Clandara (32 page)

“March!” James stood up, wrapping his plaid around him. “Look around you, brother. If you can get another five miles out of these people of ours, it'll be a miracle.”

“A miracle is what is needed,” Sir Alexander said. He settled his bonnet on his shorn grey head, and cursed the cold, the lack of food and supplies and the whole war which he was sure was lost even before they met with Cumberland. “Piper, play up! David, you're half asleep still, ye damned fool! Get to your horse. James, go round and make sure none of these laggards try to slip away … We're marching to Nairn to take the Duke of Cumberland by the breeches! Away with you!”

“Why tonight?” James asked Hugh as they began to ride slowly out. “Why this sudden decision when half the army is tired out and empty-bellied? …”

“Because today is the Duke's birthday,” Hugh replied. “Our spies came in with the story this morning; he's issued a ration of brandy to the men and they're all making merry there without a thought of danger. I know we're tired, brother, and I'm as weary and hungry as the rest, but if we can catch them unawares tonight, catch them sleeping off their little celebration – we'll massacre them! And that's our only chance. I don't fancy meeting ten thousand of them, and artillery, on open ground when they're sober, I can tell you. Come on there, don't lag behind,” he turned in his saddle and shouted at a straggling group of Macdonalds. “Keep up there, or I'll take my sword to you! Jesus, what wouldn't I give for a warm bed!”

At eight that evening the Prince's army gathered itself for the long night march to Nairn; Lord George was in the van with the Camerons, the Appin Stewarts and his Athollmen, and behind him came Charles and the rest. The angry reproaches and exhortations of the Macdonalds to their unwilling men were repeated throughout the straggling clans that cold and misty night. Everywhere the Highlanders were falling behind, some sleeping where they lay, others complaining that they were being asked to fight on a drink of water and a dry biscuit, which were all the rations issued them that day. The carts carrying their food had not arrived from Inverness because the Prince's secretary, John Hay of Restalrigg, had omitted to assemble them. This inefficient and timorous man had replaced the energetic Murray of Broughton when the latter fell ill, and the wretched troops had him to thank for their empty bellies and sinking morale. The march was doomed from the beginning; a third of the army had drifted back from Culloden to Inverness in search of food and rest, and when the dawn came up over the moor they had not reached Nairn and the drums of the English army were already beating the General Call to Arms. Within sight of the enemy the Highland army halted, and at last the word was passed back along the line, “Retreat back to Culloden.”

James turned his horse's head and pulled at his father's bridle. Sir Alexander had been dozing; he awoke with a start.

“James, what the devil are ye doing? …”

“Turning back,” came the answer. “We're in sight of Nairn and it's too light to go any farther. There won't be a Prestonpans this time. Tell the piper to play, Father. We've no need to hide ourselves from Cumberland now and the men will need the music to make them walk another step.”

“God damn it,” the old man said. “All these miles for nothing.”

“If those swine of English advance on us today, they'll cut us to pieces,” Hugh said slowly. He glanced quickly at his father and brothers as they rode back over the wet and treacherous moor towards Culloden. “Others have left the field and made for home. Why don't we do the same while there's still time?”

The old Chief's haggard face turned red.

“Abandon the Prince?” he shouted. “Never! As long as there's breath left in my body I'll stay on and fight with him. You can turn tail if ye wish, but don't let me find you at Dundrenan or I'll kill you with my own hands.”

“I never thought you were a coward.” James glared at him. “I've no great opinion of you, Hugh, but I never thought that! Run if you will, but I stay with the Prince.”

“And I,” David said. He turned away from his brother and spat.

Hugh shrugged, and to their surprise he laughed. “Calm yourselves,” he mocked. “I've no mind to run away. I only thought for a moment that it might be sweet to live a little longer instead of dying in this dismal place. That's all.”

“Better to die than live dishonoured,” his father answered coldly. “You may be my son, Hugh, but there's something in you I don't recognize as being part of a Macdonald.”

“It's only common sense,” his son retorted. “And I haven't enough to make me leave you. I'll die with you then, if that's what you want. We'll all go back to Culloden and die for the Prince. I only hope he's grateful for it.” And he began to whistle the same stirring tune the Macdonald piper played.

By six o'clock the clans were back where they had started, and the weary officers descended upon Culloden House at the Prince's invitation to breakfast off his own supplies. He did not share it with them, for he had ridden back to Inverness to bring food to the field for his men.

James and his father threw themselves down on a bench in the main hall of the mansion, tired and wet and muddied from the long ride, while the Red Murdoch and Dugal, the Chief's servant, brought them some oatmeal scones and cold meat, and jugs of the fine claret which had been discovered in the cellar. They ate and drank in silence, and all around them the officers of the other clan were taking what rest they could once they had eaten. A few were arguing in angry tones, and there was a pause when the Prince came through, as dirty and fatigued as they were themselves. The steward of the house came up to him and bowed.

“There's a roast side of lamb and two fowls prepared in the dining-room for you, Highness. I'll have them served as soon as you are ready.”

“Distribute them,” Charles said wearily. “I cannot eat while my men are starving.”

He ran up the stairs followed by Colonel O'Sullivan, his Quarter Master General, and the Macdonald of Clanranald, Kinlochmoidart's brother. There were half a dozen officers who had come from Inverness with him, and among them James recognized Angus Ban, one of Macdonald of Keppoch's sons.

“We'd despaired of you,” James shouted across to him. “Come and share what's left with us!”

“Greetings!” Angus bowed to Sir Alexander and dropped down beside them. “We've marched day and night to get to Inverness in time, only to find the army moved out here. Tell me the news; I've heard nothing but the wildest rumours and my father is like a lion; it's more than any of us dare to ask him anything.”

“He smells defeat,” Sir Alexander said, “and so do I. You'll have to bear with his temper, Angus; he's good reason for it.”

“Is it true Cumberland is at Nairn?”

“No longer,” James answered. “They were already assembling and taking down their tents as we turned back. We tried to creep up and take them by night, but it was useless. Our men and everyone else's were too hungry and too tired. We wasted what was left of our strength on a night march and then had to retreat. Cumberland is marching after us.”

“Will there be battle today?” the young man asked. “I wish my father wouldn't fight; he's over old for it now, and he's tired out. Even one day's rest would make a difference.”

“So the English must think,” James said. “And that's why they'll come at us today. What news from Inverness?”

“Little enough.” Angus finished the last of the meat and swallowed some wine; he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

“A few more recruits for the Glengarrys, but not as many as were hoped. The Ogilvies of Spey have joined us; the Ogilvie himself came into Inverness with two hundred and fifty men, fresh and eager to do battle.” He held out his cup and James refilled it.

“Take care with that,” he warned. “It's a good French wine and stronger than the wretched stuff we're used to drinking. You'll need a clear head later on. Two hundred and fifty Ogilvies – we'll need every man of them.”

“It's surprising they came,” Angus said. “Considering the Ogilvie is newly married … They say she's a rare beauty.” He looked up at James, and his freckled face wrinkled in a grimace. “Ach, of course you should know better than I – I'd quite forgotten. It's the daughter of Clandara that he married, Katharine Fraser.”

Sir Alexander raised his head and glanced quickly at his son; he had been dozing again, half listening to the chattering boy. James was in profile to him; he could see nothing but the dark skin turning very pale and the muscles in the side of his jaw slowly hardening under the skin.

“Why,” Angus Ban said, “what have I said? … Why do you look like that?”

“He married Katharine Fraser? Isn't that what you said?”

“I did,” Angus repeated. “A few weeks ago it seems. That's why I said it's surprising he could tear himself away. I've never seen the lady but I remembered when I told you that you used to know her … wasn't there something about a match between you?”

“There was,” James said very quietly. “A wedding was arranged. Your father came to our betrothal ball.”

“That's over and done.” The old Chief spoke up suddenly and he glared first at the innocent Angus and then at his son. He knew that soft voice and the meaning of that blazing eye. “Much good may it do the Ogilvie to marry
her!
James, where are you going?” His voice rose in alarm. James looked down at him; he was buckling on his sword and there was murder in his eyes.

Keppoch's son turned to Sir Alexander; he was flushed and stammering. “I beg your pardon, I had no idea I'd said anything of importance. I assure you,” he said to James, “if I had thought … I wasn't with my family at the time … I went to stay at Sleat for a visit and it must have been then …”

“It must,” James agreed. “Where is this Ogilvie of Spey? At Inverness, you said?”

“James!” His father sprang up. “James, I forbid you! You damned madman, he's her husband! Isn't that enough for you? Doesn't that prove her worth, if proof were needed? Sit down, I command you!”

“He's on his way here,” Angus Ban interrupted. “He should be here within the hour.”

“My thanks.” James bowed to him. He took his bonnet up and pulled it on. “I'll go and meet him. I want to offer my congratulations.”

“James …” Sir Alexander shouted after him, but his son was pushing through the crowd who were waiting for the Prince to reappear and the next moment he was gone.

“You blabbering fool,” the old man snarled, turning on the innocent harbinger of bad news. “Do you know what you've done? My son has gone to kill him! Get out of my sight before I break this wine jug over your thick head … By God, wait till I see your father!”

Angus jumped to his feet, and still mumbling his apologies, he fled. When Sir Alexander managed to get to the door and force his way out of the house, there was no sign of James.

At five o'clock that morning, the army of King George of England, led by the King's son William, Duke of Cumberland, struck its tents and, to the measured beat of drums, began its march from Nairn towards Culloden. It numbered six thousand four hundred foot soldiers and two thousand four hundred horse, and the Duke himself rode with it accompanied by his second-in-command, the infamous General Hawley who had been ignominiously beaten at Falkirk, and the members of his staff. The birthday which the Duke had celebrated only the day before had been his twenty-fifth, and the rest of his staff were men as young as he was. Lord Cathcart, a veteran of Fontenoy who had lost an eye, was the same age as the Duke; Lord Bury, heir of the Earl of Albemarle, was only twenty-one, but he had been an ensign in the Coldstream Guards since his fourteenth birthday, and Colonel Joseph Yorke, scion of the ancient and mighty family of Hardwicke, was a seasoned twenty-two. To these young men, aristocrats of wealth and influence, the war was rather like a hunt in which the quarry were despicable foreigners, uncivilized and undeserving of mercy, who had dared to oppose the sacred authority of England and the King, by taking arms for a renegade Catholic prince who should by rights have been handed over for immediate execution as soon as he landed on Scottish soil.

They were unmoved by the splendour of the country through which they had passed; the grandeur of the mountains, the majestic isolation of the sweeping moors and the great blue lochs found no responsive chord in the hearts of officers or men. It was a savage land, unblessed by roads or tidy villages on the pretty English model. The people north of the Tweed were as alien to the men of Cumberland's army as the savage Indians in His Britannic Majesty's American colonies, and almost as far divided by their language, customs and religion.

The fact that these despised people had dared to cross into England and march as far south as Derby was an added insult to the well-bred gentlemen whose families had fallen into such a vulgar panic at the threat of invasion. To Cumberland himself, the Rebellion was an act of insolence against his father which he was determined to punish with Teutonic thoroughness. He was a fat young man with a rather porcine cast of feature and prominent black eyes, little imagination, personal courage and a horrible lack of human feeling which encouraged flogging and hanging as a normal means of keeping discipline among his troops. General Hawley was no better; his language was as foul as his temper, and the defeat inflicted upon him at Falkirk added personal hatred to his natural penchant for extreme brutality. These were the men who led King George's army and their attitude to the war and those who fought against them were a faithful reflection of the feelings of His Majesty. From Aberdeen to Nairn they had hanged and burned without mercy, and often without troubling to make distinction between the innocent and the guilty. The rough and destitute men who comprised their army, and suffered the rigours of campaigns abroad and army discipline for the pay of three shillings and sixpence a week, proceeded on their way to Culloden behind the tapping drums with the hope of loot and the fear of the drill sergeant's lash to encourage them. En route the Duke stopped at Kilravock House and imposed himself and his officers upon the laird for a brief rest while the main force went on their way.