CAMERON, DONALD, of
Lochiel —This gallant Highland chief; who united such amiable manners
and attractive accomplishments to the proverbial hardihood and valour of
his race, that his name has descended to us under the title of "the
gentle Lochiel," occupies the most conspicuous place in the history of
the unfortunate rebellion of 1745, and may be considered as the fairest
type of those chivalrous men by whom such a romantic lustre has been
thrown over Jacobite loyalty and devotedness. He was grandson of that
Sir Ewan Cameron, chief of Lochiel, of whom so many remarkable stories
have been told, that he passes among Lowlanders as the Amadis de Gaul,
or Guy of Warwick of the Highlands. Not the least remembered of these
was his supreme contempt for Saxon effeminacy, so that in a night
bivouac among the snow, he kicked a snowball from under his son’s head,
exclaiming, "What! are you become so luxurious that you cannot sleep
without a pillow?" John Cameron, of Lochiel, the father of Donald, for
the share he had taken in the rebellion of 1715, was obliged to escape
to France, and in consequence of his attainder, the subject of this
notice succeeded to the estates of his ancestors, and chieftainship of
the clan. On account of his father being still alive, he was commonly
called by the Highlanders "young Lochiel," although he was of mature age
when he entered the field; but the precise year of his birth we are
unable to discover.
As the grandfather and
father of Donald had been steadfast adherents to the cause of the
Stuarts, and as the clan Cameron was both numerous and powerful, the
Chevalier de St. George opened a correspondence with the present chief,
and invested him with full powers to negotiate in Scotland for the
restoration of the exiled dynasty. Such was the state of affairs when
the young Pretender, accompanied with only seven attendants, landed upon
the western coast, and sent tidings to all his adherents in the
neighbourhood of his arrival and its purposes. They were astounded at
the intelligence. Had he come at the head of a strong reinforcement of
foreign troops, and supplied with money for the expenses of a campaign,
the whole Highlands might have been armed in his cause, and the result
would scarcely have been doubtful; but, on the present occasion, the
Highland chieftains well knew that the hope of overturning three
kingdoms by their own resources was utter madness, and that the attempt
would only precipitate themselves and their followers into certain
destruction. But now the Prince was among them, and all but alone: he
had thrown himself upon their loyalty, and could they requite it with
ingratitude? Such was the generous disinterested feeling with which the
chiefs embarked in this desperate undertaking, and not from overweening
confidence in their own valour, or hope of the rewards of conquest. They
saw nothing before them but death on the field or the scaffold; and
although their first successes tended to remove these gloomy
forebodings, they returned in full strength with the retreat from Derby,
and were confirmed upon the field of Culloden.
In all these fears
Lochiel fully participated. As soon, therefore, as he heard of the
Prince’s arrival, he sent his brother, Dr. Archibald Cameron, to warn
him of the consequences of the enterprise. This the doctor did
faithfully and earnestly; he even told the Prince that his brother could
not and would not join him under such circumstances. But he spoke to the
son of a doomed race, whom no warnings could enlighten, nor aid restore
to their forfeited throne. Still, however, Charles felt that without the
co-operation of Lochiel it was useless to advance, and he therefore sent
Macdonald the younger, of Scothouse, requesting a personal interview
with the Cameron at Borodale. Perhaps he was aware of the marvellous
power that accompanies the petitions of a prince. The chief complied
with an invitation which he could not well refuse, but he set out with a
firm resolution to have nothing to do with the Prince’s undertaking.
This he expressed to his brother, John Cameron, of Fassefern, upon whom
he called on his way. As soon as Fassefern learned that Charles had
arrived without money, arms, or troops, he approved of his brother’s
purpose not to join the expedition, but advised him to communicate this
by letter; but when Lochiel persisted in continuing his journey to
Borodale, as the best opportunity for justifying his refusal, Fassefern
replied, "Brother, I know you better than you know yourself. If this
prince once sets his eyes upon you, he will make you do whatever he
pleases."
In the interview that
followed between the Prince and his chivalrous adherent, this prediction
was too well verified. The latter stated, that as his royal highness had
come without the promised supplies in men and money, the Highland chiefs
were released from their engagements; and he advised Charles to return
to France, and await a more favourable opportunity. To this the Prince
replied, that no such opportunity as the present might again occur—that
most of the British troops were abroad, and the few newly-raised
regiments at home would be unable to withstand the army of Highlanders
that could be brought into the field—and that a few advantages at the
outset would insure him effectual assistance both at home and from
abroad. Unpersuaded by these arguments, which were more showy than
solid, Lochiel advised a middle course: this was, that the Prince should
dismiss his attendants, and his ship the Doutelle, back to France, so
that it might be thought that himself had returned with them; and that,
in the meantime, his highness might remain concealed in the Highlands,
where he would guarantee his full safety until the court of France could
send over an armament to their aid. This, however, Charles rejected,
declaring that the court of France would never believe he had a party in
Scotland until an insurrection had actually commenced. Thus driven from
every point of dissuasion, Lochiel had recourse to his last inducement,
by entreating that his highness would remain at Borodale until the
Highland chiefs could be assembled, when they might deliberate in
concert what was best to be done in the present state of affairs; but
this prudent proposal Charles also indignantly refused. "In a few days,"
he exclaimed, "and with the few friends that I have, I will erect the
royal standard, and proclaim to the people of Britain that Charles
Stuart is come over to claim the crown of his ancestors—to win it, or to
perish in the attempt: Lochiel, whom my father has often told me, was
our firmest friend, may stay at home, and from the newspapers learn the
fate of his prince." This taunt, which touched so keenly the honour of
the high-minded chief, decided him at once, and he cried, "No I’ll share
the fate of my prince; and so shall every man over whom nature or
fortune has given me any power!" In this way "the gentle Lochiel" was
overthrown and taken captive by what many will reckon a mere punctilio.
In his case, too, it was the more to be regretted, as not only his own
fate and that of his clan were at stake, but the introduction of a civil
war which, but for his influence and example, would either not have
happened, or have begun and terminated in a petty skirmish.
Having gained over a
chief so powerful and influential, the Pretender thought that he might
proceed at once to action, and accordingly he announced his purpose to
raise the royal standard on the 10th of August at Glenfinnan, where all
his Highland adherents were warned to be in readiness. In the meantime,
Lochiel went home to muster his clan for the gathering. When the period
had arrived, Charles, who had now been three weeks in the Highlands
without the secret being divulged, embarked from Kinlochmoidart, with
twenty-five attendants in three boats, and reached Glenfinnan on the
morning of the rendezvous. And dreary was the prospect that welcomed him
to his expected kingdom; for he found himself in a dark narrow glen,
bounded on both sides by high rocky mountains; and instead of the
gallant muster of impatient clans by whom he hoped his coming would be
greeted, there were no persons but the inhabitants of the few wretched
hovels sprinkled at wide intervals along the glen, who stood at their
doors, or among the distant precipices, to gaze at the arrival of the
strangers. Dispirited at this appearance of remissness on the part of
his friends, Charles retired to one of these hovels, where after two
anxious hours of suspense, his ears were gladdened by the sound of a
distant bagpipe. It was the clan Cameron hastening to the
trysting-place, with Lochiel at their head. They were from seven to
eight hundred strong, while in point of arms, discipline, and
equipments, they formed the elite of that rebel army by which
such singular successes were obtained both in Scotland and England. The
Camerons also did not come to the meeting empty-handed, for they brought
with them, as prisoners, a party of the royalist soldiers, who had been
surprised in the neighbourhood of Loch Lochie. On the arrival of Lochiel
and his followers, Charles, without waiting for the rest of the clans,
proclaimed war in due form against the "Elector of Hanover," raised his
silk banner of white, blue, and red, and proclaimed his father sovereign
of the British empire. After this ceremony new volunteers arrived, by
which the Prince soon found himself at the head of a little army of
twelve hundred men. With such an army, where nearly one-half were very
imperfectly armed, and with only one guinea in his pocket when he
reached the fair city of Perth, the young Chevalier commenced his daring
march for the overthrow of three kingdoms. It has often been reckoned
one of the maddest freaks in military history—but how would it have been
characterized had it succeeded, which it almost did! The wonderful
successes of Montrose, with means as inadequate, were not yet forgotten
in the Highlands.
The rest of the career of Lochiel is so closely
connected with the events of the campaign of 1745, that a full detail of
them would necessarily include a narrative of the whole rebellion. We
can, therefore, only specify a few particulars. The town of Perth, which
fell into the hands of the insurgents after they commenced their descent
into the Lowlands, was taken by a party of the Camerons. On crossing the
Forth, the great difficulty was to restrain the Highlanders from
plundering, as they committed much havoc among the sheep, which they
hunted and shot as if they had been hares, and cooked in their own rude
fashion. A summary act of justice, executed by Lochiel upon one of these
marauders, is thus described by Dugald Graham, the Homer of this
eventful rebellion;—
This did enrage the Cameron’s
chief,
To see his men so play the thief;
And finding one into the act,
He fired, and shot him through the back;
Then to the rest himself addressed:—
‘This is your lot, I do protest,
Whoe’er amongst you wrongs a man;
Pay what you get, I tell you plain;
For yet we know not friend or foe,
Nor how all things may chance to go."
It was a just and humane
order, enforced by politic considerations, and as such, it must have
greatly aided in procuring for the wild miscellaneous army that
character for forbearance by which it was afterwards distinguished. On
reaching Edinburgh, which had closed its gates, and refused to
surrender, Charles, with the army of Sir John Cope at his heels, was
anxious to place his wild followers within the walls of the ancient
capital, but without the bloodshed of a storm, and the odium which such
an event would occasion. This resolution, which was so congenial to the
character of Lochiel, the gallant chief undertook to execute; and with a
select detachment of nine hundred men he marched by night to the city
gates, which, however, were too jealously watched to give him access.
While he waited for an opportunity, a hackney coach, filled with
deputies, that had been sent from the town-council to the Prince’s
headquarters, and were returning home by the Canongate, suddenly
appeared. As soon as the gate opened to admit them, a party of
Highlanders rushed in, disarmed the guards in a twinkling, and cleared
the way for their fellows. In this way Edinburgh was captured without
shedding a drop of blood, or even making so much noise as to disturb the
sleep of its inhabitants. Lochiel again appears on the very foreground
of Prestonpans, the victory of which was chiefly attributed to his clan,
by whom the dragoons were routed, and the royalist foot left wholly
uncovered. In charging cavalry, which was a new event in Highland
warfare, he ordered his men to rush forward boldly, and strike at the
noses of the horses with their broadswords, without caring about the
riders; and the consequence was, that these formidable-looking cavaliers
were chased off the field by a single onset. In the unsuccessful
expedition into England which followed this victory, the Camerons were
always found at their post, while the conduct of their chief was
distinguished throughout the advance and retreat by the same combination
of prudence, courage, and clemency. Strangely enough, however, it
happened that he, the "gentle Lochiel" was, on one occasion, mistaken
for a cannibal or an ogre. In England fearful tales had been reported of
the Highlanders, and among others, that they had claws instead of hands,
and fed upon human flesh. On that account, one evening, when he entered
the lodging that had been assigned to him, the poor landlady threw
herself at his feet, and besought him, with uplifted hands and weeping
eyes, to take her life, but spare her two children. Astonished at this,
he asked her what she meant, when she told him, everybody had said that
the Highlanders ate children as their common food. A few kind words
sufficed to disabuse her; and opening the door of a press, she cried out
with a voice of joy, "Come out, children, the gentleman wont eat you,"
upon which the two little prisoners emerged from their concealment, and
fell at his feet.
At the winding up of this
wild tragedy on Culloden Moor, Lochiel had his full share of
disappointment and disaster. He was one of the advocates of a night
surprise of the English army, and when the unsuccessful attempt was
made, he was one of its principal leaders. In the battle that followed
next day, the Camerons were described by eye-witnesses as advancing to
the charge "with their bonnets pulled tightly over their brows, their
bodies half-bent, their shields raised so as to cover the head and vital
parts, and their broad-swords quivering in their nervous gripe: they
sprung forward upon their foes like crouching tigers, their eyes
gleaming with an expression fierce and terrific to the last degree." The
whole front rank fell; and, in spite of their devoted efforts to protect
their chief, Lochiel himself received several severe wounds in the legs,
and was carried off the field. Such was the termination which his own
prudence had apprehended from the beginning, without needing the
predictions of "the death-boding seer," but to which he had committed
himself from a mistaken sense of honour and of duty. After this defeat,
by which all the adherents of the Pretender were scattered and hunted
upon their native mountains, Lochiel, having skulked for two months in
his own district, at last withdrew himself to the borders of Rannoch,
where he took up his abode in a miserable hovel on the side of the
mountain Benalder, to be cured of his wounds. Here, on the morning of
the 30th of August (1746), he and his few attendants were startled by
the unwelcome apparition of a party of men advancing to the dwelling;
and thinking that they were enemies from the camp a few miles distant,
who had tracked them to their hiding-place, they prepared to receive
them with a volley of musketry. Their weapons were pointed for the
occasion, and in another instant would have given fire, when Lochiel
suddenly stopped them; he discovered that the strangers were no other
than the Prince himself, Dr. Cameron his brother, and a few guides, who
had heard in their wanderings of his whereabouts, and were coming to
visit him! One moment more, and Charles might have lain stretched on the
heath by the band of the best and most devoted of his followers. On
discovering who his visitor was, the chief, who was lamed in the ancles
from his wounds, limped out to welcome him, and would have knelt upon
the ground, when Charles prevented him with, "No, my dear Lochiel; we do
not know who may be looking from the top of yonder hills, and if they
see any such motions they will immediately conclude that I am here."
Seldom have prince and subject met under such circumstances of
adversity. As the royal wanderer had long been a stranger to a
comfortable meal, some minced collops were fried for him with butter in
a large saucepan, to which the luxury of a silver spoon was added; and
poor Charles, after partaking very heartily of these savoury viands,
could not help exclaiming, "Now, gentlemen, I live like a prince!"
Turning to Lochiel, he asked, "Have you always fared so well during your
retreat?" "Yes, sir," replied the chief, "for nearly three months past I
have been hereabout with my cousin Cluny; he has provided for me so
well, that I have had plenty of such as you see, and I thank Heaven your
royal highness has got through so many dangers to take a part."
Soon after this meeting,
two vessels of war, despatched by the French government,
arrived, and in these Charles and about a hundred of his adherents, of
whom Lochiel was one, embarked at Lochnanuagh, on the 20th of September.
Soon after his arrival in France, Lochiel received the command of a
regiment in the French service, to which the young Chevalier wished a
title of British nobility to be added; but this the Prince’s
father refused, observing very justly, that it would create envy in the
other Highland chiefs who might expect a similar distinction; and that
Lochiel’s interest and reputation in his own country, and his being at
the head of a regiment in France, would give him more consideration
there than any empty title he could bestow. By this time, however, the
mere question of a coronet was of little importance to the brave and
good Lochiel, for he died in his place of exile in 1748. At his death,
he left two sons, of whom John, the eldest, succeeded to his father’s
regiment, but died in early life. Charles, the younger, who succeeded to
the family claims of his brother, obtained leases from the British Crown
of parts of the family estate upon very easy terms, and received a
commission in the 71st Highlanders, to which regiment he added a company
of clansmen of his own raising. On the regiment being ordered for
foreign service, his Camerons refused to embark without him, upon which,
though he was dangerously ill in London, he hurried down to Glasgow to
appease them, but found that this had been successfully done by Colonel
Fraser of Lovat, the commander of the regiment. This violent exertion,
however, was too much for his exhausted strength, so that he died soon
afterwards. Nothing, it is said, could exceed the enthusiasm with which
the arrival of Charles Cameron was welcomed by the citizens of Glasgow,
for it was their conviction that it was his father who had prevented
their city from being plundered by the rebel army in 1745.
Another member of the
Lochiel family still remains to be mentioned; this was Dr. Archibald
Cameron, whose name has already occurred more than once in the course of
this notice. After having endured his share of the hardships which
befell the rebel army, and aided the Prince in his wanderings
among the Highlands, he was one of those who embarked at Lochnanuagh,
and reached France in safety. Some doubtful causes, however, not
sufficiently explained, but which seem to have been altogether
unconnected with politics, induced him to return to Scotland privately
in 1749, and subsequently in 1753; but at his last visit he was
apprehended, tried at London, and sentenced to be hanged at Tyburn, as
one of the attainted persons who had been "out" in 1745. He was the last
victim of the fears or the vengeance of government; and many even of its
best friends thought that after so long an interval, and on account of
his well-known amiable character, his life ought to have been spared. |