Allgood. If you outlive
misfortune, and return to live in the North, I desire you never to be
seen in converse with such rogues in disguise, who promised to join us,
and animated us to rise with them." The gentleman promised that he would
observe his Lordship's counsels. "Ah!" said Lord Derwentwater, "I know
you to be of an easy temper."[208]

The prisoners were now carried on towards London by easy marches, Mr.
Patten accompanying his patron, Mr. Forster. As they went, the undaunted
Highlanders called out to the country people who came to gaze at them,
"Where are all your high-church Tories? If they would not fight with us,
let them come and rescue us." This indiscretion redoubled the vigilance
of the watch put upon the rebels. From Daventry to London, Mr. Forster
and Mr. Patten were greeted by the common people with encomiums upon a
warming-pan, in allusion to the supposed birth of the Pretender. When
the prisoners arrived at Barnet, messengers came to meet them, and to
pinion their arms with cords,--"More for distinction," adds the
subservient Mr. Patten, "than for any pain that attended." Yet the
indignity must have been cruelly galling to the highborn and gallant men
who were thus mercilessly paraded to their doom amid the cries of the
populace.

At Highgate a strong detachment of horse-soldiers and dragoons received
the prisoners from Lumley's Horse, which had hitherto guarded them; and
now they were separated into pairs, a foot-soldier holding the bridle of
each horse; and in this manner the Jacobite peers, Lord Derwentwater
among the rest, were conducted to London through "a hedge of a mob," as
the Highland soldier declares, hired, as he hints, at Lord Pelham's
charge, to muster that day. Cries of "Long live King George!" and "Down
with the Pretender!" greeted the ear as they passed on to their several
destinations. A Quaker, fixing his eyes on Mr. Patten, and seeing his
black dress, remarked, "Friend, thou hast been the trumpeter of
rebellion to those men,--thou must answer for them." The moralizer was
touched by a grenadier with the butt end of his musket, so that the
"spirit fell into the ditch." But the Quaker was not rebuffed. "Friend,"
he said to the soldier, "thou art, I fear, no true friend to King
George."

Even at the last, Mr. Forster had hopes, it is said, of being released
by a Tory mob. The Jacobite noblemen had been, indeed, all along misled,
or ignorant of the real inclinations of the mass of