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It
was a wet night, which was both uncomfortable and disappointing -
for it meant that the river's level would not sink, as hoped for, to
permit fording at selected points.

A
grey and chill daybreak, with the Gordon fires flickering low, saw
four heavy cannon in position and assembled, with some ball and
barrels of powder therefor - though a weary Montrose kept them well
hidden meantime. Two more were on the way, but he ordered their
arrival delayed unless they could be kept out of the enemy's sight.
The Gordons still held to their former positions, the bridge as
strongly guarded as ever - however short the defenders might be of
ammunition.

James
Graham, who had had plenty of time to think of it during that
comfortless night, now staged a show, a playacting, for the
opposition's benefit. He sent off a small detachment to ride up the
riverside, in full view, westwards. With little delay, a similar
picket of horsemen moved off parallel, at the other side, to keep
them under observation. They went for some three miles up, to Ardoe,
where the river widened, in green levels, and there was a mid-stream
island and double ford. The Dee was running as high as ever, but the
party proceeded elaborately to make test of it, for depth and
current. The thing was barely possible, and really out of the
question for an opposed crossing - but still, leaving some of their
number still prospecting there, the rest spurred back to Brig o'
Dee, as though with news. Thereafter, Montrose made a great
display of mounting, parading and inspecting the main mass of his
cavalry, before duly despatching them off, squadron after squadron,
in the direction of the ford. And, as he had hoped and prayed,
almost at once the Gordon cavalry were off, likewise, to deny any
crossing. Both mounted hosts disappeared westwards, up-river.

But
there was a difference in the topography of the respective
banks. The south side was fairly level land, and wooded; while the
north was open and sloping upwards after a belt of marshy
water-meadows. In consequence, the Gordons' progress was visible
along the terraced roadway, whereas the Covenant horsemen were
largely hidden in woodland. Moreover, beyond Banchory-Devenick's
thicker forest, over a mile up, a wide bend in the river northwards
pressed back the road on the far side still farther, and here was
the village of Cults. The enemy commander could by no means see what
was going on on the south road for well over a mile.

So,
whenever all his cavalry was in this thicker woodland, Kilpont, in
command, halted the main body. He sent on a small number of
horsemen, with all their flags and banners, with orders to show
themselves progressing westwards as much as possible. Then, with the
Gordon horse well past on the other side, he turned his main body
and went spurring back to Brig o' Dee.

Montrose
waited long enough for Kilpont's returning host to come into sight,
before ordering the cannon to be uncovered and the bombardment
begun.

It
was complete surprise. The densely massed Highland foot on the other
side, quite unprepared for artillery-fire, and unable to hit back,
fell into panic — as who would blame them? The cannon were
aimed well behind the bridge -since its destruction was the last
thing desired - and the defenders on the bridge itself found
themselves isolated, as their main force retired precipitately and
in confusion, to get out of range.

The
returning Covenant cavalry was immediately switched back to charging
the bridge-end, as before. And quickly, the musket-fire, fierce,
almost hectic, at first, lessened. Yesterday's tactics were proving
their worth. Montrose gave the order for a general advance.

It
was all over in a brief half-hour. After ragged, scattered
musket-fire from the bridge, the holders thereof retreated
hurriedly. The cannon increased their range somewhat, and though
most of their balls went wide, they made some lucky shots,
especially amongst a group of Gordon lairds. The enemy command,
hastily seeking to re-form and reorganise their alarmed infantry,
and without cavalry support, were unable to do so before the
Covenanters were surging across the bridge. Once Montrose's cavalry
were over, of course, the thing was decided. One or two
counter-attacks were thrown in, especially a determined one led by
the new Provost of Aberdeen's own son, one Colonel Johnston; and
many clansmen fought bravely. But against a thousand horse, in open
country, they had no chance. Aboyne and his brother Lewis, under
their father's great banner, were amongst the last to flee - but
flee they did; and before there was any sign of Colonel Gunn, who
had led the cavalry off, returning from the Fords of Ardoe.

When
the issue at Brig o' Dee was clear. Montrose pulled out most of his
horse - for a running slaughter was no part of his design, whatever
Middleton vociferously advised - and sent them off westwards to deal
with the unfortunate Gunn. But, in fact, no mounted battle
developed, that veteran knowing at least when further fighting
was useless. The royalist cavalry did not wait to make gallant
gestures, but galloped off northwards for the Gordon country with
all speed.

Aberdeen
lay open once again, unhappy city.

There
was something like mutiny, even anarchy, in the grey northern town
that night. Victorious soldiery like to celebrate, especially when
all the facilities lie so conveniently to hand. And when most of
their officers are of the same turn of mind. For not only Major
Middleton, but the Earls Marischal and Kinghorne - and, of course,
all the ministers - were in favour of this wretched city being
taught a lesson which would prevent it from ever again ranging
itself against the Covenant. But Montrose was adamant. Without the
handicap of having to defer to Leslie as overall commander, he was
not hesitant about asserting his fullest authority, Military
Committee or none. There was to be no sacking of the city. He had to
use his own Graham troopers to impose that fiat in the narrow
streets that night, and with little help from his leading colleagues
- and was not entirely successful, inevitably. And next day, in a
tense situation, there were hard words and threats. It was the first
military victory of the Civil War - but its consequences were less
than wholly happy.

Then,
suddenly, unexpectedly, all was changed. Messengers arrived
from the South. The war, scarcely begun, was over. Two days
previously, King Charles had more or less capitulated. The
Pacification of Berwick had been signed. All hostilities were to
cease forthwith.

Details
emerged. The King's forces, having reached Berwick-on-Tweed, and
Hamilton having removed himself from the Forth, Leslie had moved his
Covenant army south into Berwickshire, carefully sending word before
him that they were coming in all loyalty to welcome the monarch to
his Scottish realm. The host had taken up its stance at Duns Law -
which could not be called a threatening position but which
effectively blocked any royal advance towards Edinburgh. So die
two armies glared at each other across the green levels of the
Merse, neither side willing to take the first step in hostilities -
the King because he was worried about reports from his inimical
English parliamentarians in London, and lack of word from Hamilton
and the Gordons; and the Covenanters anxious to postpone outright
and treasonable attack on their lawful monarch, and concerned lest
such should involve them in war with England itself. So Henderson
sent secret messages and tentative terms to Berwick - and to the
surprise of all, Charles accepted them. Possibly the timely arrival
of Hamilton there, without having struck a blow in this peculiar
war, was the last straw. A conference followed, at Birks near
Berwick, and at it the King agreed that in future all ecclesiastical
questions should be dealt with by free General Assemblies of the
Kirk; and civil affairs should be put before duly called and regular
parliaments. Charles Stewart was at his most courteous,
reasonable, sadly noble. Bishops, Liturgies and the like would no
more be imposed upon an unwilling people. As sovereign, he was
concerned only that peace should prevail, the rule of law, and the
wellbeing of his leal subjects. It was accepted that both armies
should be disbanded, and all warlike behaviour cease. There were to
be no reprisals, on either side, and all prisoners were to be freed.

So
sanity and goodwill, belatedly, prevailed. Aberdeen in especial
heaved a great and corporate sigh of relief.

Montrose
was summoned south to deliver up his commission as
Lieutenant-General, to attend a full meeting of the Tables to
homologate all this, and in due course take part in another General
Assembly and subsequent parliament. Winding up affairs in Aberdeen,
he handed the place back to its Provost and magistrates, sent civil
word to Aboyne and the Gordons regretting any inconvenience caused,
dismissed his lieutenants, sent his army home, and said a thankful
goodbye to his Military Committee - which now seemed somewhat
dejected and at a loss. He took the road for Edinburgh.

It
did not fail to occur to him, as he rode, that the Battle of the
Brig o' Dee, the only real armed clash of the entire affair, had
been fought and won after peace had been declared.

14

D
espite
all their triumphs, their conviction , even
their
talents, it was a strangely uneasy, even diffident group that waited
in the Great Hall of Berwick Castle, perched high on its bluff above
the town and the silver Tweed, six men who eyed each other a little
askance and fidgeted rather. Yet these represented the true rulers
of Scotland, their power and activities the reason for their
presence here - while the man they waited to see represented
weakness, failure, ineffectiveness. All were very much aware of
the fact - yet achieved little confidence therefore. Bearding
archbishops, high commissioners and ambassadors was one thing;
facing the King in person was something quite other. That they had
been
summoned
here,
and had come, was indicative of their state - even though only six
had come, where fourteen had been summoned, and by name; and of the
six, Alexander Henderson had come without being summoned. Rothes,
Loudoun, Lothian, Dunfermline and Montrose, all earls of Scotland,
knew that they were in the right, held all the cards - but shuffled
nevertheless.

An
elegant young Gentleman of the Bedchamber, Will Murray by name, son
only of a minister of Dysart in Fife but high in the King's favour,
opened a door.

'His
Majesty will receive you now, my lords,' he said. 'Come'

In
the end, Montrose went first, as the others all held back, it not
being in his nature to insist on deferring to anyone. They were
ushered into a small and simple chamber in a flanking-tower, without
display or formality. Here was no chair-of-state, no heralds or
trumpeters, no ranks of dignitaries - only Charles Stewart,
dignity itself, sitting at a small table by the window, with an
inoffensive-looking cleric in episcopal garb standing near by.
Montrose bowed low, at his second sighting of his monarch, as did
those behind him, the black-robed Henderson at the rear noticeably
less low than the others.