An early and fond
intimacy seems to have taken place between prince Charles and the
marquis. That it was sincere and abiding on the part of the latter, the
whole tenor of his life and his melancholy and tragical death bear
testimony. On Charles succeeding to the throne, one of his first cares
was to mark the esteem in which he held his young and noble friend, by
heaping upon him favours and distinctions.
Soon after the coronation
of the king, however, in which ceremony he carried the sword of state in
the procession, he returned to Scotland for the purpose of
superintending in person his family affairs, which had been much
deranged by the munificence of his father. The marquis, who does not
seem to have ever been much captivated by the life of a courtier, soon
became warmly attached to the quiet and retirement of the country, and
spent the greater part of his time at Brodick castle, a beautiful and
romantic residence in the island of Arran.
The king, however, whose
attachment to him seems to have gained strength by his absence, wrote to
him repeatedly, and with his own hand, in the most pressing terms, to
return. All these flattering invitations he for some time resisted,
until his father-in-law, the earl of Denbigh, came expressly to Scotland
with another earnest request from the king that he would come up to
London, and at the same time, offering him the appointment of master of
the horse, then vacant by the death of the duke of Buckingham.
Unable longer to resist
the entreaties of his sovereign, now seconded by the earl, the marquis
complied, and proceeded with his father-in-law to court, where he
arrived in the year 1628. The promised appointment was immediately
bestowed on him; and in the fullness of his majesty’s happiness at his
young friend’s return, he further made him gentleman of his bed-chamber,
and privy councillor in both kingdoms. The amiable and unassuming
manners of the marquis saved him at this part of his career from all
that hostility and jealousy which usually attend the favourite of a
sovereign, and he was permitted to receive and enjoy all his offices and
honours without a grudge, and without the cost of creating an enemy.
At the baptism of prince
Charles in 1630, he represented the king of Bohemia as one of the
sponsors, and on this occasion the order of the garter was conferred
upon him, together with a grant of the office of chief steward of the
house and manor of Hampton court. A more active life, however, was now
about to open upon the favourite courtier. King Charles, having in the
duke’s name entered into a treaty with the celebrated Gustavus Adolphus,
king of Sweden, to furnish him with 6000 men for his intended invasion
of Germany, with the view of thus enabling his brother-in-law, the
Elector Palatine, to regain his hereditary territories from which he had
been driven, the marquis was empowered to raise the stipulated force.
These he soon collected, and was on the point of embarking with them
himself, when he found that a charge of high treason had been preferred
against him by lord Ochiltree, son of that captain James Stewart who had
usurped the Hamilton estates and dignities in the time of his
grandfather. The king himself was the first to inform the duke of the
absurd charge which had been brought against him, and which consisted in
the ridiculous assertion, that the marquis intended, in place of
proceeding to Germany with the forces he had raised, to employ them in
asserting a right to the Scottish crown. Although, in the face of all
existing circumstances, it was impossible that any one could be expected
to believe that there was any truth in the accusation, yet the marquis
insisted that his innocence should be established by a public trial. To
this proposal, however, the king not only would not listen, but to show
his utter incredulity in the calumny, and his confidence in the
marquis’s fidelity, he invited him to sleep in the same bed-chamber with
him, on the very night on which he had informed him of the charge
brought against him by lord Ochiltree. The forgeries of the latter in
support of his accusation having been proven, he was sentenced to
perpetual imprisonment, and thrown into the castle of Blackness, where
he remained a captive for twenty years, when he was liberated by one of
Cromwell’s officers.
On the 16th of July the
marquis sailed from Yarmouth roads with his army and forty ships, and
arrived in safety at Elsineur on the 27th of the same month. Here he
went on shore to wait upon the king of Denmark, and on the 29th sailed
again for the Oder, which he reached on the 30th. Here he landed his
men, and having previously received a general’s commission from the king
of Sweden, marched into Silesia, where he performed many important
services, took many fortified places, and distinguished himself on all
occasions by his bravery and judicious conduct. After various turns of
fortune, however, and much severe service, during which his army was
reduced by the casualties of war, and by the plague, which swept off
great numbers of his men, to two incomplete regiments; and, moreover,
conceiving himself slighted by the king of Sweden, who, flushed with his
successes, forgot that respect towards him with which he had first
received him; he wrote to the king, requesting his advice as to his
future proceedings, and not neglecting to express the disgust with which
Gustavus’s ungracious conduct had inspired him. Charles immediately
replied "that if he could not be serviceable to the Palatinate he should
take the first civil excuse to come home." This he soon afterwards did,
still parting, however, on good terms with the Swedish king, who
expressed his esteem for him by saying at his departure, "in whatever
part of the world he were, he would ever look upon him as one of his
own." There seems to have been a sort of understanding that the marquis
would return to Germany with a new levy of men; but this understanding
does not appear to have been very seriously entertained by either party;
at all events it never took place. The marquis, on his return to the
English court was received with unabated kindness, and again took his
place amongst the foremost in the esteem of his sovereign.
In 1633, he accompanied
the king to Scotland, when he came down to receive the crown of that
kingdom; but from this period until the year 1638, he meddled no further
with public affairs.
The troubles, however, of
that memorable year again brought him on the stage, and his love for his
sovereign, and zeal for his service, induced him to take a more busy and
a more prominent part then than he would otherwise have done. To put an
end, if possible, to the religious distractions in Scotland, and which
were then coming to a crisis, the marquis was despatched to Scotland
with instructions, and a power to grant further concessions on some
important points. The demands of the covenanters were, however, greater
than was expected, and this attempt at mediation was unsuccessful. He
returned to London, and was a second time sent down to Scotland with
enlarged powers, but as these embraced no concession regarding the
covenant, this journey was equally fruitless with the other. The marquis
now once more returned to London. In the beginning of winter, he was a
third time despatched, with instructions to act as commissioner at the
General Assembly, which had been appointed to meet for the settlement of
differences, and which sat down at Glasgow in November. The concessions,
however, which he was authorized to make, were not considered at all
sufficient. The opponents of the court in the assembly proceeded from
measure to measure inimical to the king’s authority, carrying every
thing before them in despite of all the marquis’s efforts to resist
them, and to stem the tide of disaffection. Finding this impossible, he
dissolved the court. The covenanters, however, were in no humour to obey
this exercise of authority. They continued their sittings, went on
subscribing the covenant, and decreed the abrogation of bishops in the
Scottish church. Having been able to render the king little more service
than the gain of time which his negotiations had secured, the marquis
returned to London. Indeed more success could not have been expected
from an interference where the covenant, the principal subject of
contention, was thus spoken of by the opposite parties: the king writing
to his commissioner, "So long as this damnable covenant is in force, I
have no more power in Scotland than a duke of Venice;" and the
covenanters again replying to some overtures about its renunciation,
that "they would sooner renounce their baptism." The king, who had long
anticipated a violent issue with the Scottish malcontents, had in the
meantime been actively employed in collecting a force to subdue them;
and the marquis, soon after his arrival in England, was appointed to a
command in this armament, and sent down to Scotland, no longer as a
negotiator, but as a chastiser of rebels. Whilst the king himself
proceeded over land with an army of 25,000 foot and 3000 horse, the
marquis sailed from Yarmouth with a fleet, having on board a further
force of 5000 men, and arrived in Leith roads on the 1st of May. On his
arrival, he required the leaders of the covenanters to acknowledge the
king’s authority, and seemed disposed to proceed to hostilities. But the
king, in the meantime, having entered into a pacific arrangement with
the covenanters, his military command ceased, and he proceeded to join
his majesty at his camp near Berwick. Soon after this, the marquis once
more retired from public employment, and did not again interfere in
national affairs for several years. In 1642, he was once more sent to
Edinburgh by the king to promote his interest, and to resume
negotiations with the covenanters; and on this occasion was so
successful as to alarm Pickering, the agent of the English parliament at
Edinburgh, who wrote to his employers, recommending them to bring him
immediately to trial as a disturber of the harmony between the two
kingdoms. This representation of Pickering’s, however, was attended with
no immediate result, whatever effect it might have on his ultimate fate;
and it is not improbable that it was then recollected to his prejudice.
As a reward for his faithful and zealous services, the king now bestowed
upon him by patent, dated at Oxford, 12th April, 1643, the title of
duke. The same patent invests him also with the lathe of marquis of
Clydesdale, earl of Arran and Cambridge, and lord Avon and Innerdale. By
one of those strange and sudden reverses, however, to which the
favourites of kings are so subject, the duke was thrown into prison by
that very sovereign who but a short while since had loaded him with
titles and honours.
Various
misrepresentations of the duke’s conduct in Scotland had reached the
king’s ears. He was charged with unfaithfulness to the trust reposed in
him; of speaking disrespectfully of the king; and of still entertaining
views upon the Scottish crown. These accusations, absurd, incredible,
and contradictory to facts as they were, had been so often repeated, and
so urgently pressed on the unfortunate and distracted monarch, that they
at length shook his faith in his early friend. Deserted, opposed, and
harassed upon all hands, he was prepared to believe in any instance of
treachery that might occur, and clinging to every hope, however slender,
which presented itself, was too apt to imagine that the accusation of
others was a proof of friendship to himself on the part of the accuser.
The king’s altered
opinion regarding him having reached the ears of the duke, he instantly
hastened, accompanied by his brother, the earl of Lanark, who was also
involved in the accusation, to Oxford, where his majesty then was.
Conscious of his innocence, the duke, on his arrival, sought an audience
of the king, that he might, at a personal interview, disabuse him of the
unfavourable reports which he had heard regarding him. An order,
however, had been left at the gates to stop him until the governor
should have notice of his arrival. Through a mistake of the captain of
the guard, the carriage which contained the duke was allowed to pass
unchallenged, but was immediately followed with a command directly from
the king himself, that the duke and his brother should confine
themselves to their apartments. This intimation of the king’s
disposition towards him was soon followed by still more unequivocal
indications. Next day a guard was placed on his lodgings, with orders
that, no one should speak with him but in presence of one of the
secretaries; and finally, notwithstanding all his protestations of
innocence, and earnest requests to be confronted with his accusers, he
was sent a prisoner, first to Exeter, and afterwards to Pendennis castle
in Cornwall. His brother, who had also been ordered into confinement in
Ludlow castle, contrived to make his escape before his removal, and
returned to Scotland; a circumstance which increased the severity with
which the duke was treated. His servants were denied access to him, his
money was taken from him; and he was refused the use of writing
materials, unless to be employed in petitioning the king, a privilege
which was still left to him, but which availed him little, as it did not
procure him any indulgence in his confinement, or effect any change in
the sentiments of the king regarding him. Whilst a prisoner in Pendennis
castle, the duke’s amiable and gentle manners so far won upon the
governor of that fortress, that he not only gave him more liberty than
his instructions warranted, but offered to allow him to escape. With a
magnanimity, however, but rarely to be met with, the duke refused to
avail himself of a kindness which would involve his generous keeper in
ruin. The intimacy between the governor and the duke reaching the ears
of the court, the latter was instantly removed to the castle of St
Michael’s Mount at Land’s End, where he remained a close prisoner till
the month of April, 1646, when he was released, after an unmerited
confinement of eight and twenty months, on the surrender of the place to
the parliamentary forces. Feeling now that disgust with the world, which
the treatment he had met with was so well calculated to inspire, the
duke resolved to retire from it for ever. From this resolution, however,
his affection for the king, which, notwithstanding the hard usage he had
received at his hands, remained as warm and sincere as ever, induced him
once more to depart; and when that unhappy monarch, driven from England,
sought protection from the Scottish army at Newcastle, the duke of
Hamilton was amongst the first to wait upon him there, with offers of
assistance and consolation; and this at a time too, when he was
abandoned by many on whom he had much better, or at least, more
unqualified claims. When the king and the duke first met on this
occasion, both blushed; and the latter in the confusion of the moment,
after saluting his majesty, was about to retire into the crowd which
filled the apartment, when the king asked him "If he was afraid to come
near him." The duke returned, and a long and earnest conversation ensued
between them. The king apologised for his treatment of him, and
concluded by requesting that he would not now leave him in the midst of
his distresses. The appeal was not made in vain. The duke once more
embarked with all his former zeal in the cause of his beloved master,
and made every effort to retrieve his desperate fortunes. These efforts
were vain, but they have secured for him who made them a lasting and an
honourable fame; and now that the conflicting opinions of the times in
which he lived have long since been numbered with the things that were,
we can recognise in the conduct of James, first duke of Hamilton, only a
noble example of unshaken and devoted loyalty.
When the question,
whether the king, now in the hands of the Scottish malcontents, should
be delivered up to his English subjects, was discussed in the Scottish
parliament, the duke exerted his utmost influence and power to prevent
its being carried in the affirmative. "Would Scotland," he exclaimed, in
an elegant and enthusiastic speech which he made on the occasion, "Would
Scotland now quit a possession of fifteen hundred years’ date, which was
their interest in their sovereign, and quit it to those whose enmity
against both him and themselves did now so visibly appear? Was this the
effect of their protestations of duty and affection to his majesty? Was
this their keeping of their covenant, wherein they had sworn to defend
the king’s majesty, person, and authority? Was this a suitable return to
the king’s goodness, both in his consenting to all the desires of that
kingdom in the year 1641, and in his late trusting his person to them?
What censure would be passed upon this through the whole world? What a
stain would it be to the whole reformed religion? What danger might be
apprehended in consequence of it, both to the king’s person and to
Scotland from the party that was now prevalent in England?" The duke’s
brother, the earl of Lanark, was not less earnest in his opposition to
the disgraceful proposal, and when his vote was asked, he exclaimed with
much energy, "As God shall have mercy upon my soul at the great day, I
would choose rather to have my head struck off at the Market-cross of
Edinburgh than give my consent to this vote." These generous efforts of
the noble brothers, however, as is well known, were unavailing, the
measure was carried, and the unfortunate monarch was delivered into the
hands of the English parliament.
Defeated in his attempts to
prevent the king’s being given up to his English subjects; the duke,
still hoping to avert the consummation of his unfortunate sovereign’s
misfortunes, now entertained the idea of relieving him by force of arms.
Encouraged in this project by something like a reaction of public
feeling in favour of the king, and, sanctioned by the vote of the
estates, though not of the kirk of Scotland, he proceeded to raise an
army with which he proposed to march into England, where he expected to
meet with an active and powerful co-operation from the royalists of that
kingdom. With these views, he hastily collected together a force of
10,000 foot and 4000 cavalry, and with this army, which, besides the
inadequacy of its numbers, was indifferently appointed, ill disciplined,
and unaccompanied by artillery, he marched into England. Passing
Carlisle, where he was received with ringing of bells and other
demonstrations of welcome, he continued his march by Penrith, Appleby,
and Kendal, driving before him detached bodies of Cromwell’s troops, and
finally reached Preston on the 17th of August, where he was opposed by
Cromwell in person with his veteran battalions; and notwithstanding that
the duke had been reinforced since he entered England, by 3000 to 1000
loyalists under Sir Marmaduke Langdale, and afterwards by 2000 foot and
1000 horse, commanded by Sir George Munro, the result of various
skirmishes which here took place, was the total defeat of his army. The
duke himself, accompanied by a few officers and cavalry,
proceeded on to Uttoxeter in Staffordshire, where he surrendered to
Lambert, on assurance of personal safety to himself and his followers.
The unfortunate duke was now carried to Derby, thence to Ashby-de-la-Zouchie,
where he remained till December, when he was removed to Windsor, and
placed under a strong guard. On the secondl night of his confinement
here, while taking a turn after supper iu the courtyard, a sergeant made
up to him, and, with the utmost insolence of manner, ordered him to his
apartment: the duke obeyed, but remarked to lord Bargeny, who was then a
prisoner also that what had just happened was a singular instance of the
mutability of worldly things—that he who, but a short while since, had
the command of many thousand men, was now commanded by a common
sergeant.
A few days after the
duke’s arrival at Windsor, his ill-fated master, who was then also a
prisoner there, was ordered for trials. Having learned when the king was
to proceed to the tribunal, the duke prevailed upon his keepers to allow
him to see his majesty as he passed. On the approach of the king, he
threw himself at his feet, exclaiming in an agony of sorrow, his eyes
suffused with tears, ‘‘My dear master!" The king, not less affected,
stooped down and embraced him, replying, with a melancholy play upon the
word dear, "I have indeed been so to you." The guards would
permit no further conversation, but, by the order of their commander,
instantly hurried ooff the king. The duke followed his beloved master,
with his eyes still swimming in tears, so long as he could see him,
impressed with the belief that they would never meet on earth again.
Aware from the king’s execution, which soon after took place, that a
similar fate awaited him, the duke, with the assistance of a faithful
servant, effected his escape from Windsor. Two horses waited at a
convenient place to carry him and his servant to London, where he hoped
to conceal himself until an opportunity occurred of getting to a place
of greater safety ; but he was instructed not on any account to enter
the city till seven o’clock in the morning, when the night patrols, who
prowled about the town and suburbs, should have retired front duty. By
an unaccountable fatality, the unfortunate duke neglected to attend to
this most important injunction, and entered the city at four o’clock in
the morning. As if every thing had resolved to concur in the destruction
of the unfortunate nobleman, besides the risk which he ran as a matter
of course from the patrol, it happened that there was a party of horse
and foot in Southwark, where the duke entered, searching for Sir Lewis
Dives and another gentleman, who had also escaped from confinement the
night before. By these the duke was taken while in the act of knocking
at a door where he had been long seeking admittance. At first he imposed
upon the soldiers by a plausible story, and as they did not know him
personally, they were disposed to allow him to depart; but some
suspicious circumstances attracting their notice, they searched him, and
found in his pockets some papers which at once discovered him. He was
how carried to St. James’s, where he was kept a close prisoner till the
6th of February, 1648, when he was brought to trial before
the high Court of Justice, and arraigned as earl of Cambridge, for
having "traitorously invaded this station (England) in a hostile manner,
and levied war to assist the king against the kingdom and people of
England, &c." The duke pled that he was an alien, and that his life
besides was secured by the articles of his capitulation to Lambert. To
the first it was replied, that he always sat as a peer of England, and
as such had taken the covenant and negative oath. With regard to the
second objection, it was affirmed by two witnesses, lords Grey and
Lilburn, that he was taken prisoner before the treaty was signed. After
a lengthened trial, in which none of his objections availed him, the
unfortunate nobleman was sentenced to be beheaded on the 9th of March.
The whole tenor of the duke’s conduct after sentence of death was passed
upon him, evinced the greatest magnanimity and resignation. He wrote to
his brother in favour of his servants, and on the morning before his
execution, addressed a letter to his children, recommending them to the
protection of their heavenly Father, now that they were about to be
deprived of himself. He slept soundly on the night previous to his
death, until half-past three in the morning, when he was attended by his
faithful servant Cole, the person who had assisted him in his attempted
escape. To him he now, with the utmost composure, gave a variety of
directions to be carried to his brother. The remainder of the morning,
up to nine o’clock, he spent in devotion. At this hour he was desired to
prepare for the scaffold, which he soon after ascended with a smiling
and cheerful countenance, attended by Dr Sibbald. After again spending
some time in secret prayer, he arose, and embracing Dr Sibbaid, said,
laying his hand upon his heart, "I bless God I do not fear - I have an
assurance that is grounded here;" he next embraced his servants
severally, saying to each of them, "You have been very faithful to me,
the Lord bless you."
Turning now to the
executioner, he desired to know how he should place himself to receive
the fatal stroke. Having been satisfied regarding this fearful
particular, he told the executioner, that after he had placed himself in
the necessary position, he would say a short prayer, and that he would
extend his right hand as the signal for his doing his duty. He now
stretched himself along, and placed his neck ready for the blow, prayed
a short while with much appearance of fervour, then gave the fatal
signal, and with one stroke his head was severed from his body.
The head of the
unfortunate nobleman was received in a crimson taffeta scarf, by two of
his servants, who knelt beside him for the purpose of performing this
last act of duty for their kind master.
The duke’s head and body
were placed in a coffin which lay ready on the scaffold, and conveyed to
a house in the Mews, and afterwards, agreeably to his own directions
before his death, conveyed to Scotland, and interred in the family
burying ground.
Thus perished James, duke
of Hamilton, a nobleman whose fortitude at his death gives but little
countenance to the charge of timidity which has been insinuated against
him, and whose zeal for, and adherence to, the royal cause, in the most
desperate and trying circumstances, afford less encouragement to the
accusation of infidelity to his sovereign with which he has been also
assailed.