and scatter them, if he might,

Before they came to a great height,

And all inventions did contrive,

To catch that Prince, dead or alive.

A proclamation there was made,

Of thirty thousand[41] for his head,

Yet this did not prevent his friends,

Him to assist with men, and means,

From different corners of the land,

They came for to augment his band.

But Cope into the North he went,

Thinking their growth for to prevent;

With all the foot he could collect,

Light arm’d they were, thinking to break

And scatter a wild unarmed crew,

Who that of fighting, nothing knew.

The horse he made at Stirling stay,

Under the wall encamp’d they lay,

While he march’d on from hill to hill,


But them to find he had no skill,

For Charles sent in their way a scout,

At which they follow’d close pursuit,

O’er the mountains to Inverness;

Before he heard where Charlie was,

Possessed of the town of Perth,

And there was join’d by men of worth,

The Drummonds and duke John by name

Whose stile was Perth, of noble fame;

There Elcho came, and Broughton too,

With Balmarino not a few,

Kilmarnock also gave consent

And afterwards unto them went,

With many more, from north to south,

Of gentlemen, the flow’r of youth.

Here of Prince Regent, he took the name,

And his royal Father did proclaim,

King of Great Britain, and Ireland,

With all its titles, you’ll understand;

And here they lifted tax and cess,

Which did the lieges sore oppress,

And what was worse, I understand

Without his knowledge or command,

Some thievish bands, in many parts,

To cloak their rog’ry, us’d these arts,

In tartan dress’d from top to toe,

Arms and livery had also;

Plunder’d the country where they went,

Profess’d they by the Prince were sent,

To levy horse, men and money,

Extorting cash and horse from many;

Excise and cess made people pay,

And gave receipts, so just were they:

A famous way for making rich,

But Charlie got the blame of such,

Which did his merit sore defame,

And gave his men a thievish name.


Many of his crew indeed were greedy,

To fill their bellies when they were needy;

They cocks and hens, and churns and cheese

Did kill and eat, when they could seize,

And when owners did them exclaim;

Hup poup, hersel be far frae hame,

“You need not fash to say no thing,

“Hersel brings you a bra’ new king.”

From Perth they march’d unto Dumblane,

And then by Down the road they’ve ta’en;

By Stirling bridge they could not go,

Fearing the castle, and troops also,

Gard’ner and Hamilton’s dragoons

Which lay encampt between the towns

Of St. Ninians and Stirling wall,

Impatiently waiting the call,

Thinking John Cope was on their rear,

Though no tidings could from him hear.

They watch’d their motions day and night

But five miles distant in their sight;

Until inform’d by an express,

Of Cope’s marching from Inverness,

And then was bound for Aberdeen,

From thence to sail for East Lothi’n:

And so from Stirling to retreat,

On his arrival there to wait;

And were by no means to oppose

Them on their march, or come to blows,

Until the foot and horse unite;

This was John Cope’s orders complete,

While Charles yet, he lay at Down,

And the dragoons at Stirling town:

A council call’d at his desire,

Held in the house of Arnprior,

With chiefs and heads of ev’ry clan,

Their expedition south to plan.

Some was with Gard’ner for to fight,


And others said, that was not right;

Unless in Glens, or mountain tops,

To fight horsemen they had no hopes.

If field they lost, what could they do,

Nought but their heels could them rescue;

We’ll cross the Forth, then take the hill

Where horse can do us little ill;

Thus take the South at any rate,

Arms and money we’ll surely get:

Then shall we be more fit by far,

To fight with men that’s learn’d in war.

And that in field open and plain,

The victory they’d surely gain;

The mountain road ’tween Forth and Clyde,

Where’s glens and bogs on ev’ry side,

A famous field, if need there be

We’ll fight with more securitie.

Perhaps these horse will not us face,

Because no foot is in the place;

For certain, they’ll not fight alone

Without infantry to lead them on.

Then reply’d Stewart of Glenbuck,

“We’re them that loup before we look;

“What madness is’t for so few, he said,

“To ’ttempt down pulling a crown’d head;

“’Bout two thousand is our number,

“What can we do, but raise a rumour,

“Though all be north us could be trusted,

“Yet by the South we will be worsted;

“Without a num’rous aid from France,

“With them we can have little chance.

“A people that’s to Whiggism bound,

“With life and blood will keep their ground;

“And ’mongst them if we broken be,

“For shelter then, where can we flee?

“We already stand ’tween two fires,

“And yet go South is your desires.


“There’s Cope behind, Gard’ner before;

“Beat one of these, I’ll say no more.

“Gain but one battle, and then pursue,

“’Twill raise your fame and army too;

“But still run forward and be chac’d,

“That is no conquest but a jest.

“I’ll rather choose to turn about,

“And try our might, this Cope to rout;

“For if the two rejoin, ’tis true,

“We’ll find the work more hard to do;

“First break the foot, if that ye may,

“The horse then will no longer stay.”

At this high speech they took offence,

And charg’d him and his men, go hence;

For such a tim’rous soul as he,

Should not go in their companie:

A cow’rd, they said, so full of care,

Would fill their troops with dread and fear;

No trust he had in Providence,

In feats of war could have no chance.

And thus their counsel ends in rage,

Glenbucket’s schemes they’ll not engage,

But call’d him cow’rd and shabby names,

Who ’gainst their eager plan exclaims;

And in their strife they parted so,

Glenbucket to his sleep did go;

But how it happen’d none can tell,

Such accident on him befel:

They were alarmed with a shot,

Then found him bleeding on the spot;

Into the bed he lay alone,

But friend nor foe, with him was none.

Whether it was dregs of remorse,

Or thoughtful of the dang’rous course

He was engag’d to undergo;

But here he di’d, that’s what I know.

His men the body carried home,


And decently did him intomb;

And through displeasure of the act,

Not one of them returned back.

September, on the thirteenth day,

From Down they march’d in good array;

And at the Frew they cross’d the Forth,

The only passage from the North;

Without the help of boat or brigs,

Charles himself first wet his legs;

Being on the front of all his foot,

For help of horse there sought he not;

And on the south bank there he stood,

’Till all of them, had pass’d the flood.

Here for a space they took a rest,

And had refreshment of the best

The country round them could afford,

Though many found but empty board;

As sheep and cattle were drove away,

Yet hungry men sought for their prey:

Took milk and butter, kirns and cheese;

On all kinds of eatables, they seize:

And he who could not get a share,

Sprang to the hills like dogs for hare;

There shot the sheep, and made them fall,

Whirl’d off the skin and that was all;

Struck up fires and broil’d the flesh,

With salt and pepper, did not fash.

This did enrage the Cam’ron’s chief,

To see his men so play the thief;

And finding one into the act,

He fir’d and shot him through the back:

Then to the rest himself addrest,

“This is your lot, I do protest,

“Who e’er amongst you wrongs a man,

“Pay what you get, I tell you plain;

“For yet we know not friend or foe,

“Or how all things may chance to go.”


And then to arms they order’d were,

On thoughts of Gard’ner’s coming there:

But finding that he did decline,

They took the hills on some design,

Where men on horse could hardly sit,

They speal’d the rocks like goat or cat.

Out o’r the top, above Red-ha’,

To th’ moor of Touch went one and a’,

And in that moor lay all that night,

Where Stirling castle’s in their sight,

About three miles south from the town,

Which made Gard’ner to leave his ground,

Who lay encampt in Stirling park,

And judging they might in the dark

Upon him have some rude design,

For which his camp he did resign,

But for Falkirk they march’d away,

And all that night in field they lay,

Between Larbour and Falkirk town,

Then the morrow were eastward bound,

Through Lithgow to Edinburgh went,

To meet with Cope was his intent.

When Charlie found that they were fled,

Upon their rear, his front he led,

And near to Stirling marched by,

While the castle at him let fly;

But being too far, and badly serv’d,

Nought but terror was observed;

Which made th’ straglers mend their bicker,

And only run a pace the quicker;

Which kept them in from seeking plunder,

And cry, “That pe o’er muckle thunder.”

So through St. Ninian’s they passed wi’ speed;

To Bannockburn they did proceed,

There on the moor lay down to rest,

And from their friends got a repast,

Of what the country could afford,


As of ’munition they were not stor’d;

Neither of bread nor baggage carts,

Got bread and ale to cheer their hearts.

Came crowding in many a hunder

And all to keep them back from plunder;

As hunger will make men to steal.

Forsooth they took both brose and kail,

And when refresh’d, they march’d away

Yet some indeed forgot to pay.

Then through Torwood with speed they past,

To Callender house they came at last,

A little by east Falkirk town

Where store of arms in it they foun’,

Whereof they surely stood in need.

Then to Linlithgow did proceed;

Op’ned the pris’n in search of more,

Thinking to seize on Gard’ner’s store,

But th’ information was but mocks,

For all they found was sacking frocks,

Which troopers use dressing their horse,

This made Hersel to rage and curse,

Saying, “Het, tat soger has been chac’d,

“And left his auld sark in the haste.”

To Borrowst’ness they did advance,

Where powder and lead they found by chance;

To Winceburgh then, they march’d that day

And form’d a camp in regular way,

About eight miles from Edin. west,

Expecting to be ’ttack’d in haste

By horse, cit’zens and city-guard,

Who all for marching were prepar’d,

Thinking, upon Corstorphin plain,

To give them battle they did intend:

But yet the Achans in the town

Advis’d to lay all arms down.

Then Gen’ral Guest to the castle went,

Perceiving what was their intent


With what arms and reg’lars he had,

For nought they should not it invade.

When Charles found how all might be,

He marched on courageouslie,

Within two miles west from the town;

Then by Slateford took compass round,

By the south side of Burrow-muir,

Out of the castle’s sight and power.

South from the city he camp’d again,

While the surrender was made plain.

In the night, September the seventeen,

Into the city all marched in;

Which gave to many a sad surprize,

Rapping at their doors to make them rise:

The castle then struck round her clear,

None in its sight there durst appear.

They fix’d a guard at the West-bow-head,

And the Weigh-house their Guard-house made,

Crowding it full, ’bove and below;

When this the Castle came to know,

Their half-moon-cannons ’gan to play:

Like mad-men then they ran away;

But such a furich was never there,

As they tumbled headlong down the stair:

All in a haste got out together,

And riding one above another;

Each striving foremost for to get,

Their naked hips and noses met.

They centries kept at the West-port,

Which did afford the Castle sport:

As oftentimes they did let fly,

Made many on the streets to lye:

And also on the Castle-hill,

Sham sallies did them many kill:

Ev’n for to draw them in the snare,

When they return’d, pursu’d they were,

Being unacquaint with such play,


They pop’d them off both night and day.

Then tidings came in from Dunbar,

Of Gen’ral Cope’s arrival there

But twenty miles from Ed’nburgh east,

Which made them all take arms in haste.

On the east side of Arthur’s seat,

They rendezvouz’d both small and great,

And call’d a council what to do:

For ten miles east they had a view

Of all the coast to Aberlady,

And so for battle made all ready.

The Duke of Perth and great Lochiel

They chus’d for ground, that rising fell

West from Tranent, up Brislie brae,

A view both South and North to ha’e.

A few were left on Arthur’s Seat,

Thinking the king’s army to cheat.


Battle of Preston pans. Rebels return to Edinburgh, and behaviour there.

Now, at Dunbar, both foot and horse

Were join’d again, with full purpose,

The proud Pretender’s force to try,

And all the Highland pow’rs defy:

Commanded by Cope and fur’ous Fowke,

Who, alas! their plan had quite mistook;

Though Loudon and Gard’ner both were there,

They in council had, but little share:

For Cope he challeng’d the sole command,

And Fowke was still at his demand.

A day’s march made from Haddington,

Judg’d great fatigue, four miles of ground.

Between Cow-canny and Tranent


There Cope encamp’d, to council went,

Loudon and Gard’ner were of a mind,

That night to fight were well design’d:

Cope shamm’d it till another day,

In hope ’twould prove a cheaper way:

“Old men and boys, he said, would run,

“Sight of his army would them stun,

“A rabble undisciplin’d to fight,

“They neither have courage nor might.

“This day we’ve march’d enough, you’ll grant,

“T’ morrow we’ll make the rogues repent.”

—— With that the Highlanders appear’d

(While Cope huzza’d, mocked and jeer’d)

On the hill top bewest Tranent,

All in good order, for battle bent.

Then Cope began to Cannonade,

So back behind the hill they fled,

Thought it too hard to face his shot,

As ’tween them lay a ditch or moat;

Their Chiefs in council quickly chose

On the east side Cope to enclose,

South, north and west, he was hemm’d in,

No ways but one could at him win.

This was about the hour of two,

When first they did each other view.

The afternoon was fair and clear;

Yet Sir John Cope stopt all, we hear,

The fields are plain around Tranent,

Besouth the town grow whins and bent,

Where Charles kept his men secure,

Thinking on battle ev’ry hour.

But, Cope to move no man could treat,

More than he had been Arthur’s seat,

On which hillside he spy’d some men,

And vow’d they were the Rebel train,

Which was divided in parties two,

And on his rear in ambush drew;


For which the piece of ground he chus’d,

As on all sides it was inclos’d.

So under arms they stood all night,

Till break of day began the fight.

His troops indeed, none can deny,

Were form’d in order gallantly;

The foot into the centre stood,

And cavalry, wings covered,

With each battalion was seen

Counter guards, cannons between.

All night he in this posture stood,

While Charlie in a bushy wood,

A little bewest of Seaton-town,

Picquets and spies went him around,

Lay undiscover’d till break of day,

Then rouz’d like lions for their prey,

In full brigades and oval form,

Upon Cope’s front came as a storm,

The orders were not for to fire,

Until they came a little nigh’r;

To sham the first fell to the ground,

By which means few receiv’d a wound:

And ere they gave the other charge,

They on them with their sword and targe.

The furious Cam’rons, led by Lochiel,

With hideous cries gave such a knell

As frighted both dragoons and horse,

They could not fight, but rore and curse:

And Sir John Cope, for all his might,

Went with the foremost out of sight.

Fierce Fowke, brave Hume and Loudon both,

For to be ta’en that day were loth,

Few of the horsemen stood at all,

Woe to their conduct! worst of all;

For those who on the right wing stood,

A whole battalion over rode,

That kept the rear Corps de garde


Quite over them they headlong tread.


One thing they knew, they were inclos’d,

And where to flee, was not dispos’d:

They always sought the way they came,

Though in their face were sword and flame:

So when they got down to the sea,

Took east the coast most furiouslie:

And some through Preston vennal fled,

Then west by Mussleburgh they raid,

Up to the hills above Dalkeith,

O’er Sutrae hill, then out of skaith,

In such a pannic, ’twas a shame,

Ran thirty miles, even to Coldstream,

And there to rest they would not yet;

But unto Berwick, next morning set,

Where all the fugitives did meet,

And Sir John Cope his cheeks did weet;

Because they swore he had sold them,

To fight nor flee he ne’er told them.

The poor foot, left here, paid for all,

Not in fair battle, with powder and ball;

But horrid swords, of dreadful length,

So fast came on, with spite and strength,

Lochaber axes and rusty scythes,

Durks and daggers prick’d their thighs:

Fix’d bay’nets had but little share

With the long shanked weapons there;

Although they kept together fast,

Their en’mies close upon them prest;

And back to back long did they stand,

Till lost was many a head and hand.

Then after Gard’ner’s party’s beat,

The whole of’s horsemen clean defeat,

Himself on foot rejoic’d to see

The brave lads fight so valiantly,

With no commander on their head,

To join that party swift he gade:


Although some wounds he’d got before,

To lose the field his heart was sore.

Then all around he was enclos’d,

Behind, before, fiercely oppos’d,

With sword in hand he hew’d his way,

While blood in streams did from him fly.

Ere him down on the field they got,

His head was clove, his body shot,

And being sep’rate from the rest,

The battle sore upon him prest,

Ev’n after he lay on the ground,

No mercy was unto him shown,

I mean by the rude vulgar core,

Yet gentlemen lamented sore;

Because he would no quarter have,

While they endeavour’d ’s live to save.

One man he had, who by him staid,

Until he on the field was laid,

And then he fled to the Meadow-mill,

Where he acquainted was right well,

Thence in disguise return’d again,

And bore him off, from ’mongst the slain.

His stately dwelling was near by;

But now he could not lift an eye,

His speech was laid, all hopes were gone

No signs of life, except a groan.

Of hours he liv’d but very few,

“A good Christi’n and soldi’r too,”

This character he’s left behind

Military men there’s few of ’s kind.

The poor foot, on field, I can’t forget,

Who now were caught as in a net,

From ’bove Cow-canny to Preston-dyke,

About a mile or near the like,

They were beat backward by the clans,

Along the crofts ’bove Preston-pans,

Till the high dyke held them again,


Where many taken were and slain;

Although they did for quarters cry,

The vulgar clans made this reply,

“Quarters! you curst soldiers, mad,

“It is o’er soon to go to bed.”

Had not their officers and chiefs

Sprung in and begg’d for their reliefs,

They had not left one living there:

For in a desp’rate rage they were,

’Cause many clans were hack’d and slain;

Yet of their loss they let not ken:

For by the shot fell not a few,

And many with bay’nets pierc’d thro’.

’Bove three hundred lay on the field,

Fifteen hundred were forced to yield,

The rest with Cope got clear away.

And so ended this bloody fray,

Since call’d the battle of Preston-pans,

Fought by John Cope and Charlie’s clans,

September the twenty-first day,

Below Tranent a little way;

From Gladsmoor church two miles and more,

The place old Rhymer told long before,

“That between Seaton and the sea,

“A dreadful morning there should be,

“Meet in the morning lighted by the moon,

“The lion his wound here, heal shall not soon.”

In Thomas’ book of this you’ll read,

Mention’d by both Merlin and Bead.

Now, the field tents and warlike store

And cannons, which they’d not before,

All fell into the conq’rers hand,

Of arms many a hundred stand.

To Edinburgh then he did return,

His great triumph made many mourn.

Through Lothian then it was the way,

Whose man ye was ye durst not say.


Nor to what side you’d wish good speed;

So critical were times indeed.

To Holyrood-house, great Charles then,

Went in with all his noblemen,

Being low out of the castle’s view

There to him flocked not a few,

Who were in dread to come before;

But now they thought the conquest o’er,

Rich presents were unto him sent,

And much time in gallanting spent.

His army here strove to recruit,

Large collections were contribute,

Taxes, cess, and all king’s dues,

His orders no man durst refuse.

The whole country and neighbouring towns

Obediently sent in their pounds:

Horses and carts they did provide,

And men likewise these carts to guide.

Yet when of all he was prepar’d,

Another hardship was declar’d,

As they were ’bout to leave the land,

Six weeks cess before the hand,

They gave a charge for all to pay

Who dealt into the malting way,

Forthwith to raise this contribution

On pain of military execution.

This did the brewers exasp’rate,

But to answer they knew not what.

An honest quaker brew’d good ale,

Who never wanted a ready tale,

To him the brewers did apply,

For his good counsel what to say:

After that he had heard them speak,

“Your speech, says he, does make me sick,

“By Yea and Nay, I think it’s fit,

“To keep our money and pay with wit,

“Though he’s noble born, I do not lo’e him;


“Yet ne’ertheless I will go to him:

“Were he all the earthly into one skin,

“He’s but a lump of dust and sin,

“If I regard the face of clay,

“To morrow be my bury’ng day:

“He’s fenc’d around with men and swords,

“Which I’ll repel with simple words.”

This honest quaker took his way,

And call’d for Charles without delay,

I am a man who want to see him;

Because I have some bus’ness wi’ him.

Said one, You must tell that to me,

By Yea and Nay, thou art not he,

The tidings which I have to tell

Concerneth none but Charles himsell,

And if he’ll not permit me in,

My mouth I’ll shut and not begin:

Then at the door he entrance gat,

Yet neither mov’d his hand or hat,

Says——“Charles, man what dost thou mean?

“Thou sure are not this countries friend,

“Thou’rt worse than all that came before thee,

“And will make the country quite abhor thee,

“Thou’rt worse than George for all his stents,

“He ne’er before-hand charg’d his rents;

“But gave six weeks to scrape it in;

“Thou car’st not whether we lose or win;

“We may die, ere six weeks be past,

“Look what thou do’st, run not too fast.”

Charles replies, “a strait we’re on;

“But ’gainst your wills, it sha’n’t be done.”

Then thank thee kindly for thy grant,

And off he came as mild’s a saint.

Click here to view the Plan as an illustration from the book

A Plan of the Battle of PRESTON.



Seaton Village.

The Highland Army all in one Column.

/       \

3 Cannon.   2 Cannon.
|  |  |  |  |
_________  ________
Gardner’s   Monro’s
Dragoons.   Dragoons.

The foot all in one


The town
of Preston
on the
Any that
fled, got

The Thorn-
Tree where
Gardner fell.
A great



The Park-dyke to which
they were driven back.

| Colonel    |
| Gardner’s |
|  House.     |




Their March into England. Taking of Carlisle. Rout through England and retreat back.

Then, taking leave of Edinr, they

Unto Dalkeith all march’d away,

First of November camped there,

And then for England did prepare.

Short time they in that camp did stay,

Till south they went the nearest way.

At Kelso town they pass’d the Tweed,

And west the Border went with speed:

By Jedburgh and through Liddisdale,

They spread themselves o’er hill and vale:

And some by Moffat took their route;

Although it was some miles about.

In this order they march’d along,

Only about sev’n thousand strong.

Chief in command was duke of Perth,

And Lord George Murray of noble birth;

Lord Elcho son to the Earl of Wemyss,

Col’nel of the Life-guard it seems;

The Earl Kilmarnock, in this cause,

Commanded those they call’d Hussars;

Lord Pitsligo gen’ral of the horse,

With Lords Nairn and Ogilvie there was;

Bold Balmarino and brave Dundee,

MacDonald th’ aid de’ camp was he:

Sheridan too, and Sullivan,

By birth an Irish gentleman:

The squire of Broughton his secret keeper,

Who got the name of bosom-viper:

Besides the worthy brave Lochiel,

Other Chiefs I have not room to tell.

At the English border they did unite,

All in a body their troops complete,


Near Canabie in Liddisdale

They enter’d Cumberland in hail.

Then did assault the fort Carlisle,

Which did hold out but little while.

Having friends within and round about,

Long to resist they seem’d unstout.

The town and castle both they got

Call’d England’s Key, an useful spot.

At Carlisle he did leave a band

The town and fort for to command,

From thence to Penrith did proceed,

And then for Kendal march’d with speed:

To Lancaster they came indeed,

Which news put England in great dread;

To Proud-preston and Manchester

They still advanc’d withouten fear,

Being join’d by none of English train,

But five hundred Lancaster men,

Which to him was of small effect;

For hard marching made them to ake,

And miss’d their dinner many a day,

Made them, repenting, sigh and say

“Woe worth the Scots; for they can feed

“On drinking water and eating bread:

“Their irony soles do never tire

“On stony ground, dub or mire.

“Beef or pudding they never mind:

“Them Scots can live on snuffing wind,

“For me, my belly clings to my back,

“Since I have join’d this hellish pack.

“If in this state all soldiers be,

“The dev’l be soldi’r again for me.”

—— To such hard frets thus driven were

Poor hungry Toms, of Lancashire:

For in all haste they marched up,

At Manchester they made a stop;

Here his faithful Clans perceiv’d and saw,


That English vows were nought at a’;

Some kind enough; but no way friendly:

Only through terror they acted meanly.

Said the Scots Chiefs, “We blinded be,

“That’s come far from our own countrie.

“As friends, indeed, some English own us;

“But if once defeat, they’d set upon us.

“France and England, by perjurie,

“Will be our ruin, we clearly see:

“They’ve charm’d us out as working tools,

“Now use us as a band of fools,

“England to Whiggism is inclin’d,

“And with the Georgian house combin’d;

“They cry, Oppression, from high to low:

“Yet Redeeming-time they do not know.

“’Gainst Acts and Tax on ev’ry trade:

“They’re all bewitch’d, and we’re mislead:

“Here in a trap betwixt two fires,

“And what we’ll do counsel requires.

“The Duke before and Wade behind,

“And where now shelter can we find?”

Then Charles, hearing all this, said,

With heart full sore he answer made,

“My Lords and Gentlemen (said he),

“Our case is bad, I plainly see;

“But all’s not lost that’s in a peril,

“Kind providence can ease the quarrel.

“Both French and English have betray’d us;

“But I trust a better hand will guide us:

“On Preston field, ye all well ken,

“We found the English there but men.

“I trust in field they’re no more here,

“Though thrice our number should appear:

“Could we pass the Duke without a blow,

“And with all speed to London go,

“Our friends there would so well assist,

“That en’mies were of small request.


“That stalward Duke’s so fierce and keen,

“Were he defeat, ’twould end the scene,

“And give aspects another face,

“Which we can’t do in such a case;

“For if here defeat, then all is lost;

“Battle avoid we surely must,

“I trust the French to come by sea;

“But where can their invasion be?

“If at sea indeed they have been check’d

“It damps our hope; but does not wreck’t.

“Then let’s push on and do our best;

“Kind providence make out the rest!”

Then proclaiming his father there,

As done in ev’ry town elsewhere,

In form, all market towns he past,

To Staffordshire he came at last:

Where the Duke’s army lay ’fore him

Well prepar’d for to devour him.

He here to fight had no desire,

Took east the muirs for Derbyshire,

Directed his rout by th’ town of Leek,

Left Cumberland to claw his cheek:

Kept south by east to Derby town,

In full career for London boun’:

But there receiv’d intelligence,

His friends to rise had now no chance,

The Georgian party was so strong,

And mixt in each place them among,

No assembling could be together,

Nor word of French ships coming hither.

The south coast all was guarded round,

An English fleet cruis’d up and down;

And through each county in the south lands

Militia swarm’d, like locust-bands.

These tidings put him in great fear,

But for to flee, he knew not where.

They all in council did agree,


Backward for Scotland then to flee.

This did the vulgar sore chagreen,

To plunder London that were keen.

When Cumberland perceived this,

He form’d a plan was not amiss,

To intercept ’em in Lancashire:

But how he miss’d you may admire.

Wade on the north, was marching to him.

The Duke behind, did still pursue him.

One Oglethorpe upon his right,

With a thousand hunters all in flight:

Yet he, still his way did keep,

Through Derby town and Ashburn peak:

Which towns indeed for rash proceeding,

Were badly paid for what was needing,

When they perceived their flight was back,

Quite contrary was their kind act,

For all the praise they got before,

They now were savages and more.

December the fourth, they turn’d about,

Out of England they took their rout,

At Derby town they staid two nights,

To get in superscription writes,

Form’d by an English party there,

Which made that town and country bare,

And furnish, at an easy price,

A vast of things for their supplies.

When to Manchester back they came,

Their usage there was much the same:

And for their using them that way,

Two thousand Sterling were made t’ pay,

To save the plund’ring of the town;

Paid when the kingdom was his own.

So north they came to Wigan then,

Next day they did Proud Preston gain.

The Duke behind him but a day,

Ride as they will he kept his way.


And could not gain a mile upon ’em,

Tho’ stout hors’d, they did outrun ’em.

From Preston on the thirteenth day,

Early at morn he march’d away.

No sooner had they quit these towns,

Than Oglethorpe with Wade’s dragoons

Enter’d just at the other end,

To give them chase they did intend;

But being fatigu’d, chose rest a while.

In three days they march’d a hundred mile,

Through ice and hills cover’d with snow,

Across Yorkshire as they did go,

With full intent to intercept him

And at Proud Preston thought to kep him,

They had no footmen here, ’tis true,

But royal hunters not a few,

Who were so keen in battle rage,

On foot they offer’d to engage,

Being zealous youths of gentle fame,

Who, by fighting thought to gain a name.

And as they were to march again,

A false alarm gave them pain,

That French invaded had the south,

Which passed for a certain truth:

Such tidings from Duke William came,

Who actually believ’d the same,

And stopt his forces for a day,

Till Charles was got out of the way.

And Orders sent to Oglethorpe

To come to him with all his troop:

As soon as he the Duke had join’d,

The news prov’d such as Jacks had coin’d.

Then Oglethorpe he got command,

To go in chace of Charlie’s band,

And, if possible, get before him,

While he behind would soon devour him.

But, on the fifteenth, I understand,

Charles reach’d Kendal in Westmoreland,


Now thinking that the chace was over,


Slacked his march; but did discover

The English bloody flag behind,

And colours waving in the wind.

To range their rear they were not slow,

But the front, of this they did not know.

At the village Clifton, in Westmoreland,

They prudently pitch’d out a stand,

At a Quaker’s house stood near the way,

Which rous’d his sp’rit ’bove Yea and Nay:

Behind the hedges, walls and lones,

Where unperceiv’d they stood as stones.

The eighteenth day of dark December,

In Forty Five, you’ll this remember,

After the setting of the sun,

Just as Black night was coming on,

The King’s dragoons and Kingston’s horse

Came prancing up, at unawares.

A volley shot out thro’ the hedge,

Full on their flank did them engage,

Which in confusion did them throw,

And through the hedge they could not go.

Brave gen’ral Bland commanded here

Who quickly caused his troops retire;

For had they more such volleys got,

Few had returned from the spot.

Young Honeywood was wounded sore,

The Duke, enrag’d, then highly swore

That he’d revenged be that night,

Or die before the morning light:

Yet counsell’d was for to desist;

For ambuscades were hard to trust,

So the pursuit he did delay,

Till near about the break of day:

Brave men and horse lay on the field,

Tho’ both the sides did flee and yield:

Yet this check Charles’ end did gain,


For he that night wou’d been o’erta’en:

Lord Elcho and Murray form’d that plan,

And did the party here command,

Not without loss, I truly say;

On both sides dead and wounded lay.

Few Highlanders did come to blows,

Till thro’ the hedge some horsemen goes,

And did engage with sword in hand;

But made nought of it with the Clan,

Who did come on in numbers thick,

And horse and men did hough and prick.

’Bout twenty five lay on the field,

And thirty wounded fled for bield,

With gen’ral Bland they rode away

Toward the Duke, who heard the fray

And came the battle to renew;

But in the dark it would not do.

Of Highlanders, as I heard say,

But fourteen on the field there lay.

George Hamilton of Stewart’s reg’ment,

As prisoner he did consent,

After a stout resistance made,

And deeply wounded in the head,

Cut by an Austrian Hussar,

Who serv’d the Duke during this war.

Then from the field they fled in haste,

And to Penrith at midnight past,

Where the main body was come before,

Which spread the alarm more and more;

Dreading th’ English did yet pursue,

Then all out of the town they flew.

Good for Penrith it happen’d so,

Or next morn had been a day of woe:

They vow’d in ashes it to lay

For what they’d done the other day,

To those who plunder’d Lowther-hall.

And Penrith guards did on them fall,


Beat and broke them, and some slew,

And some they into prison threw:

The rest into Carlisle did run,

As from that fortress they had come,

The while that Charles was in the south,

Wanting something to taste their mouth,

A foraging they came about,

Only a small band in a scout,

And Penrith guards upon them fell

So Charles by chance of it heard tell:

Perth vow’d revenge, in dreadful ire,

A recompense with sword and fire;

But when such hurry on them came,

They minded nought but up and ran.

As one behind another did stand,

He cries, Furich tere be Cumberland.

Dark was the night and rough the way,

Carlisle they reach’d by break of day:

There’s sixteen miles between these towns,

But the weak and weari’d, left in wounds,

Were all catched on the next day,

By their fierce foes coming that way,

About an hundred men or more,

And badly us’d you may be sure.

Being into loathsome jails confin’d

But poorly kept and badly din’d.

The Duke to Penrith came next day,

On the twentieth at Hasket lay,

Being then within twelve short mile

Of the strong fortress of Carlisle.

And hearing the Scots were safely there,

To follow hard he took no care:

Upon his rear thought fit to rest,

And counsel call’d to do what’s best.

On the twenty-second they marched on

But finding that the Scots were gone,

All but a few who did pretend,


The town and castle to defend.

Who there were left, I understan’,

By sole advice of Sullivan,

(Of Irish birth although he be)

The cowardliest of the company.

Unlike was he to Blakeney’s blood;

For Irishmen are soldiers good,

Will fight for what they take in hand,

Abroad or yet in native land.

This Sullivan he did pretend,

They would the English so suspend,

That they should come no further north

Till Scots had join’d their friends on Forth.

And Hamilton from Aberdeen

To guard the place appear’d so keen;

Had they stood on but for a day,

As open to the north it lay,

Which was Perth, Murray and Elcho’s plan,

In it they need not lost a man,

They might at ev’ning issued out,

And ev’ry one been out of doubt:

Through boasted courage and hot zeal,

For a month, said, they would not fail,

Cannon, powder and wealth of balls,

Very strong gates and stately walls:

As in despair, they did pretend,

It to the last they would defend.

Lancashire reg’ment chus’d there to ’bide,

For to keep the fort were not afraid:

The English gate of iron and oak,

For fear with cannon it should be broke

They built it up with stones within,

And swore the de’il should not come in;

Unless that he got wings to fly,

And all by oaths would do or die.

This being done, Charles and his men

For Scotland marched back again,


By the Langtown on Esk’s side,

The water swoln, not by the tide,

But a mighty current from the hills

Made all to stop against their wills.

And then to fly they knew not where,

North, south and west, inclosed were.

And though Carlisle lay on their rear,

They knew not but the English were

Hard behind them on the pursuit,

By only going six miles about,

To a bridge lies near Brampton town,

And on the north side to come down,

Whereof they had great fear and dread;

Which put them to this desp’rate deed,

The fords they tried which were too strong,

Horse of more strength and legs more long

They would require at such a place,

And there to stay great danger was.

They chus’d a swamp above a ford,

And in they plung’d with one accord,

The horse went first and swim’d half thro’,

Foot at their tails they forward drew,

Who hung together with arms a-cleek,

Tho’ floods went over head and cheek:

And those who were of stature low,

Hard was their lot in wading so,

Their powder clothes and arms wet,

This was the bath these poor men gat.

Not one shot was preserved dry,

But these that did on horseback ly:

They in the water plung’d so fast,

That many lost their grips at last,

And tumbling, went off with the stream,

Down went their heads, up came their wame:

Though people stood on ev’ry shore,

Alas! their lives were now no more.

Both men and women were wash’d away,


Into the firth of Sollaway.

And some at Bowness were cast out,

At Annan-foot and thereabout.

To Gretna, and Annan they march away,

Thence to Dumfries on the next day,

And charg’d a ransom off that town,

Or else to plunder they were boun’:

Two thousand Sterling made them pay,

And carried hostages away

When cash failed them, to the North,

To join their friends upon the Forth.

Click here to view the Plan as an illustration from the book

A Plan of the Battle of CLIFTON-MUIR.


The other Party in Ambush unseen, who gave them a close Fire through the Hedges. Bland’s Dragoons, Hussars and Light-horse, on the High-way between two Hedges. A Party behind the Village at the Quaker’s House.


The Duke’s
Army three
Miles behind.



Retaking of Carlisle by Cumberland. His return to London. Battle of Inverurie. The Rebels march from Dumfries by Glasgow to Stirling.

December, on the twenty-two,

The English round Carlisle they drew,

On south west side fix’d on a place

Which opposite the castle was.

The Duke all round it took a view,

And of the castle had no brow,

It seem’d to him like a dung hill,

Or like a German old brick kiln:

But yet their cannon play’d right smart,

Which caus’d them from the hills depart.

To capit’late the terms they crav’d,

Were, T’ march with honour away to leav’t.

The Duke reply’d, “That is a due

“Ne’er given to any rebel crew;

“But ne’ertheless take it I shall,

“Either with honour or not at all.”

Then in the dark time of the night,

He caus’d lay down, to cloud their sight,


Loads of straw and ricks of hay;

There dig’d a trench of turf and clay:

But batt’ring cannon he had none,

But small field guns to mount thereon;

Till from Whitehav’n, thirty miles away,

Drove heavy cannon on it to lay.

As soon as they began to fire,

They beat the walls as low as mire,

And made a breach both broad and wide,

In the castle wall on the west side;

To enter there, began to form,

And take the fort by bloody storm.

No quarters they propos’d to give,

Put all to death, not one to live;

When this they saw, without all doubt,

A flag of mercy they hung out;

But all that could obtained be,

Was pris’ners at the King’s mercy.

From thence they were to London sent,

Where heads and hearts were from them rent

Some executed in that place,

And members dash’d into their face,

Their very hearts cut out alive,

Such butch’ry’s horrid to descrive.

Many of the commons banish’d were

To plantations, I know not where,

John Hamilton the governor,

His head, from off his body shore,

Fix’d on a pole on the Scots-port,

Scots for the future to exhort,

By viewing the spectacles were there,

Against rebellion to have a care.

Two Lancashire men’s heads also,

On th’ English gate fixt as a show,

Whom they did English rebels call,

A proof Scots are not rebels all;

I only show there’s part of both,


And for their fate, I say, “Oh, hogh!”

A dreadful sight for human eyes,

For to behold such sacrifice

’Mong Christian people, as I think,

At what I’ve seen my heart does shrink;

When I view the place and on it ponder,

The bloody butch’ry that’s been yonder,

I mean in the streets of Carlisle,

The mangling that was there a while.

Of such like acts I’ll say no more,

But follow the subject just before.

The Duke forthwith to London went,

And gen’ral Hawly to Scotland sent,

Who round by Berwick took his rout,

Near a full hundred miles about,

Ev’n by Newcastle and Dunbar,

It must be own’d the stretch was far,

Before he came to E’nburgh town

Fatigu’d were both foot and dragoon.

While Charles did through England pass,

Lord Loudon lay at Inverness,

And with him did two thousand men

To keep in awe the Highland Clan:

For several lairds their Clans did raise,

And some took part in both the ways;

Others kept them in their own bounds,

For preservation of their grounds,

And when Duke William gain’d the day,

It was for him, they then did say;

But if Charles had chanc’d to prevail

Some think they’d told another tale.

Yet Loudon to King George was true,

And by his conduct did subdue

Many who were as foes inclin’d,

And kept them in a neutral mind.

The Frazers’ clan he drove away,

Who around Fort Augustus lay,


Commanded by lord Lovat’s son,

He made them from that fort to run.

Lord Lewis Gordon lay from him south,

With lord John Drummond, a furious youth,

And brother to the Duke of Perth,

Who wish’d Loudon sent off the earth,

And under their command, it seems,

Was the French Regiment de Fitz James,

With Clan’s rais’d on the northern shore,

About three thousand men or more,

Kept Aberdeen, Perth, and Dundee,

And all the low towns by the sea:

The fierce MacLeod lay west from them,

Who on George’s side had rais’d his men,

Intending to take Aberdeen,

Knowing that Gordon lay therein,

He as far as Inverurie came,

In hopes next day to reach the same;

But Gordon of this was aware,

And for to meet him did prepare,

But march’d his men another way,

As tho’ he would not on him stay.

West from the road he took his rout,

Altho’ it was some miles about,

Kept hollow ways not to be seen,

Where woods and planting did him screen,

And ’bout the setting of the sun,

He spy’d them entering the town.

A halt he made, judg’d what to do,

Of’s being there they nothing knew.

Much like his own their number seem’d,

Then for to fight, it best he deem’d:

And what favour’d his notion more,

He saw them billoting, a score

Or more into each country town,

At two miles distance all around.

When the full half of them were gone,


He thought it time to draw them on,

In full brigade at the town’s end,

Before MacLeod ought of him kend:

The first intelligence some got

Was by the rattling of the shot.

Confus’d he was in this sad case

His men dispers’d, and few to face.

The foes assault, upon the hill

He rallied them near to the mill.

They fir’d full brisk on every side;

Yet Gordon’s force was hard to bide,

They being to arms bred in France,

Knew how to retreat, and to advance.

MacLeod’s men, in number few,

Quite raw and undisciplin’d too,

Lost nearly twenty upon the spot,

And forty fled gall’d by the shot.

The laird himself, to end the matter,

Did fly and could not make it better.

His men in crowds came running in,

Crying, Master did ye loss or win?

But for to rally in such a stour,

He had no time, might, or power;

The darksome night was coming on,

And his best men lay dead and gone,

Or wounded, they before him fled:

While Gordon brisk advancing made,

Whose loss that night was not heard tell,

Alledging that none of them fell;

He gained the field and town, ’tis true,

But yet ’twas judg’d he lost a few,

Whom they did bury in the night,

To keep their losses out of sight.

This bloody battle, as they say,

Was fought the night before Yuil day,

At the end of Inverurie town,

Led on by Gordon and Drummond,


Against MacLeod and all his Clan,

Who did not well concert the plan:

Spreading his men so far a breed,

Was nothing like a martial deed:

For the one half they overthrew,

Before the other ought on’t knew.

It was a trick of war ye ken

For making them more wise again;

No sooner Gordon got the town,

Than centries plac’d were all aroun’,

Who kept patrolling through the night,

Lest MacLeod shou’d renew the fight;

But to the hills he did proceed,

There to bewail his luckless deed.

Gordon return’d to Aberdeen

Rejoicing he’d victorious been,

From thence to Stirling got his rout,

To join his Prince when thereabout.

When from Dumfries they came away,

Hamilton they reach’d on the next day;

Knowing no danger then before them,

They levied all things fit to store them,

As horse, of which they had great need,

Many of them being rode to dead.

Of meat and drink they spier’d no price;

But little harm did otherwise,

Save changing shoes when brogues were spent,

For victuals sure they could not want.

To Glasgow they came the next day,

In a very poor forlorn way,

The shot was rusted in the gun,

Their swords from scabbards would not twin,

Their count’nance fierce as a wild bear,

Out o’er their eyes hang down their hair,

Their very thighs red tanned quite;

But yet as nimble as they’d been white;

Their beards were turned black and brown,


The like was ne’er seen in that town,

Some of them did barefooted run,

Minded no mire nor stony groun’;

But when shav’n, drest and cloth’d again

They turn’d to be like other men.

Eight days they did in Glasgow rest,

Until they were all cloth’d and drest:

And though they on the best o’t fed,

The town they under tribute laid,

Ten thousand Sterling made it pay,

For being of the Georgian way,

Given in goods and ready cash,

Or else to stand a plundering lash:

And ’cause they did Militia raise,

They were esteem’d as mortal faes:

For being oppos’d to Jacobites,

They plainly call’d them Whiggonites.

But, for peace sake, to get them clear,

Of ev’ry thing they furnish’d were,

A printing Press and two workmen

To print their journals as they ran.

From Glasgow then they took their rout,

Lochiel he led his Clan about

By Cumbernauld, another way,

Lest Kir’ntilloch they should repay,

Which had killed two of their Clan,

That a spulzieing unto it came;

As they were passing through the town,

They by the rabble were knock’d down,

For which the place was taxed sore,

And dreaden much ’twould suffer more.

Near Stirling then, they all did meet,

Summon’d the town for to submit,

Militia therein were quartered,

And the townsmen also, armed,

Who did defend a day or two;

But found their force it would not do:


Though a good wall both stout and strong,

Lay on the south where they came on;

Yet ’tween the water and the town

It lay quite open, halfway roun’.

The bridge was cut on the south side,

The water deep they could not wade;

Their nearest pass was at the Frew,

Full four miles west and in their view.

Four thousand lay on the north side,

Threat’ning the town whate’er betide.

Glasgow Militia had left the place,

And to met Hawley at Ed’nbro’ was.

Militia they had; but not enew,

Such duty was too hard to do.

Those who did ly on the north hand,

Were not of those were in England;

But with Lord Lewis Gordon came,

Brother to th’ Duke of that same name,

Which he had raised in the north,

Help’d by lord John, brother to Perth,

Who did command Fitz-James’s horse,

That came from France into Montrose:

Most of their riders Irish and Scots,

Nat’rally bent to join such plots,

Inclin’d to love the Stewart race,

Whose fathers did that side embrace.

These foresaid Lords most active were,

Both men and money to prepare,

And would have rais’d some thousands more,

Had but six thousand French came o’er,

Which, time from time, they promised;

But the seas were too well guarded.

Lord Loudon lay into the north,

Long way beyond the Murray firth,

Twenty sev’n hundred men had he,

Which made the Frazer’s Clan to flee,

When Fort Augustus they did besiege;


Yet in open field would not engage.

Likewise MacLeods, Grants and Munroes,

Against the Stewarts in arms rose:

The Sutherlands and name of Gun,

To arms did against them run.

Sir Duncan Forbes, Lord president,

Caus’d many rise by his consent.

Thus, in the north, I you assure,

There was an army of great pow’r,

All upon the Georgian side,

Beside what was besouth the Clyde,

Who all in arms there did unite,

Unto the cause with noble sp’rit.

Also the brave men of Argyle,

Who were preparing all the while;

But could not find safe passage east,

Until they were from Glasgow past:

And then they went by Airdrie town,

When Hawley was through Lothian come,

Him join’d at Ed’nburgh where they lay

Preparing for the battle day;

Glasgow and Paisley troops were there,

To serve king George free volunteer.


Siege of Stirling Castle. Battle of Falkirk.

Now as Charles around Stirling lay,

To surrender they did give way,

All but brave Blakney, who withdrew

Into the Castle, with those thought true,

Who chose with him the siege to stand

To their life’s end, with sword in hand.

His stores, indeed, were ill laid in,

S’ unexpected it did begin,


No time had they for to provide,

Charles being so long on their south side.

Their ammunition too was small,

No stock of powder, nor yet of ball;

Yet all encouragement he gave

To those who’d help the Fort to save:

His endeavours he spared not

To find such stores as could be got:

And all he thought of use to be,

Were welcome to his companie:

And those who fearful were to stay

Freely got leave to go away;

Th’ unloyal he charg’d not to ’tend it;

For to the last he would defend it.

Summons he got for to surrender;

But answer made, “He was defender,

“Intrusted by king George command,

“To which, he vow’d, he’d firmly stand.”

Then to assault they did prepare,

Milit’ry engines erected there,

Cannon from th’ other side the Forth,

Which had been landed in the north.

British cannons lost at Fount’noy,

Came home this Fort for to destroy.

To raise a trench, in haste they got,

As near the walls as pistol shot,

On the east side, on a hill top,

To breach the wall it was their hope:

And then by storm they did pretend,

Of all within to make an end:

But at this instant Hawley came,

Which put a stop to their fierce aim.

Then all their force together drew,

Those in the north past at the Frew;

Near by Torwood they rendezvouz’d,

Where Hawley’s camp, afar they view’d,

Hard by Falkirk, on the north side,


The English banners were display’d.

From th’ banks of Carron they had in view,

All passes where they could come thro’:

Ev’n from Forth side up to the hills;

But high presumption their courage fills,

As they were arm’d in such a case,

The rebel Scots would not them face:

And as in scorn did them deride,

So to advance did slow proceed:

And spent their time in vain delay

Ev’n the forepart of th’ battle-day.

While Charlie, with much active care,

His res’lute troops did well prepare:

From Torwood-head they issu’d down

To the south side, on rising groun’.

Cross’d Carron at Dunnipace mill.

By foot of Bonny took th’ hill,

And still he kep’t a sharp look out,

In hopes that Hawley would take th’ rout;

As in his camp sure news he had

From’s out-guard posts who there had fled.

Mean time the Highlanders gain’d th’ hill,

Wind on their back just at their will.

Hawley’s camp it was alarmed;

But he himself could not be had:

Chief orders then they could get none,

Which caused some confusion,

And when that Hawley did appear,

He’d not believe they were so near.

Husk form’d his men and took the hill,

The horsemen also march’d there-till,

Glasgow and Paisley volunteers,

Eager to fight, it so appears,

With the dragoons advanc’d in form,

Who ’mong the first did feel the storm.

The Highlanders, seeing their zeal,

Their highland vengeance pour’d like hail,


On red coats they some pity had,

But ’gainst Militia were raging mad.

Cob’s dragoons they southmost stood;

But gain a flank they never cou’d:

For Murray led on the front line,

And kept them both from flank and wind:

Some time was spent these points to gain;

But all the struggle prov’d in vain.

Gardner’s and Monroe’s were next,

On worse ground troopers could not fix;

I don’t mean as to th’ en’mies fire;

But on their front a boggie mire,

Which in th’ attack the horse confounded,

And they on all sides were surrounded;

Next to them the volunteers,

Between the foot and Grenadiers.

Some reg’ments coming up the hill,

And as they came, they formed still.

The Highlanders in columns three,

Came moving on couragiouslie,

With loud huzzas on every side,

Their bloody banners were display’d,

The front line only three men deep,

They in reserve the rest did keep:

Their plaids in heaps were left behind,

Light to run if need they find:

And on they came with a goodwill,

At the dog-trot, adown the hill.

At Cob’s dragoons the first rank fir’d:

But rear and centre were desir’d

To keep their fire, and then to pour’t

Into their face, while front in scourd

With sword in hand, (as they intended)

This was design’d them to defend it.

So near their front at flight they came,

They turned back both horse and man,

They kept up fire then crack by crack,


They surely found it on their back;


For men and horse to field they brang,


And many in their saddles swang.

The brave Monroe, with his troops too

Disdain’d to flee; but went quite thro’

Their front line, centre, and the rear;

But fell himself, as he came near,

Two balls out thro’ his body ran,

Alas! he never raise again.

He was a soldier, bold and true,

Rather too fierce as some avow,

His whole troop now was in the mire,

Inclos’d about with sword and fire,

Hacking, slashing, behind, before ’em,

All enrag’d for to devour them:

Th’ horses legs to their bellies was,

Few with life from ’mong them pass.

By this the horse were fairly beat,

And those were left made full retreat;

But oh! such wind and rain arose,

As if all conspir’d for Hawley’s foes.

The southside being fairly won,

They fac’d north, as all had been done,

Where next stood, to bide the brush

The volunteers, who zealeous

Kept firing close, till near surrounded,

And by the flying horse confounded:

They suffer’d sore into this place,

No Highlander pity’d their case—

You curs’d Militia, they did swear,

What a devil did bring you here?

Ligonier’s, Husks and Cholmondelly,

Gave from them many a dreadful volley,

Two running fires, from end to end,

Which broad swords could no way defend:

But seeing so many run and fall,

They thought they were in danger all,


And for their safety did prepare,

In haste they form’d a hollow square:

The horsemen being all fled or slain,

The very Loyal fled like men.

Some reg’ments marching up the hill

To turn again, had right good will.

Brave col’nel Jack, being then a boy,

His warlike genious did employ,

He form’d his men at the hill foot,

Which was approv’d as noble wit:

But if Husk had not check’d their fury,

Some thousands more had been to bury;

He beat them fair quite out of sight,

But O! the rain and blowy night,

Horse or cannon, there, he had none,

He could not keep the field alone,

Some cannon which on th’ field there was,

Being spik’d up with iron flaws,

And render’d useless for that time,

The hole being stopt whereat they prime,

Barrel’s grenadiers to some yok’d too

And eastward to Falkirk them drew;

Yet all their toil no effect had,

Their drivers and the horse were fled,

The cannon, for some time, were lost,

The chance of war so rul’d the roast.

Husk in form made safe retreat,

Where all were flying the other gate

Out from the camp, the Lithgow way,

He form’d the Buffs behind to stay,

In trust, to cover the retreat,

Which was nought but a pannick fright:

For had they kept their camp, I’m sure,

The Clans wou’d soon have left the Muir;

For there was but few who kept th’ field,

Many dispers’d to seek for bield.

No sooner the battle was begun


Than on both sides the cow’rdly run;

And thro’ the country word was spread,

How George had won, and Charles fled:

Ev’n Charles himself could hardly tell,

That very night how it befel;

But the abandoning their camp

Confirm’d all, and made them ramp.

It is well known by all about,

The battle was not half fought out:—

But to run, O shame! and leave your tents,

Like brok’n tennants with unpaid rents?

The dread of Highlandmen to consider!

And not two hundred of them together;

But all dispers’d the country thro’,

Afraid of them, and they of you!

For had they known th’ English retreating,

’Hind Tamtallan, had been a beating.

This was the step which Hawley took,

Which ruined all, else I mistook.

The duke of Perth laught in his sleeve,

And Charles himself could scarce believe,

That Hawley was turn’d such a cow,

As flee when none was to pursue.

When those about heard of the flight,

They came and took the town that night.

Both town and camp left to their will,

As Hawley march’d on eastward still,

To Lithgow and Borrowstounness,

And some to Edinburgh did pass,

There gave it out, “That all was lost,

“Few left alive of Hawley’s host,

“Charles was driving all before him,

“The very wind and rain fought for him.”

On Janu’ry sixteenth, afternoon,

This battle was fought, but never won:

But on the morn both great and small

Unto Falkirk assembled all,


To view the field and bury the slain;

But which was which, was ill to ken:

For by their clothes no man could tell,

They stripped were as fast’s they fell.

The plund’ring wives, and savage boy

Did many wounded men destroy;

With durks and skians they fell a sticking,

For which they well deserved a kicking:

Some of the brutish commons too,

I saw them run the wounded thro’!

The brave Monroe his corpse was there,

Among the slain and stripped bare;

In Falkirk yard, you’ll read his name,

Interr’d hard by Sir John the Grahame.

All who Militia were suspected,

To catch that day was not neglected,

And hundreds more, I you assure,

Who came to see their Falkirk-muir,

Ev’n for such curiosity

Were brought into much misery.

Being driven north to Inverness,

Their cold and hunger I can’t express:

Those who felt it, best can tell,

I leave them to express’t themsel.

An accident happ’ned next day

T’ one Glengarie on the Street-way,

A man in plunder got a gun,

Two balls from which he had new drawn,

Judging in it there was no more,

Yet another she had in store.

Out at a window did her lay,

Dreading no harm he did let fly,

Which kill’d Glengary as he past,

Dead on the street it laid him fast.

They siezed the fellow and did bang him,

Would give no time to judge or hang him;

But with guns and swords upon him drave,


Which made him minch-meat for the grave.

For Stirling then they march’d again,

With prisoners and all their train:

To Blackney new summons were given

For to surrender, or be driven

Unto death, by fire and sword;

Just now to yield—or trust the word,

That they would make that fort his grave,

And not a soul therein would save.

But Blackney said, The fort was his,

And each within aminded was,

To stand the last extremitie:

Take this for answer now from me,

“When my King and Master gives me word,

“You will have it without stroke of sword.”

Then with fury began the siege,

Both day and night they did engage:

On the east side upon a height,

Open’d a batt’ry in the night,

Of wooden faggots fill’d with mud:

Upon a rock the trench it stood,

To dig it deep it would not do,

At last they purchas’d packs of woo,

For which Perth’s duke gave his own bill,

Smith may protest it when he will,

For Perth and Blackney both are gone,

And I trow, it was paid by none.

The country ’round they did compel

Faggots to make and trees to fell.

The one built up, th’ other beat down,

Their noise was heard the country round.

Indeed hersel was loth to do it;

But on pain of death she was put to’t.

French engineers indeed they had,

Who order’d all to work like mad.

Here many a poor man lost his life,

Being unaccustom’d to such strife,


Crying Shentlemen, ye’d best let be;

For feth wese hae a meuds of ye;

If we had up our muckle dyke

We’ll tak your Castle when we like.

These engineers, who knew far better,

Out of their lives did still them flatter,

At ev’ry point where danger was

They made the poor unthoughtfu’ pass:

Which only did prolong the time,

To murder men they thought no crime:

For well they knew it would not do,

With such batt’ries of mud and woo:

Unless they made a cover’d way

Dug in the earth, thro’ sand or clay.

Ten days they wrought with all their pow’r,

And men they lost on’t ev’ry hour,

Night and day there was no rest,

And Blackney always had the best.

The fort being high above their trench,

To see their work it was no pinch,

Dung hill like on a rock ’twas laid:

In form of a potatoe-bed.

With tow and tar when it was dark

He let them see to do their wark,

Which as a lamp burnt on their trench,

Caus’d many die who thought to quench’t.

They skirmish’d on, both night and day,

With cannons and small arms did play:

Four big guns were brought up at last;

But soon were off their carriage cast,

Their very muzzles were beaten in,

And off their wheels they made them spin.

One called Fife on Blackney’s side,

At ev’ry shot he laid their pride,

Experienc’d by hand and eye,

A perfect gunner, by land and sea;

But the worst thing which did ensue,


Of cannon balls they had but few,

Which caus’d them fire with coals and stones,

Or ought was fit for smashing bones:

For of the balls he was but sparing,

Unless to give some hearty fairing.

An engineer who plagu’d him sadly,

Whereat he was enraged madly,

By his upbraiding speech and mocks,

As he’d been more than other folks,

Some did believe he had a charm,

As ’gainst a shot he’d wag his arm,

Fife try’d with ball, iron and stones,

Then curs’d his cantraips skin and bones;

He was some de’il as all did miss him,

Said he, I’ll find a way to bless him,

Having drunk some beer, bottles were by,

With glass, methinks, this devil I’ll try:

When broken small, he cram’d them in,

“I trust, with this, to pierce thy skin,”

Then play’d it off with all his art,

Which minch’d him quite above the heart,

So down he fell, spoke never more;

Soon after this the siege gave o’er.

The cannons all off carriage driven

And trenches with the rocks made ev’n.

Then to all those who went to see,

Like potatoe field it seem’d to be.

Many dead bodies in’t were found,

White noses sticking thro’ the ground.

All being o’er, since it began,

Brave Blackney lost only one man;

Six were wounded, ’tis very true;

But poor John Fife got not his due

Recompence, equal to his merit;

For which the poor lad broke his spirit,

He went again back to the sea,

Got a wat’ry tomb, as they tell me.


He was but a Scot, and meanly born,

Had no good speakers, Scots then at scorn.

Now, to ev’ry body, ’tis a wonder,

How that so many liv’d on plunder;

For between Falkirk and Kippen ay

It is but sixteen miles of way,

Which space maintain’d ten thousand more

Than th’ usual number within each door,

For full four weeks, or nearly thereby,

The time they at the siege did ly,

The happy Janet kept the Forth,

And curb’d all vessels from the north.

About the Queens-ferry she lay,

Came with the tides, and gave them play

Up by Airth and Higgins nook,

Where was a batt’ry prov’d a mock.

They thought to keep Forth to themsel;

But what it cost there’s few can tell:

For all th’ shipping they had at sea,

Did not exceed in number three,

Which kept about Perth and Montrose,

And privily to France did cross.

So all round Stirling where they lay,

Oft did they wish they were away.

Commands they sent all round about,

And searched all provisions out.

Some of them paid like honest men,

Others did not, I tell you plain:

But this I have so far to say,

They duly got their weekly pay;

But yet when plunder came in use,

They spared neither duck nor goose,

Butter, cheese, beef, or mutton,

All was theirs that could be gotten,

Pocks of meal, hens and cockies,

They made that country bare of chuckies,

Made many a Carlin whinge and girn,


By crowdie of her meal and kirn:

All this they did before their eyes,

Guidwife cum sup here an ye please,

I own indeed it was a failing;

But yet I cannot call it stealing:

Because some folks refus’d to sell:

How long, now, cou’d ye fast yoursell?

For the hungry came, chas’d out the fu’,

Where meat was found, this was their due.

Click here to view the Plan as an illustration from the book

A Plan of the Battle of FALKIRK MUIR


Falkirk Town.

Argyle Militia formed below
the hill to cover the Retreat.
3 Regiments marching
up the Hill.
G. Husk’s Column.Scots Royal.Glasgow and
Pais. Militia.
Gardner and
Monro’s Dr.
Cob’s Dragoons.







The Cammerons
or first Column.
The Stewarts.Macgregors.L. Geo. Muray’s.
This Col. fired first.
The Second Column who came not up to Action,
but still in Motion.
The Third Column, who stood as Corps of Reserve.
The Hussars or
The French Brigades,
or Prince’s Guards.



The Duke’s return. His Speech to the Army. March to Stirling. Explosion of St. Ninian’s Church.

Now when the news to London went,

Guess ye if George was well content,

At Hawley’s being so defeat,

And making such a foul retreat.

On Friday’s night the deed was done,

This was on Sunday afternoon.

The council’s call’d, and in all haste,

The Duke again they did request

To go, and take the whole command,

For to reduce the Highland band

That so disturbed Briton’s peace,

Which was accepted by his Grace.

All things prepar’d for posting ways,

He on the road was near six days.

To Ed’nburgh town he came at last,

Which gave their sp’rits a quickning blast.

The troops review’d and brought together,

All for the field he did consider,

The Glasgow and the Paisley Core

He order’d home, knowing of more,

Six thousand Hessians beside dragoons


Were entring in the Scottish boun’s,

On pressing march towards the north,

Expecting battle, south side of Forth.

The Duke’s Speech to his Army at Edinburgh, January 30th, 1746.

“Now Gentlemen, hear this of me,

“You’re th’ soldi’rs of a people free,

“Not like the poor starv’d slaves in France,

“Bound to a Popish ordinance.

“I know there’s many of you here

“Who’ve shown your merit, that I can swear,

“Others, perhaps, n’er had occasion

“To show your valour in foreign nation,

“Yet think yourselves as good as they,

“I doubt not but part of you may;

“Tho’ native soil you’ve yet possest,

“In foreign land no foes have fac’d,

“You descend from men, as well as they,

“Who never turn’d their backs to fly:

“I hope you’re now resolv’d to fight

“All for your King and countries Right,

“’Gainst their rebellious resolution,

“Who’re for turning order to confusion,

“A set of plunderers and thieves,

“Which in ev’ry age disturbs and grieves:

“Ay, learn’d from their fathers they are,

“In troublous times to raise up war:

“Boasting themselves in bauling words,

“To do great actions with broad swords:

“I think they’ll prove to be small stops,

“In front of well disciplin’d troops.

“Stand and behold them in the face,

“And use your points in such a case.

“If you don’t fly and break your line,

“By swords you can no danger find;

“But when you turn your backs to fly,


“You throw honour and life away;

“You murder by this means yoursell,

“And foes encourage to excel.

“Think on Tourney and Fontenoy.

“Fear not this Rabble, who wou’d destroy

“All that’s good, if they had power.

“May heav’n protect us in battle hour!

“Remember you’re for a right cause,

“Against subverters of the laws.”

From Ed’nburgh town they march’d away

To Lithgow came that very day,

The Campbells on front also this night

Retook Falkirk, and put to flight

Part of the Highland troops were there,

Who straight for Stirling did repair;

But orders met them by the road,

That night to stop at the Torwood:

Because against the morning light,

Their army would be there on sight.

The council call’d at Bannockburn,

Where all agreed for to return

And fight the Duke, whate’er betide,

But his Lowland men would not ’bide;

These Nor’landers swore by their saul

That Cumberland would kill them all.

But the Highlanders made this reply,

That for their Prince they’d fight and die,

Where’er he went, they’d with him go

And face the Duke, tho’ ten for two.

So then to morrow by break of day,

The Northern men march’d all away;

And yet the Clans they were so kind

As offer to fight if he inclin’d.

But all agreed to take the rout,

More of the Clans for to recruit:

Then all of them took to their heels,

Kept no high road; but cros’d the fields,


The nearest way unto the Frew,

For otherwise it would not do,

Stirling Militia the bridge had cut,

And on the water there was no boat,

But what was broken or haul’d away,

To keep the Forth when north they lay.

Their cannon and baggage, all forsaken,

Lay round Stirling and soon was taken.

Their magazine of powder and ball,

Falkirk plunder, tents and all,

Were stor’d up in St. Ninian’s church,

An engineer enter’d the porch,

On purpose for to lay a train;

But too much haste did him atten’.

He broke one barrel, as they say,

Began the powder for to stray

All along upon the floor,

Without the threshold of the door.

Some people in the kirk there was,

The love of plunder was the cause,

The engineer backward did run,

And at the powder fir’d his gun,

Himself he thought quite secure too;

But to the air with it he flew.

Other eight persons there was slain,

And one blown up, but fell again,

So senseless, that he was thought dead,

As he lay on a midden-head.

He first fell on a thatched house,

Next on a midden, with a souse:

His clothes and hair were really sing’d,

Sat on the midden, curs’d and whing’d,

So stupid drove, knew not the cause

But own’d his mercy in such fa’s.

But others were in pieces torn,

And from the church a long way born;

One safe before the pulpit lay,


When all above was blown away:

This roar did him so stupid drive,

He knew not whether dead or alive;

In flames and smoak he was benighted,

And own’d that he was fairly frighted.

Charles and his court from a hill top,

Stood and beheld the catastrop’;

Then to the north they march’d away

Unto St. Johnston upon Tay.

This great explosion, I heard say,

Was heard full forty miles away.

Duke William at Lithgow heard th’ crack,

And cry’d, “Now Blackney’s gone to wreck,”

Not knowing what the meaning was,

Till in Falkirk he heard the cause,

Now all of them had cross’d the Forth

Quite o’er the hills into the North.

The Campbells, and some troops of horse,

That night arriv’d at Stirling cross,

Who came harrassing the retreat,

And pick’d some straglers by the gate:

Blackney also sallied out,

And catch’d some strollers thereabout.

Many of them were so mischiev’d,

It shocked nature to perceiv’t,

Legs and arms shot clean awa’,

And some wanting the nether-jaw;

Some were out of the trenches drawn,

Being bury’d alive ’midst the san’.

The Campbells kept upon the chace,

And pick’t ’em up in many a place.

Some cannon were found near the Frew,

Their horse, being weak, could not go thro’.

Much baggage left and several things,

With a Printing press, called the king’s,

Which back to Stirling was return’d,

While Charles, by Crief, to Perth adjourn’d.



The Duke’s arrival at Stirling. The Rebels’ Retreat, and the Rout both Armies took to the North.

Soon after William to Stirling came,

With all his troops, a warlike ban’:

Reg’ments of foot, there were fourteen,

Sixteen field pieces of brass, full clean:

Kingston’s, Cobham’s, and Ker’s dragoons.

The trusty Campbells, all chosen ones,

With Hawley, Husk, and John Mordaunt,

Brave Ligonier he could not want,

With Cholmondely, bred soldiers all,

For battle ready at any call.

One day his march was here suspended,

The broken bridge for to get mended,

O’er which the foot were safely past,

And all the carriages at last.

The horsemen forded Forth at Drip,

Then to Dumblain they marched up.

While the army into Stirling lay,

They catched one they call’d a spy,

Whom Hawley, by some uncouth laws,

Condemn’d for carrying Charles’ pass,

Likewise another from the Duke,

Which made him more like traitor look,

Hawley seiz’d them, and with an oath

Swore he should be depriv’d of both:

Go, said he, and get a rope,

And take the dog and hing him up,

Which was no sooner said than done,

As soon’s the hangman could be foun’,

Without confession, or clergy’s stamp,

Was like a dog hung to a lamp.

Next day the duke went to Dumblane,

Campbells’ and th’ horse had Crief reta’en.


Here the Highlanders did divide,

Some took the hills, some water-side;

The highland road by bridge of Tay,

Or by Dundee, the sea-side way,

The horse and French brigades did chuse;

And the Highland roads did refuse,

So kept their rout north by Montrose,

While th’ others climb’d o’er hills and moss:

Short time they took in Perth to tarry,

All the stores they could not carry,

They threw into the river Tay,

With cannon they could not take ’way,

Thirteen of iron they spiked up,

And swivels of the Hazard sloop,

Which was taken off John’s haven,

By help of that town’s fisher-men.

Argyle Militia and the horse

To Perth straight came; but did not cross

The river Tay for to pursue,

Till the whole army came in view.

Some would have a party take the hill,

But to this the Duke deny’d his will,

And kept his march down by Dundee,

Thro’ towns that lay hard by the sea

Toward the town called Montrose,

And great resentment there he shows:

All the suspect’ did apprehend,

And south to Stirling did them send,

Where they’re detain’d close prisoner,

’Till ’bout the ending of the stir;

Many of them were innocent,

As afterwards was truly kent,

If ’twas not for their thought and wish:

For few durst say whose man he was

Who lived into such a clime,

And in such a critical time.

Thence he unto John’s-haven sent,


As being upon vengeance bent

For taking of the Hazard sloop,

And burnt their boats both stoop and roop.

Two off’cers here he also broke,

For their goodwill to Charlie’s folk,

The one’s sash was in pieces cut,

And quite out of the army put,

His sword was broke above his head;

Because he unto Charlie fled.

The other, because he stopt the plunder

Of th’ house of Gask, being sent under

Strict command, to do such duty;

But kept his party from the booty,

For which he got’s commission torn,

Himself depos’d with shame and scorn.

From thence they march’d to Aberdeen,

Where a storm of snow and frost full keen,

Which on the mountains some time lay,

Caus’d them into that town to stay.

Hesse’s band in Perth then quarter’d was,

And at Dunkeld keeped the pass,

The remains of Gardner’s broke dragoons

Kept Blair in Athole, and such towns:

These horsemen twice had suffer’d sore,

Here, by surprise, they suffer’d more:

As they next to the Highlands lay,

They skelped at them night and day.

Being station’d in this utmost pass,

They bore the brunt of all distress;

But the Hessians kept about Dunkeld,

And did into more safety dwell.

These Hessians were a warlike band,

Six thousand did their prince command,

Earl Crawford in their company,

To guide them thro’ the Scots country.

Their countenance was awful fierce,

They spake High-Dutch, or German Earse,


Had white buff-belts, and all blue clothes,

With a long beard beneath their nose,

And those who were in wedlock state,

Had all long whiskers, like the cat.

Their spatterdashes with pick were gilt,

And long swords with a brazen hilt,

Bars on the outside of the hand,

And in their guns an iron wand.

The finest music e’er you did hear

Would make one dance who could not stir,

Their whistles and drums in chorus join

Did cheer one’s heart, they played so fine:

Their grenadier’s had caps of brass,

Thus order’d were the men of Hesse,

Who camp’d for some time near Dunkeld,

And kept that pass, till they hear’d tell

How at Culloden all were broke,

And they had never fought a stroke,

Except one canonading bout;

The clans afar came on a scout

To view their camp from a hill top

Who soon retir’d when they drew up:

Whene’er their cannon began to play,

They skipt like rams and ran away,

Describ’d the Hessians ev’n as they can,

Said, “He was a blue and bloody man,

“His drums and guns pe ready, got

“Hersell pe rin, or else be shot.”


Blowing up the Castle of Cargarf by the Earl of Ancram. Skirmishes at Keith and Inverness, &c.

Now while the duke lay at Aberdeen,

From England did his troops maintain,


Brought in his stores ay by the sea,

And laid no stress on that country,

From thence the earl of Ancram went,

One hundred horse were with him sent,

Major Morris with three hundred foot,

Near to the head of Don they got,

To take the Castle of Cargarf,

But ere they came all were run aff,

Wherein was a large magazine

Of amunition, and arms clean,

Which did become the Earl’s prey;

But could not get it born away,

No horse he could get to employ,

Most of the spoil he did destroy,

’Bout thirty barrels of powder there,

Made soon that fort fly in the air,

And so returned to Aberdeen,

Long forty miles there were between.

Next Col’nel Stuart of Charlie’s band,

At Strathbogie he did command

One thousand foot, beside Hussars,

Who kept that country round as theirs:

Against him were sent on command

The generals Moredant and Bland;

But to Stra’bogie as they drew near,

Stuart did unto Keith retire.

Then captain Holden with volunteers

Follow’d in chase, as it appears,

Seventy Campbells by Bland were sent,

And thirty Kingston’s horse too went,

To clear the village of Keith while light,

And to Stra’bogie return that night:

But their presumption ran so high,

They ventur’d there that night to lye,

When Stuart return’d with secret pains,

Enter’d the town at both the ends,

And set upon them unawares,


Till few were left of men and horse:

Their loss was this, you may consider,

Because they were not got together.

The Campbells sold their lives like men,

And of the horsemen left were ten.

This did the Highlandmen revive,

And rais’d their sp’rits for more mischief,

And to the Duke’s men gave a caution,

Where to quarter on like occasion.

His army in three divisions lay,

The first at Strathbogie, they say,

Second at Old Meldrum, half-way between

Strathbogie town and Aberdeen,

The last at Aberdeen still lay,

Until April on the eighth day.

While Charles must the mountains keep,

Among the goats, cows and sheep,

His army sure was sorely spent,

Ere into Inverness he went,

Having nought but deserts by the way,

Want of meat and scant of pay.

Rivan of Badenoch they took,

And laid it flat on every nuik.

To Inverness when they drew near,

Lord Loudon did from it retire,

Having but sixteen hundred men

All newly rais’d, could not preten’

To face them fairly in open field:

Therefore, Retreat was safest bield.

Two companies he left behind,

The fort to major Grant resign’d,

To defend it to extremitie

Strict orders, thus to do or die,

But no sooner did Charles’ troops appear,

Than soldiers hearts did quake for fear,

And being threaten’d with a siege

They durst not stand their spiteful rage.


So town and castle became his own,

The fort was levell’d with the groun’.

Lord Loudon fled but little way,

The firth of Murray between them lay,

Perth and Cromartie play’d a brogue,

Assisted by a hazie fog,

Unexpectedly sallying over,

Upon them fell, and would not hover,

Till many they in pieces cut,

Some officers they pris’ners got:

As before them they could not stand,

Being forc’d to flee from Sutherland.

Another party at castle of Blair,

Had beat the Duke’s detachment there;

This gave the king’s army some pain,

And rais’d their Highland blood again.

Fort Augustus too they did attack,

And in short time beat it to wreck:

Three companies of Guise’ therein,

’Gainst Highland fury not worth a pin:

Major Wentworth did here command,

Who had not force them to withstand,

None stood but Fort William now,

And it in haste they ’sieged too.

A large detachment chosen was;

Of artillery the best he has,

Commanded by brave Stapleton,

A French brig’dier of great renown.

On the third of March at Glenavis,

Which opposite Fort William is,

The first attack began at sea,

Betwixt the Baltimore and he,

A sloop then lying at Fort William,

Into the straits of Carrion,

Stapleton siezing of their boat,

Thought t’ master them with num’rous shot:

The Serpent sloop, captain Askew


Caus’d man his boat, with other two,

And soon were master of Carrion,

Where put to flight was Stapleton.

Their next ’ttempt was Kilmadie barns,

Where many shot were thro’ the herns:

Yet the Baltimore she could not stand it,

Nor could their troops at all get landed:

For shells and cannons play’d so fast,

Their engineer they kill’d at last.

The Baltimore she could not take it,

Forc’d to sheer off and so forsake it,

Some prisoners of Guise’s men,

In this hurry did liberty gain,

During the time the parties fir’d,

Took to their heels and so retir’d,

And got safe to the garrison,

Without the reach of Stapleton.

Now for some time they stopped were,

Thro’ loss of their chief engineer,

And ere another fill’d his place,

The garrison had their wall in case,

Their bastions raised seven feet high,

Ere the besiegers did draw nigh.

It was on March the twenti’th day,

Their battery began to play,

From a hill top, call’d Sugar loaf,

Eight hundred yards, or thereby off:

Their shots fell weak and came too short,

Some fell before they reach’d the fort:

Cohorns, bombs and a twelve pounder

In vain at such a distance thunder.

Finding their batt’ry was too far,

They erect another half way nigh’r;

But being in a hollower place,

It did not alter much the case,

Except the cohorns and some bombs

Broke some roofs, beat down two lums;


Three men indeed they did dissable,

And kill’d a poor horse in a stable.

Stapleton a French Tambour sent,

Beating a parly on he went:

The captain ask’d for what he came?

He said, From gen’ral Stapleton,

To you, Sir Governor, with this letter,

’Tis to surrender, You can’t do better.

Then to your Gen’ral this answer give,

“No letters from rebels I’ll receive,

“I shall do better, and him defy,

“Ev’n to the last extremity.”

The drummer return’d to Stapleton,

O then a fierce bombard went on,

For several hours on either side,

At last the garrison laid their pride,

By tearing their chief battery,

Flat with the ground they made it ly,

And many buried were therein,

Besides the wounded that did run,

The people within the garrison,

Without the houses keeped none,

For being wounded with the slate,

During the hurry of this heat:

The rest behind the ramparts stood,

And so were free from wounds and blood.

Thus in a rage, before they tir’d,

Near two hundred royal were fir’d,

With sixteen cannons, ’gainst the fort,

As afterwards they did report:

Yet did no harm was worth a fig,

But a poor soldier lost his leg.

And on the morrow when day appear’d,

The garrison their trenches clear’d.

Then for a day they let them slack,

Another batt’ry to erect,

Nearer the Fort one hundred yard


At which no labour there was spar’d.

At this time, a party sallied out

To make provision in, no doubt,

Who spar’d no bullock, sheep or cow,

Some prisoners they in brought too

From the laird of Apin’s estate,

Burnt every house came in their gate,

And those who did resistance shew,

They made no stop to run them thro’.

Their ships came in with meal and bread

So to hold out they had no dread.

Now when the last batt’ry was raised,

To fire again they soon practis’d;

The garrison too began a fresh,

And soon their batt’ry down did thresh.

At last their powder store took fire,

Which dash’d the gunners here and there.

The garrison perceiv’d the case,

And took advantage in short space,

Twelve men out of each companie,

Then sallied out couragiouslie,

And set upon them without dread,

Till many on the place lay dead,

One serjeant of the Campbells slain

The rest victorious turn’d again.

Into the Fort with them they drew

Three brazen cannons and mortars two,

Spik’d up the rest but only five,

At which they could not get a drive:

Yet timely retreat safety procur’d,

Or with numbers they’d been o’erpowr’d.

Stapleton did yet again direct

Another batt’ry there to make;

But at that time came an express

Forthwith to march for Inverness.

Thus on the third day of April,

From the third of March a dreary while.


They left their cannon and took the rout

But never more came thereabout.

Now another party prince Charles had

At the castle of Blair prosper’d as bad,

Under lord George Murray’s command,

Who took this doughty deed in hand,

For to conquer this castle of Blair:

The duke of Athole oft lived there,

Who was upon the Georgian side,

And had the Stewarts oft aid deny’d.

The garrison therein was few,

Commanded by Andrew Agnew,

An old Scots Worthy, I well may say,

No better soldier was in’s day.

He could do more by wiles and flight,

Than those who were five hundred weight;

He did defend them in such ways,

The siege prolong’d for several days.

Till word reach’d the camp at Dunkeld

How with Sir Andrew it befel.

Earl Crawford with the Hessian men,

Two troops of horse to him did sen’;

In all great haste they march’d away;

But Murray got other fish to fry:

For he receiv’d a hot express,

Forthwith to come to Inverness,

That very day that Stapleton

Left the siege of Fort-William.

All parties of the Chevalier

Did to their head quarters draw near,

By which Sir Andrew relief had,

And made this siege a fair blockade.

Here the wheel it turn’d, I trow,

And luck to Charles bad adieu.

’Tis oft misfortunes come together,

Or after one mischief another,

His men half mad for want of pay,


Had little to eat, what’s worse, I say?

Being hemm’d in on ev’ry side,

Among the hills and muirs so wide.

On the Hazard sloop they did depen’,

Which went to France for money and men:

As back and fore she oft did go,

Her name’s changed to Prince Charles’ Snow:

On her return, unluckilie,

Met with the Sheerness sloop, at sea,

Commanded by Captain O’Brian,

With whom she fought but did not gain

The day, nor yet could get away;

But was chas’d into Tongue-bay,

Where she upon the shallows ran,

And in the fight lost many a man.

O’Brian enrag’d still kept the sea,

But mann’d his boat right hastilie:

For fifty leagues they gave her chace,

And forc’d them to land in this place;

Into the country of lord Rea,

From whence they no relief could ha’e.

His lordship’s house it was near by,

Just then was there captain Mackay

My lord’s son, with Henry Monroe,

Lord Charles Gordon was there also,

Captain MacLeod a trusty han’,

And fourscore of lord Loudon’s men,

Who had fled there from Inverness

When Perth had put them in distress,

And as the crew came to the land,

As pris’ners they’re compell’d to stand,

One hundred men and fifty-six

As prisoners they here did fix,

Soldiers, sailors and gentlemen,

War-officers from France and Spain,

Who were to join Charles the Prince;

But bold O’Brian did them convince,


That such a thing was not to be:

To Aberdeen the whole sent he,

With the crew of a French priv’teer

Who off the Orkney’s cruising were.

Besides the arms found in her hold,

Thirteen thousand guineas of gold,

Brave O’Brian thus carry’d away

On March the five and twenti’th day.

This was bad luck for Charles too;

For wanting money what could he do,

They had no meal, mutton or beef,

Of cheese and butter no relief:

The cry among them night and day,

Was, Give me money, meat or pay.


Kings Army pass the Spey. Battle of Culloden. Defeat of the Rebels, &c.

Upon the eight day of April,

When air and season sweet did smile,

Duke William then began to move,

The time and season to improve;

Towards the Spey he did approach,

By wary steps and easy voy’ge:

His fleet on sea no faster steer’d,

Than he upon the land appear’d,

Until they reach’d the banks of Spey:

On the north side great Charles lay,

To keep the fords was their intent;

But see’ng the cannon durst not resent,

Planted to cover the only pass,

Where the safe passage unto them was:

So in all haste they scowr’d away,

And let them freely pass the Spey.


Argyle’s men and lord Kingston’s horse,

Did first of all the water cross,

And after them the grenadiers

To keep the front, if need appears:

For the Duke had always in his thought,

That crossing Spey would be dear bought;

But when he found no opposition,

Of other schemes he had suspicion:

Wherein he did conjecture right,

Altho’ the plot came not to light:

That in the night he’d be attacked,

Which by ill conduct was not acted.

Thus over Spey all safely came,

That rapid river and stalward stream;

Th’ English women not us’d with wading,

Being loth to lift up their plaiding

Went in with petticoats and all,

Which fagg’d their feet and made them fall.

A trooper thinking lives to save,

With them too got a wat’ry grave,

The flood but to men’s middle went,

They were with fording unacquaint:

Cold water struck the women’s belly,

It made them both prove faint and silly.

One horseman, and four women that day,

Were drown’d in crossing of the Spey:

From other harms cannons did cover,

And still they form’d as they came over,

For to engage kept always ready,

Caus’d pipes play Fair play, Highland laddie.

To Elgin town they march’d that night,

As the Highland core had ta’en their flight,

From thence to Nairn on the next day,

There on the fifteenth encamped lay,

Where the Duke’s birth was celebrate,

And Charles’ intent was to be at it;

But when near to the camp they came,


They could not execute their plan:

For Murray and Sulli. could not agree,

On what side the attack should be:

For want of courage in such a plight,

They argu’d till the morning light,

Then the Duke’s drums fell a beating,

And they thought fit to be retreating:

So this attempt prov’d nought at all,

But saving of their powder and ball.

Now Charlie and his noblemen,

In council night and day were then,

And in their schemes could not agree,

Where Achitophels among them be;

Some for this, and some for that,

Long time they in confusion sat:

Some did incline to fight at Spey,

And of all fords to stop the way;

But Tullibardine and Sullivan,

Were quite upon another plan,

To let the Duke free passage have,

And no disturbance there to give;

But lead him to some ugly ground,

Where cannon and horse were useless found:

So pitch’d upon Culloden place,

Where dykes and bogs might vex his Grace;

In hopes, cannon could not get there,

Which was great pain, I must declare,

The way so rough was, and so ill,

But drawn by men were up the hill.

The Duke his march made very slow,

Being form’d in lines as on they go:

In four columns they march’d away,

On cannon and baggage, made them stay,

Did front and rear in a body keep,

Except the Campbells, who ran like sheep,

With Kingston’s horse as spies and van,

From hill to hill they skipt and ran,


Back and fore had many a bout,

Act as Jackals to search them out,

And that day near the hour of twelve,

At Culloden house found them all.

—— The Highland army here were ranged,

That no position could be changed,

Twelve piece of cannon; but highly mounted;

By which the gunners were affronted:

For should they level ere so low,

Shot, down the hill is loth to go;

And though they ply’d them ne’er so warm

In such a posture could not harm.

But the Duke’s cannon so conceal’d,

They thought he’d got none on that field,

In the centre-line he did them screen,

That they at all could not be seen.

Straight on their front he did advance,

On right and left his made a stance:

From Charles’ batt’ry the fire began

By gunners who no honour wan.

The Duke perceiving that his left,

Would be took weak, for such a drift

Of the stout Clans were coming on them,

Sent Bland and Hawley to wait ’pon them,

With foot and horse and Campbells too,

As good as ere cauld iron drew.

Then seeing all in order right,

The signal gave for bloody fight.

His front to fall some paces back,

And then the cannon began to crack.

Grape them, Grape them, did he cry,

Then rank and file he made them ly;

When bags of balls were fir’d at once,

Where they did spread, hard was the chance:

It hew’d them down, aye, score by score,

As grass doth fall before the mow’r.

Breaches they made as large and broad,


As avenues in thro’ a wood;

And then such terror on them fell,

That what to do they could not tell;

Whether that they should fight or flee,

Or with the rest, stand there and die.

They had no conduct to consider,

Or in a body rush together;

But some drew back, others advanc’d,

They all into confusion launch’d.

But M‘Phersons, Cam’rons and the Steuarts,

Who did disdain the name of cowards,

All rush’d on, quite void of fright,

And chused death before a flight,

Struck Barrel’s regiment on the flank,

For two companies they made a blank,

Wolf’s Bligh’s and Semple’s were attacked;

But sore for this they were corrected.

For Bland and Hawley came on behind ’em,

Campbells and light horse, which so confin’d ’em

Between two fires, and bay’nets fixt,

That few got off being so perplext.

The Campbells threw down a stone wall,

To let the horsemen on them fall,

Who with sword in hand put them to flight,

And could no longer stand the fight.

Yet many, in rage, came rushing on,

Till bay’nets thro’ their backs were gone,

The bright points on the other side;

So bravely was their valour try’d.

If all their front had so come on,

I know not how the day had gone;

Their lives they did not sell for nought,

The Duke himself, own’d they were bought.

Those on the left stood still as stupid,

Some would advance, others back skipped:

Dreadful cannons on them did blatter,

Till at the last they’re forc’d to scatter.


The French Brigades, who puff’d so hie,


Into a bogue were fain to flee:


Great Stapleton their Brigadier,

In every spaul did quake for fear,

Fitz James’s horse, for all their pride,

Unto the rear were fain to ride.

The Duke’s right stood and saw the fun,

Some reg’ments never fir’d a gun;

They only twice or thrice presented,

But seeing them run it was prevented:

For the order was, that fire they don’t,

Till within few paces of their front.

So when they see’d them so present,

Back they fled with one consent,

Brandisht their swords and pistols fir’d,

Some threw their durks and then retir’d.

The Hussars likewise took the flight,

And never did presume to fight;

But left their leader on the field,

Who as pris’ner was forc’d to yield.

The noble Earl of Kilmarnock,

Whose head was from his body struck,

Afterwards, upon Tower-hill;

Great pity ’twas this Lord to kill!

Were it but for his lenity

To prisoners before that day,

He favour shew’d to many a hunder

And in no case would hear of plunder.

Now Charles, the Prince yet kept the field,

And loth was he to flee or yield:

Major Kennedy with some troops of horse,

Out of the field he did him force,

About five miles from Inverness,

The water of Nairn they did pass,

As they had been for Bad’noch bound;

But spread throughout the country round.

And those behind on field who staid,


Ran ev’ry where, be’ng so afraid;

But those who ran by Inverness,

Were hotly handled in the chase.

Lord Ancram and general Bland,

This fierce pursuit they took in hand.

With Kingston’s horse and Kerr’s dragoons,

They thro’ the bonnets clave their crowns,

Struck with such vigour and desperation,

Some hands were swell’d on this occasion,

Within the hilting of the sword,

That to pull out, they seem’d full gourd.

They would not yield as vanquish’d men,

Such discipline they did not ken,

To ground their arms or turn their sword,

Nor knew they ought of Quarters word;

But madly run, was all their chance,

And never turn’d to make defence.

The pursuers had them at their will,

Nought but follow and safely kill.

Some hundreds who fell that day,

Were a mean of throwing their life away.

Two thousand lay upon the field,

And those who took flight for their bield,

Through Inverness and all about,

Were hew’d down in this bloody rout:

For Kingston’s men were young and rude,

Of mercy nought they understood,

When answer’d by a Highland tongue;

But used cruelty all along.

Of prisoners were told and seen,

Full seven hundred and fifteen;

But many more were after this,

Which not into this number is;

Lord Lewis Gordon, marquis of Giles.

And Stapleton this number fills,

Four ladies too, here taken was,

And one of them into man’s dress,


Who as a Captain did appear,

In fighting for her Chevalier.

Five thousand stand of arms were found,

Ten brazen cannons, smart and sound,

Twelve stand of colours were ta’en, I know,

’Twas the Royal Standard’s fate also

For to be left, that fatal hour,

On the field of Culloden Muir,

With the baggage and milit’ry chest

(Its contents did of nought consist.)

Then brigadier Mordaunt was sent,

Nine hundred chosen with him went,

For to subdue all arm’d who were,

Into the Frazer’s country there,

Search’d ev’ry corner and each quorum,

Thinking that Charles was still before ’em.

Strathallan fell when on his flight,

Lord Balmarino the next night,

Into the hands of Grant he fell,

Who made him pris’ner, as they tell,

And to the Duke sent him also,

Who soon to London made him go,

And with him many a hundred more,

To English jails and London-tower,

Cargoes by sea were sent away;

But to return ne’er saw the day.

Now Charlie safe to Bad’noch rode,

Where council held, and they conclude,

That all of them should sep’rate be,

And differ’nt ways for safety flee,

For the miscarriage of their plan,

They blam’d both Murray and Sullivan,

For sending some brave Clans away,

A hunting of the Gowke that day.

Earl Cromartie and hundreds more,

Were taken that morning before,

Being sent home to’s own countrie,


For raising men and more supplie.

Lord Rae’s militia, hearing this,

Upon him came at unawares:

As each mischief follow’d another,

Things went to wreck just altogether,

Their parting was at Badenoch,

With wat’ry eyes and loud Och-hoch:

Their bag-pipes mournfully did rore,

And Piperoch Dhonail was no more.

This was a day of lamentation,

Made many brave men leave their nation.

Their eyes were open’d, all was vain,

Now grief and sorrow was their gain.

Click here to view the Plan as an illustration from the book

A Plan of the Battle of CULLODEN MUIR.


The D. of Perth and L. Ogilvy’s Reg. not to fire
without Orders, and to keep close up as fresh Corps
of Reserve.
⌂⌂ Town
Total 8350.
C. Roy Stewart and those of the above who have only Guns. L. L. Gordon and Glenbucket’s to be ready to advance when needful. Those of the above who have only guns, under Lord Kilmarnock’s command.
3rd Column.Pretender’
2nd Column.
First Column.
___________ Fitz JamesCullodenHussar Guards. ____________
___________ Horse.⌂⌂& P. Squadron. ____________
Brig. Stapleton’s Pic.L. J. Drum. Picquet.

4 | | | | Cannon.4 | | | | Cannon.4 | | | | Cannon.
L. George Murray.L. John Drummond.Duke of Perth.







|  Barrel’s andS. Fuzileer’sCholmonDragoons &
|Monroe’s.4 Can.and Price’s.4 Can.& Royals.2 Can.Light Horse.
|| | | || | | |  | |
|Here stood the Duke.
|Wolf’s.Bligh’s.Semple’s.Ligonier’s.Fleming’s.Old Buff’s.
¦ >|
¦Three regiments marching in
¦cover’d way towards the park.
¦Campbell’s Light-Horse and Dragoons,
broke down this Park Dyke.



Charles’ flight. Arrival in the Isles. Hardships, hidings and narrow escape.

The Prince from Badenoch that night,

Over the mountains took his flight.

With only six in’s company,

And one who led them on the way.

O’er many a rock, thro’ glens they past,

And to Invergary came at last.

About two hours ere break of day;

But none within that house did stay,

Only one servant, the laird being gone,

Bed or provisions there were none:

No drink but water to be had,

On the cold floor he made his bed,

All in their clothes thus sleeping lay,

Till near the middle of the day:

Having had no sleep five nights before,

And little food, you may be sure.

No bread or cheese there could they find,


Or ought to eat of any kind.

No living poultry could they get;

But in the water found a net,

Wherein two salmon were present,

Which they took as a blessing sent,

And on them heartily did dine,

Having no liquor but Adam’s wine.

Then to their journey set again,

For Donald Cam’ron’s at Glen Bean,

Where they arrived late that night,

Thro’ Lochiel’s country, ’twas their fright

Of being known by friends or foes:

He drest himself into Burke’s clothes,

The rest be’ng gone but only three,

No more was in his companie.

Then on the morrow, the eighteenth day,

To Clan-Ronnald’s country took their way,

And in Mewboll lodged that night,

Being kindly us’d, but still in fright,

Delay’d next day some hours, to hear

How all was gone; but yet for fear

They quit their horse, and took the hill,

O’er mountains climb’d scarce passible,

To Arisaig or Borasdale:

And here themselves they did conceal

At Kinloch Moidart, where they lay,

Not knowing what to do or say.

There came lord Elcho and O’Neil,

Who to their Prince did plainly tell

How all had gone at Inverness,

Since the fatal day of their distress;

That all the Clans were scattered,

So as rally again, they ne’er cou’d;

For the Duke had parties ev’rywhere

To burn and plunder, none did spare

Who with them were the least concern’d,

So where to flee must be determin’d.


Here Sullivan and many more

Their council gave as bad’s before,

Their Prince to flee into some isle,

And there to ly incog. a while,

Sending for one Donald MacLeod,

Who knew the isles and safest road.

And while they were a-planning this,

An alarm came for to dismiss,

A party coming was that way,

Direct as knowing where they lay,

Then to the woods all of them fled,

Took sundry ways be’ng sore afraid.

The Prince himself bewilder’d ran,

And with him there was not a man,

Being thus dejected and all alone,

Thro’ the wild woods he made his moan.

While thus he melancholy lay,

MacLeod came past on’s road from Sky;

The Prince cried boldly, What art thou?

And he reply’d, What’s that to you?

My name’s MacLeod, from Gaultergill,

I’m not afraid it to reveal.

Then said the Prince, ’Tis thee I want,

I am the man who for thee sent,

The Son of your King, your Prince I am,

And for your pity here I came.

On you, Donald, myself I throw,

Do what you will, prove friend or foe.

Then Donald, in tears, stood all amaz’d,

With dumb surprize he on him gaz’d:

My Prince, my Prince and here to lurk!

Oh! this would move the heart of Turk,

To see the turns of time and fate,

From honour to a wretched state;

I’m old, I’m old, thus did he cry;

Yet t’ serve my Prince I’d live and die.

Then said the Prince, Since it is so,


With these two letters, wilt thou go,

To Sir Alexander? though that he

And th’ laird of MacLeod’s my enemie,

I’ll yet their clemency request,

If humanity lies in their breast,

In noble hearts pity is found,

They’ll land me safe on German ground.

No, no, said Donald, that will not do;

For now they’re both in search of you:

But my service sha’n’t cost you a groat,

Near this there lies an eight oar’d boat,

Get all you have, ready on sight,

And we will go on board this night.

To this the Prince did well comply,

They went in search of all was nigh,

To wit, brave O’Neil and Sullivan

With Allan M‘Donald of Elen-o-ron,

Alex. M‘Donald, Edward Burke,

And four stout men the boat to work,

Donald MacLeod was pilot too,

No more were in his retinue.

For store they had four pecks of meal,

A pot they bought for making kail:

This was on April twenty-sixth,

They put to sea, full sore perplext,

At the same place he came on shore,

When first he landed the year before.

Dark was the night, the wind blew high,

The rain drove on, black was the sky,

No deck or cover was to be got,

Pump or compass had they not;

Before the wind they durst not stand;

Because they knew not where to land:

In all the Isles were armed men;

But in what place they did not ken.

Ev’ry wave threat’ning their last,

And shipt great seas, which o’er them past;

Yet kept above from sand and rock,


Till to morrow ’bout seven o’clock,

They made Rushness-point, on the long isle,

Call’d Benbecula in Gallic style,

Two hundred miles in eight hours space,

Past many a rock and dang’rous place,

Where militia boats were out on spy,

Which otherwise he’d not got by:

But this vi’lent storm they could not stand,

All fled for shelter to the land.

Now on this isle they landed were;

But found no house or shelter there,

Except an old stye of a byre,

Wherein they kindled up a fire,

Shot a cow and did her boil,

And made fine brochan of her oil.

The place was hollow and remote,

Upon dry land hauld up their boat;

But when they view’d the raging sea,

They prais’d their Maker heartilie,

To think what dangers they’d come by

’Twixt the isles of Cole, Mull and Skye.

The storm it still increased high’r,

For fourteen hours it blew like fire.

They spy’d, for dangers, round about,

And then to sleep their prince was put.

No bed-clothes but the sail all wet,

Without straw, bolster, or a matt,

Where cows had lain all night before,

A poor palace without a door,

A bed of state, all wet with shern:

This may the great humil’ty learn.

Here they remain’d for nights two,

Until the storm did overblow:

And then for Stornaway set sail,

But meeting with a desp’rate gale,

Were drove on Scalpa-isle, or Glass,

Which to one MacLeod belonging was,


By whom they wou’d been gripped fast;

But for a shipwreckt crew they past,

Old Sullivan the Prince’s father,

And ev’ry one gave names to other.

They said, they were to Orkneys bound,

And here great lenity they found

From Donald Campbell, a farmer there,

Who for a passage did prepare

A boat of his own for Stornaway.

Which went off on the first of May,

With Donald MacLeod, his trusty guide,

Who went a vessel to provide,

To get to the Orkneys by all means:

For there he thought to meet with frien’s,

Who, well he knew, would use their pow’r,

To land him on the German shore.

And in three days a message came,

That a ship was ready at his deman’.

Another boat was mann’d with speed,

And to Storn’way they did proceed,

Landing upon MacKinnon’s ground

At Loch Seaforth, then to walk round,

Long thirty miles, upon their foot,

Before to Ayrnisk point they got.

None with him but only Sullivan,

Brave O’Neil and another man,

Who was to guide them on the way;

Yet by good chance led them astray:

Long eighteen hours this stage it was,

Through a long Muir all wet to plash:

But had they come the nearest way,

They had been catch’d in Stornaway.

About a half mile from the town,

Faint and weary they all sat down,

And sent their guide for Donald MacLeod,

To bring refreshment if he cou’d,

Who brought them brandy, cheese and bread,


Which cheer’d their hearts in time of need.

Then took him to Lady Kildoun’s,

The only friend found in that bounds,

Who kindly did them all intreat

And well refresh’d he went to sleep.

So Donald return’d into the town,

And found all to confusion grown,

Above two hundred in arms were,

And furich ha nish every where.

A clergyman from the South Uist

He sent a letter, for truth almost,

That the Prince, with above five hunder,

Was coming for to burn and plunder.

Then Donald to their Chiefs did go,

And curs’d and swore it was not so:

For the Prince has not got a man but three,

And I one of his number be.

So gentlemen, think what you do,

Lest, when too late, you come to rue;

For if Seaforth himself were here,

A hair of’s head you durst not steer;

For, if you kill him, or catch alive,

Think not for such an act to thrive.

This island lies far out at sea,

In faith it will revenged be

By favourites he hath abroad,

So stop your fury, cries brave MacLeod,

For surely, gentlemen, if you do it,

Your babes unborn may come to rue it.

Then said they, Well, since it is so,

Out of this island let him go;

For if the rabble come to hear it,

They’ll do it through a zealous sp’rit.

The wind is fair and so be gone,

We’ll still the people and send them home.

Keep all right snug and let none know

Whether he’s in this isle or no.


The boatmen hearing of such a rout,

And fearing what might be their lot,

Two with the boat fled to the sea,

And two up to the muirs did hie.

MacLeod and Burke, here left on shore,

Went to their Prince with hearts full sore.

Cry’d Sullivan, We’ll take the hill,

No, said the Prince, We’ll stand it still:

Since here is friendship in the least,

Take ye no fear, we’ll be releas’d,

So in that night return’d again

Their boat from sea, with the two men;

But the other two who took the hill,

Where they ran I cannot tell.

Next morn they put to sea again,

Though hard beset for want of men,

Having only three who understood

Either to row, or sail to crowd.

For store they got two pecks of meal,

Brandy, beef, butter and ale,

So bid adieu to brave Kildoun,

As to the Orkneys they were boun’.

But to the south as they did steer,

Two English ships there did appear,

Which made them all in haste to turn,

And put into the isle of Euirn,

A desart place, where none abode,

One mile in length, another broad,

Where fishers oft frequent by day;

But seeing them all fled away,

Thinking they were the King’s press-boat,

Their fish behind was all forgot,

Both fresh and drying on the rock,

Of Cod and Ling, the poor men’s stock;

And here they stay’d a day or two,

Until the ships were out of view,

And on the fish well did they fare,


Although their lodging was but bare,

An old hut, like a swine’s stye

Which fishers us’d to occupy:

They had no bed but heathry feal,

The hut’s roof cover’d with the sail.

They roasted fish and brandy drank,

No host they had to pay or thank.

For what they did the fishers bereave,

He was amind money to leave:

But Donald says, No not a snishing;

For that would cause a strong suspicion,

That some good fellows had been here;

Therefore be not so mad, my dear,

For ’tis the men of wars’ men’s way,

To take all fish, but not to pay.

Now here to stay they thought was vain,

On the tenth of May set sail again,

And back to Scalpa came once more,

Where they were kindly us’d before,

And offer’d money for men and boat;

But such a thing could not be got,

To venture with them out to sea,

To Noraway or Germanie.——

But here they found danger to stay,

So in all haste they put away;

For men in arms in ev’ry place,

In search of him were in full chace.

Ships and boats watching by sea,

So without fresh store they’re forc’d to flee:

And coming past the South of Uist,

An English ship before they wist,

Commanded by one Ferguson,

For three full leagues came chasing on:

They kept by shore, to windward lay,

Till in the Loch call’d Esca-bay.

Got on an island, and then by chance,


Wind contrary rose and drove them thence.

Rain and fog did favour shew,

So who they chac’d they did not know.

Well, said Charles, I see my lot

Is neither to be drown’d nor shot,

Nor can they e’er take me alive,

While wind and rain against them strive.

Yet piercing hunger’s hard command:

For here no fresh water they fand,

And to big isles they durst not go;

But such as were a mile or two.

So here they were so hard bestead,

Of salt water they dramack made,

And of it hastily did eat,

Hunger for sauce, made it good meat.

If e’er I mount a throne, said he,

I’ll mind who din’d this day with me.

A bottle of brandy then he took,

And to them all drank better luck.

So then for Benbecula,

They hoisted sail, and steer’d awa’:

And landed there among the rocks,

Where Crab-fish and Partan flocks,

To fishing these, with speed went all,

And soon did fill a wooden pail.

The hut was two miles from the shore,

Where Charles carried this store,

Lest suspicion should arise,

This he did for mere disguise:

And when near to this hut they drew,

Such a cottage one did ne’er view,

On feet and hands they crawled in,

Sowre was the smoke their eyes to blin’:

Then Edward Burke digg’d down the door

And made the entry somewhat more.

’Twas here Clan-Ron. did visit make,


To see what measures they could take,

For sending him to France again,

To see him so, it gave him pain,

No shirts he had excepting two,

And these unwash’d like dish-clouts blue;

Sculking, lurking, here and there,

A prey to all like hounds on hare,

Though in times of prosperity,

He was extoll’d most gallantly.

Thus he no longer here could trust;

But to Cardail into South Uist,

He caus’d him to remove and go,

And did provide for him also

Bread, brandy, wine and clothes,

And such necess’ries as he chose.

At this time the faithful MacLeod,

In Campbell’s boat the sail did croud,

And steer’d for the main land again;

How matters stood he long’d to ken

With brave Lochiel and Murray too,

And have their council what to do.

Murray’s answer was, My money’s gone,

And help from me you can get none.

Then Donald laid out what cash he had

For liquor and for other trade,

Whereof his master stood in need,

And so return’d again with speed,

Being only eighteen days away,

Which to his Prince seem’d a long stay.

No counsel he brought, as I heard tell;

But ev’ry man do for himsel,

Which made his Master quite amaz’d,

And for a time he on him gaz’d:

It pierced Donald’s heart to see

A Prince into such misery,

Confin’d into a stinking stye,

And ’bove his head two hydes of kye,


To skonce away the sooty rain.

And all his clothes in dirty stain.

At this time soldi’rs came to Raski,

An island, in length but miles three,

Lying ’twixt Barra and South Uist;

And therefore flee again he must.

The Prince, O’Neil and Sullivan,

Edward Burke and Donald the man,

Just from the foot of Corradail,

In Campbell’s boat they did set sail,

And landed in the isle of Ouia,

From South Uist not far awa’,

And there they stayed a few nights;

But constantly were in sad plights:

For armed boats still passing by,

They knew not where to hide or ly.

Charles, O’Neil and a sure guide,

Went thence unto Rushness to hide;

But was not there above nights two,

Till information was all thro’,

Where he lodged at Rushness,

Which trusty Donald did distress:

So he, that night, with Sullivan

Set sail, to save him if they can,

And got him once more safe on board;

But wind and rain upon him pour’d:

So at Ushness point they shelter took,

And lodg’d under a clifted rock.

This storm it did the whole day blow,

And then at night they came to know

Of a party, distant, but miles two:

So to sea again they’re forced to go.

And as they steer’d to Loch Boisdale,

One of the sailors a swearing fell,

He saw a boat full of Marines,

Which prov’d a rock at some distance.

Cry’d, Hardy weather, and ship about,


Then to Celie-stella that night they put.

On next day Donald spy’d afar,

Two sail of English men of war;

Yet here they stayed for some days,

And could not rest in any ways.

Hearing captain Scot on shore was come

At Kilbride, two miles off from them.

Thus now they all were forc’d to part,

Their Prince went off with heavy heart,

And with him took none but O’Neil,

Whose heart he found as true as steel.

Two shirts apiece, for baggage they took,

Tied up into a wallet or pock,

Around the Prince’s neck and shoulder,

Like master and man they trudge together.

So here we leave them for a while

In lonesome caves and mountains wild.

The others two days hover’d near,

And sunk their boat through perfect fear,

Both night and day lay in the field,

Nought but the sails they had for bield,

The red coats swarming all around,

And yet by chance none of them found.

Then Donald MacLeod he went away,

And was ta’en at Slate in isle of Sky,

By Allan M‘Donald, the laird of Knock,

Who him on board the Furnace took,

Where gen’ral Campbell and Ferguson

For to examine him thus began——

Gen. Was you with the Pretender, or was you no?

Heth was I, quoth Donald, and that you know.

Gen. Do you know what’s bidden for his head?

Thirty thousand pound, a bra’ sum indeed!

Prutish, quo’ Donald, it’s no worth a straw,

Her ain sound conscience is better nor’t a’:

Tho’ I’d got Scotland and England, a’ for my pains,

I wadna see him hurt, for your muckle gains.


He’s a good civil shentleman, his life on me threw,

Wad I kill him, or drown him, or gie him to you.

And deil care what ye do, he’s now far awa’,

The win ran awa’ wi’m, the like you ne’er saw:

For the win and water, Sir, did sae combine,

Carri’d him twa hunder mile in aught hours time,

They thought Donald a fool of the honest kind,

He confessed so freely all to their mind,

Suppos’d the Prince might lurking stay

Into the isle of St. Kilday,

A little island which does stand,

Far nor-west from isles or land,

The property of the laird MacLeod,

A barren soil, and poor abode,

Famed most for Soland Geese;

Sea fowl and fish their living is:

And there they thought, as Donald spake

The Young Pretender for to take.

Poor Donald to London they sent away,

Where he twelve months in prison lay;

Yet got his liberty at last,

When the act-indemnity was past.

Gen’ral Campbell with an armed fleet,

Around St. Kilda came complete,

Which frightened the poor natives there,

Who ran to holes like fox or hare:

And when they reach’d the wretched shore,

They catched some who to them swore,

That none did in that place sojourn,

But who were in St. Kilda born:

Of a Pretender they nothing knew;

But what they heard of a boat’s crew,

How the laird MacLeod had arm’d his men,

To fight against some ill woman,

Who lived somewhere far away;

And this was all they had to say.

So the gen’ral soon return’d again


And saw St. Kilda for his pain.

And here we’ll leave the Prince a while,

Who hunted was from isle to isle,

O’er hills and mountains, wood and glen,

As afterwards I’ll let you ken.

Poor Edward Burke was left alone,

For now companions had he none,

Lodg’d in a cave for weeks three,

Ate Dulce and Lampets from the sea:

In short, he thought he would turn wild,

Seeing no man, woman, or child;

Till an honest Souter and his wife,

Agreed for to sustain his life,

For two long months, he said, and more,

Some meat each night they to him bore,

Their like was not in all North Uist,

For to pity rebels no man durst:

Because ev’n at that very time,

It had been made a mighty crime,

Read from the pulpits by the priests,

That none should pity man or beasts,

Who had along with Charlie been,

Give them no victuals, nor close their een

In sleep, or warm within a door,

Or excommunicate to be therefore,

Besides, the pains of milit’ry law,

Hanged or shot one of the twa.

Of this act I know not what to say,

Since Solomon speaks another way,

And a great, yea wiser King than he,

Bids us to feed our enemie,

And give him water for to drink:

For me, I know not what to think.

But Burke of all at last got free,

When th’ act of grace gave libertie,

And home to Edinburgh came again,

For’s love to Charles got nought but pain,


And yet if Charles return, to morrow,

He vows he’d go tho’ on a barrow.


Procedure of the King’s men against the suspected. Confusion in the Army and severity against the Clans.

Now, the royal Duke, at Inverness,

Did the whole North fully possess,

Encamp’d, and sent his parties out

To burn and plunder round about

All the offenders, who for their crime,

Were severely punish’d at this time.

All those who were loyal and true,

Had some acknowledgement as their due.

He number’d first what he had lost,

And what his signal vict’ry cost.

Lord Robert Ker was ’mong the slain,

A brave captain of Barrel’s men;

Of Price’s reg’ment, captain Grossot

Here did fall, it was his lot,

Captain Campbell of Argyleshire men,

Was likewise found among the slain.

Near six hundred, rank and file, lay there,

Two hundred and forty wounded were.

His sole reflection was, in the chase,

The Pretender’s rout he could not trace,

Any farther than that afternoon,

He drank with Lovat when all was done,

When his very tears mingl’d with wine;

But never could be catch’d sinsyne.

As some ran east, and some ran west,

To south and north in crouds they past;

Some to Argyleshire, through Kintyre,

And into Ireland flew like fire.


Tullibairn by Loch Lomond came,

Fled from the battle into the flame,

Into the house of Drummiekill,

Who stood on the cross way, to kill

Those who from the battle fly,

Against all such does Moses cry,

As in the sacred Write, we read,

They’re curs’d who’re guilty of such deed:

Yet here was Tullibardine gripped,

When from the roaring guns escaped,

And prisoner to London led;

Yet dy’d there quietly in his bed.

Duke William still camp’d in the north,

All was in stir beyond the Forth,

Ports, pass, and ferries guarded,

Who catch’d a rebel was well rewarded.

Few but preachers, at this day,

Were counted righteous in this way:

For where the minister said the word,

To life and liberty they’re restor’d,

Resign their arms, with Mess John’s line

That they were prest for to combine

To go with Charlie, and his crew,

By force control’d—— ’Tis very true,

Most of the common men were prest,

Drove to the slaughter like a beast:

But one thing of Highlanders I see,

To them they serve they’ll faithful be;

For those who serv’d King George, just here,

’Gainst the rebels proved most severe,

And rebels, who afterwards did list,

Loyaller hearts no man could trust:

And, ev’n the conquering of this field,

Unto the English I will not yield:

Had Scots and Irish run away,

They’d found it hard to gain the day;

Yet after all they ’gan to boast,


’Twas they only who rul’d the roast,

And even where in camp they lay

To upbraid the Scots, and oft did say,

Mocking the mis’ries that befel,

“These Scotsmen are but rebels all,

“For which they all should hanged be,”—

Which rous’d the Scots most veh’mentlie:

And when they did complain thereof,

Were answer’d with a mere put off:

This did enrage them still the more,

Vengeance to seek by the Clay-more,

Which all into confusion threw:

The Scots into a body drew,

Irish, by blood and love allied,

Did join unto the Scottish side.

His Grace, the Duke, perceiving this,

Into this broil most active was,

Who, as with no party he would stand;

But charg’d them by his high command,

For to be still, and silent be,

Till he’d the dispute rectifie;

Then agents from each side were chose,

Whom he in council did enclose,

Where they made a solemn act,

“That by a thousand on the back,

“Every man should punish’d be,

“Who’d thus upbraid any countrie.”

So this again cemented peace,

Thro’ mediation of his Grace,

Which was indeed a virtuous scheme,

And adds great honour to his name:

For had they once come on to blows,

’T had been the glory of their foes,

And the murd’ring of one another;

But now they’re Britons all together,

And yet the spite ended not here,

As afterwards you’ll come to hear;


But agitated the Parliament,

Though contrary, it with them went,

To put the Scots beating away,

A march which vex’d them ev’ry day:

Because it was a grief to hear it,

And very irksome to their spirit,

The dinging down of Tamtallan,

They swore it mean’d some other dwallion.

The bonnets, plaids, and spotted coats,

A dress long time worn by the Scots,

These by an act were laid aside,

Thro’ nought, I think, but spite and pride:

For when the Scots they came to need,

They were restor’d again with speed,

Ev’n by an order of the crown;

But Tamtallan was ne’er beat down,

The Scots still kept by their old march,

In spite of all their foes could urge.

But the cause of the Duke’s long stay here,

Was to find out the Chevalier,

As Scotland round by sea was guarded,

If catch’d on land, so high rewarded

The apprehender was to be,

There was no hopes he could get free.

Hesse camps, did at Perth and Stirling stand,

Armed militia through all the land,

And parties searching ev’ry isle:

Being heard of ev’ry other while,

They still kept on a close pursuing,

Hard was the hunt for Charlie’s ruin.

All prisoners, they catch’d, of note,

On ship-board were securely put,

And to England sent, trial to stand,

But deserters judg’d were in Scotland,

Who had as soldiers with Charlie gone,

They hang’d and shot them every one:

For Hawley’s verdict was so quick,


“Go hang the dogs up by the neck,”

Which was no sooner said than done,

No pity he shew’d on woman’s son.

The Duke, by half, not so severe,

Did often the condemn’d set clear,

Made his soldiers say, he was too civil;

But swore, That Hawley wou’d hang the devil.

The Duke did love to burn and plunder,

And sweet revenge upon them thunder,

On house and huts made devastation,

As it had been a foreign nation.

Their whole utensils, rock and reel,

To see in flames he loved well,

With dogs and cats, the rats and mice,

And their old shirts, with nites and lice,

Were all unto the flames consign’d,

To bring them to a better mind,

And never more for to rebel,

A doleful time for her nain sell,

For all that she had done or said,

She thought it more than double paid;

Eating kirns, and supping sheese,

And codding of the Lothian pease,

Or taking a bit of beef to eat,

When she could get no other meat;

And when she met a Lalan-rogue,

But pate a shainshment on her brogue,

The soger has done a ten times mair,

Brunt her house, taen a her geer,

And after that cuts aff her head,

An shot on them that frae her fled.

For all who did from the soldiers fly,

Were fir’d upon immediately,

By which, many a poor innocent

Was put to death, by them unkent,

Their flying away caus’d the error,

The red-coats were to them a terror.


Now Charles concealed was in Uist,

And there to stay no longer durst,

The Campbells were coming a ho, a ho,

He durst not bide, and could not go:

Every day he saw them well,

And had none with him but O’Neil.

The day was long and hot the sun,

About the twenty first of June,

Upon a mountain top they lay,

And saw their motions ev’ry way,

From glen to glen, caves and rocks,

As ever hounds did search for fox,

Campbells, and lads with the red coat,

With them guides knew every spot,

And corner of that country side;

So here it dang’rous was to bide.

But in a desart place remote,

They found a lonely dismal hut,

And there to stay they judged best,

Until part of the hurry past.

Such venison as they could take,

Of ev’ry thing a prey they make:

It was not out of cov’tous greed;

But only as they stood in need.

O’Neil alone was out at last,

To hear of what was done or past,

And met a lady whom he knew,

Miss MacDonald good and true,

To her their straits he did reveal,

Who did with tears their sorrows feel,

And vow’d by all was dear within her,

She’d them relieve, if they should skin her:

Then hasten’d O’Neil to him away,

Appointing where to meet next day,

And to the Prince with him did go,

Her servant did the secret know,

One Neil MacKechnie, an honest heart,


Who in ev’ry point did act his part,

There, they their whole plan did frame:

And then to Malton came again

Miss Flora and her man next day,

Going to Clan Ronald’s house were they,

For to perform the enterprize,

And get clothes fit for his disguise.

By a party of militia men,

Both of them prisoners were ta’en,

Miss ask’d who was their officer,

And they in answer told it her:

He prov’d her father-in-law to be,

Preferr’d, for suppos’d loyaltie,

No less than a king’s officer,

She thought she might the better fare,

And there did tarry all that night,

Before of him she got a sight.

Greatly surprized then was he,

His step-daughter prisoner to see,

Call’d her aside to know the matter,

And gave her both a pass and letter,

For herself, her lad, and Betty Burke,

A woman who was to spin and work,

Being a maid for her mother hir’d

So all was done as she requir’d.

Then to Clan Ronald’s house they came,

And let the lady know the same,

Where ev’ry thing in haste was got,

Apron, gown, and a petticoat:

Of printed cotton the gown it was,

Just fitting for a servant lass:

Then to the hut they went away,

To get him drest without delay;

And as they entred into the door

They found their Prince, surpriz’d him sore,

A cooking something for to eat,

A sheep’s pluck on a wooden spit.


This put them all in Brinish tears,

A Prince brought to such low affairs!

But he reply’d, Why weep ye so?

’Tis good for Kings sorrow to know:

And ev’n the great, won’t after rue,

They suffer’d part of what I do.

That night they stayed all in the hut,

Ere ev’ry thing was ready got,

And on the morrow a message came

For lady Clan-Ronald, in haste extreme,

That cap. Ferguson, with Campbell’s men,

Did all night in her house remain.

And to confirm what they had said,

The Captain took up her own bed.

Now Charles by this time was drest,

Like a Dutch frow, I do protest,

His brogues, indeed, had leather heels,

And beard, well shaven, all conceals;

But gown and petticoat so short,

Shew’d too much legs, but no help for’t.

He of the lady took his leave,

And left O’Neil behind to grieve,

Who thro’ the world with him would go;

But Flora said it would not do:

Because their pass that number bore,

And one too much was not secure,

Herself, her servant, and Betty Burke,

Who was going to her mother’s work.

The boat’s prepar’d, away they set;

But lady Clan-Ronald was in a strait:

For soon as she had reached home,

Was strict examin’d by Ferguson——

Pray where now, Madam, have you been,

Seeing a sick child, a dying frien’;

My servants might have told the matter;

But the child now is somewhat better.

For this no proof was but her lips,


So he put them both on board of ships,

I mean Clan-Ronald and his dame,

Who did in sep’rate ships remain,

Until to London they were sent,

And nothing of each other kent,

Long twelve months there they did remain;

Before they saw their homes again.

Now poor O’Neil was left alone,

And through the hills a wand’ring gone,

By chance he met with Sullivan;

As on the shore they both did stan’

A French cutter came in their sight,

With pendent flying, colours bright,

O’Neil her hail’d, and to she came,

To fetch the Prince was all her aim.

O’Neil desir’d them there to stay,

And he to bring him back wou’d try:

Then off he sets along the shore,

A trav’lling for a day or more,

As the wind had contrary been,

Into some creek they might be seen:

But finding he was gone for Sky,

He thought to touch there going by,

Knowing the secret, the way plann’d,

The very place he was to land.

Night and day he did not spare,

Back to the cutter he did repair;

But ere he came she was away,

Sullivan would no longer stay:

For’s life was preciouser to him,

Than all the princes in Christendom.

He saw some ships afar at sea,

Then pray’d the French with him to flee:

But had they got O’Neil on board,

From Sky the Prince had been secur’d;

Yet here O’Neil was left behind,

Who soon was taken and confin’d,


And sent to Berwick upon Tweed,

Where he remain’d some time indeed,

Thence by cartel was sent to France

Pass’d for an officer from thence.

Sullivan was got home before him,

The cow’rdliest cur in all the quorum:

For had he staid three hours in Uist,

They’d carry’d their Prince safe off the coast:

For O’Neil would made them touch at Sky,

The very place which they past by,

Where he knew the Prince was to ’bide:

But Sullivan sav’d his own hide,

And with all speed went home to France,

Left them behind to Providence.

As the Prince, Miss Flora and her man,

Were just about to quit the land,

Four king’s wherries came in their view,

Where armed men were not a few:

Back to the heather they’re forc’d to fly,

And there some time conceal’d to ly,

These wherries soon went out of sight,

And then came on a pleasant night,

Their boat ready they put to sea;

But were not gone past leagues three,

’Till dark and dismal grew the skies,

The wind and waves did dreadful rise,

In open boat, no compass had,

Only two men, whose skill was bad.

Here Charles’ courage was at a stand,

Tempests by sea and storms by land;

For wind and wave did fight again’ him

And nothing seemed to befrien’ him.

Miss Flora she fell fast asleep,

The rest by oars and helm did keep,

And when the day light did appear,

They knew not to what hand to steer,

The wind had vary’d in the night:


At last of Sky they got a sight.

At Waternish, the west of Sky,

Upon that point to land did try;

But the red-coats were swarming there,

To ship about they did prepare:

They smartly fir’d to bring ’em too,

But all in vain, it would not do.

Two men of war were hov’ring by,

And there it was no time to stay;

So, off they set before the wind,

And all their foes they left behind.

The alarm up to the village went;

Yet to pursue they were not bent,

Knowing all boats were in a fright;

So about they put when out of sight,

And landed in a little creek,

Under a rock did shelter seek,

The men to rest and be refresh’d,

Who all the night were sorely dash’d:

And then to sea again did go,

Lest some should of their landing know.

They were not half a mile from shore,

Till they see’d pursuers half a score,

All running to the very place,

Which they had left a little space.

Then to the north twelve miles they stood,

At Tornish made their landing good.

Near Alexander MacDonald’s house,

Where went Miss Flora bold and crouse,

As Sir Alexr. was not at home;

But to visit Duke William gone,

Only his factor, who prov’d a friend,

And how to act Miss to him mean’d:

As a military officer was there,

She told him where he should repair,

And meet the Prince in woman’s dress,

To whom he went in full express,


With bread and wine, and other food,

Then took the hills, a private road

To his own house to be conceal’d,

Though afterwards it was reveal’d.

Miss Flora on horseback, and another

Kept the high-way, for to discover

What militia or foes might be;

From all dangers to keep him free,

Miss Flora, her man, and a Highland maid,

Coming on the way, She to Miss said,

“That Lawland Carlin gangs like a man,

“She strides o’er far by half a span,

“I wonder Kingsborough’s not afraid,

“To crack sae wi’ that English jade:

“See how her coats wamels again,

“These English women can fight like men.”

No, said Miss, She’s an Irish woman:

Cries, Lady Marg’ret, Are you coming?

(Not liking what the girl had said)

Go after Kingsborough yon road,

And you’ll be there as soon as we,

Thus she kept him from suspicion free;

And to the house they came at last

Before elev’n o’clock was past.

But Kingsb’ro’s wife was gone to bed,

Thinking that no such stranger wad,

At such a time come to her door:

For th’ two young ladies were oft before.

She sent them word to take the key,

With all in the house for to make free;

But Kingsbro’ said that would not do,

Herself must rise, and quickly too.

The child ran back and told her plain,

Such a lang wife she ne’er saw nane,

As that was walking through the ha’,

Her like was never there awa’,

Therefore she’d go no more for fear,


Then up she rose and did appear:

And the one who walked through the hall,

Did her salute and kiss with all,

Whereat she started and was afraid,

Being so prick’d with a lady’s beard:

Then to her husband said, whisp’ring ways,

Is not this a gentleman in disguise?

His pricking beard does me convince,

Pray ask him, What’s come of the Prince?

The Prince, my dear, Why this is he——

Oh, said she, then we’ll hanged be——

A well, said he, We’ll die but once,

Get supper for him, cakes and scones,

Butter and cheese, we have eggs enow:

What! That for a Prince will never do.

Yes, for rarities be nowise griev’d;

You little know how he has liv’d:

And with ceremony be not affected,

Lest by your servants he be suspected,

He supp’d that night and went to sleep

As a stranger lady, all snug was kept.

On the morrow he rose and was drest,

And for their kindness thanks exprest:

Miss Flora and the other Miss,

They had him in his robes to dress,

The gown, the mutch, and petticoat,

Such stuff to wear he loved not;

But because to them in such he came,

He should go off wearing the same,

Lest by enquiry they might provoke

What they were, being stranger folk.

Then Kingsborough’s wife did them desire,

To ask a pickle of his hair.

And they in Galick did debate,

Who should it ask, they were so blate:

He understood, the reason speir’d

Of their debate, desir’d to hear’t,


This freely granted as soon as told,

And to their sheers his head did hold,

The lock was parted ’mongst the three,

Of their dear Prince mindful to be,

An ancient freit, a Highland charm,

Look on that hair her heart will warm.

Kingsb’rough a bundle of men’ clothes took

Far from his house, to a wood nuik,

Remounted him in Highland dress,

There he much kindness did express——

They wept, they kiss’d, and off he goes,

While drops of blood fell from his nose.

Their hearts were great, you may weel ken,

They parted ne’er to meet again.

A guide sent wi’m the mountain way,

Had a boat ready, the freight did pay,

At Portree, or the king’s port,

Miss Flora’s there ere he came to’t.

And here they parted at Portree,

Where thanking her most heartilie,

Miss Flora did no longer wait;

But went to ’r mother’s house at Slate.

Now Kingsborough did Raaza send

To meet the Prince, and be his friend,

With sev’ral of his trusties there,

Who in his expeditions were,

Both at Culloden and Falkirk.

To Portree came when it was dark,

Both John MacKenzie and Donald Frier,

Who had been with him far and near,

They set off in a little boat,

And safely into Glam all got:

In a mean hut their dwelling made,

For kid and lamb young Raaza gade:

There was no bedding to be found,

They’re oblig’d to lie upon the ground:

His pillow was a wisp of Ling:


Poor state for a pretended king!

This was in July the first day,

And here incog. some time they lay.

Now Ferguson got the sure tract

From the two men, as they went back,

Who did him and Miss Flora bring

Out of Uist, and everything,

His coat, his mutch, his very gown,

From whence they came, and whither boun’,

How Malton’s daughter and Kingsborough too,

Went all together out of their view.

Then Ferg’son with a party came

To Kingsb’ro’s house, and did deman’,

Which way the young Pretender went?

Where he and Miss Flora were sent?

Whether they lay in one bed together?

What clothes he came in, or went thither?

Few answers to him Kingsb’rough made:

What! said his wife, “Miss Flora’s maid,

“They staid all night and went away,

“Whether man or woman was I to try?”

Then, said he, Show where they were laid,

Where lay the Miss? where lay the maid?

Now then, quoth he, I have you fast:

Because the maid’s bed is the best.

Then Kingsborough away was led

To Fort-Augustus, hard bestead,

Plunder’d of’s watch, buckles and shoes,

And all the cash was in his trews,

In a dungeon deep, iron’d he lay,

Thence to Ed’nburgh castle sent away,

And there confin’d was kept one year,

Till by the Act of Grace set clear.

For love of Charlie he got this,

And poor Miss Flora no better was:

For she was scarce ten days at home,

Until she got a card to come


And speak unto an officer,

Who had no great good will to her:

This for a night she did delay,

And on the morrow, by the way,

A party meets, in search of her,

By whom she was made prisoner,

And carry’d instantly away,

On board a ship that very day,

The Furnace, captain Ferguson,

Who did show lenity to none.

But good for her, as fortunes were,

That gen’ral Campbell, as judge sat there:

Though she before made ’quivocation,

She told to him the true relation,

And the general did use her well,

Since she the truth did not conceal:

For of the deed she thought no shame,

To any in need she’d do the same.

Said she, “I’ve no cause to betray,

“Or yet to wish his life away,

“Wherefore then should I do him wrong?

“To you soldiers does such belong.

“If that a price be on his head?

“’Tis for those by blood who have their bread.”

The gen’ral then had nought to say;

But gave her leave, on the next day,

Of her friends to go and take farewel;

Her mother heart-sore grief did feel:

An officer and forty men

Did guard her there, and back again.

Then she unto the Nore was sent,

Five months on sea, where no friend kent,

At last to London was convey’d,

There with a messenger to bide,

Till the month of July Forty Seven,

That she was home to Edinburgh driv’n,

When by the Act of Grace reliev’d,


She’s now in Sky, yet unmischiev’d.

Now Charles at Glam, in Raaza lay,

Long, long he thought to get away,

Hard was his living, poor his hut,

Upon all heights they watches put.

A stranger to this island came

To sell tobacco, perhaps a sham;

For after all his roll was sold,

He daily through the island stroll’d,

And to the hut one day drew nigh;

Then Raaza swore he was a spy,

And cockt his pistol, him to shoot,

The Prince cry’d, No, You shall not do’t.

That poor man may innocent be,

Without a fault he shall not die.

The poor man then went stepping by,

And did not ev’n look to their stye.

Now, said the Prince, what would ye said,

If innocent blood had here been shed?

Too much, indeed, on my account:

At this some seem’d to take affront;

Yet as a joke he past it by,

And then propos’d to go for Sky,

In the small boat which brought them there,

So for the voy’ge they did prepare.

Toward ev’ning they put to sea,

And then the wind rose wond’rous high,

The boatmen begg’d to put about;

But he was obst’nate on his rout,

And told them life was but a chance,

They were in hands of Providence:

He leav’d the water with a scoop,

And bid them in their Maker hope,

The boat is making a good way,

No man will die but him that’s fey,

We’ve all in dangers been ere now:

At Nicolson’s rock they brought her to,


Near Scorebreck in Trotternish,

Their lodging in a byre it was,

All wet and weary as they were,

Lay on the ground, sleep seiz’d him there,

In which he sigh’d, and starting said,

“Poor people, poor people, hard bestead!”

He then awak’d, and thus did say,

“Malcom, dear captain, is it yet day?

“You’ve watch’d too long, now take a sleep,

“And I myself will centry keep.”

“No, said MacLeod, Sir, if you please,

“I know this ground best, take your ease,

“There’s not a house near by two mile,

“Our friends are few into this isle,

“The red coats are not far from us,

“To slip my charge is dangerous.”

So here they did remain next day,

Before they could venture away,

Having no bread, or ought to eat,

(For a King’s Court, a poor mean treat!)

Except water, sprung from the ground,

No meat or drink could there be found.

Two bottles of brandy was all their store,

On earth they had no substance more,

Nor in that place durst one look out

For en’mies planted round about.

When night came on, they parted all,

Captain MacLeod we shall him call,

Did undertake to be his guide,

One bottle of brandy by his side,

Over muir and mountain, wood and glen,

Between hope and despair they ran.

The Prince as servant did appear;

Because he did the baggage bear,

A hairy wallet on his back,

Just like a chapman and his pack,

Wanting the breiks, with legs all bare,


Into his hand his brogues did bear,

A napkin ty’d around his head,

In this posture forward they gade,

Long thirty miles ere they took rest,

Water and brandy was all their feast:

Because they had no other cheer,

For house or hut they went not near,

Till at Ellighill, the place call’d Ord,

Whereof MacKinnon is the lord,

Their brandy-bottle now was done,

And here they hid it under groun’:

Yet were they in a strait again,

Meeting two of MacKinnon’s men,

Who had on the expedition been,

And oft before the Prince had seen,

Who knew him well, though in disguise,

Fell down and bursted out in cries.

Then Malcom, Hush, to them did call,

Or else they would discover all,

To which they swore, by all that’s Good,

They’d rather spend their dearest blood,

So faithfully they did conceal it,

And did not in the least reveal it.

Now were they come unto the place,

Where Malcom’s sister married was

To John MacKinnon, who’d captain been

Along with Charles in armour keen;

But had got clear by Proclamation,

And for to skulk had no occasion.

He orders the Prince, now Lewis Cawe,

For to ly down some space awa’,

While he into his sister’s went,

Their doleful case to represent.

She him embrac’d, and wept amain,

As in the war she thought him slain:

He said, dear sister, here I’m come

Myself to hide, if you have room,


With one, my servant, Lewis Cawe,

In the same case, hard is our fa’:

He’s a surgeon’s son, who came from Crief

Shelter to seek and some relief.

Then poor sick Lewis was called in,

With head bound up, he look’d right grim,

And by his master there he did stand,

With head uncover’d, bonnet in hand:

But the Captain urg’d him to sit down,

And put his bonnet on his crown,

Since there are no strangers here,

Come, eat with me, Lewis, my dear.

And when their dinner over was,

The Captain says, Our feet we’ll wash:

The servant-maid brought water then,

And wash’d his feet with tender han’.

Said he, my lad’s not well, I know,

You’ll wash his feet before you go;

But she reply’d, I ken some better,

’Tis fair enough if I bring water,

He’s but your lad, as you me tell,

Dat loon may wash her feet hersel;

Being forc’d to do’t, through mere constraint,

To work in a rude way she went,

Rubbed his toes, made the water rise

At every plash, betwixt his thighs;

On this he to the Captain said,

She rubs too hard this saucy maid,

I had far better do’t mysell,

In trout, quo’ she, an sae ye sall,

Then both of them to sleep were put,

The goodwife went to a hill-top

For to keep watch, lest from the sea

Incursions should come suddenlie.

As King’s ships hover’d all about,

And parties through the land did scout.

Just as they wak’d the husband came,


When Malcom heard, he to him ran,

And did salute him in the field,

Which meeting did great pleasure yield;

Because that word was to them brought,

He kill’d was at Culloden fight.

And after they had talk’d a while,

Think you yon ships will touch this isle?

Says John, I know not but they might;

Because they’re never out of sight.

What if our Prince a pris’ner be,

In one of those ships which we see?

God forbid, then John reply’d;

But of his ’scape I’m much afraid:

For our nation’s guarded round about,

And through the land there’s many a scout.

But do you think, if he were here,

He would be safe, in such a stir?

Ay, safe be sure, whate’er they do,

I wish we had him here just now.

Then said he, John, he’s in your house;

But to salute him, be cautious:

Because your wife, nor none else knows,

By the name of Lewis Cawe he goes,

My servant, a surgeon’s son in Crief,

Like us, brought to trouble and grief:

Therefore behave when in you go,

That none within the house may know.

So home they came, and in he goes,

Then courteously poor Lewis rose,

Bare-headed stood, bonnet in hand,

But John could not himself command,

Burst out in tears, and on him flew,

Oh-hon, Oh-hon, What’s this on you!

From splendor into deep distress!

He cry’d, and could no more express.

Wife and servants stood in amaze,

And did upon poor Lewis gaze:


Then Malcom in a passion flew,

And swore that he had fools enow,

Hurry’d them to another place,

And told his sister all the case,

That he and poor Lewis was in,

Charged her forthwith for to run,

And bind her servants to secresie,

Or else they soon would ruin’d be.

When his sister knew what guest he was,

Her kindness she did the more express,

And said, Upon her very knees

She’d travel for to give him ease.

They then to consultation went,

To get him to the Continent:

Because the isles were dangerous,

Soldiers searching every bush.

John then unto the laird he went,

To try how his affection bent,

By long-wind stories laments his case,

In being hunted from place to place.

Oh, said the laird, were he now here,

I’d lay my life to get him clear,

And set him safe on the main land.

Then John he told him, clean off hand,

Where he was, and in what place,

And to his conscience left his case.

Go tell him, I’ll be with him soon,

To see what quickly shall be done.

John went home, the laird soon came,

With loyal affections, as chief o’s Clan,

And told, that for him he did provide

A good stout boat, pilot and guide,

That he himself design’d to go

To the main land with him also,

A thousand blessings on him prays,

And wish’d him long and happy days.

Then Malcom said, he would return,


Which caus’d the Prince in tears to mourn:

Captain, he said, will you leave me now?

On the main land, what shall I do?

Then said the laird, leave that to me,

On the main land I’ll you supplie.

Sir, said Malcom, by now I’m mist

By friends, by foes, and this I trust

For to be ta’en, when I return,

Then I’ll tell a tale of my sojourn,

Of all my travels how I was here,

Seeing my friends and sister dear;

But if they chance us to pursue,

They’ll hear of me along with you:

For answer then, what could I say?

What man ye was, or gone what way?

Which accordingly it came to pass:

For he twelve months confined was,

And saw great London for the same,

There try’d and came with Flora hame.

So to the boat they all did go,

Which lay upon the shore below:

And as to it they did draw near,

Two men of war there did appear,

Came cruising in before the wind,

Hard on the shore, as they design’d,

Which caused them to sit down a space,

And smoak a pipe in a hollow place.

A silver stock-buckle to Malcom he geid,

And ten guineas too in his loof he laid,

Which he did often times refuse;

But begg’d some trifle that he did use;

Then, said he, Captain, Your pay’s too cheap,

Besides, you will have my cutty pipe,

And when you blow’t, you’ll think on me,

As I have got another you see:

And take these lines to Murdoch MacLeod,

To pay respect to him I’m proud.


The men of war having laid about,

Toward the boat they took the rout,

The writing in the letter this,

As writ verbatim, here it is,


I THANK God, I am in good health and have got off as designed.——Remember me to all friends, and thank them for the trouble they have been at——I am, Sir, Your humble Servant,

James Thomson.


Sundry dangers and hardships on the main shore. Meets with six men who relieve him. Almost starved. Goes to Lochaber. Meets with Lochiel. Gets off from Moidart.

Now, the men of war being out of sight,

On the eighth of July, at eight at night,

The laird of MacKinnon, John by name,

With a pilot, guide, and four boat-men,

All on board with him they went,

To carry him to the Continent.

The night indeed was fair and clear;

But not above a mile they were,

Till wind and waves did rise in ire,

This providence we may admire,

Which seemed to be frowning on him,

The very waves striving to drown him,

And on their boat, came straight a-head,

A boat with men all well armed:

But the sea was high, the wind so blew,

And nought but present death in view,

They hail’d each other, and that was all,

It was no time to search or call:

Had not this storm proved their frien’,

He’d surely in their clutches been.

And when they reached the main land,


Under the lee they’re forc’d to stand,

The pilot ran her into a creek,

Got past the breakers, ’mong sand and sleik,

There they landed him and his guide,

And chus’d no longer to abide:

But to the sea again did go;

Because the storm did fiercely blow.

And as they were returning back,

A boat from Morar did them ’ttack;

And old MacKinnon was pris’ner made,

Being, by direction, to him led,

By a party who did the two pursue,

And the boat who of them had a view

The night before, when going over:

The facts of all they could discover,

At Morar, on his going back,

The laird MacKinnon they did take,

And prov’d the deed which he had done,

For which they sent him to London.

In Southwark goal long did he ly,

With heavy fetters did him ty,

Till in Forty Seven, the next year

By Act of Grace he got home clear.

Now Charlie went to Glen-Brasdale,

Where he heard tell of brave Lochiel,

Who about Loch-aber was lurking there;

But to get to him great dangers were:

As a line was form’d from Inverness,

Which reached to Fort-Augustus,

From thence unto Fort-William again,

Night and day stood armed men.

The word, in a few minutes, did wheel,

From end to end, All is well;

And from Fort-William to Locharkaig-head,

Another line was likewise made.

Thus he did in Glen-Brasdale ly,

Till circled almost every way.


Gen’ral Campbell with four hundred men,

Upon the south-west side did land:

Captain Scot, with five hundred more,

Advancing from the easter shore,

And came within two miles of way,

They knew not what to do or say:

He sent for Cam’ron of Glen-Pan,

Who chus’d to be his guide and van,

To Lovat’s country for to go,

The braes of Locharkaig as he did know,

With them went Glenaladale and his brother,

Boradale’s two boys, there was no other:

First went the guide on’s hands and knees,

After past the Prince and the two boys,

Glenaladale and his brother at last,

Favour’d by the night, they quietly past

So near their tents they heard their speech,

And ere day, got far out of reach,

Right safe into Glen-Morriston,

Left Glenaladale and him alone.

One day, as they a travelling were,

Over a desart mountain there,

Glenaladale chanc’d to lose his purse,

With forty guineas which in it was,

And money behind it they had none,

The Prince’s being spent and gone.

While Glen. return’d his purse to seek,

Charlie lay down at a bush cheek,

And there appear’d unto his view,

A band of soldiers not a few,

Just upon that very spot

Where they had met, were’t not the lot

Of turning for that very purse

Kept them from what had been much worse.

So, close he lay, slie as a tod,

Being at some distance from the road,

And saw them take another rout,


That they’d met Glen. he had no doubt,

Being gone quite the contrary way

For which he thankfully did pray.

Glen. found his purse and turn’d again,

They chang’d their rout through a wild glen,

Where nothing had they for to eat,

Full forty hours they wanted meat:

Weak and weary were they both,

Water indeed they had enough;

But found no sheep or venison,

The cattle being plund’red and gone.

At last, they chanced for to spy

A little smoking hut, near by:

Then said the Prince, Thither I’ll go,

Whether they should prove friend or foe:

Better for us be kill’d like men,

Than starved like fools: What say’st thou Glen?

Yet Glen refus’d, and said, I fear,

They may be King’s-men watching here:

But in the Prince goes to the hut,

Which them in some confusion put;

Six sturdy thieves resided there,

Who at their dinner sitting were,

At a weighty piece of boiled beef,

For hungry men a blest relief.

Peace be here, the Prince did cry,

You’re welcome, sir, they did reply;

One star’d at him, then up he flew,

Ah Dougal MacColony, is this you?

I’m glad to see thee, with all my heart,

Sit down with us and take a part.

By winks, he found that he was known,

Return’d him thanks, and then sat down,

Ate hearty, and seem’d very merry,

Talk’d of the times, found by enquiry,

That ev’ry one spake as his frien’,

And had all at Culloden been;


But only one of them him knew,

He then bethought him what to do,

And after dinner they took a walk,

With that same man to have some talk,

Who told him all the strengths about,

Where parties lay, and what to doubt.

And as, said he, “The other five,

“Are as faithful fellows as alive,

“You may your safety to them trust,

“Your case by them’s lamented most.

“Here do we all in private stay,

“And make incursions for our prey:

“For meat and drink we do not want,

“Of silver and gold we are not scant:

“And since ’tis such a roaring time,

“To steal and rob we think no crime.”

The other five were call’d and told,

Who did rejoice him to behold,

And swore that he should with them stay,

Till he found it safe to get away.

’Tween Strath-Ferrar and Glen-Morr’ston,

They kept up huts, yea more than one,

And kindly there did entertain him;

To the very last they did befrien’ him,

And ere that he should taken be,

They every man would for him die.

While here he liv’d on stollen beef,

Right suddenly there came relief:

Rod’rick MacKenzie, a merchant-man,

At Ed’nburgh town had join’d the Clan,

Had in the expedition been,

And at this time durst not be seen,

Being sculking in Glen-Morriston,

Him the soldiers lighted on,

Near about the Prince’s age and size,

Genteelly drest, in no disguise.

In every feature, for’s very face,


Might well be taken in any case,

And lest he’d like a dog be hang’d,

He chose to die with sword in hand,

And round him like a mad-man struck,

Vowing alive he’d ne’er be took:

Deep wounds he got, and wounds he gave,

At last a shot he did receive,

And as he fell, them to convince,

Cry’d, Ah! Alas! You’ve kill’d your Prince;

Ye murderers and bloody crew

You had no orders this to do.

This did confirm them in the thought,

He was the very man they sought:

And ere that he was really dead,

They forthwith did cut off his head.

Scarce took they time the corpse to bury,

Being so o’erjoy’d, in such a hurry.

To Fort-Augustus they went with speed,

Triumphing o’er poor Charlie’s head.

All who had seen him, came it to view,

And vow’d the face was just and true;

The very barber who us’d to shave him,

The sim’lar treats seem’d to deceive him:

But, said he, wer’t on his body set,

And spake, his voice I’ll not forget.

Then to the Duke in haste they’re bound,

And claim’d the thirty thousand pound.

The Duke thought now the work was done,

When Charlie’s head was to him shown;

Call’d in all out upon command,

And caus’d the militia to disband;

The ships of war went to the south

And Charles’ death did pass for truth.

He then for London took his rout,

On July eighteenth did set out,

As brave Culcairn had sent him word

Of Lochiel’s death, ev’n as absurd——


When plund’ring of Locharkaig isle,

He found the grass cut through the pile,

Thinking it was some hidden store,

He digg’d it up, and found therefore

A man’s body, who dy’d of a sore wound,

As appeared when they view’d him round;

A fine Holland shirt he on him had,

Which soon they whirled o’er his head,

Being so much used to plunder,

To rob the dead thought little wonder,

And him they judg’d to be Lochiel,

Yet a near friend of his, they tell,

One Cameron, son of Callavat,

After which Lochiel no hunting gat,

Supposing him and Charlie dead,

Though it was two others in their stead.

So all the parties far and near,

To Fort-Augustus did retire:

Yet some of them were soon sent back

To burn and plunder, and to take

Some great offenders, as Barrisdale,

In which attempts they oft did fail:

For although the Duke’s to London gone,

Burning and plunder still went on.

Now, the Prince into Loch-aber went,

The seat of Lochiel, where he was bent

To know if he in life might be,

As word of’s death o’er all did flee,

And the Prince’s death so struck Lochiel,

That neither did bemoan himsel;

But each lamented for the other,

And wept as one would for a mother:

But when they heard both were alive,

To meet in haste they did contrive,

Being only twenty miles between,

His brother, the doctor, did them conveen,

With the other brother, John the priest,


Who had sincerely been in quest,

Through many a mountain, wood and glen,

And found him out with eager pain,

Into a hut, built in a wood,

Near Achnasual where it stood.

Charles at a distance did them spy,

Made him and Achnasual fly,

Not knowing what kind of men they were,

Nor what might be their business there;

But being inform’d, soon turn’d again,

Embrac’d with tears in tender strain,

And hearing that Lochiel was well,

His heart-felt joy did not conceal.

The Prince was now in a poor dress,

Poverty’s picture in distress,

A black coat with many patches,

Barefooted, and wanting breeches,

No signs of roy’lty or pride,

A durk and pistol by his side,

All weather-beaten, his gun in’s hand,

Like a Gibeonite, once in Canaan.

They had kill’d a cow the day before,

Kept a pudding feast, you may be sure,

Part of it roast, part of it sodden:

But here no bread was to be gotten,

No meal nor salt could there be bought;

But what’s from Fort-Augustus brought.

One man they had was passing free,

Came home by chance, right cannilie,

With a horse-load of provision,

Meal and salt, bread and snishen,

And with him brought a printed News,

Which did their whole attentions rouze,

How the young Pretender and Lochiel,

O’er Corriarick, had pass’d that fell,

That they were both alive again,

And with them thirty armed men:


This caus’d him longer to abide,

As safely there he could reside,

If a new searching should ensue,

His watchmen here were good and true,

Dismis’t Glenaladale for home,

With the men came from Glen-Morriston,

Kept with him only Captain MacRow,

Cameron the priest, and other two,

With Cluny’s children, they kept the hut,

And tour about on watch were put.

About this time from Dunkirk came

Sixty gentlemen, who in a band

As volunteers had freely join’d,

To bring him from the British ground.

At Polliver, in Seaforth’s country,

Four of them landed privately,

The rest, on sea, kept hov’ring round;

And left a signal, how to be found,

And where they were for to bring to:

These were their orders how to do.

Soon after two of them were ta’en,

One Fitzgerald, called by name,

An officer belong’d to Spain,

Was hanged up at Fort-William,

Proven to be a Flander’s spy,

Judg’d for same end, he came that way.

The other was Monsuer de Berards,

An officer of the French guards,

Who from the gallows was befrien’d,

And by cartel again redeem’d.

The other two wandered about,

Till Lochgarie sent, and found them out;

Strangers they seem’d, but who could know

Whether that they were friend or foe?

Captain MacRow did them invite,

At Lochgarie’s with him to meet,

To him they plainly did unfold


From whence they came, and that they would

Fain see the Prince, or yet Lochiel,

Having letters to them and words to tell,

Or else to one call’d Captain Drummond,

And more they would reveal to no man.

Lochgarie judg’d they might be spies,

Strove to be cautious and wise,

First he sent them to Lochiel,

With what suspicion he had himsel:

Lochiel order’d the Prince to come in,

Under the name of Captain Drummond,

As they the Prince did never see,

He told them where the two should be,

Bade him a letter bring, as from him come,

To tell their secrets unto him,

And this the Prince actually did,

Met in a hut, built in a wood,

And kept converse with them a day,

Then to meet Lochiel went on his way,

For to consult what might be done,

Out of Scotland once for to win:

For the small ship the Frenchmen left,

Quite off the coast were, all abaft,

And never did at all appear:

But forc’d homeward with dread to steer,

And the officers, as I heard tell,

Were kept, by orders of Lochiel,

Most secretly into a hut,

Until a ship was ready got.

While the Prince yet at Clun’s hut lay,

One morning, early of the day,

A child of Clun’s came running in,

Crying, “O-hon! the red coats and the gun!”

Which caus’d them hurry out and see

A party coming, and that right nigh:

Cluny, John Cameron and his son

Into the wood did quickly run.


Clun stood their motions to behold,

The others ran to the Prince and told:

He sleeping was in another hut,

Farther in the wood and more remote;

They plainly said, they were surrounded;

Then up he rose, no wise confounded,

Says he, My lads, review your guns,

And let us die like Scotland’s sons,

For me, I’ve been a shooter bred,

To miss a mark I’m not afraid;

Yet we’ll escape them if we may,

And live to see a better day.

Captain MacRow and Clun’s old son

Were in another hut alone,

He sent for them, they came with speed,

And to the hill did all proceed,

Being eight in number, they were no more,

Soldiers they saw above five score.

But what gave them the most surprise,

Was that the soldiers had past their spies,

Which they had planted round about,

Them to inform of every rout:

This caus’d them be the more afraid,

And think they surely were betray’d.

Then a hill-top they march’d unto,

Where of the party they had a view,

And all around could no more spy,

Than what were of the first party.

Next to Mallantagart’s top they flee,

High above the braes of Glenkengie;

Then Cameron, the priest, and Clun’s son,

To make discov’ry did backward run.

Two hundred men had gone that way,

Headed by Knockardo of Strathspey,

A going to plunder Barrisdale,

And of Clun’s ten cow’s left not a tail,

Which he few days before had bought,


When burnt his house and left him nought,

And yet they thought it was no crime,

To plunder him a second time,

The very hut they rummaged,

Out of which they had lately fled.

Clun in the wood all the while lay,

And saw them drive his cows away,

Until perceiving they were gone,

Then he return’d crying, Oh-hon

What, Shall I e’er thus plunder’d be?

For shelter now, where shall I flee?

Went with his son for bread and cheese,

Four bottles of whisk they did not seize:

His stores all under ground were hid,

Cover’d with turff into the wood.

Being midnight ere they reach’d the spot,

Where Charles lay trembling and wet,

They drank the whisk and eat the cheese,

Then of the heather made a bleeze.

When day came in, beek’d by the sun,

They lay and slept till afternoon:

Then took their travels that very night,

To Achnacarie came full right,

Through water to their cleavings high,

Dark was the night, they could not see.

Upon the morrow they kill’d a cow,

Whereof they fill’d their bellies fu’,

Without bread, salt or sallad,

Sweet hunger relished their palate;

They told the flesh, bread was before,

And thankful were they had such store,

The country being burnt, and plunder’d,

And here to live no way they had.

On the next day Lochgarie came,

And with him doctor Cameron,

On their return back from Lochiel,

They bade the Prince for safety still,


To cross the hills near Badenoch;

For Athole braes were safe enough,

Among good friends could skulk a while,

Till time was found to leave this isle,

Whereat the Prince was well content,

And to their journey then they went,

Travell’d by night and slept by day,

Through many a glen and awkward way.

Lochiel and he again did meet,

And loud they cry’d like infants sweet,

Contrived now what should be done,

Once more all hazards for to run.

His brother the priest, of modest mouth,

To hire a vessel they sent south,

To take them off from the north shore;

Because that coast was watch’d no more.

But ere that he could get that done,

They found another of safer run,

On north and west they watches set,

Upon the French ships for to wait,

Still thinking that the Dunkirk sloop,

Might yet be hov’ring round about,

From which the Frenchmen did come,

And still attempt, to take them home:

Their signals to many ships they us’d,

But ne’er a one to answer chus’d.

Now col’nel Warren had got to France,

And brought a privateer from Nantz,

With three hundred and forty men,

Well arm’d, with thirty guns and ten

Of carr’ge and swivels which she bore,

The best sailer he could procure,

The Bellona, of St. Maloes by name,

To anchor in Loch Moidart came,

And here the col’nel came on shore,

To a house where he had been before,

About the Prince for to enquire,


By chance the watch was waiting there,

Who knew what rout the Prince was gone,

And made it to the col’nel known,

Besides these officers of note,

Who now were lurking in a hut.

Then to the Prince express he sent,

Now was the time for his intent,

Who did set out that very night,

And message sent to all he might,

With speed at Moidart to appear,

With Warren, on board of privateer,

The two officers likewise came,

And met the Prince, who dash’d their frame,

Because with him they’d been so free,

When they took him Drummond to be.

But nevertheless he smil’d it over,

Hoping from suff’rings they’d all recover.

All who came, did haste on board,

Last went himself, then sheath’d his sword,

Regretted sore, he was so kind,

So many suff’rers left behind.


Arrives at France. Reception there.

Thus on September the twenti’th day,

He from Loch-Moidart sail’d away,

The wind was low, the waves were kind,

To clear the land they much inclin’d,

No tempests rag’d as in times before,

As now the blast of Fate was o’er,

No foes on sea did them perplex,

Till safe at Roscort, near Morlaix,

They on the twenty-ninth did land,

Poor Charlie and his broken band,


Who all had surely been bewitch’d

By Spaniards and the subtile French,

They then to Paris did proceed,

To be refitted, great was their need.

He went incog. into Versailles,

With no attendance at his heels,

Receiv’d by King and Queen of France,

To them he told his mournful chance,

His sufferings they’re surpris’d to hear,

And a thousand welcomes did appear.

So for his honour, I understand,

A Feu de joy they did command,

That he should in procession come,

With sound of trumpet, beat of drum.

In the first coach there was conducted,

Lord Og’lvie, Elcho, and Glen-Bucket;

And with the Prince, there next came on

Lochiel, and lord Lewis Gordon,

Pages around, with ten footmen,

The Prince of Wales’ liv’ry on them,

Kept by the Prince on ev’ry side,

While thousands did admire their pride.——

Here Kelly who broke London tower,

And Stafford, late from Newgate bower,

Who both from prison stole away,

And in Britain could no longer stay,

Young Lochiel brought up the rear,

With three gentlemen of the bed chamber.

These did all on horseback prance,

In procession to the court of France.

That night the Prince supt with the King,

In Loch-aber the like he had not seen,

Nor yet in Uist, fainting for fault,

When glad of brochan wanting salt.

He hir’d a fine house, The Theatine,

Which stands upon the banks of Seine,

A river does through Paris run,


Ev’n as the Thames does through London.

His nobles all commissions got,

And form’d new reg’ments, Did they not,

The Scots, English, and Irish too,

Fought well at Vall, and stood full true?

The British troops they did not spare,

Which was not altogether fair,

Commanded by Og’lvie and Lochiel;

But Charles took no command himsel.

Incog. he once to Madrid went;

But soon return’d, right ill content:

For about this time his brother gat,

From Rome’s Bishop a Card’nal’s hat,

Which does not any honour bring,

To Princes of Protestant spring,

In connexion with such a See

No Protestant can ever be.

At this great Charles was much chagrin’d,

Would hear no more of him as friend,

Omitted ev’n to drink his health,

Meaning he’d pledge his soul for wealth.

While he at Paris did reside,

Were silver and copper medals made,

With an inscription thus exprest,

Carolus Walliae Princeps.”

This in letters round the head,

On the reverse Britannia, read,

Then ships with this motto you’d see,

Amor et Spes Britanniae.”

This did offend the French grandees,

And did the King himself displease:

It did inform them, that he thought,

His pay was poor for what he wrought.

So here we leave him now to rest,

And view his friends sorely distrest,

And brought to desolation,

Through this deluding cause alone:


Schemes of the Devil, Pope and Spain,

And French delusion, trust not again

You brave Scots-men, I pray beware

Of being trick’d into such war.

Now when this campaign ended was,

Troops did to winter quarters pass,

Hessians set out for Germany,

And at Burnt island put to sea,

Where some other reg’ments also went,

The Flanders war being still extant.


Trial and Execution of severals at Kensington, Brampton, and Carlisle.——The Lords Kilmarnock, Cromartie, Balmerino, Lovat, and Charles Ratcliff.

Poor Scotland yet did sigh and moan,

Because her suff’rings were not gone,

A time of trial for her deeds,

Where many lost their hearts and heads.

The mildest was Kensington muir,

Not far from London to be sure,

Seventeen officers by the neck

Were hung like dogs, without respect:

No clergy benefit, or Psalms at a’,

Cheer’d by the mob with loud huzza:

Elev’n at York, shar’d the same fate:

Seven at Penrith, thus too were treat:

Six at Brampton likewise fell:

And nine were butcher’d at Carlisle:

Many were sent to the Plantations,

To live among the savage nations,

Which indeed was a milder act,

Than what is in the following tract,

Of these poor souls at Carlisle,


Whose execution was so vile,

A wooden stage they did erect,

And first, half strangl’d by the neck,

A fire upon the stage was born,

Their hearts out of their breasts were torn,

The privy part unspared was,

Cut off, and dash’d into their face,

Then expanded into the fire;

But such a sight I’ll ne’er desire,

Some beholders swooned away,

Others stood mute, had nought to say,

And some of a more brutish nature,

Did shout Huzza, to seal the matter,

Some a mourning turn’d about

A praying for their souls, no doubt,

Some curs’d the butcher, Haxam Willie,

Who without remorse used his gullie,

And for the same a pension got,

Thus butchering the Rebel Scot.

God keep all foes, and friends of mine,

From death of such a cruel kind:

It did fulfil an English law;

But such a sight I never saw.

O! may it ever a warning be,

From rebellious mobs, to keep us free!

My dear Scots-men, a warning take,

Superior pow’rs not to forsake,

Mind the Apostle’s words, of law and love,

Saying, All power is giv’n from above.

’Tis by will of heav’n kings do reign,

The chain of Fate’s not rul’d by men.

Every thing must serve its time,

And so have kings of Stewart’s line.

Methinks they’re fools, whate’er they be,

Who draw their sword to stick the sea,

Or call upon the wind to bide,

Think not that strength will turn the tide;


Though praying made the sun to stand,

When help’d by an Almighty hand:

All those who fight without offence,

Get but a dreadful recompence:

And those who trust in France or Spain,

Are fools if e’er they do’t again:

Witness poor Charlie and the Scots,

What have they got, but bloody throats?

Charlie’s from France banish’d, like a thief,

A poor reward for his toil and grief.

Poor simple Charles they have thee tricked,

Thy wage is almost like the wicked.

Now the trials were brought on,

Of the Chiefs who had with Charlie gone,

My lord Kilmarnock and Cromartie,

In Westminster-Hall judged to be,

Lord Lovat and Balmerino,

One Mr. Ratcliff indicted also

Before their peers, for high treason,

Were to the bar brought, one by one,

Lord Kilmarnock did first appear,

Who humbly own’d his guilt was clear,

Confess’d his folly, and heinousness,

How obnoxious to punishment he was.

For offences of so deep a dye,

Begg’d they’d interceed with’s Majesty,

That the unshaken fidelitie

Of’s ancestors should remembred be,

His father having been a steady one,

In promoting the Revolution,

Took active measures to secure

The protestant succession to endure,

Which keeps the kingdoms quiet and firm,

From arbitrary and Popish harm:

This was well known for certain truth.

His own ev’ry action from his youth,

Upon the strictest enquiry


Was a course of firmest loyalty,

Until that very unhappy time,

He was seduc’d with them to join,

Soon after the battle of Preston,

He by flatt’ry was prevail’d upon:

That he bought no arms, listed no men,

Persuaded none to join that train:

He endeavour’d their rage to moderate,

For sick and wounded med’cines gat,

And for prisoners begg’d lenity,

This many a soldier could testify.

That for his error he had feel’d smart,

With pining grief and aching heart;

Ev’n at Culloden, chus’d not to fly,

But rather among the slain to ly:

He wish’d Providence had aim’d a shot,

That there to fall might been his lot,

Ere he’d flee to foreign power for aid:

No, that he never wou’d, he said:

If he did so, conscience would tell,

’Twas continuing in Rebellion still:

He had seen a letter from the French court,

The British Sovereign to exhort,

In what a manner he should deal

With such subjects as did rebel.

But he abhorr’d the mediation

Of any foreign intercession;

’Pon his Majesty’s great clemency,

For sacred mercy I rely,

And if no favour’s to me shown,

With resignation, I’ll lay down,

My head upon the fatal block,

For to receive the dreadful stroke,

With my very last breath fervently pray,

That th’ illustr’ous house of Hanover may,

In peace and prosperity ever shine,

And Britain rule, to th’ end of time.


The earl of Cromartie came next,

While all their eyes were on him fixt,

He begg’d their lordships for to hear,

How ungrateful guilt brought him there,

Which justly merited indignation,

Of his Majesty, and all the nation.

The treasonable offence, said he,

He’d ne’er attempt to justifie,

His plea did on their compassion ly,

And his Majesty’s royal clemency:

Appeal’d to his conduct in time bygone,

Ere that unhappy Rebellion.

Witness the commander at Inverness,

And the lord President Forbes,

Who knew his acts and loyal ways,

Till seduc’d by designing phrase:

His awful remorse, made him to fret

Severely now, Alas! too late,

Life and fortune valu’d not at all,

But his loving wife, now drown’d in gall,

With a babe unborn, of children eight,

All brought to a most mournful plight,

His eldest son with these must drie

The penalties of his miserie,

“Let these Objects of mercy be

“Known to his most gracious Majestie,

“Let innocent children now produce

“Bowels of pity in this house,

“As men of honour be men of feeling,

“My griefs to you needs no revealing.”

He pled his blood might quench his crime,

That their inn’cence should be kept in mind,

That those to mis’ry should not be brought,

Who of his guilt had never thought:

Since public justice would not let pass

From him that cup of bitterness,

Desir’d their Lordships to go on,


And said, The will of God be done.

Then Balmerino next came on,

Who, as friend or foe, regarded none;

But star’d about, and look’d as bold,

As he had been judge, that court to hold,

And ’gainst them mov’d a point of law,

His indictment was not worth a straw,

As being in the county of Surry founded,

For acts of treason in Scotland grounded:

Therefore should be in Scotland try’d;

But this the House of Lords deny’d,

And said, The British Parliament

Rul’d over all the king’s extent:

Therefore he’s forc’d to wave his plea;

But not a fig regarded he,

As mercy he scorn’d for to crave.

Then all three sentence did receive,

“To be beheaded on Tower-hill,

(A humble bow they gave there-till,)

“On the eighteenth August, Forty-Six,

“Their heads be sever’d by an ax,

“Quite from their bodies, on open stage,

“To lose both life and heritage,

“Their estates forfeit to the crown.”

Which makes the babes unborn frown

And parents folly to lament.

So to the Tow’r they all were sent,

For to prepare for their exit,

And with a greater Judge to meet.

Kilmarnock was as a Christian mov’d,

The time though short he well improv’d.

Balmerino took little thought,

As by the Sacrament all was bought,

And the externals of the book,

His persuasion did no farther look.

When the Dead-warrant was to him sent,

To Cromartie they did present


A remit for life and libertie;

But the other two Lords were to die.

While Balmerino at dinner sat,

The tidings came, how, and what

Was to be done on the next day,

His lady rose and swoon’d away;

He rose from’s chair, says, You’re distracted,

It is no more than I expected,

Sit down, my lady, and did constrain her,

It shall not make me lose my dinner,

I know we all were born to die,

From death at last, where can we flee?

By his mild words she kept her seat;

But ne’er a bit at all could eat.

He took the Sacrament, they say,

After th’ Episcopalian way,

With a Roman courage and resolution,

Boldly waited his dissolution,

And of his fate oft made a jest,

Which to English eyes wou’d be a feast.

He often walked without his coat

With shirt open about his throat,

One of his friends unto him told,

He’d wrong his health by getting cold,

To which he answered again,

The lease of it was near an end,

’Twas the height of folly to repair,

For all the time it had to wear.

On the next day, the stage being erect,

All rail’d about and hung with black,

A thousand foot-guards march’d theretil,

And form’d betwixt the Tow’r and hill.

The stage within the line enclos’d,

A full free passage so compos’d,

The horse Grenadiers posted without,

As to awe the crowd they were more stout,

Thus was it fixt right near until


The Transport-office at Tow’r-hill,

Which, that day, was hir’d for reception,

Until they went to execution.

About the hour of ten o’clock,

Upon the stage they fixt the block,

Which cover’d also was with black,

And of saw dust had several sack,

For to sprinkle upon the blood,

Being judged for that purpose good:

Their covered coffins within the rails,

Ornamented with gilded nails,

And plates, with their inscription,

Were fixed upon ev’ry one—

’Twas thus upon Kilmarnock’s plate,

In Capital Letters engraved,

Gulielmus Comes de Kilmarnock,

Decollatus 18mo. Augusti,

Anno Dom, M, DCC, XLVI.

Aetat. Suae, XLII.

His Coronet was thereto added,

Upon the plates likewise engraved,

And Balmerino’s inscription,

Was deeply grav’d the plate upon.

Arthurus Dominus de Balmerino,

Decollatus 18mo. Augusti,

Anno Dom, M, DCC, XLVI.

Aetat. Suae LVIII.

Thus plac’d in a conspicuous light,

With a Baron’s coronet shining bright.

Then after ten, near half an hour,

The two Sheriffs went to the Tow’r,

Knock’d at the gate, the Porter cry’d,

What do you want? They then reply’d,

The bodies of these Lords two,

Kilmarnock and Balmerino.

The Lieutenants and his Wardens brought

These two Lords for whom they sought,


And got receipts for each of them,

As usual is to give the same.

And as they past out from the Tower,

(’Tis usually said as they leave the door,)

God bless King George, the Warder cry’d,

God bless K——g J——s, Balmerino reply’d,

But Kilmarnock made a humble bow,

For Balmerino, seem’d nought to rue,

His regimentals and all was on,

The same as he had at Culloden.

Now, this procession slowly steers,

Under a guard of musqueteers,

The Sheriffs and their officers,

Tow’r-hamlets and tip-staves in pairs,

Two hearses and a mourning coach,

All to the scaffold did approach,

Three clergymen were there also,

The one with Balmerino

Was of the Episcopalian strain,

Th’ others were Presbyterian men,

Who had of late from Scotland come,

Their names were Forester and Hume,

They did upon Kilmarnock wait,

Assisting in his last exit.

Unto the tavern first they went,

Where some time in devotion spent,

And taking of their friends farewel

Tears did anguish and grief reveal:

As to the tavern they did go,

Some ask’d, Which is Balmerino?

He turn’d about and smiling says,

I’m Balmerino, if you please.

In the inn they’re put in sep’rate rooms,

Where mourning was, and heavy moans.

Then Balmerino he did require

A conference with Kilmarnock there.

Then said, “My Lord, before we go,


“One thing of you I want to know,

“That of it the world we may convince;

“Heard you of orders from our Prince,

“If we had Culloden battle won,

“That quarters should be giv’n to none?”

To which Kilmarnock answer’d, NO;

NOR I, Sir; cry’d Balmerino,

“It seems this on invention borders,

“To justify this way of murders.”

“No, said the Earl, “by inference just,

“To tell the truth, for so we must,

“While prisoners at Inverness,

“I heard some officers express,

“That an order was sign’d by George Murray

“Of such a nature as what you say,

“That’s Grace the Duke had it to show:

“More of the matter I do not know.”

“If Murray (said he) did the same,

“Why did they give the Prince the blame?”

And then a final farewel took,

And parted with a mournful look,

“I’m sorry (he cry’d) as he was gone,

“That I cannot pay this score alone,”

Then turning round upon his heel,

For time, my friend, For ay farewel.

Kilmarnock some time in pray’r spent,

While tears did flow from all present,

Then took a glass to cool his heart,

Before he did the room depart.

The warrand him mention’d first to go,

And being inform’d it must be so,

Then to the stage he did approach,

Seeing the hearse, coffins, mourning coach,

The dreadful block, edg’d instrument,

With the executioner and crowd’s lament,

He paus’d a while, and thus said he,

O Hume, ’tis terrible this to me!


His pale countenance, contrite demure,

Did pity from all around procure,

Being tall and graceful, cloth’d in black,

In a praying posture, mildly spake,

Which did the multitude surprize,

While brinish tears showr’d from their eyes,

And many said, He’s dying well,

Howe’er he liv’d we cannot tell.

The head cutter first took a glass,

Then came to ask him forgiv’ness;

Yet drink did not quite drown his fears,

At the awful scene he burst in tears:

But the Earl bade him not be afraid,

As it must be done by some, he said,

Gave him five guineas in a purse,

And bade him strike without remorse,

When I let my handkerchief fall,

Do you proceed by that signal.

With eyes and hands lift up in pray’r,

Most earnestly he did require,

The pray’rs of’s greatest enemie,

And all the crowd around that be,

In the fatal moment of exit,

That Jesus might receive his sp’rit,

Pray’d for King George most fervently,

And bless’d his royal Family.

As he promis’d to do at his end,

Upon that day he was condemn’d.

Then for the block he did prepare,

His gentleman ty’d up his hair,

Took off the bag and the big coat,

His neck made bare all ’round the throat,

On a black cushion he kneel’d down,

While friends stood weeping all around:

The mournings off the rails they threw,

That all around might have a view,

His neck right on the block it lay,


With hands stretcht out to swim away,

And when he let the handkerchief go,

He did receive the fatal blow,

Which cut the head off to a tack

Of skin, cut by a second hack.

Thus did a brave Lord end his days,

Whose head was kept upon red baize,

And with his body in coffin laid,

By Forester with his servants aid,

Which quickly to the hearse they bore,

And clear’d the block and stage of gore,

By sprinkling fresh saw-dust thereon,

That sign of slaughter there was none.

Then Balmerino he came forth,

Like a bold hero from the North,

Who of death itself was not afraid,

At least, he show’d but small regard,

Cloth’d in his regimental Blue,

Trimmed with gold, a warlike hue.

He pray’d to God, and mercy sought;

But fear of men was past his thought:

Drank to’s friends ere he left the room,

And charg’d them all for to drink round,

Ain degree to heaven for me

And wish’d them better times to see:

Then said, Gentlemen a long adieu,

I’m detaining both myself and you.

Then to the scaffold he went full brief,

No signs of sorrow, fear or grief,

And round it walk’d a turn or two,

Where he saw acquaintance, gave a bow:

The inscription on his coffin read,

Said, That is right, and shook his head.

The block he call’d, His pillow of rest,

And said, That ax has been well drest,

The executioner’s shoulder did clap,

And said, My friend, give a free chap,


You ask my pardon, but that’s a fable,

Your business is commendable:

Here’s but three guineas, it is not much;

For in my life I ne’er was rich,

I’m sorry I can add no more to it,

But my coat and vest, I will allow it,

The buttons, indeed, they are but brass;

But do thy bus’ness ne’ertheless,

Stript off his coat and neck-cloth too,

And them upon his coffin threw:

A flannel waist-coat then put on,

With a tartan cap his head upon,

Then said, For honour of the Clan,

This day I die as a Scots-man.

Then adjusted his posture on the block,

Shewing his signal for the stroke,

Was by dropping of his arms down:

Then turning to his friends aroun’,

He once more of them took farewel,

And to the crowd around did wheel,

Perhaps you’ll think that I’m too bold,

This to a gentleman he told,

Whom he perceived standing near,

But, Sir, I solemnly declare,

’Tis all through confidence in God,

A sound conscience, and cause avow’d,

If I dissemble with signs of fear,

I were unworthy of dying here.

Then to the executioner said,

Strike resolute and have no dread:

For I’ll surely count you for a foe,

Unless you give a hearty blow,

To the stage side did then retire,

And call’d the Warder to come nigh’r,

Asking which was the hearse for him,

Bade the driver come nearer in,

Immediately kneel’d to the block,


Stretch’d out his arms, and thus he spoke,

“O Lord reward my friends, he cries,

“And now forgive mine enemies,

“Receive my soul, good Lord, I crave,”

So his arms fell, the signal gave.

At this unlook’d for suddenness,

Th’ executioner surpriz’d was,

Did unprepar’d direct the blow,

That deep enough it did not go,

Before the second he turn’d his head,

As if in anger his jaws they gade,

Gnashing his teeth so veh’mently,

The head went off by blows three.

Upon red baize, the chopt-off head,

Was in coffin with his body laid.

Then the two hearses drove away,

To the grave where Tullibardine lay,

In St. Peter’s Church, into the Tower,

Is these three Scots Lords’ sepulchre,

All for one cause, into one grave,

Whom French delusion did deceive.

Next Charles Ratcliff was execute

For an old heroic exploit,

In the rebellious year fifteen,

Had with his brother at Preston been,

James the Earl of Derwentwater,

Who likewise suffer’d for the matter.

About thirty years before,

He lost his life and land therefore,

This Charles too was condemned;

But he from Newgate safely fled,

By slipping through a private door,

Along with other thirteen more,

Who by good fortune had the chance,

For to get safe away to France:

And he with King James went to Rome,

And zealous Papist did become.


Twice return’d to England again,

Thinking his pardon to obtain;

But when he found it would not do,

A French commission he clapt into,

And there remain’d till Forty-Six,

When he thought, as heir, to refix

Upon the lands of Derwentwater;

But yet he did not mend the matter:

For as he did for Scotland steer,

On board of a French privateer,

The Sheerness catched him at sea,

With Scots and Irish more than he,

Bold officers for the Pretender,

Who yet were forced to surrender.

His Sire was Sir Francis of Derwentwater,

By extract from a Royal fornicator:

His mother’s name was Mary Tudor,

From Charles the second, a nat’ral brooder,

Her mother’s name was Mary Davis,

Whom the King lov’d as any mavis:

By this he came of Stewarts’ line,

And blood to blood doth much incline;

Yet, b’ equivocation to get free,

Deny’d himself Ratcliff to be,

After the identic body’s prov’d,

He for arrest of judgment mov’d,

Said, He was a French officer,

Claim’d usage as a prisoner,

Being taken in a lawful war,

To touch him did them boldly dare:

But all this prov’d of no effect,

For the old crime he lost his neck,

Committed in the year Fifteen,

Though three and thirty years between.

Upon December the eighth day,

He to Tow’r-hill was led away

Where stage and block they did up-fix,


And cut his head off at three licks,

Yet of his death he was right vain,

Gave his neck-cutter guineas ten.

His coffin was made super-fine,

Its handles all like gold did shine.

In Roman faith he liv’d and pray’d,

And in that sort of faith he dy’d:

All seeming repentance he declin’d

As in Purgatory to be refin’d:

And had salvation so a cooking,

As to think no more of death than ducking,

Being so stout a Pope’s believer,

Went to death as he would swim a river;

The priest’ clear’d all the passes for him,

Invok’d the saints full well to store him:

So in his death there were no bands,

Although his neck did feel some pains.

He smil’d his coffin to look upon,

Whereon was this inscription,

Carolus Comes de Derwentwater,

Decollatus Die 8vo Decembris,


Requiescat in pace.

After the cutting off the head,

His corpse were in the coffin laid,

And carry’d back into the Tow’r,

Where they lay till th’ eleventh hour,

That a procession of mourning coaches,

Unto St. Giles with him approaches,

To the Earl of Derwentwater’s grave;

And here poor Ratcliff we shall leave.

Now comes Lord Lovat, an aged man,

And Chief of all the Frazer’s Clan,

Was next before his Peers try’d,

Most of th’ impeachments he deny’d,

Half dead with age, and almost deaf,

Which did them plague, and caus’d mischief:


For when they cry’d and cry’d again,

He answer’d on some other strain,

And told them, it was no fair trade,

As he did not hear one word they said,

And did not see what they could do,

As he ’gainst George his sword ne’er drew;

But always was governments’ friend:

Therefore he wonder’d what they mean’d.

In the year Fifteen it was well known,

How much his loyalty was shown,

In quenching that rebellious storm,

What brave exploits he did perform.

Now, said he, I’m old and faild,

And cannot walk without a hald,

Without cause, ye need not my blood spill,

For death right soon will come a will:

If you judge I have been kind to foes,

It is but what the world allows.

Yet his servants were witness led

Of every deed done and said,

In supporting the rebellious way,

And so their proof bore heavy sway,

What Charles drank that afternoon,

When from Culloden he did run.

Then for his life was no remead,

He was condemn’d to lose his head,

Which he bore in a heroic way,

As an ancient Roman thus did say,

Dulce et decorum pro patria mori,

’Tis sweet and glorious a patriot to die.

The proof was strong, though he deny’d,

His letters also were apply’d,

Which he to Lord President sent,

When he advis’d him to repent,

And recal his son and men again,

Which counsel he held all in vain,

Saying, He had six hundred Frazers got,


To guard his body from the King’s hate,

And ask’d from whence such law could come,

As punish a father for the son?

If’s son and the young clan were lost,

Yet of the old he made a boast,

That if his person were attack’d

His foes should be in collops hack’d,

Such were the brags in a letter sent,

Was writ unto Lord President,

When he advis’d him for his good,

To call his clan from Charlie’s croud:

Fight! that he would, and die at home,

As it was not far unto his tomb.

When dead, his countrywives he’d have

Cronoch to sing around his grave.

Likewise he wrote, I understand,

Unto the Duke of Cumberland,

Reminding him, that he with joy,

Us’d him to carry when a boy,

Through Kingston park and Hampton Court

And to his Royal Sire made sport.

So, of his Grace he did demand

The favour, but to kiss his hand,

And told him he would do more good,

Than what they really understood.

Says he, ’twill be a better way,

Than take a poor man’s life away,

Who cannot stand, ride or walk;

But only ly, or sit and talk.

To this the Duke no answer gave,

’Tis like, he wish’d him in his grave.

A zealous Roman did to him write,

And had in him so great delight,

That he offer’d to suffer in his stead,

Whereat he smil’d, and jeering said,

This man’s contrair Scripture, I see,

For a righteous man one’ll hardly die:


But for me, indeed, I’se no regard;

For I doubt he’ll hardly be preferr’d.

When to the scaffold he was born,

He looked round the croud with scorn:

Preserve me Sirs, then did he say,

What’s brought a thir fowk here the day?

To see an auld grey head cut aff,

That canna gang, no wi’ a staff,

But maun be born here by men,

The like o’ this we ne’er did ken.

Then view’d the hatchet and the block,

Said, a strange way of killing fowk,

To th’ executioner, said he too,

There’s nae man works, friend, after you,

But you’ll have a kittle job of me,

My neck’s sae short, strike cannilie,

Here’s a bit purse, gi’t a guid drive,

I needna wish your trade to thrive.

Then fell a scaffold which rais’d a roar,

He did enquire the cause therefore:

They said, A scaffold’s fall’n, and many kill’d.

A-weel, said he, Their time’s fulfill’d,

“I thought, this day, to dy’d my lane:

“But the best of fowk will be mistane:

“I cannot say, I am sorry for’t,

“For the mair mischief, the better sport.”

Then after Ave Maria and pray’r,

With Salve Regina, in a heroic air,

He laid his head upon the block,

And there receiv’d the fatal stroke,

In the eighty-third year of his age,

Thus dy’d on Tow’r-hill, on open stage,

Old Simon Frazer, Lord Lovat,

’Gainst rebellious Plots a Caveat.



Conclusion. Charles interrupts the Congress. Is seized at the Opera. Carried to the Castle of Vincennes. And forced to leave France.

Now France was hemm’d on ev’ry side,

And Charles’ reward was humbling’s pride.

By sea, by land, poor France was done;

She begg’d for peace to draw her win.

No ship durst from her harbours steer,

Man of war, merchant, or privateer,

Her trade was stopt by sea and land,

Bold Britain did the seas command:

She sued for peace at any price,

But Charles’ affairs made it right nice.

At Aix la Chapelle did the Congress hold,

And when Charles thereof was told,

He protested ’gainst what might be done,

In prejudice of his pretension:

For all his titles he would keep still,

Let Britain and France do what they will:

And this perplexed Lewis sore,

And anger’d Britain still the more,

So with France no peace there could be made,

While She the Pretender harboured:

France durst not on her part say No,

Lest she should get the fatal blow.

Britain now ask what you will,

France can promise and not fulfil.

The Articles were all agreed,

But neither sign’d nor ratify’d,

Until poor Charlie was sent away,

Which he postponed every day,

And instead of hastening to go,

He gave the King’s gold-smith to know,

That he wanted a service of plate,


At twenty thousand crowns in rate,

Charg’d to be ready ’gainst such a day,

Without excuses or delay.

Before this work was well begun,

Another the King must have as soon,

This put the jeweller in dread,

Straight to the Prince he did proceed,

Told him the matter, begg’d more time,

No, said he, the first order’s mine,

Go to the King and let him know——

Then said Lewis, Let it be so,

Thinking that he was going away,

But yet this caus’d some more delay.

The plate was made and to him sent,

Ev’n by the King’s commandement,

And his Comptroller the charge to pay,

Hoping ’twould hasten him away:

But Charles told him very plain,

That he in France would still remain,

For he had full right to do so }

By an alliance treaty long ago }

And this he might let Lewis know.  }

On this the King wrote straight to Rome,

To advise what plan he might assume.

The Pope and Pretender did approve,

That Charles should from France remove.

As the King for him would provide,

At Tribourg, a palace to reside,

On what yearly pension he should demand,

Sent him a Blank from his own hand,

To name the sum though e’er so high,

Sign’d by’s most Christian Majesty.

The Duke de Graves with it was sent,

Who begg’d he’d write the sum’s content

Into the Blank with his own pen,

But down he threw it with disdain,

Saying, Bills and Bonds will seem but froth,


If Sovereigns cannot keep their troth.

Then came the Count de Maurepas,

With Charles to argument the cause;

As it was the King’s express command,

That he should forthwith leave the land,

If he chus’d not in peace to do it,

Their scheme was to compel him to it,

That the ministry were greatly struck,

At his behaviour and conduct,

In stopping the whole of their affairs

This is what the Count’s commission bears.

Your Ministry, cry’d he, with disdain,

You’ll oblige me, tell your King and them,

I’m born, I trust their schemes to break,

And how to do’t, I could direct;

But, I hope, the time will soon draw on,

When that good work it will be done.

About this time from London came,

Two hostages of worthy fame,

As pledges of the peace to be,

And Articles to ratifie,

While the French had none to London sent:

At which the Prince a squib did vent,

What! is Britain conquer’d, he did say,

That their hostages are here away?

And is French Faith so current grown,

That hostages they ask for none?

This league shall yet like poor mine go,

Which was sworn to a few years ago.

This did the Ministry enrage,

And nought’s for Charlie but the cage,

As the scheme was fully contriv’d,

A courier from Rome arriv’d,

Where the Pope and old Pretender too

Did his whole conduct disavow,

Ord’ring him forthwith to retire,

To which he yet gave a deaf ear;


But knowing that he must fall their prey,

Order’d his plate and jewels away.

His behaviour did through Paris spread,

And all did own him, hard bestead.

Then by the King an order’s sign’d,

Directly to have him confin’d,

Twelve hundred guards did close parade,

Horse and grenadiers were had

All armed and Cap-a-pee,

Set round the Opera carefullie,

The Duke de Biron had command,

But loth to take the deed in hand;

Caus’d Major Venderville execute,

Who did not with much honour do’t.

Six lusty ruffians were prepar’d,

Who waiting stood within the guard,

And as he entred the Opera door,

They seiz’d him fast, and squeezed sore

His hands and arms in the squabble,

The guards around kept off the rabble,

Who had the Prince in great esteem,

And wish’d their help him to redeem,

His servants and each favourite

Were strictly order’d to retreat;

Sword and pistols from him did wrest,

This comes French vows to at the best.

His arms and thighs with cords were knit,

And in a coach they have him set,

With a Major upon every side;

In this posture they made him ride

Unto the castle of Vincennes,

While soldiers guarded all the lanes,

Until that length they did proceed,

As there an uproar was indeed;

For ’mong the croud it was current told,

That he was to the English sold:

Some said this, and some said that,


And thousands told they knew not what.

The governor did him imbrace,

And cried, “Ah my friend, Alas!

“A noble Prince so bound with cord,

“Upon my word, I’m sorry for’t.”

And then in haste with his own hands,

Respectfully unloos’d his bands:

But to a dark apartment led him in,

Was only ten feet square within,

No window to look any way,

A sky-light shew’d some peep of day.

When he view’d his prison round and round,

Said, he’d been worse into Scots ground;

Poor Charlie this was hard to thole,

To clap thee in a French black-hole!

And there he was confin’d to ly,

Till to depart he did comply,

As the Pope and King James did desire,

That he from French ground should retire.

When finding that it must be so,

He freely did consent to go.

Two col’nels went, as it appears,

To see him pass the French frontiers:

They took the rout to Fountainbleau,

And to his dungeon bade adieu,

He did not love to be confin’d,

So now the peace was fairly sign’d,

And Charlie banish’d like a fool,

Who was only us’d as a French tool,

And to Scotland a scourge and curse,

I mean by waste of blood and purse.

But in time to come, dear countrymen,

O do not do the like again!

The Popish oaths ye’ll find a puff,

When ye get on the neck a cuff;

For in ages past you may see plain,

These are the tricks of France and Spain,


For to be peaceable and good,

Till they are in a fighting mood,

And then a quarrel they will breed

For any thing they stand in need.

A Quaker’s Address to Prince Charles, shewing what was the Cause and Ground of his Misfortunes.

Now Charles, If thou want’st more sorrow,

Thou may return if ’twere to-morrow,

I know, the Pulpit and the Press

Were the great means of thy distress,

And thou hadst got no wit to guide it,

No Principle thou had provided.

Hadst thou, like Oliver appear’d

In devout mood, thou might been heard:

But a Prince without a principle!

What thou couldst be, I cannot tell.

The Protestants look’d badly on thee,

So many wicked hang upon thee,

And of thy forbearers, they plainly tell,

Of Popery thou bearst a smell.

Thou trustedst nought to ordination,

But thought to force a crown and nation.

I tell thee, Kings reign not by men,

’Tis a higher pow’r, thou’lt find it plain.

The Pope, the Pagan, and the Turk,

’Tis all by fire and sword they work:

We Quakers are of greater merit.

We conquer none but by the Spirit;

But thou, and each thy like’s a cheat,

That pretend to rule the turns of fate,

And will fight against the great decree,

As of winds and waves would ruler be,——

The Pope pretends to curse and bless,

And yet cannot create a Louse,


Nor make a dead beast live again,

For all the might he does preten’:

Yet claims a power in heav’n and earth,

Of judgment here there is a dearth,

But O! what madness fills their head?

To pray to saints thousand years dead!

If dead men had such power to sell,

Many of them wou’d been living still.

And if those dead men they could hear us,

They might sometimes send news to cheer us.

By Yea and Nay, the Popes are thieves,

And he’s as stupid that believes

These roguish priests, who pardons sell,

Or yet pray back a soul from hell.

He’s surely of the devil’s kind,

Who thus deludes the vulgar blind;

And who adheres to such a college,

Will be destroy’d for lake of knowledge,

With Beads and Waffers, the Devil’s batter,

Your musty Mass, and Holy Water,

Wherewith ye blind the souls of men,

For to encrease your worldly gain,

Done with pretence of holiness:

O hypocrites, why live ye thus?

You thump, you mump, with face awray,

And at one time ye rob and pray,

Pretend so much to chastitie,

None of your priests can married be,

Yet run like rams, and lead lewd lives,

Ye’re but a pack of venereal thieves:

You practise cuckoldom and whoredom,

That innocents have no freedom,

Dreading the power of curse and bless,

You thus put modesty in distress,

Pretending Miracles and Charms,

To keep from evil spirits harms,

Such as Clover-leaves, and branch of Yew,


Will keep the devil from man or cow,

And that Holy Water has such effect,

As make him run and break his neck;

Ay, to the vulgar too you’ll tell,

Of sending letters to heaven or hell,

Bring half burnt souls from Purgatory,

For gold you’ll harle them out in hurry,

And those who cannot money raise,

You’ll do it for butter, beef or cheese;

But they may there stay, eternalie,

Whose friends will not pay you a fee:

I think a stronger delusion,

Was never in any ages known,

The Turk, the Pagan and the Jew,

More mercy have to show than you,

Your ceremonies so ye cook,

The devil gets none but poor fo’k,

Who cannot pay the priest his fee;

Accurs’d be such belief for me.——

And now, dear Charles, how dost thou think,

Such doctrine would in Britain stink,

Into a Presbyterian’s nose,

Or any who good plain sense knows?

Dissenters and we they Quakers call,

Protest, they’re not of Israel,

Who pretend a power to damn or save,

Or bear a rule beyond the grave.

All is given us from above,

And souls are saved by mere love;

But the sp’rit of men, which some hold money,

I term it but the devil’s honey,

Wherewith you blind the ignorant,

And cozen them who hate repent:

But as thou profess no principle,

Thou might have turn’d a What ye will:

But those who no profession own,

Are of kin to the beasts alone:


They surely have but little wits,

Who esteem no God above their guts.

What wa’st thou sought? What wa’st thou got?

Surely ’twas nothing but thy lot.

Though Popes pretend to rule the earth,

They cause nought but a sp’ritual dearth,

As they can neither rule earth nor sea,

Witness what has behappen’d thee:

It surely makes your Pope a knave,

To pretend a pow’r beyond the grave:

Had his apostolic pow’r been true,

Thou wou’dst been King of Britain now.

Wert thou a Protestant in heart,

I’d wish thee very well in part;

But the last wish thoul’t get from me,

Is, God keep our land of Pop’ry free!

May the throne continue in Protestant race,

And ne’er a Papist fill his place.

Thus saith to thee an honest Quaker,

Thou ne’er shalt here be a partaker:

For all Rome’s plots and magic spell,

’Tis seldom now they prosper well,

Her days of witchcraft are near run,

Few Ave’s or Te Deum’s sung,

A Mass that’s mumbled o’er in haste,

Spoke in the language of the beast,

Which but by few is understood,

Poor chaff instead of sp’ritual food:

But ignorance, the Papists say,

Is unto heaven the nearest way:

But, O ye wretches, this I doubt,

While you the sp’ritual light keep out,

And teach so freely, and off hand,

To break the very Lord’s command,

And on no other things lay hold;

But trust the priest, and give him gold.

All sins by them are pardoned,


So by the nose the poor are led;

Not blinded nations or ideots,

But the rich, learned reprobates,

Who will not from sinning hold,

As long’s they have one bit of gold.

Wo will be to such priests, I say:

For hell’s prepar’d for such as they.

Nathan Nomore.

⁂ The Impeachments against Lord George Murray, and John Murray Secretary, accused of treachery by the Public, are here omitted, thought in some respects to be groundless, at least of Lord George: For there is never a Battle lost, but the Commander gets the Blame, and when one is won, the Commander gets all the Praise, as if the Soldiers had done nothing: And it is further observed, after the loss of a Battle, it is the cry of the Public and the run-away Soldiers, We are sold, We are sold.

The following Copy, mentioned by Lords Kilmarnock and Balmerino, on the day of their execution, is here inserted verbatim.——The Public are left to judge whether it is spurious or not, as the Author does not pretend to judge in the affair: Only it was judged spurious by Duke William himself, and several officers, who knew the order of war.

Copy of the REBELS’ ORDERS before the Battle of Culloden, (said to be) found in the Pocket of one of the Prisoners.

Parole, Roy Jaques.

“IT is his Royal Highness’ positive orders, that every person attach himself to some Corps of the Army, and remain with the Corps night and day, until the Battle and Pursuit be finally over: And to give no Quarters to the Elector’s Troops, on any account whatsoever.——This regards the Foot, as well as the Horse.——The Order of Battle[250] is to be given to every General Officer and Commander of a Regiment or Squadron.

“IT is required and expected of each Individual in the Army, as well Officer as Soldier, that he keep the Post he shall be allotted: And if any man turn his back to run away, the next behind such man is to shoot him.

“NO body, upon pain of death, is to strip the slain, or plunder, until the battle is over.——The Highlanders to be in Kilts, and no body to throw away their Guns.”


George Murray, Lt. Gen.

Miss FLORA’S Lament. A SONG.

Tune. Woes my heart that we should sunder.

When that I from my darling pass’d,

My love increas’d like young Leander,

With the parting kiss, the tears fell fast,

Crying, woes my heart that we should sunder.

O’er mountains, glens, and raging seas,

When wind and waves did roar like thunder,

Them I’d encounter again with ease,

That we were ne’er at all to sunder.

O yet I did to Malton go,

And left my darling Swain to wander;

Where was one friend, were fifty foe;

And I myself was then brought under.

By a rude band of bloody hue,

Because I lov’d a young Pretender;

If it were undone, I would it do,

O’er hills and dales, with him I’d wander.


From ship to ship, was toss’d about,

And to the Nore did me surrender;

Crouds of rude hands, I stood them out,

And lov’d none like my young Pretender.[42]

To great London, I came at last,

And still avow’d my passion tender;

Thinking for death I would be cast,

For serving of my young Pretender.

But thanks be to the Georgian race,

And the English laws, I judg’d untender;

For they thought nought of all my case,

Although I lov’d a young Pretender.

They charg’d me to the Highlands go,

For womens’ wit, and strength was slender;

As I ne’er in arms appear’d as foe,

In defence of a young Pretender.

O were my Swain at Malton gate,

Or yet at Sky I’d be his lover;

In spite of all the laws of late,

I would call him sweet darling Rover.

The AUTHOR’S Address to all in general.

Now gentle readers, I have let you ken,

My very thoughts, from heart and pen,

’Tis needless now for to conten,

Or yet controule,

For there’s not a word o’t I can men’,

So ye must thole.


For on both sides, some were not good,

I saw them murd’ring in cold blood,

Not th’ gentlemen, but wild and rude,

The baser sort,

Who to the wounded had no mood,

But murd’ring sport.

Ev’n both at Preston and Falkirk,

That fatal night ere it grew mirk,

Piercing the wounded with their durk,

Caus’d many cry,

Such pity’s shown from Savage and Turk,

As peace to die.

A woe be to such a hot zeal,

To smite the wounded on the fiel’,

It’s just they get such groats in kail,

Who do the same,

It only teaches cruelty’s real,

To them again.

I’ve seen the men call’d Highland Rogues,

With Lowland men, make shange a brogs,

Sup kail and brose, and fling the cogs

Out at the door,

Take cocks, hens, sheep and hogs,

And pay nought for.

I see’d a Highlander, ’twas right drole,

With a string of puddings, hung on a pole,

Whip’d o’er his shoulder, skipp’d like a fole,

Caus’d Maggy bann,

Lap o’er the midden and midden-hole,

And aff he ran.

When check’d for this, they’d often tell ye,

Indeed her nainsel’s a tume belly.

You’ll no gi’et wanting bought, nor sell me,

Hersel will haet,

Go tell King Shorge, and Shordy’s Willie,

I’ll hae a meat.


I see’d the soldiers at Linton-brig,

Because the man was not a Whig,

Of meat and drink, leave not a skig

Within his door,

They burnt his very hat and wig,

And thumpt him sore.

And thro’ the Highlands they were so rude,

As leave them neither clothes nor food,

Then burnt their houses to conclude,

’Twas tit for tat,

How can her nainsel’ ere be good,

To think on that.

And after all, O shame and grief,

To use some worse than murd’ring thief,

Their very gentlemen and chief,


Like Popish tortures, I belief,

Such cruelty.

Ev’n what was act on open stage,

At Carlisle in the hottest rage,

When mercy was clapt in a cage,

And pity dead,

Such cru’lty approv’d by every age,

I shook my head.

So many to curse, so few to pray,

And some aloud huzza did cry,

They curs’d the Rebel Scots that day,

As they’d been nout

Brought up for slaughter, as that way

Too many rowt.

Therefore, Alas! dear countrymen,

O never do the like again,

To thirst for vengeance, never ben

Your guns nor pa’

But with th’ English, e’en borrow and len,

Let anger fa’.


Their boasts and bullyings, not worth a louse,

As our king’s the best about the house,

’Tis ay good to be sober and douce,

To live in peace,

For many I see, for being o’er crouse,

Gets broken face.





[The following is what may be termed a ‘Chap-book Version’ of John Highlandman’s Remarks on Glasgow. It is taken from a chap-book published anonymously in Glasgow in 1823. In no material respect does it differ from the other copies still to be found. M‘Vean was the first to attribute the verses to Graham. The assumption has generally been that in point of time this is one Graham’s earliest productions, after his History of the Rebellion, and it is certainly the most popular of his metrical pieces. It furnishes an interesting description of Glasgow about the middle of last century.]



Her nainsel into Glasgow went,

An errand there to see’t,

And she never saw a bonnier town

Standing on her feet.

For a’ the houses that be tere

Was theekit wi’ blue stane,

And a stane ladder to gang up,

No fa’ to break her banes.

I gang upon a stany road,

A street they do him ca’,

And when me seek the chapman’s house,

His name be on the wa’.

I gang to buy a snish tamback,

And standing at the corse,

And tere I see a dead man,

Was riding on his horse.

And O! he be a poor man,

And no hae muny claes,

Te brogues be worn aff his feet,

And me see a’ his taes.[43]

Te horse had up his muckle fit

For to gie me a shap,

And gaping wi’ his great mouth

To grip me by the tap.


He had a staff into his hand,

To fight me an’ he coud,

But hersel be rin awa frae him,

His horse be unco proud.

But I be rin around about,

And stand about the guard,[44]

Where I see the deil chap the hours,

Tan me grew unco feared.[45]

Ohon! Ohon! her nainsel said,

And whare will me go rin?

For yonder be the black man

That bums the fouk for sin.

I’ll no pe stay nae langer tere,

But fast me rin awa,

And see the man thrawin te rapes

Aside te Broomielaw.[46]

An’ O she pe a lang tedder,

I spier’t what they’ll do wi’t,

He said to hang the Highlandmen

For stealing o’ their meat.

Hout, hersel’s an honest shentleman,

I never yet did steal,

But when I meet a muckle purse,

I like it unco weel.

Tan fare ye weel ye saucy fellow,

I fain your skin wad pay;

I cam to your toun the morn but,

An’ I’ll gang out yesterday.


Fan I gang to my quarter-house,

The door was unco braw,

For here they had a cow’s husband,

Was pricked on the wa’.[47]

O tere me got a shapin ale,

An’ ten me got a supper,

A filthy choud o’ chappit meat

Boiled amang a butter.

It was a filthy dirt o’ beef,

His banes was like te horn,

She was a calf wanting the skin,

Before that she was born.

I gang awa into the kirk

To hear a Lawland preach,

And mony a bonny sang they sing,

Tere books they did them teach.

And tere I saw a bonny mattam,

Wi’ feathers on her waim,

I wonder an’ she be gaun to flee,

Or what be in her myn.[48]

Another mattams follow her,

Wha’s arse was round like cogs!

And clitter clatter cries her feet—

She had on iron brogues.[49]

And tere I saw another mattam

Into a tarry seck,

And twa mans pe carry her,

Wi’ rapes about hims neck.


She pe sae fou o’ vanity,

As no gang on the grun,

But twa poor mans pe carry her

In a barrow covert aboon.[50]

Some had a fish-tail to their mouth,[51]

And some pe had a ponnet,

But my Janet and Donald’s wife

Wad rather hae a bannock.




[The Turnimspike has had more attention paid to it by literary antiquaries than any of Graham’s other metrical productions, excepting, of course, his History of the Rebellion. It has always been regarded as being from Graham’s pen, and Sir Walter Scott said it alone was sufficient to entitle him to immortality. Burns admired it on account of its local humour. The verses appeared in Herd’s Collection of 1769; and they have been here taken from the edition of 1776.]



Her sel pe Highland shentleman,

Pe auld as Pothwell prig, man;

And mony alterations seen

Amang the Lawland whig, man.

Fal lal, &c.

First when her to the Lowlands came,

Nain sell was driving cows, man:

There was nae laws about hims narse,

About the breeks or trouse, man.

Fal lal, &c.

Nain sell did wear the philapeg,

The plaid prik’t on her shouder;

The gude claymore hung pe her pelt,

The pistol sharg’d wi’ pouder.

Fal lal, &c.

But for whereas these cursed preeks,

Wherewith mans narse be lockit,

O hon, that ere she saw the day!

For a’ her houghs pe prokit.

Fal lal, &c.

Every thing in the Highlands now,

Pe turn’t to alteration;

The sodger dwal at our door cheek,

And that’s te great vexation.

Fal lal, &c.

Scotland be turn’t a Ningland now,

And laws pring on the cadger:

Nain sell wad durk him for hur deeds,

But oh she fears the sodger.

Fal lal, &c.


Another law came after that,

Me never saw the like, man;

They mak a lang road on the crund,

And ca’ him turnimspike, man.

Fal lal, &c.

And wow she pe a ponny road,

Like Louden corn rigs, man;

Whare twa carts may gang on her,

And no break others legs, man.

Fal lal, &c.

They sharge a penny for ilka hors,

In troth they’l be nae sheaper,

For nought but gaen upo’ the crund,

And they gie me a paper.

Fal lal, &c.

They tak the hors then pe the head,

And there they mak them stand, man.

I tell’d them that I seen the day

They had na sic command, man,

Fal lal, &c.

Nae doubts nain-sell maun draw his purs,

And pay them what him’s like, man:

I’ll see a shudgement on his store,

That filthy turnimspike, man.

Fal lal, &c.

But I’ll awa to the Highland hills,

Where nere a ane sall turn her;

And no come near your turnimspike,

Unless it pe to purn her.

Fal lal, &c.




[This piece sometimes appears in old chap-books under the heading of Dugald M‘Taggart, no doubt the proper name of the hero, but it is one that scarcely fits the rhyme. The reading here used is sustained by usage, and has the further advantage of being—shall we say?—more euphonious. M‘Vean attributes the song to Graham. It was probably composed about the year 1772, on the occasion of the passing of the first Sequestration Act, 12 Geo. III., c. 72. The following is reprinted from an old broadside version long popular in Glasgow. The air is given as—‘The Hills of Glendoo.’]



Would you’ll know me, my name it is Tugal M‘Tagger,

She’ll brought hersel’ down frae the braes o’ Lochaber,

To learn her nainsel’ to be praw haberdabber,

Or fine linen-draber, the tane or the twa.

She’ll being a stranger, she’ll look very shy-like:

She’s no weel acquaint wi’ your laigh kintra dialect;

But hoogh! never heed, she’s got plenty o’ Gaelic—

She comes frae ta house at the fit o’ Glendoo.

[But her kilt she’ll exchange for ta praw tandy trowser,

An’ she’ll learn to ta lady to scrap an’ to pow, sir,

An’ say to ta shentlemans—How did you’ll do, sir?

An’ ten she’ll forget her poor friens at Glendoo.

An’ when she’ll pe spoket the laigh kintra jabber,

She’ll gi’e hersel’ out for ta Laird o’ Lochaber,

Shust come for amusements to turn haberdabber,

For tat will pe prawer tan herding ta cow.][52]

She’ll got a big shop, an’ she’ll turn’d a big dealer;

She was caution hersel’, for they’ll no sought no bailer,

But Tugal M‘Tagger hersel’ mak’s a failure—

They’ll call her a bankrumpt, a trade she’ll not know.

They’ll called a great meeting, she’ll look very quate now,

She’ll fain win awa’, but they’ll tell her to wait now;

They’ll spoket a lang time, ’pout a great estate now:

She’ll thocht that they’ll thocht her the laird o’ Glendoo.


They’ll wrote a long while about a trust deeder,

She’ll no write a word, for hersel’ couldna read her,

They’ll sought compongzition, hoogh, hoogh, never heed her—

There’s no sic a word ’mang the hills o’ Glendoo.

But had she her durk, hersel’ would devour them,

They’ll put her in jail when she’ll stood there before them;

But faith she’ll got out on a hashimanorum,[53]

And now she’s as free as the win’s on Glendoo.




[Stenhouse, in his Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland, suggests that Had Awa Frae Me, Donald, was probably written by the same hand as Turnimspike. In view of the strong likeness which exists between the two pieces, and the fact that no author has been found for the lines on the following pages, we have no hesitation in admitting them among works probably written by Graham. The view here given is reprinted from—‘The Black Bird: a choice collection of the most celebrated songs. Few of which are to be found in any collection. By William Hunter, Philo-Architectonicæ. Edinburgh: Printed by J. Bruce and Company: And sold by John Moir, Book-Binder in Bell’s Wynd. MDCCLXIV.’ It is also in Herd’s Collection of 1776.]



O will you hae the tartan plaid,

Or will you hae ta ring, mattam,

Or will you hae ta kiss o’ me,

And dats ta pretty ting, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I’ll neither kiss, nor hae a ring,

Nae tartan plaids for me, Donald.

O see you not her ponny progues,

Her fecket plaid, plew, creen, mattam,

Her twa short hose, and her twa spiogs,

And a shoulter pelt apoon, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Nae shoulder belts, nae trink abouts,

Nae tartan hose for me, Donald.

Hur can peshaw a petter hough

Tan him wha wears the crown, mattam;

Her sell hae pistol and claymore,

Tae flie ti’ lallant loon, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

For a your houghs and warlike arms,

You’re not a match for me, Donald.

Hur sell hae a short coat pi pote,

No trail my feets at rin, mattam,

A cutty sark of guide harn sheet,

My mitter he pe spin, mattam.


Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald;

Gae hame and hap your naked houghs,

And fash nae mair wi’ me, Donald.

You’s ne’er pe pidden work a turn

At ony kind o’ spin, mattam,

But shug your lenno in a scull,

And tidel highland sing, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your jogging sculls, and highland sang,

Will sound but harsh wi’ me, Donald.

In ta morning, when him rise,

Ye’s get fresh whey for tea, mattam,

Sweet milk an ream, as much you please,

Far sheaper tan pohea, mattam.

Had awa’, bide awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

I wadna quit my morning’s tea;

Your whey will ne’er agree, Donald.

Haper Gallick yes pe learn,

An tats ta ponny speak, mattam,

Ye’s get a cheese, and putter kirn,

Come wi’ me kin ye like, mattam.

Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

Your Gallick, and your Highland chear,

Will ne’er gae doun wi’ me, Donald.

Fait yes pe ket a silder protch,

Pe pigger as the moon, mattam,

Ye’s ride in curroch stead o’ coach,

And wow put ye’ll pe fine, mattam.


Had awa’, had awa’,

Had awa’ frae me, Donald,

For all your Highland rarities,

You’re not a match for me, Donald.

What’s tis ta way tat ye’ll pe kind

To a protty man like me, mattam,

Sae lang claymore pe po my side,

I’ll nefer marry thee, mattam.

O come awa’, run awa’,

O come awa’ wi’ me, Donald,

I wadna quit my Highland man,

Frae Lallands set me free, Donald.

End of Vol. I.


[1] Paisley Magazine, December, 1828.

[2] Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and Scenery of Scotland. 1811.

[3] Chambers’ Illustrious Scotsmen, vol. ii., p. 488.

[4] Strang’s Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd edit., p. 77.

[5] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 184.

[6] Stenhouse’s Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland (edited by Dr. David Laing), p. 112*.

[7] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 80.

[8] Fraser’s Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 192.

[9] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 172.

[10] Stenhouse’s Lyric Poetry and Music of Scotland, p. 112*.

[11] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd Ed., p. 77.

[12] History of Poetry in Scotland, by Alex. Campbell. Edin. 1798, p. 307.

[13] Hist. Glas., 2nd ed., 1830, appendix.

[14] Strang’s Glasgow and its Clubs, p. 82, note.

[15] Jacobite Songs and Ballads of Scotland, p. 297.

[16] Bell’s Commentaries on the Law of Scotland (edited by John M‘Laren, advocate), vol. ii. pp. 281–2.

[17] A Pedlar’s Pack of Ballads and Songs, by W. H. Logan, p. 442.

[18] Paisley Magazine, December 1828.

[19] Paisley Magazine.

[20] Ante, p. 29.

[21] Reliques of Robert Burns, p. 434.

[22] The reference is to Burns. Cromek’s quotation is from Grahame’s Birds of Scotland, vol. ii. p. iv.

[23] Works of Robert Burns. Kilmarnock edition, vol. ii. p. 286.

[24] Works of Robert Burns. Edinburgh, 1877–79, vol. i. p. 16.

[25] There were several chap-books with this title in circulation. We have before us one bearing the same name, published in Edinburgh in 1764; and another, The Accomplished Courtier, also issued in Edinburgh in the same year, but they are both totally different from the Stirling publication.

[26] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 151.

[27] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, p. 151.

[28] Mr. John Ashton, in his Chap-Books of the Eighteenth Century, a work dealing exclusively with the chap literature of England, traces what appears to be an original edition of Simple Simon, ‘printed and sold in Aldermary Church Yard, London.’ The publishers there, he informs his readers in his introduction, were William and Cluer Dicey, originally of Northampton, who started a branch of their business in London subsequent to 1720.

[29] The Glasgow Athenæum, August 10, 1850 (No. 2), p. 18.

[30] The Glasgow Athenæum, p. 18.

[31] In the catalogue of the second portion of the library of the late Dr. David Laing, sold two or three years ago, there was a collection of chap-books (lot 795) in which this work is mentioned. The lot was “passed,” probably because it had disappeared, and consequently we have been unable to come across it. The fact is to be regretted, as there is every reason to believe the copy would be unique.

[32] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 82, note.

[33] Paisley Magazine.

[34] Glasgow and its Clubs, 2nd ed., p. 77.

[35] Humorous Chap-Books of Scotland, pp. 215–16.

[36] Chap-Books of the Eighteenth Century, by John Ashton, p. vii. intro.

[37] Works of Allan Ramsay, Fullarton’s ed. vol. i. p. 17.

[38] Dr. Carlyle’s Autobiography, p. 89.

[39] Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character, 21st ed., p. viii.

[40] Ibid. 21st ed., p. 249.

[41] Pounds Sterling.

[42] The preceding five stanzas are all of this song given in the Aberdeen (1850) edition. In the other editions it is given as in the one of 1774, and, of course, as it is reproduced here.

[43] The equestrian statue of King William III., presented by Governor Macrae to Glasgow, his native city, and erected opposite the Tontine, at the Cross, in 1735. It was cast in Holland. The classical style of dress, including primitive sandals, in which the King is represented, gave rise to the idea in ‘John Highlandman’s’ mind that His Majesty was a ‘poor man.’

[44] The old guardhouse, in the Trongate, at the foot of the Candleriggs. Like many of the houses in Glasgow at the time, it had a colonnaded front, which projected into the street, and made it a feature of the city. Here the citizens took duty by turns, for these were the days when policemen were unknown.

[45] It is on record that a clockmaker in the Trongate had at that time in his window a clock, on which a figure of the ‘Deil’ was shown as ‘chapping’ the hours.

[46] There were several roperies in the vicinity of the Broomielaw.

[47] The reference is to the Black Bull Inn—‘the cow’s husband’—situated at the West Port, which was then in the Trongate, at the head of Stockwell Street. It was one of the most famous hostleries in the west country.

[48] Rather an obscure reference, but it may probably find an explanation in the following statement in Fairholt’s Costume in England, p. 567:—‘Feather muffs are mentioned in Anstey’s New Bath Guide, and became fashionable in George III.’s reign.’ Another alternative is that it may refer to what were then known as Spanish fans.

[49] Probably pattens, then in common use.

[50] A long drawn out description of a sedan chair. Carriages had not yet come into vogue. The first private carriage seen in Glasgow belonged to Allan Dreghorn, a timber merchant and carpenter and joiner, who built one for himself in 1752.

[51] Perhaps a reference to the ‘ties’ of the lady’s bonnet.

[52] The two stanzas within brackets are not in several chap-book copies. The many verbal differences indicate that attempts have been made to touch up the song, but the absence of any very early copy of it, makes it impossible to obtain an absolutely pure text. These alterations, however, in no way affect the narrative.

[53] A wonderful rendering of ‘cessio bonorum.’


Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within the text and consultation of external sources.

Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text, and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained. The spelling of all Scottish dialect words has been left unchanged.

Pg 15: ‘is a concensus’ replaced by ‘is a consensus’.
Pg 42: ‘most charateristic’ replaced by ‘most characteristic’.
Pg 58: ‘gave then forth’ replaced by ‘gave them forth’.
Pg 61: “bear-to be ‘printed” replaced by “bears ‘to be printed”.
Pg 61: ‘duodesimo pages’ replaced by ‘duodecimo pages’.
Pg 63: ‘Turnamspike’ should probably be ‘Turnimspike’ and “Jockie and Maggie’s” should probably be “Jocky and Maggy’s” but they have been left unchanged since they are quotations from other books.
Pg 64: ‘Dougald’ should be ‘Dougal’ but also has been left unchanged.
Pg 251 Footnote [42]: ‘of course, as as it is’ replaced by ‘of course, as it is’.

In the poetry the only word changes are:
Pg 134: “But all disper’d” replaced by “But all dispers’d”.
Pg 142: ‘But the Higlanders’ replaced by ‘But the Highlanders’.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Collected Writings of Dougal
Graham, "Skellat" Bellman of Gla, by Dougal Graham and George MacGregor


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