Claverhouse | Page 5

Dutch could do no more than keep their flag flying, but it says
much for their sailors that they could do that against a foe their equal in
skill and courage, and almost always their superior in numbers. On land
they were more successful. The Bishop of Munster was driven back
from the walls of Groningen: Naerden and Bonne were retaken: before
the summer was over the whole electorate of Cologne was in the hands
of William and his allies. The campaign of 1674 was less fortunate to
the young general. Charles had, it is true, been compelled by his
Parliament to make a peace more favourable than the Dutch could have
hoped for; but in almost every direction Lewis made good again the
ground he had lost in the previous year. William, indeed, took Grave,
but he was compelled to raise the siege of Oudenarde. A large force of
Germans under the Elector of Brandenburg was driven out of Alsace
across the Rhine by Turenne, who had a short while before completely
routed the Imperial troops under the Duke of Lorraine at Sintzheim.
Franche Comté was reconquered in a few weeks. But the most notable
action of the year was the battle of Seneff, fought near Mons on August
11th between William and Condé. It was long, bloody, and indecisive;
but it raised William's reputation for courage and ability to the highest
pitch, and drew from his veteran opponent one of those compliments a
brave soldier is always glad to pay a foeman worthy of his steel. "The
Prince of Orange," said Condé, "has acted in everything like an old
captain, except in venturing his life too like a young soldier."
The battle of Seneff has for us, too, a particular importance. It gives us,

according to some of his biographers, the first glimpse of Claverhouse
as a soldier. The story goes that, at an early period of the fight, William
with a handful of his men was closely beset by a large body of French
troops. In making his way back to his own lines the Prince's horse
foundered in some marshy ground, and he would inevitably have been
either killed or made prisoner had not Claverhouse, who was of the
party, mounted him on his own charger and brought him safe out of the
press. For this service William gave the young soldier (who was,
however, the Prince's senior by seven years) a captain's commission in
his own regiment of Horse Guards, commanded by the Count de
Solmes who led the English van on the day of the Boyne. This story
has been contemptuously rejected by Macaulay as a Jacobite fable
composed many years after both actors in the scene were dead. The
story may not be true, but Macaulay's reasons for rejecting it are not
quite exact. Reports of Claverhouse's gallantry at Seneff were certainly
current during his lifetime. It is mentioned, for example, in a copy of
doggerel verses addressed to Claverhouse by some nameless admirer
on New Year's Day 1683.[4] And there is yet more particular testimony,
though, like the former, it is of that nature which a historian will always
feel himself at liberty to reject if it does not match with the rest of his
case, and which counsel on the opposite side are accordingly at equal
liberty to make use of. In the memoirs of Lochiel mention is made of a
Latin poem written by a certain Mr. James Philip of Amryclos, in
Forfarshire, who bore Dundee's standard at Killiecrankie. Lochiel's
biographer does not quote the Latin text, but gives translations of
certain passages. The original manuscript, bearing the date 1691, is
now in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh. Napier had seen this
"Grameis," as the work is called, and compared it with the translations,
which he declares to be very imperfect, as, from the specimens he gives,
they undoubtedly are. Macaulay, who never saw the Latin text, owns to
have taken a few touches from the passages quoted in the memoirs for
his inimitable picture of affairs in the Highlands during the days
immediately preceding Killiecrankie; but the passage recording the
early gallantry of the conqueror at Killiecrankie he did not take.[5]
It is unfortunate that the tale of these early years should assume so
controversial a tone. But where all, or almost all, is sheer conjecture, it

is inevitable that the narrative must rest rather on argument than fact.
The precise moment when Claverhouse transferred his services from
the French to the Dutch flag is, in truth, no more certain than the date
of his birth is certain, or his conduct at Saint Andrews, or, indeed, than
it is certain that he ever at any time served under Lewis. The tale of
those English services under the French King is in