The Dukes (74 page)

We are in Covenanting times. Charles I had attempted to impose upon the Scots a new Prayer Book, or "Book of Public Service" to give it its full name, which was formal, elaborate, and smelt a little of Roman liturgy. It did not please the Scots, at that time seduced by the simplicity of Presbyterianism which preferred extempore prayers and eschewed ceremony, with the result that Charles's orders were greeted with riots in churches throughout Scot­land and the beginning of a fatal schism had appeared. A week later, the National Covenant was drawn up, a large parchment promising to defend king and country against the impertinent power of the bishops and against the threat of Popery. The parchment was stretched out upon a tombstone, and "for three days, wet or fine, from morn to dusk, the scratching of the pen never ceased".
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Those who signed the Covenant were henceforth known as Covenanters, and those who refused were the Royalists. Of the former, young Montrose, high-spirited, eager to serve and to make his mark, was foremost. Of the latter, it was Hamilton, the King's friend and adviser, who led, a pompous, strutting over-rated peacock of a man, who loved the luxurious Court of London, and visited Scotland with reluctance.

At the famous Assembly of 1638, over which presided Hamilton as the King's Commissioner, the third protagonist, Argyll, had not yet declared himself. Hamilton dissolved the Assembly, at which point it ceased to be legal, and stalked out without anyone paying him any attention. Argyll then stepped in and within minutes had established himself as the leader of the Covenanting Party; he was the wealthiest, the most powerful as chief of the Campbells, the most wily and shrewd man present.

Montrose was no match for either Hamilton, whose sycophancy he could not emulate, or Argyll, whose political wisdom was too mature for him, and both were shortly to be his enemy. He had a frank, honest nature, candour and youthful enthusiasm. He was certainly the most intelligent of the three and was to entertain a philosophy which the other two were incapable of understanding.

Montrose was above all a thinker. While other Scottish nobles were governed by fierce passions, fanatical convictions, the inflexibility of unreflective, over-confident youth, Montrose was governed by reason, by calm analysis. He was unique in the Scotland of that time. His ideals were democratic; he valued the conception of Sovereignty, but did not confuse it with Monarchy. For a stable government, sovereignty was essential, either the sovereignty of kings, as in Europe, or of a council of nobles, as in Venice, or of the representatives of the people, as in ancient Rome. He did not hold that the mon­archical system was necessarily the best, simply because it was the system which obtained in Britain, but he did see that it was better to improve it than to overthrow it. His idea was a constitutional mon­archy, a king circumscribed by duty towards his people and obedience to the law. What he feared most was the instability which led to anarchy, and the vilest of evils — oppression. Anarchy, he said, was "the oppression and tyranny of subjects, the most fierce, insatiable, and insufferable tyranny in the world".
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Many of these ideas were generations ahead of their time, and inconceivable in a land where the divine right of kings to rule without question was the order of the day. When Argyll took over as the Covenanting leader, policies became extreme, stupid, and cruel; they threatened the stability which Montrose cherished, the rule of law, the precious legality upon which any charge must be based. He left them and joined the King, telling him frankly that he would cease to support His Majesty if he (the King) were to diverge from his duty of defending the religion and rights of his people. It was a bold declaration.

Initially, Hamilton was able to turn the King against the young man who suddenly offered his services. Hamilton was jealous of Montrose's popularity, beauty and dash, and was afraid that he might get too close to the King. Eventually, however, Charles learned to trust the convert, and sent him on a mission to bring Scotland to obedience.

Montrose had no army, no means of raising one, and would be imprisoned as soon as he entered Scotland, yet he must somehow subdue Scotland for the King. All he had was the King's order. It was a hopeless task. "As in most great adventures, there was no solid hope save in the soul of the adventurer. . . . He was to fling himself into the midst of a hostile country to improvise an army."
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This is exactly what he achieved. In disguise, with only the power of his per­sonality to defend him, Montrose made for the Highlands, and there he revealed his identity, captured the imagination of those sturdy Highlanders, and emerged from the darkness some weeks later to win a series of impossible battles, with a force of 1500 men against thousands. For a year, he won one battle after another - Inverlochy, Dundee, Aberdeen, Tippermuir, until he appeared invincible. That year, 1642, saw the birth of his legend.

As a strategist, he was without peer. Space will not allow an examination of his battles, but a brilliant lucid account is offered in John Buchan's book. This strategic cunning was in spite of the unfamiliarity of the Highlands; the Grahams were a lowland family. Not only was he a military genius, which would not alone be sufficient for a legend, but he was a leader of decency and humanity. In an age when it was routine for a conquering army to plunder, pillage, murder and rape, Montrose forbade his men any such vengeful act; they were allowed victuals, but not wanton destruction. The men were unpaid, yet they were loyal. They observed his ideals of succour to the wounded, avoidance of unnecessary bloodshed, and generosity to a defeated army. Within a year the name of Montrose rang around the Highlands with a power that made Argyll and Hamilton tremble. He had "kindled already a fire which the parliament of Edinburgh could not quench"."

He was finally defeated at the battle of Philiphaugh. Just before hostilities began, he took the Garter ribbon from around his neck and concealed it in the cleft of a holly tree, meaning to return and reclaim it later. Of course, he never did. Years later it was discovered there, and returned to the Montrose family, with whom it remains."

The rest of an exciting career must be passed over rapidly. When Charles I was executed, Montrose fainted at the news. He then shut himself in his study for two days and two nights to think. He emerged determined to expiate the King's death, but knowing that the odds were against him. He declared his loyalty to Charles II, "as I never desired to live but for their Majesty's service, so shall I never shun to die for yours".
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The new king in exile made a fatal error of judgement in negotiating with the Argyll faction in Edin­burgh, whom he had officially to treat as the legitimate government there, while commissioning Montrose privately to go back to Scotland and fight against Argyll in the King's name. Argyll promptly placed a price of £30,000 on Montrose's head, declared him a traitor and called him "James Graham". Montrose wrote to the King that he would abandon his life for the King's interests, "with that integrity that you and all the world shall see that it is not your fortunes, but you, in whatsoever fortune, that I make sacred to serve".
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Montrose was betrayed by MacLeod of Assynt, who had offered him shelter. He was brought to Edinburgh. The people of the city had been told that the miserable traitor was about to be shown to them, and they were encouraged to line the streets for his entry. Some were hired to stone him. He was placed on a hangman's cart, his arms tied to his sides so that he would not be able to avoid the stones, and a fanfare was sounded when the exhibition was about to begin. The cart creaked slowly into the street called Canongate, packed tight with a jeering mob. Within seconds an amazing change overtook the crowd. The jeering ceased, the shouting died down, and soon there was nothing but an eerie respectful silence, stabbed occasionally with sobbing. For three hours the cart edged its way up the Canongate, and by the end of the journey the fame of Montrose was assured. Argyll was celebrating the wedding of his son on the same day and in the same street. He peered through a curtain at his vanquished foe, whose cart had come to a standstill so thick were the crowds, and hoping to see the degradation of a hero, saw instead a man whom he, Argyll, had helped to canonise.

Montrose approached the market cross where he was to hang on a gibbet thirty feet high (later known as "Argyll's altar" or the Mini­sters' altar), taunted and provoked by the clergy who wished him to repent. He remained cool and unfailingly courteous, impressing all with the dignity of his bearing. Only once did he raise his voice slightly. "Gentleman, let me die in peace," he said, and there was silence. He climbed the ladder, looked at the rope, and asked "How long must I hang there?" The hangman fixed the halter, tears streaming down his face, and Montrose, without flinching stepped off to his death. His body hung there for three hours, was then hacked to pieces, the head placed on a spike on the Tolbooth (where it remained for eleven years, until it was replaced by Argyll's), and the limbs distributed to Stirling, Glasgow, Perth, and Aberdeen. It was a death reserved for a criminal, not for a nobleman or a soldier. Montrose's only comment was that he was pleased the Scots should make sure his loyalty was proved throughout the country in so force­ful and visible a way. His last words were, "God have mercy on this afflicted land."

So died a man whose sense of justice, mercy and truth shone in an age of vindictiveness, a man who insisted on treating his prisoners well, who allowed them to write to their family and friends, and entertained them at his own table, a man who retired from the battle to write a profession of faith remarkable for its style as for its content, or to write some beautiful verse. His equal has not been seen in Scot­land. In John Buchan's phrase, it was "a career which must rank among the marvels of our history".

Montrose's son was the 2nd Marquess (1631-1669), known as "The Good Marquess", who effected a decent reconciliation between his house and the Argylls. He said that he could not vote at the trial of Argyll in 1661, because he was too closely involved to be impartial. In 1667 the two sons drank each other's health in public, and Argyll was appointed guardian to Montrose's son. When Mont­rose died, Argyll travelled from Inveraray to attend his funeral.
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The 1st Duke of Montrose (1682-1742) was elevated to the high­est rank as a reward for his services in connection with the union with Scotland in 1707. He had been a strong supporter of the union, and of the Protestant succession, much to the annoyance of his father's side of the family. It was said that he was led by the nose and governed by his mother and her relations, which, in view of his sweet disposition and good nature, is more than likely. The influence of his name carried some weight when he allied himself against the Jacobite rebellion of 1715. There again, his mother seems to have made the decision as to what side he should take. A satirical verse of the time makes no bones about it:

"Limner, proceed, conspicuously expose

The chicken hearted narrow soul Montrose,

Show how he doth debase his noble line

Which heretofore illustriously did shine.

Show how he makes himself a fool of State,

A slave to avarice, to his friends ungrate."
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He also has a place in the history of Rob Roy, for it was owing to the failure of a speculation which Rob Roy shared with the Duke and the Duke's demand for repayment, that Roy had to resort to an outlaw's life, supporting himself by robbing the Duke's tenants.

Political life was a wasteland to the 2nd Duke of Montrose (1712— 1790), for he was totally deaf, and for the last thirty years, quite blind as well. His life was miserably isolated, needing an interpreter to speak even to his wife. Their one joy was their son, Lord Graham. The deafness, incidentally, was to recur in the family four generations later.

His Duchess died very suddenly one day after dinner. They ate some minced veal, which she said she liked extremely well, then slumped back in her chair lifeless.

The 3rd Duke (1755-1836) resumed political life. He was in turn Master of the Horse, President of the Board of Trade, Postmaster- General, and Lord Chamberlain. His handling of these positions was not very distinguished, and he seems chiefly to be remembered for having effected a change in the law which enabled Highlanders to wear the kilt, long prohibited, prompting a wit to congratulate him thus:

Thy patriot zeal has bared their parts behind

To the keen whistling of the wintry wind.

He was handsome man, with "symmetry of external figure" and no fool; the general view was that the jobs given him taxed his undoubted abilities too far. Wraxall said that he "displayed various qualities calculated to compensate for the want of great ability; par- ticuarly, the prudence, sagacity, and attention to his own interests, so characteristic of the Caledonian people".
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Pitt, who made him Lord of the Treasury as well as much else besides, was thought to have overloaded him. The same Wraxall tetchily pointed out that Montrose was only given the Garter "after long hesitation", because the Duke of Norfolk had refused it.

His son was a man in much the same mould, reserved, not easily reachable, but with that strict Montrose honour which recurs. Also Postmaster-General (he actually
reduced
overseas postal charges), he introduced into the family bag of idiosyncrasies an overbalance towards the right-wing which has persisted into the twentieth century. His duchess caused a stir in the wake of the Flora Hastings scandal by publicly hissing Queen Victoria. Lady Flora Hastings had been driven to illness and early death by a nasty campaign of gossip in which Queen Victoria had played an unworthy part. The substance of the tattle was that Lady Flora was unlawfully pregnant, and as a Lady of the Bedchamber to the Queen's mother, Duchess of Kent, her condition was indecent. The rumour was without any founda­tion, but the poor girl had to submit to medical examination and private torment; she died at Buckingham Palace in 1839, aged thirty-three, bringing a storm of vehement unpopularity about the Queen's head. The Duchess of Montrose made her one contribution to history by booing Victoria as she made her customary progress down the course at Ascot. The Duchess's companion was Lady Sarah Ingestre. The Queen wanted to have both women flogged,
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and her defendants thought them foolish and vulgar.
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The affair was shortly patched up, and the Duke, who died in 1874 at the age of seventy- five, was once more admitted at Court.